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.

The Evolution of Music

The Evolution of Music

Hello, my love.

See what I did there? No? If you’re one of those people that grew up listening to Westlife, Backstreet Boys, Avril Lavigne, and other older artists, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

Westlife were on this hiatus and we thought they’d never come back and then they popped back into the picture with their newest offering, Hello my love. This makes my heart so happy. My Love is actually one of my favorite songs ever. Ooh ooh. Also, their single Better Man reached the top of the iTunes Charts within mere hours of its release just yesterday.

2019 is already off to a good start, people.

I remember back in the day when music would make you feel good, when music wasn’t something you’d had to play in secret because the lyrics were so vulgar they’d make a sailor blush. I’m looking at you, Cardi B. Leaving aside the fact that her name sounds like it could have a very good market as a vitamin supplement, her lyrics and her gyrating is just too much. Also, whatever happened to the Bruno Mars we so loved back in the day? The new video for Please Me is NSFW.

The only different – and good thing – about the 2019 music scene, to me, is probably Billie Eilish. She’s seventeen and slaying. Everything she does, and the music videos she makes, always have people talking. I love it that she doesn’t seem to sell sex (reminds me so much of old timey Avril Lavigne) and she doesn’t act like a crazy person, and that every song of hers has such deeper meaning that whatever meets the eye. So yay, Billie.

I remember being obsessed with boy bands in general. Pretty much like every other nineties baby. And now that those bands are making a comeback, I couldn’t be happier.

Although, pop disruptor Bebe Rexha is someone I listen to on a regular basis, her videos are kind of cringeworthy. Specially that video for Last Hurrah. Yikes. Also, did you know, that her biggest commercial success was this country song she did with Florida Georgia line? Crazy, huh? There’s nothing this woman can’t do. Ooh.

Also, how cool are these angel wings? Do you have a favorite nineties pop band?

Why I Don’t Trust “Social Media” Brands

Why I Don’t Trust “Social Media” Brands

Before we get started, here’s a little disclaimer: this post is based on observation and implementation, both of which have managed to solidify my strong opinions about stuff I’m going to talk about. By no means, however, is this a “bashing sorta” post. And now, on to the lovely rant-athon.


Ugh. Where do I even begin? Purely one of those brands that got famous from having big bloggers push their codes down people’s throats like crazy, Morphe is basically an epidemic. Every time I’ve bought their brushes in the past, they managed to shed, and break. And my MAC 217 has seen ten years of eyeshadow blending. And it hasn’t cracked. Just saying.

Morphe shadows have given me blepharitis, and what not. I’ve never been able to make them work. It’s just my bad luck, I suppose, because I’m definitely in the minority. But their shadows have refused to blend on me (it’s probably because I’m no makeup expert – also, it’s funny that other brands like Juvia’s Place don’t give my eyelids a nightmare) and it’s made me super frustrated.

Their products are made in PRC and of course, with the new laws being passed in China about no more animal testing on products, I’m hoping we don’t see bunnies being sacrificed at the makeup altar anymore. Now having said all of that, I completely mistrust the brand. They came out of nowhere. They took the world by storm. They paid people to talk about them, and I get they feeling that it’s a case of mass hypnotism that everyone’s just been buying into. But here’s the thing: they claim to be cruelty free but sell natural hair brushes. So what’s up with that? I would’ve given Morphe another chance if their products worked for me – but mostly I would have given them another chance if they stopped with the over-promotion. Let your consumers breathe.


This is where you’re gonna find knock-offs of all the celebrity outfits (Kardashian, mostly). Now, while the website has a good size range, the models on there bother me. “Unless you’re super curvy, you can’t rock our outfits”, is the vibe I get from them. I mean, whatever am I supposed to do if I’ve gotten sucked into the influencer-induced FashionNova frenzy, and I wanna try some stuff but can’t because I’m a literal twig?

Also, I believe that if you’re good enough, you wouldn’t need to over-saturate the market with your ads. You wouldn’t need to pay people to talk about you because people would talk about you on their own. Get what I mean?

So I did order some stuff, just to see what the hype was all about. The fabric? Oh my Lord. Granted, the photos match the actual stuff you’re gonna get, but the material isn’t great. Which means yay, congratulations, you’ve been fooled by yet another Social Media brand.

But no judgements: if you love them, you do you, boo.


DW started off with their quartz watches, again manufactured in China. Let’s just quickly throw this in there – they are overpriced. But they’re really Instagram savvy and have managed to get so many people on board with constant spamming and sending any random new influencer a code. Which made me wonder what was so special about them, and I bought myself a DW, only to realize that the watch did nothing but look good and that was it. All style and no substance whatsoever. Plus, it didn’t have that weight to it that comes with a nice mechanical watch that, for example, Seiko or even Casio makes. You could get a better quartz watch from any other brand that looked ten times cuter.

