Featured Post

Here's what I learned in 7 years of blogging

7 years ago I started my blog. And I entered the magical world of writing. I was living in the Boston suburbs. After finishing my work and household chores, I still had some spare time. I remember the exact moment I clicked the 'B' icon on Google and I created a Blogger account. I knew only two Bloggers that time - Amitabh Bachchan and Lisa Ray. I had no idea what it takes to be an accomplished blogger, but I was excited to be a part of a community which is independent and expresses its views without any inhibition. I must say, it has been an amazing journey only because I have learned so much.

I started by writing poetry, then I started writing articles and now I can write anything. Professionally, I am a content writer for a couple of websites. I ghostwrite for two more agencies based out of North America. I write sponsored articles on my blog. I tweet, post Facebook statutes, answer Quora questions, and mention brands on Instagram for money. Brands even consult me for social…

All the sexy men be damned, I want to take you to my bed.

I want to take you to my bed. Put on my favourite music. Dim the recessed lights. Light a musk-scented candle to intensify the romance. Move my fingers up and down - to create a symphony with your sculpted, sleek and toned frame. In a dimly-lit room, won't you look sexy as f**k?

Some people often call you a classic poem. If I may, please be my sonnet. Structured, layered and class apart. And let me undress you one layer at a time. Let me write a better version of you on my 700-thread-count bedsheet. I promise you, it will be a night to remember. But let me tell you, you are one poem whose place is inside my body, not on a piece of paper.

You are a poem that would rhyme well mixed with the curves of my body - meter, metaphors, similes be damned. So just play along. No questions asked.

Let me embrace you.

Let me hold you between my freshly manicured hands - creating a devasting blast of seduction. To have you inside me would be a nuclear explosion - a chain reaction that should nev…

I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse

'Let's f**k on the dining table and eat dinner on the bed tonight,' I said between sips. 'She is gonna make me an offer I can't refuse,' you said while swirling ice cubes in your glass.

'Are we quoting Godfather now?' I replied in my clever, sarcastic tone.

You smiled still looking at your glass, not at me. The lady in me took offence. But I'm too proud to beg for attention. I don't beg, I command attention. I caressed my wounded ego with those words.

'It would be nice to have a man run his tongue from my neck to cleavage and spend good 15-20 minutes there. I yearn for that kind of wetness on my boobs,' I buttoned up my coat pretending it suddenly became cold. As if the mercury dipped below freezing while I was setting the mood on fire.

You looked at me.

'And he looks into my eyes when he is f*****g me,' I finished my sentence and sat straight crossing my ankles in perfect Duchess Slant. You looked into my eyes. You looked like …

My First Awkward Sexual Encounter... Well, Almost!

Men have a weird obsession with boobs. I get that. I even laughed out loud at a party in New York when a drunk friend being called out for objectifying women said - and I quote his exact words - 'We don't want to hear any word against boobs. Woh hamara passion hain.' He was sincere to the level that if there was a club of people extending their solidarity to boobs - he univocally and unanimously be the president.

Cut 2 to a couple of weeks back. I was at a meeting. The girl I was interviewing had no clue of the work she was supposed to do. She was hot and she might have used her body to get things done or undone. But I'm a thorough professional and a girl who only gets "cute" as a compliment, I was adamant on grilling her. In my desi head, I was like - Achha tu hot hai, behan chal ab khelte hai rapid fire. One question after another, I roasted her. But 15 minutes later, things got awkward. She started stripping.

She threw her hair back revealing her sexy collar…

To the woman who sleeps with someone else's husband

Let me begin by saying - I understand human relationships are complex. I also understand one-night stands, flings, excitement those flings bring, sexual desires, desire to be wanted by men other than your own husband. What I don't understand - why you had no respect for me? Why you demeaned me, mocked my looks, made remarks about my intelligence? And why you chose to do all that for not one day but for years? Even when I was going through one miscarriage after another.

Now let me tell you how your actions ruined one woman's life beyond repair.

When you did all that my husband came home and repeated the same words and actions to deal with his own guilt. He objectified me - he inserted in me when you were not available. He mocked my looks - his exact words - I look like a chimpanzee when I wear a bright-coloured lipstick. You know, I can't look at any man now. He insulted my intelligence. He said I was good enough only to bag groceries at a supermarket. The list of insults is …

To the guy who gave me my first kiss and the real taste in music

One morning my 21-year-old boyfriend asked me to bunk college. He was too sad after listening to a ghazal. 'Bunk!' I thought. I would elope with a guy who loves music like this. I even proposed how our life would be - we would pack our clothes in 2 suitcases, he would take his dad's Maruti 800, we would take tuitions to earn money, live in a small one-room-first-floor house somewhere in Himachal on rent, and listen to music till 4 am. 'You idiot, my dad wouldn't care if I am lost, but his car. Let's not take the car,' he said with a straight face. It was decided then and there, we would elope and not take his dad's car in which he lost his virginity.
I met him at our favourite spot in Sector 36, Chandigarh. 'Where to?' he asked. 'Anywhere. Just drive,' I said. He turned on the music and drove. The roads were empty. We passed Manimajra. We didn't talk. We listened to the music. That was our bond. We loved the same songs, in the same fa…

Things I've done in the last one year to motivate myself

Things I've done in the last one year to motivate myself: Started a planner. I write every single thing I do in it. Even if the thing is as petty as paying the credit card bill. Because some days I don't have the mental strength to do even that.Used the stopwatch on my phone to keep track of how many hours I'm active. Even if I cook a meal, I track that too. Because some days I don't have the physical strength to get up from my bed.Self-talk every morning to tell that life is worth living. There are beautiful people who care about me and love me. Because some days I'm terribly lonely and the fear of life-long solitude put me in a dark hole.Post-surgery, I developed breathing issues and I've put on weight. With great effort, I started walking again. I try to walk 8k-10k steps a day now. I track it on Fitbit.
These are the practical things I do to keep me up and running. I'm sharing it in a hope this may help someone.
Much love,

My poetry is not for foreplay. It's for after sex.

My poetry is not for foreplay. It's for after sex. When you'll light the Marlboro and move to your side of the bed, my poems will be the breath of fresh air in a room filled with smoke. But do not underestimate me. My poems won't be sweet, gentle or mellow. They will be brazen, brutal and bold. I will present them on a sharply-edged knife. The blood on the knife will be hot. Fresh from the wounds I don't allow to heal. You will take a drag from Marlboro - but served with my sinful words - you will feel as if you've snorted cocaine.
You will not get high, though. You will see the world in a different light. Murky lanes leading to posh hotels, board rooms and high-rise apartment buildings. In one of those aesthetically decorated rooms, you will see a man f*****g someone's life just for a little pleasure. You will see him getting hard on someone's misery. A woman pleasuring herself while watching a wrecked home that she takes all credit for. To watch someone se…