What About You?


Hi there.

Been a while since I wrote. Well, the reason behind that is I have been busy participating in life ( a really futile task,to be honest). So in my last post I mentioned a dating experiment…well, scrap that. You know how you sometimes you try very hard and then you still get your heart broken because whatever you do is not enough? Or how the other person can just never provide you with the enough amount of attention or affection and you are left wondering if the other people he/she dated had no such demands. You keep on wondering if you are too high-maintenance or are you not normal? Well, I don’t know if it happens to you but for me, it is my dominant feeling.

What one needs to be happy, is to feel accepted. And what should one do when they can see the other person trying to change them to their convenience…you just let it happen? And how do you fight back or decide if this is something you want to resist against? What if the other person changes you so much that you do not even recognize yourself or know who you are? The most important question: What about YOU? Your needs?

Relationships are  a lot of work, in fact, too much work. Why spend so much time on something that may expire at any moment? One should rather work on oneself, gain knowledge, gather experience and enjoy the aesthetic pleasure of simplicities. Be selfish. Because that is the only way to ensure happiness, love yourself more than you love everyone else.


Gilly Warren: Chapter 1



Let’s begin at the beginning. It was a quiet evening when I pulled up outside the Warrens’ front porch. It didn’t bother me that even after the passage of Ten Years; their house had not changed a bit. The place looked as ugly as always. I never would come here, not if I had my way. But when your grandfather makes you the executor of his will, you have no choice but to visit this hell hole where you were, unfortunately, born.

My name is Galilea Warren. Yes, derived from the great astronomer’s name. Let’s just say growing up with that name was not an easy thing. Gillian, Jill, Gale, Galileo, Lea, Lily…were the names preferred by my peers and teachers.  I hate this town, I hate the people who live here and I hate that I had to come down here for this stupid funeral.

I stared at the door, the leaves scattered hither-thither. The door opened and I saw a distraught looking woman calling me over. At first glance, something about her lanky, malnourished appearance would make you pity her but that would be a rookie mistake, under that fragile yet effective guise was a heathen. Behind the posh, Botox-ed exterior lied a cruel, manipulative and money-grubbing bitch. Oh, and she’s not malnourished, just bulimic. She was dressed in half-mourning clothes and had fabulously covered up her bald spot with a brown weave.

Victoria welcomed Gilly inside, as always, she had a bit of an air which never sat well with Gilly. Victoria said, “Hi, you’re here. Didn’t think we’d see you…last time I saw you, it was on Gemma’s wedding night. Which was about two years ago.” She followed that with a coy smile, a smile so fake that it made Gilly want to jump back onto the porch and howl for a Taxi at this godforsaken hour. But as disturbed as she felt, over the years she had learnt how to deal with dimwits such as most of her relatives. Gilly smiled, she replied, “Yeah, sorry aunt Vi. I was just busy with my job and life. All of us can’t sit around with a Marie Claire in one hand and Margherita in the other.”  Gilly smirked while Victoria gave her a steely smile and staggered away into the living room.

The living room was full of people, people I did not know. I just smiled politely to avoid the possibility of having to engage in tedious small talk. I navigated through the crowd and tried to find a familiar face. And I stumbled upon my married cousin Gemma making out with what’s-his-face in the Coat room. I would have just slipped out but Gem stopped me. She pushed away that guy who couldn’t stop slobbering all over her and made her way to me.

Gemma was feeling unhappy; she saw gloom everywhere. She watched everyone being busy in their small groups, just like high school. All alone since birth, until her last breath. Amidst all the thoughts she looked at the young guy checking her out. She saw the signs of trouble but it was either a tall drink of blonde boy or a shot of vodka in a pre-funeral party with no alcohol. She went over to him, the boy flirted with her a little and then they went over to the Coat room, or the room which used to be her bedroom. Proximity, a tinge of desperation with the heady intoxication of overflowing serotonin and adrenaline. Yes, that is the novice’s guide on how to complicate your love life. A five-minute tongue-fest later, Gemma noticed a figure trying to slip away. She wouldn’t have bothered to stop till she saw that it was her best friend, Gilly.

Gemma pounced on me, she planted kisses on my cheeks and it did make me smile. Gemma grabbed my hand and led me to the attic. The attic was the only place where we could be ourselves: Our secret paradise in the woeful era of our teen years. I looked at her, she had changed.  Her eyes seemed sad, and she looked like a lost puppy. Like a very attractive, rose-blonde puppy.

Gemma couldn’t keep her excitement in check, she had to hold Gilly. It had been so long since she had seen her. Gilly had long black hair, she looked small and all that baby fat seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Gemma had this stingy feeling prodding her mind. She felt jealous.

