Growing Up.

A little more than a year ago when I started this blog, I was young (still am), eccentric and highly emotional (again, still am).  I distinctly remember fusing my personal life and public, inevitably making a laughing stock out of myself.

It took twelve months, harsh words and heartfelt advice for me to mature over the content I so published.

I’m one of those people who can have a better emotional conversation with a wall than anything else that breathes. I’ve always written down my heart wrecks and overwhelmed moments for as long as I can remember. So when I took to this blog, I continued to do the same, unaware of the responsibility I had donned when I took to social media.

Needless to say I started off attracting more negative criticism than positive and the whole thing was a big blob of uncooked pasta.

Getting a URL with my name didn’t empower me to take on issues in public, was a lesson I learnt over time. Although I believed every word I wrote, gripped with insecurity and desperately hunting that safety blanket, I dumped my all my eggs in one basket, and the wrong one at that.

So once I gave myself an intervention and here I am, gathering the courage to issue a public apology to everyone I indirectly cross webbed.

When I look back today, I cringe. I cringe with all my heart and soul. No matter how much I resented certain people back then, I didn’t quite realize that I was thwarting my own self while taking a jab at them.

Some, I still feel the same about. Others I’ve forgiven. And most, I’m at peace with. So why leave lasting imprints of an emotion that’s only going to last in the passing?

Anyone who’s been insulted or even remotely affected by anything I published so far, a sincere apology.

Everyone who told me to grow up, doesn’t matter which way, a heartfelt thank you for setting off that ‘Grow Up’ alarm inside of me.

And to my readers who forgave my immaturity, I express earnest gratitude for believing that I was more than that.

It only seemed right to address this mistake on the same platform that I made it.

I sign off with a lighter heart and a clearer conscience.

It’s a good thing after all, growing up.

Aai & Bai.

Marathi household or not, I KNOW you instantly related to this.
Bollywood gives you an idea that a life partner is the most important person in your life. Jhoot kehte hai.
I've seen my mother Keep Calm and Function when my dad goes out on business trips but one day the maid takes a day off, she falls apart. Sorry dad.

Picture Courtesy: MyIndiaPictures.com

No matter how alien we are to this idea, fact remains that our lives depend and revolve around our domestic help. So much so that you're willing to go to any extent to make sure she doesn't quit cause, " Aaj kal bharose wali bai milna kitna mushkil hai pata hai?"

I still remember when we moved to our new house 8 years ago, the first thing my mother asked my new neighbors after exchanging pleasantries was about the house help. No she didn't want to know about the malls in the vicinity or how friendly the neighborhood was. The Bai was my Aai's priority.
So while we sat awkwardly around the neighbor's house, offering awkward smiles from time to time to prevent ourselves from falling asleep, the ladies bonded over the Woes of Finding a Reliable Help.

The Aai insists that the Bai be treated with utmost care and respect, lest she get offended and leave. If my maid was a product, she'd come with a "DELICATE: HANDLE WITH CARE" label personally crafted and glued by my mother.

C'est la vie, mes amis. In a house that my father bought, with the salary that he shells out from his pocket, the Bai rules over us with such fluency and modesty, it's hard to tell who's employed whom.
She can come at 5pm and cook dinner that we won't be eating anytime before 9 pm, but hey, atleast she's working, what will we do without her?

This situation in my house (and I'm sure yours too) reminds me vaguely of a chapter I learned in Civics a couple of years ago (I hope my teachers are reading this and dabbing their eyes with joy) about there being a "Nominal Head" and a "Real Head." Who's who, really?

I'll leave you to figure that out. Meanwhile, I need to do the dishes. The Bai has a splitting headache that the Aai has already given medicines and a leave for. But come on ya, lets be considerate. What if she quits?
*shudder*

Pick me. Choose me. Read me.

A couple of books I had the pleasure of reading and falling in love with. If you want a lasting relationship with words, I insist you read these.




