Of Babies and Billis

Before you jump to conclusions, neither are happening in my life anytime soon, so you can heave a sigh of relief (I know I would have!).

But what did happen is this sudden crazy obsession that I developed with adopting a cat. I really can’t explain it. I am intrinsically a dog person. But given our lifestyles, have pretty much accepted that keeping a dog as a pet is completely out of the question. A cat, however, seemed to be much easier to handle and take care of, specially by two people who still haven't completely figured out how to take care of themselves.

That said, me being the over-obsessed ME, I HAD to conduct all the background checks humanly possible, starting from following a gazillion animal groups, to googling everything to do with cats and first time cat owners (let it be known that crazy cat lady memes made me pause for a second, but didn’t manage to completely deter me), to talking to everyone I could think of who would know anything about cats.

And of course, talking to friends and families about their opinions.

Now, anyone with even the slightest bit of wisdom would be able to tell you, that that’s the BIGGEST MISTAKE ever. NEVER ask people about something you’re obsessed about, because they will invariably give you enough emotional and scary stories mixed with a little bit of logic to scare you off your goals FOREVER.

Now, anyone who knows me will also know that I came super prepared with every answer possible, and definitely managed to combat everything and send them flying in the opposite direction full Kill Bill ishtyle (add a little Hanzo swoosh for style). But what did come out of all these interactions were a list of very pertinent questions and statements, which I am quite thankful for, and which did eventually help me decide on the way ahead. Here are a few of my favourites, along with my answers, which can probably be used by you if you ever got the sudden crazy idea of adopting an egomaniacal creature.

• What will you do when you go for a vacation? Stuff it in my suitcase and sneak it onto the flight?
• Do you know of vets? You mean people who used to be in the army?!?! Oh, THAT vet. Next on my list, once I figure out a doc for myself.
• What if it tears up your favourite dress? More shopping, Yayyy! On a serious note, I shall learn to actually clean my house.
• Who will clean the poo? Self cleaning litter yo!
• Who will walk it? Cats don’t walk, they sleep!
• Can you afford it? It can play with my credit cards?
• Cats are judgemental creatures dude. Billi kameeni hoti hai. *Dumb struck. Absolutely no response*
• What does A think about this? Wait, I need to ask him?!
• Are the two of you in that stage in your relationship that you can handle such a responsibility without it impacting you negatively? Err…

OK, so I gave much more intelligent answers than that, except the last one. And the billi kameeni hoti hai one, because really, how does one respond to either of those?!

All in all, the decision has been made to not go ahead with such weird whims as assuming one can take care of another living thing and not torture the crap out of it. And I have to thank all the beautiful people in my life for it.

But here’s the one thing I have to say to everyone. The next time you meet a newly or not-so-newly married couple, ask them these questions, instead of asking them “When is the good news?”. Because, really, I have to believe, that as responsible human beings we all realize, that these questions are so much more important when it comes to popping out babies than anything else, no? Ask them if they’re ready for the responsibility, the expense, the reduction in holidays, the doctor visits, their relationship changing. Because I really really have to believe, that if adopting a cat would raise such serious (and valid) concerns, surely, these will be raised before pressurizing couples to extend their families, no?

No?

P.S. I’m very lucky in that respect, with zilch pressure from anyone about starting a family. At least at the moment.

P.P.S. I am in no way saying that babies are judgemental or kameene. These things cannot be said aloud. You know.

On Adults and Adulting

“We’re adults! When did that happen? And how do we make it stop?”

Meredith Grey might have her life’s hat on backwards, but she definitely managed to capture an entire generation’s thoughts into those sentences.

It’s funny, because technically, we turned into adults at the age of 18. But the actual brutal impact of it just doesn’t seem to hit you until almost a decade later. Because, you see, while you’re suddenly grown up enough to have a driver’s license and decide the fate of this country, life’s lesson’s haven’t quite rained down on you just  yet. (Maybe that’s what the much older Drinking Age limit is about, you know?). Because while you grow up hearing and thinking “Do that once you’re grown up…”, you never really are quite grown up enough to do most of those things. Here are a few examples of all the lies you’re told about being an adult, which reveal their true colours to you, a little too late.

“Party all you want, when you’re older.” You have zero amount of energy to party, when you’re older.

