Prose before hos

As I write this, we have entered the fourth phase of lockdown. In 2007, if someone had told us that we'd be nabbed at home at a gunpoint of a virus scare, I'd have told them to get off the internet chain mail spam.

But, here we are.

A friend and I both agree on the instance that there are multiple hot takes on the lockdown. There's a whole Anne Frank vibe with people in art, outside of art practicing hobbies and art forms and marking a day each. There are business entrepreneurs using infantile art to raise money. Confession: I placed a bid on a few and won myself a whole piece (it's not bad looking, thank you).

My point being, just as much as there is this entire sitch, there are those many hot takes, a sort of background noise to it.

Terms being added to our conversations including apps and software that help us perform better remotely. I don't mean food or grocery delivery but things like being recited bedtime stories in the absence of inspiration as you otherwise had for your child among others.

There is the personal end of things. Dealing with the lockdown. Reeling under the lockdown. I'm yet to meet one person who's not personally burnt atleast half a dozen bridges during this time.

If Dolphins returned to Italy then closer home, fuckbois are trying to score brownie points with women they'd never hoped to talk to.

There is an acute sense of disenchantment with existing relationships, inability to form new relationships, and then the audacity to curate new situations and budding relationships to walk into this lockdown with. I've been guilty of all. I've forged seemingly surreal new connections, been called out one too many times on being negligent and hurtful with people in my life and then seemingly been told to shut my face by people close to me, not one, many.

In a way, it brought up a huge void here, on this page.

What do I write about when people close to me tell me I'm effectively a ball of a make-believe world, with a little sense of understanding, and I have a problem understanding communication, authority, and boundary.

With the number of allegations I've come to live with, I've had to effectively take time off from taking my time off. I've been asked to be empathic and give people leeway when I haven't been on the receiving end of it, from those who I expected to love and kindness from.

The real pandemic has been on communication and our ability to express with gestures, actions, and words. Somehow, with the absence of our ability to do the former, the latter can't withstand the burden of carrying our lives with other people. I've found myself getting short with people I adore to bits knowingly and otherwise. I've also felt a total lockdown in people expressing their true emotions in this.

Effectively, I've found myself locked in a room of sarcasm, pity, unsolicited advice, and then reality checks all at once. There have been days when these revelations happened all at once and then on the other where they took time to simmer and come as backhanded insults.

Effectively, I've learned what a terrible excuse of a human being I am. I've also in turn given it to people. Neither of the situations has been helpful, to say the least. I'm also not proud of not having taken the higher road of silence, taking it in.

I'm after all a fucking human. I am prone to mistakes. I do things. I am responsible for the faltering. I do them again. Falter again. There are times I walk into a puddle of quicksand unknowingly and then on other occasions, I feel I'm pushed into it.

It's not a conducive or healthy environment to be in. What's more worrying is the aftermath of if and when this is over.

In the last week, my biggest learning is not about relationships but friendships. Apparently, you can read into years of knowing someone incorrectly, as something which is only seemingly in your head. God save us from daydreaming anything then.

Maybe this is a conspiracy theorists' job on how we should imagine our lives to be. There's a fine line between living and dreaming. If I have imagined a whole friendship, who is to say if I'm being gaslight or should I be allowed the privilege of free-thinking ever again?

If the last time, I wrote about my father and our complexities, this time it's my closest friends calling me out on my crap.

Admittedly, there's a lot. This is why friendships exist (among other things). We live through each other's idiosyncracies and we lighten those up and we hold them tight when they need us.

I feel I have overburdened people and they have underwhelmed me. It's a two way street of non-consensual activity. If they found my actions abhorring, I found their reactions appalling.

No one is to say that I'm not at fault. Perhaps, the whole fault is mine that I have constructed these notions of friendships in my head. Maybe, it's all me, as I'm being gaslight.

But god forbid, it's not me, the irreversible damage of second-guessing the one thing I know well, has been done.

In between questioning what's sacred and the bonds we all believed are unbreakable, the virus has questioned not only the world but also the way we think. It's accelerated and amplified our thoughts and reactions into effective results.

I could live with a bad friendship for years without making a fuss. Today, I find myself incapable of doing that. If I do as much as a point in the direction of a problem, I get a sharply worded response, which is, to be fair, an activity of equal action and reaction. Empathy is a construct of the world we inhabited in pre-COVID times.

I've been a strong believer in friends being support systems and especially true for me. I value my friendships close to my heart, I go all out for it. Until well, now, that the virus has left me questioning my own set of beliefs and principles.

Between media capital restructuring, changing world and societal interactions, layoffs, deaths, disasters, and the inability to cope up with our solitary self, our friendships are at stake.

I fucking hate COVID, motherfucking reality checker.

On my birthday eve last year, I found myself going through a rather moving experience. I have been thinking about it, if not every day, at least once a week since the episode. I had a revelation about it recently.

During my brief time in London, I decided to schedule a visit to St. Paul's Cathedral. Friends, convent school hangover and sightseeing porn together, I was on a high to include as much as possible. However, if I'd planned better between sleeping and wasting my hours drinking, I'd have managed to attend the Sunday mass. Clearly, planning my life isn't a priority in my case.

After changing two buses and walking a fair bit, I managed to reach the place and stood in the queue to get the ticket. It was the only ticketed space beside the musical I paid for and didn't quite mind paying to get in. Again, call it the convent school hangover but I'd have probably not done the same for another religious institute doing the same. My first impression of St. Paul's was extremely underwhelming. This is what these two friends were raving about? Sure, it's beautiful with all the art and the architectural design but man, it was underwhelming.

Somehow, after checking about the entire space, I found myself kneeling and crying loudly. It was surreal. I'd not done this, insofar as going inside a religious space to "pray" and I did not plan to do this. It just happened.

As soon as I kneeled down to offer a prayer, I burst out crying. All of the past year, my family, people I love and everyone else came to my mind and how everyone conspired to make the trip happen. What seems so trivial to people when they say they "travel" took years to happen and for me to experience that. I found myself in the church a few hours before my birthday and it seemed like an occasion just as good as any to be thankful to that imaginary man or woman we apparently pray to, to hear us and apparently answer for our wishes.

It was heavy and moving and all-consuming. It took me a long time to get out of the place in a state where I wasn't embarrassed to walk out with a face all puffy. When I got sloshed out of my mind that night, I recall mentioning this to a friend in a pub's washroom. My guess is that she doesn't remember and I'd have it that way.

