Stuff That I Should Have Started Doing Earlier

Stuff That I Should Have Started Doing Earlier

Seeing a dermatologist.

I’m super ashamed to say I’ve never seen a dermatologist in my life. When you’re in your late twenties and you’re saying something like this, this is a major problem.

I didn’t know I would face so many skin problems – I have clogged pores that don’t go away, I have whiteheads and my skin is aging – and no amount of aloe is keeping my skin normal.

I have my very first appointment with a dermatologist on Saturday. I hope I don’t get judged too harshly.

Taking proper supplements.

In addition to eating your greens and otherwise having a diet that’s super clean, your body does need supplements. Some people overdo, and that’s bad.

I just started on collagen and biotin and other vitamins.

• Walking everyday.

I workout at home, and I follow people like Chloe Ting. And although my body is apparently healthy, I don’t walk enough. No, walking on your treadmill doesn’t count.

My health apps remind me that I need to be walking more and that never seems to happen.

I’m trying, and so far I’ve made it through Tuesday. Let’s hope I keep at it.

• Keeping in touch with only people who matter.

For the longest time, I would avoid talking to a bunch of people because I was under the impression that they were nosy.

I was wrong.

Nothing feels better than reconnecting. At the same time, nothing feels more liberating than finding out who’s going to be around when you’re sinking, and cutting off the unnecessary drama from people that never wish you well.

Sleeping better.

I’ve actually posted about the benefits of sleep on my blog before, and it’s weird to me that I never followed my own advice.

I’ve made changes now and I give my body six solid hours of sleep. Sometimes seven.

What are some recent changes that you’ve made in your life, that you wish you’d done sooner?

The Cycle.

The Cycle.

She gets severe bouts of dysmenorrhea on the fourteenth of almost every month of the year. Sometimes her moon, as she almost lovingly calls her period, gets a little late; sometimes it arrives early. She doesn’t mind, because she lives by herself in a shoebox apartment in some obscure part of the city. For now. And her boyfriend is busy working hard because he said he wanted to give her a good life. So she doesn’t mind.

After all, how would you even mind, when you’re not in your senses anymore?

It started some time back in the summer. She’d gone to sleep, clutching at her tummy, groggy from an intentional overdose of Mefenamic Acid. The last thing she remembered, as she blacked out, was the fact that she was contemplating getting a hysterectomy done.

She didn’t remember anything afterwards.

Present day:

A shadowy figure follows him as he exits work. He’s distracted by a text from his new girlfriend and he’s typing away feverishly. He doesn’t see it coming. He feels a sharp pain, and then the world goes black.

The shadowy figure removes its hood and stuffs the body into a body bag. She picks up the bag with superhuman strength and swings it over her left shoulder. It’s the last day of her July moon, and there’s an immense rush going through her body. She must act quickly. She no longer feels her dysmenorrhea, she’s conquered it. She’s also really good at being an anesthesiologist. Knocking people out is right up her alley. She picks up his phone next and turns it off. It’s a good thing the whole thing’s just happened in a blind spot where no CCTV cameras could sense it.

She takes him to her car, with him still in a body bag, and proceeds to stuff him into the trunk. When she’s home, she retrieves the bag, takes him to her room, removes his belongings and proceeds to pour acid all over his unconscious body. She fishes through the bag, finds a pack of cigarettes and a woman’s undies. Not only was he cheating on her, he was also cheating on the other woman. With some other woman.

She lights up a cigarette and smirks as his body corrodes on the floor.

The next morning, she wakes up to a very strong odor in her apartment.

Might have fallen asleep funny last night, she tells asleep, as she rubs her left shoulder. In the middle of the floor, there’s an almost completely corroded human form, and she has no idea how it’s gotten there.

Horrified and disgusted, she makes her way to the kitchen table. There’s a wallet lying on the counter top. With shaking fingers she looks through it, and with a shock realizes it’s the guy she met over the summer she last experienced dysmenorrhea. The same guy that had promised her a good life. Her boyfriend of four months.

