The Hypocricy of Self

Mean bitches don't take advice: good or bad. They do give plenty of it, though.

 

It is always difficult to sit through an "advising for your own good, beta" session. Plenty of people want to give advice because that is all that they are good at. "Do this", "don't do that", "go there", "don't go there", "you'll suffer plenty, you damn bitch", or "you'll burn in hell, for that, you ugly witch". I've heard the "U" and over-18 versions of it all.

Instead of remembering anything useful from school, what we learn is to give advice. Our parents and teachers are excellent source materials who teach us advice methods and its language. As people who have failed in some aspect of life, they "know best". Of course. When you are below 18 25 30 unmarried and living under the good graces of your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, relatives, servants, neighbours, and passers-byes, you do not have much choice. However, when you turn 18, the situation changes drastically.

At 18, the government itself entitles you to give advice. The right to vote gives you the freedom to flaunt your knowledge (or lack) of the right idiot who is fit to lead the country. The right to a driver's license gives you the liberty to advice yourself to park wherever you wish and abuse in any number of tongues, including Klingon (which people will reciprocate). These freedoms come with the fundamental duty to exploit them. Hail democracy!

The brilliance of giving advice is that you don't need to know or care about the person you're advising. It comes naturally to you after undergoing 18 years of intense conditioning. You can't easily shake off such mental manipulation. It becomes a part of who you are and what you become.

Dear reader, keeping all the above in mind, is it wise to insult my advice-sharing? It is tough to judge oneself before, during, or after advising someone. In fact, it is impossible to even know how and when you switch to "advice mode". But, being a humble person, I have decided to list my hypocrisies and make you all aware of what you are doing in life, and to stop doing it. You aren't benefiting anyone by telling them what to do. We live in a world of idiots who need to insert their fingers in a live socket to understand how electricity works. It's this curiosity that has got us so far up the evolutionary chain. There's no climbing down.

1. "Stop Being My Mother": Being a woman, elder sister, girl friend, girlfriend, best friend, friend, colleague, classmate, and Metro traveller, I hear this phrase almost once every month. Including from my own parents. For all the goth that I tried to imbibe as a teen, this is my biggest failure. I try not to think from my ovaries when I am put in a situation where the only solution I have is a "mom-type answer".
2. "Thanks for the advise": Plenty of times, I have gone on a lengthy monologue and received this response. It's almost always sarcastic in nature. Most people already know whatever you're advising them about. And Google has left no stone unturned. So why do I still feel the tell people again and again about what they should be doing, based on my life's experience?
3. "I don't need you to tell me how to live my life": I love this response mostly because I love saying it all the time I receive advise. A single lady, portly or chubby in nature, and devoid of fair skin or an infectious smile will always receive advise on how to "change her life around". Because that's what she needs: people telling her that she's been living her life wrong all these years. She should have been born looking like Katrina Kaif, with Indra Nooyi's salary, Preity Zinta's smile, Gauri Khan's luck, Marie Curie's brain, and Sonia Gandhi's persistence. Sure, one person can be all that and marry some rando who you think is a "good match"? Would you like some advise on that matter?
4. "You think you know everything?": The answer to that is "Well, obviously!" Friends, and friends who are family, ask me this question all the time. As if! Based on the vast knowledge I've collected over the years, I have the authority to reflect and respond on certain matters that require the level of expertise that I possess.
   Shit, I sound like my elders. Forget whatever I said.
5. "I think you should...": Of course, you should do exactly as I tell you to because my pompous ass is superior to yours. I vomit in my mouth every time I realise I'm saying these words because I have hated being moulded into a "role model". People should be free to choose whoever they want to follow, or not follow. Freedom is free, but getting it so impossible, thanks to all the roadblocks in our way, set by our parents and ourselves.

In conclusion, I have no conclusion. This is a post against advise, and I shall keep it that way. I cannot propagate what I so despise. Do propagate this blog though because I can earn money if you do.

Fly with Your Dreams

This post, like most of my posts, is going to be about feelings. Unlike many other things that people need to live, like money or food, feelings are something that I have an abundance of. And that is troubling.

I don't know when I started imagining and daydreaming but I know that I've been doing it for a long time. The earliest memory of daydreaming I can remember is when I was 8 or 9 years old, in school, and I was dreaming about the fun I would have had had I not been in school at that very moment. I dreamed about the world outside, the wonders it held for me, and I started drawing on my notebook. This has happened a lot since then. My notebooks have been filled with more drawings than actual notes. The desks I used to sit at got a lot of graffiti as well. When that wasn't enough, my friends' notebooks started filling up.

I'd like to think that this behaviour of mine was an important part of my childhood, and one that I'm very proud of. It's made me who I am, it got me my first job, and it made me look artistic and talented. It gave me an identity. Funny, because all I wanted to be when I was 14 was an Emo Goth.

Growing up and getting out of school, and then college, was the worst idea ever. Why didn't I find a Lazarus pit to stop me from ageing? But then again, there is no such thing. What is born must die.

It's not death that I'm afraid of. Ever since I renounced religion, I haven't been afraid of after life, or death, or people's reactions. I just grew out of it. And that's helped me be a better person. Without the constant worry of someone observing and judging my actions all the time, I get the freedom to do things with a peace and calm that I didn't have earlier. And I'm talking about everyday things. Things like sitting with my legs spread out, eating whatever I want, and not shutting up when asked to do so. Liberation is freeing for the mind. Having no soul is good.

Existentialism plagues me everyday.  What am I doing with my life? What are others doing with theirs? Am I going in the right direction? Who answers these questions? The more I read and know, the more troubled I get. Are we even asking the right questions?

Regardless of the storm in my brain, I still keep on dreaming. I dream of fantastic vacations, living life with a decent enough stash of money, having a "love of my life", killing off the archenemy, acting in a Hollywood or two, and shagging the actor/actress who is trending that week on IMDb. Dreams are simple. There is no start and stop. It just keeps going on and on. Mom woke you up before you could kiss that supermodel? No problem. Start dreaming  when you travel on the metro. Go on, drool a bit. Everyone around you is in dream state as well.