I think about that day a lot. The last three months when I was bummed, I would often go back to that day and think that if things had to be a certain way, it would be. Causation is the guiding force here. We can't make things happen out of thin air, every little thing has a solid reason behind it - for its existence, for its purpose to be fulfilled.

It made total sense to me then, when I realized, I burst out crying in the church because I was pms-ing unknowingly. My cycle had fucked completely and I got my period in exactly three weeks. In this case, three days after that incident when I was 35000 feet up in the air, crying and drinking about this whole journey coming to an end.

Sometimes, I wait for an episode in entirety to end, just so I can have the last laugh. So what if I didn't get the Commonwealth Scholarship to study Anthropology of Media. I went to a film school and learned puppetry and did theatre and met some great people who I know call friends. I don't have a loan to repay and I certainly don't have a care in the world, if it means for me to quit my job and sit my ass at home because it's not worth my time.

I guess I gave Jesus a lot more credit than he deserves when it was all about my unfertilized eggs. Years ago, when we were in school and working on "Easter" themed Bulletin Board design competition between classes, I recall Sr Joyce walking past and telling me, "Your eggs are flying" while signalling to the paper eggs I'd drawn. Never has anything made more sense than her premonition about this entire episode.

The most befitting end to the first month of the year, resembled the finale of Mukkabaaz (2018; dir Anurag Kashyap). Without giving much about the film, let me jump straight to my point.

I dropped my phone inside the pot.

Pot where one takes a dump. A commode. Or whatever you call that space in your culture.

This cover is my calendar, only less fun than seeing the "dentist".

Semantics aside, this was truly the cruellest way to end the cruellest month of the wretched year. Amongst other notable things that took place, here's the highlight of this year in badly organized point format (because fuck me, I'm truly not in a state to think of beautiful, prosaic words that make sense).

1) I started smoking after four years of being clean. I also got sick enough to lose my hearing ability. That had something to do with smoking and little something to do with the fact that I sneaked out of my house and had a run-in with the cops, all in the same evening.

2) I am truly out of fucks to give for deadline and work. Here's something that everyone around me has noticed. A sample-

a) We need images for the opening pages. Oh my.

Me- Don't worry. I'll do it in an hour.

b) We need to send the book to the press. Tell them this is the deadline.

Me- Yep, will be done.

c) I basically need 10 posts to have gone up on Facebook yesterday.

Me- I'm tracking the delivery of the time travel machine. Could you hold a minute please?

3) I'm eating crap. Mindlessly. All day, every day. I have no chill with regard to my diet so I'm taking bites (sin), I'm eating butter and oil and fats and dairy all day (sin), I'm also piling on carbs and how (sin), eating ketchup by the bucket (sin), no working out (biggest sin).

4) This page. I am single-handedly responsible for the dwindling numbers because if I don't show any interest, nobody else does either.

5) Went to the theatre one whole hour before the designated time of the film. Entered the exhibition space, a whole ten minutes late. Don't ask why.

6) Terrible, terrible personal space issues. Concerning an almost pleasant past experience. Or the beginner's charm. Either, or. Just not the way things were supposed to pan out in a personal space.

7) The phone. After dropping it inside the pot, I carried it with me again each time I went to take a dump- just to challenge the universe.

Come at me motherfuckers.

Off late, I have been finding myself in situations where I no longer remember the people who I come across in my phone book. At least 90% of those names are off Tinder, a space where I exist like chimera in undergraduate philosophy classes. People have heard of it, but don't quite understand the nature of its existence.

I digress, but most of these forgettable men have one thing in common- they're godforsaken boring and have done little to nothing to me to make me touch base, unblock, un-mute or whatever it is the reason they are not on my recently touched base with list. If I think about it, if you've held my attention for a little over three months, you should rank yourself god level interesting because I'm yet to see anyone cross the three month mark in my diary.

I am probably making this all about myself but that's not the point. I see men around me who have set ridiculously high standard for wit, charm and whatever it is that men ought to bring to the table. You learn at home.

My reason for blog hiatus has been my grandfather. Man gave us a fright with a heart failure, water in his lungs, high potassium levels and everything possible in between.

It's been over a week, he's home and sass still in tact.

Motherfucking sass.

Where do I even begin?

First day after having been shifted to the room, he looks at me and asks if I have been going to work, "No, I am not doing very well and I'm working from home."

"If you don't dress proper, how on Earth do you intend on keeping well?"

Oxygen pipe in, multiple cannula marks and sarcasm on fleek.

All of yesterday, I spent watching a shit film from the nought with him while he continued to make remarks on all and sundry- from the heartthrob of the lead to the person who produced and even the ones who interrupted- cricketer who recently got married.

I woke up this afternoon after a night of heavy debauchery (bread, waffles, jam, butter, eggs and cigarette- shit) and walked to his room disgruntled. That used to be a ritual until I started this wretched job, which he began enquiring about the minute I entered.

"How's your job?"

"Crap. How else."

"How's your boss?"

"Crap. How else."

"You have a pensionable job. Enjoy it."

I stopped rubbing my eyes and looked at my mom, seated across the room. Was he hallucinating again?

All that time he spent in the ICU, he had something called the ICU Psychosis wherein the person is delirious and has no sense of space and time. They mess situations and and events and let their imagination play havoc to their rational abilities.

"Er, no. I don't have a pensionable job. I barely make any money."

"What's wrong with you? You walk in late, you come home early. You also take work from home when you're sick and I'm sick and complain about the job all the time. They're paying you for surviving, not for working. Jobs are where they pay you for hard work not for bullshitting. You get pension for bullshit which is what you're getting."


Owned.

If that wasn't it, as prologue I can throw some more-

"You can't hear because you're not wearing socks."

"You have been wearing socks yet you landed up in the ICU. How about that?"

"How about you wait until you're 83 and write me a letter telling me about yourself then? We can take stock of things at that point."

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.

“Are we over Cold yet?”

Unexpected text lit up my phone screen and made me vomit just a little bit in my stomach. My infatuation towards Cold (a name just as apt as his response to most of my advances) was taking a toll on all my friends and family. The fact is, Cold and I have been having a bit of a hot-cold time ourselves in the last couple of months. For a fortnight now, I had been really thinking of shaking things up and moving forward. There was nothing more left to pursue in this push and pull for me. I have been emotionally drained, after having invested in a slab of stone for what seemed like eternity.

“Why, do you have someone to distract me?”

“What happened to *****?”

I was half hoping for the individual to answer in, "Yeah man, met someone great at this party last night and I really think you should meet him."

Instead, I was evading a conversation that would be headlined as something like this- Serial dater gets conned into snogging by a professional PUA

"Yeah well, he was a pick up artist so nothing is happening there."

