5 Reasons Why Dating An Indian Woman Is Not Your Cup Of Tea

I don't usually take any of the "10 Reasons why he's the right guy for you" or "12 signs that indicate your best friend is really a foe in disguise" kind of articles too seriously, but I came across one today that gave me something to think, laugh and write about.

Matt Forney, a Chicago-based author, journalist and entrepreneur came up with 5 rather intriguing reasons why you shouldn't date Indian girls. 
I'm an Indian girl. Was I humiliated, ashamed or embarrassed?
You wish.
I was amused. I was also driven to hopefully give a piece of my mind and that of several others to those who shared the post in agreement.

So like Matt Forney stated, there's a lot of reasons you aren't suited to date an Indian woman. Going by the same logic as his, and the same format too, here's my version of it: 

1. They'd make you look unattractive.
Forget about Aishwarya Rai and every other smoking hot Bollywood actress you've ever seen: the average Indian woman has an hour- glass figure and cascading tresses so dense, they would put the thickest of forests to shame. Sure, not a large percentage of Indian women are fitness conscious but it's safe to say obesity isn't an alarming constant in the country. She doesn't always 'balloon up' as soon as she gets a ring on it but if she does, she finds a way to carry it with grace rather than trying to fit her curves in a ragged pair of skinny jeans. Imagine the horror of being the better half of one of the most thoroughly detailed and beautifully crafted creations of God. No way in hell you can compete with that. Nope, sorry Indian girls!

2. Sex: To each her own!

For a supposed origin of the land of snake charmers, Indian women are shoulder to shoulder and beyond with competitors from the opposite sex. Speaking of sex, you'll find a lot of desi girls with inhibitions regarding it and a lot of women with no hesitation whatsoever. See that's the beauty of diversity: everyone gets to decide how they feel about a certain concept, act or belief regardless of what their religion, gender, nationality or race is. Sex is a choice. Anything that happens before or after it is a choice as well. 
Indians have sexually conservative attitudes thanks to the number of sexually transmitted diseases, soiled attitudes of their potential sexual partner and morality. I don't see how any of this connects to their parents or any other individual for that matter. 
Also, Indian women would hardly refer to sex as "banged" or having multiple sexual partners as "slutting around", especially since the concept isn't exactly alien to great chunks in the world. Speaks volumes about the morality of the Indian woman, doesn't it? That, as a matter of fact comes from the Indian parent if you must know.
But a headstrong woman with an opinion of her own? That won't go down so well with your ego. Steer clear from Indian women, boys.

3. Social stigmas don't disbalance their confidence.

A number of sitcoms show a brown skinned man with a horrid accent fantasizing about a white girl in the shower and making a fool of himself trying to woo her in every episode. Every Indian woman, on the other hand is portrayed as the docile, helpless Sari-clad woman who cleans the house and waits for her husband to come home and treat her like the doormat she just dusted. Indians however, have learned to laugh at themselves.
They don't all speak like Apu from the Simpsons or get tongue tied at the sight of a gorgeous woman like Raj from The Big Bang Theory.
Indian girls raised in the US never shut up about the glories of India because the rich culture gives them a little too much to talk about. And to those that look at India and only see people shitting on the streets, progressive is a subjective term and your definition of it is different from normal so Indian women? Not really your deal.


4. They're feminists.

I don't see why this was a reason to not date an Indian woman. They've been females all their lives, why wouldn't they be feminists?
Advocating women's rights on grounds of equality of sexes. 
Again, tell me one thing wrong with that.
So much for "A man looks for confidence and determination in a woman." When she stands up and buttons down, it threatens the security of your manhood and you start gagging her self respect with pitiful excuse.
And "Indian mothers control their sons with guilt trips and shame which is why so many of them become sackless weaklings and Indian Race Trolls"? On a more serious note, basing your research on Bollywood movies isn't the smartest move. That's the thing about Bollywood movies: they're movies.
Indian girls growing up in America are some of the most privileged people on Earth. Well, why wouldn't they be? They're Indian girls. Feminist Indian girls with the ability to step up and fill in for a man whenever necessary. Ouch.

