wishes for 2011

may this be what you wake up to


may this be how you commute to work


may this be the place where you mull over life, bills and plumbers


may this be your 4 pm snack


may this be the place where you and your man/woman drink your evening cuppa and discuss bosses and babies


may you play more

Have I made it large?

I used to eat paneer now it's Tofu.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

It used to be levi's, now guess does it for me for me.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

I used to jog in the park; now it's power yoga on my fuchsia yoga mat.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

I knew cabbage was green; then i discovered purple.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

I used to eat capsicums; then i got introduced to bell peppers.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

I used to haggle with the auto walas; now I don't.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

I used to hate spending 18 bucks on onions, now I am okay with 55.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

I used to pluck guavas from the tree, now i have ones with barcodes on them.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

It used to sabzi mandi every sunday; now it's ruci and idoni.
But I ask myself, have I made it large?

Guess you get the drift, I absolutely hate seagram's newest ad, the one featuring Sail Ali Khan and the other with Gautam Gambhir. It's so, so tacky. OMG and those lines. I cringe every time I watch it. you have to watch the tvc, to see what i mean. pretentious junk. and being born at Pataudi estate to Mansoor Pataudi Ali Khan and Sharmila Tagore isn't exactly our idea of starting small.

Dear Gautam, you are a prolific opening batsman, and Saifoooo, you have a lovely girlfriend, but doing that ad, and saying those lines, you have failed to make it large.

silent night, biright lights and some perspective

the festive season while making you feel very festive, also gets me thinking. thinking about things, little things, and things slightly bigger - like say one's attitude towards life and people.

so as plum cakes, secret santa games, wish lists, red and white dress codes, do the rounds, so do thoughts like, 'what am i?'; 'is it the real version of me'; 'is this what i want to become?'; 'what lies ahead of me'; and 'am i happy with the version of me?', etcetera.

the last thought stayed with me more than i would have liked it to, and then it got me thinking. thinking hard. well, no matter what femina says [yeah, i browse through it sometimes, very, very rarely], there are, at last count, 47 things that i would want to change about myself. so, i am not at peace with the version of me.


so what's that thing about me that irks me the most? well, it would be my tendency of trying to fit in. in different groups and in different moods. so, on this beautiful Christmas eve evening, as i listen to silent night, holy night, see pretty little stars in gold, silver and pink, and eat my body weight in plum cake, i decide. i decide to no more trying to fit in. it's so much easier to make one happy than trying to appease around hundred thousand people, that is if i live up to ninety. and yes that one i was talking about would be moi. :)


merry christmas everyone.

The Commute Chronicles – part une

Lately I have been spending a lot of time on the road. Lot would be over an hour a day. Which surely isn't much by most city standards, but it's a little out of my comfort zone. And if you are curious, my comfort zone would be anywhere between 0.5-1 mile.

And since I only travel from one part of the city to just another part of the city, again like most of us; I seldom see scenes like migratory birds returning home; sweaty and muscular, leather clad cowboys getting to work at the crack of dawn, or peasant girls in their pretty peasant tops eating warm bread and stew under apple laden apple trees. Sigh!

My mode of transport is always the auto rickshaw. AKA the thuk thuk, such a cool name isn't it, love the way anthony bourdain says it, I digress. Okay so there are two kinds of autos in this part of world – share autos and non-sharing autos also known as autos. Sharing autos are shared by around 6 passengers or more to go from point A to B, they function more like tiny buses. So you got to board and get down only at fixed points. You wouldn't be able to get down at a point say say P. But if the auto driver is a good man, he would be ready to drop you at any point between A and B, of course without him having to deviate from his usual route.

The other is the non-sharing kind, also known as the monsters; where you or you and your friends hire the auto and go to a destination of your choice. Sometimes you can also ask the auto driver, again if he is a good man, to wait, as you run errands. You could of course pay him some extra bucks for his kind gesture.

But the most significant difference between a sharing and a non-sharing auto is the meter-system. Sharing ones, usually have fixed rates. Not a penny more, not a penny less. Such a tiresome phrase I know, but the temptation to use it right now far exceeded my embarrassment for having used it. And I wander again. Also, the share-auto drivers never play the i-don't-have-change game. They have a certain work ethic.

Getting back to the non-sharing kinds, in an ideal world they would run on unrigged meter systems. And not ask for ridiculous fares. And not grumble about it being too sunny or to chilly, or it being too early in the day or too late in the evening. And not mutter annoying things every 45 seconds. And not lie about not having change. And not accuse you of manipulating neighborhood names. Like I said, in an ideal world...