"What, how do you know? :O"

I asked the said person to reconvene after dinner so I could fill her in.

When I flew to Thailand in September, I carried along a book instead of my staple magazine. Been on my reading list for long, Dave Besseling's Laid In India was perfect in my mind, for a breezy beach read and it ended up being everything I didn't anticipate for it to be. The book is an observational telling of Sid Malhotra (name changed, naturally), who claims to be India's number 1 pick up artist (PUA). I was expecting a list of tricks up the sleeve of the pick up artist and read more on the author's personal pick up stories and what became of them, a la fiction. Instead, missing on the AI sheet information cost me a bit. I read 3/4 of the book and promised myself to return to it before the year ends. That book deserved my bedroom way more than the carry forward hotel room reading.

The book did return, albeit in a manner I did not anticipate. My view to remembering it was IIT gate through a haze of fog. SDA market never fails to make less than an impression. My beau, arm in arm, a yummy 30 something who was more into me than I've ever been into anyone, including Cold.

Let me just take a minute and address this man. He was a total 10/10. The kind I never swipe right to, and least of all go out with. I settle for an easy 7 because they put in some effort in the conversation, they're usually funny/cocky and make up for the perfect 10 by being witty, if not perfectly alright to take that forward to date 2.

However, this man, ***** was everything I'm not used to. He was an easy six feet something, toothpaste advertisement smile and outfit straight out of Karl's notebook on how to be effortlessly chic for a date. When I complimented him on the same, he just brushed his shoulder and said,

"I like to be comfortable. This was really comfortable. I didn't quite put it together."

The man could tell me he's Charles Sobhraj's cousin and I would buy it off his perfectly symmetrical face. This is why, ladies and gentlemen, I skip the 10 and head towards the 6 and the 7. They don't have this effect on anyone. His stubble was well maintained and saying anything more would mean an awkward family conversation in 48 hours.

If Nicolas Simoes and Milind Soman ever get to make a baby, that man would grow up and look like my date from the evening. Yes.

Blame me, for I couldn't resist the company of ***** and all his lies that he conveyed staring deep in my eyes.

We had met for the first time after a brief conversation. Yet the entire evening in his company had been poetic in every verse of time. Minus a few misplaced rhyme schemes (more on this, later), this man seemed to be hitting every note right and placing every punctuation just as delicately as he had wrapped his arms around me.

Wait, what?

First dates are either awkward or cocky and hilarious. Never the one to have had a cosy evening with intertwined arms (let's say you're my mother and you're reading this- stop right here) that ends with heavy petting in public sight.

What the actual fuck happened?

Believe me when I say this, it had the making of this man not getting a response from me but within 20 minutes of brief interaction, I parted with my number pretty willingly. That's standard now, since you can block them later. I didn't realize that in 2017, this is still referred to as "closing interaction-1".

We spoke briefly on the phone, for what was half an hour. It was like how a conversation with an old friend rolls, very comfortable, nothing out of place yet every bit intimate. "Closing interaction-2" check.

"I think sex is a very serious thing. I'd like to think of myself in a pensive relationship before I can get out there and sleep with someone." to "You know Amour? The manager cornered me when I left the ladies washroom after a quickie. He knew what we were upto. It was so thrilling!"

Not sure, if that was the re-telling of a pick up artist or my very serious, mature and hot af date.

To be honest, there are times you let your thinking capacity die despite it working overtime. That evening was one of those from the calendar. While I was very sure about something being off, my head couldn't pin point to what exactly. It especially stopped working after we hit "escalation ladder of kino-closing" me into this man's arms. That's as much juice you're going to get from this year end drama.

It was in that moment, I cursed myself while staring into the abyss and thought, I wish I had finished that book. This man is just as smooth as that pick up artist I read about.



"So while I was telling Anid about him, I said that all his transitions were seamless. He was so confident and so smooth, it didn't seem out of place. Not inappropriate and certainly not forced."

"Yeah, just goes on to prove that you're as human as anyone and no matter how hard you try, you can't resist."

"No, it doesn't. It could have ended up in the washroom like the Amour tell tale but that didn't happen because I wasn't human enough." something I could only think of and not muster the courage to say, as I realized the person I was speaking to, is also a pick up artist.

"Wait a minute, you have the same MO. Are you...?"

"Haha what do you think I was doing all this while. You're a tough nut to crack."

Shit.

The said friend didn't manage to nail me down for a bunch of logistical and other reasons, including wanting to have me as a friend.

"The number one rule of pick up game is, you fuck off right after. There's no contact to be established and I obviously didn't want that to happen between us."

Suck my dick, everyone whoever said "dick is everything. Chemistry, nothing".

It was after this conversation last night that I learned a few things about myself including, and not limited to-

1) I'm just as gullible as the newbie who just joined work at 22 is lucky enough to have never experienced a "heartbreak".
2) Pick up artists exist in 2017 regardless of Tinder being a commonplace to find love or lust and anything in between.
3) Your friends could be "negging", "peacocking", "kino-closing" women/men right under your nose and you'd have no idea. I also suggest looking these terms up.
4) When they say, "you've no game" they don't necessarily mean board game or online game. They mean the Game by Neil Strauss.
5) My brain works 9/10 times. The 1 time it didn't work, I felt just as foolish as Khurana at the end of Khosla ka Ghosla.

While I'd love to clinically describe the making of a pick up artist, the Game, the signs that you're being played successfully by a pick up artist etc, I don't want to give you ideas to try this out. I've been told it makes people feel good but if you're anything like me, you'd feel like shit at the end knowing you're a temporary mark up in a game, and nothing more.

As for my hot date, grapes might totally be sour but the man could do with learning about conjunctions. His perfect teeth won't take him very far in the Delhi circuit.

Meanwhile, if you're into dating, or are a single woman/man lurking around and stumbled upon this piece, I highly recommend doing some reading on the pick up artists, on the terms listed above and definitely reading a book or two on it. I've re-read my copy of Laid in India cover to cover, twice since, and possibly read every possible link on the internet on the subject. While my resistance to believe that, "This CAN'T happen to me" remains just as strong as it did when I was in Thailand, I would like for you to be adequately prepared before you meet one or more of these people out there.

They might have no ill intentions but I am not the one who likes being played. That said, I'd like to leave my date from last night a little more than the lingering fragrance of No. 5 on him. An impression of my knucles on his face, perhaps. 

