Today, I said something funny, and she laughed like she does, but something very serious happened in that moment.


I thought of you.


I hadn’t, in a while. You hadn’t been around, and I had her to fill this space. She filled my time with conversations and sex, my arms like arm-candy, my room sometimes, my nights… Everywhere that you were before, she was now. You were gone. There was no space, no void that could potentially ache for you. Until now.


Today, I said something funny, and she laughed like she does, but it sounded hollow to me. Distant. Who was she? Why was she here, lying with me in my room? Where were you? I let the thought go.


But it happened again. She started to say something, and I don’t know what it was. I only know that it wasn’t your voice, and it felt strange. What do you sound like now? Would you still laugh at the things I say? If I hugged you would you kiss my neck like you always did? Is your heart still broken?


I found myself wishing that it was. I sat here, with her holding me, hoping that you weren’t in another man’s arms, your heart fixed and happy. You wouldn’t deny me the chance to mend what I had broken, would you? I realized I’d blown this chance time and again.


In thinking of you the way I was right now, I was, yet again, doing something that you wouldn’t like. By your definition, I was cheating on her. Truth be told, I never really loved her. Some interest, some fascination to begin with, but never love… never anything that I’d felt with you. 10 years down the line, I could, at best, see her as arm-candy still, but I could never see her the way I saw you.


When I woke up in the middle of the night, I’d still look for you. Nobody would take care of my family the way you would. Nobody would bring up my children the way you would, and your way was the only way I’d want them to be brought up. Nobody would fight like you do, and nobody would love like you do. Nobody else was flawed like you were, and nobody else was as perfect as you were. Your eyes, your smile, your smell, your voice, the way your skin, your breath felt against my skin… How could it be anyone but you? How could I have ever thought that it was possible to go through life without you?

With her, it was over. I knew that and I felt nothing. You’d accuse me of the same selfishness that you’d borne the brunt of, years ago, but how I could I explain to you that this wasn’t the same. This was about you. You. There was nothing else but you. She didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. Only you mattered now, for good. 

I kept thinking about you, with almost a sort of excitement. What would you think? What would you say? Would you cry from relief? Stare in disbelief? Would you believe me eventually? I couldn’t wait to kiss you, to make love to you, to cry tears of sorrow with you for all that we’d lost and of joy, for all that we’d have now, and forever. The real forever. The forever that fucked up so bad, and regretted it, and came back to be the truest thing you’ve ever known.


“mah lyf mah attitewd”

It’s fascinating how language evolved. From a few sounds to communicate essential information, to “selfie.” And “twerk.”

Something has been on my mind, and I’d hoped I’d be able to really collect my thoughts and write a comprehensive article on it, but that doesn’t seem to be happening, so I’m just sharing what I’ve been thinking. Definitely vague, possibly incoherent, seemingly judgmental(?), but you’ll get it if you’ll get it.

Now, I really like words. I like writing, being able to express myself well, get a point across in conversation. It goes without saying that I love reading too. What fascinates me and pisses me off equally, is the fact that there are the right words to communicate everything.

Words have been put together to say “distance makes the heart grow fonder.” But words have also been put together to say “out of sight, out of mind.” They say “birds of a feather flock together,” and they say “opposites attract.” I’ve read the most convincing of quotes about letting go, but I’ve also read the most sincere words about holding on. I’ve been advised by things I’ve heard and read that I am the most important person in my life and I am all I have and I should care for myself above all, but then I’ve also been moved by words that have told me, that what I do for myself, dies with me, what I do for others, lives on, what matters in life is to love truly and give generously.

Two absolutely opposite ideas, given the right words, can both be made to sound perfect. That’s okay if on the scale of right / wrong, moral / immoral, both are positive or neutral. However, since the advent of social media, I’ve found a lot of negative ideas being justified too convincingly. And that pisses me off. Some might say there’s nothing like right / wrong, moral / immoral, it’s all subjective. I humbly disagree. Killing, hurting, lying, cheating, stealing – definitely wrong, definitely immoral. And then of course, this is only my opinion, so there are some things that I feel are wrong, and it pisses me off when “itz mah lyf mah attitewd” quotes and sarcastic e-cards make them sound cool.

For instance, I have nothing against alcohol or drugs or sex, but I’m somewhat uncomfortable with how it’s becoming more and more acceptable to be an alcoholic, to be a drug addict, to have sex with as many partners as you please, backed by some “mah lyf mah attitewd” shit people are reading on Facebook posts from random pages. I’m really glad that people are getting accepted for who they are, but I’m not so sure I’m happy that in allowing them to “be who they are” we’re allowing a general degeneration of values.