Reality? Isn't that boring? Why be real when you can pretend ? An endless stupor of dreams where you are anything you could ever wish to be? Now, how much better could life really get?

25, Single, Looking to Make Werewolf Babies

Of late, I've been thinking that I should really get into this marriage business. It seems like a lucrative idea. Post some random information about yourself online and see how many people believe that whatever has been written is true. Yeah, right! You can't trust newspapers but you will believe every word written in such sites. How.... Well.

So, anyways, back to the matrimonial sites and the marriage business. The past two years were spent attending weddings of family, colleagues, and backstabbing friends who had sworn to remain single so that the desperate ones in the group (like yours truly) would not feel bad. It took me some time to get over this shock, awe, and betrayal. I'm glad to say that this year, I've become mature and I finally understand their motives to get married. I totally agree with all you who married and had the displeasure of having me at your wedding. I'm sure you weren't in for the grumpy face and growling voices that I was emanating.

Get over it like I did.

The decision to "join them" because I couldn't "beat them" was tough. But I've always been the bigger person, as my friends will agree. I thought long and hard about the kind of partner I should be looking out for. I've been stalking people in public places as much as I can to see what kind of characteristics and traits I should mention in the "I'm looking for ________ in a partner" column. Trust me, those blanks are hard to fill.

In my quest, I learned some tough lessons. In this world, there are no traits that work the same for two people. What worked for someone didn't necessarily work for another. I had to be really, really specific and not use flowery language that could be misinterpreted or not be interpreted at all. I had to address the completely dumb audience as well as the high-flying ones. After working on numerous lists, below is a snapshot of the profile I finalised.

• Name: Anita Ann Babu
• Nickname: The Babu, Anita the Marvelous, and Captain Amazeballs
• Hobbies (not in any particular order): Excessive sexual role-play, reading, eating, and ignoring dumb people
• Future plans: Complete my "Bitch Magic" certificate course from the Academy for the Totally Mean Bitches, Like Seriously
• Ideal partner: Medium to high libido (race/caste/height/weight/education no bar), should be into cosplay, preferably spermless unless he can give me a werewolf baby
• Ideal wedding destination: Any children's playground in the city (unlimited, free swing rides! Woo!)

Now, you may see this list and say that some of these things are pretty unreasonable. Like my "Bitch Magic" course. Trust me, it's completely real. Everything I have written here is based on truth (mostly, a partial version of the truth). Most important, it is what best describes me and what I am looking for. I don't know if I should add any other categories in this bio. As readers of this blog post, please do advise me if I have missed something important. After all, this is my first time.

In all honesty, I think this is a true portrayal of myself and my abilities. These are the first things I want my future partner to notice about me. I want them to know how open I am to new things and people (not dumb people though). I am a kind and loving person who will take care of them forever (or at least until I get bored). Is it too much to ask for the same in another human being?

Is there anybody out there for me? Will anybody respond to this call for a lifelong partnership?

OK, well realistically, let's dial back down on the "forevers" and "lifelong". Nothing's written in stone, and even that can be wiped clean. But I have high hopes of getting some really good proposals with this bio. I can't wait to post it online and wait for Prince Charmings or Goth Emperors to come knocking.

Being Set Up For Life

The past few weeks have been spent voraciously reading through books as if there was no tomorrow. Currently, books are the only thing in my life that make me feel like I'm in an adventure. This is really because there's nothing else in my life that requires as much focus and attention from me. Books really do make me feel alive. I even felt my heart skip a beat. That has not happened with anything else, as far back as I can remember.

Being single and having to work to earn a livelihood is pretty normal. Having a dysfunctional home is also pretty normal, because everything classifies as dysfunctional these days. What is normal? Even television doesn't know the answer to that. And the Bible is no longer a reference book for life.

When I see my fellow colleagues, friends, and family struggle with the people in their lives, I can't connect to them. Why doesn't everyone just tell each other the truth. I did that and some people stopped talking to me altogether. That's fine by me. If you can't handle the truth, you don't deserve to call yourself a thinking individual.

Life hasn't always treated me with kid gloves, so why should I treat others the same way? It's not my way of getting revenge at life, or avenging some stupid notion that I cooked up. I really am serious about telling the truth as you perceive it. The truth that people know if staring them in the face, but don't want to face because it proves that they were wrong.

Nothing is liberating. Only freedom is liberating, and that too is a short-lived phenomenon before we rush to comply to the rules of living. The truth is weird and never what we expect it to be. Am I sad in life, yes. The reasons: my life is pretty f----- up right now, and I'm pretty much broke. My dreams have been sidelined to address the fancies of other people. Am I angry? You bet! The blatant violation of my rights and disregard of my hard work is sure to make people livid.

Then people ask me, why am I so closed off and distant? My dear people, becoming an ice queen in life is not something I wanted. It's something I was driven to be because of all the circumstances that I couldn't always control. After all, I was also growing up during that time and wasn't any wiser about how I could live my life.

I don't remember if I ever really loved anyone: boyfriend, family or friend. It's because I don't have any emotional bonds with any of them that make me want to do absolutely anything for them. My commitment to each person in my life has a limit that I will not exceed, no matter what the case. It's not me being an ice queen. It's just me trying to survive. I'm not suicidal because I really really value my life over that of others. So, this is my animal instinct, and nothing beats it.

So, why is it that people don't understand this simple argument? Because all of us have been under false expectations that some parts of life are really a party. Life has various parties, but it is never an endless party. Rich people worry about their riches, poor people worry about their lives. Everyone has good memories that help them through the tough times. In spite of inequalities, people get by because that is what they have always done. So, why try to make my life any different?

I do have dreams that I wish to fulfill during my time here. It's just that I have many impediments such as "commitments". Getting rid of all these commitments has not been easy, and I'm not even half-way done. I have a long way to go before I can get to life live the way I want it to be. It doesn't help that I'm going to turn 26 in September and I still haven't done much to get ahead in life.

I await the day when I will truly be free. That sentence does not have any metaphorical intentions. I really want to be emotionally and physically free. Every day I dream of this future of mine gives me hope to live on. There's much in life I am yet to experience and a dreary existence is the last thing I want to continue doing. 

