Where’s the Fire?

Every time I see the two wheelers edging towards the starting line at a signal, or the burly bus nearly toppling over while trying to overtake the cyclist, or the car driver who can’t stop honking even when he can’t see any way out, I wonder, where’s the Fire?

I thought overtaking from the left was the fad but apparently now the trend is all about trying to go left while you are in the right lane, thereby slowing down the entire line of traffic behind you. It could also be trying to cross from the extreme left to the right while everybody is trying to turn left. I am not sure though, cause leching at female drivers at traffic stops and stalking them kinda is in vogue too.

It’s strange that you would start slowing down in the middle of the road just to attend that phone call. One: weren’t you in a tearing hurry before? Two: unless it’s a life and death matter, should you really take a call? (No, the party’s changed venue isn’t an emergency, nor are the sweet nothings from your sweetheart.)Three: And in case it is a life and death matter, shouldn’t you first try to protect yours by stopping to take the call? Oh just FYI, dear two-wheeler, if the mobile phone was invented to snuggle up on your shoulder while you tried your hand at one-hand driving, I am sure the makers would have made required design changes.

I understand you’re in a hurry, you got up late today and have to reach office on time. And you, yes you in the shiny SUV, you probably have world issues to solve which is why you’re trying to mow down the car in front of you, but can you hold on for a second please? Trust me, while I may or may not be battling against time, I am very fond of life and that makes me an over-cautious driver. If that counts as just being a ‘female’ driver in your book of definition, so be it.

I will not speed up. I will not start moving before the signal is green. And I will stop for a second longer to allow the beggar to cross the street safely. You might brush me off as a idotic ‘female’ driver, but I really don’t care. My responsibility is to the 3-year old sitting safely in his booster seat behind. I don’t care if you honk at me till eternity but I will only move at a pace that I personally feel safe for my baby. It could be 20 or it could be 100. Your sad little rooting-tooting horn won’t really make a difference.

I know you trust me to keep you safe when you overtake me from the left or drive bumper to bumper with me or try to prove that you are a super hero who can race with a car and still win the game of life! But always remember the sticker on my rear window which declares the presence of a tiny life in my car. So my responsibility is only to my baby boy. And trust me, I will do anything to keep him safe.

But don’t worry, I know you are in a tearing hurry, to go to the loo, to establish world peace or maybe just to meet your sweetheart at the end of your journey! So I will give you way every time I can. I will stick to my lane and let you overtake me. I will respect the fact that your tiny brain doesn’t have the capacity to remember basic traffic rules. So I will take the responsibility of watching out for my life and yours too at times.

I will slow down at every junction cause there is at least one idiot who thinks he’s the flash. I will wait an extra second at turns to make sure your blindness hasn’t prevented you from seeing my blinking bright indicator. I will honk and give you enough notice period before I overtake you. And I solemnly swear to over take you only from the right!

So, please respect the fact that the road is a public space, not the corridor of your house. I will respond to logical honking but I expect you to reciprocate. Remember, the red signal means I need to stop and not slowly inch towards the other side. There are special lights and buttons in your vehicle, yes even in your two wheeler, that helps you communicate with other vehicles around. USE them. The rear view mirrors you have so fondly adorned with blessings from your chosen god have other uses too. Last but definitely not the least, your helmet isn’t a ‘optional’ accessory to be hung on the aforementioned ‘useful’ rear view mirror. It is also not something to be whipped out only at traffic signals. And NO, your hair isn’t all that great that you avoid wearing a helmet.

I know it is TOO bloody much to ask all these from someone who’s been raised to believe that the road needs to be conquered. I know you cannot for the life of you fathom why the vehicles in front don’t just give you way every time you honk. I also realize that while you could count the notes that you used to get your driving license, you cannot differentiate between the colors of a traffic signal or read road signal posts that exist for people like you.

So, all I can do is care for my safety and hope that someday you will somehow discover why there are traffic signals or why you should overtake only from the right or why it is pointless to start honking as soon as the light turns green. Sadly, in your short life span, shortened by the absurd way you drive, you might not really discover these facts of life. So, I guess I am back to sticking to my lane and caring for my life while you race ahead to attend to that mythical Fire in your life… or your bum!


Periods are a bitch. Period.

The first question I asked my mom after I got my periods was, ‘For how many years more, will this happen?’ Don’t get me wrong, I was well aware of the scientific facts and biological processes but nothing I had read had prepared me for it. I used to and still have unimaginable cramps which along with the fact that I react weirdly to all painkillers, is pure torture. The sanitary pad woes were a ghastly nightmare in themselves. I also remember, that mom never ever allowed me take an off. She told me this was something very natural and I would have to learn to live with it. So I did that.

We had an open conversation about it at home. There was no hiding of the fact from my father or my brother. My father would get my sanitary napkins from the shop and my brother would oblige my tantrums and bitchy mood swings for those five days every month. So, even when I went away to college and my guy friends asked me about my low mood, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell them that I was on my periods.

Since I wasn’t into much praying, I never really got into the whole tussle of entering it while on my periods. Same went for the kitchen since I wouldn’t be bothered to fetch my own glass of water. Not much has changed. I still don’t go to temple and there is no restriction from my kitchen since I am the queen of it!

Given my background, I have been quite perturbed, annoyed and even amused at the whole issue of periods these past few years. There are of course some issues that I support, some I can’t really claim to be bothered about and then there are those few I completely disagree with. For starters, I don’t get the concept of free-bleeding, not because it is gross but because it is unhygienic. I also don’t appreciate the period leave that companies are offering. Trust me, while on a marketing level it might seem oh-so-cool, it is not so on the ground. Imagine you missing an important meeting because you are on your “period-leave”. Forget professionalism, how is that fair to your colleagues and team mates? My two cents, if you are unable to function at all (which isn’t a possibility), quit. Otherwise, suck it up and work through it.

I really am not bothered by the whole temple entry issue because I personally don’t get it. Whether you flaunt the religious reasons or swear by the scientific facts, I don’t get it. Period. Pun intended. And to all those fighting for it, do you really want to be somewhere you are not appreciated as a human being?

Coming to the issue of Sanitary pads, I support every woman who is fighting against the GST bracket it has been placed in. But I also urge you all to look at some of the better options available around today. Something as simple and revolutionary as the Menstrual cup, has been around for a long time. While I understand hesitance, maybe it is time you give it a serious thought.

All in all, sometimes I feel there is at times a little too much noise about something as natural and simple as periods. The changes will not happen unless you start at the grass root level.

  • Use the word Period or Menstrual Cycle. Stop hiding behind Aunt Flow or being down !!! Enunciate, MEN-STRU-A-TION!!! Loud and clear.
  • When you buy your Sanitary Pads, ditch the brown paper bag or the black polythene. Own the fact that you are a healthy woman.
  • Talk to your sons. Teach them that menstruation cycles are not to be giggled at or shied away from. Use it as a launching pad for all the sex talks you have to give. Be open and invite questions. Help the boys understand it so that they don’t grown up into men who claim PMS as a reason every time a woman is pissed off at them.
  • If you need time off from work, stop pretending you have a headache. Tell them your Period cramps are killing you and you need a chocolate bar STAT! If nothing else, it comes in handy in embarrassing people into giving you some time off. However, don’t use it blatantly as an excuse to shirk responsibilities.
  • Accept the fact that during your Periods there will be detours from your normal routine and behavior. Own them. Stop tying that emotional sweater on your waist!

Remember, while people go gaga over the free-bleed movement, lash out at the government for taxes or applaud the companies who treat you like a fragile vase during your periods, you will still go through those not-so-awesome 5-day hormonal trip every freaking month till your ovaries decide to retire. Till then, enjoy your womanhood.

Dear M-I-L…

Dear Mother in Law,

I am your Daughter-IN-LAW. Period.

I am not your daughter. You are not my mother. I am not trying to be disrespectful but I need you to understand that you are not my mother. I have a mother. I may or may not like her either but she is the one… Also, I am not your best friend. Even my mother isn’t my best friend, not that it matters. I have a very close group of friends who I have selected over the 3 decades of my life. They have all passed my tests of love, patience and grace over the years. I have known you for barely 2 minutes. So, I am sorry if it hurts you, but you are NOT my friend.

I am not your child. I did not grow up in your house. I grew up in a different household. even if it is your next door neighbor, it is a completely different house. The layout may or may not be the same but everything within is different. Yes, we do place all the utensils in the cupboards above and the spices near the door, but they are still completely different from the way your utensils and spices rest in the same space.

Do you prefer eating rotis at night at your place? We too. I am sure you too slogged away every evening making those perfect phulkas like my mom did. But still, the taste of those phulkas were very different. The rules at the table were different too. Some days we would laugh and crack up at the silliest things while there were days when we would be all quiet. We usually did that by gauging dad’s mood or maybe mom’s. I am sure you had those days at your table too. But they were certainly different in all kinds of ways.

Yes, I love sleeping in, exactly like your daughter does. I love my skirts and my sleeveless tops like your nieces do. But you don’t like it. And that is alright because I am not your daughter and you are not my mom. I don’t need to care and I try my best not to. Don’t judge me for not caring. You are not the one who sacrificed her entire life to raise me after all. So…. it really doesn’t matter!

No, I don’t like doing puja. My mom never forced me to do it either (oh yes, that might make her a bad mom in your book, but in my book she’s is super cool and my book is all that matters because I am NOT your daughter, but hers). While I am not religious, I did grow up with a certain household deity making appearances in my life time and again. Your deity might be all powerful and much better than mine (according to you) but please don’t force it on me. Why? Simple… because I am not your child!

Yes, I am arrogant and stubborn. My mom loves me in spite of it. Don’t worry… you don’t have to like me in spite of all that… again… because I am NOT your daughter. I am sure you would deal with my attitude in your own way if I were your child, but that’s the awesome thing… I am not. Feel free to discipline your own child though.

I don’t cook and though my mom did teach me, I still don’t want to do it. You nag about it, because I am not your daughter. But that is exactly why you shouldn’t care… because I am NOT your daughter. You could use the time you spend bitching about me to whip your daughter in shape and teach her all your glorious cooking tips. Oh you don’t have any girls you say? Well, that shouldn’t matter. If you are the feminist you portray yourself to be, you should have taught your sons those skills anyway.

So let’s not pretend. Let’s not play games. Let’s just accept the facts of life. I am just an outsider who has no legal obligations to you or your relatives and vice versa ( I am sure you are not going to name me in your will or pay off my education loan, right?). I am legally married to your son and I have done everything to make MY marriage a happy one. Not to please you or obey you but because I wanted to.

I have parents, siblings and relatives of my own. They love me unconditionally in spite of all my faults. I don’t need any more. Well, I know my husband’s relatives are a bundle offer and I can’t really avoid it. While I will try my best to respect them all and care for them when they visit me, like I do for all my guests, please do not order me to LOVE them. They are mere strangers to me.

I have values. They might be very different from the ones you have taught your children, but that doesn’t make them any lesser. They are the values I grew up with and you can chain me to the wall and try to change them, I can pretend to change them, but the truth is that they will remain with me till I die.

I know you are a great cook and an amazing home manager but please do not try to teach me. Don’t try to ‘train’ me in your household rules and regulations. I am not a dog. That is your house, this is MINE. I set the values, rules and vibe of my house. Also, if anybody does need to teach me stuff, I believe my parents get that spot automatically.

No, I don’t expect you to change. You have spent the last 60 years or so in a set pattern and I respect that. However, just because I am still comparatively young, do not expect me to change either. If there are any changes to be made, I shall decide when and how.

Finally, can you please remember and respect the fact that I am a human being? Remember the times you gazed into your son’s face and your heart filled up with joy and happiness? My face evokes exactly those sentiments in my parents as well.

You do not have to love me. Hell, I am not that lovable any way.

You do not have to even like me. Not many do. I am not that likable either.

But you do need to respect me.

Because I am your child’s life partner.

Because I am the mother of your son’s baby.

Because I have done absolutely nothing to hurt you.

But mostly because I am a human being.

  • Stop comparing

You and I? TOTALLY different people. There is no NEED or COMMON ground to do so anyway. So please Stop.

  • There is no competition

We may share a person, but in two very, VERY different way. He’s your SON and my HUSBAND. There can be no role reversal or replacement so QUIT competing for his love. He is well equipped to compartmentalize.

