Extremely Loud...

What do women really want? I'll be damned if I know! Arghh!

Woman In Progress...

In a world where more and more women are trying to be like a man, here I am, struggling to be more of a woman.

Living The Wrong Story...

There has been a battle going on inside me for years and I never realised, till now.


I still remember the summer holidays when mom took me along to her needlework/stitching class cause there was no one to take care of me at home. I played with the lady's daughter who was perhaps two years younger than me. I remember the flowery, dark leafed, perfumed garden and the corner under the guava trees where we sat and played house. We made tea that afternoon in little ceramic teapots and drank from little teacups. And I had never done that before. I never played "ghar-ghar" like all girls did. All sister's toys, dolls, were given away when we moved houses. When I finally met R and girls in 6th standard, I played with dolls for the first time. Being an asthmatic, I was never allowed to play like other kids, so I would end up spending all time alone, with my imaginary friends, talking to myself, reading, playing with trucks and lorries that dad would get, or fiddling in the kitchen and getting yelled at by mom.


I can't dance. And I am always wondering how dancing comes so effortlessly to most Indian women. So many women can dance so beautifully without ever having received any formal instruction. I realised why the other day while I was leading another girl in the Rumba class. I am not comfortable expressing myself. The "aada" that is such an instrinsic part of every Indian woman, it is so alien to me, it's there somewhere, just that I have never let it out. I have never allowed myself to feel womanly. Being the second daughter, I was raised like a boy. So while all girls played with dolls, I played with jeeps and trucks. While sister was flirting with guys in school, dad was teaching me how to repair a broken fuse. While all girlfriends danced on stage, I wasn't allowed to, so I stayed backstage and looked and wished I could dance like them.


Last year when I joined ballroom dance class, I hated it. I didn't realise what I was doing wrong but I was really bad at it. I would come home and write down steps in a notebook, 4-3-2-slow-1. Everytime I faltered, Shelly would say, "A, you dance well, but just feel the music, don't concentrate on the steps." I didn't understand what she meant. How could I not concentrate on steps? Wasn't that how you learnt to dance? But I see now what she meant. I am finally enjoying dance. I am finally letting myself go and feel. And I am loving it :)


Dance is such a direct extension of who you really are, it's an expression of your soul. You can't dance, if you aren't comfortable with yourself.

"Raat ko jab chaand chamake, jal uthhe tan meraa

mai kahoo mat kar o chandaa, is galee kaa feraa

aanaa moraa saiyaa jab aaye..."

I love this song. I love Waheeda Rehman. She has been my idol for so many years. She is my definition of a woman. Ins't she so lovely? So womanly, so graceful and so very beautiful! There are nicer songs featuring her, but I don't know why I love this song. Even when she's sad and yearning for her love, she's so beautiful and womanly, you can't take our eyes off her. You want to love her.


I think heartbreaks are good :) They serve as a good wake up call. Shake you up from my la-la land and force you to introspect and change and for good.


Sigh, I have such a long road ahead of me. 

I Would Like To Go Back To Venus, Please...

At 26, I finally realise that the joke is on us women. And I am not bitter about it. I find it funny instead. Funny and even relived that I am freed from all illusions (Okay, maybe not all, just this one then. And I am sure there will be many more such epiphanies and I hope by then I will have learnt not to hit myself on the head with the "Why" bat but till such time, this is the "Oh My Gut" revelation of my life).

So okay, if this is how it is meant to be, this is how we shall do it. Countless women have made peace with it and so who am I so special to fight it? Nobody. I have to make peace with it too. And I have.


But you know what gets my goat? Why for the love of kittens (lot of expletives) did no one tell us all this? Like seriously dude? You told us not to trim our own bangs and you think this would not be important life-changing information?


But that's how life is, no one tells you the important bit and you have to learn it the hard hard way. Like I always say, it is unfair that they don't hand us some sort of a guide when we land here on this planet. Gross gross injustice.


G, I am finding it all very comical. I know you don't and I just hope you get over all this. I hope one day we can sit in some fancy bar with our fancy cocktails (or plain old beers) and look back at all this and feel nothing but calm and maybe even manage a chuckle, who's to know darling? :) Maybe we will! And I hope it's all soon.