“Get a dog when you’re living on your own.” Sure, I can barely manage myself living alone. I’m sure I can completely be trusted with a sweet lil creature. Specially since even a bamboo plant didn’t manage to make it in my care.

“Make your life’s decisions on our own, once you’re grown up.” Yes I can. No, I don’t always want to. Will you figure out how and when to renew my passport for me, please, pretty please?

Sure, I love being an adult and being in control of my life. But some days, just some days, I just want to run home, hand over the reins to my parents, and let them take care of things. I don’t want to fire the maid (while she abuses me in Marathi and I stare at her blankly). I don’t want to go grocery shopping (Kanda kaisa diya?). I don’t want to coordinate what time the plumber and the AC repairman should come. And I definitely don’t want to deal with the fungus growing on my clothes in my cupboard after every bloody monsoon!

I don’t always want to be an adult. I don’t always want to be in control of my life, of my decisions, of the consequences. And when something goes wrong at work, won’t it be awesome to call your parents to talk to your boss and just sort things out? It’s so much easier to sit back and let someone else decide, and be responsible for you.

Some times, just some times.

Until the next Sale season comes, perhaps.

Because come what may, I do like being in charge of my credit cards!

:D

P.S. I just realized how bloody girly and irresponsible this post makes me sound. But you know what, exhaustion gets to the best of us. Deal with it.

Sugar Talk Diaries

I grew up with an insatiable sweet tooth, something that demanded some relief post every meal of the day. And while on most days I would settle for chocolates or as a last resort a piece of jaggery, Mom for the most part did her best to put up something new every few days.

You see, my Mum happens to be a bit of a wizard when it comes to the kitchen, and especially with desserts. Something that the entire family (including cousins, near and far), have come to love and look forward to. And am sure it must’ve come as quite a disappointment to her, when I refused to even enter the kitchen, let alone show any signs of her sweet inclinations near the oven. She would take classes for strangers, and I would refuse to learn.

And now, when I’m sitting far away, in another city, I find myself sometimes (still rather rarely) inclined to make something sweet. Of course it never ever turns out the way her’s did, but my experiments till now have at least not been disappointing (except for one bad episode with Custard. Warning to readers, NEVER follow the instructions on the box!).

In fact, I had been looking forward to this weekend, after a rather tiring month, to do nothing but sleep, a lot. And that I did, all of Saturday morning, then afternoon. Suffice to say my day pretty much began at 5PM. And then I was wide awake. And hungry. And craving.

So I decided to bake some apple crumble (thanks to some old apples lying untouched in the fridge, which had been bought on the pretext of eating healthy)

And then baked some fruit cake.

And then some more.

Yes, it was all edible.

Yes, it didn’t taste bad at all.

No, it didn’t taste like Mum’s.

But it was good.

And chopping up apples to no end actually helped relieve a pretty bad mood I had woken up with. Stress buster identified.

So I figured I should finally take up what my Mum’s been trying to get me to do forever. Learn her recipes. Except sadly now instead of an in-kitchen live session, it’ll have to be an over-the-phone lesson and memories of how that dessert was supposed to be. Serves me right for being such an adamant kid.

But I’m kinda looking forward to it, you know? It’s like my very own “Julie & Julia”, except, my Mum is so much more than Julia Child :)

Speaking of Passion…Here’s a Passionate Giveaway!

So while I might completely struggle with the concept of being sans-long-term passions, I’m actually very proud of a friend who is not only super passionate about some of the things she does, but has had the balls to actually chase her dreams!

I never endorse brands, but this one just makes so much sense! So while my fashion sense may be awkward at best, I completely gawk at her looks and her ability to put together awesome ensembles and accessorize. And she started her own brand Random Tantrum.

And, if things couldn’t get any better, they have a brilliant Giveaway happening RIGHT NOW! Go go… Check the brand out on FB or Insta and definitely give her Blog a read!!

Psstt…. And if you end up being one of the lucky winners, gimme a cut, please? Pretty Please? Details given below!

Image courtesy: Random Tantrum

Image Courtesy: Random Tantrum

Image Courtsy: Random Tantrum

How to Participate in the Giveaway

Happy Accessorizing people! :)

Of Life & Passion

It’s been a weird week, and an even weirder weekend. And not even the good kind of weird. I spent the week feeling sick, and the weekend in bed, literally sleeping more than 16 of my last 24 hours. Something just doesn’t seem right y’all.