I’ve read articles that advocate being selfish, articles that would have you believe that selfishness is a virtue. I’ve heard people justify their recklessness with a “YOLO.” And it pisses me off.

People are so keen on making comebacks that it’s difficult to have an actual conversation. What if I don’t want to be witty? Do people just talk anymore? Just say things without consciously and effortfully making them sound cool. (So effort. Much cool. Wow like.) There’s so much sarcasm in the way a lot of people respond these days. What happened to kindness? Kindness is cool. I insist.

Sarcastic responses, inappropriate jokes, all start out as humour, and people wanting to be seen as witty and funny, with wanting to give off the “I don’t care what people think about me, I’m cool” vibe, but lately I’ve had the feeling that people are so busy being witty / funny / sarcastic / trying to get likes / trying to seem cool and be popular, that people are forgetting to be good people.

Sometimes, I think that in the quest for individualism and individual ambitions, we’ve gone too far. We as a generation have tipped over to the side of selfishness and insensitivity. I vote for more love, more sincerity, more kindness.

The Best I have Ever Written…

Sleepless, last night,
I thought I’d write
About us.

Our thoughts flooded my mind,
And they effortlessly rhymed,
And the ink was at the brink
Of penning all I’d think;

But then I did better –
I wrote our names together,
And that’s the best I’ve ever written. 🙂

They’re curious about you, love,
And not that they’re to blame;
When I write to them about you and our love,
They’re bound to want to know your name!

They ask me who I write about in all my rhymes,
They’ll ask me whose name it was that I wrote next to mine,
But I’ll gently veer those conversations elsewhere,
And save the answer for another time. 🙂

The bad thing about a “good” family

Science, Commerce, Arts. — commerce.

Fashion. Mass media. Interiors. — Umm, mass media.

Remember when choices were easy to make? Halfway through my bachelor’s degree, it’s not that simple anymore. I feel the need to know specifically what I plan to do once I’m out of here, and zeroing in on that – no mean feat.

In an outburst of confusion, I wrote to my sister:

“I want to be a ballet dancer. And a social activist to fight illiteracy and poverty. And a rockstar on a stage with an audience of thousands of people. And I want to host a travel & luxury show on TV. I want to make movies – documentaries and small budgets and big budgets – meaningful and typical – all of it. And be a travel blogger with a difference – travel widely and focus not on describing the place and the architecture and the food, but on the personal interactions and experiences and conversations and feelings and things like that. I want to write the speeches awesome people make. I want to be awesome and write my own speeches. I want to meet many, many, many people, I want to go to lots of parties and things, and even lots of other random places and events. I want to be a fashion stylist. I want to be a brand name. I want to add value, and really uplift lives, beyond superficiality. I want to own too many dresses and an obscene number of beautiful shoes. What am I. Why can’t I be normal and sorted. Duuuuude.”

I dared not write I want to be an actor, or a model or anything “deviant” like that, because uh-oh, that’s blasphemy.

If it were all up to me, the tentative plan would be to model for a bit – quick money for short-term assignments, meeting new people, the little perks of fashion and glamour. Then I’d be an actor perhaps, mainly because it involves playing many roles, vicariously living many lives, thus multiplying the amount of experiences one may have in a lifetime, and I believe that life is made richer by few things as it is enriched by the wideness of experiences. I’d want to host a travel show or something. But uh-oh, apparently girls from “good” families don’t do things like that. However, the plan would probably be to have one totally exciting career, and always, on the side also work for the provision of basic needs such as literacy, adequate food, proper hygiene, et cetera.

Everyone encourages me to become a writer. They see it as a passive job that can be done from home. Ha, ha. Lovely little misconception there, because I don’t know how other writers function, but speaking for myself, I need to experience, soak in, soak in, soak in, then pass it all through filters of my thoughts and perceptions, and my words, to reproduce it in a literary format. That experience gaining process requires that I travel widely, meet too many people of all kinds and know them deeply, and such gypsy-ish behaviour – uh-oh, not acceptable.

Down to the basics, I want to chalk out a life-path that involves lots of creativity, interactions with many, many people, a lot of travel, and a great deal of newness in everyday experiences. How the hell am I supposed to do that and keep them happy as well? No, really.