5. They can be anything you want them to be.

She can be your traditional Indian wife with the maang tikka and chooda.
She can suit up and be the corporate boss they all fear.
She can be the doting mother who sharpens her claws in her spare time to gnaw at anybody who'd dare lift a finger towards her child.
The Indian woman makes the smoothest transformation from the 'Girl from the club' to the 'Academic topper of the year' to 'Matron of tradition in the gorgeous nine yard saree and the nose ring.'
She could be anything you'd want her to be. And everything else you'd never dream of her to be.
The Indian woman is a being of many hues and shades ranging from pleasant to animalistic in a matter of seconds.

Truly, when it comes to girls any ethnicity or race is a better bet than Indians.
You can't tame her and you can't keep up with her. You can't muffle her.
And you sure as hell can't lift a finger at her and expect to walk back with all ten of them still intact.

There's a lot of reasons to not date an Indian girl. But the most important of them all is, she's not your cup of tea. Which is best brewed in an Indian woman's kitchen, in case you didn't know.

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Twenty, going on twenty one.
It isn't the fanciest age to be, believe me. Sure it sounds all sorted but deep down, we're constantly shuffling between being carefree children and responsible adults and it doesn't feel as fancy anymore.

Here's when we start indulging in raising questions about our self worth, or worse yet, basing it on someone else's judgment. No good hair day is good enough, no skin is perfect enough and no body is skinny enough.
Why did I say skinny? Admit it or not, we all look at that and sigh. Sure we read, promote and even write powerful words about how every size is beautiful, but how much of it is true? And if you were to magically receive that sculpted body with the cheek bones and the collar bones and all other bones, would you still be standing on those supposedly high moral grounds?
I know I wouldn't.

So for a large chunk of my life I would look at my reflection in the mirror and see a rather crude, imperfect and disappointing version of me.
They say to find true love you must first be insanely and irrevocably in love with yourself. I was. Or was I?
I saw but too many flaws in what that mirror had to show me. If my clothes made me look slender, my hair would be acting up. Something was always you know, off.
I'd run into people on the street and greet them half heartedly, deeply wishing I could magically disappear. My acne would suddenly seem too prominent and my jeans felt too tight for no apparent reason.
I'd learned to love myself the way I was: hyper emotional, needy, over bearing, insecure and easily broken. I had come to terms with what I saw within me, but I wasn't yet ready to make peace with what the world saw of me.
My face.
Six pack flabs.
Undone nails.
Feet that looked at pedicure as an ancient ritual, so on and so forth.

Somewhere along battling my own insecurities, I finally unwrapped the bow tied truth of my fragile little ego. I had created my own insecurities.
The reason why I always felt like I wasn't enough was my own self. It was because I gave more importance to the acne invasion on my cheek than the heartfelt smile I'd give to people I bumped into. Would they remember the freckles on my nose or that I ducked past them despite having spotted them?
Was the world really perceiving me as the reflection of my mirror?
Was I wearing make up as an addition or as a necessity?
And was I really basing my self worth on how many pounds my weighing machine pointed at?

That machine runs on a couple of batteries.
The mirror shows you everything that you don't want to see. One blow and it would come crashing down into pieces that can't be put together again.
And I was letting something that fragile define who I am?

Not anymore.
You see, part of growing up has a lot to do with thanking puberty for the splendid spell of magic.
But part of it, and the important part of it is about looking at yourself and finding what you wanted to see in the first place.
No reflections, no deceptions. Your true self. Your core. Your soul.

The next time you catch yourself crinkling your nose to what you see when you look into a piece of glass, remember that it's just that, while you? You're worth more. A hell lot more.

India Hates Women

March 2015. Almost two and a half years after the gruesome, inhuman, cowardly and cringe worthy act of sexual harassment, we're debating whether or not it was her fault.

REALLY? We're even considering the possibility of it being her fault here?
Because she wanted to catch a late night show. So WHAT? They have late night shows so we can watch movies at our convenience. Did the theater in any way say that the show was exclusively for men? 

Or was it because she was accompanied by her male friend? Oh sure, that could be a reason. Step out with your boyfriend on Valentine's day and get married. Step out with a friend at night and get raped.

My hands shiver and my heartbeat multiplies ten folds as I follow the Nirbhaya case. 

A girl was raped. Brutally. Her friend was assaulted. The accused is right there, in front of us. What are we doing about it? Defending him.
I understand that the Constitution allows everybody a fair trial. But if an advocate makes statements like "If you keep sweets on the street, dogs are going to eat it", we should stop dreaming of a developed nation. 

What are you going to do with stark infrastructure and glossy machines if the morality of the nation is rotting away to hell?

