Monday, December 25, 2006

There are so many things that I found out about myself this month than I ever did in my life (okie an exaggeration). Before I dissect all that, Let me tell you things that I already know about myself.
I hate becoming 26, which I will be on April 6th.( you don’t have to be a genius to know why).
I absolutely detest hair in food. I can go on a puking marathon just by thinking of it.
I don’t much care for Priyanka Chopra.
I love massages even really bad ones.
I AM GONNA CUT THIS CRAP and get to the things I found out.

1)I found out that straight hair can be U-G-L-Y. I straightened or smoothened (according to the stylist) my hair. Gone are the curls or waves and I end up with precisely 5 strands of chemically treated hay. Why do I succumb to the temptation of straight hair time n again? I want to sue the people behind shampoo ads (propagating straight haired beauty(?)). Sad part is my head just stopped looking like mine and merged into the sea of silly sad women with fake hair.


2) I discovered that I could get a hangover drinking wine. Still stuck with the splitting head. Otherwise why on earth do you think that I am not sleeping at 3 am when I have to be at work tomorrow?

3) December is a scary month. Megha (my best friend) died on Dec. One of my favourite uncles Sudhi uncle died on December. This Dec, Padmini chechi’s son-in-law died. He was not even forty. One of my senior collegue in mumbai died just like that. She was only forty. So I hate December with a passion that is killing me(pun intended).

4) I realize that whatever I do in life, I will always be fat for the New Year. I haven’t lost any weight(damn). I look like Mohan Lal’s twin sister.(shit).


5) I should chill out.


Before I discover insomnia, bye …for now.

Monday, November 27, 2006

How to fuck someone’s trip
….in a polite and dignified manner

Rule number one
Dress well. Try to look your best. Flaunt your best clothes and accessories
Cos when you actually look good, nobody can really screw ur trip
Unless you want to get screwed ( that of course is another story)

Rule No two
Ignore , Ignore Ignore….zoom in to the object/person of your distaste and IGNORE.
Pretend that you haven’t seen their pretty(god forbid) or ugly ( smirk ) face, And you definitely didn’t hear what Distaste was trying to tell you. And if Distaste is just right in front of you like you can see the consistency of his eyeballs then you smile exactly like a bitchy secretary who has denied you an appointment with the top man the hundredth time. The golden rule here is never show the teeth.(literally) or for that matter the claws too.

Rule No Three
Be cool. Drink lots of water . Keep your skin hydrated . So even if you are really angry, drink a bottle of water. Nobody can get all that angry with a full stomach or bladder.

Rule No four
When Distaste walks past you, laugh. Laugh like you have never laughed before ( from the deep belly kinda laugh). The Point here is You will look happy and more importantly Distaste will think that you are laughing at him and will remain conscious the whole day.

Rule No Five
Hug Distaste, like the warm making up “I really like you” kinda hug. Only ensure that you don’t take a bath for 10 days and absolutely no deos pls. In other words it’s called biological warfare.

And people do tell me what you think. :-) { the nice kind showing the teeth}

Monday, September 11, 2006

Actually I care

I just realised that nobody reads my blog. The question is do I expect people to read it?
Not really but once in a while a comment would have been nice …. even something that says that it’s a stinker blog. Do people market their blogs? Because I see lot of blogs where people actually comment. Fuck u all.

Thursday, August 24, 2006


…..A nameless , faceless person
To walk around
To hold my popcorn
when I want to tie my hair
To pay me a compliment
To just listen to me complain
To watch a melodramatic movie
To just be around….
When I scroll down my phone book
Wondering who to hang around with.
Wanted a fat preferably obese girl friend who

would hang around the gym and local park.

Monday, August 07, 2006


Scanning in the crowd
To meet any eye
Standing alone
Fuming inside
One more day
Betrayed for
an office meeting.