I asked her how she was doing; she said that Doug, her husband, was too busy working to ever be seen with her. She said that the boy was just a way to get her away from this boring situation. She said that she didn’t expect to see me here.

I didn’t know why but I felt no curiosity about her. I actually did not care what was happening in her life, how different she had become. I just didn’t care. She went on about her boring bullshit, whined about some picket-fence family problems. Something about wanting to get pregnant, all of it: dull, useless conversation. I gave her a small smile, said a few cliché things about how I’m happy for her and how I hope she gets all the happiness in the world.

Gemma could see that Gilly was indifferent to her, she poured out all her thoughts in front of Gilly. But Gilly wasn’t interested. She saw her trying to feign interest but she couldn’t hide how bored she felt with this conversation.

I spoke up; I told her that I was now a tenured professor of Biochemistry.  She grinned and congratulated me.  She asked me why I came, I told her about the will. I said that I’d leave right after the wake was over, just after announcing his last thoughts. Gemma asked, “Why did he make you the executor of his will?” I said, “Probably because he knew that this was the only way I’d come to this town.” We laughed over the weird antics of that deluded old man. God, he was an old-fashioned bore who had nothing in common with either of us.

I did feel a bit of nostalgia but my memories were mostly a composite of bad events, worse people and unnecessary drama.

Pizza, My Precious


My mother and I fought yesterday. Two good things came out of it. First, I got inspiration for a new post and second, I blackmailed my mother into buying me pizza. Fighting, then writing and reading blog posts made me hungry and tired. Pizza, yummy…isn’t it?

A cheesy pizza, covered with chicken, olives and capsicum. A parmesan and mascarpone clad, divine piece of heaven. Imagine the spiciness, the sourness from the olive and the pickles. The deliciously cooked pieces of sausage. Caramelized onion on that soft, fluffy bread. Imagine taking a bite into it, sipping a bit of that fizzy drink from the glass of Pepsi next to you. The perfect texture of magic dancing on your palette. The taste of love inside your mouth. I’m salivating, you?

My mother suggested Indian Cuisine, she wanted to get Naan and Paneer butter masala, but my blood craved pizza. Pizza Hut had an offer going on about letting us have two medium pizzas at the cost of one. All my cards had lined up or so it seemed. I was too busy frowning and pouting to call Pizza Hut, she was going to have to do it. She called three pizza places, all PHD outlets. It seemed like they delivered everywhere except our locality. Fate seemed hell bent on slimming me down. We asked the phone guy to tell us the outlet that would deliver for us. You won’t believe what he said! He said no!

He totally deserved the scolding he got from my mom. When all hope seemed lost, my mother remembered the place that would deliver pizza to our block. Hallelujah! I broke out into song and dance. Did a bit of gangnam style, whipped and nae-nae’ed. It was hilarious.

With baited breath, I waited for the pizza delivery guy. Stood on the balcony wondering: Pizza guy, where art thou? Then after forty-five minutes which seemed like an eternity, the pizza arrived.

And I feasted on them. Following which I had extremely sound sleep, quite unusual for me. A great night indeed.



The Friend List: Episode Seven


Read and meet my friends, here’s the link for you: The Friend List: Episode Six. Hope you like what you read.

You know how people say that they’ve got a mom friend? I’ve got a friend who also happens to be a mom. My mom.

Brace yourself for the most tragic backstory of all  time: I can’t tell you that. But it’s pretty sad. I met her on 24th June, 1998 at precisely 14:14. Before that I’d spent some time stealing her food and using her as a cushion. My mother is beautiful, and people say I look like her Xerox version. But she’s vintage, and obviously cuter. My mother didn’t like me much when we first met, she thought I looked like a doll but didn’t like how clingy I was. I liked her better than everyone, and I hated how she left me at home with strangers when she went to work. I’ve been an introvert from birth, never liked people…still don’t like most of them. And the feeling is always mutual.

As I grew up, she started liking me more. Probably because I was finally speaking like a normal human instead of that dreadful baby talk. My mom started to have conversations with me, and slowly I became her confidant. Then I became her therapist. She’d pay me for my sessions in hugs, kisses and detective stories. I love detective stories and guessing games.

Weird thing about my mom: she’s very funny but she’ll never repeat a joke, especially if you ask her to. You can’t force her to do anything, if you do force her…she’ll do the exact opposite. Another weird thing, she likes mocking people and often gets on my nerves with her snarky comments. This is an unintentional thing she does, without realizing how rude it comes off. Even more so because she looks like an adorable cuddly mother figure with loads of warmth and love.

If you look at my mother, you’ll see a huggable teddy bear, more adorable than Whinny the Pooh. But at the same time, you’d see a beautiful woman with a perfect face. A face with flawless features, only humanized by the freckles that adorn it.