True, Kendall Jenner endorses the brand but then she’s also been in the center of many other controversies, right?

This social media favorite watch brand simply doesn’t cut it for me.

Are there any social media brands you don’t trust?

Actually Painful Stuff

Actually Painful Stuff

Have you read Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda? Becky Albertalli just casually throws a line in there about how exhausting blogging actually is. That’s the number one thing on our list today: blogging, on the daily, is painful. Painfully hard.

Is there anything harder than that? Yes. Challenges. The 365 day challenge. The gallon-of-water-a-day challenge. The no sugar diet challenge. The list goes on. Now don’t get me wrong – we love lists on this side of the Internet. We do. In fact, my blog seems to be filled with listy posts that people actually managed to read without falling asleep. So yay, go me. My point here, before I digress, is lists are hard to do. Both to make and to stick to. Also, I cannot tell you the number of lists that I have taped to my fridge. It’s more like a noticeboard that’s kind of screaming for help with things left unchecked. Life is mental. Life is batcrap mental. Send help.

You know what else is difficult? Trying to live with Indian parents whose maid just quit on them. Again, don’t get me wrong. My parents are wonderful people. It’s the maid that’s kind of super attached to her new grandkid and didn’t want to be a maid anymore but kind of needed the money – so long story short, she got found out stealing moolah from our wallets and tried to make us look bad and well, um, she quit. Maid culture is rampant in India. Your mum won’t miss you when you’re not around but she’s going to miss the maid. She’s going to be all depressed because she’s the ONLY person who’s working a nine to five job in the circle of other brown mommies, and has to come home and make her own tea. I think this bothers her more than anything else, making her own tea. She detests her own cooking. Go figure. And she won’t like it if you make tea for her because the maid simply does it better. Like holy wow.

Now, as if THAT wasn’t enough, there’s my most painful experience ever – having to wash my makeup brushes every Sunday. It’s a process. You gotta find your brushes first. Make a nice concoction with dishwashing fluid and olive oil, making sure you don’t mess up the ratio. Next, you need to clean the pink Sigma glove you use to swirl your brushes on, so the dirt comes out. And you’ve to do all of that without annoying your mum and her ritualistic Sunday-cooking frenzy. And then you’ve to leave the bushes to dry and put them back in their proper containers so they don’t look messy.

It’s tough being a woman. It is.


Allergy Season

Allergy Season

I don’t need alarms to wake me up these days. Thanks to the summer cold situation. It doesn’t even help that the air is to teasy with pollen, that my eyes are perpetually watery and my nose is constantly runny, and I’ve used up more tissues than the average public loos. God help me.

Allergic rhinitis is like that ex that won’t leave you alone. You’d think Cetrizine or Montelukast or other antihistamines would do the job and help with your allergy situation but oh no, you pop pills and go to sleep and you oversleep and you miss the morning workout. And that makes you grumpy and the goo oozing from the nosie doesn’t make it any better. Sigh. What a life, guys.

I’ve been atopic my whole life. I get it from my dad. Which means, once I’m exposed to even the tiniest fleck of dust or pollen or whatever, I’ll go red and rashy and end up looking like I’ve recently been burned in the oven. Thanks, Pop. And when you’re a physician, you can’t tell your patients that you’re sick because they lose faith in you (my doctor can’t cure herself) and that’s the worst thing ever.

Then come the food allergies. I can’t eat shellfish or eggplant. My cousin can’t eat his coveted poached eggs. My best friend can’t eat chicken without getting severe reactions. This one time it got so bad, she needed epinephrine shots. Yikes.

And all of that is bearable.

You know what’s the worst thing, though? When you’re allergic to cats. *sobs quietly* I love cats. The Persian ones. My friend had the cutest cats back when I was in college, and I couldn’t even play with them too much because I would end up sneezing my head off. And you don’t want your head to explode around cute furry animals. I have this friend who’s a teacher and is allergic to chalk dust. I wish her university would provide her with a damn marker pen and a whiteboard instead of the old timey backboard and duster and chalk. It’s painful, y’all, having to teach kids and be sneezy and sick and be allergy ridden and dripping nosie. Argh. If you’re reading this post, Ren, you know it’s for you. I hope you get better soon. And your Uni shows some kindness.

Coming back to me, I wish I could enjoy spring. I wish I could breathe in the nice crisp air instead of having to wear a mask all the time. So annoying.