What Comes After a Question?

Lying awake each night, I wonder what is the best way to live a life. Every action leads to a reaction, and how that fits into the scheme of things while circling this universe plagues my mind. How far ahead into the future can I see and predict my fate? How does each small action contribute to something relevant?

What lies at the core of all this questioning is the very reason for existence. Why? Why not? And for whatever reason, how? How does one keep doing actions that result in a life made relevant? It doesn't matter once we are gone. I want my actions now to result in something in the present. I don't know what to expect in the future, and frankly, I have stopped wishing for a better future. That is a futile way to live a miserable present. What I want to do concerns my present. How do I make living in the now worthwhile?

Many sleepless nights are yet to come and many a dreary day lie ahead.

Struggle: Every Minute, Every Moment

It is the new year once again, and everyone is contemplating on what to do in the coming year. Honestly, this is the only area in my life where I did not procrastinate. I have been asking myself what I am doing in life and where do I see my life going for the whole of last year. Too many metaphorical slaps on my face, too many face palms, heartbreaks, and disappointments later, I am no closer to finding a suitable answer to my questions.

Disappointment is so disappointing. The despair that it brings is crushing; it stops you from going forward and forces you to feel bad about the choices you have made that led you to that particular disappointing moment. There have been so many such moments that my whole life feels like a failure. I can't have done wrong all the time, could I? After all, half of my decisions were not my own but where what everyone around me expected me to do.

Two years ago, I would have happily taken advise from my parents, elders, and friends. I was a very pleasing person. But that aggravated my suffering. Realising that my freedom was being compromised for the sake of others, I decided to put a stop to things the way that they were. I stopped respecting the advise and views of others coming to me. They said it was for my benefit, but I realised that my "own benefit" could benefit only if I was the one making all the decisions.

However, I am not totally independent of responsibilities or social sensibilities. Not yet, at least. I still live with my parents, I have to work hard to keep a job and earn money to live a certain way. I still have to clothe myself and keep up appearances with friends and other family. The benefit to my own well-being has come very slowly. Every day is a struggle and the despair is soul-crushing. It is not easy to live life the way only you want it. But it was never easy to make everyone happy, after all, everyone is a critic.

The biggest doubter of my own capabilities has at least been shut down. I am more confident without all that externally placed doubt on my shoulders. I have proved again and again that I am better than my doubters, and each day is a joy to prove it once more. Trust me, I'm not one to gloat but as a stubborn individual, I do enjoy my small victories. And as a dear friend would say, I love proving people wrong. I can't help putting up a mirror to the doubters and show them their own weaknesses. They can't bring me down, if I simply do not care.

I do not care about a lot of things and I can see that from my emotional detachment from people, causes and things. This detachment has been gradually increasing each year. I do fear that one day, I will not be able to feel anything and I fear what will happen that day. I hope it does not come to some drastic measure. So far, I have stayed away from any form of death or illness, but the mind is more complicated than ones own understanding.

I think that if I am able to care about small things and a couple of people, I can keep the emotional part of me alive. A good cry once every few months would help, I think. And I also hope that the people I truly love, but do not always convey my feelings to, do not give up on me. Their hope is the beacon I need to tackle my doubters and self-doubt. I feel things will be fine in the coming year. I feel that they despair will end one day. I just do not know how. For now, I can live in the ignorance of the unknown. I just tell myself that it's something to look forward to, a certain event in the future. That's the only prediction that I am 100% sure about.

Tales from the World's Worst Storyteller

In this world, it is tough to sustain an audience.

Probably, if I stop starting with proverbs, people would willingly listen to me more. Well, what can you do? I cannot ignore my inner prophet, out to save the world with mere words. "Alas, fool! Don't pee there lest thou wanteth us women to view thouest vilest procreation organ!" I keep spouting stuff like this all the time. And I realise why most of the prophets were killed in brutal ways.

So, that's how it is. I want to tell a story but looking for a listener in this crowd is a tough task. I do not want to advertise my "100% cuckoo" status in the very first impression. Take, it slow, Lady Fabulous, take it slow. Let them come to you. I give charming smiles, I flutter my eyelashes, I laugh at unfunny jokes, I listen to break-up stories, I promise secrecy for juicy gossip, I even share my chewing gum. Recruiting a listener is hard work that can take up to years.

The daily grind leaves one very little time to think, tell, or write stories. The juicer on top of my face has got lot of stuff rattling about, it's not like I'm out of stuff or facing a block. It is just that, by the time a story frees itself from the clutter and comes to me, the listener has moved on. Once this happens, physically forcing them to listen to me has not worked. That goes in the "Creepy Actions to Avoid" box, as my inner voice psychiatrist says. It is only because I listen to her that not many people call me creepy now. I'm much thankful to her.

How does one get someone's attention then? It is truly a test of your friendship when you listen to each other's stories, share insights, and give each other love and respect. There is also a lot of shit throwing, now and then, but it's nothing a bottle of liquor won't fix. But when you listen to a friend, you expect them to listen to you too. What is it that I'm missing? Am I not quick enough to sustain their attention? Or worse -- GASP -- are my stories that terrible?

No way that that's the case. My stories are kick ass! They are all about me being the greatest super heroine in the world and rescuing people with just my wit. It's the stuff of legend and comic book artists should be dedicating their books to me. Famous writers should bow down and kiss my rings. I inspire people. I am Lady Fabulous. No one doth protest my superiority.

Well, at least I can take myself not too seriously. I know that my stories are great. My juicer knows that too and appreciates that I know when to hold back and when to sprout the stuff locked in it. But it does bum me out when friends, family, and strangers turn away mid-story. I hope I don't do the same to them. I make it a point to even maintain eye contact until the storytellers themselves avert their gaze, no longer able to withstand the pure awesomeness they see in my eyes. Even my pupils scream "Genius".

Being the world's worst storyteller isn't that bad. At least I'm not an old grandparent desperately holding on to my grandchildren and forcing them to listen to how the neighbour across the road is stealing rubber from my backyard. Actually, I wouldn't mind being an old person if someone is there to take care of my shit. Old people can talk to thin air without people calling them creepy. Why can't young people be allowed to be senile? Why label and lock us up? Aren't we also just telling stories that no one has time to hear anymore?