  The Villa: Nora Roberts.
This book revolves around the Giambelli family and their winery across the Napa valley. Sophia Giambelli, grand daughter of the matriarch of the family, Tereza, has inherited her hunger for power and the staunch will to never back down, alongside a sprawling palatial home and the family fortune. The story begins to unfold twists and turns as hot as ever Tyler Macmillan enters Sophia's life like a tornado and makes her feel like nobody has ever before: insecure, and hungry for love.
A marriage of mystery and romance, this book is a must read. I tend to re-read this often when I'm in solitude. 

The Mafia Queens of Mumbai: Hussain Zaidi

Hussain Zaidi is by far one of my favorite Indian authors. The lucidity of his language and the raw approach he implements is awe inspiring. Mafia didn't interest me till I read his trilogy on the Mumbai mafia (Dongri to Dubai, Mafia Queens of Mumbai, Byculla to Bangkok). Zaidi is a man that presents reality as it is. Not only has he used the name and references of every feared gangster in Mumbai, he has also made it a point to reveal the death threats he received as a result of penning it all down.

Mafia Queens of Mumbai speaks of the women that took over the under world and dominated it like they would do their kitchens. The stories are supported by pictures of the lady dons and their sidekicks. It's a pleasant change from the fiction based novels I normally indulge in. A plunge into the 'No-Entry' arena, Mafia Queens of Mumbai is a must read.

Message In A Bottle.

Father of romantic novels, Nicholas Sparks has redefined the power of love in this novel. How often do we dream of finding a note inside a bottle washed ashore while on a quite walk alongside a beach? And how often does it really happen? And if it were to happen, what would you do? Would you ever go that extra mile to track the one who would rather be anonymous? Distraught and divorced, Theresa Osborne takes the chance and goes that extra mile. But what has fate in mind? A book that takes you on a joyride and washes it away with a tide of sorrow, it's a must read for anyone who loves a blend of emotions.

 

The Zoya Factor: Anuja Chauhan

If there's an Indian author I'd read over and over and stand in a queue outside a bookstore at the launch of a new novel, it's Anuja Chauhan. Hands down. Her pakki Hindi language gives it the Indian feel that most Indian novels lack.

Her story is thoroughly uncomplicated, yet unpredictable.

The story revolves around a Rajput girl, Zoya Singh Solanki and her role in the deciding of the fate of the Indian cricket team, and the captain: Nikhil Khoda's discomfort at being robbed of the credit for the team's victory and the potential romance that blooms between the two.

It's hilarious. It's romantic. It's cocky. And seems almost real.

If there's anything called an alternate reality, it's this.

  The Fault in Our Stars: John Green

"I fell in love with the way you fall asleep, slowly and then all at once." If that doesn't move you, I don't know what can. I was a turmoil of emotions as I went through this book. It redefines love in every way possible. There couldn't have been a better way to frame a tragic romance and make it look like it isn't tragic at all, but a bloom of romance and romance only. This book is pure indulgence. 

I'm a believer in words. There is nothing in the world that can move you any more than a good book possibly can. In this ever-disappointing world, it's necessary to have an alternate reality to escape into when all isn't well. And nothing says revival of the soul like a good book does.

Shut up and say Thank You.

“That’s a beautiful dress you have on!”

“Oh this? This is like really old. I couldn’t find anything else today.”

“You look stunning!”

“No ya. I’ve put on so much weight.”

“Where’d you get this bag? It’s so pretty!”

“An aunt gifted it to me. I’m so embarrassed lugging it around. But my bag tore yesterday so I had no option.”

Been there, said that? Stay away from me.

Been there heard that and felt an irresistible urge to say “Oh good, it looked ugly anyway.”? Come here, soul sister.

There’s something about turning down a compliment that irritates me to no extent.

Yes your bag is probably really tacky but I gave you a compliment. There’s a standard response for that: “Thank you.” Heard of it? I’m sure not.

If I tell you something is nice, it’s just nice. Deal with it.

Don’t give me the biography of it or the origins and a sentimental story of its Alma matter. To me, it doesn’t matter.

The next time someone gives you a compliment, take it. Don’t be a prick in the you-know-where.

