Call me cynical.

It won't bother me.

Google has already proclaimed me one.

I know I am not the first and won't be the last.

Everyday millions of people are trying to cure their skin with fairness creams, splurging in brands to cure their social status, governments finding ways to cure the economy by taxing us in new ways, while we run after CA professionals to cure our poverty.

Sixty nine years has passed since India's independence,

but still no cure for hunger,

that plagued our food, water and now air.

Who will cure this cancer?

Neither morphines nor Bullets will do.

Mirtaz at best will put you in a stupor.

Sometimes, I find this euphoria inexplicable.

This urge to puke, to smile and whine.

exhausting it must be,

flipping through hundreds of websites and apps,

buying clothes and jewelries that you will never wear,

debating over fictional heroes and anti-heroes,

fictional villains and vamps, 

living a fictional life, we call our own.

When will this fiction end?