Category Archives: Experiences

Mithi…

….is the name of the four year old girl I met at my dadu’s place last evening. She has a dimpled smile and a cute bob of hair. Her eyes lit up the moment she spotted the bottle of Mirinda in my hands. She pulled me by the hand into the room on the bed which also doubled up as her ship. She was the sailor and I was a fish she’d caught and was planning to cut me up into little pieces to make maachher jhol (fish curry) and feed to her little children. I tried to look suitably enthusiastic about being cooked alive in a pot but then, the little doll that she is, she suddenly decided that she likes me and thus would not subject me to such gruesome torture. She even went on to show her affection by pinching my cheeks and kissing lightly on them and also blowing me little kisses every now and then.

When she was denied a sip of Mirinda (because it is for “elders and Mithi you’re still small”) she stole a few sips from my glass and planted another noisy kiss of her Mirinda-laced lips. Then we went on to defeat Bhooter Raja (King of Ghosts) and rescue the princess who was her daughter and my sister (which made her my mother though I clearly remember that we started off the game with her telling me that I am her father. Not important. Move on.)

She has an extraordinary imagination and memory. She paints the sky pink on her drawing book because she remembers that one day her mother had taken her to the roof during sunset and she saw the sky with brilliant streaks of pink and not blue. Though her mother frets and her kindergarten drawing teacher does all she can to explain to her that the sky is blue and not pink, she squeals in delight every time she finishes drawing a picture of a hut with green fields, a solitary smiling cow grazing on them and a smiling sun setting in a pink sky. She is obsessed with smiling faces and pouts a little when she is scolded but you pat her head once and she will lean against you with her eyes closed and smile as you continue patting her.

When I was about to leave she asked me repeatedly “abar ashbe toh?” (You will come again, won’t you?) and it just broke my heart when I realized that it was in all probability the first and the last time I am meeting this pint-sized powerhouse of fantastic imagination with the sunniest disposition I have seen in a long time. It is so unfair. We meet someone for the first time, like him/her immensely and before we can make some more happy memories with that person, we have to bid goodbye and never come back. She has about 50 imaginary friends with magical powers and who are far more interesting than me in her make-believe world and in all probability will not even remember me when if we meet again.

Also today I was in the roof when I saw the sun set and the sky painted a brilliant shade of pink. Boy! That kid does have a point. Why are elders such idiots?

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I *clearly* screwed up my karma, didn’t I?

Okay so a new name gets added to the surprisingly short list of people who will eventually/are trying to get me killed/do it themselves. It is my yoga instructor who will henceforth be referred to as SD and only SD in this blog (and that’s because past week’s experiences have kind of convinced me that taking/writing her name is a bad omen. This blog might just turn into the online version of Tom Riddle’s diary and suck me in to do unspeakably horrible things to me. Or worse, it might just add 10 extra pounds to my body, fail the entire exercise of making daily trips to the yoga classes, enduring the aforementioned yoga instructor and whatever it is that she does to people to no end. You get the drift right, what it might do? The name-taking, not the blog that is.)

For starters I think she is just one lab accident away from being a supervillain. No I don’t think so. I know for sure. She wears a purple yoga instructor’s uniform (whatever that is, don’t fact-check please) and if you haven’t been living under a rock for the past 10 years , then the very pointed reference to the color of her robe will clear all your doubts about what I meant when I said ‘supervillain’. She has long nails, long unsexy nails making her vise-like grip bring tears to your eyes (as it is you are two minutes away from openly weeping because your legs hurt as if they have been run over repeatedly by a bulldozer driven by a meth-addict driver). And to make things worse, she is blissfully oblivious to the fact the nails are hurting me. She grips my hands and goes “easy, easy, there it is, you’re doing great, now easy, easy, get this inside your head that it is not difficult, it is very easy…” while the only sentence with the word ‘easy’ in my head is ‘ how to find an easy way to kill this woman and make it look like an accident?’.