  • My parents are your equal

Just because the ‘boy’ came out of your womb, doesn’t mean that my parents didn’t make the exact same sacrifices as you to raise me, the ‘girl’. In fact, my parents probably ended up doing more. I don’t expect you to invite my parents over for meals or call them or even send them presents. But the next time they call you, have some manners and pick up the call. The next time you bump into them on the road, don’t ignore them. Be human. Think of them as the neighbours you need to be fake-sweet to.

  • My love and obligations are towards my family not yours

When I married your son, I only married him. While I did obtain certain new relations in the process, my duties, love and obligations will forever remain towards MY family. The family I am related to through blood and not through a few scribbles on the paper. I am sure you expect the same from your son. So instead of ‘training’ me to maintain relations with YOUR relatives, try training your son to maintain the same with my relatives. Maybe I will return the favor.

  • Learn to Let go!

This part of your son’s life is supposed to be for his wife and kids. You have done an excellent job in raising a brilliant human being. Now, STEP AWAY. You don’t need to know where we are going or what are our plans for our children. You do not need to circulate the news of our new TV to all your relatives either. Let us be. Give us some space. You have had your time. Give us ours!


PS: After my last post, I realized that all of us face issues with our in laws. It need not be physical torture alone. Emotional abuse is harmful no matter the distance. We rant, crib and bitch about it because frankly, no matter how many posts we write, how many frank conversations we have, things are not going to change. What is more depressing is that women are mostly the ones torturing other women. And while a lot of the happy wives and the sons out there might not understand what and why we continue with our rants, these experiences are depressing and very stressful.

***Disclaimer: This post is a fictional piece inspired by many stories I have heard over the years. 

2016: The year of firsts!


I hate running.

That said it is quite amazing to note that this year I ran (Ohkay!!!! WALKED) for three marathons while carrying Pickle and even managed to complete them in decent time. Yes, my heels are no longer in existence and yes Pickle will not want to sit in his carrier ever again, but it was so worth it!

This year has definitely been a first for many things. I started cross-fit. Yes, I know. The bug finally bit me. The first week, all I wanted to do was come back home and cry. The second week, I could barely move but still stuck to it. By the third week I was craving for more. And now after 16 weeks of training 5 days a week, I finally realize why people get addicted to it. It gives you a kind of high that leaves you exhausted but wanting for more.

I also participated in a baby wearing walk, a first for this city. It felt good to be appreciated by people for carrying Pickle for so long. I really struggled with people around and their judgement when I decided to carry Pickle. Within the first two weeks of his grand entry into this world, it was quite clear that he was the restless kinds. He wasn’t clingy or colicky but he wasn’t happy about lying down on the bed or in the pram for a long time. I first fashioned a sling out of an old duppatta and when I realized it kept him happy, I did my research and bought a good quality baby carrier. People judged, criticized, made all kinds of jokes about me carrying him. They called me obsessive and gave me loads of unsolicited advice, but I knew what was good for my baby and I stuck to it. T was the only one who supported me without any reservations. And frankly it paid off. I was able to move in and out of the house with ease. I took him to restaurants, parks and on planes and he would quietly snuggle up and fall asleep.

Now finally, after three whole years when suddenly there is a ‘fad’ and ‘trend’ of baby wearing, people are suddenly buying and using them (incorrectly in most cases). Anyway, the baby wearing walk was good for my morale I guess.

So overall, 2016 has been good to me. Let’s see what the next year has in store!

Break ke baad…

So I sprained my ankle… AGAIN. However, this time it was with a twist, pun intended. The sprain was not just severe but also on top of an old injury which complicated the matter. The sad part was not the fact that I was supposed to be on bed rest for three weeks (Pishhhh!!!) but the fact that it was during the week full of crazy adventures (meaning ordering food and going out for random drives) with my neighbor who was leaving town soon.

Since I was asked not to put any weight on my ankle, I had to devise ways to get around the house to do my regular stuff. Pickle’s Panda bike came to my rescue as I could easily prop up my foot and then whiz around. He wasn’t too happy about it and kept hiding the bike. After nearly two weeks of dragging my ass (and foot) around on it I realized that the doctor (for a change) was right and this sprain was not going away in a day or two (as I had bravely proclaimed while refusing pain killers). So I looked around and found a kind stranger who lent me a wheelchair. Life was so much better after that. Once I had mastered rolling out chapatis while sitting on the chair, everything was back to normal except for my right foot which was twice its size and refused to get back to normal. You can’t imagine how frustrating it is for a restless person like me to have restrained movement. It makes me grumpy, irritated and a total jerk… (yes I am those things even when I have operational body parts but on a lower level).

After a whole month, as I glided (ok… rolled around in a choppy motion murmuring rosy expletives under my breath) on the wheelchair I wondered out loud at least 5987 times a day if things could worse. Well my question was answered as our house shifting got approved (after 6 whole months of waiting during which I had a healthy ankle). It was quite a feat getting through the entire shift while limping on my twisted ankle and managing Pickle’s tantrums. Thanks to T we did it.

It’s now two months later and the tissue around my ankle is still swollen. Although I am able to walk around fine, I still can’t climb stairs. The new house however looks absolutely gorgeous and I also managed an entire road trip all the way from Vizag to Sikkim. I might need some more time to start dancing but life does seem better now!

So Long.

To Do!!!

Do you ever get the feeling that your life has suddenly been reduced to an unending to-do list?

Since the second I wake up in the morning, I am stuck to my lists. The bond is so strong that it has now started to feel like a part of me. Though I have always loved lists, their precise directives, motivation to get things done… off late they depress me.

The wish list that I come across every now and then keeps getting longer with things I really want to do but have to time or energy for.

The book list that keeps me anxious at night.

The bucket list of travels I save for and look forward to.

The ridiculous number of craft WIPs that just-won’t-get-completed!

The list of groceries that has absolutely no end.

The list of courses I want to finish before I grow too old and tired.

The ideas for the books I want to write someday.

The things I need to teach Pickle.

The gifts I want to buy for T.

The things I have to discuss with ma on our next call.

The broken taps and cupboards that need to be fixed.

The various “guys” that need to be called to fix the previously listed things.

The bills I have to pay every month.

The queries I have for the doctors.

The events and happenings I need to be a part of.

The stories I need to look up to be up to date with the world.

The words I have to look up before Pickle grows up and asks me.

The friends I need to ping and keep in touch with.

The ones I have to wish for their special days.

The recipes I need to try out.

The ventures I want to invest in.

The career options I need to consider.

The activities to line up for Pickle.

The places we have to visit.

The restaurants to try food at.

The DIYs I have to undertake.

You see what I mean? Do you ever see an end to these lists? The lazier ones among you will ask me to chuck out the lists! The ones with OCD will understand why I can’t.

Yes they do depress me because I have so little time and so much to do. But they also are a lifeline… they provide me with so much hope. They make me want to live it up each day (even if it is reading a book instead of partying).

Lists are crazy… they make me crazy… but also bring order to an otherwise chaotic life. Today morning driven crazy by my overflowing lists… I started another list:

Things to do:



So long!

I give up!

I give up!!!

After waging a very civil and sarcastic (yes… me being sarcastic is me being civil ) war with my insensitive and weird neighbours which included posting mean blogs, updating whataspp DP with meaningful pictures and cribbing to anyone who would listen… I am finally ready to give up!

I tried. I tried talking TO them… then I tried talking AT them… and I even tried talking ABOUT them. However, nothing worked at all. Dealing with people in denial is a whole different ball game than dealing with insensitive or rude ones. When we tried discussing, we were asked to’research’ the source of sound. The ‘faulty construction’ of the building was blamed as well. Yes sweetheart… that’s what this is… the B-grade cement used in construction is the reason why things drop on your floor and your furniture keeps moving around in the middle of the night! And the low quality bricks used is why hammers keep falling on nails and elephants run wild in your house. My conviction in the presence of spirits is a way better reason than that at least!!!

When I finally stopped indulging in juvenile acts of putting up mean DPs, one of my oldest friends from engineering college told me not to give up. He reminded me of my college days and told me to make use of the reliable 3P tool! The 3 P’s being ‘Pee, poop and puke’. I agreed and set out to figure out a very creative plan to take back the silence. But it was nearly 9 at night and I fell asleep. In the morning it seemed stupid and I realised my friend was being idiotic as usual (Sorry S… You are a total ASS).

My juvenile reactions were no doubt a side effect of 2 months of sleep deprivation and the one day they didn’t let their pet hippo to stomp around at night, I did manage to sleep fitfully and then realised… it was no use! Why was I trying to civilize people when it barely made any difference. They will never change… and I will only end up wasting my time and energy on some very very dim people. Also, in the very unicorn-sitting-on-the-rainbow scenario, if I actually do manage to make them realise their folly and change… given the transferable nature of our jobs, I might not be around for long to actually reap what I sowed. And I am definitely not the selfless types to let someone else get the benefit of my hard work!!!

So, I officially gave up trying to sleep, get some peace at the end of my tiring day and waging my war to civilize human beings. Now I put my faith in karma and pray like crazy that insomnia becomes their best friend and their eyes have bags under them big enough to accommodate their pet hippo and baby elephant!

PS:  Nevertheless, a huge thanks to them for providing me with enough material to vent, rant and write two whole posts!!! You guys ROCK… literally!

!@#$ thy Neighbors!!!

Okay I have been too polite about this way longer than required. Just cause the big book told me to be nice to my neighbors (no…not that one… the society handbook!) I have been extremely patient… but wake me in the middle of my beauty sleep for the 6718th time and you will have to deal with the beast in me!!!

One of the greatest perils of living in an apartment building with neighbors (or clog wearing frisky baby elephants) living upstairs is the abundance of weird and at times scary noises at pretty much every second of the day! From the time they wake up till they wake me up at midnight from my deep sleep and force me to write obscene things about them on the internet cause I can’t go back to sleep, I don’t think there is a single second of slience… EVER!!!

It’s all about the civic sense you have. Like common sense, it lacks in nearly 99.9 percent of people around. However, unlike common sense, it can be and should be taught in schools and people who don’t pass the test shouldn’t be let out in the civilised world! Seriously!!! How difficult is it to just remember that there are people living under your floor. Oh the arrogance and ignorance of the people living on the upper floors! I really want to take my power drill and drill a few holes on the terrace at 4 am tomorrow just cause I can!!!

Since I am on the first floor with people living downstairs, I am always extremely careful about things.

  • I don’t walk barefoot since I have a heavy tread( yeah right!!! ha ha ha)
  • Pickle isn’t allowed to ride his bike after 7 in the evening or before 10 in the morning and NEVER in the bedroom!
  • The days I need to hammer anything on the walls I make it a point to inform them and even take permission in case it is late in the night.
  • My downstairs neighbour, a total sweetheart, messages me to be a little quieter on the days her kid isn’t feeling too well and I always oblige.

But somehow I have had the beautiful luck of being blessed with upstairs neighbours who have absolutely no civic sense or decency. With both sets I have take the pains of messaging politely about the noise they were cause after 10 in the night. I even went personally to talk to them with a crying and sleepy Pickle to politely point out that the noise wasn’t letting him sleep… The previous neighbours said sorry and that their daughter was riding her bike around, with training wheels on!!! DUH!!! Ask her to stop… she is your daughter… like seriously!!!

The new neighbours simply denied creating any noise. So I told them to get their house exorcised cause if they weren’t making those loud weird noises, there was clearly some spirit living under their floors!!! But frankly I think people should be a little more caring towards others around… especially when you are living around them or above them! I can do a million things to annoy the hell out of you guys… grrr….

  • My love for death metal can awaken at wee hours of the morning … on my absolutely brilliant surround sound home theatre
  • I might take to playing squash on the ceiling
  • I could try nailing every freaking frame on the ceiling instead of the side walls
  • I could practice my skill at the kill-the-spider-on-the-ceiling-with-the-hammer

But I don’t… cause I’m being NICE… Now that I can’t sleep no more… I have to find something less destructive to while away my time… which probably means no more mean posts about my neighbors and definitely no midnight snacking on tubs of ice cream….Hmmm…. eh…. maybe just one spoon!!!

ps: I updated my whatsapp profile pic to this… I know it’s mean.. but so is waking me and Pickle up in the middle of our night!!!

To all upstairs people – Be kind and stop stomping around

To all the others – sleep tight !@$$%%#@$$##



Dear Dog Lovers…

I am terrified of dogs. Period.

