Today I renounce my shame. Today I come undone.

I read self-help and how to books, blogs and inspiration quotes on pinterest. I read them to seek help and benefit from them.

I read them to be better, to be less miserable. I read them between deliverables. Sometimes after meetings; meetings in which I had so much to say, but couldn’t; meetings where I tried a tad too hard. 
I read them after my friends update their vacation albums on facebook. I read it to understand myself better, to understand my roommate better. I read for a promising future and to comprehend the past. I read to unlearn what I grew up thinking was right, I read to learn the new right. I read them to be a better judge of right and wrong. I read to stop judging at all. I read to make sense of the world. I read to loosen up to the world. I read to accept and love myself the way I am. I read to be the woman I want to be.

I am a work in progress.

i don't handle 'thank you' all that well.

i turn deep red because i feel my cheeks flush, my face does a funny thing. my arms spread out aimlessly and then come together soon enough,  i fumble for words, often repeating what the other person just said, and quite often i do say thanks in response to the thanks said by that other person. this is how it goes - giggle/nervous laughter, "oh okay thanks.." more annoying giggle. :-|
yes more often than not that's how i respond to that beautiful kind word. and it's not that i detest the word, on the contrary, i use it quite a lot, perhaps more than i should.sometimes a little too condescending maybe [i am working on it].
so, when i am so generous with my -  thanks, much thanks, thank you, thanks a lot, oh thanks, thanky and its other variants, i wonder why i do such a sloppy job of accepting one. does it say something about my personality? some disorder? should i be dissecting my thank you-guilt? is it that i feel undeserving of that tiny gratitude?
i am not fond of 'you are welcome', i find it boring and not genuine. it is of course better than my nervous giggle routine, but is kind of too spontaneous to be heartfelt, it seems like the expected thing to do once someone thanks you. i often want to say more than 'you are welcome' and i want to say like i mean it.

i wish to be gracious, i wish to just smile and say - oh that's alright/anytime/my pleasure. or even just a smile would do too. let me begin with the smile... the words can come letter. a simple smile, honest smile that says, yes i loved doing that for you, and i absolutely would want to do it again. how difficult can that be? 


does anyone remember 'mention not'? yes, that might reveal the period you were born in...

My 'stop to smell the roses' edition.

My apartment isn't anywhere near spectacular, in fact I have multiple issues with it – the closets don't close, one of the basins acts funny every time it's used, water isn't ample though leakages and damp spots are, there isn't enough light and the lights are too bright. Okay, now that I am done with my clever wordplay, I will tell you one adorable thing about where I live.

During the fall-winter season (That's so yves saint laurent no?), the trees lining the apartment buildings bloom. And bloom they do. The flowers are a lovely pinkish-purple. Google tells me it could be Southern Crabapple. I am not sure. The trees are covered with these flowers, and when I say, a single leaf isn't visible, I am not taking any poetic license. But the best part isn't the pink-purple spread. It's those tiny little things that would come visiting every morning. Humming birds. The prettiest humming birds resting on pinkness laden branches. It was beautiful. I wish I had seen more of it. But the fact that I use a getty image here, tells you I was too busy tiding up my bed, while gulping down the cold morning tea. Because I always thought I could catch the humming birds sitting pretty on the branches the next morning or the morning after that. But then the next morning and the one after came with its yellow to dos and messy closets. And then one morning just like that the flowers were gone so were the birds (yes, it was that dramatic). I stared at the bare brown branches and wished I had called in sick, on one of the mornings.

What gives?

Last night, after having worked for 10 hours straight [for most of you no biggie I know], straightened my back, picked up my bag and got out of office. It was dark, it was raining, the roads had more potholes than it's possible. And unfailingly the auto rickshaw guys were acting funny... 'it's late', it's raining, 'traffic jam' and what jam it was. After 70 minutes of being drenched by pothole water and choked with the soot from the rickety buses that crossed me, I reached home. Switched on the television, and scouted the fridge and the kitchen shelves. While nibbling on some stale cheese balls and watching Nigella cook a cuban chicken with ingredients from the freshest, prettiest farmers' market... I feel hopeless, goalless, tired and extremely lonely. Another day gone. Nothing done apart from having earned my living. That's what most people do. That's what most people are supposed to do. Yeah, yeah must sometimes, just sometimes the whole process of earning a living seems pretty pointless, away from family and friends, with no time to do what we like, with situations that make you curse the rains, with mornings that have turned into a nightmarish routine. Hmm, but then a woman has to earn her living... so would does she do. She leaves work a little early today, ignores the TO Do list, and the unanswered emails. Picks up her bag and heads to the food market. Tonight not, the cuban chicken but some fish curry and rice perhaps.

