“Your psychometric report says you’re a hard hearted person, un-diplomatic and prone to fight on face. Is that you??” read the learned Director of the eminent media college in which I was trying to gain admission in the Public Relations course.
I felt the muffler around my neck tightening. “ummmm yes that’s me” I said unapologetically. Though that hard hearted bit could have been debated on.
“How will u deal with public relations then??” Was the next straightforward query thrown at me.
My mind went through a whirlwind of thoughts, each arguing with other’s belief. How important is it I asked myself to be subtle and diplomatic in our day to day dealings. Like how right is it to call an ass a ass right on its face. The polite one’s would insist upon calling it a donkey or maybe perhaps even a horse. The proponents of diplomacy would call it the art of telling a person to go to hell such that he actually looks forward to the trip. Those opposing this two-facedness will say that they don’t really care about wasting their time in disguising the fox as the innocuous lamb.
Why should things that need to be spoken need to be lisped, rehearsed and worthlessly made to beat around the bushes. Why should the truth be hidden and cloaked with white lies. Why should we need to put up a Hippocratic facade of the relations we nurture when in reality there is a hollow pretense. What is the need to give the patient medicines coated in redundant sugar syrup. Why should someone be backstabbed and deceived.
Diplomacy might earn you enemies initially. People might find you blunt and difficult to swallow. But it’s my personal guarantee that this will earn you one priceless gem that can never be bought –RESPECT! U will be labeled brash, insensitive, rude and the un-diplomatic but yet your enemies will hate to admit that u are one of those rare personalities who dare to speak out the truth unabashed. For believe me, it’s for eternity proved and guaranteed that a truth spoken on face is valued more than the one that goes around as stinging gossip.
But perhaps sometimes it’s better to save a relation by being a little subtle. Ok quit it. I’m not diplomatic and I know it. And there I am with this vice that is both my weakness and strength. I know there are people who call me offensive and sharp and there are others who will swear to the fact that never would I plunge as low as to backbite and adopt double standards. There are people who hate me and others who love me, there never were and never will be the third category of relations built on pretense and deception. This isn’t self eulogy but a trait with which I’ve lived long enough to acknowledge it.
So are you willing to change if u get admitted to this course??” I was asked, my chain of thought interrupted.
“No, that’s something innate, it can’t be altered” I said. For a moment, I regretted what I said.
I came out of the room knowing that I’ll either be doomed or through this college.
And I made it to the Public relations course with all my brazen brashness!!





There are times when the clock does not stop

Of days and night you lose track

There are days when you have to drag

For all u want is the calendar to flip back


There are moments you pretend all is fine

But your eyes are wet in dark

There is so much to say, you reach your phone

Yet you hold it all back in your heart rather than playing your cards


There is so much pain, you reread every message

That to mend it you don’t know from where to start

It’s a struggle between your head and heart

Where every memory is torn by reality so stark


Promises broken, trust breached and faith questioned

Silence never deserved it from the start

What would you do if u were in my place?

Would u live to die alone with reasons of your head?

Or would you die a little everyday with your heart……….





She walks past you, ignoring your smile

To fly off to please a superior swarm

She derides other women with a vicious glance

Trots towards the men to work her charm


He strolls in the room in an air balloon

Throws on her a cloudy, lackluster glance

“oh damn, I’d have to tolerate her again”

Keeps an arm on her waist to add “woman you’re a star”


She waves the compliment with a proud smirk

Prays her dress conceals her belly fat

He cracks a joke, she splits in hilarity jerks

And feels that he’s a lame witted rat


Oh and see the pretense for the photography circus

Perfect masks to make this alliance last

Each with their own sense of purpose  

Each trying to mould in the cluster fast


They shout their opinions, but nobody’s listening

They display affections but nothing’s existing

They live in charade, a parade of hollow bling

Living lavish a fleeting moment that’s not subsisting


Dare you be yourself for you will perish

They will call you a slow ,un-cool fool and jeer

But I assure you’d be happier and cherish

The person you return to when you see the mirror.


Cat Callers


“eureekaaa Divyaaa, look at these will you??” cried Zahra running into the hostel room like she had just won the state lottery. Her voice was high pitched, embossed with the kind of excitement that could thrill a dead man. She came inside and half jumped on Divya’s bed with enthusiasm.

