Weird Compulsions

Weird Compulsions

The other day one of my favorite beauty bloggers tweeted something and it got me thinking about how right she was. We’ve all become so… accessible.

It is such a weird compulsion.

This whole thing – how when someone texts or calls, you gotta respond immediately or they end up thinking, “Oh she is such a bitch!” – is kind of sad. How we always seek validation, and we don’t even know we’re doing it. It’s nuts. When did it get like this? I like my alone time and it doesn’t mean I’m doing stupid shit. I don’t like being in situations where I’ve to give people an update on everything I’m doing. I mean, come on, even FACEBOOK isn’t as inquisitive as some people are! Like what’s with people texting constantly when you’re out with family? If you don’t respond immediately, you get texts that say – “Whoa who am I now? Nothing. Just time pass. I know you’re getting married and shopping for your lehenga!”


I actually know one such person. Super cute and super insecure. How do you deal with that? If you know someone that gets severe separation anxiety from not getting texts back? You ignore them and then you calm yourself down and then you text them back. Right? Wrong. You’ll find yourself the victim of this weird compulsion and composing a reply and sending it anyway. Gah. This makes me so mad. Why must we stay and please every freaking person??! Does it really matter if people think you’re rude as fuck and that you use them and that you aren’t a good person? If you don’t get back to them immediately? NO. It doesn’t.

What’s worse is we know this. And we still let it bother us and we let ourselves stay accessible. UGH. This makes me so mad.

I made a new resolution: I’m gonna stop thinking about what people say about me if I don’t reply. If I don’t take calls. And I’m going to give myself more time and work on being a better person. It’s not necessary to talk everyday. It’s not. If you have a mature relationship with your people, they’ll get you. And that’s how it should be.

Are you a victim of weird compulsion too? Let me know.



It’s not your fault. It never was. It’ll never be.

You only fell out of love. The love that never was. The love that I thought you felt for me too, but I was wrong. Pretty much like always. I was just so wrong.

You wanted to be a stud, live your life a little. You weren’t wrong. Everyone has needs, everyone’s got fantasies. I didn’t know you well enough, I suppose, as I went with it. Indulged in all your whims. I was okay with being pushed to the side because I didn’t make the cut on your priority list.

They said it takes no time to recover and be shiny and new again. Trust me, I gave it time, I did. But those wounds, they never seemed to heal. You broke me – no you didn’t break me – I broke myself, believing you as you lied through your teeth. I often sit by myself and dig deep, and try to remember.

I let all the hurt you threw my way just bounce off of me. I thought I just let it all ricochet. But I didn’t see it all coming back hard and thick and fast to burn holes into me, tear at my composure and leave me to bleed out emotionally.

They say you take twenty one days to get over someone, scientifically speaking, but I will never get over what you turned out to be. All I’ll do instead, is be fake happy and tell the whole world I’m fine and just leave it at that. This holiday season, I’m gonna lie.



“It’s not your thing. You pick the wrong thing, every damn time. The wrong person, the wrong situations, the wrong thing to do. Give up and go back to being a nobody.” 


I remember the times I wanted to be loved, and only wanted to be loved. It was a compulsive need. A thirst, a hunger I couldn’t satiate. Always falling short, never giving up, believing in the next guy and living the broken heart story, over and over. I lost my self respect, lost my head. Before I knew it, I’d fallen out of love with myself. I despised what I’d turned into. A love-hungry monster. Every time I read my texts to him, which quickly escalated from being nice and sweet to desperate, I know now, I won’t lie. I was smothering the both of us. Investing in feelings that didn’t matter, really. While Taylor Swift made songs out of her heartbreaks, there I was – making a fool out of my heartbreaks. 
Someone told me you needed twenty-one days to recover from a burn like being spurned by the wrath of unrequited love. The burn of having being used emotionally, among other things: but then I realised that I couldn’t really blame anyone but myself. Why would I ever think that anyone needed me just for the purpose of needing me, and not for selfish reasons? And the dark well that I fell into was a nightmare. I was a zombie. Just alive but not really existing. It got so bad, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror anymore because the revulsion that rose inside me like vomit each time I looked into my own eyes, was too great. I couldn’t bear it anymore. But then I realised that living this way, not having lived at all, was a total waste. I needed to breathe, move on and leave the toxic waste behind.

So how did I come out of it? 