Ask Me Anything But Not How I'm Doing

It's funny how people close to you are so concerned about your well-being. I find it endearing and sometimes it makes me go all "aww..." very loudly. That is emotion for you. I do not have a higher compliment for love or concern shown to me by others.

The reason I love being emotionally closed off to others' concern is because I find a lot of the "concern" to be fake and a formality. As it is the only form of conversation I have been taught, I also do the same. Not surprising, it makes me hate myself and I can never ask that question without gritting my teeth or hitting myself in the head. I do not like to inflict the question "How are you doing?" on friends, colleagues, acquaintances, or strangers.

How I am doing is a personal question. Do I want to tell people that I am learning how to get by in life one day at a time? Should I tell anyone that a former boss of mine was a prick in the ass? Does anyone need to know that I enjoy travelling in the metro every day while going to work?

I actually want to keep all of that to myself and show that in my writing. I've never been much of a talker as I've always let my creations speak about myself. Be it the clothes, Lego houses, drawings, illustrations, photography or writing. I am proud of each of my works because they are a part of my soul. It is very personal, but that is exactly what I choose to share with the public.

So, these days, whenever someone asks me that question, I roll my eyes or take a deep breath. I quickly run the updates of my life in my mind: what can I share with this person? Here are some of the options:

1. I made amazing pasta over the weekend and I gorged on it so much that I farted myself to sleep.
2. I visited a hill station and got piss drunk. I think I may be an alcoholic.
3. I was constipated for the whole of last week but then I ate some funny food the day before yesterday and now my system is all clean.
4. I've had a dry spell for such a long time that I had to fondle the girls for some self-love.
5. I am fine. My mother is fine. My father is fine. My brother is also fine. And my job is also going fine. There are no problems in my life. Thank you for asking.

Honestly, I am not trying to shock people or anything. But I have a limit of politeness and it usually does not last for very long. Sooner than later, my honest-but-potty mouth takes over and my brain keeps spewing stuff that people do not want to hear. I mean, I shouldn't be telling my former school teachers that I cannot get a guy because they fear my hyper-level libido or smart talk. I should not tell the priest in the church where my parents force me to go that bra shopping is difficult because they only seem to be making lacy or leopard-print stuff these days. I mean, there is a limit to honesty in a social setting. Something on the lines of "don't talk at all".

I do wish I could get away with my honesty. It doesn't bother me that I can only speak the truth to the public but lie very conveniently to my parents/teachers/bosses about the naughty stuff that I am up to. It seriously doesn't bother me. But people tell me otherwise. Friends who genuinely fear that I may get a fatwa or a slap on the face. The ghost in my room. The angelic version of me sitting on my right shoulder. They all wish the best for me and tell me to shut up or make stuff up when I am bombarded with this dreaded question.

So, how am I really doing? Seriously? Don't ask or I'll slap you on the nose bridge.

Some posts do not have a title

As I write this piece, sad music plays inside my head. The music signifies hopes quashed, wishes unfulfilled, dreams broken, people dead, and days spent dreaming. Terrible parallelism aside, I cannot help myself being sad. And it's primarily because of the sad feelings inside me.

In my short life on earth, I have found dreams to be comforting, imaginative, escapist, and innovative. They have carried me through happy days and dull days. Ideas that I dreamt of and sketched on paper, then implemented have been such a rush. It was great to see my dreams come true in the past.

Now though, dreams hardly ever make sense. The depressing thoughts and dreams that come to me reek of despair and hopelessness. Why such a twist in the tale? Where have the happy thoughts gone? Can I get myself out of this rut?

I don't know the answers. I feel sadder when I see people around me realising the very dreams that I had.... And I have to say "had" because I cannot "have" them anymore. Life has become too hopeless to dream of any joy. Even the funniest of jokes seem bland. There is no taste in life anymore. Short of being suicidal, I have lost all hope. Abandon ship.

I wanted to go to fashion school and design clothes. Sure, my dad convinced me that he couldn't pay for fashion school and that I should take up some other course instead. Ironically, he wanted my brother and me to become doctors or engineers. How was he going to support our education then? Or our MBA degrees after getting our B.Tech? 

If I could go back in time,  I would tell my younger self to never listen to her father. He doesn't know what's best. He didn't have a career to dish out career advise to others. He doesn't know that broken dreams have a huge impact on a person. It may even put them in depression.

I am half a woman now. I know how to handle people, money, ugly situations, political discussions, and perverts. But I have not achieved my full potential in life. I have failed but I have not failed at things that I felt passionately about. I didn't pursue journalism, fashion school, filmmaking, nor full-time travel. On a good day, I dream that I will fulfill one of those dreams. But I am convinced that I won't be able to do it under this roof. As long as I am with my family, my dad will squeeze out every penny that I earn. And I can only dream of getting an inheritance from him. With his messed up family relations and financial insecurity, David and I are better off living off the land. We know that we will never get anything from him. Respect, love, not admiration. The people that we have become is solely because we tried not to be like him. We knew that being like him meant being a failure in life. That is not a respectable thing to be.

I will make my own destiny one day. I will follow my dreams and either fail at it or succeed. It's either of those but I know that I will be happy regardless of the result. For only when I have tried will I know the full potential of me. Until then, I am half a picture--incomplete and not even a quarter of its worth. The education and life experience that I've had will be wasted if I don't pursue my dreams. As half a woman, I promise to never let that happen. Ever.

Vampire Romances to the Rescue

Sometimes my dreams end up surprising me. For a long time I was getting standard nightmares about harpies at work trying to choke or kill me in very innovative ways. Surprisingly, it wasn't an effect of watching too many crime shows. It was just a work thing. So after this very bad spell of nightmares, having a great dream is like discovering treasure. Not that I have an experience of ever finding any treasure but I figure that that's how characters in those fantasy novels feel like.

