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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…

We are all lonely. Terribly lonely.

Sometimes I want to scream at the top of my lungs in a crowded place out of sheer loneliness. And sink on the concrete floor with my head tucked between my knees. I want someone to look into my empty eyes and read my story. Then comfort me with a hug.
But I stand quietly in the corner of this posh restaurant smiling politely at the couples walking into it with their fingers interlocked. They wait for their table. I wait for mine. In the meantime, I stand there alone, a thousand thoughts run a marathon inside my tiny head. What have I done to deserve it -- is one such thought.
Sometimes I talk to others. Those who appear to have it all. After 15 minutes of easing into the conversation, I find they are no less miserable. If I'm a Siberian desert - cold and barren, they are Sahara - few people come to visit them - a very few walk with them under the scorching circumstances. Deep down, we are all lonely. Terribly lonely. We all seek one person with whom we can share that loneliness. 
I w…

Rewind - January 2020

I've mild OCD. I have an inherent desire to store, stack and organize my stuff. Having said that, I do lose track of many things. This year, I started organising my writing date-wise. I just need to know that I practise nearly every day to hone my craft. So here's what I wrote in January 2020.

Date Published
नमक के व्यापारी निकले दोस्त मेरे  मुट्ठी दो मुट्ठी मेरे ज़ख्मों पे छिड़क जाते हैं
Namak ke vyapaari nikle dost mere Mutthee do mutthee mere zakhmo pe chidak jaate hain
इतने हसीन हो आप  मेरा दिल ही नहीं मौसम भी आहें भरता है
छोटे-बड़े की बात न करें  छोटी सी चिंगारी भी बहुत बड़ी आग लगा सकती है
Chhote-bade ki baat na karein Chhoti si chingari bhi bahut badi aag laga sakti hai 01/09/2020 मन मेरा सफ़ेद चादर तुम हल्दी वाला दाग इतनी आसानी से उतरोगे नहीं 01/10/2020 A pure heart and a dirty mind - that’s what heaven must look like. 01/10/2020 ये तो हौंसलों की चमक है  कि हफ्ते दर हफ्ते वो हसीन होती गई 01/13/2020 <

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…