(And I so wish you were here. Miss you so very much and equally hate you for being so goddamn far!)


And yes, I know there are no handbooks and that we have mothers instead, but listen, which daughter listens to her own mother? Right? And I know it's a tad bit too late but I accept: Mothers are right. Every daughter should listen to her mother. Even at 26. Remind me that often now.



P.S: It should be noted that I was not cribbing throughout. I am sure you will agree. I was merely, what do they say? Oh yes! I was merely "stating facts". Okay, doll?

Where Did That Word Disappear?

Go on, I dare you. I can see you looking at me the way you are, just like that. What are you going to do with it then? Yes I’m challenging you; look at me standing here, I’m not budging, it’s your move. I’m an elven Liv Tyler steeling against a wraith—if you want me, you can come and claim me. I’m not even packing Hobbit over here, I’m just waiting casually for you to cross whatever obstacle you see in your path. See, I’m tired of touching your thigh just this way, or placing my hand over yours just so; I want you to romance me.

Now you know I’m not one for gender stereotypes, I’ve asked guys out in the past and I’ll do it again. I’ve paid for their drinks and their dinners and I don’t care. I’ve changed their light globes. I’ve been strong for them when they’ve been emotional. I don’t like it when people say women are so-and-so or men are so-and-so, but goddamn it I am tired of this realism. I don’t want to be politically correct any more, I just want you to romance me. I am empowered, educated, and aware, and now, just for a moment, I want to be the princess you think is worth slaying dragons over.

I want you, once you’re done awkwardly avoiding catching my eye, once you’re done pretending you don’t notice me, once you’re done with insecurely waiting for me to make the first move, to ask me out. I don’t want you to text me or email me. I want you to say it to my face. I want you say it in a moment that will catch me completely off guard, and I want you to stumble over your words and I want you to blush, and I want to do the exact same as I accept.

Or you could just skip all the formalities and just kiss me. When we’re laughing the way we do, you should just kiss me. It doesn’t need to be in the rain or with fireworks exploding in the background. It can be at the bar or in a crowded street or anywhere, I don’t care—just kiss me you fool. And let’s both be gleefully embarrassed afterwards and hold hands in silence for a moment while we both digest the euphoria of our first kiss.

I want you to not let anything stand in your way. I want you to come for me, to sweep me off my feet with a simple look. I want you to want me in this grand, clichéd way, but without doing any of those grand cliché things. We can just watch a movie and drink some wine, as long as you let me snuggle into your side while we do it. And then, because you listen to me when we’re talking and you’re getting to know me so well, I want you to let me have the last slice of pizza, or the last bite of cake (but I’ll insist that we share it anyway, because I’ll know you are romancing me).

You should be impulsive when you’re romancing me. You shouldn’t wait the requisite 3 days to call or text me, you should just do it when it hits you. When your desire for me, to see me, to smell me, to hear my voice is so compelling there’s nothing else for you to do. I want you to be constantly thinking about me, and to do innocuous little things that to me, are loaded with meaning because they reflect the ways in which you are learning me. I want you to be reckless and passionate and I want you to let me be reckless and passionate too. I want you to disengage your baggage for me, and I want you to romance me like you’ve never romanced before.

And when you’re romancing me, I want you to challenge me and argue with me about my opinions. I want you to romance me in this dangerous haphazard way which screams of imperfection—which makes everything all the more romantic, because it’s so wildly flawed, and present and LOUD. I want you to look at me like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen when I’m at my worst, and I want you to embrace all the sides of me as you get to know them, as part of some ineffable creature you can’t untangle. I want you to romance me because when you think about it, you really can’t see any other way.

From, Thought Catalog.

Broken Women...

Is buying sex a better way to help Cambodian women than buying a T-shirt?

Read the comments too.

What's the way out?

Unbuttoned & Attentive Red Lips...

Throughout history, women have been depicted in great works of art. There’s the Venus de Milo, Mona Lisa, Virgin Mary and even the Statue of Liberty. One thing they had in common: They were all the vision of perfection through the eyes of a man. “Society has a problem with female nudity when it is not . . . ”—Badu pauses to get her words together; she wants this point to be very clear—“. . . when it is not packaged for the consumption of male entertainment. Then it becomes confusing.”