I forgave myself. Self-acceptance is the first step to everything. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is what you think of yourself. Not what the guy that screwed you over thinks. Not what he discusses about when he’s done with his booze and pot and his hangover is messing with all his senses. Doesn’t matter what people say. Doesn’t matter if they slut-shame you, or try to hurt you with words because in the end it’s all just words. As long as you love yourself, a man’s opinion on you doesn’t matter. He may be all over your ass like a fat kid eating cake but talk rubbish behind your back when he’s with that other girl, but that doesn’t matter either. It’s on him, not on you. 

That’s all you gotta do.

You do you, because you’re awesome and beautiful and pure and nothing can take that away. Love yourself and it all goes away. Sometimes all you need to do is stay strong, and believe in yourself. 

Have a little faith.

You gotta love yourself. 

Dark Diwali 

Dark Diwali 

Diwali is the Hindu Festival of Lights. People love Diwali. It celebrates the victory of good over evil. With a lot of noise and air pollution, I might add. While everyone else loves Diwali, I am not really a fan of it. For starters, it’s never been bright for me. It always brings back memories of that time my boyfriend left me for another woman, who he’d been cheating on with me. Good for her, bad for me. I’ve never lost too many battles in my life – I haven’t fought that many to begin with, but this defeat left me pretty broken. 

I think that was where my depression really started. I haven’t been able to recover. I’ve tried, oh boy I’ve tried. I’ve had rebounds, I’ve had solid relationships after that, but my faith in myself was gone. Now, I’m not a crier and I get over things pretty quickly. But this nagging little constant reminder that I wasn’t good enough to invest feelings into? It got me, you know. It got me pretty bad. I guess I need to get this out, and talk about it because trust me, I’ve been to the shrink. I’ve tried retail therapy. I’ve tried killing myself and my self respect still hasn’t come back. 

I’ll admit, it was all my fault probably. Later on when he blamed me for the whole mess, he said he was a guy and he’d obviously want to get into my pants and that being a girl, I should have had a control over things, I’ll admit it gutted me. Everything he said hurt. But there was also truth behind his statements. Here’s what I didn’t understand though: if he already was in love with someone else, why would he carry on with me? Because that’s not love in my book. When you love someone, you don’t kiss another woman and tell her you love her. And he did. Oh, plenty of times. Between kisses. Between cuddles. Between feeding me dessert off his fork in public. I didn’t see the red flags. I didn’t know. I’d go over to his place when he needed me around: back then I didn’t know these were what booty calls looked like. 

When he told me he loved me, I believed him. On a staycation with him, he made me fall in love with what a good person he seemed to be. Holding doors open. Holding my hand when we’d cross the road. Pulling out a chair for me every time we went to have a quick bite at cosy restaurants. It was – is – the best holiday of my life. Things started to change after we came back. He’d ignore my calls. Never text back. I let him because I thought he was busy with work. I was too naive to see that he was trying to shake me off for good. He had me delete all our photos together from my phone. I thought he was being immature but in reality he was not. He was just getting rid of evidence. 

The morning after his last birthday with me, as we lay in bed together he told me he felt guilty and turned away from me. He didn’t look at me the whole time. Later, he basically threw me unceremoniousy out of his apartment. Pretty much how you’d throw out a hooker so nobody would know you were boning one. Only difference? I wasn’t getting paid for my “services.” I had to go home for a month but he never came to see me off. And that’s how things ended. No closure, no goodbyes. 

That Diwali, which came around a week later, he dumped me over a text message and told me to basically fuck off. I’ve never spoken about this until now, but the #metoo has given me the strength to talk about it. It is never okay to make excuses for someone when you know you’re losing your self-respect. Once you start making excuses for him, you need to know that it’s not love anymore. It’s something evil and twisted and it exists to only suck the life out of you. 

I was lucky I got away. There are many women still stuck in toxic relationships and unable to do much about it. But I implore you, try. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to live a lie. 

Happy Diwali. 



Weeks of trying to block you out 

Weeks of trying to move on 

Weeks of trying to forget what we were all about 

Weeks of being done with holding on 

All undone, within seconds of your single text, saying “hi”

You and your incorrect grammar and sad spelling mistakes 

You, that left without a goodbye 

You, that gave me nothing but a million heartaches. 

Don’t you know that my walls aren’t strong yet?

