Showing posts from January, 2015

Peach, Not Strawberry

I had beautiful skin while growing up - no pimples, just clear white ‘Himachali’ face. I never understood why my friends created a fuss about pimples in school. During those TV commercials in which girls screamed on spotting a zit, I simply gawked at their pretty dresses. I never paid attention to the problem, product or pimples. Good old days! But sadly, my skin went a drastic change in my early 20s. Hormonal change and constant travelling took a toll on my skin. It started with pimples around the chin, and it was then I understood how much trouble a tiny zit can cause. It pricks like a thorn and punctures your confidence, to say the least. I was the same girl who was lovingly called ‘Peach’ by one of my mother’s friends, but then, with so much pimples and marks, I resembled a strawberry. Damn, I hated it!  The problem started with pimples around the chin during the rainy season. I thought it was the humid weather which was causing the trouble, but to my dismay, it

Jiya Jale!

Contrary to popular belief, I am not romantic, but I am high on drama. I am lovingly called nautanki by my darling family. I have to do everything with style and the ‘zara hatke’ bug itches me every time I plan to do something. What is life without a little spice, I ask? I don’t believe in love being a gentle breeze, it’s like a storm that sweeps you off your feet - bold and ferocious. And proposals should be like hindi movie trailer - action mixed with the masti of an item number, and dashed with just the right amount of emotions. This Valentine’s Day, I am planning to propose the man of my dreams, leaving all subtleties behind. I would bring action, music and daring in a never before avatar. And for that, I have to empty my wallet, rehearse a bit and grease the palms of few people. Dekho, itna toh pyaar mein karna hi padta hai! Since the love of my life is overbusy and works even on weekends, I am planning to surprise him at his office where he would least expect me. The

Agony of Indian Dustbin

Roses are ashen, Violets are gray. I like everything rotten, Just feed me properly - I pray. People who bring me home treat me with care. A special corner to stay and a shiny polythene to wear. They feed me multiple times a day but give me bath once in a while. They empty me everyday with a squeezed nose but never with a smile. Still, I try to stay happy in my humble abode, Far far away from the maddening lot outside. People taunt me, tease me, avoid me there, Always throwing around me or on roadside. Fellas are good inside the home, you see , They know what to keep and what to throw. Stuffing the litter inside me day and night, Stacking plastics and newspapers neatly in a row. It’s a mystery how same people forget the rules, the moment they step outside. World becomes a large dustbin and they litter everywhere with pride. Roses are thrown, Violets along with it. Not inside me of course , Just around the corner where I sit. I feel neglec

Let's Do the Washing Tonight

It’s only twice in my life that I thanked God for my short height. You read it right, being short comes with few advantages and this realization dawned upon me last year. Once, when I went to Jersey Shore, there was a height restriction for many rides. You need to be short to hop onto few of them. Second, when I started noticing that after doing the laundry, either a sock or a handkerchief was missing. You see, our community has a common laundry room and dryers are mounted on top of each other. Once I loaded the laundry in upper dryer, and I couldn't see the bottom of it. I just threw the clothes in and even with the best efforts, a sock remained in it. And to my sheer good luck, the dryers in the bottom rack had mechanical issues. So, when my husband inquired about his missing sock, I told him the entire story. On that fine (to be read as fortunate) day, he announced that he will do the laundry from now on.  It went on blissfully for few weeks - I relaxed and I hummed, '

I am no barbie doll

I learnt in class two Then learning shapes was fun Square, round, tall, small Oh, that shape of a drum Some teased me later Putting label on my frame Round, small, short, tiny I nearly died of shame I wept looking at the mirror And my mother would pacify Dream Big, Act Big Over shape you should never cry I was no barbie doll Same as most of you No prince ever searched for me With a missing shoe But I am pretty Ask my mom, dad and any of my friends With all my imperfections My husband wants to be with me till the end Yet, they highlight  Extra pounds, dark skin, short height Like appearances is all that is To make a woman right I don't bother now Neither should any women out there I pity those who judge us On our looks, size and what we wear And here's a number which shuns the perfect girl image and celebrates the real us. *Image Source

Love, it is...

Have I told you about the day you touched me? Maybe not. It rained a day before in Jaipur. Weather was still humid, my feeling needed a touch of gentle breeze and then, you came. You sat next to me, you looked a million bucks and I was plain. I am sure you didn't even notice my hands sweating in apprehension. By accident, you touched me. It rocked my world, it was surreal, so magical that each of my body parts was celebrating that moment. You said sorry. I wondered, for what? It was as close as anyone can get to consummate by a touch. You narrated a story after that. I am sorry, I didn't listen. I was wishing you could touch me one more time, not by accident, though . You could hold me between your arms, slide your body close to mine and kiss me passionately. I was watching your fingers, wishing I could slip into them or hold them between mine. You asked  why I was quiet? I smiled. You can never understand the hurricane I was holding inside of me. If I let that burst awa