And the time that I am awake, has been spent in a stupor of a crazy headache, along with that annoying thing of randomly hearing my heartbeat in my head. Oh ya, that’s a thing now. I’ll go into THAT some other time.

But the reason the stupor doesn’t seem to be lifting is because there are a gazillion questions which are buzzing around in my head. You know the kind that haunted us during our quarter life crisis? But I’m supposed to be way past that damned landmark crisis by now.

So what the hell, head?!

What are you passionate about?

It’s one of those questions that has haunted me my entire life, I now feel. It’s been asked by some very close people. One had actually said to me, the fact that there is nothing that I am so passionate about, that I would care enough to be weighed down by, means I have nothing to hold on to, and no reason to stay. And that’s scary.

Heck, it even led to a tattoo one day.

But the simple fact is, what are you passionate about?!

People swear by soccer, by cooking, music, or dance, things they can escape to, things they escape for.

Sure, I love a lot of things, but not all the time, not all day.

Even my blog is about anything and everything all the time. I can’t think of a better representation of my life than that!

But does that make me completely disconnected and abnormal, or just like every second person, so completely normal?

And I’m not sure which answer, is worse.

So tell me, what are you passionate about?

A Minute

She tapped her feet impatiently, and looked at the clock. Time, was of essence. Precision, even more so. Their life worked like clockwork, day after day. Routine was their source of comfort. Obsession, people called it. Attention to detail, to time.

But then she found out, what she wasn’t supposed to. About the other woman. His other life. And chaos seeped in.

She looked at the clock. One minute to seven.

A minute.

That’s all that was left to her plan.

In a minute, he would walk in, as he did every day.

In a minute, he would find her lying on the floor, in a pool of her blood.

Semi-conscious, ideally.

He would run to their medical box, kept in the cupboard in the study. It was well stocked with all the necessary items, of that, she had made sure. His surgical skills would kick in, and he would be working on her wrists, even as he dialed for help.

With clammy hands, she looked at the clock, as the minute hand silently slid into place.

The knife she held in her right hand worked with surgical precision, and with one sharp movement, she cried out, looking down at the crimson trail now forming down her arm.

She smiled, as she heard the click of the door, and footsteps. He would be reminded of where his heart truly lay, and would finally leave her. And come back home.

Downstairs, he entered their living room, and paused.

Did he leave the light in his office on? Or did he switch it off?

Cursing under his breath, he turned and headed towards his car, knowing he wouldn’t sleep a minute that night otherwise.

“Stupid minute details!”

This post is part of the A Word A Week Challenge.(Week 2: Minute)

Again.

She woke up with a start, in exactly the same way she had each night recently. 

As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she became faintly aware of a sticky weight on her waist. And then she felt it, the rough hand resting against her skin, the owner blissfully asleep, unaware of the torment building at his touch. She gingerly lifted his arm and slipped out from under it. Grabbing her dress off the floor, she quickly tip toed out of the unknown room, making sure not to turn and see his face. 

Another day. 

Another man. 

Another instance of clouded judgment.

Taking a deep breath, she walked out into the starry night.



This post is part of the A Word A Week Challenge.(Week 1: Cloud)

A Word A Week

So it's Monday, and it's time to give out the word for the week! But being the generous awesome person that I am (Ya, I know, totally awesome Monday mood I'm in), I'm giving out all the words for the month. So go ahead and plan and do whatever you want with them!

Happy Creating People!!!!

P.S., If you have no clue what I'm talking about, suggest reading this, and the rules given below:

It's Challenge Time!!!!

So this has to be one of my laziest and most un-creative (is that even a word?!) patches ever! It has been forever since I’ve written, or felt like writing anything. And while it’s so easy to blame all the duties of life post marriage for lack of time, the simple fact is, me being the lazy person that I am, barely have any of these duties, and have an amazing hubby who does more than his share. And his share includes comforting me after I reach home drenched in sweat cursing the Mumbai gods and traffic and distance and everything under the sun.

So I decided it’s time to do something about this lazy patch. This blog has been my life for way too long to give up on it so easily. So here’s what I plan to do. I’m starting two challenges. Challenges for myself, and challenges for any of you who choose to indulge and jump in on them. I’ll make it fun, I promise!

