1. I want more hours in a day. Twenty four hours are just not enough.
2. Just when I get serious about something, I fall sick and all my motivation goes down the drain.
3. I have noticed that the males in our generation are better at cooking than the females. All the guys in my Mtech class knew cooking, while most of the girls only knew how to cook maggi.
4. How do people manage relationships with the other important things of their life? I just dont know how to be in a real relationship. I aced the long distance thing you know, like if there is a competition for being a good far away girlfriend, I would probably be among the top ten. But give me a live boyfriend and I turn the relationship into a disaster. Whenever he spots a couple holding hands or being cosy in public he looks at me with these expectant eyes, and I give him a I’ll-kill-you-if-you-even-dream-about-it look. I just can’t do it.
5. I think I write well only when I am at home. I started this blog when I had nothing to do after graduation. Those days I could write  about anything under the sun. I almost left writing for two years after joining college. The last four months were good for the blog as I was at home, and could write effortlessly. Now that I am in a city, I am afraid, I have lost the writer in me again.
6. I actually opened WordPress to write the first point, the one about time but I ended up blabbering about so many things. There, I wasted another fifteen minutes out of the precious 1440 minutes we are blessed with everyday.

New Girl In the City

That’s a cliche title but I really wanted to write on it since the time I saw the movie Wake Up Sid. For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, it’s about a young boy who is clueless about his life, has no ambition and just goes on wasting his dad’s money.Later in the movie he fails in his MBA exams and is thrown out of the house by his dad. He goes on to live with his friend, a girl who has always dreamed of being a writer. The first article that she finally gets to publish is named New Girl in the City. And since I saw that movie about five years ago, I have always wanted to live like that girl, alone in a big city, with a cosy room, chasing old dreams and discovering new ones. For her the city was Mumbai, but sadly for me it is Delhi. So, I moved to Delhi a few days ago, the city I have always hated. I have been here countless times but I hardly ever saw anything. The only places I have been to are the airport, New Delhi railway station and Anand Vihar bus stand. And now I am here, living in this tiny little room right in an old and tall building inhabited by many pigeons.

Delhi is chaotic, with its cramped houses, and narrow lanes, with people running all the time abusing every single person that hinder their way, with everyone in the metro hooked onto their phones, with all the loud aunties and their notorious children and sadly with a starless sky. Sometimes, when I look all around the metro I see that I am the only person without a phone in her hand. It is a good place to observe people, to mentally make a note so that you can later write about them on your blog. I have never been to such a crowded place. I mean Bangalore was crowded and had a pretty lousy traffic but I never got a chance to see so many people at the same time, plus I rarely understood Kannada to actually know the happenings there. I was always intimidated by Delhi girls; they all looked so pretty, with perfect hair and makeup, with stylish clothes and shoes, with their different and confident way of walking and I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. Earlier for me a ride through metro was a sure shot way of losing all the confidence I had, but in a week or so I have gotten used to it. It doesn’t freak me out anymore and I am really surprised that I feel this way.

Moving to Delhi has also brought about another change in my life, my long distance relationship of five years has finally become short distance. Our friends suggested us to actually live together but I would rather kill myself than do that. I mean long distance to live-in, are you kidding me! It is okay the way it is, we get to see each other almost every other day and that is perfectly fine. I can’t lose my independence for a guy. The transition was something I was dreading for a really long time but we are doing okay.

So here I am, in some ways living the life I always wanted to, if only the thing I am here for turns out to be a success. Wish me luck!

P.S. If you are wondering what happens to that clueless guy in the movie, well he discovers his passion in photography and ends up publishing a picture in the same magazine where this girl gets to write her article. They both fall in love and the movie ends with the monsoon rains and a really nice song in the background.

P.P.S. So today I was talking to my new flatmate and something about blogging came up. I randomly asked her about blogs and she told me how people write political, social, technical stuff on the internet. I was mentally thinking about how someday she is going to end up on my blog (*evil grin). It is great to be an anonymous blogger. I love it.


Picture from here.

The Golden Light

I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it’s about to end.

And if you’re never going to see someone again, it’ll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, ‘It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.’

And maybe if you’re never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it’ll shine and you can order everything off the menu you’ve never tried. Maybe, if someone’s about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin.

Maybe, if you’re with a group of friends who’ll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you’ll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, ‘This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.’

– Iain Thomas

(Random things we read in the Internet sometimes fit perfectly in our own life)


I felt stupid after writing my last post. I realized how I am always cribbing about all the things that aren’t right in my life, while completely ignoring all the things that are in fact good. So this is an attempt to write something normal and save you from the depression.

  1. I love music. I mean I have a song in my mind for every situation I encounter. “We The Kings”, though not so popular is my favorite band. I can listen to their songs forever and never get tired. I am in love with 90’s Hindi pop songs. Lucky Ali takes me into a different world altogether. He was one of the best things that happened to Hindi pop music. Euphoria, Strings, Jal, Indian Ocean, these are the bands that make me feel like I am dreaming and living in that old 90’s world again. Ah, the nostalgia. And then there are old Hindi songs and their lyrics…

“Pal pal dil ke pass tum rehti ho, jeevan meethi pyaas ye kehti ho,

Har sham aankhon par, tera aanchal lehraye,

Har raat yaadon ki baarat le aaye…

Mai saans leta hun, teri khusboo aati hai, ek mehka mehka sa paigaam lati hai,

Mere dil ki dhadkan bhi tere geet gati hai…”

 Kishore Kumar and his melodious voice, a healthy way to beat depression. Always.