"Every time something like this (situation regarding a work deadline) happens, I look back and check my surname. 'West', is that my second name yet?
No, it's not.
It's 'Malik'.
Then I go back to being myself and re-consider my decision (about launch date of project)."

My friend, who goes by his second name, Malik, aka Mr Malik is moving cities. Although, I did keep the sentiment in mind, he brought up how I didn't write anything about him and yet "tagged" him in a post saying he's leaving and the works.

Look out for Mr Malik's new projects, all lined up to release real soon. I'm not sure if I can talk about them, but I can talk about Mr Malik himself, who happens to be an old friend. As old as when I was 17 and cocky and ever so hyper. Despite his belief that I hated him when I first met him- a myth propagated by Mr Malik himself, I count him as a friend who has my back regardless of where I am and what stupidity I've indulged in. I'd like to think he feels the same since he's participated in eating not once, but twice over vegetarian food when all that we ever discuss is meat.

He and I have come a long way, charting conversations about biryani on different technologies, say from BBM to Telegram, to him promising to be a witness at my wedding whenever it happens, if at all it happens. Mr Malik has fed my unhealthy Diet Coke obsession and been ever so kind so let me fail a work deadline. Let's not forget the time, he allowed me to drive his car, when my own parents did not and I rammed it in the society gates at Westend. The guards promised to never allow Mr Malik's car in, and yet, only last week he offered to let me drive his car again.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is true friendship.

Now that Bombay's taking this friend away, I have a vacancy open in my life. To fill the big Yeezy's that Mr Malik would potentially wear and show up fashionably late. Although, credit where credit is due, from reaching a gig five hours late to only running late for ten minutes, that's a real leap into adulthood.

However, I'm pretty fucking sure, the spot is going to be vacant unless I move to Bombay or Mr Malik decides to move back sometime in the future.

Keeping this one real short. If I know anything about Mr Malik, he doesn't like to mull over words. Short and sweet, just like the last book he read on Soka Buddhism because, you know, it was short.

Delhi's going to be less than cool in your absence, Mr Malik.

Uphill climbs bring out the worst in me, whether on feet or in the car. The market where I work is located on a relatively uphill slope. Naturally, I'm at my worst every single time I'm asked to lug my ass anywhere around the area.

On one of my last ATM hangs with Mia K, I was ranting to her about a friend. I believed the said friend had fewer fucks to give about me than in comparison to her SO's friends. That should irk anyone.

Mia K being Mia K (ahem) looked at me calmly with an expression that read, "This child." and continued to hear until I shut up with all my ranting and replaced it with panting.

Speaking of panting, Mia K has a great joke on how dogs wear coats and they pant in the Summer due to the same coat (haha fuck me, hilarious). It's something that's a part of her overcompensational behaviour since she put in her papers.

I digress, but coming back to the uphill climb and Mia K, she responded with a counter example on how my friend was giving me all the fucks and how I have been forgetting about the same (citing two academic papers and four parties from the last one financial year).

"You know what's your problem? (mental note, not verbal.) You keep a list of grudges only. Instead, why don't you focus on a list of gratitudes?"

"You know what, I hate you (mental note, not verbal.) You are right. I have never done that. Maybe, it's time for me to make that."

What better than the last post during my birthday month, to recall the kindness and the large heartedness of the people I've encountered.

To the girl who didn't show up to take admission at my second college - You helped me secure a seat. Without your input (of staying out of admissions) help, I wouldn't have managed to meet the people I call family today, the degree that taught me everything about images, still and moving. That made me realize that there's a life outside academia and that it's worth pursuing. You also ensured I didn't go to the UK since I got admitted in Delhi and that was the only one condition upon which I skipped all the colleges I got through there god I hate you so much (how does one not add grudges to the same list man?).

Mum - For being oh so nonchalant about dating, bringing men home and for being all round resourceful by ensuring me the tastiest present from my birthday wishlist this year.

The Japanese passerby who told me to pick the John Coltrane Tshirt - He was my Yoda and I had a full padawan moment with him. He appeared out of nowhere when the Thai woman was charming her way in and ensuring she sells me three t-shirts including Chili Peppers ("We don't stock Chili Peppers, but we do keep Red Hot Chili Peppers hahaha.") and Oasis. He came in nonchalantly, not looking to buy anything and when I was hyperventilating over the Coltrane t-shirt he asked me to pick that over the Chili Peppers. "Classy, definitely. RHCP is more rocker like. Which one are you?"
All of a sudden, I no longer needed Sinner to help me with my purchase. The Thai woman looked a bit disappointed.

Speaking of which, Sinner - For being the most compassionate travel partner despite travelling with me since 2010 and knowing I throw up at the drop of the hat. For fussing over me when I didn't sleep enough and for calming me down when she lost her wallet full of monies and cards. For baking that cake on my blog anniversary party (it wasn't this month but still) and being one eye roll away from knowing what's up with me. Recently, she pronounced I liked a guy before I knew I liked him. I don't know about you, but I need more of her in my life. "He's crazy, just like her.", she told her Catfish friend, and he nodded in agreement. This, when I knew nothing about the person. All that we (Sinner and I) are missing is an umblical cord. Really. She wouldn't agree though.

My University - For making sure I exited academia with an A, and nothing less. It was an absolute pleasure and my gratitude to the people who feigned well at tolerating my work and vice verse. Quite a ride.

My workplace - For trusting in me and giving me a chance of a lifetime on projects that people usually take a long time to reach to in their career. 

Thai Airways Ground Staff in Delhi - For blocking the middle seat and thus ensuring I slept through the flight with my feet curled up on the next seat. I make a silent wish for everytime a ground staff personnel does that for me.

The lady at Platinum Mall who exchanged our pants two days later - She's my hero, for not only did she recognize me and gave me stuff my size in a plethora of colours, she also agreed to exchange sizes and allowed us to try outfits (despite so, we came to exchange). She was more than happy helping Sinner and I pick pants and skirts. In a country where you're asked to not enter a nightclub cause you're not a guy and not allowed to touch clothes which don't fit your size, she was quite something. I hope she makes a fortune selling those soft as hell, skinny pants.




Circuit - For fighting through the time I was traveling. After I came back, there were days I wondered how he survived. I am so fucking glad he did, I would be devasted otherwise...

The lady who gave me change for 1000 baht in exchange for buying two rubber bands worth ten baht each - You make me want to move to Bangkok and embarrass myself asking people to help me get a job there. Recently, I was out trying to buy a bottled water in exchange with a 100 rupee note. I was shown the door by FOUR fucking shopkeepers because they did not deem a 20 rupee purchase worth giving 80 rupees worth of change.


