So I was travelling from Delhi to Mumbai via the IndiGo airlines. And as is the ritual, sure enough, the air hostess stood in front of me, doing the usual dance. It was clear from the way that she didn’t bother to stay in tandem with the recorded announcement that she didn’t Really think that the aircraft was going to crash. It would be too easy to call her dumb and assume that that’s the reason she joined this profession, no wait that would be judgemental… easy would be to say that she is an optimist. Everyone loves an optimist, don’t they? Well that would surely explain the number of friends I have.
The way this female refused to keep in sync with what the recorded voice was saying somehow Really bugged me. Now again it would be really easy to just call me a hyper- critical bitch, easy and a cliche.

For a little background, I worked at an MNC for 2 years right after my graduation. I live away from my parents, who live in a different country. Their biggest complain about me was that I failed to balance my work life with my personal life. Well, I would explain to them, that is because I enjoy being passionate about what I do, and the trying to get better at it constantly would add pressure because those around me just did not see the point in even “trying”. Now I am not saying that I was great at my job; in my view, I was fairly average. But I was passionate about it, alright I used to try to be and when I realised that I couldn’t anymore, I quit. My question is:  

Imperfection: Is it a temporary situation or a permanent condition?

My parents, for their love for me, used to hate to see me work so hard as in their eyes, finances should not have been an issue for me at all. However, this was about more than just money, I am not saying that money did not have a substantial role to play. It did. But this was about the WAY that I lived my life.

The biggest sound of glass crashing against hard concrete reverberated in my ears the day that I realised that living passionately is not a norm. Growing up, I don’t know why, maybe it was the media or my own “optimism” but I was sure that one day, I was going to find that special something that I am meant to be doing, and rock that world completely. But then, and this news was broken to me by my own father, that you are just supposed to do the bare minimum.
So a little more background: I am not particularly a believer in the institution of marriage and the idea of having a family. Which means I have a long life ahead of me with a lot of me time. Which means that I am going to be living a long, alone, dispassionate, half-hearted life, forever.

All hell broke loose. I went into severe depression and it affected every relationship of mine, around me.

Slowly, as I could not come to terms with this reality, I had to quit my job and in the garb of preparing for an mba, take some time off.

So. Imperfection. Speaking on a grand, cosmic scale, there is scope for absolutely None. The room for imperfection keeps widening the closer we get to home. And by home, I mean ourselves. It is a little more at a global level, more at a national level, more so at a state level, so on and so forth. My strive to “get it right” is looked upon as being a type-A personality, crazy and at times, obsessive.

Let us say that the aircraft Does drown, and the passenger who tried hard to understand this lady’s instructions in row 30, but couldn’t because she was doing a shoddy job of it, ends up drowning and dying; Whom is it on? Is it on the man who was befooled by this woman’s lack of precision in giving directions into believing, as she most probably does, that the aircraft won’t Really drown or is it on him for not calling out to her and telling her that she was doing a shitty job of what she was doing?

On another note, we know and understand the existence of imperfection in our world. Human error, as we always like to term it and don’t fail to account for it. How far is it OK to provide for the public’s imperfections? Providing a brail menu for the blind in a restaurant would normally be considered as noble but, providing for sick mind’s perversion with child pornorgraphy, is intolerable. They are both, after all, diseases. One physical and the other mental.

But then again all this could be my erroneous rambling, but I know I can get away with it, in this dimension at least.   


A man’s world


I had the horror of my life, the day I woke up as a man. There was a hollowness I felt inside of me that I had never felt as a woman. As I looked within, I saw a plethora of unsaid, unvoiced emotions. I felt like a bomb, just ready to burst, with no outlet but anger.

It is hard to be a woman, the plight is there, visible and everyone talks about it. However, the real plight is that of being a man because they can’t talk about the hidden emotions, as that in itself will be showing emotions.

Point is, when I picture myself as a man, I shudder. I am an emotional person and much of my writing stems from my limbic system. I am used to expressing my emotions too, through hand gestures, expressions, voice modulation and various other outlets. Then I think of men, and the solitude of confinement they are taught to create from childhood on, emulating their fathers who were taught the same. I think about it and I feel choked.

Could it be that these bottled up emotions are really to be blamed for the innocuous street fight or the peccadillo
murder? Statistically speaking there are more male criminals than female. Could it be a burst of emotions that the society has continuously taught them not to project?

Somehow the only emotion OK for men to reveal is anger. Therefore sadness, frustration, loss, pain all come out in the form of aggression and sadly the society permits Only that. Or maybe venting after alcohol.

