Let's Catch Up!

Monday, April 27, 2015

A Word A Week

So it's Monday, and it's time to give out the word for the week! But being the generous awesome person that I am (Ya, I know, totally awesome Monday mood I'm in), I'm giving out all the words for the month. So go ahead and plan and do whatever you want with them!

Happy Creating People!!!!

P.S., If you have no clue what I'm talking about, suggest reading this, and the rules given below:

Thursday, April 23, 2015

It's Challenge Time!!!!

So this has to be one of my laziest and most un-creative (is that even a word?!) patches ever! It has been forever since I’ve written, or felt like writing anything. And while it’s so easy to blame all the duties of life post marriage for lack of time, the simple fact is, me being the lazy person that I am, barely have any of these duties, and have an amazing hubby who does more than his share. And his share includes comforting me after I reach home drenched in sweat cursing the Mumbai gods and traffic and distance and everything under the sun.

So I decided it’s time to do something about this lazy patch. This blog has been my life for way too long to give up on it so easily. So here’s what I plan to do. I’m starting two challenges. Challenges for myself, and challenges for any of you who choose to indulge and jump in on them. I’ll make it fun, I promise!

Challenge 1: A Word A Week

This isn’t anything new, and I was inspired largely by FatMumSlim’s A Photo A Day challenge. So this is how it works:
  • Every month I’ll make a list of random words, one for every week of the month.
  • The challenge starts with a new word every dreary Monday morning.
  • And then you have a week to do whatever you want with that word. A blog, a story, a musing, a poem, a photograph, a sketch, there’s no restriction. Use the word directly, or contort it to mean whatever you want it to. One word, every week.
  • Just mark me on whichever medium you display it or give a link to, on Facebook or Instagram…whatever suits you, so I can keep track of who all are taking the challenge.

And if anyone apart from me actually takes this up, well, let’s compete :D

No, I don’t have a prize for you, whatever the hell happened to creative satisfaction!! Hmph!! But I will throw in a pretty cool badge to put up on your site :D

Challenge 2: The Non-Cookery Challenge

Now before getting married, I made it super clear to A that I don’t cook, and I have no plans to start any time soon. Then he was sweet enough to move to Mumbai for me, away from all his mum and my mum’s yum food. So out of feeling rather generous I promised him I’ll cook for him once a week, every weekend, just to keep his tummy happy. Because come on, cooking every Sunday isn’t really that big a deal now is it?

But as time went on, weekends seemed more useful to sleep in, and tummies were happy hogging on shawarmas from the various conveniently located Andheri joints, even if our pockets turned a little weepy.

And yesterday after long, I actually felt like cooking for the poor starved boy. No, I still don’t end up making daal makhni and butter chicken for him, but something is better than nothing, right, even if it’s continental?!

So here’s the next challenge. Cook one dish every week. Whether it’s just an appetizer or a dessert, as long as it's something in the kitchen made by your own hands. And while I know too many people around me who are experts and actually cook every day and I would love for them to participate, I’d especially love it if you’re one of those people like me, who doesn’t cook, and struggles, and needs a push to do it more often.

So this one has no restriction on what to cook or how. Just cook. Once a week, any time, take a pic, and tag me. You want to just put a pic with a title, go ahead. You want to share your horrifying / awesome experience, I’d love to hear it! You want to be generous enough to share the recipe of your creation, well, you truly are selfless!!

I’m doing this because publicly failing to cook might motivate me more than ignoring my husband’s pain filled hungry eyes (I’m good at not wearing my specs / contacts and ignoring faces).

So PLEASE join me, motivate me, and bloody help me cook!

Totally looking forward to seeing stuff!
And hopefully creating some stuff myself!

Will keep updating FB / Instagram with details.

Challenge Accepted!

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

I am a Delhi girl and I don’t want to go back.