(Source)

True enough, womanly beauty has always been depicted and painted and poetised and talked about in terms that would appeal to men. You'll argue that beauty's whole purpose is to appeal to and attract the opposite sex, for a whole lot of evolutionary reasons. And fine, I understand the whole science behind "attraction". But we have been so brainwashed by what "men" find attractive in women, that we, women, have forgotten what we find attractive in us. We have come to see woman's beauty only through the male perspective. We don't understand beauty any way else. And everything from hair shampoo to foot crack cream is sold with a promise that it would make us women beautiful to men.


Ask me and I would talk about a woman's slender neck. Those delicate shoulders, those striking collarbones, the hollows at the base of her throat, the foot arch. I love curvy feet or then shapely calves or even a beautiful navel.


Why aren't there any women artists, women poets, women writers, women sculptors showing us what feminine beauty means to them? Has no one ever found it necessary to find out what women find beautiful about themselves?


Is a woman beautiful only if men find her beautiful?

The Unkindly Ones...

I have read and heard about the hijra community before. The book Beautiful Thing talks about it in quite a detail. But today I read this, and I wondered about the human struggle to be something else...

It seems that, most of us, are fighting to be something else. Struggling to be someone else. There are people like Mona, born male, but wanting to be female. There are females, who don manly clothes, walk with a swagger and expect the world to look at them with fear. And then there are people like you and me, comfortable in our maleness and femaleness, but still struggling to free ourselves. Still fighting with ourselves, with our families, with the society.

And while the hijras need a sex-change to be what they want to be, it's never too late for us to drop the past baggage and be what we want to be.

Everyone has a chance to be what they wish to be.

I need to remember that often. 

The 7-Year Itch...

A friend recently broke up with his 7 year old gf, who's also my good friend. Two of my best friends are unsure about marriage, after being together for 7 years (You know who you are :)). Another couple I know split up after 7 years. I am sure there are many more such couples, who have decided not to tie the knot with their long term partners. I am trying hard not to be judgmental here, cause in all cases, the people involved are dear friends and I know they are smart and good-hearted people.


And yet, I don't understand the math here. If I was with a guy for 7 years, I'd be damn sure about wanting to spend the rest of my life with him. 7 years is just too much time wasted in deciding, too much invested with no returns. Let's accept it, a relationship demands a lot of you, emotionally, mentally, financially and physically. Quitting after 7 years, is like bad math to me.


I know H is assailed with guilt and remorse, he knows he has betrayed N, the girl who's now coping with no job and no love, but he still took the decision he did. Same with all of them.


I wanted to slap H and put some sense in his head. What has N not done for him? It was for anyone to see how much that girl loved him, and he is a fool to let go of someone who has put up with so much for him for the last 7 years. What's wrong with him I asked him. He said he's confused. That was like a joke to me. How can anyone be confused after 7 years of dating is beyond me. I don't understand it. I really don't.


It's not like they found someone else, it's not like they have suddenly changed, it's not even that they don't like each other any more...but still...baffles me.



At 27, our parents had built a fortune already, had a family with two kids, and were already saving up for their retirement.


What are we doing today?


Somewhere I think it is the "Hey, I can do better than this. I can get a better girl/guy", thinking that's causing these people to split up.


With the world becoming smaller each day, with easy access to grooming, with easy money, it is easy to find a mate. Or that's what these people think. I have done that and I can tell you that it is a very potent argument and it's not so easy to brush it off.


It's easy to imagine that perhaps your soul-mate is somewhere else, maybe sitting at that cafe, maybe you'll bump into him at your friend's birthday party, maybe you'll meet her in MBA school, or maybe just maybe, you think, your parents will be able to find you a better one. Perhaps a hotter girl or perhaps a richer guy. The unknown will always be desirable. After 7 years, the temptation to explore will be strong.


I don't know who is right and who is not. But all I have to say is this: You might find a hotter girl, you might find a richer guy, but finding good, honest-to-god love? It comes rarely. Don't let people who love you walk out of your life.

Deep Crust...