Every time I step out, my parents have half their heart sinking till the minute I get back home.
They call me every half an hour to 'chat'. Who are we kidding? In real, blunt words, they're calling to check if I'm still alive and okay. 

Sending their daughters to colleges and work places has become a nightmare for parents in this day.

A woman is looked at as an object, as a thing, something to sneer at and whistle at. Just something to look at. Or touch, occasionally. Or maybe rape or kill if they feel like it. It's a free country after all and we're just women.

Thank you, dear Indian men, for making me feel unsafe in my own country. Thank you for reminding me that humanity is a lost cause in this pathetic excuse for a country.

The very fact that people aren't hesitant about making strong statements like "Rape is a girl's fault." "Men will be men, mistakes happen." or "Women are asking for it if they step out late or wear suggestive clothes" is proof that the country has no hope, no room left for women anymore.

Doesn't matter if I'm wearing a saree or a crop top, I'm not asking for it. Unless you see me carrying a placard around my neck saying "GIVE IT TO ME", I'm not asking for it. Stop looking for signs and symbols. If I don't personally walk up to you and ask you for it, I'm not asking for it.

The fact that the Nirbhaya case went on for anything more than a week scares me. It genuinely scares me. They had the proof, evidence, victim, accused and the case. And yet, yet it has been more than two years today and God knows how many more till they reach a conclusion.

I have a sister, I have friends, little cousins, classmates and a mother and aunts. Every morning, I pray for the safety of everyone out there. Everyone I know, love, care for and everyone I don't know but care about. The rate at which the accused are walking off scott free is alarming.

I see the fear, the worry and the borderline terror in my parents' eyes every time I step out of the house. I see women around me being wary of the kindest of men because, you never know.

India scares me. The men scare me. The reality and blatant lack of morality of Indians scares me.

Right from killing the girl child to raping the girl child, it's evident that India hates women. There is no place for us lowly creatures in this supposed holy motherland unless it is at the other end of a killing knife or their sexual urges.

I can already see my parents breaking out into a cold sweat at my expression of thoughts, because although the Constitution states it, we don't allow freedom of speech and to top it all, I'm a woman. Easily targeted, conveniently muffled and perpetually subdued. I'm a woman. Visually raped every day, dying inside every alternate minute, looked down upon, shunned by the society and yet somehow standing strong. But I'm a woman. And India hates women.

Drunken Horizons

It was the fourth night in a row he had dreamt of walking into a sunset. Like, literally into one.
The sun blazing royally in shades of crimson and a forlorn gray. Was it going to rain? Was the world just closing in on him? What on earth was the dream supposed to mean?
He rubbed his face vehemently in order to shake off the queasy feeling the dream had brought upon him.
He moved on to his chores but his mind kept backtracking to the one thing that didn't make sense. Make that one more thing that didn't make sense, he smiled bitterly.

What was he thinking when he pushed her away from himself? Or was he thinking at all? God knows. It seemed right back then and there was nothing better he could think of. He knew and well enough that he had turned into a self consuming, hollow being whose inner demons had had the better of him. His soul had kissed him goodbye a long time ago and there was a void inside of him that only she seemed to fill.
Gosh that scared him and how!

Here there was an emptiness that he had found a way around, a kind of desolation he had convinced himself was necessary for his very existence and a stone hearted reality that was now just that- his reality. And then there was her, wilted as a stemless flower, crippled by her own emotions and broken; even incomplete by herself. But in some farcical way that seemed like nothing less than borderline sorcery, she completed him in the most ridiculous way there was.
She made him feel complete. Whole.
She was the one magical thing in his illusioned world.

Of course that scared him. Was there anything more daunting than a woman who understood him? All these years of watchful isolation for what? Definitely not this. Caving in wasn't an option.

Another day passed in equal sombreness if not more. Climbing into the bed for two, all alone, he braced himself for another wave of scepticism to wash him into miles and miles of uncertainty.

But..
What if.
What if these dreams were the illusions that masked his reality?
What if those sunsets weren't really sunsets but day breaks? What if it were really dawn? A new beginning?
Could it be possible that life was blindfolding him into a tomorrow that were meant to fill out his void in the most unprecedented way ever?
What if those weren't really endings but just a bunch of drunken horizons hazing his vision?
What if, his reality was destined to be better, way better than his dreams?

Noise.

 I was being tested. There was no other explanation to this. Absolutely none at all. One doesn't simply shoulder the world's gravest burdens one after another without a reason. Nope.