“You look like you just won the world cup for India! it’s just  movie tickets!” remarked the latter without looking up. She had her reading glasses on and wore a loose shirt over a salwaar. On her right wrist was a red thread, for she had fasted the entire navratras. The room was a small one, housing two beds and a pair of rickety chairs joint with wooden desks. It had a small window that overlooked the college premises and a unsewn curtain was hung on the windows with the help of drying clips that partially eclipsed the view.

 It had been a month since their exams had got over and both were putting up in private hostels for the sake of their tuitions that were yet to continue for another fifteen days. The bi monthly break from college came as a relief  to their hectic medical study schedule and neither was in a mood of studying the vacations. Whilst Zahra had left no restaurant  nor theatre in the city unvisited, Divya  found solace in her novels. Despite the contrast in their personalities, where one was a fearless extrovert and the other was born with a self imposed cocoon of coyness, both had been best friends since school times, Their families residing in the Una district in Himachal Pradesh.

Zahra had a slim contour, her body was lean and yet to blossom. She had shoulder length hair and a fair complexion. Divya on the other hand possessed full grown feminine attributes for her age. She had thick eye lashes and long, winsome tresses that she had messily tied into a bun. Hailing from a small town in Himachal, she was a typical “keep-to-herself” type. Had it not been for Zahra’s coaxing, her parents would have never allowed her to move outstation for studies. Zahra on the other hand, had moved to Delhi leaving her hometown and family after her 10th  Standard for further education. Both her parents taught in HimachalUniversity and had a broader outlook than Divya’s conservative lot.

Despite them being similar like chalk and cheese, they rejoiced in each other’s company. It were their differences that kept them glued to each other. Though Divya was no ardent fan of cinema, she had promised Zahra that she would catch this particular movie with her. Zahra was pleased that she could finally convince her friend to dig out her nose from her books and at the prospect of their spending some girl time together.

“We can leave an hour after the lunch and then can hire…”

“What!! An hour after lunch? “ Divya interrupted Zahra before she could complete the sentence. She looked at her in bewilderment with accusing eyes. Zahra stopped the sentence mid way with an equally confused expression.

“What do you mean an hour after lunch? It’s a three hour movie! Do you plan to return after seven?’’ Divya glared at her for she knew her eve serene voice could never accomplish that threatening pitch.

“Well of course, until you plan to leave after interval” Divya replied nonchalantly, not still comprehending her  friend’s objection. For her, Divya was a “crybaby “, a term she often teased the latter with. In the past one year, that bewildered expression on her friend’s face seemed to be the characteristic of being Divya and she was almost used to it. It was always the same fight. Divya worrying about everything and Zahra worrying about nothing.

“No!!” Divya squeaked. She put the book aside not caring to mark the pages with her self crafted bookmark and faced Zahra. “it’s not safe. Besides, I promised mapa I wouldn’t stray outside after dark. Delhi isn’t safe at such an odd hour. Don’t you remember that rape case where..”

“Cut the crap Divya!” Zahra shouted. “I’m not asking you to accompany me to a disc at midnight. We will be back by seven thirty. Half the world is on delhi roads in the evening. Stop being a fuss pot. And for heavens sake, stop cribbing of the promises you made to your mapa and citing these ghastly events! It’s been an year and you are out of that small town but never got that town out of you.”

“ could, you can change the timings” Divya stuttered.

“No I can’t. Besides I’m busy with coaching classes in the morning. you promised me!! I have spent money on these goddamned tickets!” Zahra shouted, her voice ridden with anger.

Divya stared at the distant wall. She knew she wouldn’t have her way with Zahra. She remembered the last time she had quit out of a movie outing with her classmates for there were boys in the group. She was reminded of the awkwardness hereafter between her and the rest of her friends including Zarah who accused her of being primitive in her approach.   It wasn’t the first time Zarah had reminded her that she was an orthodox villager at heart despite being a student in a metro city. Everything, right from her clothing to her english accent stood out like a blot of blue on white. Whilst Zahra could easily adapt herself to college life after two years of her schooling stint in delhi, for Zahra, it was still like she would wake up and find herself on her bed in her native, staring at the ceiling  of her room with yellowed walls whose plastered was uneven and dull, somewhat like her life.

Divya’s silence was approval for Zarah. She busied herself with her chores while Divya went back to her book. They didn’t argue on it again, for neither wanted an ugly fight .