Fuck you guys, learn a thing or two on how to treat people.


His Holiness The Dalai Lama - For making that miraculous entrance during my vacation and ensuring I didn't come back to a situation where my ass was on fire trying to hunt rare images from the cesspool of shit that the internet is. Youdaman.

The men who played Charlie "Putz" at the drinks trucks - You gave me a reason to laugh at myself, besides stiff drinks.

Man Friday- Very few people can drill facts in your head without an ulterior motive. While I'm ducking my head in the sand and not coming out to the reality, he's pushing me to face the facts and pick my life and look at what I intend on doing for the next couple of years. In his words, "fun and games are over."

Mia Khalifa - There's no easy way of doing this. I'm high out of my mind and to write this after giving her a farewell isn't exactly simple. While I'm at being sentimental, let me count the times Mia K was the bomb.

For rolling me a doob in the conference room. For the reverse psychology that made me stick around the job. For drilling in me that clean eating is completely possible regardless of being fussy and picky. For proving to me that incest is real by playing both, the role of my elder sister and potential lover. For always being a phone call away (yet never answering). For single handedly standing against everything that went wrong in the last one year and making sure I remember none of that. For making me into a better person. For telling it to my face that my IRL game sucks and for planning my mayyat. It's been a real pleasure, Mia.

A teacher who taught me mathematics in school shared her ideas on Facebook recently. I tried very hard resisting the temptation to not respond and well, here I am. Loaded with work on this Sunday afternoon and have a fuck tonne of things to do, yet, this calls for a sit down, be humble post.

Some thoughts pop up when ever I come across posts making fun of some terms used in Mathematics like sine, cos, theta, beeta etc, apparently for not having any direct use in daily life.I feel, choosing to keep mum is irresponsibility from my side, as I am a teacher, passionate of Mathematics and my profession.No other subject faces this kind of accusations.(may be - I don't come across.)Those novels and poems I struggled with, are not directly useful in my daily life, but the language skill, I developed through them, is indeed inevitable.Those essays and dates of wars, I don't remember any more, but the awareness gained through them mold my views.Those diagrams of plant cells, or nervous systems, are neither used in my personal life nor are part of my profession. But the dedication and accuracy I practiced while drawing them, has been adopted as my way of life.When some take up the direct application of these subjects in their profession or career, others like me who left them on the way, should be happy about the hidden benefits gained, instead of rubbishing them.Role of Mathematics in science and technology is undisputed. But learning Mathematics also has some genuine hidden purpose, which most of the people are, unfortunately, not aware of, or choose to overlook.If Mathematics is done with understanding of logic and concepts, and with dedication, it helps develop the skills to observe a given situation, analyze various information, organise the procedure, choose the best ways, concentrate on minute issues, to be logical in approch, to be accurate in understanding authentic definitions, to be critical for further improvement, to be laborious and much more.Whereas, the people who are not self motivated to do this subject, just memorise the procedure of doing problems, without bothering to know the logic and theory behind it, and defeet the very purpose. They will never be able to acquire the true benefits, despite of managing good scores in the Examination.This category of people are found mocking the subject and sharing negative attitude with the next generation. The irony is that, still they want their children to take up this so called useless subject. They say 'The only use of learning Mathematics is to help your kid doing his homework'.Out of hundreds of mounteneers trying to hit the peak, only one or two succeed. Others take the defeet gracefully since it was their choice of passion.The bottom line is "The unreachable grapes are always considered soar "

Let me answer this point wise-

Some thoughts pop up when ever I come across posts making fun of some terms used in Mathematics like sine, cos, theta, beeta etc, apparently for not having any direct use in daily life.
I feel, choosing to keep mum is irresponsibility from my side, as I am a teacher, passionate of Mathematics and my profession. 

Fair enough, each of us deserve the right to stay mum or speak as and when we desire. Last I checked, this is a free country. You have as much right defending the jokes on mathematics, as the other has on cracking it out loud. It's indeed very touching to see passion and responsibility towards defending the profession as as well as the discipline.

I have, in the past (as far back as 2007- posts invisible) poked fun at the use of sine, cos, etc for my lack of understanding. I wish this passion could have translated in classroom where you did not terrorize the likes of us who could not understand the subject. Sure, the 16 year old me was not half as articulate about the problems in understanding, we can take that as your comeback. However, maybe take a step back and see if instead of posting passive aggressive responses, you can heartily contribute to preventing such a situation.

No other subject faces this kind of accusations.(may be - I don't come across.)

Fair enough, you don't come across. You're admitting the problem there. All subjects come under such a threatening dissection by those who are asked to pursue, especially the ones where they do not want to move any further. I know I didn't want to write the Science Exam altogether in tenth grade. I also did fail both the math and the science pre-board. I spoke about it over these last few years because it was a weight on my chest.

Those novels and poems I struggled with, are not directly useful in my daily life, but the language skill, I developed through them, is indeed inevitable.
Those essays and dates of wars, I don't remember any more, but the awareness gained through them mold my views.
Those diagrams of plant cells, or nervous systems, are neither used in my personal life nor are part of my profession. But the dedication and accuracy I practiced while drawing them, has been adopted as my way of life

Okay, let's take this step by step. Your problem as a teacher begins when you trivialize the role of literature by comparing it with language. Why you call language skill and what you decipher in literature are two extremely vast disciplines in itself. Maybe, begin by admitting and saying that they are critical in our existence. There would be no "x" without Linguistics, there would be no "poems" without Literature. Yes, we are all forced to struggle with them, just as some of us are asked to struggle with mathematics. An inherent flaw of the education system we are a part of. Maybe, as a teacher you should have tried to battle that, as opposed to defending your discipline so vociferously.

If you don't remember those dates of wars and essays, it's probably because of professional hazards. Your occupation doesn't require for you to remember them. For a healthy lot of us, the ones who pursued Social Sciences, you could spare a thought. We require it in discussions, in work.

I am a Cinema scholar. I do not require those dates "on paper" but I do need them from project, to project in essaying my role as a professional who is expected to deliver quality research. By trivialising the dates and the essays that you have done so casually, you're a part of the problem by being one such "my religion is greater than yours.".

No, it's as good as anyone else's. I am glad you admit that the awareness gained through the essays and dates mould your views. You understand that, it's heartening to know.

The diagrams of plant cells, nervous system are not used in my personal life or profession (despite drawing dicks whenever I'm bored in a meeting), but yes, indeed the dedication and accuracy we all hone while attempting those are a life lesson to carry forward. I completely agree with that.