Revolted mind says
Have an affair
Kiss any leper
Get drunk
Do something

Planning and plotting
Images of revenge
Then finally
The doorbell rings
He walks in with a
Don’t Nag Me

I hate him
Hate him
Hate him
Hate him
For five minutes

We kiss and make up
Curling like pythons
On a beautiful day

Sunday, August 06, 2006

It’s a Monday morning and I am wearing pink trousers to office. I can sense that most of them don’t approve. But I feel good. My shirt is tad too small and it’s a strain to suck my bulge in but I read somewhere that it’s a good ab exercise. The bottom line is, it’s a Monday morning and I feel great

Wednesday, July 26, 2006


The partition between their workstations was the only barrier. She tried to catch a glimpse of him; she could if she craned her neck really hard. He had small eyes and that was nice, big eyes on a man is effeminate. Of course they are exceptions. His hair was thick and somehow seemed to promise that they would be around for a long time. She pictured her salon-manicured hands on his hair. That sent a thrill of anticipation around her spine. She liked her hands; they are the hands of a pianist, long slender and nice. Her ex bf had once told her that they were even better than her face. And surprisingly that made her blush. The first thing she had noticed about him was his hands. They were nice, nails cut squarely and the best part of all, they was no ring.

Suddenly on a whim, she opened the Photoshop pasted her photo and his from the employee photos. They made a good pair. She pasted a long flowing Victoria Secrets gown on herself and a smart tuxedo on him. Obviously that wouldn’t be what they would be wearing when they are getting married. She would be draped in a crimson kancheepuram sari and he would be in a white mundu if he wanted. She suspected that he was a Punjabi but he had no ‘singh’ attached to his name. But her source had told her that he was. Then it would be a Punjabi wedding. And if she really saved and cut down on all her manicures and pedicures and not take that vacation to Malaysia, she could afford a Tarun Tahiliani lehenga. She was finally getting married. She always believed that anybody could get what they wanted.

Opportunity is sometimes difficult to grab and she waited for the kill. She always noted that during lunch hour when everyone else was out or in the pantry, he was in his seat.
She decided to slowly sneak on him from behind and sensuously plant a kiss on his neck. It was daring and it was just the thing to do for a woman who knew what she wanted. At exactly 1, 0clock when the seats started getting empty, she applied and reapplied the straw berry lip balm. Her hands felt clammy and throat really dry. She slowly sneaked on him and grabbed him . AWWWWWWW…..he yelped with a jerk Their eyes met for the first time. He looked violated and was shaking. Ashamed at herself, she looked at the wall and her eyes caught his computer screen. Two men lip locked passionately.

It was her first day in office after her vacation. She had put the incident behind her. Time heals all. It began with the routine. A trip to the loo . Then to the coffee machine. And since she was really early, a cursory reading of the office message board. But someone was earlier. And there it was pasted clearly a colour print out of her in her Victoria secrets gown and him in the tuxedo. And somebody had carefully drawn an unmistakable moustache on her beaming face.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

The New Me

I just shifted from PR to creative ad solutions which is just a euphemism for marketing. Think I like this's gonna be challenging cos it's a new thing for me. My baby is with my the maid walked off one fine day.......just like that and I have to put in late hours. I realised something about me today. I have an anger problem. I am always angry with some thing or the other. I was never this person and I am also pretty apprehensive about using the escalator. And this is pretty weird as I have danced in escalators wearing 5 inch heels before.
I also cry when I see something really sad on TV exactly like my mother. eeeeeeeeks. Guess I am becoming old.
Is twenty five old???

Thursday, July 06, 2006


Bosses like shoes come in all sizes. Some make your life miserable and some are seemingly nice. But at the end of the day, the boss is the boss and can never be your friend. And if you are friends with your boss, then you will have to be a subordinate for life or till the boss retires. And you wouldn’t want that, right?