I cannot believe you killed him Moon, she says, and it’s the last thing she says before she takes a knife to her own wrists, killing herself and her alter ego in the process. Dissociative personality disorder sometimes just wins in the end.

After all, isn’t it better to die with the one you love, than rot in a jail cell, all by yourself?

“Meat.”

“Meat.”

It says “wifey” right there on my Instagram bio. That never stopped a bunch of guys from sliding into my DMs because they wanted to tap that. Do these people NOT have parents? Do basic manners not exist in 2019?

Apparently not.

I ran an Instagram social experiment and paid to boost one of my posts. This is the photo I “boosted”.

As you can tell, there’s no skin show. Just my hands, my face and my phone. My phone isn’t showing any skin, either. I’m not someone that ever wears clothing that shows a ton of cleavage or arms. I’m not someone that even has a bikini body to begin with, so I don’t wear bikinis. And despite being so covered up, stuff like this didn’t hesitate to show up.

India has this rampant rape culture and my photo is PROOF in the pudding, that it’s not about what you’re wearing. You could be in a potato sack and your hair could be a greasy mess, and you would still get objectified and propositioned to, even flashed. There have been no naked photos in my DMs – yet – and I consider myself very lucky.

What does all of this mean?

That there’s something seriously wrong with India. If you happen to be a woman, you will be – invariably – treated as meat. There will be human versions of rabid wolves fighting to sink their teeth into your skin. To claim and to maim. To destroy, pilfer and damage beyond repair.

I hate to think of what would happen if I posted a photo of mine from my workout sessions.

And it’s terrifying to me that WOMEN, and sometimes men, have to live in constant fear of the possibly of getting attacked if they don’t go into hiding. The whole social experiment proves that it’s not about how you’re posing on your Insta, it’s not about how you talk, it’s got nothing to do with your personality – you’re basically just someone’s meat. And that’s the bitter truth.

This is what scares me to death.

When Did The “BODY POSITIVITY” Movement Get Hijacked?

When Did The “BODY POSITIVITY” Movement Get Hijacked?

I’ve been seeing a lot of “body positivity” posts that are promoting plain simple obesity to be honest.

It is one hundred percent okay to love yourself but it’s kinda wrong, you know, to stuff yourself and never get any exercise. I know people that follow unhealthy lifestyles, and fall prey to diseases like hypertension and diabetes type two. They justify their behavior and call themselves curvy and they’re leading you to believe that morbid obesity is the new normal.

When I think of body positivity, the first thought that comes to mind is accepting yourself, all of your imperfections. Albinism. Crooked teeth. Heterochromia. Freckles. Birth marks. Unibrows. Everything you were born with. Body positivity doesn’t mean making yourself unhealthy by neglecting yourself and taking a drum to the streets, announcing that being morbidly obese is the new normal. There’s a lot of obese people all over – sporting beer bellies, with BMIs that are over thirty, and having to battle things like atherosclerosis, because they INSIST on eating pizza every day rather than choose something healthy. They’d rather go drinking every weekend, than actually hit the gym to stay in shape. And they body-shame people that run Instagram fitness accounts. And they have hijacked the body positivity movement and they are now insisting that being unhealthy is super cool because that’s what being curvy looks like. I beg to differ. Here’s what curvy looks like:

And she’s far from being fat or unhealthy.

As opposed to this:

Your heart is only programmed to pump so much, don’t make it overwork and don’t kill yourself. How hard is that? It’s so important to cut back on alcohol and sugar, both of which do zilch for your body. I feel so strongly about this only because I used to be overweight and I was super unhealthy. But now that I’ve changed my eating habits and made a lot of lifestyle changes, I actually feel and look good. And it makes me happy.

What’s your take on this? Do you think the body positive movement has somehow been hijacked by the over-promotion of obesity?