When I say I’m scared and keep the dog away, I mean it LITERALLY! It is not a request for you to demonstrate how cuddly and harmless your dog is. People have different opinions, likes, dislikes, fears and joys in life, accept it and move on. Don’t accept it but pretend you do and then bitch about it behind my back, “Whatttttt? She is scared of this adorable little thing?”. By the way, your adorable little thing dog is huge and scary to me (Okay… I just heard it and it SO doesn’t sound right… so I’m gonna go back and edit it a little).

Almost every dog owner I meet seems to be on a mission to get people to like their dogs. Dude!!! I am not gonna… so quit it and move along. You don’t know me, you don’t know my past, so stop judging and giving me that oh-she’s-crazy-cause-she-doesn’t-like-dogs look. Maybe I have had a bad experience with them… and which is why I am terrified of even that tiny sausage dog who only wants to lick my ankle. Or maybe I’m allergic to them. Or maybe, and this is one of those ridiculous yet feasible ones, I just don’t Like them!!! (ok take that nasty look off your face dude…. It’s just a dog) (ooh…”just a dog”???). Or maybe I was just born this way (Haaa!!! Deal with that you Dogist-or-something-like-that!!!).

Alright, if it makes you feel better, I don’t like cats either (hey cat-loving people… chill, I shall defend my tastes and address your love for your feline friends in some other post). And since I am here already, I also do not care too much about monkeys or giraffes or horses or elephants! I am not saying I hate them or anything. Trust me I do enjoy those cute videos and clips of these animals doing the most adorable things. However, that bit of fondness exists as long as they are only on my screen and nowhere near me.

I know… somebody did say that man was the most dangerous animal and so on (too lazy to type a reference note so just google it yourself) but I don’t care. I still can’t seem to pet these creatures without feeling apprehensive. I also know you love your mutt very very much but try and keep that love to yourself. Stop trying to convert me. Trust me, even pushing me into a cage of adorable puppies isn’t going to change my view or my irrational (if you say so) fear of them. So back off and keep your grubby paws and wet noses out of my business!!!

I don’t try to shove my fondness for lizards on to you, do I ? Maybe I should… I’m gonna get lizards and grasshoppers and beetle bugs and cute little crickets and release them onto you the next time you tell me, “don’t worry he is very gentle, he doesn’t bite… in fact he barely knows that he is a dog… he thinks he is a tiny baby”. Yeah right!!! That tiny baby is 6 ft tall when he stands on his hind legs and stinks worse that Pickle’s Poop!!! (ooh now that gives me another idea, maybe I should store some of Pickle’s poop… hmmm)

So, dear doggie people (no I don’t mean you, you mutt, I was talking to your owner), I respect the fact that you love your dogs. So much that you feel comfortable about letting your pet bite/lick/scratch your guests or allowing it to spray your guests drinks with their cute hair or keeping a maid just so that you’re not bothered with the whole walk business or even buying the most expensive PINK collar for them. I just request you to understand (or not) the fact FACT that I don’t. Judge me all you want, but just keep them away.

ps: Dear PETA, you don’t have anything to worry. I am too scared of them to even hurt them. In fact when instructed by T to throw stones at the strays to keep them away, I accused him of trying to get me killed since I sincerely believe if I hit the dogs, they WILL come after me and murder me in my sleep.

pps: I am seriously thinking of getting a monitor lizard as a pet, shoving it at people’s face and saying, “Don’t worry, it doesn’t bite. It is Totes Adorbs (Thanks M for this phrase… it is Totes Adorbs!!!).

ppps: Okay I am not entirely sure whether Lizards bite or not. I am just so tired to google it now (come on people, it’s like 5 in the morning).

pppps: I am already designing the “Beware of Monitor Lizard” sign in my head.

ppppps: Will T be on board with the idea? Maybe I will use the you-haven’t-got-me-a-single-gift-in-6-years chip to get him onboard

pppppps: Need to google compatibility with a 2 year old who thinks everything in the world is supposed to be eaten

ppppppps: Need to research recipes of monitor lizard just in case the above does happen, cause I am sure T would want a bite as well

pppppppps: Oh crap, now I have to write a Dear-Monitor-Lizard post to apologize and another letter to PETA to assure them that I mean absolutely no harm!

Disclaimer: In spite of my, ahem, “irrational” fear of dogs, I absolutely LOVE all the dog-loving people in my life and wouldn’t dream of hurting their feelings. It is ridiculously early right now and my thinking could be biased/damaged/mental!!! So if you’re a dog lover and find this funny, I love you more. If you don’t then… ummm I think I need medical help (??)!

Gifting guide for husbands

I am brilliant at giving gifts ( and bragging about it). I almost always manage to find the best combination of useful, well-priced and thoughtful presents for my loved ones(unless you are not someone I am really fond of and then you only get some weird bouquet of flowers or some random gift from some random store ).

For T’s birthdays, valentines and our anniversaries, I usually do a lot of research to come up with perfect gifts… something that he loves, something that he truly needs and something that shouts out loud how much I adore him. So from naming stars in the sky after him, hand stitching a complete memory quilt to getting him the perfect set of wooden cuff links for our wooden anniversary I usually manage to top myself every year.

T however (like pretty much all the guys I know) falls short in this department. His usual excuses are lack of time/energy… or the most used, “you have very unique taste in things and I don’t want to insult you by not meeting your expectations”! Seriously ??? As lousy as he is with gifts, he does have a way with words.

Last week in an attempt to hide my weight issues I figured buying new clothes will be much easier and convenient than trying to think of excuses for not exercising. As I raked up quite a hefty charge on T’s card ( mine miraculously disappears during such outings), he thoughtfully nodded at the number and made the grave mistake of saying, “I did want to get you here for your birthday shopping… good that we finally made it”. This was his very lame attempt at making up for the fact that he once again (6th time in row) managed to NOT get me something nice for my birthday.

I snorted, in a very un-lady-like-sinetheta kind of way and rolled my eyes at him to indicate that this is NOT a birthday gift. He gave me those cute puppy dog eyes and said, “But isn’t this better, I pay you shop?” Well on any ordinary day… YES!!! It is awesome (apart from the fact that I absolutely hate shopping and usually manage to avoid it by wearing my mom’s stuff till she goes and buys my stuff). But it’s a definite NO-NO for special occasions. After all T’s not my aunt from the faraway land who sends me money to spend on my birthday (Now I wish I did have such an aunt…).

Also, after marriage most guys take us for granted and forget that we need someone to make us feel special and precious. So to help out T (of course this won’t really work since apart from lousy gift-giving talent he also has a I-totally-forgot-what-you-said skill) and the other guys I know, here’s a list of Do’s and Dont’s for Gifting your special lady.

(In case you are a guy and hoping I would create a similar list for girls/women, sorry boss!!! We women are awesome at whatever we buy, whether it is the 10th brown wallet or the 5th green T-shirt. Plus you guys barely have that many choices and the fact that we are your special ones… is a gift for your lifetime. So there’s no need for such a list and if you want one, go write your own blog! Pfffttttt)

  • If you can use it, it is NOT a gift

Now a DSLR is a good thing but do you promise that you won’t touch it unless it is to click my fabulous DPs? No? That’s it… Not a gift.

  • It’s not the House’s Birthday.

A mixer, a TV, an Invertor are things that you use for the betterment of the household… So kindly do not buy expensive vacuum cleaners and call it a gift for my pretty hands!!!

  • I literally have a 1000 gift lists (and so does every other girl out there)

Ok 1000 is probably an exaggeration, its more like… a 100… or maybe 5…? Well I do have wish lists on every shopping app… That’s more than enough. And you have my passwords (at least the ones to my public wish lists). CHECK them dodo!!! They are not for me to remember what to buy but to guide you about what I WANT. So do us both a favour and go through them. Of course everything’s costly on the list… why else would it be a wish list? If those were affordable they would be on my already-bought list.

  • Clothes are not really gifts

Unless they are exorbitantly priced and something I wouldn’t normally buy out of consideration for your sweat and labor spent in earning the monthly salary. Yes the Label matters… What can I say, I am a material Gurl!!!

  • A little twinkle always works

Remember the adage (or is it a proverb? Fact? The holy truth?) “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend”. When in doubt… always think GLITTER! The more the merrier!!!

  • Books

They are amazing things to buy for me since I LOUUUWWE them … ( and here comes the…) but, they are more like the weekly/monthly groceries we buy not exactly a gift stuff unless it is a first edition/autographed/sat on/smooched by copy of my favorite book. A 100 books might make the cut off though 😉

So unless you are absolutely sure, don’t assume they would make great gifts for your lady.

  • Flowers DIE 😦

First : I hate flowers, they give me the heebie-jeebies and make me sneeze.

Second: When they die I have to buy more for their funeral and beh… it’s just a sad little circle of life right in my living room.

That said, I do appreciate a bouquet or two even without any special occasion ( as long as you clean up the mess before I wake up the next day).

  • Snuggly wuggly?

We are all cute and total kids at heart. You will still find that special someone standing on our bedside table wherever we are and however old we are. So yeah, a soft toy is a good idea … when accompanying the REAL gift not as a standalone.

  • Techie Jazz

An Ipod for a music lover, a kindle for a bookworm, a fitness band for the health freak , all make amazing gifts. Take some time out to personalize them to make them seem less cold and more cozy. Fill them with her favorite music, books or apps to let her know you care!

  • Stuff made with love!!!

Paint something, mixed tapes (or CDs/iPods) still rule, bake a cake (even the salty ones will do), give her a spa day, a day off from housie stuff will do too. The point is to take out some time and put some effort into the gift.

Okayyyy the list kind of turned out to be more of a “me” list (once again). But I am sure you guys will find some useful nugget of information if you dig down real deep.

Now that you know-it-all, go and buy me something pretty!

Social irritants (JBB)

Ok, I recently discovered that there are actual people in this world who are so jobless and pathetic that they get together and plan their meanness because they have nothing better to do than poking their ugly noses in others’ business. (Boy!!! am I in an bad mood).

A few weeks back I met two women in the shopping complex. Unfortunately it was a really bad day for me ( PMS, Maid issues, Hubby away for too long etc). After the usual small talk they said that Pickle looked like T. I usually don’t ever comment on such observations but one of them went on and on about how his eyes and nose and chin and hair were an exact replica of my hubby. Now I love T, like a lot… but Pickle looks nothing like him. Other than his complexion he is pretty much his own self with maybe a few things that are similar to mine… his round face and pudgy nose. But everytime people see him they feel the ridiculous need to compare him with T just ’cause he is so fair.

As I said, I usually overlook these comments since it barely mattes. But that day was not a good one for me and I kinda got pissed off. Worse, I let it show on my face as I said bye and walked off rudely. Anyway, the day passed by and it would have been forgotten if it hadn’t been for another incident exactly a day later. I met another lady of the same group and she literally started her conversation with the words, “I’m so sorry”. I was quite confused as I asked her the reason. She replied, “I am sorry that your son looks nothing like you. He is an exact replica of his dad”. That’s when it struck me that these useless, jobless ladies had actually got together over chai-pani or whatever and discussed my irritation. Then they had come up with the whole plan to diss me off further. Imagine that!!!

Anyway, I told her that it just proved that it WAS really my husband’s child and if Pickle did look like me it wouldn’t be a good thing ’cause he would just end up looking too feminine… not something I would want for my boy. Then before she could take her foot out of her mouth and say another word, I walked off. Oh I would have loved to stay and give her a piece of my mind but I figured if they all were so bored that “I” was their best gossip story then I shouldn’t really kick them when they are down!

Anywho… I am hoping they leave me alone next time.

Random musings on a rainy day

It’s a beautiful rainy day and I am so sleepy that I might resort to propping my eyelids up with matchsticks like cartoon characters do. But when you have a hyper 18 month old running around the house in his diaper, you rather not close your eyes for even a single second since that second might be the only one he needs to pee on the carpet, stuff a crayon in his nostril or break the teeny liquor bottles you’ve put on display.

At times like these I take up conversing with myself about various random nonsense to remain awake. Right now I’m  narrating Pickle’s life. I know it sounds stupid but think about it. What if he grows up to be this talented writer and he happens to dedicate an entire book to his truly awesome mother, yours truly! He would probably end up writing something like this,

My earliest memory of ma is of a rainy day when she sat crocheting a cardigan for me. I remember looking at her face, which was too dark since the light was behind her, and wondering how she would react when she finally found out that I did potty ( a pretty big shitload) while successfully jamming the piece of orange putty in my ear.”

Or maybe this,

I remember the way ma used to scream. Of course it was years later that I finally discovered that it was her “normal” volume but to my baby ears it seemed like she never…. ever… stopped screaming.”