"The enemy of a love is never outside, it's not a man or a woman, it's what we lack in ourselves."— Anaïs Nin

*****
And when will women realise that her biggest enemy is not man, or any institution, but woman herself?

A Private Message...

Friend: Welcome to the quarter life crisis.

Me: Damn, it's so fucked up.

Friend: This makes me immensely happy that u feel the same way and it totally is. But it is true, perspectives change so much these days...that I sometimes don't really know what do I believe in, again the whole discovery of the self...I'm so tired and exhausted...

Me: Yep, it's like you handle one thing, one emotion, one thought, you deal with it and you stow it away and there again, pops another one and you're back to staring at a stranger in the mirror.

Friend: Yea, such is life...I guess...

*****

And so these days I spend most of my time acquainting myself with my new thoughts.

Age, again, yes. A recent shocking one I found is this:

I remember there was a time when I would see nothing wrong with a man who "experimented" a lot. While I did not particularly like such a man, I thought, well, so what? His life. I never judged him. His this aspect never interfered with my dealings with such an individual.


These days, however, I find myself repulsed by the very idea of such a man or woman. For whom women/men are nothing but a notch on their respective bedpost. Who see nothing wrong in jumping from one to another. A new attraction every day.


Earlier, I could separate their such private behaviour, seeing it as just one part, unsavoury, but isolable aspect of their whole personality; even making allowances by saying to each its own. But these days, I find it increasingly difficult to like or trust such people, no matter how they are with others. No matter how truthful and loyal they are toward their loved ones. No matter how they conduct themselves in other areas of their life. I am finding it very difficult to talk to such men and women and not feel disgust.


And I am, not liking such prejudice on my part. I am hating it in fact. 

Burn Those Skirts?

Some years back when I was travelling on an international flight, I was harassed by an Arab guy. When I told my friends about the incident, everyone asked me why I didn't complain to the air hostess right that minute when it happened. It might not sound like a very intelligent answer, but I was petrified. I was so shocked I could not open my mouth. I had to cry to get out of the shock once we landed and I knew I was safe in the women's loo. In hindsight yes, I should have complained. Even later when the flight had landed. But you really can't be prepared for such incidents.


Back then when I told this to S, he first got angry at me(for not complaining, no words of sympathy there) and then he asked me what I was wearing(I was wearing a rather boring black jacket over a black spaghetti top with blue jeans and pumps. Nothing too sexy). Funny thing, which I now realise, none of my girl friends asked me what I was wearing. But a guy did ask.


For those who didn't know, there was a slut walk held in Canada on April 3rd. Here's the link.

Demonstrators take part in the "Slutwalk" protest in Toronto, Sunday April 3, 2011. Protesters hit the streets to protest against rape and sexual crimes in response to Toronto Police Const. Michael Sanguinetti, quoted as saying "Women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized."

The recent rapes in Delhi, the slut walk, and a recent conversation with a friend, reminded me of that incident on the plane. One does not necessarily have to be dressed provocatively to be molested. In a sexually charged situation, a man will jump on any woman, even a woman covered from head to toe. Or like A would say, even a man wearing a kilt with a cat. But time and again we keep hearing the same thing: dress properly, dress properly, dress properly. And I am forced to wonder, what does "dress properly" really mean?


I have thought a lot about this topic, dressing, cause it's a topic close to my heart. I love clothes. I love dressing up, always have. And when I have to think 10 times before deciding what to wear, I hate it.


Now I am an advocate of free will. Do what pleases you, as long as your choices do not harm anyone else, in any fashion. So, if some girl out there wants to dress up like a slut, by all means, she has the right to. It's her life after all, and no one should object to her choice.

But here's the thing, what do all those rights and all that freedom really amount to? I have realised, nothing.

As a 21 year old, I would have angrily told you to back off and not interfere in my life had you told me what to wear and not (which is why I never shop with guys). But as a 26 year old, and I hate that it should be this way, I understand that one can not always do as one pleases, even if one's choices do not directly affect another being. Sad huh?

One does not have to be as dramatic as this book suggests, but a woman, like it not, has to come to terms with the fact that:

"[..] a woman’s presence expresses her own attitude to herself, and defines what can and cannot be done to her."