This weekend, I went to watch NH10 in the theatre. For those of you who may not have heard of the movie, it’s a story about a Gurgaon couple on a road trip somewhere further on in Haryana, who en-route get entangled in an honor killing case, where the goons turn on them for meddling. They spend the rest of the movie running for their lives. It’s violent, its brutal, it’s fascinating and it’s scary. It’s a good movie, in more ways than one.

We watched the movie, and then walked into McD for a quick snack. And as I sat there, staring at my unsatisfactory Chicken Mc. Grill, I cried. In the middle of Mc Donalds. A very crowded Mc. Donalds.

Just to put things in perspective, I don’t cry for movies usually. I was laughing at the end of Kal Ho Na Ho as Shah Rukh Khan half ran half heart attacked across the city of New York to make sure true love finds a way (Like, hello, cab much?). And I also am not the type to get scared by gore.

But this one, it hit home. Not because it was that scary, but because it was just too realistic. It was something, that if you have been born and brought up in Delhi, you would’ve experienced, a little too much.

No, I haven’t intervened in an honour killing case.

But if you’re any Delhi girl, who hasn’t spent her life being chauffeured and protected, and only visiting malls, you’ll find scenes in that movie a little too close to your reality than you’d like.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Delhi. It's by far one of the most beautiful cities ever, with its food, its history, its monuments, its open spaces, huge houses, and roads that go on forever. It has the concept of balconies and terraces and bedrooms that can fit more than just a bed for God’s sake! And contrary to popular belief, it also has some awesome people.

But somehow, there is this other thing, this mentality, of some other people you encounter rather often. It’s the mentality of the man who makes orgasmic noises at you while touching his crotch as you walk past him on the road. The mentality of the man who presses into you while standing closer than need be on the DTC bus. The mentality of the man who slowed down his car in the middle of a desolate road and called out to you to offer a ride in broad daylight, as you hurriedly walked home from school. But more than anything else, it’s the mentality of the men who snigger and giggle when they see you being eve teased in a bus, or turn away, or condemn you for speaking up.

Speaking up…Delhi girls are learning to do that, slowly but surely. It’s becoming a way of life now, isn’t it? Being alert, pulling up men for misbehaving, taking them to the police station, irrespective of the crap the police might say to you. It isn’t the easiest thing to do, nor at a lot of times the safest, but girls learn young and they learn fast. How to survive in the city. It’s something that you grow up with, it’s natural adaptation. And it isn’t something that you notice or even pay attention to. Until you move out.

Maybe you think I’m exaggerating. Maybe I’ve had worse experiences than you. But I somewhat doubt it. I know too many friends who have been chased by goons in bigger cars while driving, cajoled by guys in a jeep while they rode a cycle rickshaw back to our hostel, had creeping hands that seemed to belong to nobody in crowded metros and buses, and been humiliated for speaking up. And this is when I and all my friends have led very normal and average lives.

I moved to Mumbai a few years ago. It’s a brutal city, not one known to be nice to visitors. It takes the theory of survival of the fittest to heart, and really knows how to kick your ass specially in your bad days. And it isn’t by far a very safe city. But… it’s safer than Delhi. I take public transport home after dark. Heck, I stay out alone after dark. And it doesn’t petrify me. Even if I’m not yet ready to completely throw away my pepper spray, it is now tucked away in a darker corner of my purse.

My point is, this city made me realize that there was something wrong with my Delhi way of life. I don’t HAVE to try and make it home before dark. I don’t HAVE to keep looking over my shoulder if I go clubbing. I don’t HAVE to assume every guy out there is a potential rapist. There is a better way of life, a normal way of life. And all this I realized from the not completely safe city of Mumbai. Imagine the learnings if I had moved to Singapore instead!

I am a Delhi girl, and one day I intend to move back. My family is there, and being far from them is a punishing routine in itself.

I am a Delhi girl, and one day I intend to move back.

But when I think of returning to a life of being scared of the dark, and half the city’s population…

I really, really, don’t want to.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Of feminists and Idiots

As I write this, I am seething. And that is probably not the best mood to be writing in. Or maybe it is. Because you see, I’m not the beyond-anger-type-irrational seething. I haven’t felt this calm in ages. And I’m seething.