One recovery was paving my way into something else that needed my undivided attention, and that juts led to something else which was way past my coping abilities. What I needed was serenity. Oh what I would give for a sea of silence right now. I was halfway into a far fetched dream when I was shaken back to reality. There was something else that needed dealing. Of course there was.

The next couple of days were spent between piles of paperwork and countless cups of tea. I was going to lay off tea for the rest of my life after all this was done, I thought to myself as I lifted my fourteenth cup. Sigh.

A flashback to my pre-teen days when I would beg and plead to be allowed one sip of the tea Mumma poured for the 'grown ups' as they sat around the dining table discussing grown up things. 

And now here I was, guzzling it down like it were keeping me alive.

I had made a hundred phone calls by the day, but I couldn't recall the last conversation I had had.

My system got the food it needed but my memory couldn't backtrack the last meal I indulged in.

Spectacles were taken off and I did lie down for a couple of hours every night but a sound sleep was a distant dream.

When exasperation hit like I knew it would, I shut them all out. I cut them all off. I'd been holding it off, even suppressing it for weeks now because they needed me. The situation needed me.

But now? Now I was the needy. And I needed me to stop.

I dialed the first number I could think of and waited. I waited for her voice at the other end, I waited for the tears to finally brim my baggy eyes and to break. Oh how I had longed to just break.

For the first time since it had all started, I let it out. I let it go. I let myself go.

The walls that I had built ever so carefully were torn down brick by brick. I let my guard down and I gave up on the facades of strength and valor.

My fears, insecurities and my sorry plight were suddenly in focus. Raw, revealed and ruthless.

"When did we get here?" I asked her.

The last I remembered, we were sitting on the last bench of our classroom discussing boys in hushed tones. The biggest problems back then were them and lousy marks and it seemed like the end of the world.

What would I have given right now to just go back to those days when my perseverance was far from being tested.

It's like I'm in the middle of an ocean and I have the liberty of choosing a direction but I'm lost. There is so much to look forward to but I'd rather live my life in reverse. I'm foraging for silence to feed on, but in my head, there's just noise. Shrill, riotous, resounding and yet somehow deafening.

Just noise.

2014: The Year That Was.

It probably seems like I'm two weeks too late in publishing a new year post, but it took me a while to come to terms with certain changes that 2014 left behind.
Looking back, I don't see a gasping turn of events in the last one year that made me a new person. Sure there were ups and downs and twists and turns, but you don't need to go through an entire year to face those. Yet, the year left a different person behind, be it for better or for worse, but different. The plot would sometimes be subtle as a brick and other times it'd pass by like a stranger on the subway. But it was sure to leave behind imprints. 

For the first time in twenty years (gosh, am I that old already?) I made a resolution. A rather typical and painfully common one. Yes, you guessed it right. I bought myself that overpriced gym membership in the first week of January. I further went on to buy new shoes, gym gear, hair bands and just about anything that's even remotely relatable to a gym. I was a regular for the initial two months until one day I was too bored to haul myself and walk two blocks to get there. Then on, it was a ride downhill. One excuse followed another and one kilogram followed another.
Eventually, I never made it to the halls of the gym again.
Yet, like fate would have it, I ended up losing almost eight kgs of my net weight to a summer internship I took up at the other end of the city. Purpose served? Well, almost.

You know how 'letting go' is such a big deal? How so much significance is put in two basic words? Hell, I wrote an entire blogpost about it a few months ago. Earlier last year, I got to a breaking point in life where everything just wouldn't add up. The math was wrong and it was all an unresolved mess. I was brought to accept that cutting some ties was the only way ahead. After all, if you continue to re-read your last chapter, you'll never finish the story. The bibliophile in me wouldn't rest until I turned the page and started the chapter that was long overdue. So I did. I let go. And although it felt like taking a dagger to the heart, I felt lighter and happier at the end of the wrecking process. Letting go was easier than I thought and much better than I had hoped it'd feel.


On September 28th, 2014 I got my first tattoo. I'll be honest, I was terrified by the idea of having a needle pierce my skin a few hundred times a minute, but it was thrilling. I've always wanted to get a tattoo and a lot of thought, precision and long hours went into the making of my first. It says: "Forever and Always", for I refuse to believe that a love of any sort can come with an expiry. I believe in an eternity and I believe in a Forever. I always will.