Or if he loves me too much, maybe this,

I do not remember when exactly I started talking but I do have a feeling a learnt it really early so that I could finally stop my mother from speaking continuously… at all hours of the day… or night!!!

And if he hates me, it would go something like this,

I probably farted for the first time when I was a month old. I was startled that my tiny body could make such a loud noise and eventually ended up crying. My mommy, true to her evil self found a brilliant opportunity in my misery. From then on, every time there was a strange smell around I would see her pointing at me and blaming me for it… and my dadda actually believed her :(.

Now, I do realise that this might seem like utter nonsense to you but then who said it had to mean something deep?

If you can’t beat them, make them join u!!!

So, 2014 has flown away but Pickle’s weight hasn’t… yup I’m calling it “Pickle’s weight”. It is technically correct since it is the weight I put on while “making” him. Anywho, I tried everything from dieting (a chocolate slab at the end of each day is NOT cheating) to exercise routines (running after Pickle IS considered to be exercise), but the weight is sticking to me (it probably has grown real fond of me).

I believe the basic problem lies in the fact that as long as I am fit and healthy I really don’t mind that my arm fat jiggles on its own and I still look 5 month pregnant! And until I am fine with the extra weight, I don’t think I will be working too hard at losing it. So, now plan B… I’m gonna concentrate on making others fat!!!

Plan B:

1. Make delicious baked products and other fattening stuff

2. Offer them to all your pretty friends and neighbours

3. Eat it yourself too!!! (Ok this part might not really help me but… who can resist a chocolate caramel cake?)

4. Repeat from step 1 to 3 till they acquire as much weight as you want them to!

Wow, in a perfect world that is SO going to work… Anyway I’m off to bake a molten lava cake… Have fun!

What did YOU do on New Year’s Eve???

New Year’s Eve is SO overrated!!!

Seriously, think about it. You can go out for a drink, dancing, dinner or random pub hopping on any (in fact, EVERY) night of the year. So why make such a big deal of that one last day of the year?

It is after all, just another day. It doesn’t physically end or begin anything, nor does it catastrophically change anything, then why the hullabaloo? In plain words, it is just a day marking the end of a calendar year. That IS IT!!! So stop using it as an excuse to drink more, party hard or kiss random people as the clock strikes 12. And for the love of all things pretty in the world STOP bugging about what I did on New Year’s Eve. Just ‘cause you went ahead and had random fun with stupid people and stupid drinks does not mean I have to do the same.

If you know exactly what you want to OR would be doing on New Year (which in my case is never possible due to T’s ridonculous schedule), it is a breeze. But try making plans at the last minute cause T is suddenly able to get away from work, and you will find it a nightmarish experience. I remember one time when we were stuck in the crazy traffic and had to wish each other in the car and then there was that time when we left a party at ten in search of good food, only to be welcomed by loooooong waiting queues everywhere we went. By the time we found a place (that too a freaking vegetarian one), it was 12, my mood was totally bitchy and thus the moment was ruined. We ended back at home with a sad parcel of veg biriyani which was too bleh to eat. Last year I was way too exhausted to even stay awake till 12 and I knew Pickle would wake up for his feed anyway, so we slept off and as promised, Pickle woke us up at 11:45 so we could wish each other.

After years of mishap, we have learnt to enjoy the new year on the 1st of January instead. Like this year, we went for a nice dinner on the 1st. There was barely any traffic on the roads and the restaurant was pleasantly empty as well. Anywho, I had fun welcoming 2015 quietly with T by my side and Pickle tucked up in his dreamland (ahh… ). Here’s wishing you all gorgeous readers a very Happy and Prosperous New Year…

FYI, this random rant has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I spent my New Year’s eve eating cake dough and watching some crappy sitcoms instead of getting drunk, dancing wildly and taking a million selfies for FB!!!

NR and JBB!!!

This  post  is to publicly shame my work wifey, N.R, who after getting engaged has happily and cruelly forgotten all about me. This is also a warning to the would-be Mr N R, regarding his encroachment upon my time with NR.

Initially I was too busy to notice that NR had stopped messaging or calling me up as I was blissfully buried in nappies and baby talk. I finally got some breathing space and realised that the b*tch hasn’t remembered me AT ALL!!! This is totally unacceptable. I know, I know, a lot of people have forgotten me and I really don’t give a flying rat’s ass!!! But since this is my work wifey, I am royally pissed. She first forgot my birthday! IMAGINE that… Just imagine the nerve on this itty bitty thing… FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY!!! And now she won’t even reply to my messages. I know she is alive cause she is busy posting ridiculously random updates on social media like her life depended on it. And I also realise that the new love on her horizon is probably making her dizzy and mental at the same time, but it is no excuse to forsake her first love!!!

[Some senti for Crap’s sake]  Also, you all know how I have almost no “Girl”friends… There are only few girls that I have let myself get friendly with (along with an underlying foundation of hate, jealousy and sarcasm). So it really HURTS that NR would forget me after I gave her a cute teddy !!! It is also disappointing and frightfully morbid that she has kicked me out of her life after I so bravely let myself become her Phraand!!!! SNIFF SNIFF!!!

Dear NR, if you have any heart left (after giving it all away to would-be-Mr-NR), you will weep and buy me loads of books and teddy bears to make up for your cruelty towards me.

Dear would-be-Mr-NR, I already hate you for taking my work wifey away from me!!! In case you feel obliged to be in my good books again… buy me LOADS of books.

Oh… and this public harassment is because I am me and NR is NR!!! Love you B*aaatch!!!!


Heavy Issues.

That’s it. I’m NOT shopping for any more clothes… EVER!!! I will instead buy shit loads of costly Jewelry and shoes that I will probably never wear but atleast they will not make me feel like a whale!!!

Last weekend, after a depressing time on the weighing scale, I decided that since I might not be able to lose the pregnancy weight (Yeah… I am still calling my fat tummy – “Pregnancy weight”!!!… Any Problems????), I might as well buy some clothes, preferably in a colour other than black, which could help me hide the rolls of flab lying around. So I happily deposited Pickle with T and his favorite chewy toy so that I could browse and shop in peace. As I’ve mentioned earlier, I hate shopping but this being a necessity I waded through the racks diligently to find something that I liked.

Somehow, everything I saw or liked was in black… grey or black and grey. So either I have lost the ability to see colours or maybe there are no colours left in this world!!! Anywho, since I had firmly decided to buy more colourful clothes I managed to pick up a few which had colour prints over a black background (yeah that counts). And I was quite realistic about the sizes too… instead of my regular XS or S, I picked all Ms.

The ordeal inside the changing room was heartbreaking. Although I’m sure the mirrors in those rooms add like 20 extra kilos to one’s image, I was still depressed and just managed to stop myself from smashing them. So, all depressed and morose over the state of affairs, I decided not to buy any clothes anymore!!! I still do fit into my maternity clothes!!! and they are the only clothes I need… Ever!!!

I then proceeded to dunk my depression in a big tub of ice cream. And declared to T that he might as well kiss his hard earned money goodbye since from now on I will only be buying shoes and Diamond Jewelry. HUH!!!

Fashion Much?

Warning : The readers who have become fond of my mellow mommy self and do not wish to see my real nasty side should NOT read the following post. JBB!!!

I happened to see a few blogs by acquaintances which dealt with Fashion and style advice. There were posts after posts advising people about how to wear the shirts or their jeans… what to accessorize with their dresses and blah and blah and blah!!! To be honest I was quite surprised. I mean I have very very limited knowledge and taste of style and fashion. I pretty much have only Black in my wardrobe and almost no accessories. So it was quite fascinating for me to see how these lovely ladies could write so much about whatever they wore or whatever they think people should wear.

And their content was definitely well researched. As one blogger explained the dress she picked to wear while visiting a friend, she reasoned out her choice of colour (according to the season), the length of sleeves and skirt (according to the time of the day) and the brand (depending on the place she was going to. I can’t even imagine the thought processes one has to go through to determine all this. I would just pick up any t shirt (all of mine are black and slight variations of each other… its quite a mystery how I keep track of the washed ones from the unwashed ones) and pair it with jeans (the only pair which fits me… which btw are a men’s size of 28… the female ones refuse to travel past my thighs!!!). And this is not just cause of my baby and my hectic schedule… I was always like this. Of course I do dress well too. Any formal occasion and my sarees would come out… I have all sober colours and materials so… all are good for formal and official. Parties would mean either dresses (if they still fit me) or yet another black top over the same old jeans. But I have never spent days trying to figure out what to wear unless nothing fits me and I have to try a hundred before something is able to hide my LOWE handles!

These blogs didn’t just speak about the dresses… but also the type of foundation applied… I mean… seriously??? So wait… you mean to tell me that after I read your posts, I am supposed to make notes and keep them ready the next time I get ready to go out??? They gave detailed description of the shade of lipstick and the brand of eyeliner… their price… place of availability… !!!

I can reason out the writing part… You sincerely believe you have amazing fashion sense and would like to impart a little of what really makes you amazing to the poor fashion-sense-less people like me. I accept and commend you for that. I mean if you can take out time of your busy schedules to tell us nincompoops why you thought of wearing the red tank top when you went out at 6 pm instead of the blue one… you are truly inspiring and of a very generous heart!

What I still cant understand are the readers… are there actual … real human beings ( read fashion crazy gals) who would like to follow these posts??? So they would take notes (probably on a notepad since their tiny brains are already overflowing with colour names like Fuchsia and Champagne…) and then refer to them when they need to? Is that why you find girls everywhere in the city with exactly the same hair style and clothes?

I do not understand fashion… and when I say it means squat to me… it really does. Also when I say fashion and style to me is whatever I am comfortable in… I mean it…(unlike the celebrities saying the same while swaying in something exorbitantly pricey… of I accept they might be “comfortable”  in it). So it really baffles me when people can write so much about it.

All the sarcasm aside, I really do appreciate the material these people put up… I tried doing it and this is what I came up with :

T shirt – Black… Any brand… as long as it is washed

Jeans – Blue … again… any brand as long as you can close the button over your bulging tummy

Kajal – Eyeconic ( or anything that you find on your dresser)

Lip balm – Nivea

Accessories – Nil, since Pickle either licks/tugs or chews them all.

Shoes… Floaters… ALWAYS…. for maximum comfort… (I would rather walk out in my angry birds chappal… but society decorum demands I at least wear proper footwear)

ummm… Thats it… done… I am dressed to go to the

– mall

– restaurant

– market

etc etc etc


PS : This post means absolutely no offence to all the fashionistas I personally know and admire…. if anything, it only accentuates my shortcomings in the glamour world 🙂 love you all

Guts and abs…

After nine … almost ten months of giving the excuse of just having delivered a baby (I know its been 10 months… but its not really that long ago…) and hiding behind the baby carrier ( “Manduca!!! Helps me carry the baby and hide my tummy!!!), I knew I had reached the last straw when I did not fit into the L sized top I recently bought ( I have never even bought M :(). My laziness of course tried to give me another free ride as I researched the effects of exercising after child birth ( I know it was like a year ago… but you never know what a simple ab crunch may result into). The search led to no lame excuses and I finally decided to drag myself out of the pit my bulgy tummy was buried in.  That again doesn’t mean I immediately got off my ass and started working out… I spent another week-ten days searching for the right kind of exercise and downloading the related materials and video ( I also did try to download just the right music for my exercise routine). After almost two weeks I finally decided to start off . Oh… not having a maid… having to do all the household chores… no time for myself or sleep… almost made to the excuses list but my own neurotic self crossed them out- it’s like having a split personality!!! Very annoying and disturbing at the same time.

I figured that around seven, when I have finished all my chores (lunch, cleaning , ironing blah blah blah… yup I am supermom!!! I do it all) and when Pickle is in that crazy mood where he just won’t go back to sleep or quiet down, I could lay down the mat and do a few crunches. I did start off ambitiously with a whole routine set in my mind, but when I had to keep running after Pickle, who couldn’t resist eating my slippers or kept having to drag him from the dressing table, my routine kinda got tiresome. So now I stick to basic stretches, weights and abs. Ofcourse all this happens with Pickle around so it is normal for me to find him sitting right between my feet and staring at me doing stretches or trying to grab the weights from my hand … and the best??? trying to crawl over my tummy or eat my face just as I lie down for my crunches!!!

I don’t think after running after him so much I need the extra exercise . However, after two weeks it’s starting to show… I mean I wore my saree yesterday and the blouse was loose (yayeee… the first time ever… of course it was the blouse I got made when I was 9 months pregnant with 32 extra kilos… but shhhhhh).

