“I’d rather be pleasantly surprised than fatally disappointed.”― Julia Glass

You know what’s bad about expectations? They suck you into this world of fantasy where everything is how you want it to be and everyone is dancing to your tunes.


Expectations also make you blind enough to not recognize what makes you happy. They just show you what you want and ignore what truly fills you with joy.

We all have expectations, of course. Even animals do, probably. Dogs want us to give them food, shelter and lots of love. But the difference is when a dog gets a pat instead of a hug, it’ll still be happy.

While longing for something big and grand, we miss out on the little things that actually matter.

Back in the days of yore, Mom used to pack lunch for school. One day, while kissing me goodbye, she whispered, ‘There’s a surprise in the box.’

I couldn’t contain my excitement and curiosity. I wondered what it could be and made a thousand guesses. During the school prayer too, I mulled over the various possibilities—the creamy cupcake she might’ve hidden underneath the sandwich or my favourite strawberry frozen yogurt or oooh it could be a Nutella sandwich. My mind worked relentlessly to produce new guesses, and when the bell finally rang, the teacher barely exited when my hands automatically went under the desk in order to release the lunch box from the confines of my bag.

A veggie sandwich lay in one compartment, a little soggy, while the other compartment was taken up by a small snickers bar.

Given my imaginations and expectations, I should’ve been a little underwhelmed, but I wasn’t. Nope. My face broke into a huge grin and I hid the bar under the desk lest my friends see it and ask for a share. That day went along like a festival. Not that chocolates were a rare thing for me but it was a surprise. An unexpected gesture of love from Mom.


The size of the gift doesn’t matter as long as it’s wrapped in love.

A bear-hug from a usually reticent dad, a surprise visit from your darling sister, favourite dish cooked by mom, grandma’s bright beam after winning a single game of ludo, grandpa’s ecstasy when his grandson jumps with joy on seeing him, an impromptu candle-light dinner arranged by husband, a single text message from wife asking how his business meeting went, a son’s success visible in the form of pride in the mother’s eyes, a daughter’s accomplishments making a father say, ‘That’s my girl’, a brother’s watchful eye, wiping out all the libertines surrounding his sister, with his death stare, best friend knocking on your door the moment she receives a distress call from you—it could be as massive as a breakup or as trifling as a pizza craving.

These are the moments that make up our lives. Not the money we splurge or the flattery we shower.

So the next time Mom forces you to finish up that giant glass of milk, do it because you only have so much time together. Now separated by thousands of miles, what I wouldn’t give to eat her food.



Don’t leave a girl alone with depressing books about death and doomsday for more than a few hours.

These days I’ve been contemplating life quite deeply. It could be the effect of recent tragic occurrences or the consequence of being in the company of my mind (and only my mind) for one whole week.

When someone like me is left alone amidst grim literature and melancholic thoughts, the result would be, ta-da, a looong bucket list. Take that, husband (who will shortly begin his venture of checking each box on my list before I grow old and can’t walk anymore)!

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So there I was buried in the pages of “The Book Thief”, which I must admit wreaked havoc on my mental state. I get intensely emotional when it comes to Holocaust books. I also get distracted from them pretty easily in the presence of a cheerful human. During the past one week though, the only social contact I had was with the characters of the dark books discussing doom, and a cloud of gloom hanging above my head like a chandelier.

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It’s an amazing book by the way. A must-read.

One thing led to another and the next moment I was putting together a list of things I want to do before I croak.

Prior to revealing some of the items on the list, here’s a word of caution. Don’t leave a girl alone with depressing books about death and doomsday for more than a few hours.

Difficult but doable . . . I guess:

  1. World tour, including/especially Antarctica. Get up close and personal with seals, dance with penguins, and watch a male penguin propose to its mate with a beautiful, shiny pebble.
  2. Play with any/all big cats. Wouldn’t it be fun to get locked up in the cage with a lion that would probably jump with elation on the arrival of its potential meal? Honestly, my love for big cats might someday put my life in danger.
  3. Hold a reptile or two. Probably a snake and an alligator/crocodile. I know, I know. My list looks like I want to end my life early rather than live it to the fullest.
  4. Read about twenty thousand books in my lifetime—which sounds tough and scary at the same time because to accomplish this I might have to forgo rest of my pursuits.
  5. Conquer Mount Everest. Yeah, I aim for the moon so that I could at least get the stars. Or the clouds.
  6. Win a Nobel Prize. This is highly unrealistic and not even remotely doable but it feels good to have it in this category.