Because this topic keeps coming up, and somehow has come up a few too many times recently. I’ve written on it before, and yet, here I find myself writing all over again. Because you see, a gazillion posts wouldn’t be enough on this topic.

I’m so tired of this debate, of people debating without a single clue in the world, of everyone having to take one side or the other, of people pointing fingers, and saying in almost a disgusting way, feminist.

When the hell did this become a bad thing? When did this become something to be ashamed of? When did this become an insult?
Maybe it’s time to take a step back, and think, why this is being said.
I’m not really sure people know what feminism is. I’m definitely no expert on the matter, but these are my views.

Feminism is not the same as being anti-men.
It isn’t about jumping and pointing fingers at all men around you.
It isn’t about proving that women are better than men.
It’s about equality.
It’s about being given a choice.
Feminists don’t judge women for being a housewife and raising kids. As long as they choose to.
They don’t say you shouldn’t let men wipe you off your feet. As long as that’s what you like.
And it definitely doesn’t tell you that you deserve a seat on a bus more than a man, it just says you have an equal right to it.
It doesn’t look down on chivalry, on homemakers, on the gender, on ANY gender.
It simply fights for you to have a choice.
An equal choice.

And then people say things like, “Arre, you toh will bring your feminist crap into this discussion.”

And then, at that moment, more than anything, I feel like punching you.
Not because you’re a man. Or a woman.
Simply because you don’t understand.

Feminism isn’t just for me. Or just for women. It’s for every bloody human being on this planet.
And if you think otherwise.

You really really just don’t understand.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015


She walked home slowly, leisurely, her bare feet barely noticing the sticky tar and muck of the road. The wind slowly caressed her hair, reminding her of his hands, just a few moments earlier. Just before he sniggered at the idea of her career, and kissed her on the forehead.
She smiled as she lovingly adored her favourite red stiletto dangling from her hand, then felt a twinge of sadness at spoiling the pair.

Maybe she shouldn’t have left the other one stuck in his neck.

Monday, December 15, 2014

An Open Letter to The Girl With The Broken Heart

Today, you don’t feel like getting out of the bed. And it doesn’t look like you’ll feel like it tomorrow, or the day after. And you know what, you really wont.

He really was The One, wasn’t he? You spent years of your life on him, all those years when other guys were hitting on you, but you were just his, because it was true love, because he was the one you were meant to be with. And now, he’s gone.

And you’ve tried. You’ve tried playing hardball. You’ve begged. You’ve promised to go to the end of the world to change yourself and make everything exactly the way he would want. Just so he would come back. And your world would be the same again.

But instead here you are. In a world where getting out of bed is a task. Where the thought of moving even a millimeter without him seems like something so impossible, something you can’t imagine having ever done on your own. Alone.

And you begin to question yourself. It must’ve been something you did. Why else would he leave? You weren’t good enough. It has to be you.

And you remember all the good times. All the amazing times. Those memories etched in your brains, never to be found again. And that place where your heart is, there’s an ache, a dull heavy ache, ebbing away the last of your energy and will, making you wish everything would just stop. But your heart does the only thing it knows how, it keeps beating, dully, achingly, painfully.

But while you stay snuggled in bed, your pillow soaked with tears, just for a moment, try to reach past all those happy memories and pull out a few of those repressed ones that you refuse to remember. You know, the one where he shouted at you and said things that no amount of love can actually justify? The one where he promised to be with you forever, and walked away the next day. The one where he asked you to change, and refused to do so himself. The one which you’re too embarrassed to tell even your friends about, because you know they’ll judge you for still sticking around.

But you know what, there will be a day, months maybe years from now, when you’ll judge yourself, for sticking around. And that, will be a good day. But for that day to happen, you need to get up now, get out of bed, and go on and live your life. YOUR life. The one about YOU, without the need of another human being in it to make it good. I could say stuff like the right guy is out there, and you’ll find someone else. And you probably will. But of all the things you may choose to believe in, please believe in this instead:

If he was the one, you wouldn’t have anything to hide from your friends.
If he was the one, he wouldn’t have left you here in your bed, crying, questioning yourself.
If he was the one, he’d never leave you hanging.
If he was the one, he would be here, right now, with you.