Why Puddin’ Is Such A Feel-Good Book

Why Puddin’ Is Such A Feel-Good Book

The first actual physical book I read this year was Puddin’ by Julie Murphy. Right off the bat, I’m just going to go ahead and say it – it’s adorable. It’s weird when you use the word “adorable” to describe a book you’ve read, but hear me out, okay?

Looking good there, Ms. Murphy!


Puddin’ has two protagonists – polar opposite characters called Millie and Callie. While Millie is an overweight, craft-obsessed, good Christian girl who refuses to say the “s” word and calls it bull-“doo doo” instead, Callie is the quintessential pretty girl, she’s on the dance team and she’s also Mexican.

The story starts off with Millie and her mum and their back and forth about her going to fat camp again, which she’s completely not okay with. She wants to secretly be a Journalist and take over the world.

The next thing we see is Callie’s dance team losing their sponsorship, which was supposed to come from Millie’s Uncle Vernon’s tiny gym. So Callie and her team vandalize the place because they’re so mad at having lost their potential Nationals dream. Millie identifies Callie on the CCTV, thanks to the signature necklace she sports. Callie, being a firm believer in sisterhood, refuses to divulge the names of the rest of the girls who were a part of the prank gone wrong, and ends up getting kicked off the dance team. Vernon doesn’t press charges but Callie is asked to work for free to raise the money lost in the vandalism.

After the few initial hiccups including the fact that Vernon’s wife, Inga, detests Callie, Millie and Callie becomes good friends. Since Callie has no friends left and she manages to hurt the reputation of the Shamrocks (the dance team she was formerly a part of), Millie introduces her to her little group of friends. Routine sleepovers become a thing and Millie is given enough confidence boosting by Callie to ask out the guy of her dreams – the only Indian boy at school, Malik. The story of how they fall in love, and their cutesy dates left me going awwww.

Meanwhile, there’s trouble in Callie’s love paradise, and she has a very banshee-screaming, loud, public breakup with her rich boyfriend, Bryce. A slightly overweight guy, Mitch, shows interest in her but she pushes him away because Mitch isn’t her type. We’ve all been there and pushed away people who were perfectly right for us because we felt like they weren’t our type at all. I know I have.

On her last day at the gym, Callie accidentally finds out that Millie was the one who’d told on her to the cops, and she feels betrayed because Millie never owned up and let her go hurt the Shamrocks instead. Their friendship ends. Temporarily.

But whatever is meant to be, will always be, and they become friends again. Millie’s journalism application is rejected but Callie takes her to Austin (AUSTIN OR BUST) and practically bully the director there to accept Millie’s application despite the fact that Millie isn’t the quintessentially skinny or the prefect newsreader types.

The Shamrocks get their funding too, from Bryce’s Dad and his car dealership ways. The ending of the book is super sweet – the girls are all sitting together and enjoying a pool party with their boyfriends, before Millie leaves for the summer program in Austin. She’s also totally twinning with Callie in their retro swimsuits. Go, girls!

The book is filled with beautiful one liners you could either put on a tee or use as a bumper sticker. My favorite?

“Love is in the details.”

And this one too:

I also realize the power of a red lipstick and I’m picking myself up a Revlon Certainly Red 740, the shade Mrs. Bradley (Callie’s Mama) wears. Love comes and goes, but lipstick is forever, you know?

Selfish Love

Selfish Love

You say you’re only teasing,

Every time you say something like this

You go, “Look at that hair, it’s so funny!”

You say, “”Aw come on, don’t take the piss.”

I’m dumb, and I overlook things,

I’m in love and I let it all slide.

I’m weak and I don’t want to lose you –

But then, I hide what I feel and I cry on the inside.

You have opinions, you criticize

You have the upper hand in my life

But I’m not allowed that luxury at all

I take it all, even though it cuts like a knife.

You fat-shame me, then say you love me

You’re borderline rude, awfully unkind

You take subtle digs at my insecurities

Why is a good man so hard to find?

We never communicate

We never talk about things that I like.

It’s about you all weekend,

Your partying and your motorbike.

I love you fiercely and I love you blind

I will till the day I die

This isn’t me complaining,

I’m just venting because I am done with the lies.



I’ve been recovering from some sort of a coma.

Why the coma, you ask?

Have a look at this:

This is an actual question, posted by an actual person who’s sexually active and has zero knowledge about the basics. I don’t mean to trash anyone, but questions like this one make me doubt my sanity and they make me think of my whole existence as a joke. I want to take a gun to my head and blow out my brains – I know I’m being over dramatic, but what the hell?

India needs compulsory sex education in schools.