Friday Binge: Movie Recommendations! *contains spoliers*

Friday Binge: Movie Recommendations! *contains spoliers*

It’s Friday, and it’s probably raining where you are – or it’s really really HOT, and you’re tired from a long week at work. And if you’re like me, you’ve also got zero inclination to leave the house. Which is why, you’re probably going to binge watch a lot of stuff and binge eat and then chill.

Here are five movies you might like:

• The Queen’s Corgi.

This one has to be my absolute favorite. An animated movie, about a Corgi called Rex, that belongs to the Queen of England, animated versions of Melania and Donald Trump AND cute little puppies? Yes, please. Also, Rexie gets caught up in the underground world of dog-fights. If you’ve watched Fight Club and loved it, you’ll love this cute movie.

• Murder Mystery.

Aniston and Sandler (sporting a mustache) are a husband and wife duo that get involved in a very Agatha Christie kind of plot. Hilarious, fast paced and witty, and not to mention that Aniston made me question my sexuality while she was driving the Ferrari, this is a must watch in my book.

• Cecil.

The story of a nine year old with a lisp will have you rolling on the floor laughing in certain places. The movie has a lot going on: from selling names at Horsey Orsey and a twisted principal and Michael Jordan, and the most adorable protagonist, ever.

• Shazam!

A fourteen year old that turns into an adult with a bajillion superpowers may not seem like much of a movie plot, but Zachary Levi is hella charismatic and has some of the best lines on screen. If you haven’t already watched, what are you waiting for? Also, you get cameo performances by Ross Butler (Reggie Mantle from Riverdale) and Adam Brody!

• After.

A coming of age teen drama, with “young Voldemort” Hero Fiennes Tiffin as the male lead is something you need to watch if you’re into romantic movies. His eyebrows do a lot of talking and the British accent is delectable. After also stars inspirational YouTuber Inanna as bad girl Molly, and she nails her character down to a T.

Have you seen any new stuff lately? Leave me a comment. Have a wonderful weekend, you guys!

Stray Bird

Stray Bird

I was never one to fit in,

I was always meant to stand out

And never in a good way.

People do things for clout

And I don’t even know what I want

I don’t know what I seek

I have no ambition

I’m often powerless, often weak.

My parents told me I was a fluke

That I was a mistake

They taught me so much

But funnily, it didn’t take.

I try to fly with the other guys

And that never happens right

I fall back and I die on the inside

Every time I fall from a height

I don’t have a purpose

No goal that I want to achieve

So far I’ve been a lonely parasite

Only taking, with nothing to give

I don’t know when my life ends

But I hope it does soon

It’s lonely to be a stray

Nursing at your own meaningless wounds.

Under The Influence

Under The Influence

I looked at the young man swaying in front of me, flanked by two people he didn’t seem to recognize.

One of them, the woman, who was in tears, tried to say something. She couldn’t seem to form words. The man, close to tears himself, tried to calm the woman down, while maintaining a steady grip on the boy’s arm.

I looked through the case file in my hand. I had this football-sized headache. Took me a second to read properly.

Name: Blank

Age: 20

Chief complaints: Swelling in left arm, with some obvious bruising and pain since an hour.

Fever since morning.

HOPI: Patient was apparently normal when he suffered a trauma to the left arm, following a seizure in the bathroom…

I closed the file and tried to calm myself down. This was the fourth time I was meeting Blank and he had no idea we’d met before. He didn’t remember he’d threatened to beat me to death if I didn’t prescribe him extra Clonazepam pills. He didn’t remember he’d been here before, where I was on duty, at two in the morning, with nearly the same complaints.

I ordered an X-Ray.

Blank couldn’t stand but he kept saying things that were incomprehensible. At one point he said he needed more pain meds. And more weed. And more alcohol. We never found out what he wanted. We never found out what he was going through. He just kept going, and going, and he kept sourcing pills from places unknown.