As a woman you have to understand and realise that ultimately you and only you are in the end responsible for everything that happens to you. So if you want to wear that mini skirt, understand the responsibility you owe to yourself and realise the danger it could pose to your life, and then take the decision.


It might seem that by saying women are entirely responsible for their own safety, I am letting men off the hook. Which is not the case at all. No man, even your own husband, has the right to touch you without your explicit permission, no matter if you are sober or drunk, no matter if you are covered in a burqa or naked. But, can we really control anyone's actions and reactions? Nope. So what do we women do? We learn to assess risks and dress accordingly. In short, "dress properly." If you're going to a party with close friends to safe place, you can take that sexy number out of the closet, but you know you can not dress provocatively in a bad neighbourhood.


It is sad that even in civilized societies, supposedly safe environments like your own home, women are not safe. In an ideal world, a question like, "what to wear", would probably never arise. But lately, I have realised, that we might live in a free world but there are still invisible boundaries that we can not cross without getting hurt. So don't burn those skirts, but definitely throw away those quixotic glasses. 

Blame It All On Oxytocin...

Love is indeed a many-splendored thing, but sometimes we all need to tie ourselves to the mast.

Whoa!!! Wait a minute, so according to this article, it is possible to fall in love with anyone with a help of a little squirt of Oxytocin? And it's also, therefore, possible to move on and not mope over a failed relationship, with the help of a drug that reverses the Oxytocin effect?

I am on the fence about the use of such a drug, ofcourse, cause it's not natural. Though, looks like, it won't be too far in the future when use of such drugs would be commonplace. What about all that romance and poetry then? Useless?

Link to the research quoted in the article above.

Also, interesting idea by Larry Young on why men love boobs. From Freudian, evolutionary, reproductive to now bonding eh? :)

Looks like, foreplay is the word :)

What's In My HandBag...

Every time I meet a new guy, he wants to know what I carry in my handbag. To be fair, I do carry a huge hand bag. A guy once told me I looked ready to go on a vacation with my handbag. It almost looked as big as a suitcase(to him). Another one told me I'd never need anything if I got lost on some Island, cause I'd be carrying everything in my tote. I ofcourse don't agree, but here are the contents of my bag:

(Ofcourse I am bored.)

1) iPod

2) Mobile

3) House keys

4) Sunglasses

5) A Scarf/Stole

6) Pens (Cause I can never find one when I need it. So I carry many pens)

7) Lots of random receipts

8) A notepad

9) Some scrunchies (Cause, again,I can never find one when I need one)

10) Red wallet (wallets to me should always be red) and some spare change (2 and 5 rupees coins)

11) A pink coloured comb (which I stole from Apeksha in college)

12) Tissues

13) And now to the real maal: A bottle of hand disinfectant

14) Fab India's Honey and Frankincense face wash

15) Neutrogena's Ultra Sheer Sunblock (SPF 50)

16) Fab India's Tea Tree face wash (cause I get bored of the same face wash)

17) Nike's Deo

18) Bath & Body Works Cherry Blossom Body Splash

19) Bath & Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom body lotion (with VitaminE and Jojoba and shea butter)

20) Fab India's Bitter Orange Facial spray (When I need to look all fresh and dewy (Atleast I try!))

21) The Body Shop's Cocoa Butter for hands (I hate having dry rough hands)

23) Toothbrush (In case I puke or have something stuck in my teeth and I suddenly find myself face to face with the man of my dreams. I need a clean mouth to kiss dude!)

24) My makeup pouch (which was bought from Bhutan. Love it :)) with following contents:
    a) Fab India's Plum Passion Lip Butter
    b) A lovely pocket mirror bought from UK
    c) Avon Lip gloss gifted by sister
    d) Maybelline's Moisture Extreme Lipstick(Chestnut #917) My faithful lipstick!
     Muaah!
    e) Elizabeth Arden's Ceramide Plump Perfect lipstick (Perfect Brick #02)
    f) L'Oréal's True Match foundation
    g) Chambor's black eyeliner pencil
    h) Chambor's dark green eyeliner pencil
    i) Chambor's grey shimmery eyeliner pencil
    j) Chambor's midnight blue eyeliner pencil
    k) Avon's khol pencil gifted by mom's friend
    l) Chambor's curl plus length black mascara
    m) L'Oréal's Blush Minerals
    n) VOV's eyeshadow box with 15 yummy shades (Thanks to PJ)
    o) Faithful Tweezer
    p) Climskin gel for acne
    q) Pink, Yellow and Purple hair clips
    r) Pair of earrings
    s) A little tiny nail cutter and nail filer
    t) Fab India's Almond oil

25) And ofcourse the latest book I am reading :)

I don't think I'd survive on an island. I would need to carry a hot yummy man in my bag for that. Not possible now, no?