Zahra turned her cupboard upside down to hunt for her favourite pair of jeans. She slipped out of her pajamas, her legs neatly shaved and red nailpaint adorning her long toenails. She took of her slip and wore a round neck tee shirt, not choosing a fancier blouse with the neck exposed for she knew Divya would look down upon it. She let her shoulder length hair fall messily around her oval face, giving it volume. Divya on the other hand wore a pink printed kurti with a nehru collar and a white salwar. It took a lot of pleading and badgering from Zahra to make her abandon that duppatta and let her tresses open.

 After lunch, they caught a rickshaw from the market near the hostel .Both had long forgotten the last argument and even Divya seemed upbeat. Both the girls chatted cheerily on their way to cinema. They reached the theatre on time and took their seats on the second last row. The seats were foldable by the top, made of plush red velvet cloth and opened only once one was seated. They settled and watched the movie commence. For a change, Zahra could see that the worry lines on Divya’s forehead erased. She sniffed around, for it seemed someone was smoking. She made a mental note to report it to the guard once outside and settled back on the chair, trying to enjoy her day out.

The movie had just begun to make sense, for the protagonist was just about to declare his feelings to his ladylove. The star actor moved closer, holding the pretty damsel’s hand and they stood in a trance for a while, their eyes locked in each other’s. The actor, then leaned forward towards the lady’s face, his lips brushing with the pink of the lady’s mouth.

Somebody hooted at the back.

Zahra was brought back to reality and Divya who seemed red faced after the intimate scene on screen looked backseat. It was then, they noticed that the last seat was occupied by a group of boys and what followed next made Divya cringe and Zahra boil with fury. As the intimacy on screen progressed , lewd comments and obscenities rained backseat. Finally, unable to bear it anymore, Zahra looked back and shouted “shut up, will you. We are also watching the movie” Divya froze in her seat and she grasped Zarah’s hand tightly.

There was a lull for a moment. Then came a male voice, hoarse and bawdy “of course madam, my shirt is up if you are willing” Zarah was about to rise in fury when Divya clung on to her to keep her seated .However she couldn’t for the very instant, the lights turned on for interval.

It was then Zarah saw the delinquents .They were the typical street hooligans, their expressions crude and malicious. On seeing her someone, she couldn’t make out who , whistled and then there was muffled laughter. One of them stood up, his shirt open to bare his hairy chest and looked menacingly at her.  Zarah at once knew that she wouldn’t be making a right choice if she argued with such ruffians and held Divya’s hand and pulled her out of the seat , exiting the row in a half run. Their seats snapped shut. There were jeers and cat calling from the back,”maam when will you shirt up!!” followed by incessant malicious laughter , but both of them exited towards the theatre food stalls, not daring to look back. Zahra’s face was flushed red with anger and Divya was fighting back tears.

They reached the food stalls. Neither had the will nor the reason to converse with other. Zahra was fighting back her own thoughts crammed with helpless fury. The anger seemed to be working like a mite, which rendered her confidence and self assurances hollow. Divya was too numb, to think or act. Her eyes were cast low, fixed on the ground , her mind juggled between fear and regret. Their eyes met and in an instant, the barbed wires of  all differences found a common land, that made them both, equally and impartially vulnerable.

“Let’s go back” Divya managed to utter the words, her voice seemingly shaky.

“It’s not a big deal! We’ll just change seats. There were plenty of seats in the founding rows.” Zahra said her back to the door of the cinema hall, holding Divya’s hand who stood facing the entrance.

She was just about to convince Divya further when she someone gave her a shoulder push from behind. Divya’s eyes widened and she let out a gasp. Zahra had been intently pushed by one of the boys and before the girls could react or defend the whole group came out at once. As they girls tried to make there way aside, Zahra felt a painful pinch on her arm and Zahra let out a squeal. They boys quickly left , like a swarm of stinging bees from fire as the ruckus created other people to look that way. Zahra, stumped ran to Divya, whose eyes were welled up with tears and face exhibited grimace.

“What happened, you all right” Zahra shook her and asked

“They, they ..” Divya’s voice quivered and then broke into sobs

It was then Zahra  noticed her friend neck had a small red burn.

“This!??”  Zahra questioned

“the..guy..cigarette!” divya moaned and then broke into sobs again

Zahra wasted no time. She gathered her wits and made her way through the crowd towards the security guard at the entrance of the hall.

“what are u standing here for? I just got a bloody pinch by some rowdy boys and my friend got a cigarette burn.” She screamed, losing her patience and calm.

