Mean girls

Bullies and mean people are everywhere, breathing and moving as we speak. There is no stopping them, or is there? A nasty comeback, a snide response can damn well shut them up. I read this weeks challenge and thought to myself this is the perfect opportunity to have my snide comeback. I have had a number of situations when I came up with a brilliant, non-responsive comebacks and sadly all of them were at least two hours after I was stunned into silence. So this is a perfect opportunity to satiate my years of frustration.

This particular incident is freshly embossed in my memory. It was my graduation day. Finally my educational journey was ending in this blissfully liberation ceremony. I was no longer going to be treated as a dunce by my professors, I was suddenly a celebrated student of a prestigious school, ready to dive into a professional world where probably my manager would treat me like a dunce. Nonetheless, the feeling was of sweet escape. My last semester was particularly grueling and without much grooming. I was looking forward to celebrating myself – I like to do that occasionally – self-gratification is the best boost for self-confidence.  And then finally the day of my graduation dawned!

I love to dress up and its a very personal experience for me, truly a feel good factor. I dressed in a nice black dress and wore the winged liner with a berry lip color. At this point I was feeling quite pretty further validated by the adulation from my boyfriend. I reached the event centre where the ceremony was to be held and at this point with the flattery from my friends I was feeling pretty damned good about myself.

I worked on a group project in one of my early semesters and had the unfortunate opportunity to work with the “mean girls”. They were the know-it-all, condescending category of people who fall in the class of people I don’t particularly consider classy. Well, I was about to strut on to the podium for the group photo when I had the misfortune of crossing the mean girls. I heard a comment floating from one of them, “Woah you are wearing makeup today! Is anything left at home?” I was so shocked and taken aback. I was not expecting immaturity at a Master’s graduation ceremony. But I was mistaken and my lame attempt at the comeback made it the comment eve more bitter. I said, “Looks like you didn’t wear any. Too bad for you!” That did not even make any sense as the “mean girls” in my case were two giggling guys. What I should have said was, “Oh I am sure you haven’t seen any girls who do wear make up!” or “I can understand, you clearly don’t have girls hanging around you long enough to wear make up!”

Just writing these here and imagining their reactions is enough for me. I guess on some level I don’t like to come up with these kind of comebacks. Whenever I have been successful at a comeback it has bothered me more than them. So all in all this worked out perfectly!

This post was inspired from this link Hindsight is 20-20

To write or not to write


That’s how many days its been since I published my last post on this blog. Sure, I ended up writing a lot of posts and then scraping them completely, while others lie untouched, unattended, neglected little drafts. I kept thinking if these would turn out well enough to be published or they would just be sad blemishes of a wannabe blogger. At the risk of getting tagged as just-another-blogger today I decide to get my hands dirty in virtual ink.

Commute was, is and will always be my inspiration and few weeks back it was during my commute that I decided to start blogging once again. My life personally has got a complete makeover! Where I have lost direction in the blogging world, I have found my way in my personal life. Where my posts lie abandoned here, the pieces of puzzle of my life are falling into place. But it makes me wonder if my sense of being lost was the direction for my blog posts. 

I am out of my comfort zone right now and out of any topics for new content. I think I need a push. If there is anybody out there willing to do this for me I will be ever so grateful. If any of my readers out there can go through the series of stories I am writing called Made for each other and let me know what you would like to get out of it, I would really appreciate it!

Waiting to be inspired………

Made For Each Other – That Awkward Moment When…. (Part – 4)

Read the links below, they are the previous parts to this story.

Preeti almost bumped into Sid. She was all flustered and he could see panic in her eyes, which slowly turned into comprehension and before he knew it she raised herself on tip toes and gave him a peck on his cheek. “It was barely few minutes since the plane landed and she already picked up some French habits”, he thought utterly confused. They had not even held hands since they got married, why would she suddenly kiss him? Now it was his turn to panic.

Sid’s greatest fear had come true. He had hoped to keep his marriage uncomplicated till he figured out what had happened to him since he came to Paris. This was love, this was passion that was lacking from his life all these years.The transition that had taken place in his life in just a few days had shattered all his presumptions, prejudices and predictions about how his life would turn out. He was in love finally. After having years of his life being followed, fantasized and even stalked by many girls, he had finally fallen for her. Since the moment he laid his eyes on her perfect marble skin, he knew he wanted her.