I’m not saying relationships are easy, and that you’ll meet Prince Charming who will just be so perfect in every way, that you’ll live happily ever after. You will have to work on any relationship. But just how much, is something you need to decide.

I’ll end by simple words of advice given to me by a dear friend years ago, way too early for their time. If you don’t wake up every day feeling happy because of who you’re with, because of who you are, then there’s something really wrong with your relationship.

If you’re hoping to live a life with him, always with the feeling of hadness, then there’s something very wrong with the relationship.

So get up, get out of bed, and go get through the day.
It will be tough. So will tomorrow, and the day after.
But eventually, it will become easy, and then natural.
And you’ll look back, and judge yourself for staying in bed, crying, over someone who really wasn’t the one.
And you'll laugh.
Believe me.

Your Non-Judgemental Friend.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Of Blah-ness & Life

I know, I’ve been gone a long long time from my blog. And I’ve definitely not come back with a way to kill someone in 55 words. Weirdly. Even though I wouldn’t mind killing quite a few in my head.
But of course I come back in the most blah mood on the planet, in the midst of a sudden onset of an existential crisis.
And believe me, I hate both the things mentioned above.
Because they’re both absolutely the opposite of being happy. Of being satisfied. Of just, being.
And they’re both bloody related.
Just when I’d stopped cribbing. Like. Who would’ve thought.
So I guess I’ll try channeling that energy into something better, perhaps more creative, like you know, killing someone in words, as always.
In other news, we saw Gone Girl (loved it!), and I think A is now a little more convincingly scared of what I might one day do to him. I’d feel bad if it weren’t so much fun. Really.
Until next time!

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Manic Monsoon

She heard the whistle, and the muttered words, and felt the lusting eyes on her as she passed him on the street. She clutched her umbrella and marched on, determined to ignore him.

She heard the scramble, the gasping scream, and saw the shock in his eyes, as the manhole she had just crossed gave way under his weight.

She heard the gurgling of his suffocation in the sewer, saw the fear in his barely opening eyes, his desperate plea for help as she peeked into the gutter.

He saw her clutch her umbrella tighter, blow him a kiss, and march on, smiling.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

The Duel

She stared at me, her eyes moving slowly between mine and the weapon in my hand. Time had slowed to a standstill, and at that moment we both knew, only one of us will make it out alive. And I had no intention of leaving just that soon. From the corner of my eye, I saw her raise her hand slightly, but before she could rethink her action, with a swishing sound, I brought my right arm swinging down at her, and the impact resonated through the room.
Two screams sounded out, hers, of shock, mine, of disgust.

I dropped my weapon and ran out of the room, unable to look at my handiwork.

The next day, calmer, I came back, with reinforcement, but the body was nowhere to be found, only a damaged part left behind.

That’s when the real horror of the situation struck me.

Right now, at this very moment, there’s probably an injured angry tail-less lizard, biding her time, plotting revenge, and waiting for me.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

The Great Mysteries of the World

There are a lot of things I don’t understand. Now, I’m not a rocket scientist, a PhD or even the college topper. But frankly, I really think the below mentioned puzzles will leave even the best of them dumbfounded. At least for a few moments. I think.

The Bhaaiyyya Syndrome
Why do only Delhi girls say “Bhaaaiyyya” and not the Delhi boys? Or any other city girls? How did this syndrome selectively attack only one gender of a city and not the rest of the population? What weird gender and geography specific gene mutation is this?!

To Scratch or not to Scratch
On an average, you will find 63% of the men standing on the street scratching their balls. On an average you will find .02% of the women on the street scratching…well…anything. Of course these are random stats I just made up. But the fact of the matter is, we all sweat and we all get uncomfortable. Manners just skipped one gender somehow on this count.