Of course the whole deal still remains hugely dependent on Pickle’s mood swings but I am determined to stick to it till I can fit back into the pair of jeans I bought before my pregnancy ( Ok I do realise this is very very very ambitious… lets see).

Oh just FYI… Laura Londons’s Ab exercises actually work and are simple enough to fit into my 15 minute routine daily. I did plan to start with Special K as well ( yup… I was so depressed that I was almost ready to give up eating), but when I read the fine print I realised I would need to have cornflakes for breakfast and dinner ( oh the horrors of dieting) and eat loads of fruits and veggies in between for the plan to work. I figured I can just as well cut back on my fried stuff I munch on throughout the day.. So no dieting for me.

So for now I am gonna stick to my exercises while crawling after Pickle… and hope it all works.

Random boredom

Though I have never been addicted to the idiot box, I have always found it very soothing when it runs on mute the whole day. I barely have time to glance at it when Pickle’s awake and when he sleeps I am usually sprinting around to finish my work. However, in the past few weeks there has been a pattern to my TV watching… like how I would tune in to a particular channel at a particular time and while I never paid much attention to the daily episodes, I kinda liked having the familiar faces around… on mute of course!

I finally realised how bored and addicted I was when T asked me how my day went and I said, ” well Amy is planning to move in with Ricky”!!! Yup, I was actually watching crappy shows and not just that, when our TV stopped working, I actually went through the entire seasons’ wiki page!!!

Yup… thats life now… !!!

Mom knows Best!!!

Being a first time mom is a precious feeling. Actually being a mom alone is priceless but the first time definitely counts a teeny weeny bit more than the next. However, in the interest of Pickle’s well being and my sanity… I would like to officially publish a few guidelines to people out there. These are just a few of the ones I have had time to pen down, but there are a million more… since I will not be able to mention all of them, Accept and follow guideline no. 1 when in doubt.

1. I am Pickle’s mom. That inherently, implicitly, explicitly and universally implies that what I say with regards to him is the final word. “Mom knows best” in this case isn’t just a misplaced mantra… it is THE rule of the universe.

In short, where Pickle is concerned, whatever I say is correct. Period.

2. Just ours. Ok … so when T and decided to have a baby, it wasn’t so that we could propagate the species or the family name or to adhere to any societal norm… we decided to procreate cause we wanted a little bundle of joy in our lives to shower all our love onto. So, in case anyone out there claims to have been waiting for Pickle more impatiently and eagerly than the two of us…they  can go and DIE!!!

3. Not a toy! I really don’t understand when random people express the intent to “Play” with Pickle. You can spend some time with him and probably cuddle him with my permission… but thats about it. Hoping that I would feed him, burp him and change him only to hand him over to you so that you can “play” with him while I do the household chores makes you a complete nut case… NEVER gonna happen. I did not decide to dedicate my life, time and energy to my baby so that YOU can “play” with him!!!

4. Not a Prop. The next person who requests for a picture while holding my baby is going to get a stink eye from my side… I did not go through nine months of pregnancy and the last 6 months of taking care of my baby just so that YOU can have a “cute” Profile picture…. GROW UP!!!.. Need a “cute” pic? go to the animal pound and get a picture taken with a puppy!!!

5. Not your business. I do not remember asking any of you people anything about your life…. so when exactly did it become fashionable to pry into mine? Or more specifically Pickle’s life? I DO NOT wish to tell you what his weight is, or what colour his poop is… or even how many times he wakes up at night. To worry about these things and take care of it, T and I are present and all alert. Keep your long nose out of our business or it shall be unceremoniously shoved into places you do not want to know about.

Everything else pretty much can be categorized into one of the 5 aforementioned points.

Yes I am a first time mom

and yes I may not always be right about everything…

but the fact of the matter remains that I am Pickle’s mom and good-bad-ugly… He’s got me to do his bidding till he is 18 and can overrule my words!!!

What is frustrating is the fact that random people make it their business to gossip about me and my parenting style especially when I am actually doing a good job of it. If I was doing a bad job, I wouldn’t have bothered the bitching behind my back…

Anywho, this is all the ranting I am going to indulge in for today… you guys take care and keep tuning in for more of my utter bitchiness.

So long!!!


Still Hating People!!!

If I hated people normally and a little more during those nine months… I hate them even more right now.

As soon as I brought Pickle home, random people wanted to drop in to see the baby… I mean DUH!!! Get a life… Imagine a new born in a roomful of random people carrying random germs …. exactly what every mother needs to raise her new born. Anywho… I managed to keep all these crazy people at bay till a whole month… But some still persisted… and what is worse is that they actually expect me to sit and chat with them while he sleeps. I mean… come on!!! when he sleeps I have like a million things to do if I am not sleeping as well and all you want is for me to sit and chat about stuff I no longer care about!!!

So now I get my maid to literally lock me in …that way nobody can come home… hehehe!!!

The other annoying thing that people do is give unsolicited advice about random stuff. I mean, they would even advise you about the position you should breastfeed in… When will people learn that it is just not nice to give stupid advise

And if advise wasn’t enough, people ask ridiculous question… whats his weight… what’s the circumference of his head… how many times does he poop!!! Like seriously people!!! Even his pediatrician doesn’t ask so many inane questions.

Then there are the other new parents who literally jump into a head to head competition about everything… my baby pees 6 times… what about yours!!! DUH!!!

So bottom line is that I thought I would start liking people once my pregnancy hormones leave my system… but it doesn’t seem to be happening very soon… If anything, motherhood has made me loathe people even more… I now see them as a hub of germs and completely useless advice!!!

Motherhood Rocks!!!

My awesome talents

Stepping into this whole new chapter of my life… Called motherhood… I’ve started discovering a whole new side of me which has loads of hidden talent..
For example…  I’m an amazing lyricist… No seriously… I’ve been making up songs with absolute gibberish and they still sound awesome. So now I sing “burpy burperson”, “Mr poopy pants “and even” feedy feedingo” with such flair that I’m even thinking of marketing them and earning truck loads of money… 
Well if you think I’m crazy… You can blame it on my sleep deprived state…

I’m also an excellent baby babbler… So while Pickle goes ga ga gu gu… I start my babbling and eventually he gives up his cries to try and make sense of what I’m trying to say.
If there is any nappy changing contest… I’ll win it… For sure. Cause I can change nappies while sleeping, while eating, while blindfolded, while he’s wailing like a banshee, while he’s sleeping or any freaking time you ask me to… And I’ll do it under 30 seconds… Ok that’s not true… But who cares… I’m a champion nappy changer..!!!
For now I’ve discovered just these awesome talents of mine… I’m sure I’ll only improve over time…
So long till next time

Early morning Rant!!!

Dear UNWANTED, UNLOVED and mostly HATED  readers,

The reason you have access to my beautiful life, is cause I still haven’t figured out how to categorically ban you from it. However, take a hint. If I have not called you with my special news… and have decided to keep it a secret from you, it means that you are NOT important to me. I do not owe you anything cause we are NOT friends.

I know, you will still go around blabbering through your enormous pie hole about my news. Let me tell you, I am ok with it. After all your life totally sucks so the only attention you would probably receive is when you gossip about my big news.

Anywho, anyone who has not been personally informed of my life, and has been loitering around this blog only to confirm whether the rumours are true or not, F$CK OFF!!! I maintain a public blog for only friends, family and my loved ones, who actually have a right to talk about me.

If you have any sense or self esteem, you should realize that you are inconsequential to my life and so please stay away. Of course I know that you will go and blabber about it to a million others … So listen, if you do so you are the lowest of form of life on planet earth and ( I know I am not supposed to hate and all that) I hate the fact that I EVER made acquaintance with you!

So dear uninvited readers, DIE!!!

Time out…

Ok Give me five minutes where I am not a mom-to-be and I shall share with you few weird thoughts with my adorable readers ( I recently found out that the most unlikely person to keep in touch with me is actually reading my blogs… which is why this whole PDA).

And nobody dare show my mom this post or else I shall deactivate you from my life 😛

So I was thinking, wouldn’t it be damn cool if we could “hear” the baby while it is still inside one’s tummy?

I mean seriously!!! How insanely spooky will it be. Imagine this, I am in a boardroom with all the HODs and some really hot shot client. I proceed to take the centre stage and present my awesomely fabulous idea ( I have GOT TO stop using double adjectives) and then in the middle of my brilliant speech, my tummy starts making noises. No not the hungry grumbling-rumbling types. Actual baby cries!!! And maybe then I would start rocking from side to side while holding my tummy and singing some weird lullaby… right in front of all those people!!!

Hehehe Gosh Somehow I can’t get over the hilarity of such a situation. I mean babies can actually hear your voice so we should be able to hear them as well… right? So imagine how cool it would be if they actually start bawling from inside… hehehehehehe Total OMG moment!

My second weird thought is influenced by all the predator and alien type movies my hubby loves watching. The way my little one twist and turns inside with things visibly poking out, it is really hard to prevent my thoughts to wander in that area. Come on!!! don’t make me spell it out ( My mother is sure to kill me, thank god she cannot censor my thoughts!!!).

So you see… my weird thoughts are as awesome as ever… pregancy- wegnancy can take a hike!

(Secretly I am just glad that these moronic thoughts have occurred to me during my time and not someone else’s. Imagine me telling this to some other mom -to-be… gosh … now that would be scary!!!)


Ok now that I have all “That” out of my system… I am gonna be a model mom from now on 😉

I am pregnant, not terminally ill… you idiot!!!

I have just ordered this book online. However, I am already in  love with it. If it is anything like the title, I am sure to love it. I know it possibly wouldn’t be as bitchy and crabby as I would want it to be ( I love it when people are mean to others… not so much when I am the “others”), but the title has me floored and reading excerpts from the writers blog confirms that it is a good pick.

Once I finish it I will definitely post my review… till then you guys can go through these.

But seriously, people these days are on two extremes with me. Either they want to flatten themselves on the wall when I pass ( like I am an elephant) or they would pretend to punch my tummy as a “joke”!!! Either they would run around trying to do everything for me ( even walk to the loo to pee for me) or scream at me knowing that I will not be able to reply to them.

So since I am not “normal” these days, various people deal with my so called “abnormality” in different ways. My stupid hormones have found this very period to show their true colours. So whether I don’t find the potato peeler, or the hair clip… or whether people scream at me and call me a bitch for no good reason, I find myself tearing up. My tear ducts are on a total overdrive. And then everyone is like… dont cry, its not good for the baby… Yeah Right… Like it is something I enjoy doing. Why cant they understand the simple fact that either I do it cause I have no control over it or people around it actually trigger it with their ultra mean behaviour.

Anywho, dear mean people, I know your life sucks totally and you are truly jealous of whatever happiness I am able to find, but it does not give you the right to take out your frustration on me. I only hope that you get a life soon so that instead of spending your time worrying about me and my life, you can focus your energy on yours.

So dear people, remember, I do not have a disease, I am actually creating life within, which is nothing short of a miracle. So the next time you want to something nice for me, do it cause you just want to make me comfortable, not cause you feel I am an invalid!!!

Did you know?

A few things you ought to know about me ( Of course it is about ME…. DUH!!! when the hell have I ever written about anyone else on MY blog…. like seriously people!!! ).

1. If you have a problem with me… tell me. Complaining to mutual friends and crying behind my back will not sort out anything. It will only make me hate you more.

2. If you actually feel I have treated you badly intentionally and not cause it was just a bad time for me, then you have to finally accept the fact that you mean absolutely NOTHING to me! You are totally dispensable, and although it hurts like hell… deal with it!

3. Stop assuming things about me…( that kinda is true for everyone else too). And stop assuming that I would magically know things about you. Talk, communicate… unless you want to dig a deep black hole and bury our friendship. Remember I am not a mind reader and I would hate it if you were.

4. Stop being a girl ( like even if you are a girl, have some guts). DO NOT cling to me like I am your BFF. Actually Stop expecting me to be your BFF. I have quite a few and I like it that way. Also, I don’t need to be your BFF to love you or care for you.

5. Please stop with your “friendly” advice. I have an overbearing mom, a know it all brother and a genuinely concerned hubby who already have an entire arsenal full of those. So I do not need it from you. And if you knew me, like really knew me, you would know that about me.  So Back off!!!

6. I am not the typical girly types who would love to have that “care” and “affection” from random strangers. So please stop behaving as if you are the only one in the world who cares for me… cause trust me… you are not!