Coulda - Woulda – Shoulda

My friend, let's call her B, works in New York. She lives in a beautiful house in New Jersey with her husband and her 4 year old daughter. So, B manges her home, her kid, her job, and also did her CFA first level, and is now preparing for the next level. That's not all, she also learnt to swim, and now plans to go for ice skating classes. Yes having an extremely helping husband and an unfussy kid help of course. But isn't she incredible?

Last week, I met her on her annual vacation to India, she was visiting her parents and her in laws. My holidays with my parents and in-laws revolve around relaxation, and not much else. Not B's. Her free time was spent doing things and getting things done. And make no mistake, I am not talking about lame little things like shopping and visit to the spa [which figured too]. I am talking about heavy duty stuff, stuff like investments, properties, learning new things, etcetera. She learnt to drive, met up with as many friends and relatives as she could and most importantly invested in a land, a land that would be prime property, 10 years from now. B bought this land in a town, where she plans to settle after she and her husband retire. So, if this isn't smart, then what is?

Why I don't have any retirement plan or why am I not investing in lands in promising little towns, is beyond her understanding. She just doesn't get it. She often advised me, on properties, money, savings, and topics as drab. But has now, given up on me. Fittingly so.

I call her a super woman.

But she says being a part of New York's working population does it. The city's energy does it.

And I now agree, after having recently read about New Yorkers' obsession in a blog, about doing things and getting results. There's an old New York expression, summed up by a cartoon in New Yorker.
A patient is lying on the psychiatrist’s couch. He’s obviously just finished unburdening himself to the psychiatrist.

Divulging his deepest, darkest secrets, his fears, his regrets, his missed opportunities, his thwarted intentions, his unfulfilled expectations. The psychiatrist simply looks up and uses an old New York expression.

He says “Yeah, yeah, yeah: “Coulda - Woulda – Shoulda”.”

The year of a steep learning curve and not much else

Caveat: a very self-indulgent post.

So, I have learnt a lot.
I have learnt that you got to be unapologetic about what you got/are
I have learnt that you need to be apologetic about what others haven’t got/aren’t
I have learnt that a person is never all bad, you are sure to find something good in him/her that you could use [but of course you don’t point it out to him/her, lest the bad takes over (no honestly)]
I have learnt to appreciate a relatively free day at work [they are too few and far in between]
I have learnt to appreciate a busy day [they are the reason I can buy those goodies]
I have learnt to not feel sorry for my over-worked colleagues, [they never do]
I have learnt that there’s no escaping paper work
I have learnt a way around escaping boring conversations
I have learnt to be bossy when required
I have learnt to be a sissy when required
I have learnt to be frugal
I have learnt to be generous
I have learnt to accept my dispensability
I have learnt to enjoy my worth [Tad trite? Hell yeah but that’s alright]

Giorgio Armani, a typo and his idea of luxury.

Mister Armani you have a typo on your very, very chic website. Yes you do. It’s about the usage of ‘a’ and ‘an’. Okay, so having saved you a blooper, can we now talk business? Will you kindly offer me a job in your esteemed organization as an anything? While creative consultant for Armani sounds really cool, I am okay with a proof-reader’s position too. Only if you could fit in the word creative somewhere, err a creative proof-reader maybe. Pretty please?

Just so you know I am not a stickler. It’s just that when you call your frames – frames of life [nice name at that], price it upwards of $150, and have a killer website, you are better off not having a silly typo.

Now, moving on to prettier things, things like luxury.

“Real luxury is just a state of mind that allows you to live each day in a unique and authentic way. “

I am not sure if these are the exact words from the man himself, or thoughts of an over zealous writer at Armani Co. Whatever it is, for anything Armani this definition of real luxury does not work. At best it sounds pretentious and patronizing. Does my bitter interpretation come from the realization that I won’t be able to afford an Armani anytime soon? Possibly.
Coming from a super-luxury brand, how am I supposed to believe this take on real luxury? Humor me please.

Kia soo

First, my sincere respects to a civilization that actually thought of having an expression as profound as this. Kia soo.

Kia soo is a Chinese expression that means the “Fear of missing out.” Fear of missing out on what someone else might have. Fear of missing out on what we have now. Fear of missing out on what others might get. So, one could safely say, Kia soo is what drives us to do what we do.



