Wednesday, 23 April 2014


The first thing an Indian parent usually teaches his/her child is to shake his hand and say bye. ‘Bye Bolo Beta Bye!’ they tell him, as the confused kid takes an initiative to move his hand in a windshield wiper motion only to be amazed by the applaud that his act receives. The kid would not even as much as smile at you, yet because of the parental tuning, he inadvertently gives you a bye. Since then the kid carried into his adulthood, his perennial dedication to saying ‘Bye’.

Now think about this, you drop in to visit someone you know. The welcome and the ‘hello’ is always cordial, pleasing and definitely not overdone. Just letting you know that they are happy to see you after long. Now compare this warmth with the one that you receive while you leave. The byes start as soon as your buttocks leave the couch all the way till half a kilometer from their place. Small waves, big waves, tired waves, sleepy waves, just-for-the-heck-of-it waves, they give it all to you and they expect you to wave out of the car window, sometimes even jutting your head out, till their eyesight blurs. I do not understand this stuff.

My grandmother believes in crying for the whole community. I think she finds it inauspicious and inconsiderate to wave someone goodbye without her eyes brimming like the Seine river. There has to be emotions attached to every goodbye even if she doesn't know the person who visited. What she calls as acts of benevolent sentiment, might look to other’s as her cry for help, indirectly trying to let them know that we practice third degree torture on her. So much for bidding someone the good old goodbye.

Few days back, a family friend dropped by and just like every other family friend, he took over the television and stayed put on the couch till late evening. Anyone who tells someone to ‘consider this as your place’ was definitely trying to be Chandler Bing. Finally in the evening he decided to leave and my parents started their ‘Bye’ routine. “Bye! Phirse Aayiyega” my dad lies, while my mother churns out the “Bye!Milke bahut accha laga” as my grandmother looks straight up at the ceiling fan without as much as blinking in an attempt to bring out tears. As I stood simply smiling at the man finally leaving, with my right hand cautiously reaching towards the television remote, my Dad suddenly demanded “Bye bolo ungil ko!”, totally ignoring the fact that I am nearing my 25th year of existence. The man stepped out and my family kept on gargling on ‘bye’ until he was securely inside the confines of his Hyundai Eon. We continued to stand at the door waiting for him to start the ignition, when he decided to pick up a call. As my legs started the numbing game, I finally took the initiative to close the door and just then my Mother screamed “How can you close the door!!! Uncle is yet to drive away.” The door remained open till the man ultimately decided to keep the phone down and leave, but not until he was awarded a fresh set of whimsical ‘Byes’. The night was spent sleepless, thanks to the mosquitoes that had utilized the opportunity fruitfully.

I understand the emotions attached while bidding someone dear and near a temporary bye. We as Indians even believe in following our family member till the gate, even if he/she is just going to the local dispensary to as much as buy a pair of strepsils. But I do not understand this everlasting ‘bye’ that we render to someone who is just an acquaintance. The straining of the neck out of the car and stretching out your hand, just for some meaningless bye byes.

You might say that we are a hospitable bunch of people. But if you think about it, it simply looks like you are rejoicing over someone’s departure evidently more than their arrival. Atleast try not to make your joy so evident.

So if because of some catastrophic reason I decide to visit you, just give me a single bye and a kind nod. Don’t wait for me to cross the boundaries of your myopic eyesight to close the gates and go back inside.

But if you really want to go an extra mile, you can choose to do this.....

IMAGE COURTESY- and proper utilization of Google. 

Thursday, 17 April 2014

An Open Letter to My 16 year old Self.....

Dear 16 year old me,

Look, it’s your future self — 8 years in the future, to be exact. I am a lawyer now and not a hippie as you are planning to be. I am still cool and to tell you the truth, life is much cooler than you think it is but kid, you shall discover all that eventually.

I have a few things I should tell you and I know that it might prick your heart, but for the sake of self salvation I think I owe you a few pointers towards the right direction.

I know that you are not happy with yourself. Let us just put out in the open the insecurities you are battling with currently. You have an ugly hairstyle which your mother plaits and ribbons everyday with black, as you step out to school. Your Gandhi style spectacles and bushy eyebrows are also a cause of major concern as well as your ever expanding waist line. But Honey, I have a piece of advice for you. You will not always be like this. Stop fretting over how you look and start appreciating what you are. You are a good singer and you have friends who have been with you since kindergarten. That is a great achievement.