I have to go see about a boy

i am aware that someone half my age should be blogging this... but, but, when you see matt damon smiling like that, and taking off his jacket like that, how can you not write that line and post that picture?


nb. yes i am in a black & white hollywood hunk phase. why do you ask?

The Commute Chronicles Part Deux – The Conversations

In my earlier post I had revealed my choice of vehicle, yeah the humble black and yellow autorickshaw, driven by the not so humble [mostly] auto driver. And I had also mentioned that I travel in autos of the second kind. The non-sharing ones. And when you travel 5 days a week, spending at least 120 minutes a day on the road, conversations are bound to happen. Conversations between me and the aforementioned auto driver(s).

I am not the chatty kind, wait, no I actually am the chatty kind; just not with strangers who try to fleece me [ oh yeah :-| you could say I am a tad cynical]. So more often than not, it's the driver who decides on the topic. Topics vary from – local politics, national politics, ugly politicians, the few good ones, inflation, 2012 and the end of the world, the new generation, the world a whole, the life in general, to that odd bitter-passenger-experience story [my least favorite].

If I were to separate those conversations, they would be something like this – hmm true; wow-I-didn't-know-that; scary; yawn-yawn-why-doesn't-he-shut-up; never-talk-to-an-auto guy; and finally the awww kinds, which leave me with thoughts like, maybe just maybe I shouldn't haggle after all].

Last week, I had a very meaningful conversation with this guy, on a current topic, the state split issue, and what the opposition's next move should be. He also spoke about how inflation will cost the ruling party at the center dear and how onions are going to make them cry [:D oh yeah he could write some badass ad lines alright!]

This morning, the elderly auto man, suggested that we [as in you and I and our friends] can make a difference, we can reduce corruption, and what we need to do is, to be more actively involved with the media. Hmm... wise words siree. Point taken.

And then there are the ones, that leave me bitter and make me want to jump out of the auto, out of the flyover and wish for a spiderman rescue. Hyper-boles. Aren't they l-o-v-e-l-y? Okay so a few weeks back, I was on this busy flyover on my way back, and then suddenly the auto man slows down a little and says, “madam do you see this flyover?” to which I reply 'yes', he goes on “well madam, in the year 2012, this will be gone, it will be in ruins, so will you and all of us. The world will be destroyed.” and after ten seconds of eerie silence, he says “completely destroyed.”many thanks mister Nostradamus, now can you please take me home.

And as the evening nears, I hope, today as I hop into an auto and head home, the only conversation we have is, he asking me 'where to ? ' and I giving him my address.

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]

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.

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.

“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!”

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…]

Wake up and smell the coffee – Part Deux

The feelings. Be cautious. Very cautious.

Yeah the quintessential feelings bit. You are now at a very, very vulnerable state of mind. You have all the time to read between the lines, the words and often the alphabets too. So, do advise your friends, ex-colleagues, parents, neighbours, maids and particularly the spouse to refrain from speaking without thinking. And often refrain from speaking at all.

But make no mistake; you don’t quite function this way. You don’t have to. Remember, you are the vulnerable one. You have the liberty to let your feelings lose, thinking with your heart or the brain, as you please. Or for that matter, not thinking at all.

addendum - The image is here because, when you go to corbis and type 'feelings', this is the most arty and pretty image you get. The image description did not make sense, and why do I care.

Wake up and smell the coffee – Part Un

The thing called TIME.

When you don’t have to worry about time, you tend to notice/imagine/comprehend things that you wouldn’t have otherwise.

Take more than 7 minutes to pick an orange and you imagine that the ones that you aren’t selecting have some rare skin disorder.

Don’t hurry with your walk back home from the corner grocery store and you would notice the three new stray dogs in your locality. All of them hate you. Make your move, stop to say hello.

You could also experience something murkier than cute dogs and bright oranges. Like witnessing a neighbourhood extramarital affair; one that could get you killed. No ordinary death would do, a let’s-silence-her-before-she-spills kind of death. And if you must know, the man and woman in question could be above 70 years of age; but what has age got to do with love or for that matter, the ominous look, that yes-we-are-on-to-something look. And that’s the look, you get every single time, you look at them. And why do you look at them repeatedly? What else can you do, when you walk at 2.1 mph for an hour.