  1. Though I have no clue about my own future, I am known among my friends as a great counselor. Some of them consult me for every step they are going to take in their life, be it career, love life or family. Many people have complimented me for my great listening skills, and for the fact that I understand them. Though, I have to admit that I have a pretty bad memory and most of the times I forget people, their names, their problems and even the advice I gave them.
  1. I hate it when somebody calls me “dear”. And I cringe with disgust when girls, in particular write “Love you, muah muah” in social media to each other. What’s with so much loooove!!!
  1. I can’t pout. I see my friends and even their dads posting such pretty duck face selfies on Facebook. I have taken countless selfies to get it right, but most of the times it looks like either the duck is dead, or is mentally retarded.
  1. Talking about pictures, I am very photogenic. Sometimes I look at my pictures and think, “Whoa, this is definitely not me! I don’t look like that in reality.” My pictures are highly deceptive. And yes, I am illiterate in the makeup department. The only cosmetic I know how to use is Kajal.
  1. I have always wanted a pet goat. I think goats are adorable. May be it has something to do with me being pahadi, but I grew up demanding my mom to get me a little baby goat. When I was a kid I used to bring stray dogs from roads to our house and my mama and mausi had to keep them at their place just to make me happy. I had a dog named “Bush”. I named him Bush because someone told me that George W. Bush has named his dog “India”. I have no idea how much of that story is true. I even had two pet mice in my childhood named Chintu and Mintu. Someday I am going to have this big farmland in my village full of goats, chickens, dogs, cats, rabbits and other adorable animals. And yes, my friends have suggested me to build my career as an animal care giver, because I have saved many girls from the “dangerous” cats and dogs of our campus.

Oh, this is turning into a huge post. I haven’t written 600 words with this speed ever. I should probably stop here. I am thinking to start a new memories section in my blog to write about my childhood and college life. Let me know if you think that’s a good idea.

The Tale Of A Broken Dream

As far as I remember I have always seen my mother struggling with a disease or two. Even before I was born, the valves in her heart didn’t work properly. Then there was always the case of hyper acidity and migraine that never let food remain in her stomach (and has been genetically passed onto me). Then came the disastrous paralysis attack which not only left her half dead but significantly changed my life too. Now, there is slip disc, frequent episodes of menopausal hot flashes, constant pain in her legs (reason unknown), and all the side effects of those numerous medicines that keep her alive. I have literally never seen my mom healthy, and I feel in some way because of that I never had a normal life. I know almost every doctor in town, the cute neurologist who looks great in a light green shirt, the I-have-no-time-to-breathe cardiologist, the orthopaedist who talks way too much, the old ENT specialist who has a big white house, you get the picture, I know way too many doctors.

 I stayed in Bangalore for seven years and I visited almost every hospital one could name. Manipal hospital is my favourite because I believe it is where my mother got her second life, even though only half of her body worked but she survived and got better. It was the last year of school and during the last three months I spent numerous evenings at Manipal hospital. I would sit by the stairs and practice mathematics. We would eat dinner from the hospital canteen when my sister didn’t feel like cooking. I skipped school almost every day but my teachers didn’t care much as skipping school was allowed for the “good students” so that they can prepare well at home for the Board examinations. I mostly spent my time watching television because it took my mind away from my dying mother. By the time she became healthy enough to live, I had almost lost everything. I messed up my Boards, all my entrance exams and any chance to have a normal career.

For eleven years from Class 1 to 11th, one would always see me on stage collecting my report card, prizes, merit scholarships amidst claps and cheers but in that last year, the year that mattered the most, whoosh…. everything was gone…. Just like that…. All my dreams shattered. In a flash …

I missed getting into a medical college by a single mark.

Counselling day. Rank number called. With a smile on my face I go ahead. He asks me to sign. I search frantically for a pen. He says, “sorry, last seat thi,chali gayi”. And I start crying.

Seven years have passed by but I go back to that moment all over again. There are so many what ifs in my mind…

What if the attack hadn’t happened? What if the 17 year old me wasn’t forced into a career she didn’t like? What if they had given me one more chance? What if I wasn’t so arrogant and angry with everything?

He gave me my mother…. He took away my dream.

I need to do something for those eleven years, for those years when I knew what I wanted, when I was determined enough to overcome any obstacle in my way to success. I need to forgive my parents. I need to forgive myself for not trying hard enough. As I sit here and see my mother trying to sleep in spite of a terrible headache I need to find a new dream and let go of the old one. I can’t carry the burden of that broken dream anymore. I can’t let it ruin the rest of my life.

I have to move on.

P.S. Writing is therapy. I feel better.