I know that right now you are addicted to Yahoo messenger which by the way would be the root cause behind your fucked up board percentage. I know how you get a high by simply getting into chat rooms and fighting with every random bloke you can find. This shall also be the place where you learn the word ‘Nincompoop’ which by the way would be the only addition to your English vocabulary that Yahoo messenger will ever make. You think that all this makes you cool. Well in all honesty, you are being a complete loser and you are just wasting your time, which you shall regret the moment you step out of the examination hall. Also ‘spicy_chick_here’ is a really bad username and has sexual innuendos that you ignorantly overlook. 

Stop praying to the good Lord to add some spice to your stale existence. I am suffering because of it right now as I am living a life so spicy that it burns during my morning toilet episodes. Enjoy the boring, stale, Maggi filled lifestyle that you have because once you reach where I am right now, life will keep you on your toes. Also stop going to the British library only to read authors that deal majorly with explicit content. You will get to experience the real stuff later in life so hold on your horses and be a good girl. Life is great!

Your parents are not your enemies so kid, you better listen to them! When they tell you not to take the bike to school, acknowledge their commands because if you had, I would not have had this scar on my right ankle. Being a continuous rebel for no cause whatsoever, is not a wise thing to do.

Tell our mom to let you sleep alone in a room because if you don’t start sleeping alone now, you will be spending 5 years of your law school sleeping in the hostel room every night with the lights on and a conglomeration of Jesus and Krishna idols happening beneath your pillow. Be a little strong.

This year you shall start your first ever blog on rediff and the title of your first post shall be ‘INDIAN MOTHERS- THE BIGGEST SPIES’. Of course you would delete the blog after a few months and you will do that for good!

I want to prepare you for your life ahead. I want to tell you to not accept any man as your boyfriend just because you entered College and having a boyfriend was like owning a purple Unicorn. Your first relationship is going to suck real bad but you would dump him over the phone while pushing French Fries down your Oesophagus. That is not love.  But hold on, Love shall happen to you and girl, you shall be blessed indeed!

I am not like you, yet I am so much like you. I have a better hairstyle and I no more wear glasses. I have learnt the art of applying makeup and I have reduced a considerable amount of weight, though the battle still continues. I am much for confident and happier than you are and this should make you happy because a few years down the lane, you would be me and you are going to love being me.

I know that you are getting bored, so let me tell you that you have a bright future ahead. Though I don’t know where life would lead me, I do know that you are walking on the right path, making a few innocent mistakes while on the go.

So believe in yourself kid and love yourself more, because you are precious to me. Also you are way cooler than you think you are.


24 year Old You.

P.S- Have you written a letter like this to your old self? 
P.P.S- Check out FOODPANDA? You can order food Online, provided it covers the city you belong to!!! Check them out  HERE
Image Courtesy- Maharishi Google

Tuesday, 8 April 2014

Hating the word 'Ladies' .....

There is something that detonates inside me every time I hear the word ‘Ladies’. It irks me and it makes me angry. Supremely angry and overly irritated. Yes, that is what that word does to me. Above all, I loathe being referred to as a lady. I am not a lady.

A ‘lady’ they say is a refined woman. She is a level or two more virtuous than an ordinary woman and has a more structured and courteous behaviour pattern. If anything, she is a better and much elegant avatar of this miserably faulty thing called ‘woman’. I am not a lady.

It vexes me every time I am part of a crowd which is addressed to as ‘Ladies and Gentlemen’. To say the least, I even abhor reading the term ‘LADIES’ outside the urinal. I need this word out of my life. I am not a lady.

I make mistakes and I sometimes repeat those mistakes for quite a many times. I say things without considering what the takers would think of me as a person. I do not cover my mouth while laughing and sometimes noises escape my mouth while eating. Sometimes I forget to comb my hair properly as I rush to work and most of the times I were different socks. I can gleefully wipe the bread crumbs off my hands onto my shirt as I lean in close to hug you and I do snort while laughing. My nails are always chipped and most of the times the nail colour on my hands differ from the ones on my toes because why bother bending low to paint your toes when you can hide them inside dirty combat shoes. I brush just ones a day and sometimes I do not even floss. I won’t bend a knee while kissing the man I love and I might just pull him closer than wait for him to do so. I like to blow bubbles through the straw into my can of coke. I will tell the man about my fantasies and get the satisfaction I need, than anticipate him to read my mind. I am not refined. I am not a lady.

And if anything I do not want a gentleman in my life. I need a man. I do not want someone to pull a chair for me unless my hands are hurt or paralysed. I do not want a gentleman to run forward to open a car door for me and I definitely do not want him to lend me his jacket. I am sure winter affects both sexes equally. I want a man who acknowledges that I am no lesser than him and allows me to make my own decisions. I want a man who doesn't feel that his male ego requires him to never let his woman pay. Split the bill with me and sometimes when I want to pay it all, do not tell me that it is your destined duty not mine. I want a man who doesn't tell me to choose a Virgin Mojito over rum because I am a lady. I don’t need a gentleman. I am not a lady.

