Writing, like most notable arts, comes from the darkest corners of despair.

Also at this point, I would like to confess, I know not what other corners actually offer despair besides darkness. Bear with me, in all these years, this is by far the worst post I have written at the end of the year. My year end posts are legendary, so hilarious and thus, coming from a spot which is so dark that it could put coal matcha ice cream to shame.

It's kinda not the same this year. Well, just not as much as I would like.

I recall the last year's New Year's eve and my state of mind. I was fighting against all odds to keep a straight face, determined to make it through to the next, knowing that it would be a battle to weed out my insecurities.

My insecurities, you ask. What can be possibly wrong when you're young and virile and have a job and friends who like you and a house to live in with a stable WiFi connection.

My braces were in tact, I was covered in chicken pox marks and life was at an all time low. I was at least ten kilos fatter than what I used to weigh and look. This page was dead. I wasn't writing. I wasn't reading just as much as I would have liked myself to. I had no semblance of a life besides spending money on food takeaways tri-weekly. That was my source of entertainment.

I knew, this was the point when I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and get my shit together.

It took me year but I was able to tick a whole bunch of things off my Summer bucket list, by which time I had just started my "eating clean" regime. I was struggling to keep it all together. The only thing that truly helped was that my jaw looked fantastic. The braces had come off and I was writing twice a week.

In the last six months, I have done things that I never imagined I was capable of doing. Physically, mentally and emotionally- on all counts I have really stretched my patience thin and realized I am made of steel. I can give so much more and change just so much if I put determination to it.

Of course, there's that thing about luck as well. But things just as simple as putting a work out together requires little luck. This year was all about cutting luck out of life and working smartly, and puttin in hard work.

It sounds like a lot of gassing but if you're me, you're only going to have this sense of satisfaction.



I made out of 2017 alive, kicking and being even more sassy than ever. I have done a whole bunch of books which adorn the shelves at bookstores in India. I am working on making a better version of my body every single day, I write with an unabashed sense of freedom, one that I never experienced before this. I have people who take me seriously, who value my opinion and read my painful bi-weekly deadline reminder emails from me. I have been told I give real good head and I have managed to make myself look good in cropped sweaters. I have managed to stop eating chips and stop pegging my happiness on food.

This is as good as it gets. With one too many hiccups in this year,  I was able to pull off a whole lot.

Bring it on, 2018. I'm going to nail you down just as hard as Jaysus was nailed.

Ah-men.