Wednesday, December 01, 2010


Dear Rimmer,
It must be awfully tiring to be such a sugar-coated, ass-licking suck up!

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


I read in the newspaper a couple of days ago, that our 'intelligence agencies' have 'lost track' of two terrorists who were residing in Lal Baug.

'Lost track'? Are you kidding me? Do they mean to tell the thousands of people who pass by Lal baug every single day, 'Sorry about this, but you may get attacked anytime now... our bad!'

I am appalled. Just appalled.

real life is a sitcom

I just walked up to my account management guy and asked what he was doing.

Without looking up from his computer he said, "i'm finishing a PPT".

Then as I was leaving he said, "You know, someone told me that PPT (peepeeti) in Konkani means a woman's private area..."

So, i said, "Eww, i didn't know that..."

And he said, "Neither did I, but my boss just came and asked me to quickly clean up her PPT"


this is what sitcoms are made of..

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

on a completely unrelated note...

So on a completely unrelated note: Allow me to update you about my man friend. He is funny, sweet and extremely cute. So cute in fact that I have to slap myself sometimes because I daydream about how cute he is.

And what’s more, he looks so good in a suit. So good in fact, that sometimes I day dream about him in a suit, looking cute and walking down the aisle. Which is when I have to slap myself again because if he ever found out he would run away. After all, it’s only been nine months.

But nine super months. So super, that sometimes I daydream that we have already walked down the aisle and I have already seen his cute-self looking so good in a suit and it is now one year later and we have two babies and I have picked names for them also… a boy and a girl...But I cannot tell him this either, because then he will definitely run away, if he did not already.

And speaking of running, he has a very nice butt.

Which I also day-dream about…

But only sometimes…

not so happy to me

I turned 29 about two months ago. One step closer to thirty and eight years farther away from my twenties. Days prior to the birthday, I prepped myself—I have always had a tremendous amount of fun on my birthday, and I have always been surrounded by close friends who love me and vice-versa, so why should I be irritable?

So I accepted the day. I woke up happy, I stayed happy, I was happy on the phone, happy in ‘Thank You’ texts to friends who wished me… and even apologised to those who tried to wish me at midnight, because I was fast asleep, like old people are at midnight.

The evening came, and I was still happy. I dressed and was up and ready to leave. I reached the club with two of my closest friends and I waited. And I waited some more. And then some more. Almost one and a half hour past and no one came.

Hurt, depressed and feeling extremely old, we left the club. Feeling like a piece of old poop, I snapped at one of the friends who was there. And she left too. So it was me and one other person who stuck around. And then I cried. And I cried some more.
Finally an hour later, a friend called and said he was waiting outside the club. Then I got another call and some more people said the same thing. So in about an hour I was back in the club pretending to smile and have fun all over again. Pretending that the last two hours did not happen.

About seven people showed up eventually. Not a bad turn out really, I guess I should not have expected all 20 that I invited.

So I vow that when I turn thirty there will be no big party. There will be no expectations. And there will only be a handful of friends who really matter to me around me. If they care enough, they will be there. And if they are not there, then when I turn 31, I will have an even smaller group.

And that’s the bottom line.

Theory: The older you get the smaller your circle of friends become

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

pre-mental syndrome

Yesterday I took PMS to a whole new level.

I left my office all ready to go to meet the new guy in my life. I stood at the same spot I stand at everyday to get a cab. And I waited. And waited. And waited. For about twenty minutes I waited. And not a single cab was willing to go to where I wanted.

The poor sod who stopped his cab for me did not know what he was getting into. He slowed down in front of me, I told him where I wanted to go. He said no. I told him there was a new rule and he cannot refuse a passenger. He said he didn’t have any gas left, and the gas that he has would not even take him as far as the next road.
So I asked him why he asked me in the first place. He said if I was going somewhere which was convenient for him he would have taken me.
This is when I began to lose it.

I opened the back door and sat in the car, and in a low, calm voice I said, ‘Drive’.
He turned around and touched me on my knee, trying to explain to the ‘crazy lady’ that he didn’t have gas.

I told him not to touch me. I told him I did not care if he did not have gas, he was going to drop me where I wanted to go. I told him that there were two gas stations on the way and he could stop at any of them and fill his cab up.

He told me that he was not going to go and that I was only wasting my time.
Then I yelled. I told him I had a lot of time to waste, it was only 7:30 in the evening and I would sit in his cab until he started moving.

So he did. And miracle of miracles he dropped me right to where I needed to go. On an empty tank, mind you. He was not happy, but then I don’t think he wanted to mess with the sniffling, slightly psychotic lady in the back seat.

Good for me. I got mine.

