I Cheated and Felt Good

I Cheated and Felt Good

I’m guilty.

I’ve never had these …lapses. Never before. But I managed to slip up this one time.

I was home alone. He wasn’t around. The cat wasn’t around. The dog was with him. Everyone else was on holiday. Everyone but me. And when the cat is away…

The mouse will play. The girl will play. Argh. Ugh. Okay. Deep breath. Got a story to tell here. I’m sure you’re all like:

I’m gonna start from the beginning. I was unhappy. I didn’t like my routine, gym was frustrating the crap out of me and I couldn’t handle it anymore. It began one lazy Friday evening. I usually teach a batch of kids English on the weekends but my class had prior engagements that day, and they didn’t show up. What was a lonely woman to do? I logged in on to one fine app, started scrolling.

My, my.

All of that delicious, airbrushed looking skin. I could almost taste it through the screen. Yum. See, that’s how it started. With “this one little bite that couldn’t possibly hurt, could it?”

The thing with cheating, dear friends, is when you bite, you eventually start to fall. And with the falling comes the drowning. One weekend led to more weekends. One day of scrolling led to more days of scrolling. More days of cheating. You wouldn’t possibly know the satisfaction you get from giving into what you’re craving and before long, it becomes this addiction you can’t shake off.

One step forward, thirty billion steps back. You know it’s wrong, but it feels so good and you can’t stop.

And that’s how I cheated on my Keto. Happy April Fools’ Day, one day in advance.

Okay, PS: Swiggy and Zomato and other Food Delivery apps are really bad for you. Specially when you’re on Keto and you want to eat that box of beautiful, airbrushed looking donuts. Dear me. I think I broke Keto thrice and okay, it felt good but I guess I gotta uninstall all those apps now. I have zero restraint when I don’t have family around. Send help.

The Evolution of Music

The Evolution of Music

Hello, my love.

See what I did there? No? If you’re one of those people that grew up listening to Westlife, Backstreet Boys, Avril Lavigne, and other older artists, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

Westlife were on this hiatus and we thought they’d never come back and then they popped back into the picture with their newest offering, Hello my love. This makes my heart so happy. My Love is actually one of my favorite songs ever. Ooh ooh. Also, their single Better Man reached the top of the iTunes Charts within mere hours of its release just yesterday.

2019 is already off to a good start, people.

I remember back in the day when music would make you feel good, when music wasn’t something you’d had to play in secret because the lyrics were so vulgar they’d make a sailor blush. I’m looking at you, Cardi B. Leaving aside the fact that her name sounds like it could have a very good market as a vitamin supplement, her lyrics and her gyrating is just too much. Also, whatever happened to the Bruno Mars we so loved back in the day? The new video for Please Me is NSFW.

The only different – and good thing – about the 2019 music scene, to me, is probably Billie Eilish. She’s seventeen and slaying. Everything she does, and the music videos she makes, always have people talking. I love it that she doesn’t seem to sell sex (reminds me so much of old timey Avril Lavigne) and she doesn’t act like a crazy person, and that every song of hers has such deeper meaning that whatever meets the eye. So yay, Billie.

I remember being obsessed with boy bands in general. Pretty much like every other nineties baby. And now that those bands are making a comeback, I couldn’t be happier.

Although, pop disruptor Bebe Rexha is someone I listen to on a regular basis, her videos are kind of cringeworthy. Specially that video for Last Hurrah. Yikes. Also, did you know, that her biggest commercial success was this country song she did with Florida Georgia line? Crazy, huh? There’s nothing this woman can’t do. Ooh.

Also, how cool are these angel wings? Do you have a favorite nineties pop band?

Actually Painful Stuff

Actually Painful Stuff

Have you read Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda? Becky Albertalli just casually throws a line in there about how exhausting blogging actually is. That’s the number one thing on our list today: blogging, on the daily, is painful. Painfully hard.

Is there anything harder than that? Yes. Challenges. The 365 day challenge. The gallon-of-water-a-day challenge. The no sugar diet challenge. The list goes on. Now don’t get me wrong – we love lists on this side of the Internet. We do. In fact, my blog seems to be filled with listy posts that people actually managed to read without falling asleep. So yay, go me. My point here, before I digress, is lists are hard to do. Both to make and to stick to. Also, I cannot tell you the number of lists that I have taped to my fridge. It’s more like a noticeboard that’s kind of screaming for help with things left unchecked. Life is mental. Life is batcrap mental. Send help.