WHO defines a healthy individual as someone with sound physical, mental and emotional health and this makes me wonder how one can ever be healthy without an emotional outlet.

Most of my girlfriends complain about having uncommunicative partners. Others complain about how easily they move on. I think the root for all this lies in the same place.

I think it is time to rethink the statement: real men don’t cry.

They may be suffocating behind the bars of their self made confinement.

Or else….


To begin and to depart,
So tough and so hard,
From oblivion we come into an existence, almost divine,
From oblivion we etch a story, sublime.
From nothing to something to a whole lot more,
The magic of this process is too damning to ignore,
The amazing thing about life is that it is much like a toddler. You cannot ignore it. You cannot not take stock of it. The harder you try to do that, the harder it comes back and hits you in the face. Your life, your gift, it is so precious… we are all given more than one of everything, 2 parents, many siblings, many many friends but just this one you. You are the only one that you have. Embrace it. Love life for all its colors and patterns and prints! Love yourself and love the life that has been pumped inside of you.

Or else…………

Definition of Love


I think I was about… 6 or 7 years old when I watched the Bollywood movie, “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai”, starring the king of Bollywood(totally debatable), Shahrukh Khan. There was this one sequence in the movie, in which one of the characters was asked, “What is love?”. Now, I don’t know how everyone else around me reacted, but this hit me like a mad truck. I used to hear this word so often, mostly from my family, or hear it on the television. I had seen man-woman amorous scenes on the television, too. By then I was aware that there are different kinds of “love”s in the world. But then the actor in the movie, asked for a universal definition of love.

It really had me spinning.

It was like one of the those things that have been around forever, happening forever, but when you notice it for the first time, you can’t not notice it anymore. For instance, breathing. I have a vague memory as a 3-4 year old.. I remember playing with “building blocks” at least that’s what they were called back then and then I noticed this strange thing that I keep doing… breathing. I didn’t know it was “breathing” at the time, of course. So I couldn’t stop noticing myself doing it, and found it quite useless and annoying. So I tried to stop… needless to say, I couldn’t. Then I rushed to someone older in my family, and complained. I think they just laughed it off, which only confused me, more.

Similarly, once this subject of love caught my attention, I started noticing the use of the word love, everywhere around me. My English teacher introduced me to a new concept: to love is to give, and expect nothing in return. I gave this considerable amount of thought.

Then I learned of love for one’s nation, also called patriotism. Subsequently, I learned of war, of killing in the name of said love for nation; which confused me.

I learned of love for god, devotion and practice. Then I heard of religion, communism and I got confused again.

I learned of love for family and close ones and then I learned of divorces, and got confused, still.

There were many, many different kinds, shapes, colors, forms, sizes of love that I saw on Valentine’s day. I heard people talking about “true love”. It made me warm inside. Then I learned of pain, deceit and cheating. I got confused again.

Then I heard of a term called “Fanaa”. It is an Urdu word, which means complete annihilation of self at the hands of love. And everything made sense.

The world may have many different brands of love, many different personas. They try to trick us mainly by selling magic in the form of love and happiness. But “true love” comes with a loss of identity, complete surrender and pursuance of your love till the end.

Now many find that in a person. I wish to find it in something that outlives me. I think I have found it through writing. I find it ridiculous when people say,  “An idea won’t keep you warm at night.” Well, buy a damn heater, I say. To fall in love with someone to keep yourself warm at night is not love in my books at all.

I think it is time you found yours, because die we all shall but to be destroyed in love, wallah. That is worth living for.

I should be renamed Morpheous

Not because I have the cataclysmic power of shape shifting and hacking your naps like the Greek guy… not because that is how much I love Lawrence Fishburne… or matrix, which by the way is the One movie that never Actually made any sense to me. At all. Ever. No matter how many times I watched it, it was always like this warped dream with really good looking people, thin and tall people in long awesome overcoats. Maybe that is the basis of its appeal, but who’s to know? I love the entire God Father series only for Al Pacino, to be really honest if anyone were to quote it to me or god forbid, make a reference, I will probably just smile and nod and say, “I always tell the truth, even when I lie!” God, I love that man.

Anyway, so I should be named Morpheus because it is phonetically very close to mortifying. Yes, my existence on this planet is excruciatingly mortifying. It like someone up there is stalking me constantly, all the time, looking for ways to fuck me over. Or maybe someone in the 4th dimension. I don’t know.