  1. Go on a wildlife safari in Africa– Done. Done. Done.
  2. Kiss a giraffe – Done and done.
  3. Gatecrash a wedding – Done. Although getting caught wasn’t in our plan, it happened. We weren’t arrested or anything. Just got dirty looks on our way to exit after a scrumptious dinner. Yum-yum.
  4. Devote a certain amount of money to charity.
  5. Meet J. K. Rowling, my idol. (very important)
  6. Swim with sharks and/or dolphins.
  7. Go on the scariest high thrill rides. And puke on my fellow riders, which isn’t something I want to do but is inevitable.
  8. Own a mansion. The size of Buckingham Palace. Hee-hee.
  9. VEGAS!!!!!!!!
  10. Stay fit and healthy for as long as I can. Which means I have to exercise every day. And have to quit chocolates, ice-cream, and pizza. THE MOST DIFFICULT THING ON THE LIST.


  1. Watch a horror film alone. In a movie theater. (And probably die of heart attack)
  2. Cut off my hair and see if I could rock the pixie cut. Or perhaps find out how bad I would look in it, given my unruly curls.
  3. Double as a superhero and fight crime.
  4. Stay away from gadgets for one month. One week? At least a day? Yeah, that works. I should include this in the ‘difficult but doable’.
  5. Assemble all the cast and crew of the worst Indian soap operas (almost all) and give them a piece of my mind. Or rip them into pieces.


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Folks, my list is much much longer actually. But let’s call it a day and save it for another blog post. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll check out the prices of the Antarctica cruise and will prepare to break the bank.

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What is happening to my world? 

You know what’s becoming extinct these days—besides, tigers, rhinos, payphones, and privacy? Humanity.

Every news headline that pops onto my mobile screen upsets me. Each time I log in to Facebook I’m bombarded with posts about various crimes against humanity.

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Why is the world turning into a hellhole? We are going to gift this to our future generations? I can’t even describe the fear that grips me whenever I think about the survival of my kids, grandkids, and so on in this barbaric world. My whole body shudders at the thought of the ever-escalating violence in our society.

There was a time in my childhood when I used to think that abominable acts like terrorism, murders, dacoities, female infanticides would gradually reduce as the countries develop. Now I’m realizing that I have been illusory.

Watching little babies gasping for breath as their mothers wish swift deaths upon them; feeling helpless and hopeless about the situation; inability to do anything but shed silent tears while viewing the videos of the people begging for help from other countries . . . the state of Syria shook me.

What did they do to deserve this?

That’s one question I want to ask anyone who is willing to provide me with a fitting answer, including God.


Children losing their fathers, mothers reduced to hapless spectators as their kids perish due to hunger, and the world simply looks on.


We go to a concert in Vegas, sway to the music in trance, and suddenly the tranquility is disturbed when some maniac opens fire, shooting everyone in range like they are game.

Another lunatic turns a school into a burial ground and young students with countless aspirations lay on the ground next minute, defunct.

A gun happens to be the trigger to a psychopath’s twisted brain. And easy access to weapons will obviously turn them into killing machines.

Basically, it doesn’t matter whose fault it is—the culprits’, guns’, laws’, leaders’—but once a life is lost, it results in a ripple effect, leaving so many people shattered.

Again, I want to ask—Why? What is happening to my world?


Now, coming to India, where crimes against women—um, actually crimes against every female creature—are so rampant that I wish all girls could flee the country to a place where they don’t have to fear their mere existence.

I mean it’s a shame, really. Okay, some people are forced into depravity due to vile upbringing and environs but that is in no way an excuse for their deeds. They should either seek help or adapt to a better way of living by observing the normal people around. If they resort to crime, then they ought to be inflicted with the harshest of punishments because if they’re released back into the society after serving the term, sure as the wind blows, they will destroy many more lives.