“Which side did they go memsahib. Inside the hall?” asked the ruffled nepali, woken as if from a deep trance

“Outside. They ran outside!” Zahra pointed at the door. “Outside? I can’t, I’m not, I can’t leave my post here memsahib. Outside I’m not allowed to” the guard stammered.

“Oh shut up!! You eunuch!” Zahra shouted, running towards the door , unaware of the crowd that gathered to enjoy a scene that staged a drama superior to that in the movie. There was a small throng of people around Divya, who stood there, her sobs subdued, her eyes watery read and a heart that seemed to have started thumping in her throat. She shivered, as she watched Zahra running to the door. Her burn mark was now bright red, a tell tale evidence of the scar that fear had just inflicted on her heart.

Zahra ran shouting behind the boys, once she was outside the theatre. They had mounted motorbikes, ready to make a slithery escape before the girl behind them creates an ugly scene. They had not anticipated such an aggressive reaction, they had thought they could have a little fun with the seemingly meek girls.

 However Zahra ran, screaming at her loudest pitch “stop them! Stop you bastards!”

The crowd looked at her, as if she spoke an alien tongue!

The boys exited the cinema campus walls! Zarah looked around, her teeth chattering with infinite fury.

“There’s a police control vehicle outside” she heard a voice from behind.

Zarah ran out as fast as she could, her lungs ready to burst.

“Which way did they go?” inquired the burly policeman. He was sitting on the backseat of the PCR, his shirts first few buttons untied and his dirty feet clad in dirty socks sprawled on the opposite seat. There was another sitting in the driver’s seat, in his vest. Apparently the two weren’t really ready for a chase.

“They took to the left” Zahra said and in one breath narrated the entire incident.

“That girl, whom they touched the cigarette, where’s she?” he asked once she was finished.

“Inside the theatre” she asked and it struck her that she had left her friend alone in her tempest.

“Get her, then we can follow the boys.” He replied tying his shoes

“But why! I’m here. They must have made headway by now”

“Madam, we need to verify with her.”

“Verify what?!!” Zahra shouted and then noticing the policeman’s stern eyes, calmed down. “Why would I lie?”

It was then she heard Divya calling her name in a feeble voice. On seeing the PCR, Divya stopped and stood there dumbstruck. The policeman thankfully did not take much time to notice the revealing, red burn on her neck and asked the two girls to get in the car.

“for what!??” Divya quizzically looked at Zahra

“We need to catch those bastards!” Zahra said, her voice audible to the policeman.

 “Did u notice the motorcycle’s number?”asked the policeman on the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t. But one of them was a Yamaha, red coloured and the rider had a black helmet..i was too far away to notice the number. There were three bikes”

“That’s not enough” he said lazily.

“I’m not going. No lets head back…you know it’s not.” Divya’s voice trailed off as she watched Zarah climb swiftly on the back seat of the PCR. She had no option but to follow suit.

It took an hour and a half of clueless wandering and bystander quizzing for the policemen to realize they had acted late. They dropped the girls back to the hostel at eight thirty. Both the girls got off the PCR, Zarah feeling like a defeated warrior and Divya still fighting back tears. The policemen had given up on the chase for lack of information. Zarah wondered observing their complacent attitude if even having the number would have done them any good. The ruffians could have crossed borders by now if they so wished and it wasn’t a matter grave enough for the pot bellied policemen to sweat upon.

The hostel guard opened the gates, gasping at the girls being dropped by the PCR. Divya ran to her hostel room. Zarah stood there, unsure of what to do next. It seemed to her like her ideal world she was so sure about a few hours ago, was going whirlwind.

“What happened baby ji ?” asked the old guard.

Zarah opened her mouth to explain, but she felt emotions bottling up her throat for the first time. She ran to her room, fearing an outburst of weakness, an emotion she had rarely encountered.

Both the girls were summoned by the warden, who was duly informed by the guard of the incident. The warden criticized Zarah’s impulse on accompanying the policemen on the PCR. She didn’t miss the occasion to narrate accounts of how policemen have molested girls and how insecure the city is. Despite of Zarah’s infinite beseeching, Divya’s parents were informed. The story spread like fire among the other girls, they had finally got a subject for eternal gossip in the dull hostel life.

Divya is now pursuing her studies through correspondence. She didn’t consider it necessary to maintain contacts with Zarah any further after that ill fated day. Zarah’s parents neither approved nor objected to her actions. They are planning to move abroad so that she can get a better environment for her studies.