Oh you like my blog? Well thank you!
See, not so hard, now is it?

Happy Endings and Roses.

Blame it on the effects of my undying love for Mills&Boons or my estrogen drives. Either way, I'm a rose person. And not just any rose, I'm a red rose person.

Rose. What image does it form in your mind when you say that word and close your eyes?

A proposal? A vintage photo of a yesteryear actress with an unrealistically large rose blooming out of her bun? An expression of appreciation? A token of love? Or Kate Winslet in Titanic?

It all rounds up to the same thing. Love. Symbolism.

When I was a  kid, we were taught this in school- "Red stands for love."

I was overwhelmed by the idea of it. 

Since then, I associate Rose with a certain Prince Charming in an armor, riding a White Horse and tucking a Red Rose in the loose knot of my cascading hair and saying, "Be Mine."
Rather dramatic, isn't it?

But then again, what is this life without a bit of drama every now and then?

Look around you. All smiles, yes.

Look deeper.

Infidelity. Lies. Treachery. Betrayal. It's like someone took a handful of devil-dust and sprinkled it over the planet. The widest of smiles will have strained wrinkles underneath their eyes. 

Am I a pessimist? Nope.

I'm testing new waters with Realism. And let me tell you something about realism- it sucks.

But then again, I'm also a dreamer. A sincere one at that.

I believe in happy endings and in an eternity called forever. I don't need to see it to believe it.

I believe in my Prince Charming who will trot away into the sunset with me. I don't need proof for his existence. I know he's out there, somewhere.

I believe that if there's devil-dust, there's also fairy-dust in the rainbow of life.

That if there can be perfect beginnings, they can last long enough to be called perfect endings.

I believe that as long as the roses are red and blooming, there's room for happiness to find its way to the ending.

If you can keep your Rose from withering away, you can have your happy ending.

Save me a petal, won't you?

Bros Before Hoes?

"It never really is bros before hoes. The girl always comes first. It only depends on how important the girl is to a guy."
 These words, from someone who preaches bromance put me in a predicament.
Everywhere I see men flaunting these words like it's cool to put your 'bros' before your girlfriend, who is sadly referred to as the 'hoe'. This statement, however casual it was intended to be, restored my faith in men.

Everyone loves their friends. I for one, put mine on top notch priority. But there's a reason why you pick someone out of those and put that one person on a pedestal. There's a reason the one person is more special to you. You decide to give your heart and it all to that one person because he means a little more than the others. This whole concept of "bromance" has tainted with relationships as a whole.
Love and friendship, as much as they have equal weightage, they're two different realities. Not alternate, just different. You can't pick one over the other.

Claiming that my friends are more important to me than my boyfriend is, is like saying water is more important to me than oxygen. Truth is, you can't live without either and there's is no potential comparison!

I'm genuinely sick of being told how 'bros' are more faithful and dependable and other categorical nonsense. You can't live without either, and not-so-deep-down you know it too. You can turn to either in times of crisis and you know you'll get seamless support; that's why you pick them out of the ghastly population of the world.

If you sashay the words "Bros before Hoes" in front of me, I've almost immediately judged you. To me, you are either of the following-
1. Not as much in love with your girlfriend as you claim.
 (Why else would you, in your most imbalanced of states call her a hoe?)

2. A 'Kewl Dude'. 
I know a lot of people who throw around words that sound important to look cool. Ouch to you.

3. An idiot.
Who in their right mind would choose beer-lugging, sweat-smelling, pizza-gobbling, showering-once-a-month fellows over a tidy, sexy girl who smells of roses and raspberries and does wonders in the kitchen (as well)? Face it, you're an idiot.

That's as precise as it gets.

There's no categorizing people that mean the world to you. You either love them or you 
don't. Then it doesn't matter who's the bro and who's the girlfriend. Yes, I called her the girlfriend, not the hoe. About time you did too. Unless you want your bedroom smelling of old socks, sweat, leftovers of pizza and stale beer for the rest of your life.