Then comes the early morning ritual where she tries to convince me that I am misguided and the leg exercises are important for me while all I do is tell her, not so politely and definitely not subtly that the leg exercises are designed to kill me. If I ever get to be the commander of a concentration camp where I can sit and devise new schemes to torture my least favorite people in the world, I am going to put leg exercises in the top five of the list of tortures. (I do not tell her that. I know better than to push all the buttons of a…well, whatever it is that she is.). But because my parents are paying a lot of money to these classes and their idea of fun is to watch their daughter getting taken apart daily by a pro (and one day I swear I feel it’s going to be literal.), I have to pretend that I am psyched about these exercises and play along. So every morning I have to undergo a period of excruciating pain while the woman keeps on assuring me that these exercises work like magic and very soon I will have be thin and gorgeous. (Yes assuming that I am still alive after the sessions. And she doesn’t really say ‘thin and gorgeous’. These words just don’t come out of her forked tongue fanged mouth. All she says (and it doesn’t help) is ‘healthy and proper’ like my 50-something prissy old aunt. Two of a kind eh? )

Adding to an already difficult situation is the fact is that she is irony impaired. No I mean it. Her sense of humor is so bad that it can be the standard against which all badness is measured. So when I tell her jokingly that these exercises won’t come to any use because I have a feeling that I might not live through them, she purses her lips and tries really hard not to sulk or tell me off. (Also it wasn’t a joke. It was a statement made in such utmost seriousness that I can bet my life on it.) I guess she is a creature of habit- I mean if for twenty years if you have been teaching yoga to old, grumpy women in their mid-fifties with no discernible sense of humor and suddenly a young and fat little jackass trying to be funny but really is in great deal of pain young woman in her twenties starts smiling and joking in class, it does throws you off balance a little bit, doesn’t it?

And in the end she chants some weird words when she puts me to sleep during shabashan (Yes the ashana where you finally get to sprawl down on the mattress spread-eagled and pant like a dog running the marathon and wonder whether your life has finally reached its inevitable end.) her.chant.is.so.CREEPY. She goes like “relax your toes, relax your muscles, relax your shoulders….” And drones on and on while I wonder if she is using some spell on me to just put an end to her daily morning ordeals of dealing with a slightly headstrong, a little spoilt, majorly sleepy and grumpy something I call ‘me’! J

Now, that I have given all of you a sneak peek into my little slice of hell, how about some suggestions as to how to get rid of this woman without the needle of suspicion pointing at me get along with her?  No, getting a new instructor is not an option (she seems to have made quite a name for herself as a yoga instructor and my mother specifically asked for her.) and getting her killed now will do no good to my waistline either. And the next person (after D) who calls me a complaining whiner and asks me to mellow down because I am the one who needs her and not the other way round is going to get dismembered. I need people on my team, not people to judge me and make me feel like a juvenile idiot. (That’s my mother’s job okay?).


Life (or the lack thereof) as it is now.

So I clearly have the attention span of a two year old poodle. Because after two hours of psychotic rant from Y about how googling ex-es and old crushes past 12 am is a bad bad idea and nodding my head vigorously and hanging on every word she said like my life depended on it, the first thing that I did when it struck midnight was, well, you know what right?

So I looked up old crush from the first year in college who left in the beginning of the second year and moved right back to his home town leaving a bullet hole in my heart. Okay that is a solid amount of totally pointless exaggeration. But hey! the guy was tall, funny, cute, super intelligent, street smart, with a cute wild mop of hair, a sense of humor to kill for, an enviable stock of jokes that were so spot on that you’d be wondering if you’re a part of a well choreographed play; he played the blues, was and is a wonderful singer, an avid reader, with a mind-boggling fund of superhero and comics trivia, easy-going and not lame. And I was only 19! (at this point while writing, I took a break and smiled like an idiot before the father caught me at it.) 😛

When the guy was around, all I did was take a leaf out of Bridget’s book, or rather, diary and be like the Ice Queen, all aloof and oblivious to his presence, openly gushing about random wannabes and the kind of guys that make me want to run now. (Dear D, if you’re reading this, remember I don’t need you to take pot shots at me by reminding that all kinds make me want to run now.) and well pretending that his presence didn’t make much difference to me. (Go ahead, mock me now.). And because this is real life, reality came to bite me in the rear to remind me that in real life, it’s the gorgeous, rich, tall, waif-thin, supposedly deep and philosophical, obnoxious high school head cheerleader type ‘It girl’ friend who takes the cake; the pathetic, fat, pimply, hopelessly out-of-shape, whiney little pinhead who seriously needs to work on her communications skills, blushes furiously every time she sees him and refuses to have a decent conversation with him because she is horribly nervous and is desperately trying to play it cool doesn’t stand a chance. And she didn’t. I mean I wouldn’t have dated myself if I were someone else. That’s pretty much it. Or I thought so. 😐