When some take up the direct application of these subjects in their profession or career, others like me who left them on the way, should be happy about the hidden benefits gained, instead of rubbishing them.
Role of Mathematics in science and technology is undisputed. But learning Mathematics also has some genuine hidden purpose, which most of the people are, unfortunately, not aware of, or choose to overlook.

I wholeheartedly agree, we all should be happy about the "hidden benefits gained, instead of rubbishing them" or rather, go on with our lives. To each, his own. Am I right?

Pray, tell me "genuine hidden purpose". Please don't equate your Book keeping skills with number loving ones.

We all need numbers, as much as we need words but I am dying to know this hidden purpose. Is this a clickbait scenario? We'll have to find out.

If Mathematics is done with understanding of logic and concepts, and with dedication, it helps develop the skills to observe a given situation, analyze various information, organise the procedure, choose the best ways, concentrate on minute issues, to be logical in approch, to be accurate in understanding authentic definitions, to be critical for further improvement, to be laborious and much more.

That what you're saying "Logic" is a discipline in itself. Still waiting for you to tell me cos and sine helping me pick between all mangoes are oranges syllogism. I say it, because I have studied it in great detail in my undergrad. While, it may have origins in mathematics, just like science orginates in words, it by no means should be equated for what we were forced to study in school. As far as I remember, you initiated me into the lesson of Trigonometry and other such in Eight Grade. Logic, was no where heard or seen in school curriculum, until my limited scope of mathematics as a discipline until tenth grade. I was introduced to Logic in college classroom, where admittedly, my own hangup about dealing with my inability to understand mathematics paralysed me in the classroom. Your eight to tenth grade math classes were of no help in Logic classes. 

Whereas, the people who are not self motivated to do this subject, just memorise the procedure of doing problems, without bothering to know the logic and theory behind it, and defeet the very purpose. They will never be able to acquire the true benefits, despite of managing good scores in the Examination.

My problem begins when you put your terrorizing skills on Facebook for one and all. Who says one isn't self motivated to study mathematics? Maybe, take ten minutes off Facebook and introspect the role you have to play in peddling the passion and discipline to minds who are terrorized by the idea of attending 45 minutes of Mathematics with you in a classroom. I know, I was. In Eight Grade, I failed mathematics for the first year. Guess who was my teacher? Guess who never came around asking if something is the problem? I suppose you were busy teaching those who acquired the true benefits of mathematics, as well as those who didn't, "despite of managing good scores in the examination".

I don't recall you explaining the logic and theory behind where I was going wrong. Instead, there was eye rolling and accusation of not giving my 100% behind that. You won't remember, but I do.

One doesn't come self motivated from the mother's womb, people play their parts. I have to say, in my life, you didn't. I guess, 120 likes and reacts don't agree with me. And, they don't have to. One should speak for oneself and not on behalf of others.


This category of people are found mocking the subject and sharing negative attitude with the next generation. The irony is that, still they want their children to take up this so called useless subject. They say 'The only use of learning Mathematics is to help your kid doing his homework'.

Okay, let me stop you right there. My father is an Engineer, my mother is a Commerce graduate. Both my parents have been instrumental in building me into the person I am today, academically or otherwise. My mother played a big role in honing me into the budding academician I am today.

Yes, she wasn't good with mathematics, to the point she never said that to me out loud. When I look back, all the signs were there. Her inability to help me with my inability of grasping the subject, yet, never did she say a stupid comment or a fact out of the air, the kind that you're on a rampage of saying in this rant. My parents didn't share any negative attitude or mocking in the house infront of my sister and I. As far as I remember, it was you, giving me glaring looks as my class teacher, when I decided to walk out in defiance of not wanting to study Mathematics in your class. I stood against you and your discipline because I did not want to be the one saying, "The only use of learning Mathematics is to help your kid doing his homework."

I wasn't allotted a classroom, a department, or even the liberty to study the language I wanted to. Did you stand up respecting your profession saying how I should be allowed to pursue my choice? I don't recall any of that.

What I do, however, remember is your signature eye-roll. The kind that made your Math terrified students pee in their pants. Do you know that particular thing is the subject of most personal reunions people have with each other? 

Out of hundreds of mounteneers trying to hit the peak, only one or two succeed. Others take the defeet gracefully since it was their choice of passion.
The bottom line is "The unreachable grapes are always considered soar "

Two those lines do not correspond. I say that with authority, keeping in mind the aforementioned rant you uploaded and are being congratulated for, by those who are proudly sharing their board exam score with you.
Also, there are glaring typos in the statement above. Perhaps, if you would have focussed in your language class and vocalized your struggle with poetry, you wouldn't confuse between "sour" and "soar". Isn't the point of poetry, wordplay anyway?

Cheers,
A former student who felt the need to tell you to be humble

I've done quite a few things in life, that may qualify as 'things you should not attempt if you're a sane adult'. The research degree in cinema is one of them. It may have hit home several times in the last two years but never more than this morning when I woke up.



You see, I'm your late riser. No power on Earth can wake me up unless my arse is on fire and my phone's given up on snooze, or I'm dying without electricity in Summer.
When I woke up at 7:30 am without an alarm this morning, I knew something was up.

From the very moment, some 24 hours ago when it hit me that this is it, the judgement day is here, I've been unsettled. I'm hyperventilating, without as much as a word. I'm stressed to the point I can feel the pulse in my body, I can feel my head hurt, I can feel the palpitations. You'd wonder why, even ask what's the point. I did what I could have and it's over. It's just feedback now. But that's the point, that is when you look back and forget to take into account the endless nights you've spent crying, the decision to pick your book over a boy, swearing on everything holy that you'd never see his face again. I've lost relationships, friends, job offers, freelance work. All for that one piece of paper telling me I can do this- and I've done this.

A dear friend sent this day before my MPhil entrance which I'd fully planned to skip because it was too hot and I was so sure I wouldn't make it. I go back to this mail, whenever I'm down. Completely unconvinced though. I revisited this today with a tad more confidence.

When I woke up this morning, it felt like a terrible loss. A trade off I wouldn't do today. You see, I'm one of you now. I care about the money that reaches my bank, however little it may be. I care about wanting to sustain relationships, to work on myself- to be healthy and to treat my body with respect. Pretty much whatever I've stood at odds with all these years. The only thing I ever wanted is to do good. To make something good. To put my energies into creating anything-something, which I know I gave my best. At the end of my thesis writing, I knew it didn't work the way I'd conceived for it to be. I just had to face it, the blow and the reality check today. How hard could that be?