Our family has a long line of odd people, my mother’s father, my mother and myself. My mother finds my appearance similar to her mom’s and my personality akin to her dad’s. My mother and I have no secrets. All of my friends know that whatever massive secret they share with me is going to end up inside my mom’s head. Same thing applies for me  when it comes to her friends.

Like mother like daughter, she too is lazy and loves food. Is a high-key bookworm and an English teacher. So you get why I like writing and stuff. I make her read my posts, while I’m writing them. And she remains forever quiet when I ask her to analyse and critique my writing. Doesn’t say anything bad about it, she is a mom after all.

She has a magnet that attracts stalkers, let me elaborate on that. She has a friend(?) who is the self-proclaimed daughter to my mother. Don’t ask me why she doesn’t leave or why my mom never gets rid of her. That is best left for another day. This stalker and I don’t see eye to eye. I hate her guts and she hates the fact that I exist. And this leech has got her teeth so deep into our skins, that she’s almost become a part of our family. Ugh, I hate her.

If you’re wondering why I’m ruining this post with the mention of her stalker, that’s because I want you give you more insight into our relationship.The unwillingness my mother displays to cut her off is one of the things I dislike about her most. I feel she doesn’t support me enough, has a lot of doubts about me. Now with that said, she is also the only person who cares about me. The only person I somewhat love and I don’t like sharing her, at all.Oh god, this sounds sappy.

My mom is wonderful, cool and extremely lovable. People literally want her instead of their original mothers. She’s rude, complicated and brilliant. She’s a paradox, a contradiction. She’s a witty weirdo.

She teases me about my crushes, watches movies with me. Sometimes freaks out when I obsess about the perfection that is Sophie Turner. We have the best time together. Our relation is great, and I hope that writing this doesn’t jinx it. That’s all for now.

Okay, bye.

The Friend List: Episode One


Link to the beginning: The Friend List: Introduction. Have fun reading!

The first friend that I’m going to write about is some one I have mixed feelings for. I have known her for thirteen years now. At first sight, I didn’t like her. She was a smart student, someone who got a lot of attention. Someone with impeccable social skills, a girl with a lot of friends. I was jealous, not of all that but because I thought she stole my best friend. I didn’t really get along with her, but my best friend ( at the time) liked her a lot and so we stuck together. She didn’t like me either, girly fights and playground politics often gave me a mean dose of inferiority complex.

As we grew up, she and I became better friends. Not because we had stuff in common, but ’cause we trusted each other. Yes, I knew she was gossipy but I also knew she would always have my back. And she knew I had hers. I got separated from her in the 8th grade, even though we went our separate ways…our connection didn’t wane. Her social circle grew and mine got smaller. She became a social butterfly, intelligent and quick-witted. Famous for her dimpled cheeks, never-fading smile and Rapunzel like hair. And I sort of became a fat troll with depression.

To those who know me, the mystery of who this is supposed to be is already out. Now begins the story of what happened between us. Both of us had a lot of issues with each other but we still liked each other. She didn’t like my bluntness and I didn’t like some of her friends. She became quite a renowned beauty, but she didn’t flaunt it…others did it for her. I was envious for a bit, but then I saw the beauty and my envy vanished. Both of us became class mates for our junior and senior years. In the Junior year, we were in the same class…but she had her own clique and I was busy with new friends and other distracting stuff. In the last year of our school, we started hanging out a lot more. I genuinely started to find her funny and I liked seeing her happy. We’d play badminton together and often treat ourselves to coffee and french fries. She would come over to my home after our exams and we’d feast on biriyani and nap together. When we had classes together, she’d feed me delicious sandwiches and would listen to me while I rambled and whined. I’d do the same for her, we had great fun together and writing this is making me miss her slightly.

The same year, I got my heart broken and this was also the year she found love. And I was so happy for her, I truly thought ( and think) they’re perfect for one-another. She told me everything about her love life, we would giggle over his texts. She’d try to cheer me up with her sunshine whenever I’d feel blue. Our personalities are somewhat like fire and ice. She’s outgoing and optimistic and I’m the pensive pessimist. Later in the year, controversies broke out; the rumour mills created false stories that dragged me into a mess. I sorted it all out, but I was too shaken and I started withdrawing away from the world.

Meanwhile, her parents found out about her boyfriend and they freaked out. Long fights and punishment, nothing could make her change her mind about him. Her parents took away her phone, she went out of her way to keep in touch with him. Young love, so potent ( they’re still together).  This drama went on and is still going on.  Over time, with studies and graduation on the way…we got busy with figuring out our directions. Both of us lost touch, she called me on my birthday. I didn’t expect her call, I’m glad that she remembered and I wish we’d spoke a bit more…but I was sleepy.