So I looked him up and guess what? He is still awesome and funny and has grown cuter and everything. If this were a book, I’d have been thin and gorgeous and had a kickass job. But because it is not and because karma comes to kick your ass while you are picturing yourself meeting old crush and being awesome and letting yourself be wooed by him and rubbing aforementioned It girl’s face in it, you are still fat and dumb and broke and living off your parents and completely inured to the way things are. You are the ‘ugly’ Ugly Betty, for good, with no hope for redemption. Cleaver type men will never pay attention to you. It is only a matter of time now before you shave your head and join a monastery.

In retrospect, life isn’t that bad really. It’s just fun to complain I know. 😛 For instance, I am comfortable with the place where I am in now. In a few months to come, I will be moving out-a change of scene will do me heaps of good. I am single and whine about it but I wouldn’t trade my freedom for even Bruce Wayne at the moment. (I will sneak out at night for a rendezvous, yes. What the heck?! It’s Bruce Wayne!!! 😐 ). I am not getting laid any time soon and people keep on reminding me that everyone, from the biggest slut to the biggest prude around me is doing it and I need to find out where I figure between the two and that the longer you go without sex, the bitchier you get. But that’s okay. (and yes D, I can hear you saying “and you still wonder why people thing you’re a robot?”).

So my point in this extremely random pointless post is that even though I struck out with this guy (now this is technically wrong. I never did ask him out or anything.), does this make me a lost cause? Well, there are several schools of thoughts on that, but I’d go with NO! It doesn’t. I am good. I am awesome. I have my moments of utter confusion which sometimes render me a little low on confidence. But then I am also known to be annoyingly optimistic and get back on track and keep being awesome. My life’s good. Great actually. 🙂 I will stumble back and forth between confusion, abject failure and dejection from time to time but then who doesn’t? Make good use of time allotted to you on this earth, that’s the gyaan I am going to impart to all who have endured this post so far. I mean, there is no such thing called the ‘wrong side’ of any age, right?

Think about it. Even when you hit rock bottom and imagine that you have no prospects and you have already experienced every piece of crap life can possibly throw at you, you need to get on with your life right? There is always a chance to start over (and you can always sit atop a rock and compare your life with that of the most disturbingly deranged damaged person you know and you will always have a whole new outlook on life, a happier and more optimistic one.) I mean, you just need to figure out who you are and what you want from life and how to use your time to, well, make the most of it. And you don’t know what lies in store for you. I mean one day, say some 15 years later, when I finally manage to lose weight and not look like a demon from a cheap B-grade mythological show, I might meet this guy in all my newfound awesome glory and well, you know. (Okay when I say that I know a thing or two about this sort of gyaan,  please note that I am lying.  This is all I got.)

Does this mean I am completely over him and given a chance, wouldn’t do over first year again? ‘No’ to the first question and ‘I don’t know’ to the second. I don’t know if I want to go back to being a silly, juvenile, horribly cheesy, annoyingly geeky and vulnerable 19 year old again just for the sake of experiencing the crush all over again. But I don’t know if I want my present self to get a time machine and make a trip to 2007 and re-live it; I might see the guy in a whole new light and not crush on him at all and that would be really sad. Crushes are inconvenient, time-consuming and pathetic; but they do make you feel younger J.

Root of my insomnia is psychological, yes. I think looking up old crushes past midnight might have something to do with it. Screw you Google.

P.S:  Ice queen. – Aloof. Unavailable? yes. also add ‘recipe for disaster in potential relationships’ to it.


Okay so..

1> Sadomasochistic friend and her equally sadomasochistic boyfriend were *this* close to killing each other, but they stopped before reason had completely abandoned them. Went for counseling and they’re doing good. Which means I (hopefully) no longer have to stay up late, waiting for a call that will say one of them has been shot by the other and have a mini heart attack.