It's a strange experience to be so terrified that you don't know how to respond. Like your nerves, all curled up and just pumping blood so you can breathe and stand and listen. I can tell you, this comes close to standing outside ICU and waiting to hear terrible, terrible news. You're just waiting for it to hit you. That lasted for a whole day. Last I felt this, there was a death in the family and I was too young to process these feelings.

"You can come inside."

I walked in, blank. A room full of familiar faces all smiling at me. I'd spent an entire day sitting in this room, even speaking and having everyone listen to me. Yet, it seemed completely unfamiliar when I stepped in to hear my grade. My advisor patted my back and said,

"Congratulations, you've done well. It's an A."

The validation I was looking for, for all these years came in one sentence.

"You should immediately go and publish your third chapter. It's great work."

Just like that, everything I gave up to be who I am today, was absolutely worth it.

Academia and I, we've had a long, strange run. In the end, despite all the problems, I'd change nothing at all. I think that's what matters the most, how you end it. Ofcourse, easy to say now that I'm here. As a hypocrite ignoring my depression, I'll stand by my statement.

It's not quite settling in, the feedback, the end and even the journey. Three years ago, today, I was in a nightclub at Pattaya brimming with joy about the job which I was about to join. If someone had told me that I'd go down to get this feedback on my research degree from some of the top academics in the country, I'd have laughed at their face and returned to my hotel room to sleep.

I don't know what, how or when I'm doing next. In my head, I now deserve a break. However, those thumbs are twiddling for their next misadventure. A trip to undertake, work to publish, books to be made, events to be curated- I can't sit and let things sink in like other normal people.

I envy them for this. For their ability to take time off and enjoy things.

Meanwhile, I'm onto other bad decisions. Some of which look like this-

Hi Kiddo,

Frowning at being called 'kiddo', aren't you? Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but be prepared for that to be your nickname for the next five years. You're probably wondering how do I know this, who on Earth am I, and why should someone like you listen to a stray voice like mine? Give yourself a little time, you'll know the origin of this nickname soon. As for introductions...

I'm Snobster. 25 years old. I run www.snobster.in (a domain name you should have bought years ago). Nice to not meet you, because if I'd actually seen you, I'd probably be planting a slap across your face.

I've been on this page for 10 years. Sit down, buckle up, and listen to me. I'm going to attempt to change your life.



Let's start with the things that need your attention.


Your spellings and punctuation are not cool. In two years you'd be wondering why (and be almost convinced that you never did) use "Lol" or any version of that. Honey, it wasn't cool in 2007 and neither is it now. You don't need to conserve space, so hit the spacebar after you finish typing a sentence. Spare the "lol" and the "Hinglish" on this page. Stop trying to make it happen. Stop trying to make yourself happen. I guess you won't listen to me since you were at it for very many years.

Often, the best games are the ones where you have no game at all. The less you fuss about yourself, the better you'll be. You'll only believe it when it hits you a couple of mornings after a rendezvous with someone who you believed would change your life.

Speaking of which, men who you think are worth the world are as useless as the paper bag in which you buy vegetables from Safal. You'll need them for a purpose and that's that. For a short ride to carry vegetables from the outlet to your car. The metaphorical equivalent of that. Also, be more passionate about driving cars. You'll need it. Autos will get expensive and frustrating with time.

What? Why are you hiding your face? Do you not eat vegetables? You take the auto to go from point A to point B, don't you? It's absolutely normal to accept normal things such as buying grocery, pooping the said groceries out...yadda yadda. You get the drift.

You may think you're a mermaid or some ethereal creature (two shades too ugly) who doesn't get bothered by this shit or doesn't need a reality check but trust me, you do. You need that more than you need that tight slap.

Where were we? Ah yes, men. The delightful topic you're not willing to embrace.

Look, in no time, you'll have the attention from people you thought wouldn't know about your existence. A word of advice, spare the world the details about the many loves of your lives as you've prepared the speech and media to accompany that. No, that guy in long, shaggy hair isn't cool. Will never be cool. He's an arsehole. You'll learn soon.

However, about those pictures. A minute if I may.
That's the only thing you've done right. Be on your toes, snap as many people as possible. Snap at many people as possible. The pictures you take on your digicam with your newly straightened teeth? Those are called selfies and they will be a huge commodity in time to come. And you, my darling, would ace taking those. There'll also be jarring music written about it but please ignore. You'll outgrow that camera, then another and probably all those. But don't outgrow that habit of taking photographs, storing media and saving digital memories where ever you go- be it your school that you hate with the fervour or the numerous (!) institutions you'll be attending in time to come.

I'm sure you're waiting to hear all about school. As things come to an end, your school too shall pass. Those back counting days that you've got going for yourself? That's going to be very helpful in getting over the trauma that wreck of a place caused.

In the last 8 odd years since I graduated school, I have never looked back and said, "I miss it". Don't worry. It's entirely okay to hate the place, the people and even the body odour that place elicits. I'm sorry to break it to you, but you'll continue having nightmares of writing exams and not knowing anything (thanks to your maths teacher from grade VIII) and being stuck in a school washroom with no way of getting out. Would you believe if I did tell you that it was this morning at 5 am I woke up to that nightmare where I was locked in the primary school building and the toilets were full of turds with no water? I make sure I wake up every once in a fortnight to that dream. You'll have the fear of bad toilets and no toilets all your life, I feel now.

What's a school without the people? Better. But not in our case.

You, stay the fuck away from everyone. Look, in the library, there's this brand new copy of Age of Reason by this fella called Jean-Paul Sartre. I suggest you get your hands on it as fast as you can. You're going to not understand a lot of it, but the parts that you do, you'll love it. Fight the urge to steal the copy because you really need to get the fuck out of this school, as you will learn in time to come.

Has that wretched trip happened so far? I am not sure. If it hasn't then please, please, please don't go for it. You'll hate the mountains for the rest of your life. You'll hate everyone associated with that trip, including the women dancing in the moving bus who will throw up three hours later.

It has? Oh shit. You'll hate the mountains for the rest of your life. You'll miss out on ALL the fucking opportunities to take a bus and escape because you've seen hell, and courtesy school you'll forever hate the beauty that the hills are (or not).

Bad decisions also include skipping that camp/trip to Sri Lanka (because you ho, you'll love the beach so DON'T not cancel on that), colouring your hair (yes smarty pants, I know you're going for blue or shocking pink but you'll be in a different kind of shock at the end), Tinder (please don't listen to Mayflower when she tells you to download it- wait, you don't know who Mayflower is or what Tinder is but don't listen to her about an app which lets you meet people when you're bored out of...never mind). About that tattoo during the Commonwealth Games...don't roll your eyes at me. You'll hate it with a fervour in years to come. Besides, the artist isn't even that great. Wait and research. What? Research is fun.