7. Finally stop “trying” to show off that you know me. If you really really knew me, you would know that it irritates me when you make declarations about me which may/may not be true just to show off that you apparently know me better than others.

Of course you will still end up doing something wrong which will make me block you from my friend list on FB or on Gtalk. There’s is no absolute guide to being on my good side. You just need to take your chances and bide your time. However, for now this is more than enough to help you navigate through my mood swings.

Oh, btw, in case you think this is too much work and you rather not have me in your life, please go kick rocks… and DIE!!!

Dear friends

“This post is just for all those people ( a very tiny number), who claim to know me and are approved “friends” on my list”

If you have finally made the cut of being my friend, it means you have somehow developed the skill set required to tolerate me. Also, if you are one of those few who I have trusted with the Pickle news on a personal basis, you are definitely special. So it is quite obvious that you have known me for a long time… or have handled enough of my tantrums to be considered a long-time- friend.

This means that you are supposed to know me. Forget pickle time, you are supposed to know that I am a ridiculously moody person even without pickle around. That I pretty much have a life long supply of PMS which makes me the mean bitch that I keep boasting about. So please understand… with Pickle around… I am a million times that bitch. I am cranky… all day long… just cause… I am!!! I do not need a reason to be so. ( I never needed it before either).

I am tired, overworked, pissed off, always hungry and always irritated at everyone. The only reason I probably tolerate my hubby cause otherwise there will be no-one to give me a back rub at night… or my mom cause I need to crash at her place soon… rest of the world… I have absolutely no problems in hating you every second of my time. But after all that drama even you guys know that I totally LOWE you!!! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this and you wouldn’t be reading this. So although I am never ever gonna apologise for my random stupid behaviour, please give me some space to be weird at times. Cause I really need to !!!

Muahhhhh to all you sooper guys who have stuck be me through my black mood swings and moronic tantrums!!!

Pickle loves you too !!! 🙂 ( There I played the senti card)

Random Rant #23

People told me that these nine months will be the most enjoyable time of my life. However, forget basic manners, someone forgot to teach people the basics in humanity. So now, people from all around are competing in a competition called “Who can make her the most miserable?”  The Prize is of course the opportunity to feel awesome cause they were awesome enough to make a preggo cry. And pretty much every F-ing A$$!*^# wins this game cause I am too tired, polite or emotional to be able to hold my ground.

So come one and all.. try your luck. Lets see who can make me cry in the shortest time frame.

Happy Birthday to me !!!

Yes… dear reader, you are absolutely correct, this is going to be yet another run down the “me” lane where I would constantly imply at my total awesomeness and hate everyone who doesn’t accept it ( I don’t care if you agree or believe… but you just gotta bow down and accept it like any other fact of this universe).

For Starters : Here’s my “rant” for the day!!!

All you nincompoops who forgot about my birthday just cause you were miserable or overjoyed about your own lives… I hate you… officially! Just cause your life is awesome… or cause it totally is depressing and suicidal, doesn’t mean that you can dare to forget about ME!!! I am after all the best thing to ever happen to you. So just cause you made the catastrophic mistake of forgetting my birthday… slap yourself hard and bang your head repeatedly on the wall in front of everyone… and then send me a nice BIG gift to make up for the unholy sin that you have managed to commit.

My day :

This year I did not send out my typical narcissistic reminders to everyone about my birthday… NO I haven’t grown up or sprouted wings and a halo, I was just being a total conniving bitch!!! Without the reminders I was sure that the number of people who would forget my birthday would increase drastically… which is obviously directly proportional to the number of gifts I would eventually receive.

Anywho, hubby was supposed to be away and that kinda made me ultra depressed… It of course didnt stop me from singing in the shower and claim to be sooper awesome .. but I was definitely depressed… actually pissed off would be the more correct emotion I was feeling. However, due to some divine intervention, he managed to come back home on the morning of my birthday and surprise me. ( Dear tank, just cause you weren’t there to wish me “in person” at mid night, you would now need to buy me more stuff to make me believe that you  truly wanted to be there but couldn’t because of your silly work).

Sunday is definitely not a good day for birthdays… and pickle certainly didn’t make things any easier… I still managed to bully everyone into giving me all the attention I truly deserve. Lunch was a quiet affair at our favorite restaurant… followed by frolicking in malls looking for gifts that I could wheedle out of my beloved hubby. But Vizag, as promised, was boring, bare and stupid. I still picked up a ridiculously expensive dress that I will not be able to wear for at least the next two years… It would probably be used as a prop to inspire me to lose weight. Dinner was mom’s special chicken curry… yummmm.. The only regret is that by 6 I was so exhausted that I wasn’t able to spend much time with parents.

I also gifted myself a brand new apple touch! Now initially I was all brave about it and declared that I didnt want to wait for others to gift me… I could gift something nice to myself… But then hubby and bro both forgot to buy me something and offered to pay for it instead… although a lousy replacement for their gifts… (which would have been diamonds ;)), it is a financially benefiting one … heheheh. Of course I haven’t decided who would get the honour of paying for it.

Finally :

People who have absolutely no relation to me except for the fact that I probably look at them or know their name should not be so shameless about demanding a party from me. First of all, people should be treating me to awesome stuff considering I was born on this planet… I mean imagine… this much of true awesomeness… !!!

Secondly, if you are a true friend, I would be anyway treating you, whether or not you want to be treated( but seriously??? who wouldn’t want it!!!).

So dear unknown faceless moron, shut your pie hole, cause I am not going to treat every random person on this planet just cause I am awesome…

On a farewell note… dear forgetful weirdoes… God has given you smartphones ( ohhhh kkk maybe your boy friends bought it for you) … SAVE my freaking birthday… and Do not speak to me till you buy me something pretty!!!

Work wifey… you are dead to me!!! I was about to look for a husband for you… but now… I disown you !!! Hmmmppphhh:/

Anywho… Happy wala budday to me 🙂

PS: It  is NOT today… so DO NOT call me like a dodo and wish me !!!

PS 2 : I shall not be receiving any stupid sorry calls unless they are preceded by a message containing the details of the awesome gift you are getting me

PS 3 : I know I use the word awesome too much ( and Tata Nano seems to be inspired with it too), but I am never gonna stop… so go kick rocks!!!

To all the jobless morons out there!!!

Dear Moronic, Jobless, Tattler,

This post is to reconfirm the fact that it is MY personal blog… About my PERSONAL stuff. That may include bitching about people I know or wouldn’t like to know, raving about how awesome I am and about my zillion experiences in this mad mad mad world.

Please try and get it into your pea sized non-existent brain that I do not give a flying rat’s ass about you since you are NOT my family or someone I would refer to as a Friend. You are probably just a figment of my hyperactive imagination or someone I met in passing(but have no recollection whatsoever). Either ways, I do not care about you enough to spend my precious time blogging about your ridiculous and wasteful existence on this planet.

I love myself and am a narcissistic of the highest order… so trust me… when I say these posts are all about me, either about my awesomeness or about the weirdness that I tend to sometimes… they truly are!!! Stop humoring yourself and believing even for a fraction of a nano second that I would even dream of spending time and energy writing about you. You are NOTHING to me.

Of course I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry that you have no life of your own. I feel sorry that you have to sit through your day reading my blog (out of every other blog) . I am sorry that you have so much time on your hand and no work that you have to kill time by making up fantasies from my blog. I am sorry that in your sad and depressing life… my blog is the only thing that sparks your imagination and makes you feel like a homo sapien.

Overall… I do feel sorry for you… but you still mean NOTHING to me.. . so stop lying to yourself that I would write anything about you. You are a nobody!!! Deal with it. And the next time you want to crib about my blog… grow a pair and write to me directly… you spineless, moronic, non-existent slimy ball of puke!!!

Random mail #223

I just received this mail from Dr. Batras in my inbox …

( Judgy people… no… my hair is awesome and I have never been to dr Batras. It is just a spam mail I keep getting. Maybe they want me to donate some of my beautiful hair. Thank god for this post, I finally managed to unsubscribe)

The subject line reads, “Is your hair comb filled with your own hairs?”

Seriously? Hairs??? Million years of grammar and that’s the best you can come up with.

Secondly… your own??? No dear Dr Batras, my comb is filled with my neighbour’s hair. I have absolutely no idea why she has the need to use my comb but maybe it has something to do with the fact that I have been using hers.

Thank you for your ever growing concern (as opposed to my ever diminishing hair), I shall love to avail your services, if… and only if you guarantee that I will be able to see only my hair in my hair comb !!!

These are the total vella times when I wish like hell for the reply option to work on these mails!


Random realisation #221

While trying to control my anger, at someone, I caught myself reasoning that just cause the person’s a 40 yr old virgin, who has absolutely no life at all… the person has every right to be jealous and spiteful towards me.

Thats when I realised how horribly judgemental I am. But… who cares!!!

Swipe smuggler

Heard of human smugglers? They are the ones who would help illegal immigrants to travel to their “illegal” destinations for a cost.

Introducing to you all, the office version of that person. Lets call him the Swipe smuggler. The main function of the Swipe smuggler (SS) is to help people abscond from office for more than the stipulated time during a regular working day. It is quite uncanny how even new recruits are able to find the SS in a day’s time.The SS usually swipes, lets the person leave and then swipes back. Also, on the return journey, the person discreetly gives a missed call to the SS who repeats the entire sequence. So technically on the biometric system, the person has absolutely no loss of time, and the SS too ends up with just 4 swipes.

Why they do it? Simply cause they are the ultra needy kinds who want everyone to love them. So they are more than happy to the wrong thing just to make sure everyone loves them. Since there is no monetary gain from this part time profession, it is safe to assume that the gratitude displayed by the absconding person feeds into SS’s emotional needs and complexes. They are so needy that at times they will get ready to even sacrifice their time just to make sure that someone is happy with them. Of course on his end, the SS usually has a strong friendship with the group D staff whose biometric records mean nothing. So when SS needs to abscond, they simply order the group D staff around to their advantage.

The SS usually poses to be the source of huge irritation to sincere and punctual people like me who have never tailgated. It might lead to a lot of disappointment in the general system of things and the helplessness is quite torturous.  Anywho, next time you need to go meet you boyfriend for 2-3 hours or if you want to sit outside in the sun simply cause its hot, call the SS to your rescue!!!

Professional Nit-picker

Being a Business Analyst is damn good fun. You kind of get to boss people around where functional specs are concerned and it gives me a awesome high. Why? DUH!!! Have you met me? I am insanely bossy and a control freak.

The only other job description that is like my dream job, is that of a tester. Cause I LOWWWWWE Nit picking. Ask my husband, he will tell you. He is probably the world’s best husband, literally. and I still manage to find faults with him . If nothing I blame him for not fighting with me!!! I can’t help it, apart from being a woman (who kind of has the nit picking gene in her) I always have it passed to me through generations.

So it was quite natural that I would love the job of a Tester. Not the write-test-scripts-and-test-everything kind but the freaky tester who goes around nosing in the dirtiest or the cleanest corners of the application and comes up with the most weird bugs that can ever exist in the domain of IT Applications. The type who is not just a regular pain in the a$$ of the developers but is a royal pain for even the project manager cause she is always able to prove that the application has a bug!!!

I remember during my stint in my previous company, I actually begged my Project lead to let me get trained as a tester. Not cause I wasn’t able to test, but cause my test results were making the lives of the developers a living hell, so they boycotted me stating that I was a qualified tester. He was amused at my idioticity to say the least, cause apart from development I was already handling pre-sales, marketing and ad-hoc HR responsibilities for my team. And once I was certified, I was more than happy to create havoc for my dev team. Yayee me!!!

Even right now, I was having so much fun bugging people with my bugs, that just after two days of actually requesting me to test the application, my manager was trying to assign me other work so that I would leave his application alone.

So yeah… being a professional nit picker would be my ideal job… !!!


Stop Talking to me

Why would you want to talk to me?

Doesn’t my body language and the distinct tilt of my almost non existent nose clearly shout out – “I hate you, stay away”???

Nope it isn’t you sweetheart. You are like a ball of furry love (:P). Your screeching nasal voice is the sweetest melody after anything that AR Rehman has created.

But I still hate you, not cause you are the loathsome you!!! But cause I hate everyone.

So STOP!!!

Stop talking, stop interfering, stop gabbing… just STOP!

Stop trying to make small talk. Whether I cook my own lunch or not is absolutely NONE of your Business.

Stop asking me the world’s most irritating questions – I Dont know ANYTHING!!!