2>  I. don’t. like. An’s. new. girlfriend. And obviously he can’t take a hint. Even after I gave him subtle indicators like ‘I don’t like your girl.’. What is wrong with her? Well everyone has a different theory but I’d go with-she is meek but unpleasantly obstinate (and why is that meek people are usually obstinate?) she complains in a really loud voice; she is a sore loser but an unpleasant winner (one precious afternoon of Uno which ended with all of us being exasperated beyond politeness and which I will live to regret) and she wears Hello Kitty hairpins. What?! People have been hated for less. Okay so I know love is blind and this self-induced blindness is part of the deal, yes. But who said love is brain dead too?

3>  The best friend got a kickass job that’s paying her the kind of money that makes me want to shoot her boyfriend and marry her. I think I will learn how to cook, do her laundry and stuff. I am anyway this super broke woman living off her parents and rich friends. So why not make this a permanent solution? Of course, housekeeping and socializing aren’t my strongest suits and faking servility, even when I should, doesn’t come to me naturally. But what the heck?

4>  R sometimes forgets that he doesn’t have many friends so he really can’t afford to be rude or unpleasant to the handful he has. I wonder how he made friends in the first place. (I , for one, only wanted to play Mafia II on his XBox and had an enormous crush on his brother.) Agreed that he has no measurable sense of humor, he feeds on screwing with people, he is an amoeba with an obnoxious attitude that guarantees lifelong sexual elimination and we all tell him, not so subtly or politely that he is one of nature’s biggest mistakes, but his heart is surprisingly in the right place. So we keep on reminding him that he needs to work on his social skills or otherwise we won’t want him in our zip codes anymore and will only turn up at his funeral to make sure that he is dead. (*This* wasn’t drama. )

5> I had a ball of a time insulting D’s ex in a public forum after she had humiliated him and the guy plain chickened out when we asked him to get back at her. I am not too good at being nice to people when I actually hate their guts. So one fine evening, I went WHAM and took her apart like a pro (I also suck at displaying any semblance of humility :|. But I am good, really.). Then we spent an hour or so explaining to the guy why it is important to be nice but also sometimes equally important to be ‘not’ nice and get mad at someone for every piece of crap he/she has thrown at him. But all that he did was thank me and declare that from that day onwards I am his hitman for all intent and purposes. I think the whole point of the exercise is all lost on him and there’s soon going to be another one-sided shouting match.

6>  My ex J wants relationship advice from me. He is a lovable loony and I adore him completely. But I had to politely tell him to get the insides of his head checked if he really thought I am the right person to give him advice on matters of the heart. (hello?! I was the immature, shallow, robot woman, the emotional equivalent of a sewer rat in the relationship and I am the one who dumped you in the first place, remember? But then I was also the one who told him to get on with his life and fed him lies such as how he deserves better than me and all that crap when he was beating himself up over the breakup. So I figure I am his go-to girl when it comes to asking for relationship advice. Haha! Quelle blague!). I didn’t know where to start and so started with the only topic I know and can speak on for hours – how not to repeat the mistakes he made with me, or rather I caused him to make. Of course it required slamming myself more than I’d have liked but I won’t lose sleep over that (of course I can sleep. I have no conscience).

7> I read Kabul Disco and fell in love with Nicholas Wild. Who thought that an educational comic book on Afghan Constitution and post-War grim realities of the Afghan ways of life could be so hilarious that the people at the bookstore would throw dirty looks at you because you are making weird sounds while laughing helplessly?

8>  I went to the doctor who is also a favorite brother and promised him that I will quit having fries and other obnoxiously tasty unhealthy food for good, only to be caught chomping on KFC Crispy Chicken by aforementioned brother. How am I supposed to know that he did not understand that oath was just a figure of speech and that was only how much I can grow up? So I tried explaining to him that the head that made that promise is not the same that broke it but he looked noble and wounded as only the self-righteous could. We went from not talking to bitching about each other to respective parents. (Yes we are real mature like that only! 😀 ). It didn’t help though that he is the parental fantasy child (doctor from reputed medical school in the Obama land) while I am the family black ‘lamp black’ sheep (engineering degree from prestigious institute with kickass job in kickass company that won’t come to any use because I am going for a job “no respectable girl from our family will ever think of doing” )

9>  College is over for good. I could barely contain my glee and keep myself from breaking into an impromptu jig while almost everyone around me hugged and shed tears and made fake promises of keeping in touch. J and I were grinning from ear to ear like idiots but had to look suitably mournful and pose for pictures with huge fake plastic smiles. I also made it a point to walk out of the department with the HOD watching and expecting me to come up to him, touch his feet, seek blessings which he would categorically deny me and do drama. We hated each other’s guts and it was one of the worst kept secrets in the department. He never left any opportunity of humiliating me for not sucking up to him and me being me, I generously returned the favor. On the last day of college I basically did him a favor by walking out of the department without as much as a fake “bhalo thakben sir” (stay well sir). Because I didn’t wish to do anything short of shooting him between the eye.