Will you be bored out of your mind? Hells yeah. For the right measure. It'll make you want to write and write all banal details of your life for all these years. You'll date men (much to the disbelief of everyone around you, especially your mother, and you will sly write about them all- at all possible places). Spare your family the details.

Now the other pressing concern about your life- friends.

It's okay to wonder if you'll ever have friends who will, you know, like you and you will like them back. Or, for that matter, have non-toxic friendships where you'll not feel like murdering the other person. You're in for a ride.

The first person you'll meet and share your slice of cake with at college will be your person. However, a surprise would come in from the person who will smile at you during planting the sapling thingamajig. You'll be virtual twins. Yes, her. You think she's a privileged brat, don't you? A snob after you? Don't believe me? Wait and watch.

That girl in the ManU t-shirt in college? Her, she'll be your friend for life. She will fuss over you, mother you just as how your mother does. She will also be one of the few reading your blog and laughing over it. Remember to thank her for being herself. There are too few of them in the world and she is with you. Remember to be thankful for that.

That man you hate with fervour in college. He'll be easy to spot. Flexing his arms, carrying an umbrella and appearing for all entrances (a seat before you if you may). He goes by the name of Man Friday. You'll want to lodge bullets in his head, but you'll also have his back. He's everything you're not, so trust him when he tells you to. The world's not all that bad. I don't know why do you keep losing focus. This isn't economics class and you're not learning about missionary goods.

Beware of amphibians and other sea creatures who your friends don't approve of. They don't belong in your life, contrary to the popular belief.

But for that, you need to get out of school. A word of advice, stick to your school friends who hang with you online. They're not bad people. The rest are like furniture. Continue ignoring them and do your business on the side. No need to trust anyone outside of what your instincts say.

If your instincts say listen to jazz, study four hours a day and continue to crush on that man who's shorter than you (the same one who only wears pink), you do that.

If you want to quit chewing nails and stop smoking (yeah that will happen as well), you'll be able to do that. But you've to get after it.

What? I'm from the future. Of course, I know about him. And the other one who looks like a jackass (quite literally).

But who knows, in time to come, you'll fall back to your habits again.

I would tell you to think otherwise, not jump at every opportunity you get to prove yourself. You do not have to prove anything to anyone. You do not have to get every degree in the world and neither do you have to get a high grade everywhere. God knows where that person came from and what happened.

I remember you, creating this page, just as a device. A tool to distract yourself from not taking your board examination result too seriously. Oh, that's expected, yes?

You'll do exceedingly well. Only for yourself. The world will tell you otherwise. You'll pretend to not hear them but it'll leave a dent. It'll leave a caustic effect on your self-growth.

A dent so proper that for years together you'll continue to hammer one achievement after another, academic ofcourse, to prove how you've changed 360 degrees. How you've made yourself a smarter person.

Stop. For your sake.

I know you won't. Till you'll break down so many times that you won't have anything to offer. You'll be on the lowest low with nothing left to lose.

You'll have to stop. This isn't healthy.

52 in Mathematics is decent. As is 70 something in Science.


You'll continue to try to clean your slate into becoming a geek so big that you will flip at the sound of failure. Something, that I need to remind you, is okay.

It's okay to fail, fall down, tumble over. It's fine to lose everything you think you own and not know anything at all. Success isn't everything. Learning is. When you've stopped learning, it's time to go back and practice. You won't learn it anytime soon. I know it took me ten years to get used to that. I'm still struggling.

Here I am, you- I mean, this is confusing. Let me try again.

Here I am, at 25, still flipping over a result. My MPhil viva is due and god alone knows my mental health can't take the stress. I'm breaking out every hour. I'm snapping at everyone who's concerned. I've fought with people who care about me (to nudge me), I'm a wreck. I know you were when you started this page. Questioning, whether you'll have to return the iPod out of the goodwill if you fail mathematics board exam. Spoiler alert- I played that iPod today and it works just as good as it did in 2007.

And, it's because of you. And your unrealistic pressures to perform and demonstrate how fucking amazing you are.

I wish for once you could just give up, this whole thing of putting your act together. I wish you could disrupt things. Do stuff people your age do.

Instead of questioning, or writing or brooding, I wish you could just run away from your house or you know, fail a grade, or get a job on a farm or even go out clubbing and take selfies while you're wearing liquid gloss lipstick. Okay, strike that last one. Don't ever wear gloss lipstick. That's just tacky and you'll never be forgiven.

Just get off your high horse for once and see life from someone else's point of view. I know I want to do it today. It's hard being this anal about things, wanting things perfect to the last detail. It's hard being curt. It's not easy to want and demand things that people have no time to think about.

You know something? It's you and your choices who's made me this way. I wish you could take a break from whining, sulking and being sad. You're not sad. Life's not sad. You're surrounded by people who love you. By those who would go an extra mile for you, bake for you.

Measure your successes in life by how many people cook/bake for you. That's the only yardstick you need. No grade or division can determine what you are.

If you have people who have your back, despite your shortcomings, your stupidities and your whining, you are a rich, rich girl.

Yeah, what do I know? I'm no longer on pocket money or a strict regime of having a glass of milk every morning. How would I know what's it like to go to the school where everyone who looks at you, does so with some much contempt that you want to prove a point to everyone? How would I ever know of all the things you've bottled so tightly in your heart that you'd never allow anyone to see you for who you are.

Take time and let go.

That's the best I can tell you. Nothing remains as is and nothing matters for more than 48 hours. You either have a solution or the resilience to pick yourself back and give your best shot. Nobody knows it better than you- for you will prove every single time, how unkindly you take to failure.

There's nothing stopping you, babe. I wish I could be more like you today. Unabashed, full of yourself and so proper, If I were as cocky at 25, as I was at 15, I'd be giving KarJenners a run for their money.

Oh, wait. You don't know who they are. Well, they'll be relevant. Much more than Paris was anyway.

I wish I could tell you, no matter how hard life gets never feel sorry for yourself. But then you already know, only assholes feel sorry for themselves.

You're good to go now. Naini Kakkar will lynch if you if you show up without doing homework today. Or for the next two years.

Be good, be kind. Those will come handy.

See you in ten years!

(I'd have love to show you a glimpse of what you were at 15 but I know how mortified you will be, instead, take a picture from a moment when you're the happiest in the last few years.)