Stop making rhetoric observations!!! I have eyes too… and since I have been around longer… I have seen it all!!! done it all!!!

Stop looking at me every time I talk to others. I am NEVER EVER going to include you in my conversations. My conversations are totally MINE.

Stop researching through me!!! Google has been developed for nincompoops like you… USE IT and stay out of my nose!!!

Stop… Just STOP!!!

And if it helps.. fine…. I hate you!!! go DIE!

I hate ( so whats new about that???)!!!

I hate over-enthusiastic people.

The total “I-want-to-know-everything” types. These are usually the types who think they are above the others around and hence need to know about everything thats going on. Dude… chill… its been like ONE freaking day on the job. The company has been alive for 500 years… you will learn stuff… slowly. There is no sword hanging on top of your head… so sit back and start slowly. I mean didn’t you hear about what happened to the boy who tried to eat too much too fast?? He DIED!!!


I hate Pretentious people.

These are the “oh-I-love-you-in-front-of-you-but-gonna-bitch-about-you-behind-your-back” types. My question… why the drama? “Brownie points” are imaginary. Also, you cannot buy anything real (or unreal for that matter) with them. So why the phony smile and air kiss? You do not need to say anything… good or bad, Unless it is good that is! Hate someone, just keep quiet. Why pretend. Why going the extra length to prove that you are nice and then going behind her back to stab her. Stop acting dude!!! nobody really cares what you think. And if you think they do, please pull the knife out from your friend’s back and use it to DIE !!!


I hate Phony-busy People

The “I-have-to-run-everywhere-cause-I-am-oh-so-busy” types. Nobody expects you to run even when you have a million deadlines. The run indicates that you are grossly incompetent which is why you are late for everything. Relax. Walk to places. The run-don’t-impress-anyone! Plus your running pace will anyway not have any affect on your missed deadlines cause the clients can’t see you run and won’t be able to appreciate the whole show you are putting up for them. And be careful of too much running around… you may slip and DIE !!!


I hate Nosy-bodies

The “who-why-where-when” types. For every observation they will have a million questions. I would like to request these ridiculously free people to take a moment and ask themselves if the answer to their question will affect them anyway! Then why waste your breath and ask it. You will not act on it or be motivated by it… so why bother people with stupid questions. If you are doing this for your “general knowledge” then you are most jobless person on earth and your existence is a burden on the planet since you are not serving any damn purpose… so go DIE!!!


I hate many more types of people but I think this amount of hatred is enough for this morning. Now that you have read through this post and fulfilled your purpose in life… you too can go and DIE!!!

Back again ???

I know I know… I have been absent from my readers for a long time… well if you thought I had work stuff or life stuff to attend to rather than provide entertainment for your free time… you are so wrong… I was just plain bored and lazy and wanted to take a break from gabbing my heart out at silly topics.

I did write almost a million posts in my head… all hilarious and totally awesome… but sadly you would never get to know! Anywho… I will kinda try to be a little regular here. Its just that there is a major change going on in my life right at this moment and I am trying my level best to contain my bitchiness and be a little better than my usual narcissistic  condescending and judgmental self. Doesn’t mean i am not blowing my own trumpet or judging every fat chick wearing shorts… just that I am doing it in my head and giggling away to glory in my spare time…

So that was the “I’m back” post. Have been gobbling up books… so will be able to provide you with some reviews at least… and don’t fret, you will have the regular dose of my bitchiness coming your way too… I am too damn evil to be nice for this long!!!


So long!!!

I am Back… B*tches!!!

So just cause I haven’t been providing you some delicious food for thought and those amazingly spicy bitchiness filled delicacies, why would you think I have vanished from this earth???

Well, anywho… I am back. I broke my one rule ( well there are a million rules but come on… doesn’t this sound so cool!!!), I let my work take over my life and did absolutely nothing about it. That and the fact that my health has been up and down the past few months really didn’t help.

However, I read Cristane’s comment on my blog and it inspired me to get back to what I love the most… after my husband… and my future baby… and books…. and chocolates… – Writing. Also, I kinda trusted Justin Rao a bit too much and skipped his review of ‘Go goa gone‘ after he said, “this is the most fun I’ve had at movies recently”. So effectively I skipped the part which explains the Zombie factor of it!!! Duh me!!! I literally dragged my hubby to watch it, cause Justin said it was awesome ( yeah beware, he has a bone to pick with you now!!!). Dragged him away from the star trek movie (which was TOTALLY AHMAZZING by the way).

So I am back to beat the crap out of Justin 😛 and thank all my other readers who kinda missed me.

See ya soon!!!

Poor souls…

Imagine, if you may, an illegitimate offspring of a skunk and a Chihuahua. Aha… that’s right. Someone who would spread a foul smell all around, bark like crazy in that irritating voice, have absolutely no balls to face anyone and is an expert in just being oh-so-obnoxious!!!

Too much venom? Well I can’t help being this petty at times. I try to rise above and pretend that it’s all right and bright in my world… but anti social elements that are insecure about themselves find some way to bug me. Why do I let them bug me? Awwww come on I can’t be that mean! These poor souls spend their entire lifetime in plotting and scheming against me. I mean I am so freaking important to their existence that all they can think about is… how to ruin my day. Now in response all this diligent planning and plotting, if I don’t let them get to me… then they will be oh-so-sad! Their entire life will fall apart and they might even contemplate suicide.

So if my irritation and 2-minute-foul-mood makes someone’s existence worthwhile on this earth, I will make that sacrifice and be sad! After all, everyone… even an illegitimate child of a skunk and a Chihuahua deserves to be alive and participate actively in its sorry excuse of a life!

Villains : The bed rock of a society ;)!!!

If everybody did what they were told… if everybody followed the rules that have been set out… and if everybody also chose the right option… there’d hardly be much to live for. Imagine if every one of us was good. What if there were no bad people? Well…if there were no villains… there would be no heroes… no valiant soldiers… no myths or legends… no literature … and definitely no music or movies! We would probably have no concept of religion, law & order, money or even politics. We would also probably die of too much goodness.

Think about it.

If people weren’t massacred, brutalized or biased against, there would be no riveting history texts, no documentaries and definitely no candle light vigils. Mahabharata and Ramayana would have ended on page 1 where the kids would receive what they rightfully deserved. Love stories would never emerge cause Romeo and Juliet would get married and had tiny babies and be all coochie moochie! Nor would the legend of revolutionaries be born as there would really be nothing to revolt against. Our own Indian cinema would be dull and boring without the evil laugh of the bad guy, the cheap dialogues of the hooligans and the sequin dazzled dance numbers of the so called vamp. The paintings would have only bright colored flowers of the blue-blue sky without a trace of black. There would be no great songs as singers will be too good and happy to OD on  drugs or share their pain with us.

Of course it will be the perfect world without bias on any level and no power hungry politicians running amuck. Everybody would be in love with each other and live in a hippie like state for their whole life. But how boring would that be!

Forget the world. Imagine how colourless my life would be if I didn’t keep bumping into ridiculously bad characters. I would be happy… always…! I would not have anything to crib about or cry my heart out at some injustice. I would lose whatever little drama remains in my life. Can you imagine me like that? All smiley and sweet like an angel!!!

So here’s a big thank you to all the morons and the villains in my life. Its not my hubby who makes my world go round… it is you guys! You are the ones who always keep me on my toes for the fear of being pushed around. You are the ones who teach me valuable lessons in life… not the 100 beautiful friends I have. Not my family but you guys are the ones who give me a reason to get up every morning and fight my heart out for the most trivial things. You and not my parents make me the person that I am and that I am proud to be. You make me realize the goodness in me and the others like me. In fact you the sole reason why I can claim to be good. Your utter incompetency and dumbness gives me a reason to smile. Your ridiculous path through life helps me cherish mine. You help me feel superior and accomplished with the minutest of my achievements. You make me awesome in comparison and that so totally rocks!!!

So dear bad guy/gal, thanks… for helping me be ME!!!

Driving Hazards…

I hate driving. Love drives… but can’t stand driving. I have a soul of a dog 🙂 loyal, possessive, protective and damn ferocious if threatened. And when it comes to drives… I’m the doggiest doggie you can ever find. After a lot of trial and errors… my husband has figured out the perfect way to keep me happy. Take me on a drive. My head out of the window with my tongue rolled out is total bliss for me. As long as I can sleep in the car with absolutely no worries about the drive, I’m happy. Ask me to check if there’s a vehicle behind or if the car can turn safely and I’ll turn into the most crabby doggie… errr person on earth. Ruffle my hair a few times to let me know I still have your attention and you’ve won the best person award in my books !!!

I can’t help detesting the driver’s seat and job! It’s like this…some people are born drivers. They have immaculate hand eye coordination and their rhythm is in total sync with the vehicle they are driving. Their presence of mind is lighting sharp and they are most comfortable even when they are driving on an inch wide road with a bus hurling towards them. Ok… maybe not that dangerous…but you get the point right?

And then there are amazing personalities like moi!!! People who need to memorize the sequence for starting a car… who will panic if they miss a step and completely zonk out while trying to remember the next sequence of steps. I’m serious… I need a cheat sheet when I drive. When I pass that particular pole, brake and when the tree passes by, clutch-brake-release brake-shift into 2nd gear-release clutch on the second speed bump-accelerate on the 3rd speed bump. And try talking to me while I’m doing this… either I’ll smack you on your face and continue nonchalantly… or the car will stall and I’ll burst out crying “OH LORD!!! I am not made for driving… I hate cars… I will kill others and myself if I’m allowed to drive!!!! Sniff sniff sniff!!!”

Initially my hubby would try to console me and appreciate me, but he soon learnt that I get vindictive when he does that. Cause I know my performance behind the wheel is less than mediocre and I hate that. I don’t do something till I know I’m awesome at it… or atleast average. But when the car swerves every time I change gears because my right hand won’t quit mimicking my left…. I know it’s a lost cause. But I’m not to blame completely… atleast not for the “xylo”. It is like a huge truck. When I’m behind the wheel, my ass is literally 5 inches above the seat cause I’m trying to figure out whether I am driving in the lane or not. And I know for sure that no one can really even see me from the outside. They probably end up wondering about a white xylo driving on its own.

I even tried out a smaller car and though I was good at driving it on empty roads. I totally freak out when I see traffic. Day traffic is still fine… but at night I feel as if every oncoming car is going to hit me and every car/bike in front will suddenly stop on a whim and I’ll crash into them. I have had nightmares about driving off the cliff cause I didn’t remember whether I had to brake with the clutch or without it… and also about hitting pedestrians cause I can never figure out whether the car will touch them or not.

Although I have always proven to be an excellent multitasker in life (I can actually read a book, knit and watch a sitcom at the very same time), I figured out that talking or listening to music while trying to drive makes me a weirdo. My big hand gestures translate into jerky wheel movements and the same makes me pukish cause I have motion sickness!!! Imagine!!!

And then there’s the thing where I tend to space out. I will be looking at the rearview mirror to check traffic behind and would complete forget about the one in front. And while trying to make sure I don’t hit a car, I might suddenly find myself veering dangerously close to the pedestrians.

Anywho… I tried for about two weeks. The stress gave me acid reflux, the nightmares gave me dark circles and the constant peeping over the steering wheel to check the width of the road gave me a sever muscle cramp. My husband finally realized and agreed that I wasn’t meant for driving a car. I was meant to adorn the passenger seat and acquire a diploma in back/side seat driving!!!

new age hypchondriac

I hate doctors. No, not the kinds where I would run behind them with a shovel and an intention to bury them alive… but the kinds where I would simply want to avoid them all my life and pretend they don’t exist. Feelings for medicines and hospitals – ditto!!! However, as luck would have it, I end up with ridiculous ailments which have pretty much got me a lifetime membership of hospitals and a daily diet of all kinds of medicines. Still, I don’t remember any such occasion where I have managed to complete any medication course unless you count the times when I was a teeny weeny baby and my ma managed to stuff them down my throat.

These days my hatred for meds or docs is fired by this magnificent thing called the ‘internet”. Although at times I find myself turning into a hypochondriac, it is still my best friend. So now every time any doctor opens his/her mouth about anything that is wrong with me, I trust my besht phraand Google to confirm the same. Every medicine prescribed is cross checked and every side effect mentioned is verified.