Monsters are meant to be confined.


Here I am fantasising about flying cars, lesser diseases, and a world without crime in a decade or two, and the humankind is doing everything in its power to prove me wrong.

Nevertheless, I’ll keep holding on to the hope for the proverbial world peace and wait for the day I could view the world with esteem instead of disdain.

For that to happen we must do our part too and ensure that our future generations imbibe moral values and are raised to be compassionate towards fellow humans.



I. Need. To. Stop.

Just. Stop.

Tring tring!

The taxi driver’s here. He’ll charge extra if I make him wait. I need to take a decision. Fast.

Oh, wow. You’re about to spend a bomb on clothes you don’t need and you’re worried about the extra ten bucks the driver might charge you. You stupid . . . 

‘Enough! I can’t take your abuse anymore. I’m super stressed as it is. I said I wouldn’t buy anything. Why are you fussing?’

Because I know that when you say you won’t buy anything, you will most likely return with an empty wallet and zero bank balance.  

‘Sniff, sniff! You will never understand me.’

I tore myself away from the place and hopped into the waiting cab, ready for my next shopping trip after a long gap of four days.

‘They said sale! How can I ignore that?’ I whined.

The driver looked at me suspiciously. He probably wondered who I was talking to. Of course, he wouldn’t have guessed that my mind was torturing me with its hostile libels.

I had to pause the introspection but my merciless Mind kept going on with its taunts.

You’re such a dumbo, always on the prowl for new clothes as if that’s all people care about. 

My eyes prickled with tears.

That’s right. Cry. Later you’ll cry because of poverty. Wait, I just came up with a tagline for you.  

She’s just a bimbo

Who waits for sales on Crimbo

Strutting with her limbs akimbo.

‘Sniff, sniff, I hate you.’

‘Sorry, ma’am?’ the taxi driver spun around to look at me despite the traffic.

‘Queue,’ I lied, ‘I hate queue. You know, the traffic. Jam.’

‘I too hate traffic, madam. It’s so irritating. One day when I was . . .’

I wanted to jump out of the running car because the driver’s irrelevant anecdotes and Mind’s brutal bashings began to take their toll on my mental health. I was filled with a sense of despair. It lasted for about twenty minutes until the car halted near the mall gate.

There! With its palatial structure standing in all its imposing glory like a majestic castle, welcoming me with jumbo banners advertising huge discounts on all items, I saw imaginary hands stretch out of the cornucopia, enticing me to enter and precluding me from leaving.

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Okay, I have never considered myself a shopaholic. Until recently. When I realized that my closet looked like a vacuum storage bag—all clothes, no air.

And worse, I discovered that I needed more space (like a whole new house for my commodities) to accommodate the truckload of shopping bags waiting to be emptied, in the other room.

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Oh, what have I become?!

It’s not like money grows on trees for me. I think twice before buying a freaking avocado for crying out loud. Why can’t I resist the urge to buy a stupid cold-shoulder dress that fits me so nicely and looks so good that even motorists turn their heads to see who the beautiful girl in black is . . .

Oh, God there I go again. Falling for the charms of clothes.

But girls, let’s be honest. Is there anything in this world that makes us as happy as a gorgeous dress does? Or an elegant pair of pumps? Paired with a designer sling bag? Along with chandelier earrings?

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Damn, I’m doing it again.

Anyway, what the world (and parents) don’t understand is shopping is like therapy. It rejuvenates us. But it also burns a hole the size of a Grand Big Mac in our pockets. Who cares though? All we need for a contented life is a gigantic wardrobe full of clothes . . . and maybe matching accessories. It doesn’t matter if we are wasting away the hard-earned money of our parents or spouses . . . or ours, right? Right?

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A hundred lashes wouldn’t hurt someone as much as one false blame does.

‘Mooooooom……!!!! Where’s my super-cute headband that I asked you to look after?’

‘I don’t know. I gave it to you last night,’ Mom shouted from the kitchen.

‘No, you didn’t. How can you be so careless? I’ve been planning to wear it today and now you just lost it. Great! You have ruined my day. My dress would look so lame without the matching band. Argh…!!’