Now the dream. Being single for a long time has its effects on ones brain. The stimulants in my body which allow me to feel the effects of being in love were, sadly, dying. Not having anyone to fixate on was a sad thing. Since I didn't want to become a robot, I was concerned. How could I save my poor hormones and nerves? What could I think of that would ensure their survival?

Since these hormones and nerves do not come under stem cell research, top scientists of the world refused to help me. They also laughed, but that's beside the point. So, I had to come up with something. I had to make a plan which would help me be human and still have great boobs. Both these factors would ensure my survival. Attaboy, Darwin!

Leslie Nelson from "Dracula: Dead and Loving It"

To save myself, I thought, why don't I employ the use of those very skills which gave me the harpy nightmares? I mean, the skills I use every day at work: writing and imagination! Voila! Problemo solved! Thing is that I'm already writing a book on vampire-human romance that has vigorous sex between both species. Stephanie Meyer missed on that opportunity so I thought of cashing it in. I ensured that my vampires were the right degree of stupid to commingle with humans. Similarly, my humans had to be the right degree of rock-brains to flirt with semi-dead people.

I set my premise and started writing. The stimulants that were allegedly dead, came to life and with great vigour! My mind worked on Nitro mode and spewed out all kinds of vampire-human romances which were disturbing, at first. But if you are into that kind of kinky stuff, you'll love it. I'm a fan now. After writing a couple of chapters, my writing feels like crack. I'm addicted to it. That is the reason I am promoting it.

But my dreams... Oh, the turn my dreams took since the vampire romance tale is delectable. Being single is less of a worry now. I have my mind occupied on things that matter. And I'm not saying that it's work or family that is in the top of my mind, it's my writing and the scandalous stuff I write about. I am amazed at my ability of coming up with ways to make vampire-human sex easy, look natural, and attain orgasm each time. See, I am making the impossible come true. That's always something a writer should be really proud of.

Of course, the writing is done in secret and I can't reveal it till I complete the whole book. You see, I haven't introduced my characters yet. They've only had sex--lots of it--for now. So I need to do the mundane task of giving them a background, a story and a dysfunctional characteristic before telling the world any more detail. Each story needs that and I can't succeed without covering my basics.

The only thing I can hope for now is that I keep my concentration up and that there aren't any more videos of Hugh Jackman, Michael Fassbender and James McAvoy dancing to distract me. God, they're gorgeous!

Finding Mr. Right

I honestly believe all the magazines and articles when they tell me that finding Mr. Right is very important in my life. The benefits of having the perfect man by your side will ensure that my life is be the fantasy tale that I've dreamt of since I was a toddler. Finding me a Mr. Right is a task that my parents are also invested in. They are willing to go to extreme lengths to ensure a perfect match. Having dated a bunch of dummies, I have all the more reason to throw my hands up in the air and declare, "Cosmo, find me a Hugh Grant (specifically his Notting Hill character)!"

The only catch is, the world is full of Mr. Rights. Each and every dummy you see is a perfect fit. For someone. There are enough desperate men in this country to deserve the handful of girls available. They will be all the more grateful for it. Desperate men should not be left to their devices. They deserve a woman who can slap sense into them. Similarly, dumb girls deserve a man who is equally dumb, to hold a mirror to them. I am against wasting any amount of intelligence on people who are just destined to be dumb. By the way, people being dumb because it is their destiny is the only time I believe in destiny. Otherwise I'm not a "destiny" fan.

Having judged people all my life, I have learnt a lot of things from my observations. First and foremost, sometimes intelligence can be found in the most unlikeliest of places. You saw a nerd wearing a Batman T-shirt and smelling like wet laundry left wet too long? He just might know the exact measurement of Superman's dong after reading all the printed comics available. And all of us have met those girls who have long, painted nails that can be possible murder weapons if you got too close? Turns out, they might be the world's foremost experts on how whales mate. (Yes, whales, like other mammals have penises but where are their holes? Is it the blowhole on the top of their heads? Tricky question, huh? I know!)

Secondly, looks do not matter. Sure, there is a fairness craze in the world but I have always found dark people the hottest. It's also partly because they don't have to spend any money in sunscreen. And sunscreen don't come cheap, son! Trust me, because I pay for all of my brother's lotions, creams and cosmetics! But I digress, sorry. Looks also ties up to intelligence. If you tell a person that he/she is very pretty, chances are, they will stick to working on the pretty aspect only and forget to do the important things in life, like learning how to cook. Of course, there are exceptions to each case. You might find a Barbie's Ken blazing trails in the scientific world but trust me, he will be aware of his genetic good looks and will use it to his advantage. Ugly people, on the other hand, have to work hard to not merge into the background. That's why they garner many essential skills to survive. And they survive. No wonder National Geographic said that Americans in 2050 will look like Beyoncé. Trust me, it's not just for the fantastic booty.

Thirdly, accumulation of wealth does matter. Too rich is too bad. The right amount of poverty is good. After all, you want a partner who is less pompous than you. Someone who is ready to ignore your tantrums and remind you from time to time what an enormous drama queen you are. That sort of person will ensure that you don't spend 30 grand on shoes. That person will remind you, sternly, that Carrie Bradshaw and the Gossip bitches are actresses who don't buy the clothes they wear. It's their stylist who does that. Obviously, you can't afford a stylist so all you can do is slobber over the pages of Cosmopolitan and People magazine in the dentist's office.

These are just a few characteristics of the perfect partner. However, based on these few points, one should have a clear idea of the kind of person you want. Obviously, it's all hogwash because you can only fuck Hugh Grant in your dreams. You can't get him to marry you. So, you settle for the trolls and gargoyles that you meet in random places. Don't worry, they may be desperate enough to ignore the giant wart on your face that you call your brain. If you get a person who does just that, you have found treasure, my friend. Nurture them, love them, feed them popcorn if they say their hands are too busy playing Call of Duty. Occasionally, watch them eat a messy burrito and get enticed by the fat globs of  mayonnaise dripping on their T-shirt. Trust me, it doesn't get any better than that. Such a life, in my opinion, is the perfect life with your perfect partner. Thank the gods if you've already found your Mr. Right!

What Sort of a Person Are You?