Does it make Kia soo a good thing? Not necessarily.
But we could make Kia Soo work for us. Finding out the things that we would want to miss out on and the ones that we would like to hold on to.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

[This place looks like a typo-free zone to me.]


Believe you me, I tried to make a post of it right after it happened but just couldn’t. Typographical errors often do that to me. They numb me. They render me incapable of doing the only thing I know [or so I think] well.

On the first day of my job, my boss told me it would help me if I were paranoid. Which I was. But then as days go by, I forgot my lessons and the ignominy that follows.

This recent typo episode wasn’t even a typo. As in it wasn’t a spelling mistake nor was it a grammatical error. You could say it was trivial. But it was big enough for the client to call up the account executive and ask for an explanation. So, a typo it was. And I once again pledged to never walk that path again. To be afraid, very afraid.

I’ll call it the Straightened Hair Theory

I have what you will call unruly hair; I’ll skip the part that tells you in detail about what I mean when I say unruly. Let’s just say, I have bad hair day, 6 days a week.
Okay, so last week I had this little party to go to, for which I neither had the right dress nor the attitude, so I decided to at least have the right hair. I went to the nearest saloon. 35 minutes of hot ironing and loads of Chinese chatter later, I emerged with poker straight hair, hair that shines, hair that you’d love to touch, hair that sways when you say a Yes or a No. Yeah with that hair I went to the party where my reply to every compliment was,”thanks but only till the next wash.” And then as I headed home it struck me maybe, just maybe I should get my hair permanently straightened.

The next morning, I woke up with hair that needed no brushing and a strong resolve to get a permanent fix. Yeah I had found my salvation. My world was about to change.

So I went about my day, writing and checking copy. Then sometime little after noon, out of nowhere, for reasons far too dull to go into, I started hating my hair. The straightness, the silkiness, the shine, I hated everything. It all of a sudden felt limp, scanty and phony. I wanted to get home, wash my hair and greet the unruliness back.

Just so you know, this post is not part of Dove’s real celebrities campaign, or some you are beautiful the way you are initiative. This hair episode is here because it had a little lesson for me. A life lesson if I may call it so. So, here goes – there could be many things that you would want to change in your life, important and trivial. And quite often the change that we had sought and worked so hard for turns out to be a huge downer. Unfortunately unlike straightened hair, which wears off in 6-8 months, this alteration could be a little more damaging. Well, so what’s the deal you ask, would one never do new things, would one never try to change? Of course one would. And this is where my Straightened Hair Theory comes to play. What this theory tells you to do is sample the change. Before you go for a complete overhaul. Say for instance, if you want to switch cities. Instead of going all lock, stock and barrel, take off and be in that city for a fortnight. Stay away from all touristy things, do the regular stuff. Ideally take a cab to and fro to your possible place of work, once daily for 5 days. Preferably during the peak hours. And on your way back try doing the groceries too. And while you are at it, collect the laundry from the presswala across the street. By the end of your trial stay, does the city still hold its charm?

And, this, ladies and gentlemen, is my STRAIGHTENED HAIR THEORY.

Why telling someone he is normal, is possibly the worst thing you could do.

The smarts, they say always have that streak of madness in them. Being in Advertising and being a writer, one could almost fail as a writer if one isn’t a little crazy. And I do grudgingly accept that the best writers I have met were all a tad eccentric.
Someone very dear to me, who is also quite a gym fanatic thinks normal people can never be regular at the gym. “They aren’t insecure, they don’t have a reason to slog it out in the gym, why would they“, he says.

All my life I have been told I was normal. And all my life I was happy with it. Because I always associated normal with sanity, zero fuss, ease and simplicity. Which were all nice things, I assumed.

Now when someone calls me normal, I ask if I am normal to the point of being boring, ambitionless, uncreative and stupid. Answers often vary.

While that’s not being fair on the normal tribe, but there’s indeed a point here. Normal means you aren’t weird. Normal means you are kind of okay with yourself. And there lies the problem. When you aren’t troubled, you are happy and when you are happy, you wouldn’t want to change anything, and when you don’t want to change a thing, you would most certainly not work like a maniac. And when you don’t work that way, you would stay where you are, and not do anything great with your life. And which makes normal a not very pleasant thing.

So to sum it up, calling someone normal means he/she is not good at his/her desk job, is not capable of doing any better, is boring and is not in shape.

