Hey guys. I hope you’ve been liking the posts I’ve been doing these days – the A to Z challenge is a toughie, not going to lie. But isn’t that what motivates you to keep writing?

I made a post back in the day about why I choose to write creepy content. I’d mentioned that I don’t like to be the regular, and I still don’t. Still going to say that I don’t like my characters clean or nasty – I prefer them to be a good mix of both. I like spectrums. I adore deviations. Blogging has been such a journey – from doing rants to fashion to makeup and now dark fiction, the genre keeps changing. And I love that. I live for that. It’ll keep changing till I find what fits me best.

This has been a quest. Pretty much how everything in my life has been.

I wanted to be a journalist when I was young, but I was fueled by this need to prove to people that I could go to med school and become a doctor. Halfway though pharmacology, I lost interest when they maimed rabbits – not really maimed but we did cut off their lashes – and the whole thing left a bitter taste in my mouth. Once you lose interest, you start to fail. I’ve failed academically but I managed to graduate and to work happily. For a while, I loved it. And then I rediscovered my love for art, lost interest in that when internship got crazy and here we are – floating, always floating. Some of us choose to go against the current, some of us go with it, but we’re all constantly on the move and we’re on the mend and we’re constantly finding something and we’re constantly evolving. And working towards a something that’s actually solid.

Someone complained to me that my writing was getting way too dark now, but that’s fine. It’s not like this genre is going to stick around forever, you know? Maybe someday, I’ll be doing historical fiction and turning into a Diana Gabaldon minus the meaty content. Ahahaha. Sometimes I don’t even know where I come up with stuff like this.

Anyway, I was just wondering – how did you pick the genre of your blog? Do you have a specific theme you stick to?



And so I changed, trying to fit into the ostentatious drama, because what else could I do, anyway?

It’s humiliating, having to strip down to your undies and try on clothes with a man you’ve only just started dating, specially when you’re being made to feel low and not good enough. I guess I was on autopilot. He made me try on a rather over the top blue dress with sequins and feathers, and I looked like a stripper in those extra high heels. And after what seemed like ages, he mercifully “allowed” me to wear a pair of shoes that weren’t as high. And this straitjacket of a dress he thought was classy. How do women breathe in stuff like this? It was like being stuffed into a sausage casing. He tucked my hair behind my ears and said he wanted me to be the best and have the best, and he led me downstairs, on his arm.

I was naive, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, really.

Everything felt like it was on show, I felt exposed, and for obvious reasons – this was a show. This wasn’t me. I don’t have Angelina legs or Kendall Jenner collarbones. But I do have a nice face, he decided that, and he made sure it was the center of attention. Everyone was looking at me. At some point, I ended up being surrounded by men. I couldn’t remember getting drunk or getting into bed with people. Multiple people. I didn’t know where he was, or when he’d left me alone with them. These men who thought I was a mint-condition toy that needed some roughing up and some playing with. These guys that left me in the master bedroom when they were done. I’d never been with anyone before and my first time was a violation of my body and my rights.

I went back to my dorm, made it out of there somehow – with my pride wounded but my strength resolved, I decided to someone that could fight for women, fight for their rights, fight for them all.



I’ve always been the shy kind. Never really had many friends, or ambitions. I was a fly on the black walls of gloom, happy to blend in, and stay invisible. I was good at that, you know? Like being invisible was something I was born to do.

I went to college because my family wanted a lawyer in the family. If there’s one thing I’ve always openly detested, it was the thorough discussion of torts, and laws and commandments and what not. You’d think you’d be the Elle Woods of your college, but you end up being Epic Fail, and that was pretty much me.

When this guy from my class asked me out, it was kind of shocking.

You see, I’m no beauty. Actually, I’m pretty far from it. I was here for the sole purpose of the degree, never wanted to practice. My aspirations in life were – a, to find a loving husband and have kids, or b, to adopt a puppy with said loving husband. I wanted to be the invisible homemaker. I guess that’s what I’m comfortable doing – disappearing. And that’s exactly why, perhaps, he asked me out. He had it all going for him – the cars, the looks of old Hollywood movie stars, he had bling and he had everything.

He invited me over to a housewarming party one weekend.

The panic that followed was insane. My roommate helped me find a dress. By find, I mean, we hit up Rebecca and asked to borrow one of her many, many PR-package dresses. The perks of having a fashion blogger friend, my darlings, are limitless. I got ready, did my makeup real nice and prayed to the Lord that the boob tape would hold up. I don’t know HOW Kimberly Kardashian West does it. I don’t.

He sent a limo to the dorm. A LIMO.