‘Stop hyperventilating. I clearly remember giving it to you yesterday. Anyway, let me search,’ she said and combed the whole house.

‘Every time . . . every time, Mom. Can’t you take care of one small plastic object? I don’t understand how you manage to keep your things in place with your poor memory and organizing skills. Ugh,’ I nagged.

‘Did you search in your handbag? You packed it last night.’

‘I’m not an idiot to put my headband in the handbag. I just packed an extra outfit since it’s a pool party.’

‘All right let me check then. Just to make sure,’ she gently lifted the tote from the closet shelf and unclasped it.


The lilac coloured headpiece that had been the source of tension for about an hour showed itself in the climax like a villain in a Bollywood movie.

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Of course, the real villain in the scene was me. Since I threw the blame on Mom so easily just because I could.

We are all guilty of scapegoating at some point in our lives. We just can’t bear to perceive that we are capable of making mistakes. We love to think that we are perfect little snowflakes. We are not! We make mistakes. Mistakes are what make us humans. But what makes us worthy humans is owning up to those mistakes instead of finding someone else to throw the blame at.

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We make enough mistakes as it is. How does it feel to carry the burden of others’? Have you ever thought of it that way?

That day, I fell on my Mom’s feet and pled to forgive me this one last time. But the drama usually repeats.

Although I’m pretty determined to not let it recur this time.

Not everyone is as forgiving as a Mom. Once we lose respect, it’s pretty hard to regain it.

It feels good, I know, to blame someone else so that we could feel a little less pathetic about ourselves. But do we ever think about the person on the other side holding themselves responsible for absolutely no fault of theirs?

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Let me put it in another way. Have you ever experienced the embarrassment resulted from a false blame? Yeah. It’s excruciating. You can’t face the person again. Hell, I couldn’t even look into the eyes of my own mother after that episode no matter how used to it I was.

Do we need that kind of mental agony? Can’t we just make a clean breast of our sins and project a decent character?

I’ve seen so many people pointing fingers at someone just to escape the momentary brunt. But sooner or later, they will have to bear the force.

Let me narrate another incident before signing off.

At a family get-together, my little niece toddling near me slipped on a tiny puddle of water and fell down. My aunt came running and started blaming me for not supervising her. She led me to believe at least for a minute that I was the reason behind the girl’s fall. Although I never harbored any ill feelings towards her post the incident, the unwarranted blame stung me.

What if the girl ended up with a sprain or something worse? Would I be held responsible for it for my whole life?

A hundred lashes wouldn’t hurt someone as much as one false blame does. I hope we realize it before it’s too late.



This morning something strange happened. It shook me to the core and forced me to hide under the covers for a very long time until the episode repeated in my own room and threw me into a blue funk.

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Donning my new walking shoes that I vowed to use till they wear off, I set out on the trail around the many blocks of the apartment complex I was staying at. Although I start out fast, I usually begin to slow down as the surroundings come alive with hollers of playing children and screams of tantrum-throwing toddlers. But nothing of that sort happened. The evening climate was perfect, the lighting was good, and I was waiting; yet, not one human came into fore.

During my third round towards the playground, I got exasperated and turned my eyes towards the bench in the shade and saw a boy hunched over. He wasn’t moving. My curiosity propelled me to explore.

I slowly walked in his direction and noticed that there were two more kids—one boy and a girl—seated by his side, stooping in the same way. Then when I moved my eyes towards the figures standing behind, my heart dropped to my feet. There were two ladies, probably the kids’ mothers, standing in the same position. I decided to investigate and moved closer.

‘Um, hello,’ I said, hesitatingly.

No movement.

I cleared my throat and tried again.

‘Hey!’ I wrung my fingers in nervousness.

Five angry faces turned to face me and I scrambled from the spot like lightning.

I went in to find the room where I was staying with my cousins empty (for the sake of anonymity I’m gonna use only cousins in this article). I hopped on the bed and draped the blanket around my body like a mummy, trembling underneath.

The bathroom door clicked and I was relieved that I would have someone to share my horror story with.

Out came another stooped figure mechanically gliding on the floor like a spectre. The scream that came out of my mouth thereupon shook the whole building and virtually split my eardrums.