The wild boars roam free, relentless, brazen and bold as ever. Turns out the much needed winds of change will take longer to arrive, much longer than kinds of Zarah could await.

Monsoons Glee :D


Once again, the pristine blue sky transcends to a purplish-grey palette with smears of heavenly white and devilish black. The bright green of the freshly bathed trees paints the atmosphere in florid hues. Once again, the aroma of the wet mud fills the air as the land relishes succor from the sultry summer sun. The monsoon is here.

If this feast to the senses that this resplendent season gifts isn’t enough, go outdoors and inhale a breath of enthusiasm as young lads enjoy the weather to the fullest , playing as the rain Gods drench them from head to toe. There is no sound that can be compared to the pitter-patter of the rain drops on tin roofs. I capture and savor the moment by sitting beside a window with the good book as the rain lashes at the panes and the roofs sings its rustic tunes. And no, I don’t forget the steaming pakoras with a cup of “chai” without which the flavor of the season fails to appease the appetite.

I remember my school days. The bus used to drop me in the lane just next to my house but I used to make it sure to jump on every possible puddle on the road and walk at a snail’s pace so as to be completely drenched by the time I reach home. There is nothing more soothing then the feeling of the rain drops trickling down the skin as if the soul is being washed to drain away all the gloom of life. There was no care about falling sick. There couldn’t have been a better alibi from getting a day off from school. I remember praying and hoping there would be incessant rains so that the school compound gets flooded. The rain gods were never benevolent enough to grant that wish of mine.

If you haven’t had any monsoon tales so far, you have definitely deprived your life of a vibrant colour. Go steal some moments for that child in you. Heaven’s no, you don’t need that raincoat. For once in life, take no precautions and take a walk through the park as the rain drops dance around you to drench that control freak in you. Walk with your beloved, hand in hand, barefoot on the wet mud to leave imprints of a memory so immaculate. Play with your sibling, have a with tête-à-tête your parents or enjoy a good book. If your exams are round the corner, sing out loudly, hoarsely and croakily the famous song from 3 idiots “give me some sunshine, give me some rain”, with special emphasis on Sharman Joshi’s lines while studying! I bet your parents will beg you to take a break.

So go out, have fun. Enjoy the weather while it lasts. For once, let it wash the murkiness off your hectic lives. Happy monsoons

P.S.: In over hyped and overly enthusiastic state, I skid while walking on the wet road. Even though it hurt, all I did was laugh .For all those who doubt the healing power of rains, I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hysterically at myself!

Satirical Musings


The Girl is seated comfortably on the couch, ready to interrogate the prospective groom for herself! It’s year 2030 and since the sex ratio has fallen to an abysmal low, mere 300 females for over 1000 males, it’s the women who are having a gala era for a change.

The visibly nervous prospective groom enters, a servant in tow carrying a necklace made of onions and potatoes for “shagun”.

(Hey! What do you think you are laughing at? At the pace of the recent price hike, it won’t be long before onions are sold by jewelers!”)

“How much do you earn?” she comes to the point without delay. “Can you cook? Do you have servants?”

“Dowry, how many litres of petrol can you shell out?” she quizzes. Obviously, petrol is the most precious gift he can give to her!

The poor boy stands there, his knees trembling with fear.

“I can’t afford the petrol Madame, but I sure can hire people to push your vehicle!”

She sulks with apparent displeasure. “You have crushed my dreams of a long drive on our honeymoon!! Any appalling habits, like watching IPL?”

(Why of course, what makes you raise your brow dear reader? It’s 2030, and IPL has been rechristened the “Indian pampered league”. It’s about everything except Cricket! Starry abusive wars, mafia, nude cheerleaders, molestations by drunken cricketers and obscene media coverage of the lot! What? Was it identical in 2012? Well! Well!)

The unfortunate boy is almost miffed with despair now! He loves the IPL saga, its obsession has been his patriarchal genetic inheritance.

“I love gardening! Do you own a tree?” she inquires next.

He looks at her bewildered! In 2030, when every piece of vegetation has been destroyed by concrete infrastructure, owning a tree is equivalent to owning a piece of land on Mars! (Yes!! Did I tell you? Mars real estates launched their first project in 2020).

He sullenly exits thinking that it would be cheaper to import a bride for himself from abroad. (He might have to take foreign language classes though!)