Maybe I’ll call her tomorrow, probably not though.

The Crush Diaries: The Conclusion


Dear reader,

This is the concluding post. If you’ve missed out on the previous posts of The Crush Diaries, here are the links:My First CrushThe Crush Diaries: Episode Two,The Crush Diaries: Episode three,The Crush Diaries: Episode four,The Crush Diaries: Episode five and The Crush Diaries: Back To The Future. Have fun reading!

Okay, it’s time to say goodbye. To the emotional baggage, to the bad experiences and the humiliation. This is the last time I’m ever going to think about those memories, the people are gone and now, so will these memories. A friend said that whatever happens with us is the work of the universe, necessary to prevent the extinction and manage the stability of our species ( he’s Buddhist). And I see that he’s somewhat right, these events did have a major role in making me who I am now.

I learned to care about myself, I realized what I really wanted. You might be thinking what is the point of me writing all of this, the reason behind this venture is that I needed to bury those memories, burn those metaphorical photographs. This seemed like a good way to do it, I might beat myself up later for it…but it was necessary.

The four crushes that I had, taught me four things. The first crush taught me how to deal with infatuations, the second crush made me stronger ( what doesn’t kill you does make you stronger). The third crush gave me clarity about what I absolutely hate and made me want to prove myself, the fourth and final crush gave me misery and I wrote poems for the first time. He also taught me that all I really want is peace and success. So I’m grateful for whatever happened. And I hope all of them get what they deserve, good or bad…their actions will decide.

Lastly, I want to say: thank you reader! I really do appreciate it. And unfortunately if I do get more unrequited crushes, maybe I’ll let you in on that.

The Crush Diaries: Episode five


Link to the previous post of the series: The Crush Diaries: Episode four. Hope you have a good time reading this!

The year: 2015. The place: classroom. The month: May. The final nail to the coffin which houses my love life. This was the year I was set to give my boards and graduate school. All I wanted was to get good marks and get into a great college. But I still hadn’t figured out what I wanted to study, I definitely didn’t want to deal with Physics. I liked Chemistry but not enough to pursue a career in it. Didn’t have the memory capacity to be a biologist with all that taxonomy and those animal classifications etc, so ditched that. Back then, I was still struggling with this and trying to choose a path for myself.

I didn’t want emotional problems, drama, any of it. The unwanted attention that I’d received, faded soon enough. It was okay now, and  I just wanted to concentrate on my work. But teenage emotions and hormones don’t care about your education. They’re just hell-bent on ruining your life for the sake of character development. May brought Mayhem in my life. I got a crush on a classmate of mine. And I didn’t want to do anything about it, I knew it would fade soon.

But one ( very unfortunate) day he texted me. I had a crush on him, he was texting me…I was sort of having fun. Out of the blue, he texted:” Can I ask you something?”, I had a feeling where this was headed but I ignored it. The chance of your crush crushing on you is nonexistent to may be 0.000001%. However, this was a 0.000001% event.

Yes, he said he “kinda” liked me (can I take a minute to whine about the fact that everybody only “kinda” likes me? why can’t they fully like me? An explanation would be great). And believe it or not, for the very first time, I said the words: “I like you too”. Oh the horror! can I please just go back in time and slap myself into not doing that.

He had asked me what were we going to do about it…I had said: nothing. But that didn’t happen, he over thought about this, freaked out. Three days later, I go to school…try to act normally just to be rebuffed into awkwardness. He had suddenly realized in a moment of clarity that this was mistake. It definitely was, got to give him a pat on the back for seeing that coming. But I just wish he’d not been weird about it and not made our friendship awkward. If we just stayed shut about our teenager-y feelings, we would probably still be friends.

I was obviously hurt. All those feelings from my past rose again, taunting me. Self-esteem hit an all new low. I felt rejected. And I did what I do when I need to vent…I wrote. Wrote poems about my feelings. The foolish outpour of hurt on a paper with ink and lead. This was the cherry on top of a frosty stress cake. Studies, emotional baggage, exams and now this.

The only good that came out of this was that my depression made me study harder ( I felt as if I had to prove myself). Another thing I learnt about myself was that my emotions clouds judgement. He was nothing like I thought he was, another one of those facetious frenimies. Another weed to my blooming flower. I still cringe and mentally hit myself whenever I think of him.

I just wish I’d never wasted energy, time and thoughts for a matter as stupid as this. I also regret writing poems about/for him (depends on perspective). Never write for anyone besides yourself, it’ll only make you hate yourself. Both of us learnt more about ourselves, I learnt I’m meant to be happily alone and he found someone who’s very awesome ( I hear, she likes him back). All in all, I’m happy.

Just one more post to go! Bye!