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It’s not a virus. It’s not a parasite. It’s a small contraption that has been made by humans and is controlling their brains now.

Here is the device that’s guilty of starting a pandemic.


We all carry smartphones these days. We can’t imagine a day without the device let alone our lives.

But we have let the machines control our entity to such an extent that we have become the living dead—drifting away aimlessly, eyes on the screen; hands holding the shiny glass instead of being entangled with the partner’s fingers; mind pondering about the next message to type to a friend staying 5000 miles away rather than concentrating on the conversation happening with the person who is two feet away.

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Phone zombies have become so rampant that I’m scared to step out or even stay in for that matter.

Cousin 1 sits on the chair holding the phone attached to its charger. Can’t afford to lose a second even if there’s a possibility of the battery heating up like a volcano, thereby destroying the phone.

Cousin 2 walks back and forth from the charging point like I do an emergency walk from the bathroom and the couch when the former is occupied. Charging your cell phone a hundred times would only deplete the battery, you moron!  

Cousin 3 forgets manners and courtesy when at relatives’ place and checks Facebook notifications. In the end, all you’ll be left with are virtual friends.

Cousin 4 barks like a rabid dog when you disturb him/her while chatting in the whatsapp group. Bite me!

The means of an end to this apocalypse is literally in our hands. We just need to realize it before it’s too late.

Drop the phone. Prop your face.



Don’t take life and relationships for granted. Appreciate everyone and everything.

It was the first time I’ve lost someone close to me. It was the first time I saw a strong man become fragile and collapse in front of my eyes. It was the first time ever I contemplated the consequences of a loved one’s departure.

All I felt was misery. The painful thought that I would never see my grandfather ever again, the traumatic realization that the toothless grin and innocent, baggy eyes would never be there to welcome me, the depressing knowledge that his tall, stooping form is gone forever, has made me become cognizant of the ephemeral nature of life.

An old bad quality picture that has become priceless now

Last week, I couldn’t update my blog. My eighty-year-old grandfather, who actively played cards and gambled like Archie Karas, breathed his last right after winning a fair amount of loot. So essentially, he was happy until his last moment arrived and when it finally did, he took off like a flash.

We couldn’t perceive what was happening. Family and friends encompassed him soon after the symptoms began to show and when he glanced at each of us with those glassy eyes, no one guessed he was just registering our faces for one last time.

And before the men carried him to the vehicle, his heart bowed out.

My grandmother crumpled to the floor in despair and the rest of us were too shocked to even shed a tear.

After a few seconds, all hell broke loose.

But all I could hear was a beep.

My mind played a video montage of all the endearing moments I hold so close to my heart—right from the day when he roved the streets of the town in search of colored chicks that I took fancy to; to the day when he was on bed, unwell, and spoke what would now become his last words to me, “You’re leaving already?”

I played the phrase repeatedly in my head as a continuous stream of tears began to flow down my cheeks. When I arrived here four months later last week, I didn’t get to talk to him due to the overflow of guests given that it was festival time in India. And within a few hours, we lost him—before I could ask how the turkeys he recently bought were faring, before I could buy him his favourite snack from the roadside stall, before I could play one last game of ludo . . .

Grandparents are a treasure. If there could be anyone who can love us more than our parents do, then it’s them. They shower us with unconditional love and ask nothing but acknowledgement in return. They just want to see us smile.

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I will cherish the mythological stories my grandmother used to relate, planting herself between my sister and me.

I will forever remember their far-sighted insights and worldliness as lessons.

And I will preserve the memory of my grandfather’s last words spoken in a downcast voice, deviating from his usual baritone.

You might have left us already grandpa but you will always always be in our hearts, dreams, and memories.





Dictionary definition of feminism = the advocacy of women’s rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes.

I had to state the synonym because there are birdbrains who think feminism is all about the supremacy of women. No! It’s not. It’s about equality. I emphasize on the word EQUALITY.

Why should there be a movement for equality of women you ask?

Because women have always been treated like doormats. Refer to a history textbook if you want proof. But the textbooks only hint at the unfair treatment women received right since the conception of the earth. So, I can refer to more works of literature where there are detailed accounts of gruesome acts against women by sadistic humans with horrendous mentalities. NEWSPAPER!