Sid was attracted to every part of her – the full lips, blushing cheeks, deep blue eyes and above all, her voluptuous body. He had music blasting his ears, the song playing was  Paradise by Coldplay and indeed he was in paradise because he was definitely looking at an angel. Looking away from her was the hardest thing he ever had to do. But he had to look away if he did not want to be beat up in a foreign country. The woman he was looking at had gracefully risen from her seat and was enraged making her beauty even more desirable. She approached Sid and started firing him in her mellifluous French. Sid did not know how he should tell her what he was feeling. All he wanted to do was to compliment her impeccable beauty, just a silent, harmless observer.

Finally he had managed to convey to her what he wanted from her and surprisingly she had accepted his harmless request. On their very first encounter both of them were nervous, it was their first time after all. Never before had they been a part of something so platonic, so divine. With her help Sid had managed to find a nice loft with a spectacular view. Every day he would have a different setup for them. Sometimes everything was scarlet, sometimes filled with barrels while some other times completely lit with candles.

The days had gone by quickly and he had almost forgotten that his wife was about to join him for their honeymoon. The very thought of losing what he had recently found sent him into a panic attack. He definitely owed an explanation to Preeti and that was the scariest part. All he could do was hope that she would not be too invested in their marriage.

On the night of their wedding Preeti and Sid had decided to just be friends and figure out what they wanted from their lives. They had also decided that if either one of them fell in love or even had a crush on anyone else, they would be supportive and let the other person go. But what was happening definitely did not qualify any of their terms. Sid was going to tell Preeti everything and come clean about this quirky affair he had been having, till she kissed him on the airport.

The cab ride back to their hotel was mostly uneventful, except for Sid’s mind which was in an emotional roller coaster. His head was hurting really badly and he felt nauseous. He was just praying that Preeti was not attracted to him in any way. He knew only one thing could calm him now. He punched a few keys on his cell phone “See you in 15” and pressed send. He made a really lame, unconvincing excuse to Preeti and set out towards the loft. He entered the loft, and there she was. “Strip”, he said to her.

Fragrant Memories

My childhood summer vacations have been special for no special reasons. There were no adventures neither were there any misadventures. Most of my summer vacations were spent in a sleepy little town called Waradha in Maharashtra, India at my maternal grandparents’ abode. The town in summers is ablaze in scorching heat. But that somehow is something I remember the least. What I remember is the small things, like the fresh roses that my grandfather tended to with his heart and soul rendering the garden in a riot of colors every summer. I remember the distinct taste of the dal that is elsewhere irreproducible. I remember the unbearably hot evenings made survivable by a glass of cool water from the earthen pots.

Over the past few years I have deduced, I associate memories to fragrances. I always remember the times close to my heart based on the perfume or deo I wore at that time. One of my earliest experiences is when I went on a holiday with my parents to Rajasthan. I associate that trip with the Lomani deo spray. The time I went to Germany a year back is associated with the Avril Lavigne perfume Black Star. Some silly childhood crushes are related with some Nike sporty perfumes and some other times I associate with United Colors of Benetton. We can safely establish from this incessant rant  that my long-term memories and olfactory senses have a deep-rooted connection.

If you are trying to connect the two rants above, here goes! I was driving back from office today when I smelt something very familiar (get the connection 😉 ), a fragrance which freshened a long-lost memory. It was a fragrance of a very familiar talcum powder. My grandfather was sort of disciplinarian, well, not so much towards us, but he was quite strict with his children and my grandmother. He had asked my grandmother to finish a chore which she had forgotten in her umpteen million other household chores. She only remembered towards late evening, very close to the time my grandfather got back from his clinic.

Back then Waradha was a very simple town, so much so, that there were very few auto rickshaws. Most of the public conveyance took place via cycle rickshaws. Me and my cousins used to always look forward to these silly little escapades. As soon as we became aware of an impending rickshaw ride, me and my cousin rushed to get ready for our surprise expedition. We were washed, powdered (this is where the fragrance kicked in), puffed and combed and suddenly we were transformed from sweaty, muddy rugrats to  shiny, fluffy kittens and before my grandmother could deny we were tagging along with her. We got into the creaky cycle rickshaw driven by an even creakier old man. I was something of a chatterbox back then ( 😉 ) and I was being my usual self, blabbering away to glory when my grandmother shushed me. The cycle rickshaw driver was reeking of alcohol and my grandmother was terrified and could not wait to get her precious little kittens back to the warm safety of our home.

These little feats are what made my childhood memories rich and fragrant. They may not seem very interesting, adventurous or flamboyant , but they were fun, cheerful and priceless possessions which make my childhood worth living and reliving.

Weekly Photo Challenge : Free Spirit

Nothing can be more free spirited than nature. The plants and their shoots grow at their own will and at their own convenience.

Shooting for the skies