Well said, sir, but could you please explain the same to my family? Follow your heart, but then I’ll go ahead and be something they don’t want me to be, and everyone’s going to say I broke their hearts and let them down, and come on, I’m no block-of-rock, I would feel bad if I hurt them. WHAT am I supposed to do? Like, it’s weird that they’ll get hurt because I’m choosing a certain career… it’s like, you’re wearing red pajamas, I’m hurt; you like hamburgers, I’m hurt. My career is just another personal choice, and it should hurt nobody. (Unless I’m a sharp-shooter or something… Then it better kill a few. LOL.)

I’m this person with a purpose, and a point to make, and the will to serve and make a difference, but I’m no Queen of Jordan. Fine, I’ll take that.



But also, inside me, I am this living-life-like-a-free-bird, meeting-new-people, and inspiring-them-to-live-a-full-life kinda bike-riding, globe-trotting coolio chick, who’ll find her match and have a chilled out happy wedding party, but… And this is the “but” I have issues with.

Anyway, since I cannot rely on Steve Jobs to come back and explain any of this to them, I’m trying to work with what I have. That’s half the battle lost anyway, but nevertheless one must look ahead.

So I have all these options… PR, advertising, journalism, and their various branches, and so on and so forth. All things that I might be kind of, sort of, somewhat interested in, but I can’t seem to be able to pick. It’s like, there’s a buffet and your favourite dish isn’t on it, so you’ll just eat anything, and you can’t decide which one you want, because they’re all the same now.

And what annoys me the most is that we see all these great people and appreciate them, but we don’t want to be them. You watch them on TV, you read about them, you quote them, but you don’t aim to be there. WHY? It’s okay if people are not ambitious and choose to live a common life – respect, but hullo, I am ambitious. Why can where I get not depend only on my ability and my, let’s-face-it, luck. But dude, I couldn’t be great cuz my family’s conservative? That, now, is no excuse. Wow, imagine if Steve Jobs was a Gujju boy and his pappa forced him to join the family business. Apple would still be just a fruit. LOL.

Fine, be great, but don’t do anything different, don’t go off the beaten track. How the hell (damn, I hate toning down my expression… loses the effect I’m looking for)… How the hell am I supposed to be great by sitting at home if my skills are such that they can be best exploited out there in the playground? I mean, for sure, people can stay at home and develop software or create brilliant art work and things like that, but those are not the skills I posses. It’s a different set which works best in a different setting.

If no middle path works out, and I end up complying with their every wish, I’ll probably study further once I’m done with my graduation. After that I will be allowed to take up a 9 to 5 job while a suitable match is searched for. If they allow me to study / work further, I may. Or helping in their family business is a good choice. LOL. Okay, I exaggerated the scene a little for effect, but something on those lines… you get the picture. I hate how there won’t be success, and I hate how there won’t even be a dramatic reason for the lack of it. Call me crazy, but I’d rather fail like a hero than remain mediocre.

And you know how people narrate those rags to riches stories and seek inspiration there? The loophole is this: when you have nothing to lose, it’s easier to take your chances. If I didn’t have a family’s “name” to keep, and didn’t have people’s exceptionally tender hearts to keep unbroken, and didn’t have to ensure that certain people don’t get pissed off with me, I would’ve had the weight of only my personal morals and perhaps traveled my way to success with way more ease than I can now.

Now, left to myself, I may or may not become very great. I might try and fail. My interests may change, priorities may change. However, despite all those ifs and buts, I do trust that I’ll figure out a way of life that suits me and keeps me happy, without hurting anyone, (unless of course they choose to get hurt cuz I’m wearing red pajamas).

And honestly, isn’t that success? Just being happy with what you do everyday? To me that is all that matters. But who will explain this to them? No conclusion arrived at, at the end of this post, but that’s the point. I do not know what the solution is. Bhakk, now I’m even more pissed than I was when I started to write. But bye. LOL.

P.S. – I doubt they’d still want me to be a writer. I write rebellion, bro. Like that Osho guy. B)


Growing up sucks. I can give you a hundred reasons why, but the worst, absolute worst thing that sucks about growing up is that there are too many lies in the world of grownups. It’s not that I have any fascination for reality, but as a child, there are fairy tales and there’s Santa Claus and other fun things like that, but when you grow up, first you learn that all of those good lies were lies, and then you learn about the bad lies.

And I wish it was just a lie – just an untrue statement, but it’s not that simple. Remember, we’re not children anymore? So there are greater, more complex and intricate things like pretense, and façades, and you can be two-faced, and bitch, and everything’s covered under this one grand art you learn – the art of being fake. What if I don’t want to learn it?