Challenge 1: A Word A Week

This isn’t anything new, and I was inspired largely by FatMumSlim’s A Photo A Day challenge. So this is how it works:

• Every month I’ll make a list of random words, one for every week of the month.
• The challenge starts with a new word every dreary Monday morning.
• And then you have a week to do whatever you want with that word. A blog, a story, a musing, a poem, a photograph, a sketch, there’s no restriction. Use the word directly, or contort it to mean whatever you want it to. One word, every week.
• Just mark me on whichever medium you display it or give a link to, on Facebook or Instagram…whatever suits you, so I can keep track of who all are taking the challenge.

And if anyone apart from me actually takes this up, well, let’s compete :D

No, I don’t have a prize for you, whatever the hell happened to creative satisfaction!! Hmph!! But I will throw in a pretty cool badge to put up on your site :D

Challenge 2: The Non-Cookery Challenge

Now before getting married, I made it super clear to A that I don’t cook, and I have no plans to start any time soon. Then he was sweet enough to move to Mumbai for me, away from all his mum and my mum’s yum food. So out of feeling rather generous I promised him I’ll cook for him once a week, every weekend, just to keep his tummy happy. Because come on, cooking every Sunday isn’t really that big a deal now is it?

But as time went on, weekends seemed more useful to sleep in, and tummies were happy hogging on shawarmas from the various conveniently located Andheri joints, even if our pockets turned a little weepy.

And yesterday after long, I actually felt like cooking for the poor starved boy. No, I still don’t end up making daal makhni and butter chicken for him, but something is better than nothing, right, even if it’s continental?!

So here’s the next challenge. Cook one dish every week. Whether it’s just an appetizer or a dessert, as long as it's something in the kitchen made by your own hands. And while I know too many people around me who are experts and actually cook every day and I would love for them to participate, I’d especially love it if you’re one of those people like me, who doesn’t cook, and struggles, and needs a push to do it more often.

So this one has no restriction on what to cook or how. Just cook. Once a week, any time, take a pic, and tag me. You want to just put a pic with a title, go ahead. You want to share your horrifying / awesome experience, I’d love to hear it! You want to be generous enough to share the recipe of your creation, well, you truly are selfless!!

I’m doing this because publicly failing to cook might motivate me more than ignoring my husband’s pain filled hungry eyes (I’m good at not wearing my specs / contacts and ignoring faces).

So PLEASE join me, motivate me, and bloody help me cook!

Totally looking forward to seeing stuff!

And hopefully creating some stuff myself!

Will keep updating FB / Instagram with details.

Challenge Accepted!

I am a Delhi girl and I don’t want to go back.

This weekend, I went to watch NH10 in the theatre. For those of you who may not have heard of the movie, it’s a story about a Gurgaon couple on a road trip somewhere further on in Haryana, who en-route get entangled in an honor killing case, where the goons turn on them for meddling. They spend the rest of the movie running for their lives. It’s violent, its brutal, it’s fascinating and it’s scary. It’s a good movie, in more ways than one.

We watched the movie, and then walked into McD for a quick snack. And as I sat there, staring at my unsatisfactory Chicken Mc. Grill, I cried. In the middle of Mc Donalds. A very crowded Mc. Donalds.

Just to put things in perspective, I don’t cry for movies usually. I was laughing at the end of Kal Ho Na Ho as Shah Rukh Khan half ran half heart attacked across the city of New York to make sure true love finds a way (Like, hello, cab much?). And I also am not the type to get scared by gore.

But this one, it hit home. Not because it was that scary, but because it was just too realistic. It was something, that if you have been born and brought up in Delhi, you would’ve experienced, a little too much.

No, I haven’t intervened in an honour killing case.

But if you’re any Delhi girl, who hasn’t spent her life being chauffeured and protected, and only visiting malls, you’ll find scenes in that movie a little too close to your reality than you’d like.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Delhi. It's by far one of the most beautiful cities ever, with its food, its history, its monuments, its open spaces, huge houses, and roads that go on forever. It has the concept of balconies and terraces and bedrooms that can fit more than just a bed for God’s sake! And contrary to popular belief, it also has some awesome people.

But somehow, there is this other thing, this mentality, of some other people you encounter rather often. It’s the mentality of the man who makes orgasmic noises at you while touching his crotch as you walk past him on the road. The mentality of the man who presses into you while standing closer than need be on the DTC bus. The mentality of the man who slowed down his car in the middle of a desolate road and called out to you to offer a ride in broad daylight, as you hurriedly walked home from school. But more than anything else, it’s the mentality of the men who snigger and giggle when they see you being eve teased in a bus, or turn away, or condemn you for speaking up.