I think I am a nice person. Most of the times. And yet when I think about the way I behave with people around me, I doubt myself. How nice am I? Is holding the door open for someone considered nice? Yes. Is letting an old person get on a bus before you nice? Yes. Is apologising to someone after you step on their toes nice? Yes. Where then am I going wrong?

Thing is, I might be more than a bit sarcastic. In my attempt to be funny, I may come across as rude sometimes. That's OK, comedians are sometimes nasty. That's where we get all our good material from. All the pain and suffering we endured as children, and then adults, has to be projected onto someone in our present--loved ones included.

There is a reason for the pain and suffering and the internalisation of it all. How do you express to people your true feelings when all they expect of you is to make a joke of it? They expect that you will know how to make light of a serious situation. Sometimes they are also angry when you do that. They know that they should not expect anything apart from jokes of you. That is your job, after all.

Internalising anger, pain, hurt, emotions, and true feelings is bad. Look at me, I tried to eat my way out of depression. Six months and many awful looks in the mirror later, I am still in the same spot. I am fatter than ever and I do not how to stop myself. Once upon a time, I starved myself for 2 months and I was only happy when that ordeal ended. It involved a guy and the moment I came to know that he was not interested in me, my stomach sang with joy! It meant that it would see food again. My colon wasn't too happy about the junk I piled onto it for the coming weeks, but it helped me ease the pain I felt emotionally.

I am still eating. I do not tell my friends what I truly feel. I listen to them talk about their problems and I can never bring up the courage to talk about what I am going through. Somehow, when I hear them talk, I feel like my problems are nothing compared to theirs. Depression really isn't such a big deal compared to job stress, or husband troubles, or weight loss issues, or getting over an ex. Right?

I know that I am my own top priority but when I am busy stuffing this body, who is watching me? Sure, friends, family and colleagues say that I should do something about my fat. But what do I do? I cannot starve myself even though I eat normal portions. I do not feel comfortable exercising because I cannot come to terms with why I am doing this to myself and why I want it to stop. 

Every time I go out, I cannot stop but feel pitiful of the fact that I have no one to tell how my day went. People who ask me that question are content with an OK. They would not like me to elaborate. Anyways, what would I say? "I feel like my soul is being crushed into a million pieces each day and I do not have a clue how to repair it?" Yes, I see how that conversation would go. Awkward silence all the time.

So I make attempts to write everything down but even that doesn't fully help with the depression. The sadness lingers like the smell of garbage. It rots and rots your soul until you feel so helpless that you give up and find the smell fascinating. By then, you end up smelling like sadness. Who wants to hang out with sadness? Clearly no one who is sane. Not even myself. Depression hurts and it adds to the pain which already put you in a depressing phase. How do you turn your life around? There seems to be no rock-bottom like in the movies. The spiral just keeps going down endlessly. How does one make it stop?

Well, I internalised my anger and I make fun of people. I tell people everything is just fine and I ask them to tell me their problems. I act and act and act and never stop. I'm bad. I'm terrible. This is the worst thing. Feeling bad about myself and still not being able to help my situation? What could be worse? Being in Sudan, most definitely. See, I never stop. Depression is lesser than hunger and civil war, evidently! What a moron I am for thinking otherwise!

Landing in Shit, Mud, Garbage & More Garbage

Adventures in Delhi never fail to surprise. Just getting out of home is an adventure. Staying at home is also an adventure. The maid says or does so many amusing things that you can't help tape her mouth but you keep on listening to her anyways. She's like crack to a non-addict. Weird, but surprisingly an experience worth having.

So, getting out of home and experiencing Delhi. Well, I find that my dad gives the best driving experience. He's an absolute bore, so you have to drive the conversation. But since I'm the family comedian, I know that it is my job to keep things cool and to make everyone laugh. It's OK, they laugh. Though some of my best lines sometimes go over their head. 

OK, so driving in the car with dad. He has a real knack of making sure he stops the car for you to get off at the most amusing places. When I switched jobs in June last year, I travelled in the metro. That meant that dad had the job of dropping me off at the station and picking me up if I got late. Firstly, he ensures that he is the best dressed man when he gets out of home. Not a hair is out of place because he knows that the women are watching him. Yes, he thinks he is young enough to be my brother. (Sigh!)

So, what was it like being dropped by my dad? Well...interesting. There was hardly a day when I didn't raise my eyebrow at him. Most of the days, I would say, "Dad, you have a real talent for 'landing'."

I do not know if it is talent or his internal, male GPS honing system, but it never works. Whenever he dropped me at the metro station, he would stop directly next to a puddle if it was raining. On dry days, he would stop right next to the pile of garbage that the street sweepers would pile up on sides of pavements where they know no one steps.

Well, everyone except me.

My dad has a real knack for these things. Come mud, garbage, sewerage spill, dog poop, or cow dung, my dad has stopped right next to them all. Recently he topped it all. I opened the car door and put out my left foot. I know that I should always look down, so I did this time too. Since this was in the morning, the sight that greeted my left foot was fantastic: a used condom.

When my dad does the usual "stopping the car in top of garbage", I look back at him with disgust and have him drive forward a few inches to "clearer ground". When that is not possible, I do some acrobatic stretching and long-jump out of the car. This time, I rolled my eyes. And I opted for long jump.

When I looked back to close the door, he was grinning. That's his way of saying "Have fun at work!" Yeah, right! Like that ever happens. I could not really say, "Dad, you topped the car stopping list today." I navigated carefully out of the way. For a condom, it was in quite a good shape. "Recently used", I thought. "Hope the wearer had fun." Well, when you have to start a day by not stepping on a used condom, I believe that positive thoughts like these help. After all, worse could have happened. I may have stepped on dirty semen and ruined a pair of lovely leather shoes. Now that would be a real shame.

That Thing Called... Love... Something....

Love makes me feel icky. 

No kidding. When I see couples walk by, it disgusts me. I can't believe that everything is as perfect as people claim. There are problems on the surface as much as the deeply buried, numerous ones. Why do people pretend to be in love? Why do they show off to the world that they are desperate to keep it together but clearly cannot do so.

