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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…

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…

That empty bottle on the top shelf needs a companion and so do I

I was so lonely. Nearly suicidal. I needed someone to unravel the stagnancy, unearth the source of my pain and disperse it into the Ganges. I wanted salvation. And God gave me you.
'Will you talk to me today?' I texted.
'Of course. Call me after 11,' you replied.
I wanted to talk to you as a woman, not as a friend. I have a dark-shameful past which I needed to share before I could reclaim the woman in me. I took out the cheapest wine from the refrigerator. $16 bottle from Costco. I took out the tallest glass from the cupboard and filled it to the brim. One-third of the bottle was gone. I drank it in 5 minutes. Another glass in 15. The whole bottle under 45 minutes. Before 11, I was drunk, foggy and free.
You called.
'Can I speak freely to you today?' I asked. 'Have you ever not talked freely to me, but anyway, go ahead,' pat came your reply.
In my drunken state, I don't remember where I started, I emptied all that I had in me. I was digging my own past. T…

How I met my muse virtually

It was February. It was Friday. It was late at night. I had just emptied half-a-bottle of Blue Label. There was a musk-scented candle burning on the side table. Coke Studio music filled the room and my senses with intrigue. I picked up my phone and started scrolling Instagram randomly. The universe conspired to entrap me in the mystical world of unchaste desires. And I stumbled upon your picture.
I froze.
While my eyes stared at your picture shamelessly, my mind said those words and my body was in a whirlpool of emotions. I've seen men. And I've seen men. You know what I mean. But you - oh man! You were a perfect concoction of handsome features, sublime sensuality and tranquillity dipped in fine scotch. 5 minutes before landing at your picture, I was tipsy. But then I was f*****g drunk on you.
You were the magic poets create in words. You were the visual orgasm painters draw on a canvas. You were that risque undertone musicians try to create in a passionate song. You …

When he left me and my love affair with chai ended

His 1000-watt smile under the dim light of the car made him sexier than he actually was. His 5 feet 11-inch lethal body, almond-shaped eyes and perfect manners made a posh exterior every girl fell for. But I fell for the animal he was. He was honest with me. And I was real with him.

'I missed you,' he said. 'Did you miss me?' he glanced at me while racing the car on Ambala-Chandigarh highway. 'No. I didn't.' I lied. He pressed the accelerator harder only to stop on a secluded road. It was dark already, but his intentions were darker. 'So,' he said while leaping onto my side. 'You didn't miss me.' I looked straight into his eyes but before any word could come out of my mouth, he was inside it. Then he came on top of me. He kissed my neck and inhaled on it.

'You wear the best of perfumes. You know when I led my troop to that village last week, I was buttoning up my shirt and thought of how you smell. Oh, you make me so hard!' He went…