You know what else is difficult? Trying to live with Indian parents whose maid just quit on them. Again, don’t get me wrong. My parents are wonderful people. It’s the maid that’s kind of super attached to her new grandkid and didn’t want to be a maid anymore but kind of needed the money – so long story short, she got found out stealing moolah from our wallets and tried to make us look bad and well, um, she quit. Maid culture is rampant in India. Your mum won’t miss you when you’re not around but she’s going to miss the maid. She’s going to be all depressed because she’s the ONLY person who’s working a nine to five job in the circle of other brown mommies, and has to come home and make her own tea. I think this bothers her more than anything else, making her own tea. She detests her own cooking. Go figure. And she won’t like it if you make tea for her because the maid simply does it better. Like holy wow.

Now, as if THAT wasn’t enough, there’s my most painful experience ever – having to wash my makeup brushes every Sunday. It’s a process. You gotta find your brushes first. Make a nice concoction with dishwashing fluid and olive oil, making sure you don’t mess up the ratio. Next, you need to clean the pink Sigma glove you use to swirl your brushes on, so the dirt comes out. And you’ve to do all of that without annoying your mum and her ritualistic Sunday-cooking frenzy. And then you’ve to leave the bushes to dry and put them back in their proper containers so they don’t look messy.

It’s tough being a woman. It is.

*THIS POST HAS BEEN WRITTEN IN JEST. TAKE ALL OF THIS WITH TEN PINCHES OF SALT. IF YOU ARE HYPERTENSIVE, TAKE IT WITH HALF A PINCH OF SALT.

Allergy Season

Allergy Season

I don’t need alarms to wake me up these days. Thanks to the summer cold situation. It doesn’t even help that the air is to teasy with pollen, that my eyes are perpetually watery and my nose is constantly runny, and I’ve used up more tissues than the average public loos. God help me.

Allergic rhinitis is like that ex that won’t leave you alone. You’d think Cetrizine or Montelukast or other antihistamines would do the job and help with your allergy situation but oh no, you pop pills and go to sleep and you oversleep and you miss the morning workout. And that makes you grumpy and the goo oozing from the nosie doesn’t make it any better. Sigh. What a life, guys.

I’ve been atopic my whole life. I get it from my dad. Which means, once I’m exposed to even the tiniest fleck of dust or pollen or whatever, I’ll go red and rashy and end up looking like I’ve recently been burned in the oven. Thanks, Pop. And when you’re a physician, you can’t tell your patients that you’re sick because they lose faith in you (my doctor can’t cure herself) and that’s the worst thing ever.

Then come the food allergies. I can’t eat shellfish or eggplant. My cousin can’t eat his coveted poached eggs. My best friend can’t eat chicken without getting severe reactions. This one time it got so bad, she needed epinephrine shots. Yikes.

And all of that is bearable.

You know what’s the worst thing, though? When you’re allergic to cats. *sobs quietly* I love cats. The Persian ones. My friend had the cutest cats back when I was in college, and I couldn’t even play with them too much because I would end up sneezing my head off. And you don’t want your head to explode around cute furry animals. I have this friend who’s a teacher and is allergic to chalk dust. I wish her university would provide her with a damn marker pen and a whiteboard instead of the old timey backboard and duster and chalk. It’s painful, y’all, having to teach kids and be sneezy and sick and be allergy ridden and dripping nosie. Argh. If you’re reading this post, Ren, you know it’s for you. I hope you get better soon. And your Uni shows some kindness.

Coming back to me, I wish I could enjoy spring. I wish I could breathe in the nice crisp air instead of having to wear a mask all the time. So annoying.

What A Time To Be Alive

What A Time To Be Alive

I mean, seriously.

There’s been a lot of hype on Instagram surrounding this post:

And of course it has quickly surpassed the most liked photo on Instagram – of Kylie Jenner’s baby Stormi. And the likes just keep growing. The #EggGang seems to be going strong, y’all. Considering that this account is barely ten days old.