When I arrived, shock hit me with the force of a speeding train. It was a sprawling mansion, with a pool, way too big for even a hundred people to live in. My legs trembled as I walked in. I remember feeling super out of place. Trophies and paintings. I saw a couple Monets. A good number people were invited and they all looked so expensive, it made me feel like it was almost indecent to see so much diamond on a woman. I looked distinctly shabby, in my Zaful dress, when these women were talking to each other about the new jet their husbands had recently acquired, or the fifty billion carat diamond rings that their fiancés gifted them.

I felt a sharp poke in my back. It was him and he dragged me into a walk in closet in his mother’s room. And demanded I change into at least a Giambattista Valli. That my pretty face needed a pretty dress, or people would think his new squeeze wasn’t being pampered enough.

That’s when I realized: I was a puppet in his ostentatious world and nothing would bring him more joy than to fix me. Rich people, I cannot stress enough, have weird whimsies.

To be continued.



What’s the point, really?

There’s just too much negativity around me

People cheat, people lie, they hurt all the time

They maim, they murder, they’ve got no life

I used to be like you once, I used to be happy

Then something just snapped inside of me

There’s no love, there’s no light in the world

I’m just a girl, I’m coming unfurled

There’s nothing, nobody to live for

There’s no joy, nothing to fight for

There’s nobody that’s gonna miss me when I’m no more

Everywhere I look, I see closed doors

Don’t slow me down or speed me up, don’t be the catalyst

When I decide, I decide, and you can’t win against a nihilist.



I was born premature. Pretty much everything in my life that followed happened way before its time. I went to school early, they didn’t like it when I stayed home because I drove my mother crazy, they said. I graduated early. Got a job fresh out of college, earlier than anyone else I went to school with. Had to relocate. Left the nest. Nobody cared. I was young and hot-blooded. Had a string of meaningless relationships, nothing came out of my last fling either.

I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend when she walked into my life. When she did, I wanted her to be my wife. Wanted to give her everything. My blood, my money, my love and it’s funny, because she left too, prematurely.

Not that she died or anything. Oh no, she’s alive and thriving.

I see her everyday. That rock on her finger, with him by her side. She looks radiant, glowing. I stalk her Twitter like Joe Goldberg stalked Beck, I block and unblock her on Instagram because I check her stories and I don’t want her to know. And then block her again. She makes me want to do bad things. She makes me want to hurt her so bad, she loses everything and is left with no choice but to come back to me. Home. I was her home, wasn’t I? She would take all my money and I would let her. When she got engaged to some other guy, she said she had no choice. Her dad is such a freaking p***y he didn’t see his daughter would be the happiest with me. She lied and she manipulated me and she left with some other guy after extorting me as much as she could. And she has the gall to play the victim? It’s ridiculous. I’m the victim. She’s the criminal. It’s all her.

She’s like the black hole: all-consuming and distant. She’s like the thorn that I wish had never pierced my side. I hate her. I hate her. I want her ruined and destroyed and I want him dead and gone. B***h has a freaking child with this joke of a man. How come her dad saw HIM as a worthy match for his stupid, high-maintenance daughter? This guy doesn’t even make money. I make money. She left me. She can’t belong to anyone else. That stupid little hoebag.

One of this days, oh one of these days, I’ll run into her and take her back. I’ll deform her so bad that her man leaves her and takes their kid with them. They say malevolence is ugly, but it’s not its fault. There’s always an uglier backstory.



The lovely Nobleman Warrior tagged me to do this challenge. There are a few rules:

  • 150 word limit
  • Write a piece of historical fiction or poetry about the photo
  • Try not to use the words tree & green
  • Tag 3 people to do the same with the photo

I tag – whoever wants to do this.

It was six in the morning. Still pouring. We were supposed to go see the Angkor Wat temples. When you’re backpacking across the globe, you need to be prepared for a lot of crap. Things get difficult before they get better.

I was a medical doctor, at least used to be. Eventually, I’d gotten tired of human suffering. Hence, the trip.

The rain finally stopped and we started exploring. Something stung me between the toes, I overlooked it. By the time we’d reached the heart of the temples, I couldn’t feel my foot anymore. Took my shoe off to realize that my leg had started necrosing. Strange, because it only felt like a few minutes since the sting.

Now it seems funny to me, how we amputated my leg right there in the temples that they supposedly used for funerals – but we cut off my leg to save my life.

(Word count: 150.)



We have a lot of history. A lot of water under the bridge. Things got ugly, and things got toxic and we left without saying goodbye. Sometimes when I’m with him, I feel lucky that it was him I married, and not you, because truth is, you’re intimidating and I was scared of you. Still am. I don’t know how much I’ve to hide from you, or pretend that I don’t give a damn, when in reality, you’re constantly at the back of my mind.