The monthly Drug Dealer
Why, oh why, does a chemist wrap up sanitary napkins in that black polybag and slip it across conspirationally to you? Why must I feel like a drug dealer every time I ask for a pack of Whisper?! WHY is it that something that almost 50% of the world’s population goes through every month of the year has to be hidden and kept all secretive?! Why is the advertising so uncomfortable (Don't mind, lekin aapke peeche...)?! Why is it something to be hidden from the male gender and to be embarrassed about? What is the big deal?! Unless you’re one of those girls who pretends that every time she uses the loo it's just to finish her make up (because women are clearly too pretty and delicate to have any normal digestive functions), I ask, again, WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL?!

Har Haath Same Pose
Why Rahul Gandhi somehow never managed to find the time to give four different poses for his Outdoor campaign is a question I asked every bloody day while heading to office. EACH bill board shows his exact same photograph. The only change is the person standing next to him…the woman…the kisaan…the muslim...the worker (Cover all demographics. Brain wave wonly). And him. Same pose. They were even too lazy to invert the image and move him from left to right, you know, for the sake of breaking the monotony. I mean you know, obviously, it couldn’t have been rocket science. 

But, who would they have then managed to blame for not getting enough votes if the ad agency got everything right? But that’s besides the question. This blog is NOT a political forum. Otherwise I’d also be questioning the sanity of the 16 people who voted for amchi hari mirchi Rakhi Sawant.
Photo Courtesy: DNA

Bitch Please!
Girls are frankly the best friends you can ever have. They’re supportive, loving, caring, and really know how to make you feel better and get out of the dumps when it comes to guy issues in life. But it takes exactly a nano-second to turn them into the biggest bitches in the world. I am yet to meet a girl who is TRULY happy when her female friend lost weight / topped in an exam / got a promotion / went ga-ga over her wedding…anything where she was competing as well… There is a reason that female bosses are the worst...unless you’re a guy. Then, there’s hope. Maybe.

Why are some watsapp emoticons so damn confusing?! Like, why are there cats doing the exact same thing as the bald (humans?!)?? 

And what the hell is this?? 

And how does this not look like pink granny panties to anyone else?!?!
Seriously, isn't there a bum in there somewhere?!

The reason I know I'm not the only one finding them confusing is because a friend regularly sent an emoticon to her boyfriend when he was feeling low, thinking she’s gifting him virtual chocolates. “Awww…You’re sad…Here take this!”
Silver lining to his day, I tell you!

The Mind Numbing Delhi-Mumbai Debate
I don’t even care to recall the number of times I have been asked which city I prefer and why. And I definitely can’t understand people’s fascination with this topic. In the past 4 years of my life, I have tried every possible answer to the question, from the direct (Both are crap), to the diplomatic (Oh, both have their positives) to the topic-changer (Ooh, look, birdie!), but the one thing I’ve realized is, my answer DOESN’T MATTER. Because the only reason that question is ever asked, is for the questioner to give her / his view point about which city s/he likes better. What is amusing is that the majority of the times, the person asking the question is an incumbent of one of the two cities, and has never really lived away from home for a long period of time…ever. On what authority they form their opinions is beyond me. But what really really befuddles me is when a South Mumbai girl passes a snide remark about a South Delhi girl being rich and spoilt and stylish and vice versa. That’s the point when I want to take out a Hattori Hanzo, swish it through the air, and hope they see their reflection in the blade (and the fact that there is literally no difference between the two, and they’re as spoilt / rich / self-centered as the other, both go crazy over Zara, and neither can name all the stations in the local train line / metro) before their airy head goes flying off and hits the opposite wall.

Okay, so maybe I got a little carried away. And am quite sure I made a lot of HUGE presumptions and pissed off some people. But take it as the rant of a curiously confused mind. Like, these things can’t be mysteries to just me, right? Err. Right??

P.S. I grew up in South Delhi, have lived in Delhi and Mumbai, and have been known to apparently say Bhaaaaaiyaa at times.

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