“I Wished upon a Dandelion” I Whispered. The Universe Granted Allergies

Fueled by Society’s Expectation and Its Histamine Shots 

I happily and very naively, like Geet from Jab We Met, picked up a dandelion to wish upon it. They say wishes on a dandelion come true, don’t they? That if you close your eyes and believe hard enough, life will bloom exactly the way it is supposed to. So, I made a sensible and safe wish, the kind society approves of. Stability, love, success in 360 degrees walk of life including a marriage that lasts. The wholesome family Bollywood script with some hassle but ultimately, a happy ending.

The stable picture perfect smiling life that photographs well at weddings and school functions, to be posted on the gram for the relatives and the world’s nod of approval that “Yes, she is one of us and not the black sheep.”

I blew gently, expecting something cinematic and very Bollywoodish vibe. Picture this: Me running in slow motion (aesthetically of course), through the yellow mustard fields at dawn, wind in my open silky straight hair (my hair is curly btw), as my white chiffon dupatta flies magically like Aladdin’s carpet, doing twists & turns like it took classes at Hogwarts and very miraculously lands on my lover’s face like in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. Shah Rukh Khans, sorry I mean my lover then strums his tiny guitar (or was it a banjo? I forgot) for me with that dreamy look in his eyes (it’s lust btw) as I sprint, leap and hug him to our happy ending. Then my mom screams at me “WAKE UP!” as I fell asleep on the bean bag on my balcony yet again without a shawl. Alas! at least my dream was warm and fuzzy eh. I smiled at her angry face as she walks away muttering ‘She’s lost it,’ and honestly? I agree.

I think Bollywood has really hiked up our expectations as Indians for love with movies like these. We grew up on these family potboilers and expect our lives to turn out like their happy endings. But after the credits roll, it is pack-up and back to real life.

After I made my very sincere wish to the universe, little did I know the wind had other plans just like destiny and fate. The dandelion fuzz flew straight up my nose and into my brain cells. I sneezed so violently that I almost dropped the flower. Apparently even destiny has a sense of humor, and sometimes a dark one that says, let us see if you survive this unscathed.

Halfway up a hiking trail, reaching for my allergy inhaler from Thailand (if you know, you know), I watch the dandelions sway confidently by the path as if nothing about them is complicated.

“Look how beautiful,” my cousin sisters say behind me, as I sneeze for the fifth time almost snorting in the tissue. I nod, eyes watering, still blaming them for causing me violent allergies as I started itching the reddish hives erupting on my arms.

And it dawns on me that I did everything right.

This is not a story about regret. It is about pattern recognition & breaking out of the loop.

The rules are rarely shouted or written in golden letters framed in every house across India. They are disguised in tête-à-têtes at weddings and family get together. In the auntie who lowers her voice when discussing the unmarried cousin in “low cut” blouse, in the subtle panic around age and timelines, “Your body clock is ticking, you must have a baby right now”! Seemingly, our body clock is ticking like it is on loudspeaker at a wedding baraat. Can someone lower the volume please, it is giving me a migraine or at least give it some nice herbal chai tea matcha latte or something?

 

Choose Yourself – Every Single Time

Choose yourself and bloom where you flourish. To anyone who followed the checklist yet never quite aligned with the so called rules, understand that you are not required to compress your spirit into someone else’s definition of success just to be validated, pause and ask one clarifying question, do they bear the consequences of my choices, and if the answer is no then why grant them the authority to audit your joy or measure a life they neither finance nor inhabit, your existence is not a public performance to be graded by distant critics, it is a private garden and you are both the soil and the gardener, plant what steadies your nervous system, cultivate what restores you, perhaps discipline, perhaps art, perhaps even hydroponic herbs by the window quietly thriving. This act is not rebellion but thriving, it is alignment, and choosing yourself is simply the most graceful form of self-respect.

Bloom where you feel nourished, not where you were told to bloom.

On the way down the hiking trail, I reach into my bag once again for my allergy inhaler from Thailand (I am not addicted to it, stop judging me). The air is still sweet with pollen and possibility. The dandelions fuzz glow like they were made for pinterest aesthetic board. Hikers and tourists take photos, someone nearby is probably making a wish and posting it with a hashtag about destiny. (Yeah, Cute)

Maybe society is the same, offering one version of a beautiful life and calling it universal because it worked for enough people to pass as truth. Not every bloom is meant to last, and not every path marked ideal leads to alignment. Some things are seasonal, like a good friend also agrees with me when I said “Reason, Season, Lifetime.” Some lives are meant to be redesigned halfway through and that is okay.

Sometimes maturity is in the realization that you are allowed to change direction, if it brings you inner peace.

We are nearly reaching the end of the hiking trail and the heavens turn ombré blue, dissolving into fields of gold that rise from the earth like quiet prayers. Twilight, I have always believed is when God begins to paint. The wind shifts, threading gently through my hair, as though it too has chosen a new direction. Somewhere in the distance, a song about change begins to play. Cue “Winds of Change” by Scorpions.

I brush away the hair on my face & glance at the lines on the palm of my hands. Each line is written by us, with each decision that we make, we shift into a new timeline. I look up once again, and the horizon has melted into liquid gold, then dissolves into bruised amber and breathing out orange like a phoenix dissolving, metamorphosing, limitlessly like number eight looping. And for the first time, the path feels quieter and aligned, not empty, just honest and peaceful. Cue- Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve.

I inhale deeply, prepared for a somber life-altering inner monologue to be adapted into a melancholic poem. Behind me, my cousin sisters erupt into giggles as they take pictures, arguing about angles, filters, and who blinked. One of them shouts at me to stop walking, “Wait, do not move! This is so aesthetic!” And just like that, the divine alignment is paused because apparently destiny must first pass the Instagram algorithm test. I lower my chin, arch my waist like Aphrodite, and hold the pose, knowing even my reflection just gave me a standing ovation. The phoenix sky, the profound realizations, the cosmic alignment are all temporarily on standby while we debate whether the sunset looks more “moody film noir” or “bohemian dreamscape.”

Turns out, we are the creators of our own destiny but sometimes destiny is just your cousin sisters yelling at you, “ONE MORE! I was not ready!”

But honestly? THIS might be the most aligned timeline of all.

Ode to the Dandelions

Let the dandelions keep swaying, graciously
Let the pollens keep mongering, suspiciously
While peace finds a home within me, quietly
This journey called life keeps unfolding, mysteriously
And I keep skipping merrily into my sunset

(Note- The writer can be found hiking deep forest trails to “find herself.” Sometimes gets lost on purpose, sometimes because google map has ghosted her, but always resurfaces like a mildly confused phoenix with a story to tell)