Weird is what I aspire to be.

Poetry versus Prada

He was 21, she was 15. They had just become man and wife. He was away working in a city. She was with his family in village faraway going about her wifely duties. And those were the times when distance actually made the heart grow fonder. When poetries were written for the woman you loved. He wrote her a poem. It talked of gratitude, pride, longing and the love that he felt for her. It talked of how she was everything he had hoped she would be. It talked of how she was the perfect daughter-in-law to his parents and will be the perfect mother to their then unborn kids.
They were together for 66 years and had 9 kids.

She is 88 now and he is gone. But the memory of the poem written 73 years ago brings a smile to her now frail face. First she refused to recite it to us, said she was shy. And then when she did, she remembered every single word, and I could tell she read it just the way he had then. She paused in between the lines; I wondered what she might be thinking. Whatever it was, it was lovely, I am sure.


Have I ever had someone write poetry for me? No I did not. Neither did my friends or their friends. Because somehow a holiday in Prague or a boot from Prada made more sense.

Would I want to tradeoff my 3 promised gifts for 200 words of tenderness? I guess not.

It is the best of times; it is the worst of times.

And yeah it was the age of wisdom and the age of foolishness. What does the season of SALE do to you? It gets the worst out in me. The evil, nasty, selfish, rude and wily self, the one that I keep under wraps, most months of the year. Case in point - I race with fragile strangers to reach that lone M shirt. I push the kids away en route to the 50% off section. And yeah as I stand in the 50m long queue outside the trial room I swear. That’s not all, the possessed me also screams at sales girls [which is swear I never do] when my alternations aren’t done, or when a promised shoe in my size isn’t found. Yes, it gets ugly. And at the end of the whole SALE season I feel very sorry for myself and whosoever crossed my path. My loot makes me happy but it leaves me with such a bitter feeling.

These are also the times when I get incredibly stupid, the times when I lose the sense of balance. And the memory of a depleted bank account suddenly vanishes. I buy a certain t-shirt in 4 different colours, do you ask, why? Because I like t-shirts. Because I like colours. Because it’s on sale. I buy a bag. Then I buy another, and then maybe another one, as I see 50 percent drop to 70 per cent. I do so because I like bags. Because I have a thing for bags. Because I have many things to keep in those bags. And because I am getting them cheap. Yes, moments of ‘oh it’s a steal!’ leave me happy and satiated but it also leaves me disoriented.

It could be momentary lapse of reason. Could be good ol’ greed. Or most probably in my case, could be a seasonal loss of memory, reasoning, intelligence and graciousness. Yes, the season of light, the season of darkness is upon us.

A case of blogger’s block

In the past few months not only have I not been able to write anything of interest, I haven’t had any interesting thoughts either. Yeah, scary stuff. No, it isn’t a case of being stuck or being bored contrarily there have been too many changes. A new job, a new home, new locality, new restaurants, new gym, the works; so it is not a case of the stale routine. And so, it must be what I frequently experience at work. A block. A big, big block. The writer's block. [ooh la la the word writer has a such a nice feel to it, doesn't it? that explains the peanutish moolah in advertising]

Back to the block, yeah I did attempt to write on a few occasions though, wow see the word attempt, c’mon an attempt to blog? How sad is that? So, after rounds of navel gazing, I decided to wait, wait until the words came flowing, such a robust flow, that no deadline, no lazy mind can stop.

Well, that was not to be. So I wrote. See the post below, says something doesn’t it, it was so forced? This time round, I am going to wait a little longer, yeah there’s a risk involved, that I never start again. That the ominous block refuses to go. Tough times. Sigh.

And on that note, I leave you with a question… just how seriously should a blogger take her blog?

When the tough refuses to get going…

There are times, when no matter how hard you try, how much ever, things just don’t change. For better. And then there are things you could do about it, sulk or to not sulk. Yeah of course you would keep trying to change things [I wouldn’t venture there in this blog, cause that will be little self-helpish, and I don’t want that.] Cut to the chase, times have been such that more often than not, I seek things that comfort me, things that tell me life isn’t a monster that there’s so much more to my day than the sore thing(s), which I will refrain from discussing here.

I talk to a friend, not the one who has 37 solutions to my problem, no not her. I speak to the one who cracks me up, oblivious to my troubles. This works.

Food. Of course. Trans fats be damned.

Newer goals [sounds dangerously self-help]. Goals not remotely connected with the pain point.