That when you come back each time I just give in 

Believing you every time, just caught in your net 

Of lies and deceit and I still love you, right from your shoes to your stupid grin 

You’re toxic, this is toxic, we are toxic and everything about us shows it 

You’re passive aggressive and I’m crazy 

We weren’t meant to last and everyone knows it 

Why won’t you stop coming back, and slowly killing me? 

My walls aren’t strong, not yet, but someday 

One day when they are standing tall and proud 

And you won’t be able to get in and you’ll miss me, bad, 

Your pleading voice will go unnoticed, no matter how loud. 

The Root Of All Problems 

The Root Of All Problems 

The other day I was listening to this guy talk about how we always look for happiness and never end up finding it, and how we should become happiness instead. 

It made a ton of sense to me, and made me wonder why despite being well into my mid twenties, I still manage to lose myself in translation several thousand times a week. Scratch that, several times a day. Ever wonder why relationships go through several fractures over the course of time? And why fights happen? That’s because we play the blame game way too much, and we expect way too much. 

I had this wonderful boyfriend once. It was a beautiful thing, our relationship, but it burned bright and ended fast, within a few months. Back then, I gave him mad hell for pulling away from me after we were done cuddling, shutting me down before I was done talking, and never taking my calls or replying to my texts. I had one expectation: to be in the know. I wanted to be regularly updated about what he was up to. Didn’t really expect a lot of textual conversation, or even phone conversations, but I did want to stay informed. Despite knowing that he didn’t really do technology that much. Hell, he didn’t even use Facebook much. At some point, I became clingy and texted his friends when he would give me the silent treatment for days. I managed to annoy his friends too. All the while blaming him for subjecting me to such a bad, toxic relationship. The day I said goodbye, he had me delete all our photos together. He never came to see me off at the door. I left hoping he would still tell me he needed me and loved me, but no, and that was it. 

I’d look through the photos that I still had secretly saved and cry to myself. Talk about how much he broke me and that I would kill myself, while a little voice in the back of my head kept yelling, “STOP. This is not his fault!” Stop one day I did. And now that I look back on it, and all the things he said, I realised he’d left me with great advice that would help me eventually: 

  • People need their space. And they’re not always in the mood to indulge your whims. You need to learn to be considerate. 
  • Possessiveness never gets you anywhere. At this point when I’d texted his friend, he went all sarcastic and said, “Why don’t you text my family instead, ask them where I am at, and if I’m okay? You’d get better info.” This being a really rude thing to say, because girlfriends in India don’t really call up their boyfriends’ families or text them on Facebook. 
  • Stop discussing your relationship with people. If you value him, keep him to yourself. Keep the memories to yourself. Some things aren’t meant to be discussed about. 
  • Love fades: it does and it’s entirely your fault. Think about what changed. And how much you’ve changed. Go back and replay those memories in your head, and think of why he no longer loves you. Once you realise it’s completely you and not him, you’d have a much better understanding of yourself. 

See, there’s stuff to learn from everybody; and if you want a strong relationship, don’t change from the person you used to be. Don’t pull the Crazy Bat Lady act on your guy, and you’ll be fine. Learn from your mistakes and become a better You. 

And dear Ex, thanks for telling me stuff I never knew would come in handy. 

Never let go of something you can’t reclaim later.


I get chills you know. 

I’ve changed my phone since but still have his texts. The Whatsapp ones. Every little kiss emoji he sent stills feels so damn fucking real. I keep that beat up old phone around just so you can read them and reassure myself that yes, memories that I have of him from a while ago aren’t something cooked up by my stupid head playing tricks on me. I love him. I’ve loved him. I always will. 

Ever loved anyone so much it ended up consuming you? 

Ever given someone the liberty to hurt you because they know you’d be around no matter what? 

Ever just stood there, loving them more, while they slowly hacked you away, bit by bit? 

Well, I have. 

It always starts the same way. One of you changes. Maybe both of you do. He starts off as the caring, sweet kinds, always checking in on you. Asking if you ate. How you were doing. If he could come see you. He leaves texts if busy just to let you know he’s with friends and he’s okay and he’ll totally call back later. And he totally does call back. But then three months go by and he doesn’t even remember your birthday, he doesn’t text unless he absolutely has no one around. And the downward spiral of your self-doubt starts building up again. 

Always the same old story. 

The same unrequited love. 

