Ten Relationship Home Truths

Ten Relationship Home Truths

• The biggest mistake people in relationships make would be comparing their relationship to someone else’s.

• A relationship actually should be between two people. Don’t involve a third person. No aunt or mommy or best friend, no one, would ever be able to fix it for you. The only people that can would be you and your partner.

• EVERY COUPLE HAS PROBLEMS. Mature people handle it like pros and that’s why it seems like their relationship is killing it.

• You’re not ready for a new relationship with a new person if you’re constantly saying crap about your ex. You made the choice to date this person, your ex, and you shouldn’t let your present question your brains.

• Rebounds never really last. If someone says they’re happy with their rebound, they’re lying.

• Most millennials are hella scared of marriage. It’s not just you. It’s most of the millennial population. We’re a screwed up generation.

• Also, millennials are really bad with money. Don’t expect your man to always get you stuff because dude is paying EMIs and home loans and you need to chill about not getting a Valentine’s Day gift.

• If you need to play Nancy Drew and if you’re someone that wants his passwords, boo, you ain’t ready. Same goes for the men. If you can’t trust your partner, you need to take a step back and reconsider.

• If you can expect time and attention and other stuff from your partner without overdoing it, you’re going to make a great partner.

• It’s true: if you can be best friends with your partner, you’re super sorted and you’re hella lucky.

Love and Other Flukes.

Love and Other Flukes.

I finish smiling at the phone and hang up. My cheeks hurt from having to fake it. I’ve been faking it since forever now. I turn off the phone and put it away.

I hate being weak. I hate it that every time this routine phone call happens, I feel dumb and I feel like a compromise. Why would he pick me anyway? He’s perfect. I’m far from it. And we’re also in this long-distance thing where we talk everyday on appointment-basis. Which means, he calls and talks to me for twenty minutes on the daily. And that I’m supposed to be thankful for it. And he says I’m supposed to be happy he doesn’t cheat on me, even though all the women at work throw themselves at him.

My hands itch to find a fresh new razor.

I kind of started cutting myself when I was with another man, before him. Stopped when I met this guy, but he turned out to be the exact same piece of trash in a different meat-suit, and the whole process started again. I don’t cut myself in obvious places. Only my thighs. We’ve never had sex with the lights on, and he’s never paid attention to my scars. And when we meet, once in a while, they’re almost healed anyway. Sometimes I feel like I’m an abomination that can’t be loved. That everything about me is wrong and dirty and unworthy of someone’s time. That men only ever want to be with me because I’m something that must be pitied upon. Hot tears blind my eyes and revulsion rises inside of me like bilious vomit for even daring to think of myself with so much self-pity – and at the same time, I ask myself why am I even here. If I had a gun, I would have blown my own brains out years ago. Nobody would have known. Not till the apartment started to reek and someone ended up calling the authorities to investigate.

I fantasize about death, a lot. An unhealthy awful lot.

I find a shiny new blade and start tracing the word LOSER on to my right thigh. I’m calm when I have open wounds. I’ve always been this calm when placing calculated obvious incisions at the morgue too. Cutting myself is a whole different rush. And it heals me and it calms me down. I look at the clock. Two hours have passed and I’ve been exactly a year older for two whole hours and I never noticed.

I pat LOSER dry but she continues to bleed.

The “Omnivore” Debate

The “Omnivore” Debate

Humans were primarily vegetarian, did you know that? This whole omnivore thing came into being because that’s what we concluded, as per our convenience.

A few pointers that actually stress on the point that Homo sapiens sapiens were actually meant to be vegetarian:

• Lack of pointy AF canines. We only have tiny little baby canines.

• The presence of the vermiform appendix which now exists for the sole purpose of causing you pain, but actually played a key role in ancient history when man most certainly ate the bark of trees and different forms of cellulose.

• The fact that you don’t see a dead chicken carcass and automatically go OMG I want to eat it.

I think the meat thing happened by accident. Man discovered fire, and some animal fell into it and it must have smelled good or whatever and steak was discovered. I’m kidding.

Before this thing gives me angina, I’m going to retire for the night. This was also probably the most half-a**ed post I’ve done in a long time. Between headaches and work and having to deal with grown up children that don’t belong to my body, I’ve really had a rough day. Anyway. Is it just me, or are chicken wings hella tempting and maybe I should go back to eating them?

Also, what do you think of the whole man was designed to be someone that ate a plant-based diet debate?



I’m supposed to be correcting my students’ papers. I can’t focus. There’s a horrible dull ache right under my tits and it’s driving me nuts. Why’s cyclical mastalgia a real thing? Why do I have to deal with it every month?

Premenstrual syndrome is a nightmare. I know Aunt Flow has almost reached V-town – I’m bloated, craving chocolate at three in the morning and my husband is still out. On a Friday night. That lousy, cheating scum.

I know he’s cheating on me.

I can’t even correct these papers anymore. I want to rip out my hair, all my hair, from the roots. I want to scream bloody banshee screams, and I want to throw boiling hot water over whoever cow he’s shagging at three am on a weekend night. I’m gonna cry.

I definitely know he’s cheating on me.

So he has a piercing in one ear, right? And I got him this little stud to wear and he’s switched it up. I remember him replacing it with one of those guy hoops that f*ckboys wear. Oh, he’s cheating on me. I’m sure some girl gave him this hoop thing. I hate it. I hate the little stones on it. I want to beat her into a unrecognizable pulpy mess. The nerve.

I hate this. I hate being home alone and working. I’m craving chocolate mousse.

I’m just gonna walk to the fridge before my ovaries and my brains split. And awesome, there’s only health crap in there. Who wants a freaking salad at this time of night? UGHHHHHHH.

Oh look, he’s FaceTiming.

Okay, so he’s at work and he’s going to be home in fifteen. Definitely not cheating. Just working. I looked carefully. He’s in office and there’s nobody around. I made him show me around. Poor thing. Must be so hard on him, you know? All of this. This marriage. To this crazy witch.



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.

On Hipster Readers

On Hipster Readers

I’ve noticed a trend these days: people seem to be posting photos of themselves reading, on their Instagram stories. And when you get super excited because that’s one of your favorite reads they’re seemingly engrossed in, and you reach out to talk about the book – only to realize that they’re just doing it for the ‘Gram, it makes you incredibly sad.

Books don’t deserve to be treated like fashion accessories, you guys. Just because a book has a pretty cover you wanna show off, doesn’t make it okay to post about it and just leave it lying there. Can you imagine how bad this book must be feeling? If you’re only just posting pictures of it, give the book away once you’re done. Books aren’t meant to just adorn your walls, you know? You shouldn’t be projecting intellect when you’re the exact opposite. I think you should draw the line at fashion blogging and leave it at that.

I’ve seen people on the metro reading books with weird covers, only to realize that those aren’t books at all, and that someone’s photographing them. I found this article online and the author has the same issue, as I do, with this kind of reading. Also, this trend is going really viral in India. People that claim to not be influencers actually post about it a lot. And about a hundred percent of the time, it happens to be a book from their partner’s collection – and this partner never shows up on insta but actually reads and loves books like crazy.

As if that wasn’t enough, this extremely shameless person once confessed to me about it. That she doesn’t read and has never read a book in her life apart from the course stuff in college, and that she only posts snippets on Instagram because she was love with the idea of reading because it made her look intellectual. Also, this was the same person that only cared to stay friends with me because I was Bengali and that appealed to her. I mean, the gall.

Imagine if all our friends were to choose us based on where we came from, and were constantly pretending to read books while never having read even one page. Oh, the horror. Do you have any friends that fake read?