So the next time you ask me to ‘Behave like a lady’, remember that I have blatantly accepted I am not a lady. I am a woman, imperfectly perfect that needs no fine tuning. A woman, that is all I am. 

P.S- How many of you actually like a guy pulling the chair out of you ? Tell me that I am not the only one who doesn't .
P.P.S- You can participate in this giveaway hosted by the awesome blog 'iCynosure'. CLICK HERE

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Of Childhood Crushes and Fantasies.....

Today morning as I was getting out for work, my glance slid towards my little 7 yr old cousin’s bedroom. There she stood with a huge poster of some Disney Prince and was standing on her toes in an attempt to stick it to her wall. This was the first ‘GUY’ poster in her room and I know that this wouldn't be her last. This was just a bud.

I was not an innocent child. To be quite frank, since I was studying in a convent school, boys were like Unicorns for me. Mystical, magical and unattainable, though unlike Unicorns they did exist somewhere outside the school compound. Unlike the other girls who were busy salivating about Barbie’s gay boyfriend Mr.Ken, I was busy fantasizing about MowgliMowgli was by God my first crush and I wanted to give him babies. 4 babies to be precise. One who could ride on the black panther ‘Bageera’, one to  play with the cuddly bear ‘Baloo’, one to slide down the slimy back of the snake ‘Kaa’ and one who could fight the evil tiger ‘Shere Khan’. I had planned it all while listening to the title song ‘Jungle Jungle Pata Chala Hai Chaddi Pehenke Phool Khila Hai’. Me and my Chaddyman for life!

But then I grew up to be 11 yrs old and Mowgli was not as pleasing to my senses as he used to be. It was around that time that our neighbor Mrs.Kukreja started giving the top floor of her house on rent to bachelors. There was this boy whom I called ‘Mintu bhaiyya’ who was a star among me and my other friends. But I was committing incest in my mind and bhaiyya was the last thing I wanted him to be. I wanted him to give me a ride on his Bajaj Vespa and share a Mango Dolly with me. The way he played Tea set with my friends made me jealous. But what could a girl with a boy cut and a deranged self confidence do?

One day I got up and tied my mom’s dupatta on my head and started pretending that it was real hair. Long-ass-length-hair. With lipstick on my dot like lips and another dupatta rolled as a saree/Egyptian zombie atire around my tiny body with t-shirt as a blouse, I walked to the Verandah hoping to parade myself like a peacock before my Mintu. But it was my father who broke my heart between his uncontrollable laughs when he said “Mintu left for his post graduation at Dehradun”. He left behind a packet of Britannia Little Hearts for me. My second crush broke my heart.

Then Hrithik Roshan came into my life. I would close myself in my parents room since I never had a room of my own, with the walkman playing the cassette of ‘ Kaho Na Pyaar Hai’. As I lay on my bed and the song started playing, I was suddenly Amisha Patel wearing her thigh length white skirt, gyrating uncontrollably with my Hrithik. I was the one for whom he made sea-shell necklaces and I was the one looking deep into his eyes beside the bonfire in a secluded island somewhere near Thailand.

 Then he went ahead and got married to a certain pale skinned Suzanne.

Hrithik Roshan with his 8 pack abs, carved collar bone, bulging biceps and swallowing arms, did not deserve me, said my Dad as tears rolled down my 13 yr old cheek while licking on the Vanilla Ice-cream he bought to calm down the waves tormenting his daughter’s little heart. Dads are the best.

I don’t do crushes anymore. I don’t remember anyone else whom I had a crush on besides these. At least nothing that was this serious and engulfing. So, what do I do now? Well I got graduated from crushing on people to falling in love. Much worse!

But the good thing about Love is, it doesn't come easy. I am a tough nut to crack.  But it did happen once and God, I would always thank you for that!

So dear Mowgli, I am glad nothing happened between us. My little cousin told me while reading the Jungle book that you are happy with a certain blue skirted girl named ‘Shanti’. I hope she pops out 4 kids.

Dear Mintu Bhaiyya. Wherever you are, Dehradun or Mussoorie, I hope you found someone who foresees your premature bald patch just like I did. But maybe you are already bald by now.

Dear Hrithik Roshan. You still look good in your latest ‘Baniyan’ advertisement. Call me. 

P.S- The above photo is a classic case of bad photoshop. Thank you very much.
P.P.S- Tell me about your first ever crush. 