10>  I am happy that D doesn’t think I am a freeloader.  🙂 The guy is a goddamn saint who pays for movie tickets, popcorn, the extra cheese for the popcorn, the cabs, the drinks, the books, magazines, cheap iced lollies, phone topups (and I am this ass who hasn’t bothered to return most of his calls) and what not! I have ignored him for days (And not intentionally. That’s just how I flip out sometimes. 😦 ), I have yelled at him for being so goddamn nice all the time, I have basically fed on being mean to him. And the guy, the irritatingly sweet, uncomplaining idiot that he is, basically keeps on spoiling me and providing me with fodder to yell at him more. And he is not even my freaking boyfriend. So one day we had this argument where I imagined him thinking I am a freeloader and blamed him for everything (which is pretty much something I do to him all the time). Five minutes into the psychotic rant conversation he was lost. Now D has a special way of dealing with me which works like magic every time I become this…whatever it is that I become. Later at night I realized that if he had to hate and kill me he’d have done it long time ago. So I am convinced whatever the guy does is out of sheer kindness of the heart and that I *am* the best friend who kicks other people’s ass for him and he loves me unconditionally 🙂 . I LOVE D. He’s my best friend, rich best friend at that, so more reasons to love him 😀 . J. Also the other day I was comparing the HOD to an obnoxious robot man and he assured me that the history of science fiction is not exactly on his side so he *will* die a horrible death. An ‘aha! In your face loser!’ moment indeed!

So there. I am expecting a “done? that’s it?” from you now.


Because everybody has been/will be a blinking idiot at one point of time in life and I am no exception.

Of all the people I have been in a relationship with (if you can call it that), only one of them stands out because of the sheer level of ‘jerk’ hormones flowing through his veins (or through whatever it is that hormones flow). Most people have been telling me all this while that slamming your ex in a public forum is not cool. But my ex deserves special treatment. The blogosphere doesn’t deserve to be sullied by the amount of trash I want to heap on him every time I hear his name.

SB (NOT just his initials. It’s SonofaBitch too I am guessing.) was, or rather is, a smooth-talking charming (ha!) bastard with a pathological need for approval. He thinks he is smart, intelligent, efficient and different, (which he is incidentally. No one comes close to him in being a two-faced asshole.) and has to validate it by hook or by crook. He is a damn good listener; I will give him that. He listens to everything you say with great sympathy, assures you that you’re not at fault and tells you that you should probably screw the people who’re messing with you. Then he will turn around and bitch about you to the next person who pretends to care. Supremely feminine bitchiness and sarcasm come naturally to him. And by some bad karma if you happen to be his girlfriend, be prepared to be treated like a toy for the rest of your life (if you are brain-dead) or 1 week (if you are sensible) or 6 months (if you are an ass with just a semblance of semi-human intelligence like yours truly). Because that’s what he likes-he likes to control people, likes to make toys out of them, broken toys damaged in several levels at that. We started off on a terrific note; and five months into the ‘relationship’, I was offering silent prayers to all the 333 crore gods the Hindu religion claims to venerate to give him a heart attack.

And he is the biggest male chauvinistic pig to have walked the face of this earth. With all due respect, I think, his mother probably had made a pact with the devil while SB was still in the womb that has rendered him the emotional equivalent of an eighty year old Hindu fanatic priest who quotes verbatim from the Manu Smriti. You can’t drink or smoke or talk to men or have male friends. Going out with them for coffee or a walk, talking to them over the phone, chatting with them etc are as out of question as Voldemort marrying a Mudblood (no offense). Once you are in a relationship with him, you get chained at his side for the rest of your life with a chastity belt choking you to death. If you had indulged in binge drinking or smoked weed with friends or kissed a guy anytime before the relationship, the guy will make sure that you cry and start hating your own guts for what you have done and begging him to forgive you. (even though it’s been a while at this point I still wonder why the earth doesn’t split in half and just swallow me.)Yes he can brainwash you to admit that it was all a cardinal sin and you deserve to go put your head inside an oven or so. And the whole time, he will keep on insisting that “see I don’t have a problem with your past… I am just not comfortable with what others say about you…I just want to make sure you are a good person that’s all… if I had known this earlier, I’d have never considered dating you…”. And when your dignity and common sense have completely abandoned you and he is showing signs that he is “willing to take you back”, he will say “it’s okay. I know it was a mistake. But I know you are genuinely sorry and when we break up I will leave you a very good person.”

