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.

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.

What A Time To Be Alive

What A Time To Be Alive

I mean, seriously.

There’s been a lot of hype on Instagram surrounding this post:

And of course it has quickly surpassed the most liked photo on Instagram – of Kylie Jenner’s baby Stormi. And the likes just keep growing. The #EggGang seems to be going strong, y’all. Considering that this account is barely ten days old.

Like I said, what a time to be alive.

This actually compels me to say something – 2019 is galloping by like a wild Appaloosa on crack. It’s already the fourteenth of January, like what the heck? Slow down. Also, have you guys looked at the articles online about the world ending on January 21st this year?

To quote a paragraph from this article I found on Express:

The upcoming total lunar eclipse, often dubbed the , will paint the skies a menacing red colour over vast swathes of North and South America, Europe and parts of Africa. The Blood Moon is expected to peak on the night of January 21, 2019, marking the second anniversary of President Donald Trump’s inauguration. Biblical conspiracy theorists have now claimed the coincidental date is significant, with some going as far as to claim the world is coming to an end. Chief conspiracist, Evangelical Pastor Paul Begley from West Lafayette in Indiana, warned his followers the Blood Moon is a prophetic sign of the “end times”.

Uh oh. And watching creepy shows aren’t helping me at this point, but I still do it.

Also, I just realized that the past never truly gets swept under the rug. There’s a Bollywood star called Ranveer Singh who made a rather tasteless comment while sharing the couch with his costar Anushka Sharma, on this talk show called Koffee with Karan. Not only does the deliberate spelling mistake make me mad, it doesn’t help Karan Johar’s case at all. To me, he’s a hypocrite who says everything should be all about empowerment while doing nothing to enforce whatever he says. He’s also the same man that coined the catchphrase, “Nepotism Rocks!”, in addition to being a complete headache that encourages all sorts of douchebaggery on National Television.

Both actors are now married to other people (duh), but this video from 2011 that surfaced recently, doesn’t make Ranveer Singh look good at all. Take a look:


We idolize the wrong people, really. Recently two of the key players on the Indian Cricket Team were sent home because of sexist comments they made on the SAME show. Like, can we cancel the show already? How is it still getting a huge audience?

I blame the newspapers. The magazines. The media, in general. Indian media is the worst. I’ve never seen one nice thing in the newspapers. The only thing people actually highlight all the time is bad news. Every agency running the show is biased and close-minded in their own ways, and it just keeps getting worse. Nobody needed to know what designers celebrities wear to award shows or who got married to whom recently. Even if they did need to know, the media coverage shouldn’t be focused on the extravaganza. Somebody please get us a newspaper that doesn’t post page three stuff on page one. I’m going mental.

Or at least, have some positive news printed on the front page. How much negativity do y’all want us to start our mornings with?

Much Too Much

Much Too Much

And I’m the worst person on the planet. It’s official.

Please note: I’m not a qualified dietician. Or a nutritionist. Or even that good at community medicine. Or at general medicine. Or at physiology. Dear God, am I even good at anything? I’m not even good at ranting on a daily basis anymore.

What makes me say all of that?

Well, I recommended some protein to a loved one’s aunt. The aunt managed to have a hip fracture. And is still in recovery and has diabetes and hypertension to boot. And is also a vegetarian.

Said loved one asked me for a diet plan, because um, I’m a doctor and all.

And me being me, and wanting to be a know it all, recommended SOME protein (I repeat, some) to this aunt. And this is what made me feel like I should actually be sent to prison.

What happens when you recommend such a diet to a patient with chronic kidney disease?

You end up killing the patient.

A protein rich diet would inevitably lead to increased intraglomerular pressure and glomerular hyperfiltration. This can cause damage to your glomerular structure leading to or aggregating chronic kidney disease.  

Bro, what was I thinking? WHAT THE HECK WAS I DOING?

Who makes a mistake as basic as this one?

To top it all off, I have a lovely friend who said it’s okay to make mistakes because I would never make it to MD because I’m stupid that way. And it hurt. True, it didn’t embarrass me as much as I embarrassed myself, but it hurt all the same.

Why am I ranting about it here?

Here’s the thing.

When you’re a doctor, you’re dealing with people’s lives. When someone asks you advice on something super basic as what to avoid eating when stuck with CKD, you should be able to give the correct answer even when in deep sleep and even when you’ve got mouth full of toothpaste foam.

There’s no room for error.

There’s no room for mistakes when you’ve come so far and you make a goof up like this one in front of someone who’s super close to you. Not only have you managed to embarrass yourself, you’ve also earned your first strike.

Which brings me to my conclusion…

My other (highly negative) friend was right. I’m not fit to be a doctor anymore. I should give up my license and stick to being an insignificant blip on the surface of the Earth.

Have you ever had to face embarrassing situations like this one?

I know I’ll never recover from this. And I’ll never forgive myself. Will probably beat myself up till I actually die or something. What an end to 2018. Oh, brother.

The Sadistic Dad Monologues

The Sadistic Dad Monologues

“You’re crap.

No wait, you’re LOOSE crap.

You’re dumb.

You’re a waste of space.

You’re numb.

You’re flakier than breadcrumbs.

How long do I have to support you?

How long will you make me fend for you?

How long will I mend things for you?

Shut up and get to work.

Talking to you is so hard.

You never do what your mother and I want.

Talking to you is like talking to a corpse.

You’re just getting worse.

I wish you were never born.

I wish I could have killed you when you were young.

I wish I never spent a penny on you.

You’re just an investment gone wrong.

You’re brown trash and you only ever take and you take and you play your songs.

You’re filthy.

You’re vile.

You’re disgusting.

You’re as bitter as bile.

I wish you were dead.

And if you’re dying go kill yourself outside instead.”

This isn’t fiction. I’ve seen Dads treat their daughters this way. It’s bad enough to have dreams thrust upon a girl, and to have to deal with abuse isn’t something anyone has to go through. It’s a sin.

Everyday, I see kids with bruises, something their Dads gave them earlier – because the kid failed at math, or because the dad was drunk. Everyday I see a girl cry and have her dreams crushed because she has to live her parents’ dreams and doing something else would bring shame on the family. Marrying for love? Oh my. More shame.

When will this country change?

I’m thankful that it’s not the scene in every family, and that some of us have supportive parents but I wish these girls could live happy and not have to cry because they were born female. Having said that, I need to say I love you, Dad. Thanks for not being like this.

Just birthing a child doesn’t make you a Dad or a Mum. It just makes you a procreator. What makes you an actual parent is how human you act around your children. When you become a parent, please don’t be this way.

Good day, folks.