I have seen people all around me change drastically for the people they are dating. Dating actually translates to "love" because casual dating is so cliche. The girl is going to ask you about marriage anyways. No escaping that. "The Future" is so important to the preservation of our sanity that we cling desperately to whoever gives is even a smidgen of attention. So shallow are our personalities.

Anyways, the rantings of an overweight, chubby woman rarely evoke any kind of reaction except dismissal. Did I mention that I also lead a loveless life? Gosh! How did I miss that?

Contrary to popular opinion, I did not push people away. The ones I do push away are obviously annoying. Why wouldn't anyone want them out of their lives? Sorry, people, but I'm not patient with "stupid". It's like slowly roasting to death. Being with people of your own intelligence is tough. They rarely know what their time and place is. They love being reckless.

So, the hurt I caused people is not on my conscience. The hurt that other people caused has been utilised for rising above bad situations. It has also been diverted towards overheating sometimes. But I'm working towards fixing that. Food, I've come to realise, doesn't have all the answers. And "42" is an elusive one. What did Douglas Adams mean when he wrote that?

Then what is one way which would allow me to accept that stupid thing called love? Sorry, but it's not easy to be convinced otherwise when all that I see and observe supports my stand. Love is a vomit-inducing idea. It's too farfetched and a human construct. 

Till I get convinced otherwise, Love = Vomit. Trust me on that!

I Climbed a Spanish Mountain

The story about how I conquered my emotional side and stainless steel-coated my ovaries (not actually, but metaphorically)

As a human being with friends, I have been a witness to many a pity party. I have to clarify that (a) I am a human being because I have been called emotionless too many times, and (b) a pity party is a way of experiencing grief, in which you spend your time feeling sorry for yourself and whining endlessly about how crappy your life is. I try and make friends with people who generally seem strong and willful because I know they will not start crying fountains of tears at random points of our friendship. Sadly, however, the reality is very different. Just like Dr. Clock (Heather Graham) from Scrubs said, "...some people have a hard outer shell, but inside, everybody has a creamy centre."

(Pause for effect and look like you are deep in thought. Like Mr. Gorilla here.)

Creamy centre, indeed. At first, there is no pleasure in seeing my friends and people on the Metro break down about their ex-lovers. Those people are genuinely hurt, or at least trying to act hurt. Girls are like: "How could he break up with me? Doesn't he like the way I look?" Meanwhile guys are like: "Yaar, I don't understand why she broke up with me. What did I do wrong?" 

Then there are others who are like: "Man, I was waiting for him/her to say something, anything, about our relationship but he/she didn't. And that's why we are no longer talking."If I had made a face like this in front of my friends while they were narrating their stories, I would have been murdered. Strangers get the best of my sarcastic eye roll with a "Grow Up!" sigh. I really cannot help it. These reactions just come to me naturally. If I was a person with more emotion than rationality, I.... Hmm, I cannot imagine what I would be like if I had more emotions.

Anyways, pity party, friends, and break ups. Making a sad face works. Be angry at the person who dumped them. Tell them they did not deserve a great person like she/he. Tell them that the world has millions of people who are single and ready to date you at a moment's notice. Tell them that to get over the break up, you all could go somewhere, or shop, or binge eat, or watch a million rom-coms. Whatever works. These have all mostly been used by me over my friends. It only works in the moments when they are looking at you talk. They never listen. When your friend starts talking though that is when you know that whatever great idea you suggested was plainly ignored. People will deal with break ups like idiots. They will not give heed to rational thought. Been there, went through all of that. (Sigh!)

While I want to believe that I am smarter than most people, I know that I have had my pity parties too. Surprisingly, they are great ways to get to know new people. That's how I met many of my friends. But then one day, I decided that I should do something better. Like climb a mountain, go on an adventure, DO stuff. Anything to get through the sudden emptiness in your life, to get over the loss of a close confidant. That's why I wanted to climb a mountain.


However, climbing even a fake wall is tough business. My body is of course, devoid of all kinds of physical exercise except for some walking and escaping the speeding vehicles on the roads. The last one is a sure-shot heart attack-giver, because nothing gets the heart pumping like imminent vehicular manslaughter. But I had climbed a steep rock when I'd visited Rishikesh, bungee-jumped, walked up and down mountains, and was the elder child. So I simply had to do it.


Anyways, the moral of the story is that I turned a bad situation into a dream. That was the one and only time I was able to do that. I have failed terribly all the other times. Which is why I have become the way I am now. Failures have made me a person that I like being. Sure, I pick on the extra fat I have on various parts of my body but overall, I appreciate the fact that I am an OK person. I suck at friendships, sure. But my friends know this about me and work to ensure that I do not come across as that bad a friend. I love them. If they hadn't listened to me bitch, I probably wouldn't have been able to move on from the countless heartbreaks. Johnny Depp, Daniel Radcliffe, Heath Ledger, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and most recently Benedict Cumberbatch....

That is how I came to learn Spanish. The language is as lovely as any other language but the most important thing was that it was spoken widely throughout South America. The continent has such an interesting culture which is different from anything you have seen so far. Or at least, Discovery Channel makes it look like so.

Depression Sucks at the Soul

I was not clinically diagnosed as depressed but you know that there are symptoms. As a formerly sane individual, the patterns of my behaviour took a complete dive. It was not because I had changed as a person. I was still the same, goofy person. It was what I was projecting and internalising. That was the most dangerous part.

When you are in that state of mind, your gender doesn't matter. Your mannerisms and behaviours are more or less the same. Drinking, eating, laziness, dissatisfaction, aloofness.... I could go on but it makes me sad. It is not as if everything has completely become alright suddenly. It's screwed and very badly screwed.

And everything in the world is seeming to be alright. That's ok, people should really try hard at that. Facades are so important. Trust me, I know. It saved me from telling people how screwed I was.

Internalising my anger, disappointment, sadness and hurt was something I was a natural at. I would pluck at my cuticles and rip off the sensitive skin. I still do that. Once the skin is all out, you can't eat with your hands. The spices in the food hurt. Even salt does. The pink, exposed flesh hurts physically. Yet, when I am having an idle moment, I press at it and relive the pain. Just checking that I'm still human.