The disgruntled girl is left behind. She opens her face book account and writes:

“After kissing a thousand wrong frogs, I’d rather marry the gay prince of the oil fields in Abamaland”

Not so Pink woes


My train of thoughts broke abruptly and so did the pace of my evening walk.

The whistle accompanied by a lewd comment that would be embarrassing to share on a social site, made my heart skip a beat. The fear gave way to anger as I saw that my predator, was a boy, probably just in his teens! He had the audacity to make such a remark to a girl who was visibly older to him. Women have that sixth sense inherently developed right from childhood that can distinguish between a casual or a meddling glance. If you are a girl, the radar is alerted and automatically switched on the moment you encounter prying male eyes or rowdy remarks.

Men have it seems always possessed the right to stare and pass unfiltered comments. You try to retort back, you’d be blamed for “asking for it”! What’s worse is that the society preaches to the victim to ignore such vulgarity with lowered eyes. For it is the norm in this patriarchal society, the blame ball is passed to the victim. Probably she wasn’t dressed appropriately or she gave the hint! I’m sure we haven’t forgotten Sheila Dixit’s remark on the murder of journalist Soumya Vishwanathan that ‘one should not be adventurous being a woman.’ Nor have we digested the 8 pm curfew imposed by the Gurgaon police on women employees. Not only has this encroached on women’s freedom and curtailed women employment , it’s more like giving the beasts a free pass to do their will after 8pm. Why can’t they put the same restraint on men for at least a day in a week! Why can’t Gurgaon police ensure security by patrol cars and plaindressed policemen.

The Gurgaon case is just an example. You would probably laugh out loud and cry altogether with tears of regret at being born a girl if you hear revered Mamta Banerjee’s comments! She believes the rape cases are a conspiracy by the Left to discredit her party. We have a woman president right, I wonder if she’s listening. She it seems, is just too contented in bundling up all women travelling in Delhi metro in the “pink coach” and with the women reservation bill in the fight for so-called “equality”.

It’s such a satire! It’s the same land where a girl is worshipped during navratras. It’s the same country where Devi is godhead, the supreme, divine force. In the same country, a women can’t be herself and follow her dreams, she can’t live a single day in her life without being reminded that she is a girl! There are certain standards she has to trail on failing which the social order will not take any responsibility of any danger that befalls her. Even If she does comply with the norms, there is no assurance.

To the girls, well all I can say is keep that radar on. Self defense tricks isn’t a bad idea In the wake of recent events, unfortunately it’s wiser ( it’s cowardly I know), but yes, sensible to keep safe. Do not ignore random incidents , they might recur at unpredictable levels. Bring it to the notice of people you know will and can do something about it. In case of street teasing, shout and garner public attention. The damsel in distress act may get the predator a few blows he will remember the next time he dares such impudence. Lastly, don’t ever dare think it’s your mistake. That’s probably the worst thing that you can do to that girl in the mirror!


Promise of Life ;)


It started eagerly, dreams fuelling the passion

It moved relentlessly, undeterred, unpredictable

It slowed at the twists and lows to shed a tear or two

It fervently rejoiced every blessing and joy


It crept into crevices and imagined the end

It sprung out abruptly out of dark bends

It danced and reveled in bliss of satisfactions

It exulted for trying to achieve the aspirations


For its LIFE, and it manages to always move on

Gracefully, hastily, lazily, wearily, gaily it flows unabated

Lies beauty in its persistence to bear the unforeseen

Lies promise of life in its every act yet concealed…





XY Chromosomes ( The Way They Are)

The Way guys are

The Way Guys Are

Warning:  The author has written the poem in a lighter vein. It really doesn’t bear resemblance to any guy living or dead. (ROFL). 

This one  is a narrative, from the guys’ point of view . Hope you like it , Do leave some comments 🙂 Keep visiting.


No way girl, you never ever get me right,
Leave me alone, or I will put up a fight.
I have my eyes glued to it; no I can’t miss the match,
On the couch like an octopus I sprawl, until the remote you snatch.

My feelings I can’t express, you know I can’t talk,
But it’s altogether different if I have to impress or stalk.
The only language I know is peppered with abuses,
Hey it’s innate in me, for that I make no excuses.
I don’t like to shop; I wear my lucky shirt thrice,
My socks stink, but I find the odour homely and nice.