 He will dig up dirt on you and keep dropping hints that he knows something about you he doesn’t approve of.  If you are too dumb to take a hint (even when he gives you subtle indications like “I am upset”-guilty) or just couldn’t care less, a meth lab will explode inside his head and he will star ranting stuff like “you know I am not happy with you and STILL you don’t care as if it doesn’t matter.”

And as for the part where he insists he is different from the rest of us mere mortals, he and his friends have this herd-like tendency which make them like the same kind of women (read toys, vegetables), bitch about the people they hang out with, whine about how their respective girlfriends are not who they (the girls that is) have made themselves out to be (in this case, it’d be me), how corporate India is sucking the life out of every soul (read woman) and how they’d love to have their wives get pregnant and leave their jobs and be stay-at-home mums and open the doors every evening excitedly and listen to their husband’s work stories. If you lost me at “hang out with” or you are not following me at all I don’t blame you.  He wanted a vegetable for a girlfriend; something tells me my direct and extended clan and he would have got along like a house on fire. Any guy within 1 mile radius of me was suspected of hitting on me while I got screamed at for “being too close to him…why suddenly I am not good enough for you that you got attracted to him…?”. Sample this conversation:

SB: what were you and N doing in the canteen today?

YT: solving Sudoku and talking, generally. Why?

SB: no I just saw him leaning against your breasts and thought should ask, not that it’s any of my business though.

YT: he wasn’t. we were just sitting close because we were solving Sudoku from the same paper.

(okay I used to be this dumbass freak who felt the need of justifying herself every time her boyfriend slammed her for doing something she saw no harm in doing. What? We ALL have moments we live to regret for the rest of our lives. K )

SB: yeah right. (visible sneer and womanly bitchiness writ large across his face). B (best friend/ b@n(#oδ bastard) was right. You are not who you made yourself out to be when I first met you. I thought you would be good. I thought everyone would see us and respect us….bla bla blab la…

 

He would be a mass of wounded pride and adopt a martyr-like expression and talk to people in an injured voice. Sample this, (if you still care that is):

SB: I wait for you after college. I drop you home everyday. Why cant you spend a single evening with me?

YT: I do. It’s just that exams are coming up and I am up to my neck with work so…

SB: listen you are not doing me any favor by pretending to spend time with me. And I am not your chauffeur so stop treating me like one.

YT: if you have a problem, don’t drop me home then. Spend time with your friends if you like.

SB: (injured martyr voice): see this is the difference between you and me. I don’t drop you home as a favor. I do that because I love you. And I will always do that,

YT: so let’s go? I have work to do.

SB: don’t talk to me in that tone.

YT: okay so don’t come.

SB: blab la blala

 

In all the six months that I have been with home, he made me fall out with most of my friends, accused me of being a slut, bitched about my friends to his friends, went around telling people that my best friend and her boyfriend are like hippies in a love inn (because they had committed the cardinal sin of smoking weed), that she is pregnant and I am this dirty skanky whore who is friends with women like her (her being my best friend), I am this sad, messed up little girl who needs help and he is this messiah whose sole vocation in life is to make me a respectable person. Five months (yes I am an idiot) into the “relationship”, I would have even traded my soul with the devil to find the nearest exit (and I am *not* exaggerating).

Adding to this already fucked up situation was that An, one of my closest friends had a huge crush on me and didn’t make a very good job of hiding it. So I was blamed for seducing him (big surprise there. Also did I hear someone snigger?), of making him fall for me and then acting all coy about it. I take the liberty to assume that he compared me with Belle dam sans merci but in a very very unflattering, really unsexy way that was major turn off. The day he “borrowed” my phone and checked my inbox and then hacked into my email account to go through my mails and chat archives was the last straw.