A new month, a new number… new tidings

[sorry about the most typical image, but it's pretty]

It’s been sometime since I felt this way. That feeling of uncertainty that hope, not knowing what to expect, not knowing what to let go. Wanting the phone to ring, the inbox to be busy. That funny feeling in the tummy [guess with this one I am going overboard, but really there is].

I have been wanting to advise. So what do I do when I want to advise and do not have any takers? I use my blog space to do so. Will you judge me if do a little advising here?

Good andt comfortable makes sense. Of course it does.

Boring but comfortable, still makes sense.

But bad and comfortable doesn’t.

If it’s bad and comfortable, then it’s time to scoot. Just run okay?

Don’t think too much about the repercussions, sure there will be. But if you think too much, you will never get to scoot, and which means you will never know, what awaits you after the run. Did I make much sense there? Did I?

Didn’t I start on a sunny note? Whatever… it’s time for new, new things!

Happiness is a shoe called Jimmy Choo.

I call her Ms Z, for reasons unbeknown to me. The only reason I can think of is that I know no woman with a Z in her name. So as to avoid any is-it-me? Is-it-her? questions, at any point in time. However, make no mistake, I quite like Ms Z. Well when I introduced Ms Z to my world, she was this one particular woman. But later, I started to notice a pattern, and Ms Z went on to become a type. Do I hate to admit the type? Yes I do. A type that I quite grudgingly approve of, a type that I even more grudgingly, hope to become. However, I have realized that there's nothing that will make me happier than being like Ms Z, and this I have realized it good.

Now, explaining this type. Ms Z knows what she want and works hard towards getting what she wants, leads a pretty simple life [not the simple living simple, but a fairly straight life, if you may call it so]. She pursues simple things in life, like a Gucci limited edition bag or the 47th pair of peep-toe heels. And she knows how to go about getting it. Well, the thing is, pursuit of such simple pleasures gives us the power to control. We know exactly what is required from us to get that. Everything – the kind of effort involved, the people, etcetera. Of course it requires hard work, but you at least know where you are headed.

Isn't that true for everything you say? No, it's not.
Being a decent copywriter for instance [if I come across as overtly ambitious, then no I am not, just a little maybe, but a better copywriter I do want to become]. So, the problem with wanting that is I have to depend on so many factors. Am I in the right place, writing the right stuff, for the right brands. What are the chances that someone else out there is working harder.

Now, let's talk about love/relationships. I have friends whose lives revolve around that perfect relationship. Now, that's not bad, but it's terribly sad. Because, for all you know, your object of affection could be pursuing a lofty pay cheque and not your heart. Now, these [career/money and love/relationships] are the only things I could think of, but I am sure there are many. However, should you choose to pursue any of them with much gusto, be prepared to end up sad.


So... Take a dream breath, close your eyes, think of Prada, Versace and all things nice, bring out the Ms Z in you, and discover a truly happier, newer you. [yes, this is so Chicken Soup and I am cringing too :D]

But I think I am just right for Amul Chocolate.

As you grow older, wiser or not, you come to terms with a few facts of life. The most important one being, coming to realize that there will be things that you wouldn't be able to do/get, not now, not anytime soon, not ever. However, you choose to move on. As we attempted to be adults, back then, long, long time ago, didn't we all think that the universe had just one agenda – to make us happy and help us get whatever we wanted. Didn't we all? And then suddenly you are this adult, you always attempted to be; and you realize, universe is out there busy with something else or someone else, and you don't feature nowhere.

Facts I've learned to live with -

That I wouldn't be creating that Nike ad.

That I wouldn't backpack across Europe, without a care in the world. [nope that's not happening; I am too bothered about my maid coming on time and pettier matters]

That no amount of conditioner can get me silky straight hair.

That kids no longer call me didi, aunty it is. [and even if they would, their mean mothers wouldn't let them. Damn.]

That every cliché holds true.

That I am still trying to fit in. Somewhere.


Now, the good part about getting older -

I don't expect much. Hence, will not do much. [Hee heee]

I, for once in my life, know my priorities.

Being rude is okay. Perfectly okay. [I don't know what this has got to do with age, but somehow it does.]

The sense of urgency.