Monday, April 19, 2010

this too shall pass

My father just had a bypass surgery. This week was full of stress, appreciation, anxiousness and hurt, in different measures for different people at different times.
The incompetent trainee nurses poking him on the arm leaving bruises, the writing of wrong prescriptions with spelling mistakes, the rumbling air-conditioner and the fan that creaked all night long in a supposedly deluxe room, the callous security guards at the ICCU and the general apathy of the staff—Stress.

The brilliant doctors, the kind-faced physiotherapist, the anonymous friends and acquaintance who donated 10 bottles of blood voluntarily, the support of my aunts and uncles, my parent’s friends, the constant prayers, the genuine caring without pretence, my friends who called and cared and constantly showed support—Appreciation.

Spending four nights in the SICU waiting room, the single phone in the waiting room that would ring in the middle of the night with an emergency, the constant fear that it may be your father’s bed number that is called out, the wait outside the operation theatre wondering if everything is ok, knowing that your father’s heart is being operated on—Anxiousness.

Walking into the office and having your closest friends not bother to ask about your father because they are too wrapped up in their own lives—Hurt.

matters of the heart

We sat in the waiting room, anxious. We stood up when anyone left the operation theatre— a nurse, a ward boy.

Five grueling hours later a small bald man with smooth skin and a well-trimmed white beard walked down the stairs. ‘Doctor, is everything okay’, my mother gasped. Without smiling he said, ‘Okay’ and turned and walked down the stairs.

I sat, a jumble of relief and stress, a thousand questions in my head, I sat and watched the bald head of the doctor who had just held my father’s beating heart in his hands.

Friday, March 12, 2010


I got this mail from a friend

I recommend one just enjoys and let ones self be free of any such thinking, just enjoy and fall in love, give-take whatever u feel like at least you can say I had a great time and some great moments with this person, let it happen.... it’s worth falling in love , getting loved, hurt, betrayed, or whatever at least we are lucky enough to go thru it, na?

Oh, and he is gay. It's amazing how we all go through the same damn things when it comes to love and relationships.

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

virtual slap in the face

Sometimes I hate what I do to myself. I hate that I put so much energy into relationships only for them to take a giant dump on my emotions. I hate that my happiness sometimes can depend on whether or not the current ‘he’ in my life is being nice to me and treating me well. I should be slapped for all the times I have preached to my friends about being your own woman, and for all the times I have told them that men don’t matter and men don’t make you happy. I have vowed to myself that I am not going to let any guy get me down, and here I go doing it again, thinking I can’t do better. Pause. This is me giving myself a virtual slap in the face. This is me sucking it up and trying very hard to feel better. I’m not going to get mad this time. This is me getting an instant new mantra. If it’s happy let it stay, if it’s crap, push it away.

stuff and nonsense

I have not had a lot to do this past weekend. And when I don’t have much to do, I start thinking. Now, mind you, this is never a good thing. But, and this is the proverbial silver lining, I do unearth some precious thoughts that ought to be archived.

Thought 1: If I wear a white, poofy dress, throw myself a huge party, invite all my family and friends, be the centre of attention and enjoy it, pose for pictures, get presents, dance the night away, vow to love myself through sickness and health and end it all with a nice long I still need to have a man in a suit to be my groom?

Thought 2: This can hardly be attributed to me, because it came from the mouth of a very pregnant woman: It is a myth that you feel like a ‘woman’ when you are pregnant. In fact, you are manlier than ever before. First you have a beer belly at leaves you wondering if your feet have changed. At best, the most you want to do is sit in front of the television and vegetate. You crave junk food. You’re moody. You’re horny, but because of your giant-sized belly no one wants to sleep with you. You have neglected facial hair. And what’s worse, you have constant gas that seems to follow you around.

Thought 3: Recently, a friend and ex-colleague and I exchanged work. I needed a line and so did he, so we decided to do each other’s work with a fresh perspective. I know, it’s probably against all company policy, anyway, the line I did for him got approved in a flash. The line he did for me did not. Instead I had to write another line, which is not stuck in some advertising purgatory. This is an especially crap case of the grass being greener on the other side. (Okay, this is not a thought; it’s just an excuse to vent a little.)

Thought 4: Have you ever noticed how married people always tell you how awesome marriage is, and urge you to do it as soon as possible? It’s almost like a peer pressure to join the ‘cool’ crowd. This gave me a thought. What if marriage is a secret cult, which is only about stress and persecution? What if, every time a couple gets married, they have to take a vow to urge at least 3 other couples join this cult and then they get some bonus points or a referral scheme?

Thought 5: I read this article about how women should not wait for their ‘Prince Charming’ because he doesn’t exist. Instead, settle for Mr Right Here and Now, who ticks most of the boxes you have in your head about what your perfect man should be. What happens if no man ever ticks the right boxes? What happens if you have 12 boxes and all the men you meet only tick an average of 5? Would that mean women around the world are so desperate not to wait anymore, they settle for 5/12?

I have to get back to work now. And besides, three days of idleness can only come up with so many pearls of wisdom, right?