Why do I have a feeling I am missing something? Oh right, my mobile charger! :|

Right, so that's it. What's in yours?

We Are Here For A Reason...And It's Not Fun...

Having the nephew for 1 whole month has been quite a revelation, to put it mildly. Now that that one month is coming to an end, I can pretty much boast of being semi-qualified as a mother.

For the one whole month sister was here, she was on vacation (meaning she got to sleep for 5 hours at a stretch, poor thing), so it was all left to Dad and me to take care of the nephew. Nephew didn't take to mum a lot, so he pretty much stuck to dad's side or then mine.


So my repertoire includes bathing an one year old, feeding him, clothing him, changing his diapers, keeping him entertained for hours and though it still requires monumental effort to control my shrieks every time I feel something warm running down my legs, I am now also okay with things like baby pee and baby poop without puking. What else? I can even sing lullabies and put a kid to bed. Nice? Eh? And all this without having ever touched or even looked at a kid before. Would it be bragging if I said I was awesome?

No, right? I know, honestly, I deserve a medal!

(Which was duly gifted by sister in the form of payals. And I love them! I almost want to grab the first guy I see on the street and show him how beautiful and feminine my feet look with those colourful anklets and then feel all happy)


Moving on, I am also fully qualified as a hostess. I must have entertained atleast 5 dozen guests in the last one month whilst taking care of the nephew(Clearly, we are not a very sociable family). How awesome can I get? They should like make a new award for women like me!


But I hated every minute of it. Like really, now I know why women want to marry only rich men. Cause rich men can employ two dozen servants at home for all this entertaining business. All the hostess has to do is dress up and sit nicely and smile prettily at the guests and say, "ramu, memsaheb ke liye woh sherbet lana, aur baby ke liye woh lichee ice cream lana", and afterwards, when the party is over, all she has to do is remove the heavy jewellery and remove the pins from her hair and sigh wearily at her husband, who's rich remember?, and tell him how tiring all of it was and Mrs. Snooty-ass definitely wore a prettier diamond necklace. Like really, there's no cooking and washing plates in her life. I want to be a memsaheb too!


No surprise then, I have just postponed marriage by another 5 years and don't plan to have a kid. Unless someone pays me a few hundred lakhs to have a kid (which ain't happening).

Err, yes.

I cried the first day the nephew was here. Now, I am a very private person. I need my "me" time. I need loads of alone time. Which was like zero when the nephew was here. Usually, frustration comes out in two forms: loud, peppered with swear words yelling or then muffled sobs. Since the loud yelling would have woken up the nephew, I had to settle with the sobs. The first day I had to deal with a kid, it freaked me. I am, even now, after one month, can-pee-in-my-pants scared.

Motherhood is not easy.

Let me say it again, motherhood, is not easy. 

I said semi-qualified, cause motherhood is more than bathing and feeding a kid. It requires a whole different sort of sacrifice. A whole lot of patience. All women with kids are not mothers, some are just child bearers. It takes something much more to be a mother. You need true whole genuine love in your heart to be a good mother. Every woman should be scared of being a mother, cause it's a tough job. No demand is exaggerated, no sacrifice too big. Motherhood is not all toys and rainbows. At times you'll want to hate your own kid, but you can not. You can not disown your kid, or give him away one day you're tired and frustrated and under-slept and underfed and on saline cause you're so weak or even dying the very next day. You have to count to10, take a deep breath and paste a smile on your face and tell your kid something funny.


Married couples, please please spend atleast minimum two years with each other. Do not, really, do not rush to have kids. Your whole life, as you know it, will change once you have a kid. It will never be the same again, ever. Even after they, your kids, graduate from high school.