Like I said, what a time to be alive.

This actually compels me to say something – 2019 is galloping by like a wild Appaloosa on crack. It’s already the fourteenth of January, like what the heck? Slow down. Also, have you guys looked at the articles online about the world ending on January 21st this year?

To quote a paragraph from this article I found on Express:

The upcoming total lunar eclipse, often dubbed the , will paint the skies a menacing red colour over vast swathes of North and South America, Europe and parts of Africa. The Blood Moon is expected to peak on the night of January 21, 2019, marking the second anniversary of President Donald Trump’s inauguration. Biblical conspiracy theorists have now claimed the coincidental date is significant, with some going as far as to claim the world is coming to an end. Chief conspiracist, Evangelical Pastor Paul Begley from West Lafayette in Indiana, warned his followers the Blood Moon is a prophetic sign of the “end times”.

Uh oh. And watching creepy shows aren’t helping me at this point, but I still do it.

Also, I just realized that the past never truly gets swept under the rug. There’s a Bollywood star called Ranveer Singh who made a rather tasteless comment while sharing the couch with his costar Anushka Sharma, on this talk show called Koffee with Karan. Not only does the deliberate spelling mistake make me mad, it doesn’t help Karan Johar’s case at all. To me, he’s a hypocrite who says everything should be all about empowerment while doing nothing to enforce whatever he says. He’s also the same man that coined the catchphrase, “Nepotism Rocks!”, in addition to being a complete headache that encourages all sorts of douchebaggery on National Television.

Both actors are now married to other people (duh), but this video from 2011 that surfaced recently, doesn’t make Ranveer Singh look good at all. Take a look:

https://www.google.co.in/amp/s/www.indiatoday.in/amp/movies/celebrities/story/old-video-of-ranveer-asking-anushka-if-she-wants-her-a-pinched-goes-viral-internet-roasts-singh-1429478-2019-01-12

We idolize the wrong people, really. Recently two of the key players on the Indian Cricket Team were sent home because of sexist comments they made on the SAME show. Like, can we cancel the show already? How is it still getting a huge audience?

I blame the newspapers. The magazines. The media, in general. Indian media is the worst. I’ve never seen one nice thing in the newspapers. The only thing people actually highlight all the time is bad news. Every agency running the show is biased and close-minded in their own ways, and it just keeps getting worse. Nobody needed to know what designers celebrities wear to award shows or who got married to whom recently. Even if they did need to know, the media coverage shouldn’t be focused on the extravaganza. Somebody please get us a newspaper that doesn’t post page three stuff on page one. I’m going mental.

Or at least, have some positive news printed on the front page. How much negativity do y’all want us to start our mornings with?

The Sadistic Dad Monologues

The Sadistic Dad Monologues

“You’re crap.

No wait, you’re LOOSE crap.

You’re dumb.

You’re a waste of space.

You’re numb.

You’re flakier than breadcrumbs.

How long do I have to support you?

How long will you make me fend for you?

How long will I mend things for you?

Shut up and get to work.

Talking to you is so hard.

You never do what your mother and I want.

Talking to you is like talking to a corpse.

You’re just getting worse.

I wish you were never born.

I wish I could have killed you when you were young.

I wish I never spent a penny on you.

You’re just an investment gone wrong.

You’re brown trash and you only ever take and you take and you play your songs.

You’re filthy.

You’re vile.

You’re disgusting.

You’re as bitter as bile.

I wish you were dead.

And if you’re dying go kill yourself outside instead.”

This isn’t fiction. I’ve seen Dads treat their daughters this way. It’s bad enough to have dreams thrust upon a girl, and to have to deal with abuse isn’t something anyone has to go through. It’s a sin.

Everyday, I see kids with bruises, something their Dads gave them earlier – because the kid failed at math, or because the dad was drunk. Everyday I see a girl cry and have her dreams crushed because she has to live her parents’ dreams and doing something else would bring shame on the family. Marrying for love? Oh my. More shame.

When will this country change?

I’m thankful that it’s not the scene in every family, and that some of us have supportive parents but I wish these girls could live happy and not have to cry because they were born female. Having said that, I need to say I love you, Dad. Thanks for not being like this.