Monday, 24 March 2014


It is funny how people like to reason everything out! Every single incident in their life is seen as a reason that would lead to something that has a higher meaning. Something that was meant to be. They just don’t like to accept things as they are and move on. They need words to lift their spirits. And that is how the term 'Everything happens for a reason' was born. People please!!!

I burnt a toast today. It was the last piece of bread and I burnt it. Tell me how this happened for a reason. Except if the reason was perpetual starvation!

There are so many lines that absolutely make no sense to me. My absolute favourite is ‘What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.’ It is the worst lie that has been told on the face of this planet. I once had this terrible accident where I injured my leg badly. There were tissues hanging out and skin that looked like they were grated using a cheese grater. Of course it did not kill me and I survived. It has been almost 8 years since that accident, and still sometimes I feel the pain around my ankle. So no! What does not kill me, does not make me stronger! It makes me weaker.

Then there is the 'Everything is going to be all right'. What are you? An astrologer? Or are you the animal oracle ‘Paul the Octopus’ who predicted the world cup? If not, then how can you be sure that everything would be alright? Or maybe the interpretation of ‘Everything is going to be alright’ is “ I don’t know if it is going to be alright. I can only hope that it does. If it doesn’t, don’t sue me you imbecile! Life is a bitch but you are not the only one with issues. I ate a fly today, accidentally. Do you think it is going to be all right for the fly? Accept your destiny. DEAL WITH IT!”

I remember I had this classmate of mine named ‘Umapathy. Umapathy was a Tamil boy who had a dog. A dog named ‘Bhairavi’. Yes! Something made him name the dog after an avatar of Goddess Kali. Anyway, Bhairavi died after eating a lizard. Umapathy came to college with a sullen face and wept over the loss of his dear ‘Bhairavi’. With an absolutely clean intention of sharing his grief and imparting momentary solace, I touched his shoulder and told him “It is ok! Everything happens for a reason”. I think his stare burnt a hole right through the middle of my head. So much for showing some humanity.

Listen to me, I am in no way trying to bash up these lines and stamp them out of existence. I understand that these are just lines to raise one’s spirit in times of despair and that they can be used only metaphorically? But really does it make any sense? It is but a while lie to make you feel stronger than you actually are.

 I know this guy who can drink like an entire bottle of vodka without any dilution in a span of half an hour. I say to him “Drink it all boy!!!!”  because what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger, unless of course he has burnt half his liver in the process, then no it did not make him stronger.

It is funny how we use certain lines as a balm to sooth the pain that life torments us with. Maybe nothing happens for a reason, maybe everything is not going to be alright and maybe what doesn’t kill you actually makes you weaker. But the only line you should actually hold on to with a death grip is “Life, it goes on.....”.

Of course if death says “Hi!!”, then No! It is mechanically impossible for life to go on.

P.S- I love making absolutely no sense!

P.P.S- If anyone of you reading this have cosmetic implants, please do not come to Kerala right now. They might just melt off your fine body. It is frigging hot!!

Tuesday, 18 March 2014


I think I am getting old. Old enough to start my conversations with “Humare Zamaane Mein” and old enough to fret about generation gap.  I am feeling old at the age of 24.

Yesterday was Holi and while I was working, the entire India celebrated it with the sole intention of updating the photos of their colourful self on Facebook and Instagram. To denote it with an on-the-spot made statistic, 99.99% people did not even know the story behind the festival. Anyway, I rushed back home after work to be greeted by my little 7 yr old cousin who looked like someone had mistaken her to be a pen and had dipped her in an ink bottle. I smiled as she asked me to click a photo of her and her other sinister friends. As soon as I raised the camera to click, all of them jutted out their waist to a specific angle, kept their hands on their hips, looked at the camera in a quizzical manner and made a duck face. I kept the camera down and left.

For those who live under a rock, ‘Duck-face’ according to Urban dictionary means “ the face made if you push your lips together in a combination of a pout and a pucker, giving the impression you have larger cheekbones and bigger lips.”

But a better definition would be “the grotesque expression made by stupid people in a vain attempt to appear sexually promiscuous.”

I remember how as a kid and during my teenage years, posing for photos meant three things. Either making a V for Vagina sign, or making a sign that we saw many rock stars make in MTV or giving each other finger horns. Half of my photos consisted of me with finger horns.  I was happy with finger horns and Vagina V. The only expression we ever attempted on our face apart from forceful smiles, was the ‘Attitude’ look which 9 out of 10 times made me look like I was suffering from constipation.

What does a duck face imply? I have finally shortlisted four answers for this-
1) Look at me, I am a sexually charged object and I know you want me!
2) I am on a medication that makes my facial tissue suffer from spasms.
3) I am kissing a ghost and obviously you cannot see him.
4) Donald Duck was a huge success. I love Donald Duck.