And that fateful night, under the influence of medication meant for seizures, a ton of what smelled like an unfortunate mix of way too much alcohol and a crap ton of coke, he had his last seizure and passed away. I don’t remember going home. I don’t remember what I said to the man and the woman – the parents. I don’t recall any of it. Heck, I don’t remember how I got home.

Two weeks later, on yet another miserable night shift, I saw Blank walk up to me. In my own weed induced haze, I had a long meaningful conversation with what my nurses tell me was a solid wall of the bathroom.

Here’s a question for you: WHO was under the influence, really?

Pie.

Pie.

They met by accident.

He was taken, she wasn’t.

He had a tattoo of his pregnant girlfriend’s name. He was at the bar one Saturday night after a long day at work and the bartender was cute.

Numbers were exchanged.

The bartender was a rich heiress who liked to go incognito and pick up guys on Friday nights. The longer the commitment, the better. She had a fetish for men that had been claimed by other women. She loved to chew them up and spit them out. She loved to build them up, and then tear them down. She had a theory: you needed to know their story before you got into their pants.

Sexual freedom was something she was obsessed with.

She’d set sights on him the minute he walked up to the bar and downed his first tequila.

He loosened up after a couple drinks and said he needed to get away from his girlfriend of seven months. She said she wanted him. All seven inches of him. He was taken aback. He’d never met anyone who had such accurate assessment of the human anatomical calculations, before. She said she was a pro at it and they left the club, together, his drunken arm around her waist.

She took him home.

He was aroused and wanted to do it. She said she was hungry and needed to get some dinner. He suddenly remembered he was famished too, and asked her what was for dinner.

The last thing he remembered was a butcher’s knife and her saying, “You”, before he passed out.

Two hours later, she added some garnish to the human meat pie and drove down to the suburban home he shared with his girlfriend. She left a box on the porch with a note that read:

“I did you a favor: your loyal ass deserves better. He was a cheater.”

A Total Bloodbath

A Total Bloodbath

I cannot keep quiet any longer.

People love to hate on doctors in India. We’re termed as moneymongers, bigots and a whole lot of offensive things I don’t want to get into. Which is fine. I’m sure haters exist for the sole purpose of entertainment. That’s fine too.

What isn’t okay with me is the fact that people think it’s completely normal to beat people up.

I come from a state where the the ruling body happens to be headed by a tyrant, who uses power to uplift one religion and appease its followers, while shaming the other. There have been incidents, documented on video and in the papers, of a certain house of worship condemning the other religion and asking for blood. Why am I talking about this? If you’ve read the news or been on Twitter, you’d notice that the doctors attacked and stoned haven’t been given protection. Security hasn’t been tightened. I wonder if things would have been different if there was a bit of a role-reversal. The cops just stood and watched, the mob came and beat doctors up, and the CM was busy inaugurating hotels and she never paid heed to the situation.

I’ve had situations were people have abused me because apparently I didn’t know a thing. It’s not true.

Doctors take the Hippocratic oath, when they graduate. You’re bound by duty and humanity to treat patients and never discriminate. My dad, who’s had a thirty year long career as an ophthalmologist, gives free treatment on Wednesdays, including free surgery and free medication. All of this goes overlooked. No good deed, actually, goes unpunished. People never thank doctors when treatments are successful but they get a huge mob or two, or a million, to beat us up when things go wrong.

And everyone out here is making it all about politics not realizing that all doctors have ever wanted was an ounce of respect and to not be killed on the job.

Also, Bengal has a lot of illegal immigrant Bangladeshis, and they’re the reason why there’s so much bloodshed in the state. Although the border is seemingly under the control of the Central Government, strangely enough things don’t work that way in Bengal. There have been cow smuggling incidents and funnily enough, people aren’t allowed to vote – the ruling party has minions at their disposal that ensures that the voting system is tampered with. And Bengal is quickly turning into Bangladesh too.