Television. 5 hours of it. It’s mind numbing, which in the given circumstances, is a good thing.

Books yes. Again like that friend, nothing too deep. Jeffrey Archer heals like no one else. So does Theroux, as he takes you through rainy afternoons in London and romantic evenings in Honolulu.

And yeah, there's nothing that a lot of chocolate can't fix.

Care but not that much.

And never have more important words been spoken. I wish I had heard it sooner. Sooner



on an aside: But, because I care about this blog, and because I like to write, I am going to blog again. Soon enough. As soon as I get my chutzpah back.

“I hope I have it easy, for the first time in my life.”

- An American Idol hopeful.

She did not have it easy. She did not make it to the top 24 of American Idol. After all the hard work, struggle, hope, she is out. And now her entire struggle will cease to matter. Of course she is a very gifted young singer, she has all the time in the world, and this is only the beginning, and how there are so many opportunities and all that soothing signoffs that people tell you. But the thing is, those opportunities will bring another round struggle, pain and hope. It isn’t going to be easy.

Why do some of us have to work so hard? And some just have it so easy? Yeah I am all for hard work and dedication and all that, but just sometimes, I wish I could have it easy like so many others. I envy them. There’s was this girl in my class, she had all the fun that school goers hope to have, and she very effortlessly got the marks that I did, while depriving myself of the fun. And there have been many such instances, at work, at gym and I am going to skip those because they bring back unpleasant memories. Yep, enough has been said about life not being fair, life being random, etcetera. But, don’t you just wish, you had it easy? I do. I am sure there’s a pattern that we are missing. I am going to figure that out, and hopefully before I am spent.

As Calvin put it, “Why should I have to work for everything? It’s like saying I don’t deserve it!”

There are two kinds of people in this world…

[that's me fighting it out]

I am ashamed at being this corny, honest, I never thought I would use this damn ‘two kinds of people’ thing ever, but here I had to, as you see. I have always judged people who say - there are two kinds of people in this world, those who likewhite bread and those who don’t; those who use the straw and those who don’t; those who love to run and those who don’t, and its variants. But here, I had to. That said, yeah there are two kinds of people in this world – those who can freelance and those who can not.

By ‘those who can’ I mean those who can handle the whole process graciously and emerge unscathed. And by handling the whole process I mean procuring work, meeting deadlines, negotiating deadlines, talking money and collecting money.

I, however, as one might have rightly guessed by now, come under the ‘don’t’ group. I suck at it. And I gave had two ugly experiences so far, pretty ugly ones actually; and I have realized that my living-on-a-hilltop-sipping-on-chai-latte-writing-three-days-a-week-and-earning-a-neat-money dream is certainly not happening and I have also learnt to respect my day job, my only job.

[and that's my man fighting it out for me]

And since I am meek and coward and can’t do much about those two ugly experiences, I will say a silent prayer – May both the aforementioned parties, rot in hell. Amen.

Bliss often comes in the form of a pdf

Not in the smiles of my neighbors’ kids

Not in the pretty hibiscus in that woman’s braid

Not in the smell of freshly ground coffee beans

Not in a beautiful, misty morning

Not in the days with no deadlines to chase

Not in the days that allow the pursuit of frivolous hobbies

Not in the orange of the dusk or the dawn

Not in the first rains of the monsoons

Not in lavender or patchouli

Bliss often comes in the form of a pdf, or a word doc for that matter.

Fuel asks: Can a 10,000 sq ft swanky gym get you in a 24W Levi’s?

I go to Gold’s Gym, perhaps the closest I would ever get to the A-listers. Not that I want to get any closer, just mentioning. Gold’s Gym is unlike any gym I have ever been to, well that’s not too may, but quite a few you know. It’s the first gym, where I don’t queue up for the treadmill; where machines don’t make my hands greasy; where I find more than two nine pound dumbbells, where I don’t cringe at the thought of using the mat; where every single air conditioner works and so does every cardio machine; where there are 4 awesome instructors, all of them awesome; where I look forward to those post workout showers; where the locker room looks exactly like how random sweet teenage movies on HBO told us would, where every corner is squeaky clean and often pretty; this is the gym, which I have been most regular to.

And this is also the gym, where people [both men and women] come to feel good and just that; where lonely married women come to seek single men; where lonelier married men come to run away from the domestic hum-drum; where the rich and the beautiful come to be reassured they are rich and beautiful; where pleasantly plump young girls come to shed the flab and regain their sense of worth; where the not so pleasantly plump ladies sweat hard [or so they think] to reclaim their husbands or whatever that was once theirs.