As I log into Facebook, I am bombarded with the photos of my Juniors pouting beside the Baga beach in Goa, my friends pouting in front of a melting ice-cream, my best friend pouting before the statue of Lord Ganesha at Siddhivinayak Temple and my far off relative Mrs.Susheela attempting a duck face that makes her look like she took this selfie seconds before her trip to the loo to barf her intestines out.


It needs to stop!

This reminds me of my great-grandmother who was so forgetful that she used to throw away the dentures we bought her. Consequently, we stopped buying her dentures and started feeding her with manually mashed food. It was cute to watch her involuntarily pucker and pout as she ate a banana. That was the only duck face I will ever find adorable. God bless her soul.

I am a very calm person, per se. Even though I have this rage against the whole ‘duck-face’ culture on the rise, I still do not go around campaigning against it. I do not leave rude comments under pictures. I just ignore. But yesterday a friend of mine messaged me on Facebook to go check out her new profile picture and to comment underneath. So, as a good friend I went to her profile and was rewarded with a duck face. And just like a good friend would, I left a comment under the picture. “QUACK QUACK”

Of course she deleted the comment and isn't talking to me.

P.S- Selfies rule!
Image Courtesy- Tumblr

Tuesday, 11 March 2014


Once upon a time, in a land not so different from ours, lived a beautiful princess. A beautiful brown princess. The princess was loved by her king father and her queen mother. She was allowed to draw on the walls, walk around with a huge towel on her hair pretending to be Rapunzel and they even let her hang upside down on the mango tree right outside their castle. Basically the princess was brought up in the most awesome way ever!

And then the little princess grew up. The na├»ve princess used to still hang upside down on the tree, much to the private entertainment of the village goons. She wore things that were not princess like but was rated top by Elle magazine and began to attend late night princess parties. She occasionally even smoked on some grass. But she did all of this knowing that her Daddy King and Mommy queen will love her through all her wishes. And then one day when the princess fell in love with a local boy from the flea market, her king dad and queen mother summoned her to their chamber and uttered the three words of doom………….. ‘LOG KYA KAHENGE’

So, the princess took off her princess crown and set out on a long journey in search of these ‘LOG’, in order to find out what they had to say about her princessy affairs.

Castle walls were jumped, the perimeters of the kingdom were traversed, mountains were climbed and rivers were crossed in search of these mystical creatures called ‘LOG’. And just when her princess feet were about to give up, she saw shadows beyond a thick glass of fog. She dragged herself across till she finally saw a huge crowd of ‘LOG’ who were saying too much to decipher. Like a swarm of bees.

The princess concentrated on this particular lady from the gang of LOG, so that she could finally hear what the LOG said. “Pata Hai,Ramu ki beti ka selection IIT mein nahi hua” said one member of the LOG clan to another, to which the other replied “Aur kya tumhe pata hai, Sushma ka beta Videshi Bahu ghar laya hai. Bechari Sushma.”. The princess overheard someone else saying “Are Maloom hai, Suraj ji ki beti ne lou marriage kar li. Ab kaise mooh dikhayenge Suraj ji.” And then came another one “Prakash ka ek beta hua hai aaj. Log keh rahe hain ki wo baccha prakash ki tarah nahi dikhta.” The buzzing went on and on, till the princess fainted because of the headache.

On opening her eyes, she again concentrated to hear more from the LOG. She wanted to hear more about the guy who brought a Videshi bahu home, or about the Ramu ki beti who couldn’t get through IIT. But she couldn’t hear even a faint whisper about them, for they were now replaced by new stories ranging from “Asha ki tummy tuck operation” to “Ranjit ki beti ka short skirt”. There were new stories and the old ones died a happy death.

It is then that it dawned upon the little princess that these news including her princess affairs are like Bread. No one relishes on a stale bread. Once the bread gets stale, a new packet of MODERN SWEET BREAD is bought from Kake ki Dukaan. The circle continues. The LOG needed fresh dough every day.

So the princess returned to her princess castle and declared to her Daddy King and Mommy queen “The LOG  may have too much to say, but whatever they say has a validity period which is very restricted. I think I can survive that.”

And so, the pretty brown princess married the local boy from the flea market and lived happily ever after. Killing fleas.


P.S- If I tell such stories to my kids, they might just crawl away and never return.
P.P.S- I lost a tooth yesterday. Long story.

NOTE: Check out the Uber Cool Blog Header made by the amazing Neha from 'NOODLES-Neha Doodles'. Click HERE to check out her work!!!!