Speaking up…Delhi girls are learning to do that, slowly but surely. It’s becoming a way of life now, isn’t it? Being alert, pulling up men for misbehaving, taking them to the police station, irrespective of the crap the police might say to you. It isn’t the easiest thing to do, nor at a lot of times the safest, but girls learn young and they learn fast. How to survive in the city. It’s something that you grow up with, it’s natural adaptation. And it isn’t something that you notice or even pay attention to. Until you move out.

Maybe you think I’m exaggerating. Maybe I’ve had worse experiences than you. But I somewhat doubt it. I know too many friends who have been chased by goons in bigger cars while driving, cajoled by guys in a jeep while they rode a cycle rickshaw back to our hostel, had creeping hands that seemed to belong to nobody in crowded metros and buses, and been humiliated for speaking up. And this is when I and all my friends have led very normal and average lives.

I moved to Mumbai a few years ago. It’s a brutal city, not one known to be nice to visitors. It takes the theory of survival of the fittest to heart, and really knows how to kick your ass specially in your bad days. And it isn’t by far a very safe city. But… it’s safer than Delhi. I take public transport home after dark. Heck, I stay out alone after dark. And it doesn’t petrify me. Even if I’m not yet ready to completely throw away my pepper spray, it is now tucked away in a darker corner of my purse.

My point is, this city made me realize that there was something wrong with my Delhi way of life. I don’t HAVE to try and make it home before dark. I don’t HAVE to keep looking over my shoulder if I go clubbing. I don’t HAVE to assume every guy out there is a potential rapist. There is a better way of life, a normal way of life. And all this I realized from the not completely safe city of Mumbai. Imagine the learnings if I had moved to Singapore instead!

I am a Delhi girl, and one day I intend to move back. My family is there, and being far from them is a punishing routine in itself.

I am a Delhi girl, and one day I intend to move back.

But when I think of returning to a life of being scared of the dark, and half the city’s population…

I really, really, don’t want to.

Of feminists and Idiots

As I write this, I am seething. And that is probably not the best mood to be writing in. Or maybe it is. Because you see, I’m not the beyond-anger-type-irrational seething. I haven’t felt this calm in ages. And I’m seething.

Because this topic keeps coming up, and somehow has come up a few too many times recently. I’ve written on it before, and yet, here I find myself writing all over again. Because you see, a gazillion posts wouldn’t be enough on this topic.

I’m so tired of this debate, of people debating without a single clue in the world, of everyone having to take one side or the other, of people pointing fingers, and saying in almost a disgusting way, feminist.

When the hell did this become a bad thing? When did this become something to be ashamed of? When did this become an insult?

Maybe it’s time to take a step back, and think, why this is being said.

I’m not really sure people know what feminism is. I’m definitely no expert on the matter, but these are my views.

Feminism is not the same as being anti-men.

It isn’t about jumping and pointing fingers at all men around you.

It isn’t about proving that women are better than men.

It’s about equality.

It’s about being given a choice.

Feminists don’t judge women for being a housewife and raising kids. As long as they choose to.

They don’t say you shouldn’t let men wipe you off your feet. As long as that’s what you like.

And it definitely doesn’t tell you that you deserve a seat on a bus more than a man, it just says you have an equal right to it.

It doesn’t look down on chivalry, on homemakers, on the gender, on ANY gender.

It simply fights for you to have a choice.

An equal choice.

And then people say things like, “Arre, you toh will bring your feminist crap into this discussion.”

And then, at that moment, more than anything, I feel like punching you.

Not because you’re a man. Or a woman.

Simply because you don’t understand.

Feminism isn’t just for me. Or just for women. It’s for every bloody human being on this planet.

And if you think otherwise.

You really really just don’t understand.

Pointed.

She walked home slowly, leisurely, her bare feet barely noticing the sticky tar and muck of the road. The wind slowly caressed her hair, reminding her of his hands, just a few moments earlier. Just before he sniggered at the idea of her career, and kissed her on the forehead.

She smiled as she lovingly adored her favourite red stiletto dangling from her hand, then felt a twinge of sadness at spoiling the pair.

Maybe she shouldn’t have left the other one stuck in his neck.