You laugh so much; I can hardly manage a grin,
Emotions do overflow, just when the world cup India wins.
I’m always busy; I need to make money fast,
My career is important, distractions you only cast.
Laugh at my jokes, humour is God’s gift,
But dare u poke me; it will create an ego rift.
I didn’t mean to hurt; I have a tongue that slips,
Things that excite me are cars, gadgets and chicks.
Brands I adore, flea markets make me sick,
Chilled beer and hot chicken make me tick.

I’m working on my muscles, brains who will see?
5- Series I desire, but man! Petrol isn’t free.
I like to comment uninvited and make fun at your back,
In front of you, I am the material for a “good boy pack”.
You look nice; stop asking me again and again,
Sigh, since the new girl joined, you never looked the same.
You reach on time girl, the traffic for me never can cease,
No problem I forgot your birthday, tomorrow with a gift I will flatter and please.

That’s how we are; we are by default that way,
Dare u complain or change us, we say.
We are always right and ought to be treated like a king,
Hey but we still adore u girls
PS.. (no balance)..Can you give me a ring?


The Way We are ……


Teen - Girlfriends - Silly

I was just randomly skimming through a blog when I came across this poem that a very promising young blogger had written to vent his ire and scorn on the extravagant airs put on by a fuss spot species he claims to have borne enough with to remain a bachelor all his life. Though he claims by a foot note in the end that females would not be that dumb to think it was targeted at them with malice and doubt his unaffected love for them. I visualize him wearing that 70’s costume and singing to his girl friends “I hate you like I love you …” while sandals and stilettos fly in the air like missiles….

I have this remorseless feminist streak in me that is unusually aggressive when confronted with sexist ideas, however amazingly I couldn’t help laughing out at this one. Well, who said all we women knew was just sarcasm and whining. We can always take a dose of good humor provided that has nothing to do with our looking plump in a dress, our age, our branded dress , our views, our hair,…. oh! Well .  Leave it at that!!…..   ahem!  For all those ladies who stand guarding the feminist brigade, believe me I will join you as soon as I finish this article, so please don’t outcast me, and don’t let your blood pressures shoot up.

It’s true at times we are just downright ummm silly to be precise. Like when we are too worried if our hair is looking all right, that we forget to change our bath room slippers. There are other hilarious instances when we keep trying to open the car with the keys only to realize that it’s just the same model belonging to the guest at our neighbors’ house who is giving us weird looks from the gate, not the same one we have owned for last one year. Yes, we do take hours trying to choose a dress, for we want nothing but the best. The genus that complain that we take time to get ready, if only they would all bundle up to mars, we would roam around in pajamas (PS : I will make sure my pajama is better than hers )

We love shopping, we can shop till we drop and maybe still drag ourselves to the next sale at Westside. Yes, we are crazy about soft toys, we hug them to sleep and give them silly names. We threaten our guys that if they don’t treat us well, we will get our “kutchus”, “pingus” and “ladoos” , an entire battalion of our soft kin and get them thrashed. We love to be punctual but we might bend the rules a bit for ourselves. In any case, it’s no chauvinism to keep a lady waiting. Yes, we do laugh and later ask what the joke was. We pick up artifacts that say do not touch. Once we start the tirade of bickering and gossiping, we can give competition to radio FM without having to gulp water at intervals.

We may be childish and immature, but we care for people even if we get nothing back. We may expect the men to hold the doors open for us, but we champion for equal rights for we don’t doubt the potential of our own hands. We turn on the tap and cry at drop of the hat, not because we are weak, but because we are never embarrassed of our emotions. We are unreasonable not because we don’t know the reasons, just because we expect some special people to explain it to us.

We get attached even with our house help, we fight with our friends even though we know we don’t exist without them, we laugh without reason, we shout, we jump at little surprises and cry when the star crossed lovers in our favorite serial die. We fight, sometimes just to find out if the other side cares enough to make it up. There are times we cry on our pillows to sleep and wake up with a smile pasted on our faces. That may be clichéd because we exist with various types of programming and the author has not yet attained her PHD in this genre.

That’s how we are and that is how we like to be. We are lovable and we are “us”. At the end of each cribbing of the opposite gender, they can’t help adding it’s we who add the much needed color to their poker faces and their well, their lives as mothers, sisters, daughters, friend, wives and well like it or not the difficult girl friend..We are sugar and spice, well though not everything nice..That’s so us. That’s the way we are.


PS: The Author is apprehensive that she will lose her female following. Don’t worry girls. The next article is the “Torn to Shreds” , discussion of the chromosome XY. Till then stay as awesome as you are . May the force be with us 🙂