Enjoy your precious independent days. Stop hankering after marriage, those who are single. You know how you plan your day without a single thought for anyone else? That? That is gold. That freedom. Treasure it. Love it. Respect it. You'll miss it so much once you have a kid, but it'll never come back no matter how many times you say you miss your single days.


Having a kid means timing your loo breaks, means forgetting the idea of a full meal, means thinking atleast 10 times before going downstairs even, means thanking your stars if you get to sleep for 3 hours at stretch one fine day, means celebrating with canned juice if your kid sleeps without crying for one whole hour first, having a kid means no time for exercise, no time for looking good, being cut from the entire world, means no alone time ever with your spouse, and definitely, forget anything about sex once you have a kid. For one, your bodies, women, will be your worst nightmare. But you'll accept it anyway, cause every time you want to curse having a kid, you'll look at your baby looking at you with eyes full of hope and innocence and then she'll/he'll flash you her/his best smile and you'll say, its okay, I don't mind it, it gave me you. But yes, any man who sleeps with you post baby, tie him to your bed and never let him go, ever. And two, if you ever get any time, even like 20 mins alone, sleep! You can never bet when you'll get 20 whole uninterrupted minutes to sleep again.

Sex? Forget it.

Alrighty, I am off to make some watermelon juice for the nephew then. 

Little People, Big Horrors....

It's been almost 10 days since the nephew came to India, and I have come to understand three universal truths about having kids. I shall write a whole big post later, when I get some time, but for now, pay attention:


Realization# 1: Forgot all about yourself once you have a kid. In short, your freedom is fucked.

Realization# 2: For a cleanliness and neatness freak like me, having a kid around is like my worst nightmare come true. Either have two dozen servants at hand to clean and mop constantly, do it yourself and die of exhaustion or then close your eyes and learn to enjoy living in something like a pigsty.

Realization# 3: Women, oh dear women, your beautiful divine body, it will resemble something close to a overstuffed potato sack after having a baby. And that'll be the least of your worries. Unless ofcourse you're Victoria Beckham. In which case, you can go sip a martini and worry about your $20,000 manicure.


Nature, you are most biased toward men. 

A Woman...

I immediately took to her. We met at the airport. She had come along with the bride's brother to pick me up. We said our hellos and me, like always, the curious cat, asked her a 100 questions. But she had me at the first one itself. There was just something so calming about her. Confidence and self-assuredness almost radiated from her. She was my exact opposite. While I am perpetually confused, she seemed calm and composed. Like she knew where she was heading and she was prepared. She didn't have an identity crisis like I do. She knew herself, and that self-awareness reflected in everything she did.


She was beautiful, not in the classical sense, but to me she was beautiful. Wholesome. She looked best in a Saree. When you look at me, you don't think woman, maybe the word girl comes to your mind. But there was something so womanly about her. Graceful. Her thick arms, you could cry in the circle of her arms and she would build a warm wall of love around you. She could envelope you in her bosom and you'd feel safe. You could imagine a kid straddled on her ample hips playing with her hair. You could imagine her with a brood of 6, calmly feeding them and then happily playing with them. She wasn't dainty, fragile, easily breakable. She was strong, wall-like, you could depend on her. While even a slight breeze could blow me away, she looked like the anchor you could hold onto. Flustered. Yes, that's the word. While I am, often, flustered, she was the kind who could stare in the face of a storm and then turn and look at you and tell you in a very sober voice to run, run for your life.


There was an openness about her that I so envied. I might walk like I was going to a war, armed, my face closed, betraying any emotion, but she? She looked like she was walking in her own garden, maybe out to fetch some fresh tomatoes. Always so uninhibited. Like she had a protective shield around her that would prevent any harm from coming near her. I would seek her out in crowds, wanting to be close to that protective shield. She told me she was getting married in two months time, and I envied the guy who would have her as his life partner.


If I was a guy, I thought, this is the kind of woman I would want to spend the rest of my life with. 

Reason Not To Kill Yourself...

This must sound mean, but heck! Kate Moss has got cellulite! That gives me the license to be imperfect.

Tall Shoes...

Real men don't need to bash/belittle other men to look good in front of the women.

Powerful...

Proud to be a woman :)