Pain is really bad. It hurts physically as well. The mental agony of my experiences are not easy to put into words. Where would I even start? People have mostly been good to me. So how do I tell them that there is something wrong? My facade of being a happy person and a sane individual is going to be diminished. What will happen after that?

Sometimes I think that my future is going to like those bleak, apocalyptic zombie movies. No, I won't be the lone survivor fighting off zombies and trying to save stranded humans. The scenes that I remember are always the lonely walks through the deserted city. That is my mind. There is a lot of clutter but all of it is important. Those desolate buildings give my messed up mind its character. How can I bring those walls down? Each window pane is a memory that looks down on me with pity. What am I doing in this town? I should be somewhere where life exists, where existence is not always at risk. A place which values human life and where there are people to help protect you.

That's in my fantasies. A part of what keeps me going are those questions my memories ask me. Is that a good thing? Probably not. I dream too much. I read too much. I see too much. How does one stop doing all of these and still be sane?

The Gray Terror

Monet and a kiss...would that ever happen?

Some time ago, I discovered that I had a gray hair. In the panic that ensued this immediate discovery, my life flashed before my eyes. A successful book publishing career, a socially conscious wedding, a sex-ful marriage, a warm home (at last), kids running in the park, growing old with a faceless partner, and dying in peace under the night sky. Never being able to kiss Benedict Cumberbatch in front of a Monet. These are the things I would never get around to doing after an untimely death in my 20s. I looked at my scared self in the mirror and gulped hard. It took all my resolve to not break down and cry.

I plucked the gray hair and went to my phone. If I was to die prematurely, I had to leave a will and a love letter to my few friends. As a will, I had credit card debts that were thrice the amount of all the money I had in all my accounts combined. The debt, I figured, I would leave to my parents and brother. They had extracted quite a number of favours to take on my debt. At least that much they owed me. Here is how the letter went:

With a heavy heart I regret to inform you that you can use my "Died an eternal virgin" speech at my own funeral. My descent into old age has begun with the discovery of a gray hair and my father terming it as a deal-breaker to any marriage proposal that should, pray, come my way. [Insert dear friend's name here], you have been a good friend and will likely outlive me. If we do not get a chance to meet before I pass into the bright lights of the Kryptonian ship that will airlift me from this earthly above, know that I have loved you deeply and all my jokes were seriously jokes. My purpose was always to create a camaraderie and I meant you no harm. Sure, sometimes I would look at you with crazy eyes with the expression, "What the HELL?", but it was meant in a good way. I have always kept your best interests in my heart and will continue to do so as I roam in space.

Much love,

Anita
xoxo

P.S. That's the ONLY time I'm using "xoxo" to sign off on a letter.

Obviously, the friends whom I sent it to laughed their asses off. After guffawing a lot, they sympathised with me. They had started graying much earlier than me, they told me. Their parents had also reacted the same way, publicly declaring the hopelessness of ever finding a suitable partner who would accept them, gray hair and mental illnesses included. Did I feel better? Dear Jor-El, no!

The number of gray hair on my head has increased since. As a person who barely cares about her health, I descended further into depression. Would I turn into one of those Garnier women who dyed their hair, turned anorexic, and then found their confidence? Or would I instead take a stand like Nafisa Ali and age gracefully?

Who in sweet Krypton am I kidding? I am nothing like the Garnier models or Nafisa Ali. Some people carry gray hair with swagger. My mom applied kajal on her hairline to hide the grays. My dad ignored it all together. What would I choose to do?

Well, coming face-to-face with your mortality is a vexing situation. I have come close to having my head busted on gravel or being run down by speeding vehicles, but the terror of those situations passed away in a few minutes. This "gray terror" though, that is something I still have trouble coping with. For one, I am not a beef magnate whom guys flock to, so yes, my dating AND marriage prospects have slimmed down. What could I possibly say was the cause of the graying hair? Stress? Depression? Too much shampoo? Fatty food? All of those answers are deal-breakers.

Much like the journey of Middle Earth, there are all sorts of monsters I have to face before I settle down comfortably in the Shire. Oh no, wait. I am Gandalf the Grey, so I am not exactly sure what I will end up doing, or where I will end up. And Gandalf the White is a scary prospect. I don't think I can carry off white hair with Ian McKellen's panache. Sweet Krypton, why can't an anti-aging spider just bite me? That would work better than those fake Olay creams. Those creams are pure bull excrement. 

But where can I find a damn radioactive spider...?

When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed... Thanks, Coldplay!

How do you tell your friend that you do not like the person they love? How do you tell them that you do not trust their partner? How do you tell someone who finds love after searching for it a long time that settling is not the answer?

If there was any way I could say these things and not sound jealous, or envious, or like a child, I would do it. Thing is, half the stuff I say comes out in a sarcastic or taunting way. While my friends tolerate that in normal settings, would they believe me when I start saying the truth about them to them? I always fear that I will end up looking like the boy who cried wolf thrice. Having faced that once already, I do not want to experience it all over again.

The first time I said it, my friend agreed with what I was saying. She understood that I was coming from a good place when I said I didn't trust the other person. At least, the friend seemed to understand. The happiness in my heart lasted for a very short time. My friend and the person I did not trust were back together before I could blink. They are still going out and seem happy. Was I wrong?

Admittedly, I do not have a good matchmaking track record. Nor can I--or will I--predict which couple will last the longest. I am not good at that. The only thing I know for sure is people I can trust and those I cannot no matter how hard they try. I have a "people radar" and I am not wrong. Not till now. Sure, it may make me seem like a bitter, old hag, judging people and pronouncing whom I can trust and whom I cannot. But this radar has served me well. It has protected me from getting hurt. It has been my shield.

I wish communication was easier but it never will be. People will hear what they want to hear and again interpret it in the way they seem fit. Urgh! Why does this happen? Why can we not teach our friends, lovers, parents, and children to talk like androids and emote ONLY when needed. Being an android at times works for me. I know the person I am talking to will find it weird. And this is probably why I do not have "bestest of friends" or "BFFs!!" kind of people. I could not be my best friend no matter how hard I try.

Weird, or what??!!