After almost 5 years of doing this ( I discovered my besht phraaand a little late), I have hit upon another glorious thing. Self diagnosis!!! Yup… this is so much more satisfactory. Imagine typing “pulsating pain above right eye at 2;30 am” and actually getting a million results on it. The poor sap with the doctors tag would probably have to refer you for a 100 tests before he can even get closer to what it might be!

So a sneeze with a tickle in the throat becomes symptoms of a deviated septum. Every head ache is just another tumour and the sudden twitching of muscles an early warning of a stroke. The forum on back aches suggest that I probably have a slip disc and the discussion on calf muscles helps me figure out that my shin bones are weak and the ankle group helps me conclude that my left leg is probably longer than my right which is why I keep tripping on my own feet.  Have to admit all this is a little addictive . so once I get a little too absorbed in it, I end up googling every thing I can. From the sudden prick sensation on my elbow to the reason why my cold just wont go away.

What I have also realised is that, all this is a just a way of mining gold through others miseries… and at times it is quite hilarious to read through them as well… This is mostly at the stage when you are still in control of my feelings and imagination. But after this, comes a stage where you start believing every post and your throat ache is blown up into a full fledged attack of TB. I am just thankful that although I am a little addicted to this whole game, I am aware when it starts  turning me into a psycho and I stop when I feel like I am about to topple over the edge of sanity into complete oblivion… Well….Almost always!!!

My love for Drama

I love drama!!! I love being all melodramatic even in my regular life. There are times when I wish music would magically erupt and I could jig around a little in perfect synchronization with the people standing around. I wish there were more dramatic moments in my life where I could weep away to glory. However, there’s hardly any drama in my life. Not that I’m complaining but it is a little drab…

Like, I was never ever biased against in favor of my brother at home, so no sexist upbringing. In fact he was usually beaten up if he tortured me. I was the pampered brat who could-never-do-anything-wrong.

School life was peaceful (read boring). I had friends… there were no enemies around… everybody (including the teachers) loved me. So no bullying… no teasing… The worst thing to happen to me in school was the fact that I was called a bookworm by students of a neighboring school!!! Like total DUH!!!

College was bliss with loads of friends… I did manage to get my heartbroken which I milked for a long time… being all dukhi and rondu about it. It was fun while it lasted but my silly heart got over that too soon and I was once again… without too much drama in life.

Even though I met my hubby in a very filmy manner, there was hardly any drama with our love marriage. Both set  of parents readily agreed… I mean seriously!!! I couldn’t even cry or threaten them with the idea of eloping. There was hardly any wait… so no dooriyans and tanhayee… and in any case the number of communication techs available today make it really easy for long distance relationships… so there was no waiting-with-bated-breath to hear his voice ( I was skyping with him day and night).

The wedding itself was yet another day in our lives. We sat through it all waiting for it to get over so that we could start our lives together. There was no month long preparations (parents probably did all that), no arrangements… no shopping or make up sessions , no meeting the photographers. We both got up, got ready, sat through the rituals and thanked our stars that it was a quick ceremony.

Even my hubby’s so un-dramatic. I mean imagine the pressure I live with! I have to provide ALL the drama in my life… it is exhausting. He never fights… so whenever I chance upon even the minutest fight reason, I have to struggle and blow it completely out of proportion. I whine and cry and beat around the bush. He rarely replies… cause it is pointless.  He helps around the house so readily that I can’t even find points to nag him about. I love cooking so there’s no drama in the kitchen either. I am efficient in so many things ( like boasting and blowing my own trumpet) that there has never been any drama about it!

–          I didn’t have to give up my male friends for my hubby…

–          I didn’t have to change my name…

–          I didn’t have to quit working…

–          I have all his support and help for all the household chores…

I mean come on!!!

So the only drama I come by is by living vicariously through my friends and books, gossips and random rubbish posts like this…

And Scene!!!!

Diary of a Business Analyst : # 2

( The last chapter #1) The job of a Business analyst is very happening… sometimes its a little boring… and then some days it is so boring that I feel like dying while stuffing myself with ginger pickle. But then there are days when you get such awesome requirements that all you want to do is jump from your desk and commit suicide. Thanks to some awesomely ridiculous clients and their requirements, my life seems happening all around the year. The following post should not be mistaken as a by product of my boredom or frustration. It is a true masterpiece like myself and has been jotted down while working on three other proposals. So it is technically very sound. Also, these are just the high level requirements and can/will be detailed out during the formal requirement analysis phase. 

After I have started re-reading the Harry Potter series I have come to realize that the whole thing is not magic but a very intricate and well written application. This realization may also be an professional hazard after dealing with ridiculous, lame and some times irritatingly stupid requirements of clients. I know most of you overgrown kids out there, not wanting to grow up, will immediately hate the idea that Harry’s world can be built on anything as trivial as computer code, but be patient and read on.

The trace program

–          This program runs in the background, tracing and searching for witches and wizards all over the country

–          It also helps in tracking underage magic being performed.

–          Magic being some extremely genius codes developed by kids

–          On detecting a wizard/witch whose name is not yet registered in the master DB, the mail program is initiated.

The Mail program

–          This program is responsible for sending emails… sorry… owl mails to various witches/wizards around the country

–          A separate screen provides the administrator to create and save templates for the emails of different kinds

–          The auto populate mechanism fills in the name of the recipient into the mail body in a seamless manner and the mail seems personalized.

The wand program

–          Every wand comes with a built in chip or something which is controlled through voice commands.

–          More than 1000 spells are available to be used by the witch/wizard by just voicing the spell

–          Every wand is locked to a particular user’s voice and thus can only be operated by that user.

–          Users will be able to customize the colour and designs in which the spells/lights erupt from their wand through another set up screen

The broom stick program

–          The broom sticks have an aerodynamic design and have built in nanorotors which help the user to soar high while seated on it

–          The controls on the handle are too small to be detected by the naked eye but still powerful enough to easily maneuver the broom stick, much like a power steering.

The owls

–          Using owls for mail delivery has been a risky choice but since they are nearly blind in broad daylight, they can be eaily guided using internal chips. There is less probability of them being attracted by the sights of the country side

–          Their direction sensing chip sends a signal to the chip embedded in the letter and the address along with the map coordinates are relayed back to it.

–          The direction chip then sends charges to the wings of the bird guiding it to their destination

–          The public birds come with a built in payment gateway which enables them to accept payment for their services

I can go on about how everything is nothing but silly programming logic without any trace of magic. But I think this is more than enough to prove to all ye non-believers that code rules all…

Dear Harry Potter fans… don’t believe a word in this post. I truly wish and believe that there’s magic in the world. Which is why although I live like miles away from England I still wish that my witchy talents will suddenly appear and I will get into Hogwarts. Which is why I chose London for my study tour, in the hope that maybe my witchy aura will catch someone’s attention while I wandered in the lanes of london. Which is why I still wake up everyday and try flailing my arms all around hoping for some magic to pour out…. and like a true blood Harry Potter fan… I shall keep hoping till I die!!!

PS: I am now officially crazy, bored and creative at the same time… how cool is that!!! three more hours to freedom….yayee!!!

My Sunday.

I am weird. This is in case my readers didn’t realize it yet or the ones who need yet another confirmation on this fact about me. When normal like to laze through their rare free weekends while surfing through pointless TV shows chomping on comfort food, I like to do something… anything which proves I had a productive weekend.

So while my hubby enjoys his glorious post lunch naps over the weekends that we don’t find ourselves in town on work, I tend to finish incomplete projects… read books… or try out new recipes. It is a totally different point that I forget to rest on Sundays which leave me with a heavier dose of Monday morning blues than the regular I-want-to-kill-someone feeling. Another point it is not, is that I end up being crabby during the evenings when I find it easier to complain that my hubby wasted our precious time together by snoring (don’t worry sweetie… you don’t snore) away to glory!

This weekend

–          I managed to prepare almost 20 pairs of crochet earrings. I now have absolutely no idea what to do with them other then probably gifting them to my friends… if you reading this dear friend who lives in vizag, feel free to take some.

–          I finally managed to start on the baby blanket I had planned to make almost a year back. Now if you are reading this Sarita di, it was supposed to be for your baby. But now that he is a year old and that you too live in vizag, you might never ever be able to use it. So here’s what I am gonna do. I will finish it… and whoever has just had their baby will receive it !!! So Rupa, Smitha and Pallavi… get set go… whoever delivers first gets it. Do not worry its in lemon yellow… a very gender neutral colour 🙂 ( I’m as smart as I am lazy)

–          I sorted my crochet drawer which was a whole jungle in itself. Sorting all that yarn is usually a brilliant exercise for me to practice patience which I more than often lose halfway through the task and snip of all the tangled yarn which just won’t wont untangle… but still… good practice.

–         I also managed to make my vintage sewing machine run. Now this sewing machine belonged to my grandma who bequeathed it to my ma in the vain hope that someday my ma would find her talent and start loving sewing as much as my dida did. Sadly that day never came. Halfhearted attempts at sewing buttons which pop back out in a minutes time and hemming a long skirt which eventually became a short one, left my ma in no doubt that it was just not her cup of tea. This sewing machine was a fixture at home while we grew up. When ma discovered that the sewing gene had skipped her to be ingrained in me, she was more than happy to give up the machine and reclaim that spot in her house. It barely works and needs a thousand repairs… but it is so much fun… and somehow getting it to run is a very big thing for me…

–          I finally started re-reading my harry potter collection. It was weird. Those ghastly movies kept influencing my imagination till I finally managed to shut them out. It is a glorious feeling… reading a book and imagining it happening in front of you. You are privy to the characters innermost thoughts and feelings which is not something you can experience while watching a movie. I remembered the way I had imagined my characters to look like and behave… and it is much better than the movie. I managed to finish two

–          I also washed a load of clothes after like a zillion years. I know I only tipped them into the washing machine and clicked a few buttons, but if you knew how much I abhor washing clothes, you too would agree that it was a big accomplishment for me. Usually hubby dearest takes care of it…so I never worry about it. Even with a machine its a pain and I would rather a truckload of utensils than do the clothes 😛

So although I was exhausted by the time I was dine with my weekend, I felt good about having something more substantial to show for it other than puffy sleepy eyes ( yes I do mean you… dear hubby!!!).

As I said… “me so weird”!!!

Can act… can’t pretend…

Throw me on a stage, point the spotlight on me and I will blow your mind away. I will laugh I will cry and I will sigh like there’s no tomorrow. I will be the mother whose wails will break your heart. I will be the voice of injustice which will put a shiver up your spine. I will also be the one to trip and fall and make you ROFL. I will be it all and I will be nothing. I will make you believe me and live my life with me… I will be your worst nightmare and your loveliest dream come true… just put me on a stage and point the spotlight at me.

But tell me to pretend and I shall falter in my step. Tell me to keep a straight face while lying and I will balk at the thought. Ask me to smile at the one I hate and I will choke on my bile. Try making me pretend to be sweet to an imbecile and I will want to kill myself…

I can act. I know I’m bragging but when there are some things in life you are truly proud of, not vain, you know it and talking about it doesn’t qualify as boasting. So I know it pretty well that I can act. But I just cant pretend. I will not pretend to be caring when I don’t even like a person, I will not pretend to be concerned when I truly don’t give a rat’s a$$ about a person and I will definitely not pretend to be all nice and gooey towards someone, when all I really wanna do is slam that someone onto the wall and watch with pleasure as them whimper.

Pretensions are a way of life these days. More so at your work place where you need to pretend to like your bosses cause they have the power to fire your sorry unpretentious a$$. You pretend to be “collaborative” with your colleague cause you want to be left in peace. You pretend to be everyone’s friend… pretend to like everyone… pretend to like office politics… cause office politics can be a bitch. Especially if you don’t take part in it, cause you believe its insane and against your principle (or maybe cause you’re just not capable of playing politics). You would think if you are indifferent towards it you will escape its wrath. But people will eventually mistake your indifference as your weakness and turn against you for no reason or rhyme. They will turn against you cause you are the only one in the room who’s not participating and they don’t like it. You’d be unceremoniously dragged through mud and dunked in humiliation. You’d be pestered and irritated till you give up. Give up being indifferent and take up arms or give up being you and leave the room.

So today’s mantra for me: Stop Pretending and Act.

Imagine you’re on this stage of an office. And you have the part of the best ( read: diplomatic, conniving and scheming) employee. Now stop pretending and ACT! Act as if you are friends with everyone. Act as if you are collaborating with your colleague. Act as if you are in total agreement with all the crazy psycho ego maniacal plans your colleagues hatch… act…. Till the curtain drops at six.

And then be ready for an encore every weekday of your life!!!