All those people that you think are your friends – are they really your friends? There are too many criteria for being a “friend”, yes, but the basic, basic assurance that they won’t bitch about you needs to be there, right? Trust me, most of those that tell you they love you, and they hug you and chill with you, and to a third person you’d look like you’re best friends forever – you really can’t know if they mean a tenth of what they say; you can’t know if they’re bitching about you the moment you leave; or passing a look to their better friends, or real friends, or true friends – I don’t know what the term is – when you say something.

Wouldn’t it be better to just accept that we are just acquaintances who find it fun to chill together sometimes, and we are not friends? I would rather be, or have, an honest acquaintance than be, or have, a fake friend.

When tragedy strikes, they’ll tell you that they’re there for you, and sure they are. Tragedies don’t strike everyday; they’re occasional, dramatic events, and it just fits the part to offer support. They can lend you a shoulder when you need to cry over a huge loss, and that’s no big deal, anyone can do that. The question is, can they be your friend everyday? Can they be honest with you? Do they really care about you? If they don’t like something about you or have a problem with something you did, can they be upfront and tell you on your face and not bitch about it?

I can be sure of these things for about two people in my life, and while the other dozens claim to love me, and they hug me everyday and we behave like best friends, I don’t really know who we are. On my part, if I say you’re my friend, I’ll never be caught bitching about you, saying anything about you to a third person that I wouldn’t say to your face, and I will really, really care about you, in the normal daily course of life. Is that too much to ask for? In the world of grownups, maybe it is.

Be yourself

Be yourself. But only if you’re like the rest of them.

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”

I agree Mr. Emerson.

“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”

Mr. Cummings, I admire that courage.

“I am much better employed from every point of view, when I live solely for my own satisfaction, than when I begin to worry about the world. The world frightens me, and a frightened man is no good for anything.”

I share your fears, Mr. Gissing.

If God had wanted me otherwise, He would have created me otherwise.

so true, Johann von Goethe.

You must have control of the authorship of your own destiny. The pen that writes your life story must be held in your own hand.

Aye, aye, Irene.

“Is life not a hundred times too short for us to stifle ourselves.”
so true, Friedrich Nietzsche.

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. “

You killed it, Dr. Seuss.

Now, I am fiercely independent in my own way, very individualistic, beat gypsies at being a free-spirit, I’m the girl that can carry her own luggage, can change car tires, and is almost a man in some (non-physical) regards. outgoing and vivacious, as ambitious as ambition gets without being corrupt, not rebellious by choice, but well, if you’re coming in my way… And I’m loving and honest.

I like myself. No narcissism; even if this was another person but myself, I’d like her… if you get what I mean.

Unfortunately, Jaats don’t like me. Kill me for generalizing – and I’m generally a do-not-generalize Nazi myself – but let me just use “JAATS” not as the community (cuz I know some seriously cool Jaats) but as a term to categorize people who are stuck to traditions and conventions and like their girls all timid and accommodating.

Now, there’s a slight dilemma. Should I be what they want, or be who I am? Because if I’m not what they want me to be, I’m apparently disrespectful, and uncaring. But dude, I first shudder, then puke at the thought of being a timid and accommodating girl, who is homely, and her hobbies are “listening music” and driving. (Unless you’re into F1, or some other kind of racing, or road trips, driving is not a “hobby”, please.) YUCK. *shudder* YUCK. *puke*

*cleaning puke*

*still cleaning puke…* (This elicits a lot of puke, you see.)

The thing is, I’m not permission-seeking obedient child. I’m I-welcome-your-suggestions-but-decide-for-myself-logical-non-harmful-principled-decision-maker smart girl. (I will never expect my children to “obey”, and they will have access to this post, and every right to question me if I treat them any differently than how I expect to be treated now, as a young adult.)

At life’s worst, and my best, I’m willing to try to fit in what they want, if it means giving up some short term fun things, but things like my career, my marriage (yes, I’ve thought of it), and my eventual, stable lifestyle, cannot, cannot be governed by Jaats. Noooo. Neverrr. YUCK.

Shite, I’d just cleaned up, and again…

I want to do a hundred thousand things – from getting a tattoo, to streaking my hair red, to having a Christian wedding, to traveling a lot and taking courses on different subjects in different countries, to… CRAZY shit, basically. (No, thank you, my “crazy” does not revolve around “so sloshed” and “bloody baked”… it’s about whims and fancies, randomness, gypsy-ish unpredictability and too much fun.)

The climatic line for this post is credited to a friend.

Randomly, out of the blue, after an hour of talking about everything under the sun, he says “I just realized… you’re the most un-Jaat Jaat I know, man.”

P.S. – No offense meant to Jaats. (Or maybe just a little…)