Just birthing a child doesn’t make you a Dad or a Mum. It just makes you a procreator. What makes you an actual parent is how human you act around your children. When you become a parent, please don’t be this way.

Good day, folks.

Things A 19 Year Old Taught Me

Things A 19 Year Old Taught Me

You know, sometimes you just meet people on the Internet and you take in their personality, and you think to yourself – “Bloody hell, what an amazing soul! Wish I was more like that!”

So I met Sabhyata, a design student, on Instagram, a couple months back. If you know me at all, you’d know that I never really talk about people unless I happen to admire/love/hate them in some way. And Sabhyata, she’s taught me a lot over the past couple of months. And I’m grateful. This post is by no means a promotion of ass-kissery (is that a word?) but a genuine appreciation for a beautiful person and something very different from all the ranting I normally do.

Today, I’m going to be raving.

So, who’s Sabhyata and why should you be following her on Instagram?

• She’s organized, in a different way.

Take this nineteen year old self-taught makeup lover, who posts crisp new content everyday, every single damn day. And that’s no mean feat because she’s got school, her chores, AND her feed to keep her busy and she manages everything so flawlessly it’s like she’s almost superhuman. She’s taught me how to manage my time better.

• She’s down to earth.

When you’re growing at the speed she’s growing, the attention gets to your head. The success gets to your head. Not for Sabhyata. I was watching her Instagram live and one thing she said touched my heart so much. Someone had asked her how it felt like, to have such a good number of followers in less than a year to which she replied – “Doesn’t matter whether I have 13 k or 100 k people following me, it’ll always be you guys watching me live at 2 in the morning, and I’ll still be like this.”

Again, this girl is only nineteen. Most teenagers don’t treat other people with the amount of love she does. And she doesn’t over do it either.

Also, she responds to every question. Doesn’t send a ♥️ emoji when someone slides into her DM with legit compliments and questions, and she’s always going to take time to hold an actual decent conversation with people.

She’s taught me to have my feet planted firmly on the ground.

• Friendship.

I talked about competition the other day. Sabhyata is her own competition, biggest critic and she’s everyone’s friend. One of my favorite one liners – “You’re my friend and I won’t ever respect you. Ahah. Why would I? We’re the same. And even if you get a Nobel prize, I’ll still have you as my friend who I’ll love. Not go on and say ah I respect you.”

Total gem, you guys. Total gem.

• Quality over Quantity.

Let’s talk about how professional she is. She learns as she grows and she posts content that’s super high quality too. I guess this is where blessing your feed originated from.

If you’re into makeup and you want to know why I’ve been fangirling so much go give her a follow @palletesandpaint on Instagram.

Can We Chill With The Competition?

Can We Chill With The Competition?

What’s wrong with people? I mean seriously? Kris Jenner is single handedly causing population explosion, and with a million kids and a billion grandkids to boot, the crazy seems to be overflowing.

It’s not just them, though. It’s the whole planet.

Once upon a happier time, competition meant two little kids battling it out on opposing debate teams. But now? It’s something unhealthy, twisted, heck, it’s evil.

Between making frenzied google searches for things like “how to make someone love you back” and “how to tell if someone’s no longer into you” and “latest trends 2018”, I chanced upon this: nipple injections. Fillers, or whatever the crap. And I’m not kidding people, this is an actual Allure magazine article.

…competing against Kendall Jenner’s nipples. Now I’ve seen everything. Really. 2018 is the year of the bat-shit crazy and it’s here to stay. Sigh. I miss the times when we were all actually happy. Millennials aren’t happy, people. We always want something else. We crave, we crave, we compete unnecessarily and we give ourselves enough aneurysms to keep the rest of the doctors happy.

Between DMs that go something like this

to women treating their boyfriends like pieces of vintage Louis Vuitton luggage, I’m so done. All I want right now, is for me to be able to dump everything and just get away to a cosy little place with no people and no cell phone reception.

Can we please do that? Thanks.

Nipple fillers. God!

Does Money Solve Things?

Does Money Solve Things?