I don’t let myself be happy. It’s gotten to the point that I’ve gone ahead and given myself a rather bad case of cherophobia. When I hide in my therapist’s office and cry to her every Saturday afternoon, I feel the guilt consume me and consume me good. Nobody knows I’m seeing a therapist to shake off my nightmares that surround you. Nobody knows that every nightmare I wake up, has something to do with you.

He said he thought he’d lost me the other day. That I was strangling myself in my sheets, when the truth is, it was you, in my sleep, in my head, clawing at me. I can’t let go. I can’t seem to be happy. This constant fear that you’d harm me, is always with me. You’d misunderstood me so much the last time we spoke, a few years ago. You called me a bigot, you said I was a gold-digger and that I played victim because I loved the attention. You never knew that I’ve always supported the truth, and the good, and I’ve never hurt anybody. You made me seem like this monster and I don’t know why I let this eat me up inside. That you’d given me no room to explain my side of things. You went ahead and you dissected me. Called my dad the unthinkable names. Said I was a selfish cow. I swallowed the pain. I don’t know why I would let any of that bother me even now. I have a two year old and I’m supposed to have moved on from you. But no.

Turns out, you can’t move on from things that have so much intensity. Not when the stuff you’re trying to move on from was both unhealthy and satisfying.

Turns out, you were my Kryptonite and I never saw that coming.



This would be the first time for Millie:

Going to India, visiting family.

She was a precocious child, twelve years old

Eyes like sapphires, hair like gold

Spoilt rotten, with makeup and iPhone,

And walk-in closets, and a lavish home

Bratty little Millie always got what she wanted

Her wealth was something she’d always flaunted

Her mother came to her one day

Beaming she said, “Your cousin is getting married this Friday!”

And Millie’s face fell and she started to pout

Summer had started and she didn’t want to miss out

“But I’ve got camp, Mum, I can’t skip!”

Her mother reassured her that India was worth the trip

Finally, oh finally did Millie agree

And Wednesday afternoon, they landed in Delhi.

The heat was too much for poor Millie

She started screaming, “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE AC?”

Nothing seemed to be calming Millie down

Her mother was worried and started to frown

The tension in the Porsche started building up

Then, to add fuel to the fire, the traffic froze up.

Millie thought she would have a tantrum for sure

And then they all heard a soft tapping on the window.

A little girl, about Millie’s age, selling flowers for money

She had a ragged dress on, her nose seemed runny

And yet she seemed so at peace and she seemed so happy

Clean heart, despite the exterior that looked shaggy

Millie’s eyes widened, and she suddenly realized a lot

The little girl’s flowers? They bought the whole stock.



Like I mentioned in the post I did about hipster reading, people love the idea of intelligence – which is why this whole trend is a thing. Which is why nerd glasses and people with broody, quiet personalities that are enigmatic to boot, are considered super attractive. Because intelligence is – for the lack of a better word – hot.

Ever noticed how many people seem to claim that they’re sapiosexual? This post will help decide whether you’re one of them or not.

• For starters, does the imperfect usage of grammar make you wrinkle your nose and go ew, no in your head before you’ve even had a long conversation with someone? Do you hate things like the Stan culture and the Cancel culture? Have you ever randomly stopped texting someone back because they said I didn’t knew that because somehow your brains decided that this person didn’t deserve any more chances? This makes you a full-blown Grammar Nazi, by the way. In addition to being sapiosexual. Oh yeah.

Do you salivate like a patient at the dentist’s who’s gone in for a root canal surgery and has no control over their mouth anymore, when your partner talks about a topic like they happen to be passionate and a complete pro at it? And specially if they start talking about YOUR field of work? And with so much love that it’s super unexpected? Bear started talking about diets and biochemistry and chain reactions – out of the blue – just the other day. And he kept talking for ten whole minutes and I kept staring at him till he got uncomfortable. I mean, I couldn’t help it – he’s so sexy when he talks about stuff that I dabble in. Sigh. So hot.

• Do you prefer to watch car documentaries or something educational, instead of doing the Devil’s Tango, when alone with your partner? If you’re someone that can talk at length about books or the weather or technology, and would prefer to go into a cafe with your partner, instead of bunny romping, oh hello, sapiosexual.

• Do you hate making small talk, and don’t like people that text you to ask how you’re doing and if you’ve had lunch? Would you rather block that person and move on? Would you rather just avoid them altogether because you know you simply cannot be someone that goes hey, how you doing, bye, bye? Yep, sapiosexual.

• And lastly, is your circle really small? If you’re someone that has a a handful of friends, and don’t socialize much and find most people stupid and would prefer to keep it that way, hey there, sapiosexual. Although, this could also mean you’re suffering from social anxiety and you desperately want to see a shrink but you’re super terrified to drive down to Doctor Jung’s alone.

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.