The biggest change that gripped me this year was my change of heart towards pets. 
I was only seven years old when a stray chased me around the compound of my society and threw itself onto my tiny self. It was probably his way of showing affection but I was too young, too naive to understand that. I maintained as much distance from pets of any sort since then... until this year. In the last leg of 2014, someone who means a lot to me suddenly decided he wanted a furry companion. I was traumatized at the thought of having a creature around me more often than not. Over time, I grew extremely fond of those tiny paws and the sheer innocence in those eyes. I'm proud to be not just dog friendly, but a dog lover anymore!

It really is funny how nothing seemed different as the year wore out, but today when I look back, everything seems to have changed. It wasn't one but a series of events that made me the person I am today. Twists and turns aren't always welcome, and they'll rub you in the wrong way more often than not. But accepting the change is the only way to get on with life, so why not do it with a smile?

This is me, one year later.
Still dented in some places. Still scarred from old wounds. Still weighing my pros and cons before every small decision. Still dramatic. Still hyper emotional.
Still the same, but one year older.
Still me.

The Last Chapter

"But I can't. Don't you get it? I can't. I just cannot."

"Write it. Do you trust me? Just do it. Write it."

His tone was oddly fierce and cajoling if that was even possible.

She had been stuck on the last chapter for a year now. Hitting the delete button had become more of a habit than a necessity. Nothing seemed good enough anymore. All the serenity in the world hadn't contributed to that one last chapter. Three hundred and six pages later, one chapter seemed like a child's play. But my oh my, wasn't it the hardest thing to do right now.

He had been supportive, even encouraging throughout her journey. From pulling all nighters to brainstorming, he'd been there through it all. He had borne the wrath of the worst of her mood swings and been pleasantly surprised to find the otherwise frazzled and focused woman unwind with a glass wine and the crass music that she enjoyed so dearly.

She had always dreamed of this day. Running a finger over her words in print had always been the dream. To finally see the heaps of papers strewn across the room be bound and propped in shelves in book hubs had been the day she wanted to live to see. 'One day', she had always told herself. One day I will make it there. And that day was today. 

It was here. 

Why were her footsteps so uncertain now? Why did her fingers shake as she took to the typewriter? Why was her mind dragging her in ten inconspicuous directions when all she wanted to do was finish that one last chapter?

The answer lay in her final question.

Flashbacks had become a constant now. Her otherwise flawed memory had recorded that day as flawlessly as ever. The day she broke down, one last time. That day, that precise minute when everything seemed like a conspiracy closing in on her. She could still feel how the end had choked her up to the extent where she still had nightmares of being gagged by a shadow. A ghost of her past.

The first nine chapters had been fuelled by the anguish, the emptiness and the emotional inability to cope with life. When her words started filling up the hollow back hole that her past had left behind, she started to heal. Life wasn't just tolerable anymore, it was pleasant. Might even dare to call it happy every once in a while.

The spirit that she had now developed resembled that of a cripple who had defied every prediction of never being able to be the same again. She had done it, normalcy was just a few footsteps away now.

All she had to do was to reach out. Reach out to the world and be a part of them again, and then they would finally stop looking at her with pity. How she hated that. Pity. What an ugly emotion to be subjected to.

It had taken her just five months to cut through nine long chapters. But now? It was draining out. The hurt, the inaccessibility, the pain. Her wounds were healing. The catastrophe had struck, done the damage and was now slowly but steadily seeping out of her system.

She had started smiling more often. Gaps were bridging. Reality had finally manoeuvred across her dreams.

 And now, one year later, she was still struggling with the last chapter. She needed one striking tragedy to get her through the end. Such was the hypocrisy of fate. Happiness had now become her worst enemy. 

It pained him to see her struggle to ward off happiness. He'd promised her he'd do everything to keep those tears from spilling again, but his promises were becoming her worst enemy. He loved her like no man could love another woman, and thus, he smiled. He smiled as he wrote the last line of a what could possibly be the last letter. His jaw clenched and his temple throbbed, but he remained undeterred. He took one last look at her, and his lip trembled as he took his first step away from her.

She awoke the next morning to a ruthless letter haphazardly written about how he had found something better and that he had to answer his calling. The stains on the otherwise merciless tone of the words gave it away and she smiled in remorse.

He had given her what she needed and more. A tragedy brought upon by a seamless ocean of love. 

And thus took form, the beginning of the last chapter.