Isn’t it crazy? The number of times we use “I” in a day? Subconsciously, we’re only constantly thinking of ourselves. Our lives, jobs, waistline, first-world issues like a broken fingernail.

Ever stopped to wonder what was going on with the rest of the world? Heck, ever wondered what was going on with the rest of your neighborhood? I’ve noticed a pattern. People are SO quick to be empathetic when a celebrity falls sick. Or when a celebrity gets slapped behind bars. I’m talking about Salman Khan, of course. He’s killed people and he’s poached blackbucks and he’s managed to get acquitted and now he’s managed to get bail.

Which makes me wonder – is money all that powerful?

At this rate, people would end up buying college degrees and have no knowledge about a thing at all. People would pay off income tax officers and exemptions from paying how much tax they should actually be paying. It’s scary that things like unfair justice can be bought these days. Oh wait, they’re already doing that. I mean, do people not have integrity anymore?

Maybe that’s why there’s a steep decline in actual, solid relationships and a steady incline in the sugar daddy situation. He pays for your crap and makes you Paris Hilton and you get to be the Kim Kardashian to his very much older Ray J. I don’t even know what’s up with me this morning. Maybe this is why I should stop reading the newspaper. It’s making kids believe that money can solve every which problem and that’s why they’re resorting to stupid headless ideas just to make money.

I saw this girl ask if she can sell her body to her ex boyfriend for allowance since her parents don’t give her money. Is this even normal? Or is this prostitution? Can anyone explain? Do people not realize that the more you yearn for, the worse it gets? Other people get jealous, and it leads to more problems than one can ever handle. I don’t think money really solves all problems. It just makes you nastier. But that’s just my opinion. It’s okay to be financially comfortable on your own terms. NOT okay to use it to exploit others.

I’m done with this country. Time to leave. I’ll be back with a nice post tomorrow, I swear. It won’t be so morbid. Have a good day, you guys.

Confessions of a Loner, Again

Confessions of a Loner, Again

I’m a loner. I’ve always been. At some point, it started to feel like routine. I mean, even Voldemort has his Death Eaters. So he wasn’t really completely alone; but I don’t even have anyone. Emotionally. I mean, it’s not like I don’t wish for people to come talk to me: it’s just that I’ve gotten used to the whole idea of being on my own so much that I’m okay with being alone and lonely. And I don’t even tell my partner about it.

Not that I haven’t tried – because I have. But you know how it gets, yeah? You don’t want to annoy the other person and you end up bottling things. So what I do instead is come on here and blog and let it out. Therapy is pricey – I can buy some new eyelashes with that money – but blogging is free and I get to get things off my chest, so yes, I like to rant on here.

I pretend that I’m happy. Actually, I’m not. I don’t feel anything anymore. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way: completely empty, neutral, almost lifeless. Going through my daily schedule like a robot in rhythm. But I’ve learned a lot over the past couple of years. No one is going to be there for you. Not even the person you get married to. It’s you that’s always got your back so each time you feel completely alone, you’ve gotta remember that you have your arms to give yourself a hug. I know that’s probably the most morbid thing your heard all day, but I actually do this on a daily basis.

When I was a little girl, I had dreams too.

I wanted to have a fairytale wedding and all the cliches that came with it. A perfect husband who loved me, treated me like a freaking princess and got me whatever I wanted – all I had to do was drop subtle hints. But then life happened and I realized that none of that matters. No one is going to listen to your subtle hints. You’ve to get yourself what you want. It’s almost wrong to depend on someone else. Even once in a while. And forget about being treated like a princess. I’m happy with being treated like a human being. That’s more than just enough. Isn’t it funny how dreams die before you even realize they’re dead?

I’ve gotten really good at giving advice. I hate seeing other people unhappy because I can see myself reflected in them and that breaks my heart.

There were times when I used to be happy that I had people to text me and check on me: but now? I’m so comfort being on my own it scares my mum sometimes. I’m serious, if I had a choice and if cults weren’t creepy, I’d have joined some ashram, picked celibacy and turned into a yogi. I’d even give up lipstick. But I’d be at peace. No cellphone. Maybe I could just go away and try to drown. I’d feel nothing still. Just calm.

Why do I feel this way?

But I’m okay. This is just fiction and I’m okay.