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You can get it anywhere for just a single-digit price. Turn a page and voila! There it is with headlines the size of our narrow minds—MAN FLOGS WIFE OVER NONSPHERICAL CHAPATIS.

It’s laughable, right? But that’s just juvenile compared to the other barbarous acts against women and I can’t even list them here because I’m too sensitive to that kind of stuff.

The answer to all the ratbags who say, ‘Screw feminism. Why should women be treated specially?’ is this.

If feminism didn’t exist, then women would still be coughing in the dark confines of the kitchen, making fire out of the sparks in order to cook the ordered menu for the household men.

If feminism didn’t exist, then social evils like Sati and child marriage would still be rampant.

If feminism didn’t exist, then female infanticide (although still exists) will turn into a dangerous pandemic.

If feminism didn’t exist, then your sister would be one of the many wives of your brother-in-law; your mother, instead of helping you with your homework, would be receiving her daily quota of lashes from your domineering father; your future wife would be . . . well, I can’t say anything to that because a man who condemns feminism would most likely expect his wife to be his slave.

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I’m certainly not saying that all men would turn into monsters (as if we don’t have enough) without a movement like this, BUT, the influence will be extensive.

Let me elaborate.

So, if your father treated your mother like an unimportant human being whose presence meant service, then you would grow up thinking that women are supposed to be treated as drudges. The world around you is operating in a manner that teaches you that men are superior and women are no more than underlings who should satisfy their every whim, then your mind would steer in that direction too because it will be accepted as a normal way of living.

But if there’s a movement reprehending those practices thereby advocating women empowerment, then it might shepherd you the other way—the right way.

I agree that sometimes feminists tend to border on extreme by promoting misandry but that doesn’t change the whole freaking definition.

If you hate feminists, then you don’t want equality and let me break it to you—it’s detrimental not just for us women but for men too.

Feminism is basically about dispelling prevalent patriarchy. Patriarchy screws up dudes too and here’s how. How many times have you felt the pressure of being forced into a conventional job just because it pays well?

Sometimes I put myself in a man’s shoes and wonder if I would write this if I were a man. Perhaps, I wouldn’t even get time to read because I would be busy tapping away at the keys on the keyboard in a cosy office, writing codes, and programs. That’s what I might be required to do in order to take care of my family and pay tuition for my children. I would be the sole bread earner and would have to kill my dreams in order to meet the norms and pay the bills.

Why couldn’t I become a chef like I wanted to? Or an actor. Or a painter. Anything.

Imagine a world of equality. Both men and women free to pursue their dreams and not persuaded to meet societal standards.

If you aren’t keen on supporting feminism, at least you should be able to be in favour of humanism, right?

What we don’t realize is feminism is on the same lines of humanism.

If you see a woman and man wrestling with each other, whom would you choose to help?

The woman, right? Why not the man? Because we intrinsically know that usually, a man is physically stronger than a woman, hence we would rush to protect the former first. If you have ever done that, then does that mean you’re a feminist too? Maybe or maybe not. But surely, you would have proved yourself to be a human.

And that is exactly what I’m trying to say.

You can fight with your wife, leave the house, roam the streets and can return home safely the next day. But if your wife fights with you and steps out of the house, can you guarantee her safe return?

I know, I know, even the situation is lame, right? Cruel. But I have heard some horrible things like these that impelled me to write this today.

I want to try and partially educate those morons who don’t understand the actual meaning of feminism and brush it off as some useless lib, which advocates “significance” of women.

We don’t strive for power. We need equality.

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And what that equality means, I would leave it to our brains since we have got one whole organ dedicated to doing logical thinking. I mean wouldn’t it be ridiculous if you ask both a girl and a boy to lift the same amount of weights shouting, ‘Equality!’?

Like I said, feminism is just another name for humanity.

This article is dedicated to—that guy, who remarked that women need not have to struggle to find a job as they can marry off a settled guy and enjoy his salary, that man, who said, ‘To hell with feminism’ when his girlfriend condemned his sexist jokes and all those people, who call themselves humans without understanding the meaning of humanity.