While you love him to the point of exhaustion, making excuse after excuse for him, he slowly starts blowing you off and you’re suddenly at the bottom of his list. That is, if you’re on his list anymore. Maybe at some point you’ve given him sex or given him head and he’s realised you’re not even remotely satisfying to be with. Can you put that crushing feeling into words? At this point, I cannot. I don’t think I ever can. So while you’re being scheduled for calls, he goes to try out his new bong with his new junkie friends. He forgets you exist. 

That’s how it ends. Fifty shades of straying away. 

Flashback Friday: Blurred Lines 

Flashback Friday: Blurred Lines 

I guess I’ve overdosed on caffeine. Again. And I won’t be able to sleep tonight. And I’ll wake up at 5 in the morning after like ten minutes of sleep, and carry on with my half assed run. I’ll probably wear one of my socks inside out. I’ll probably trip and fall and people will come running to see if I’m still in one piece… and here I go again, overthinking things. 

Ever get that strong feeling of déjà vu

I’m experiencing one right now and it’s hitting me harder than a couple of punches to the gut. Making me want to throw up. 

See, most people have that one thing they want the most. Even the happiest of people, and when asked if they’re truly happy, they’ll often lie to you. Me? I got everything I need right here. But then I can’t shake off the feelings that latch on to me at times. I am unable to get over the flashbacks. I realise now that I can be a constant nag. A jerk, a pain in the neck. Back then, I didn’t realise any of it. And I kept pushing. And pushing. And I didn’t realise it was me driving people away. Probably still don’t realise it much. 

I met a boy once. And fell in love. And as all of my love stories go, it was one directional. I loved him with the intensity of a thousand bloody metaphorical suns. And he was as repelled by me as two like poles of a magnet repelling each other. So it was a great arrangement, really. He had emotional access. And I had arms to cuddle in. Till the day he told me he didn’t like me very much. That he didn’t like me being the same way with him the way I used to be with my ex boyfriends. Meaning, he found me just bleh and not good enough for a serious relationship; also meaning he though I was just good enough for a fling. And boom, my walls came crashing down. Roles reversed when it came to the next relationship: I was the cold, unforgiving, frigid Medusa. And the new guy was basically the old me. 

Looking back, I realise I haven’t really learned a thing. Not one. I’m still that same old nag. The same old moron and the same old little reject still looking for love and never getting enough. 

How do I stop feeling this way? 

Isn’t this true?

Racism and Violence – Is it Necessary?

Racism and Violence – Is it Necessary?

I’m sure you’ve all read about and seen the Dallas shooting news. Snipers at a rally. Eleven police officers shot. Four dead. 

Before this came the Anastasia Beverly Hills’S new makeup campaign photos. Have a look. 

Screen cap off the ABH Instagram page.

People are leaving comments on cultural appropriation and what not. This is just a campaign for new highlighters for God’s sake. When you see these pictures, what do you see? I see beauty and art. I don’t underrated why or how a certain kind of hairdo or a lighter hair color would lead people to diss ABH as being racist. Cultural Appropriation. Sounds so scary. The funny part is the people that claim to hate Donald Trump(et) are the ones that are the ones that are actually way more racist. 

Now. Black lives matter. White lives matter. All lives matter. But… 

This guy put it perfectly. 

Even before the Dallas shooting and the ABH campaign, there was Orlando. More shooting. There was this secular Bangadeshi blogger that was shot dead. Is all of this even necessary? No. 

Killing someone doesn’t make you God, you know. 

People have families, lives and feelings. Everyone contributes to the society. When you kill someone or hurt someone you dampen the energy. So not worth it. I implore y’all, spread positivity whenever you can. Just please. 

It’s a sick world and unless we fix it, it will end us all. In a snap. I fear it’s already way too late. 



Do you remember the cover version of Only Just a Dream Christina Grimmie did with Sam Tsui? Do you remember how the chairs turned during The Voice auditions and the way Adam Levine beamed when she picked him as her coach? Why does this feel like only yesterday?

Do you remember her Snapchat story from earlier, how positively radiant she looked, delighted at the prospect of the Orlando concert?

Was this only yesterday?

Grimmie was shot by a random person who then proceeded to shoot himself. Though her brother did tackle the guy down, she succumbed to her injuries. Two lives lost, a million shattered. Is all of this even worth it?

Some Americans and their stinking guns. Why isn’t any of this causing more outrage? Nobody should have to die because someone felt like being whimsical.

Each human life is too precious for that.

Rest in peace.