“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!

10 Thoughts I Had While Working Out Earlier

10 Thoughts I Had While Working Out Earlier

• Ooh, when in doubt, post a listicle. I hate having to post when I’m not feeling creative at all, but I’m also doing the #365DayChallenge and I absolutely cannot break streak.

• I worked out for thirty whole minutes, why don’t I look like Chloe Ting yet? This Tingy isn’t working for me.

• Did it not occur to anybody else that the body positivity movement has been hijacked by people with unhealthy habits and who happen to be so obese that they think that’s the new normal? Or is it just me that thinks being morbidly is not okay and it shouldn’t be enabled?

• I need new gym shorts. I need new gym tights. I need thirty billion new sports bras in Pantone universe’s color of the year.

• Ooh, I’m going to eat some grilled cheese on Sunday. Why can’t Sunday come soon?

• I’m totally going bald because of excessive scalp sweat. That’s TMI, but we’re gonna roll with it.

• Zachary Levi is super cute. I cannot stop thinking about the fact that ADAM BRODY And OMG, Ross Butler from Riverdale had cameo roles in Shazam! Who else is obsessed with the movie?

• Speaking of movies, I wonder how many people have adopted Corgis after watching The Queen’s Corgi. I so want one.

• How often are you supposed to change your yoga mat?

• It’s been forever and I still don’t have the “11” shaped abs. I’m gonna go home and eat a whole tub of ice cream and regret for the rest of the night.

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.

How to: Stay Civil with The Ex

How to: Stay Civil with The Ex

Most of us tend to have a lot of bitterness towards people that we no longer have a relationship with, the reasons often being:

• cheating issues

• trust issues

• money issues

• no closure

• all of the above.

There are friends of mine that have such bad memories with their exes, it’s hard to not be hostile. But then again, in a world that’s so twisted, rotten and divided, the least you could do is stay civil with the people you once loved. Here’s how:

• Forgiveness.

I’m not saying you need to go and become best friends with them: all I’m saying is you could be neutral and nice and not harbor murderous intentions towards them. No matter how difficult it is, the first step here would be to figure out a way to forgive them, if they’ve wronged you. Forgive yourself, if you’ve wronged them, and try not to repeat your mistakes. Life’s fair if you just let it be. Not to sound like a preachy moron, but it’s true.

• Closure.

Most past relationships often sour because there’s rarely ever any sort of closure. If you’ve decided to part ways, talk about it and do so. If you can’t talk about it immediately, give yourself and your ex space to heal, and then give each other closure. That’s how you end chapters. Clean. Messy endings are hella unsavory.

• Don’t badmouth them in front of your next.

This is where many of us make mistakes. Your new partner doesn’t need to hear you saying mean crap about your ex. Not only do they lose respect, you end up being bitter than ever.

• No rebounds.

This is the worst idea ever. You get into a relationship with someone new even when you don’t love them, and you’re constantly thinking of your ex and stalking them, and at some point there’s going to be this huge ugliness inside of you that won’t go away.

• Be friendly.

If you run into your ex, try to think of the positives. Be friendly if they say hey, but at the same time don’t let them back into your life unless you want to get back together.

Do you have a civil relationship with your ex? Or is it way more bitter than bitter coffee?

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 .)

A Different Kinda Love

A Different Kinda Love

My hands won’t stop shaking.

My anxiety is flaring up like crazy today.

It’s become a thing.

It started back in the day when I was dating this amazing man, almost a decade my senior, and he loved me. But he also hated a part of me. He hated it when I had mood swings or couldn’t function. He hated it when I couldn’t hold my pen to get a story out for the papers. We were struggling.

I called it off.

He called me a gold-digger and he trashed me all over social media. He dragged my community and he called my family names. He loved to hate me. And I didn’t retaliate because somewhere I knew, I deserved to be killed and yet, here I was, alive, breathing.

Epileptic.

I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it – not when I had those random falls in the bathroom during my shower. I’d hide things. I would lie and say my bruises were from rigorous gym sessions. Only because I didn’t want pity, all I wanted was a little pampering. A whole lotta love, maybe. But then you can see the feelings shift in a person’s eyes – specially when you’ve been with them for five whole years. And we weren’t getting any younger.

I was twenty-five when I left him. He’s now thirty seven and still very available. I’m on medication and his bank balance stays healthy because he doesn’t have to spend on my diseased body. The only availability I hope for myself is bioavailability.

It’s been two years since I married my doctor. He gives me everything: comfort, cuddles and my regular dose of carbamazepine.

Meanwhile my ex is out there, hating, but blissfully unaware of what happened to me. I’m glad. Someday he will move on. I hope it happens soon. I hope he meets a nice, healthy woman, someone that doesn’t give him seizures to deal with, but gives good morning kisses instead. I hope. And I pray.

He’s a good man. He deserves it.