“Contentment is natural wealth, luxury is artificial poverty” – Socrates.

Here we are with another in “The Thing About . . .” series.

We are seldom satisfied with what life provides for us.

We have a shirt we want a suit. We have gold we crave for diamonds. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more of incorporeal things if you know what I mean but longing for materialistic things can lead to disappointment taking root, especially when it turns out to be a fruitless endeavour.

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We have to accept life as it comes. If you earn enough to own a Porsche, well and good. But if you’re capable of owning only a two-wheeler for now, be happy for that too since there are jobless people in the queues who would want to earn a few bucks just to satiate their hunger.

I’m not saying you gotta be content with what you have and slack off. No. In fact, you should be the opposite. But what you have to aim for is not the object but the objective. Aim for a better job, strive to climb the ladder and reach the top, exert yourself to reach your final goal. Then you can decide what to do with the rewards. Whether to buy a designer bag or save it for an investment. Priorities! I would choose the former undoubtedly, but I have people who would kick me like a football if I make wrong financial choices so . . . I guess I’ll be safe.

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But all of you who are prone to temptations, remember that you don’t have to lead the life of a saint. It’s okay to want to own that latest iPhone. But you shouldn’t turn that trivial thing into your life ambition. It should be one of the things that could be bought with the money you earn through hard work and intellect.

Lack of satisfaction not just affects our peace of mind but also destroys relationships. Imagine your wife/husband constantly griping about the bourgeois lives they’re leading. Wouldn’t that make you feel inept?

Your daughter whines about the inexpensive shoes she’s forced to wear to college every day but fails to take into account the lakhs of rupees you spend on her education despite your meager salary. Isn’t that insensitive? Of course, we all must have committed such mistakes at least once in our lives, blame our adolescence and peer pressure.

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What’s important is to realize at least now the importance of gratification and nurture the future generations accordingly. Teach them to value character, not commodities.

Always aspire for a job of your dreams, not job that pays for your luxury. There’s nothing wrong with having a desire. But the expectations should be realistic. Not delusive.

Wanting something that you desire is not a crime. But wanting to own everything that you wish for at any cost is puerile.



We often don’t realize how important time is. How transient our life is. We take things for granted, especially the time we have with the people we love.

We tend to dwell more on the past, hold grudges in the present and fantasize about the future but forget to cherish the now.

We never know what future holds, then why do we fail to realize the significance of the present?

Recently, I have read a book titled, “Still Alice”, which accounts the slow deterioration that takes place in the brain of an Alzheimer’s patient and how she goes from not remembering simple words to not recognizing her husband and children. By the time, the book ended, I felt a heavy weight settle down in my heart as if wet terrycloth had been stuffed inside.

It was fear, I realized.

In retrospection, I remembered the times I’ve gone without speaking for months with my parents and sister over petty issues that seemed of great import back then. I rued the days I have shown my mean streak to my friends and ended up losing some of them. I wish I could erase the times I have spoken rudely with my folks. If given a chance, I would take back all the whacks my little sister took from me although she deserved most of them. Look, I’m being foul again and I wish I could just stop that altogether.

You know, no matter how many days I spend in repentance, I can’t undo any of my actions. Nor can I change the course they have taken. It didn’t affect any of my relations but it did leave a hole in the past, which I wish I could fill.

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Now, I feel like I have missed so much in life by ruining those few days. But in that process, I’m wrecking havoc on the present. At least now, I could make up to all those unsaid I love you’s, withheld kisses, broken hearts, silent tears, hissy fits . . .

Life is shorter than we can ever imagine. And the time we have with our loved ones is even shorter because we spend half of our lives in our endeavours, which is only practical since we gotta settle down on a firm ground. But we have to make sure that at least the remaining time is devoted to spreading love.

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Absolution is the greatest gift of humankind. We must learn to forgive and embrace our loved ones, setting aside differences because we make mistakes too and a day would come when we would pine for forgiveness.

As long as we focus on the present and let the future be a surprise, we would have lived our lives to the fullest.

I have realized it after two decades of my existence and it could have been sooner. But again, I don’t want to waste my time in remorse when I could be out there bringing smiles to the faces I love more than life itself.

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