Here’s proof:
So people have a sweet tooth, well sue me, all my teeth are sweet, they are beyond sweet.. they are like what Scarlett Johansson+Angelina jolie+Hershey’s syrup would taste like. Ok, sweet. Established. Right. So today, all day, all that I could think about was a nice warm soft chocolate truffle pastry, topped with some bubbling hot chocolate syrup with a side of vanilla ice cream. Being a fitness enthusiast (I won’t say freak cause honestly, I have nothing to show for it.), clearly I tried to hold myself back, you know the standard things, posted a few motivational pics on facebook, updated my status to,”no pain, no gain”..and the shizz. But by the time I finished my dinner, the craving was literally borderlining on dangerous. So I said fuck it. I will work harder at the gym tomorrow ( a lie we all tell ourselves).

But whom do I go with? I asked myself. Just then the feminist in me woke up and called out…. hey! You dont need company to go out and stuff your face with carbs! Plus won’t it be better of you just get to concentrate on your dessert? But, I thought back, I have never eaten dessert all by myself. Well, tonight I decided to.

So I went to cafe coffee day, right across the street from where I live. I strode over confidently and opened the door.


Couples. There were all couples. No matter, I told myself and strode over to the cashier. I told him what I wanted and he asked me,”Have it here or to go?” .. I hesitated.. in those 2 seconds I had an avalanche of thoughts. “Take it home, so much more comfy.. no eat here, that way you can have the ice cream too, what a jerky question to ask, stupid cashier; you are pathetic, just answer the guy.”…. “I’ll have it here, I said”… a little louder than I had intended to, only to drown out the screaming in my head. After paying the damages, I settled on the couch right in front of the counter, with my back towards the rest of the joint to avoid eye contact and an unwanted display of affection that was going on in full swing all around me.

And then, while I was fiddling with my phone, my food arrived…


It looked so yummy and delicious that I just forgot all about my silly thoughts and dug in. Every spoon, making sure I get the brownie, the ice cream and the syrup. Oh yes….. this is SO good.
I almost had music playing in my head, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, half dazed in the surreal enchantment of that sublime brownie, when I felt like someone suddenly announced war in my stomach because the tummy felt the heat of a 1000 suns.

It was my ex. With a girl. A hot girl.

He said hi… I didn’t even realize my mouth was full when like a complete dork I opened it up to show him the exact extent of my sorry position. As if that wasn’t enough, I think I spat a little bit on his date, who was so hot, I could cry. I chewed whatever I had left in my mouth and swallowed, for some reason I felt like I should stand up and in trying to doing so, I jerked the table loudly… only to add to this horrific encounter. What a mortifying moment, I pictured how my sister would guffaw at this situation, I guessed my grandfather would be hiding behind some cloud for his embarrassment for me. I wanted to melt into my furniture, disappear into thin air, cease to exist then and there.. “So how come…” that is all I could manage to get out before he said,”yeah we were just having dinner nearby when this one said she was craving the chocolate indulgence here….” and then he looked at my plate and said, ” yeah, what you’re having!” … Great, I thought. Now I have to sit here and watch them share the dessert that I am sitting here, eating… alone. “So sorry, this is Priya” he said, pointing to the angel by his side. She smiled at me, and I half wished she were with me! Anyway, they went ahead to the cashier and as soon as they turned their backs on me, I picked up my spoon and finished my food in 2 bites straight. I was out of the cafe before they turned back around.

Once out, I smiled. I had something to blog about 🙂

Comfort.. that chimera

So here’s something I wish to discuss with people across all ages. Remember when you were a kid and 80% of the situations you were put in, were uncomfortable? But you knew you had to do it anyway, because well not doing it would end you up in some very nasty situations like embarrassment in front of your peers, or worse still, a trip to the Principal’s office.


And yet, somehow we have grown up to be complacent, comfort-seeking nitwits. It is amazing how far people can go for the sake of comfort, how uneasy a journey they can embark upon to be “comfortable”. I know of people who never changed jobs, and I mean Never for the sake for comfort, even though they HATED every moment of their insufferable life and rued the day their fathers impregnated their moms . I mean….


Like, seriously.

But it is not just jobs that I am talking about. It is people, relationships, knowledge, so many things!

Comfort is an illusion.

I have a feeling that there are many, and I do mean, Many out there that are in a race to the moon just to Seem comfortable. They maybe screaming and scratching on the walls of their self-made confines.

Then again there are those who genuinely don’t want to leave their cocoons. This kind I envy, for I am not someone who will ever manage to settle. I remember many guys asking my college boyfriend, how he could “handle” me, I also remember smiling at them and saying, “it’s ok, no one can, ain’t a cup and certainly Not your cup of tea!” I get restless when the situation starts getting a bit to comfy, a bit too snug.

It means it’s time to move on.