I had the good sense to stop talking to him and cut off all contacts with him and his bunch of wannabe, smarmy friends. It was one month of severe depression with a sense of doom hanging in the air that no amount of coffee could fix. I was sucked into this vortex of gloom that made me question my sanity, my self-respect and sense of dignity, that how could I let someone just walk over me like that. All sorts of allegations were being levied against me because SB, who was *still* officially my boyfriend, went around telling whoever would listen that how I screwed up this wonderful thing we had going and how I was this slut who had ruined his life blab la blab. Finally I had the guts to make the distress call to my best friend. Who had warned me about this but was mature enough to not interfere in my “relationship” and let me come to my senses on my own. She did not for once tell me “I told you so” which my mother did multiple times in a voice dripping with heavy sarcasm. Instead of judging, C was there, understanding, speaking the voice of reason which went missing from my life for the six months before that phase. Several questions popped up inside my head-am I the poster girl for loserdom? Am I just this pushover who lets people wipe their feet on me often enough to let me know that I am, well, a pushover? Is something fundamentally wrong with my genetic wiring that made me date someone who feeds on making people feel guilty all the time? Only thing standing between me and full-blown state of clinical depression was C who made me realize that how important it is to not settle for love. Only love.

So finally after a month of licking raw wounds, I reached a state of emotional crescendo and went ballistic. All hell broke loose inside me head and I called him up and told him what exactly I thought of him. As much as I am tempted to write about it, I will skip the expletives-laden one-sided shouting match we had.

A lot of things changed after I dumped him. For starters, I no longer remained the naïve, wide-eyed projection of Bambi innocence. I became bitter, cynical with momentary flashes of foreboding and fleeting moments of doubts and self-loathing. Also I did something really bad which I am thoroughly ashamed of but this is not the time and place to talk about that (remember I am in mourning and this post is not about slamming me but my ex.) Most people didn’t do a great job of concealing their judgmental tones. Only a handful of them, kept on telling me that it wasn’t my fault and I shouldn’t let him get to me like this but within the four walls of my mind there was this nagging voice that kept on rubbing export quality corrosive salt on my wounds and reminding me every day that I had been an idiot. It wasn’t the breakup that bugged me. Hell! The breakup was one of the best things that have happened to me ever. Also there are worse things in life that can happen to you that just a petty breakup. It was the idea that I could kill my brain cells and date someone like SB. It was during this post-breakup phase that I developed the habit of equating commitment and marriage with a concentration camp. And slowly started turning into an emotional blank slate. In a parallel universe or a Technicolor imagination I had kidnapped my ex and had fun shooting his b***s with a laser gun; in reality, I let reality come to bite me in the rear every now and then.

I don’t know what helped me to snap out of the gloom and state of self-imposed exile. Maybe it was the resentful acceptance of the fact that I was an idiot but the universe is known to have conspired against every person and played sick cosmic jokes on him/her so I am not the only idiot around. Maybe it was after meeting G that I realized that if someone as damaged as him can crawl out of bed every morning and face life, my life can still kick every other life’s ass with nice pointy heels (with all due respect to other’s lives. I am mourning; cut me some slack will you? L). Also C stood by me through thick and thin. Boyfriends will come and go but you never run out of reasons to celebrate having a best friend in your life. J

I am not the best person to give relationship advice but I am a Libran and as a Libran and a woman I should never miss an opportunity to give relationship gyaan. So here it is:

Never date someone who is a humorless pain in the ass, someone who takes himself too seriously and who makes you feel guilty for no particular fault of yours. Cut your losses and never look back. If you are like me 3 months after breakup, excuse yourself politely and run. If you anything like the ‘present me’, give him hell and make him run. But don’t be in a relationship just for the heck of it and don’t satisfy your need for one with a…I have no right word to express this at the moment…with someone like my ex. Or worse, if that is ever possible. Celebrate the wonderful person that you are!

Now why don’t the Chicken Soup people ask me to write for them?


I sometimes feel that a considerable chunk of problems in one’s life will be automatically solved if one cultivates the habit of reading. You need not act pedantic and read any heavy stuff if you don’t like them; even books for cheap thrills will do (which I happen to heart 🙂 ). But once you have a book to give you company you will never complain of boredom or a lack of life again. Monotony, lack of clue as to how to spend time, frustration-all these turn problems of the past once you lose yourself into the yellowed pages of your favorite book.