Gold’s Gym is a sanctuary of sorts, a kind of escape that tells you there’s hope. Maybe a lesser gym can get you the body that you seek, but not the place that you would want to run away to, each day. A place that tells you, you are okay.

NO. Nah. Nada. Whatever, it’s a NO.

Addressing NO, as I know it

You have no idea, how very important you are. You have often helped me salvage my self esteem. You have, in more occasions than one have saved me from hot red ears and a flushed face. You have protected me from being labeled a) liar; b) timid/sissy/pansy; c) nincompoop. You give me power, I feel in control.

Would it be wrong to say that you have quite changed my life? No it wouldn’t be. You have and I am looking ahead to using you more often than ever.

Well, now that I am done with what I consider a very clever wordplay; I take a moment to advice. Whenever in doubt, hmmm, doubt of the faintest, the remotest kind… just say NO. You have no idea, how simpler it will make your days. Easy no?

First there were none, then there were a few, then a few more and now, they are all gone.

2010 will be about not having to worry about comments [more appropriately, the lack of it]. I will write anyway. Because I like to write and I want to write. Period.

Having said that I think I have been a confused writer, I write stuff that is targeted towards a TA who isn’t my TA right now. Holy moly! Did I just call myself a writer? And did I just use the words writer and TA in the same sentence? Yes, I did. Ooohooo it feels super nice. So, zero comments is not something I will worry about, I will not spend 3 hours on tweaking a sentence, I wouldn’t care much about that witty headline either. But images are something that need to be beautiful, so I will keep stalking corbis, getty and flickr…

side note: I will also not always explain my choice of image. They are here because they are nice to look at.

Addendum: did I also mention that I wouldn’t spend sleepless nights thinking about a sharp sign off? So in the days and months ahead, you [if there’s a you] can look forward to boring, silly posts, crazy, unnecessary posts and beautiful images. Am I taking my blog a little too seriously?

[An interrogation mark involves the reader, so said one of my ex bosses…]

Of New Year resolutions, few realizations and a stronger resolve

Good that 2010 is here. Not that 2009 was bad, and I take a moment to thank God for that, but 2009 was very plain, nothing spectacular happened. Like there’s so much more I could have done, that I didn’t, then there’s a lot, which I shouldn’t have, which I, well have. So, I am glad 2009 is over, and the new year gives me yet another chance to do things right, and most importantly do things. To make new to do lists, to note things that I would want to change about myself. If 2009 was mostly about dreaming, yeah lot of dreams, about my perfect job, my body, the way I choose to live my life, the way I keep my home, the kind of fun I have, the places I go, the way I do away with things/people I don’t like/want. 2010, will, yeah most certainly it will be about doing it and doing it most of what I have been wishing to.

2010 will also be the year of being organized and structured in every possible and every little way. 2010 will be a year of zero laziness. This will be the year of doing things and getting things done. 2010 will be a year of being a more balanced, matured and knowledgeable person.

It’s the fourth day of the New Year, and no I haven’t done anything earth shattering yet. But I am very hopeful of a very energized and a busy 2010, busy in a good way of course. The kind that does me and my dear ones good, and first step towards is to plan ahead. Yeah, planning ahead… my day, my meals, my weekends, everything.

What I have here is an extremely structured resolution list. I have categorized them into - professional, personal and miscellaneous. And then, I have sub-categorized these categories. Yep, I do not intend to be interesting here. So in the sub categories we have,

Professional 1 Day Job

Professional 2 Knowledge for my day job

Professional 3 Goals

Professional 4 Priorities

Professional 5 Networking

Professional 6 Get Rid Of

Professional 7 Get More Of

Professional 8 The art of following up

Personal 1 Family

Personal 2 Friends

Personal 3 Me [this one would be quite complex, but will figure it out :)]

Personal 4 Goals

Personal 5 Get Rid Of

Personal 6 Get More Of

Personal 7 Learn

Personal 8 Priorities

Miscellaneous 1 Paper Work

Miscellaneous 2 Learn

Miscellaneous 3Organize

Miscellaneous 4 Get Rid Of

Miscellaneous 5 Get More Of

And apart from that impressive resolution list that I’ve compiled, I am also looking at being more in control of things, decisions, choices and the life in general. :)