God gave us goodies for a reason. Sex is a natural phenomenon. So why would we still think of it as taboo? I don’t get it. There’s serious lack of education in this department. If people don’t know how things function, and carry on experimenting and don’t know the very basics of it – how on Earth is a country supposed to move forward? You’d think that by 2018, population explosion would’ve stopped for good – but oh no no no no. It’s very much alive and kicking and growing because of this one issue.

I appeal to you, all our pseudo-righteous political leaders, to please start sex education systems in our country. We are dying. Please.

These kids experimenting with sex are really young. They have zero idea about their own bodies. And they don’t appreciate being taught ONLY because people won’t teach them stuff. What this country needs is an attitude adjustment and it needs to be stricter towards education, where needed. If we need to know how planes stay up, we also need to know about other things that stay up.

About time, India, about time.

Morning Routine, 100% Real

Morning Routine, 100% Real

You know how these bloggers make videos about what their morning routines look like, right? Waking up in their perfect beds, looking like fresh faced daisies, even with their hair in a bun, and smiles like the sun?

I wanted to be one of those girls too. For a while I tried very hard. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t because I’m not that person and I’m not even… special.

I’m going to keep it raw, and real.

I’m an early bird. Not because my alarm goes off at five, and I’m a light sleeper, but because most mornings I’m up even before my alarm has has a chance to go off, in cold sweat. I can’t remember days of the week where I haven’t woken up screaming because of nightmares. I still get them. They haven’t gone away for good.

While I wallow in self pity for a good fifteen minutes, I take the time to meditate because I have to survive another day. While you’re meditating, your brain is going to be on a thought-rush and you’ll suddenly be flooded with ten billion of those. Where did they even come from, you’ll wonder, I wonder that too. But I let them stay, eventually they pass.

It takes me another 15 minutes to meditate. When I’m in really bad shape, which is most days, I use Headspace. This app is a game changer. So calming.

Some cardio and green tea later, I check my weight every Monday. Another fight with myself ensues but I’m sure I’m winning the weight battle. I’m doing okay there. Most girls get good morning calls from their partners if they don’t already live with them, but I don’t. I let my man sleep, while telling myself it’s okay and that you don’t have to talk, text, call or meet a lot to be in a happy and healthy long distance relationship.

After I’ve showered and put on my face, I take a good while to eat my breakfast because this is when I wallow in more self pity, this is when I bottle up all my thoughts, pretend I’m doing great and I go about my day.

I’m a deeply unhappy person, that’s true, but the world doesn’t need to know that. Fake it till you make it.

Teddy Ain’t For Me

Teddy Ain’t For Me

I must be the only girl in the whole world with an irrational phobia of stuffed toys. I’ve never slept with a teddy bear. I’ve never bought bears with my own money, consciously. The only photo of me with a bear? Maybe age four, me skinny as fuck, bear the size of a house, me terrified as ever.

Did you know that February 10 is celebrated in India by loving young couples as teddy day? Yes, this is a real thing. Yes, people celebrate teddy bears and other stuffed toys, in cute cotton candy pink colors. Yes, the whole thing is nauseating and drives me up the wall, but yes it also exists. I’ve learned to coexist in harmony with the atrocities that constitute the whole consumerism involved during the so called Valentine’s week.

Now, I’m not a hater. I’m not!

I love Valentine’s Day as much as Taylor Swift loves bashing her ex boyfriends. See, that’s some strong love right there. BUT I don’t understand why ON EARTH would a grown ass women want to sleep with a stuffed bear. My only good experience with a bear? Onscreen. Watching Ted, a stoner stuffed bear, marrying a stripper. Sweet. Oh how sweet. Only through the screen, just so we are clear. I wouldn’t be caught dead, under whatever circumstances, walking around talking to a teddy that smoked pot, drank like a fish, and probably smelled like the sewer.

I don’t understand why you would wanna own and celebrate bears at age 25. What are you, two? Don’t you get tormented in your sleep by thoughts of dust collecting in your bear’s fur and giving you rhinitis so bad even cetrizine won’t fix? Don’t you worry about little red button eyes watching you when you’re asleep? Imagine waking up and finding this…

What if someone installs a nanny cam without you knowing, and makes a video of you changing and blackmails you!?

Have you ever thought of that? Bet you haven’t. I hope you understand my paranoia now. If I want to cuddle someone, I’ll get my real life man, all six feet of him, flesh and blood, not hairy like Bigfoot, and I’m sure he won’t choke me or give me allergies. Get a man, ladies. Get a toy boy if you have to. Get a poodle if you have to. Ditch the bears. The overpriced unnecessarily ridiculous bears. Leave them for the children.

Happy teddy day, doofuses.