When I was a kid, like six years old, I was one of the privileged few I knew who had a computer at home along with a working internet connection. I got introduced to the world of social networking quite prematurely. In spite of that, I never had problems in developing relationship and social skills. The virtual world was exciting but coming from a family of voracious readers and being an avid reader myself from a very very young age, I never got addicted to it. That said, I am as much smitten with video games as my ten-year old nephews and frankly, I really enjoy the fact that social networking tries to fulfill a very basic need of human beings-that of communication, irrespective of the physical distance between people.

Now when I see my little nephews and nieces, I wonder why they complain about having nothing to do, why they get bored so easily whenever they aren’t within spitting distance of a computer or a cellphone. or why they almost always need their gaming consoles to keep themselves busy. Guys, you have rich parents. Coax them to invest wisely in books; in no time they will stop worrying about you attaining wayward behavior and you will just have no time to complain about anything. I mean, there are Harry Potter, Enid Blyton, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Batman, Hansel and Gretel, Little Mermaid, Aslan, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, fairies, soldiers, witches, wizards, hobbits, werewolves, vampires and many other people to meet, befriend and fight! When I was young my parents struggled really hard to make ends meet, but never did they object to buying me books and letting me explore this remarkable and truly magical world of written words.

I was left to my own resources a lot during the growing years because of ailing grandparents, property disputes, parents working overtime to put food on the table. But never did I feel dejected or blamed them for my upbringing (hey I turned out just fine, I’d like to believe 😉 ). Books never let me feel lonely or bored; there were just so many things to read and explore! Books taught me patience, humility, the extent of human endurance, love; books gave me courage to ask questions and think my own thoughts instead of parroting others; books taught me to appreciate my parents’ sacrifices and love and as a result, I had an extremely peaceful adolescence and almost always get along with my parents, the inevitable parent-offspring disagreements notwithstanding. In sorrow and in joy, in loneliness, the magic of written words never deserted me. Despite several problems, our family turned out genuinely happy and at peace with the world.

Grab a book and see how it works wonders to dispel most of your worries, or at least give you some momentary peace and an escape route from the world of harsh realities.


When my father was young, he made a mistake. He befriended a hardcore IIT embryo.

Waking up to an angry IIT professor almost barking at you over the phone, asking you to solve college standard solid geometry problems in the wee hours of the morning is NOT my idea of how a Sunday morning should start. Stifling yawn after yawn, rubbing eyes vigorously till you swear they will pop out, figuring out what bad karma has resulted in such mental torture, muttering not-so apologetic ‘excuse me’-s while you search for a pen in the dumpster you call a desk while the bloodsucking gorilla man on the other side of the phone is getting more and more impatient by the minute—this is the epic tale of endurance in a nutshell. And it doesn’t help that the mother kept a resentful vigilance on you all this while and shaking her head in disbelief while you tried to remember on what planet and in which century you were taught ‘theorem number 23 stating isosceles dodecahedron….”. For god’s sakes, that man’s a freaking genius (I am assuming they didn’t recruit him because he made solid donations. As if they will need that. The revenue these guys generate could feed one-fourth of the country’s ever-burgeoning population and still leave enough to sponsor the students’ cycles which they use to reach one on-campus illegal secret watering hole to another their classes).

Solution after solution was rejected; both of us started losing temper; he not so subtly while I was too sleepy to care. (I am guessing he might have even cracked a few caustic jokes at my really really unwitting expense). After a precious half an hour of my life had been wasted (during which I’d have performed some act of earth-shattering importance like lifting my semi-comatose body from the bed to the couch) I came up with something. After a much resentful acceptance, man decided to put me out of my misery and hung up after a somewhat abrupt and unceremonious ‘ok bye. Let me see if it’s ok. Call me if you find something new’.

*Yeah, like your ass. *

I have a whole new outlook on life now. Only yesterday virtual dad I and I were busy making a 2.5 Mb Excel spreadsheet listing qualities I want in The One. But today all that is thrown down the gutter. All I want now is ‘not a bad guy’. My idea of bad? Any person who wakes me up before 9 in the morning. General rule of thumb is person like aforementioned man.

Life is simple. So much feel good!   *yes….dripping with sarcasm…what was your first clue genius?*