Which brings me to the incident that happened a couple days ago – doctors took to the streets to protest but the violence has managed to spill over and spread to the BDS students. You cannot protest, you cannot vote, you cannot have an opinion and if your patient dies despite your having followed protocol, you’re going to be killed because that’s the right thing to do. Why? Because you’re a second generation doctor and you deserve to be stoned to death. Several doctors have resigned and we are going to face a shortage in doctors because no one wants to die serving people.

This is British Rule all over again, except that this time the tyrants are both illiterate and abusive. Which to me, is the deadliest combination that can ever happen. The worst part is that people that don’t live here, that don’t understand what’s going on, are the ones with the strongest opinions against all that the people of Bengal stand for. Our cops aren’t on our side, you guys. The hardest reality that hit me with the force of a speeding train was the fact that the cops never made any arrests. The CM has them on a string and they do her bidding. I wish the police would for once, grow a pair and make their own unadulterated decisions. Whoever makes a mistake, should be punished. Whoever is innocent, should be spared. It should not be based on your religion or your race or your political beliefs. If you’re in power, please be just. Don’t be an appeaser.

How difficult is that?

Beard.

Beard.

Silvio hated life. It was the same old routine, every single day.

Eat, sleep, hustle, die, repeat.

He’d been on his own since he was sixteen, when his parents divorced. His mum died while he was still in college and his dad was beyond just absent.

His very first job at the pizza joint around the corner taught him that being an immigrant wasn’t ever going to work in his favor. His boss was rude and Silvio managed to graduate school and joined a law firm. It wasn’t fun, being a criminal lawyer. None of his relationships lasted and he kept going into a dark place.

One night, on his way home after a quick briefing with a client, Silvio got stuck in a God-awful thunderstorm.

The traffic was insane and he checked his watch: twelve forty five AM. He’d been stuck for almost two hours. He scratched his beard and turned on the music. It was going to be a long night. Most days he would get first grade a-holes, but his newest client, Tom, seemed harmless. If only he knew if Tom was actually innocent! The guy had such an open face, and to be accused of murder at twenty was too much.

Silvio was sharply awakened by a loud tapping on his window. The clock showed three AM and he must have dozed off. It was Tom. Pleasantly surprised, Silvio rolled down the window – only to be horrified as Tom, with livid eyes and a suddenly evil face, pointed a gun at Silvio’s head.

“You better keep me out of jail, you stupid old man. I killed my ex because she deserved it, and I will kill anyone that tries to have me arrested.”

Silvio put his hands up, trying to stay calm.

“Tom, put the gun away. We can talk about this.”

Silvio looked around out of the corner of his eye: the streets were deserted and the storm had cleared and there was no way anyone would come help. Heck, his phone was out of arm’s reach too. Calling 911 wasn’t an option, either. And his beard was really scratchy. He was both annoyed and scared. Tom was still pointing the damn gun at his head.

“Are we clear? I don’t wanna go to jail!”

The kid’s hand was steady and Silvio wondered how he’d ever been convinced that he’d finally gotten an innocent client. He was doomed to deal with criminals. For the rest of his life.

“I can’t promise that. I still have to look through your files, Tom. Manslaughter is a pretty serious offence. It’s a crime!”

“Then I have to kill you too. What kinda lawyer doesn’t defend his own clients?”

Tom pressed the cold muzzle of his gun right between Silvio’s bushy eyebrows. The metal felt cold and menacing, and Silvio closed his eyes, preparing to die, wondering how badly his blood would stain the customized interiors of the brand new BMW. And he didn’t want to die at forty-three.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, he felt a sharp tug on his beard and something whipped the gun out of Tom’s hand, knocking it to the ground. Something salt-and-pepper looking, something keratinous, wrapped itself around Tom’s neck and Silvio watched, horrified, as something choked Tom to death. Silvio felt his face and his beard purred. He looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror: his tough, scratchy beard was no longer close-shaven and tame-looking. It now resembled a ravenous snake.

That was the first time the Beard saved Silvio’s life.

(Inspired by Rohan’s Beard .)