The Great Pretender

Bosses are made with preconceived ideas. They are also born with the thought that they are always right . Nothing you do can change that. But bosses go to Management school where they are taught the basics “ A good boss is a team person”. So the next time the boss wants an idea, He calls you and the other guys in office, gives the rehashed motivational talk which has been passed from conference rooms to conference rooms. The heroes are changed conveniently. If it was Sachin last year, it’s about the indomitable spirit about Lance Armstrong that beat all odds this year. Or a footballer as it’s the World Cup season. Whatever. Then he uses his favourite word “brain storm”. You actually think. The other guys do too. You come up with some brilliant ideas. At least you think so . The other guys are not bad either. The boss listens patiently, looks grave, nods his head at the right moments, gives the right reactions and even asks the right questions. And he is actually thinking I am a team person and I have to go through this till lunch. The coffee is weak , I must sack the cafeteria. Next time I am not flying Jet, they did not update me to the Business class……considering my position and flying time. Sensex is down shit and I need to have sex often……

Post lunch. He smiles at everybody and says something about good effort and how creative everybody is and about team spirit and he looks at you in a special way. It makes you feel smart and you think idea is accepted. Everybody drinks coffee and he drinks it extra slow with a deep concentration thinking this is definitely not the way he likes his coffee.

The next morning, he says what his plan is. It’s the original plan decided by him long time back. The one he is born with. He smiles broadly and thanks everyone. Nobody knows why as it has nothing to do with what anybody said. But nobody says anything as he is the boss. Everybody drinks an extra strong coffee that is almost bitter. He finishes his cup first and looks exceedingly happy.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

GOOD OR BAD?????????
Was really bored and did a rough draft for Kamia's 1'st birthday card. I think it's okay. Sharada says it's pathetic n amateurish n says the copy leaves much to be desired. Actually it's supposed to be amateurish ... If anyone reads this blog..lemme know what you think.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Much ado about marriage

Any fool can say that a fairness cream ad is discriminatory and the fair skin vs dark skin gobbles up media space like a paid for advertisement. So does any kind of discrimination because it is a controversial word and most often has some story attached to it. I thought I had heard or known about all kinds of discrimination until I fell victim to the MWS or the Married Woman Syndrome.
MWS is when a person assumes that a married woman has no life on account of the marriage and willfully assumes that she will be unavailable for parties/get-togethers’ walks/ gym just to name a few. It is like being treated like a social outcast. A married woman who swallows up her dignity and asks why not me will be invariably greeted with pitying looks and ‘‘We thought you will be busy and would want to spend time with your husband’’ and whispers which you assume sounds like ‘‘ See, I told you, her marriage is in the rocks ’’ So that’s why when the husband has a night out guzzling beer with his buddies, the wife watches reruns of Friends. Single friends become merciless. They become your placards that say ‘‘ Sorry, she is married (underlined thrice) ’’. Every woman likes to get an appreciative glance or a compliment and that would be quashed by the talking placards. A colleague of mine introduced me to a particularly good looking DJ as ‘‘ Hi, I am so and so and Oh, she is married ’’. The DJ frosted like a popsicle and I spent the rest of the evening drawing circles with my mock tail straw, feeling like the third wheel of the bicycle. Being a victim of MWS means, you get a ‘Married’ tag with your name or worse you become married and soon they would even expect you to say, I am Married, applying for the post of Wonder why married rhymes with buried? Coincidence? Just when I thought I heard it all, my classmate from college calls me out of the blue and says ‘‘ Hi Aunty ’’. To my hysterical scream as to why ‘‘ Aunty ’’ when we are of same age, He quips,‘‘ But you are married ’’. Needless to say the conversation ended there.
Recently after a particularly good job interview, on retrospection I wondered why I didn’t mention that I was married. Was I scared that I would become a victim of MWS and watch my single counterpart walking away with the plum job only because of the assumption that she could put in longer hours? Single women are portrayed with independent ‘‘ she knows what she wants ’’ tags. There are even polls about what single women think, how they manage in this big bad world and how to them men are like extra baggage. Whereas any mention about married women and they talk about the ‘saas bahu’ serials. Married women get stuck with the stereotype that they have to don and drown in a sari with the cliched embellishments like gaudy black beaded chains and orange sindoors. When the single woman gets to make a point in the boardroom, the married woman gets to cry and sacrifice for the sake of her family. I wish somebody would tell the serial makers to stop propagating the MWS.
Maybe all married women should hold hands and start a METMA ( Married women for the Ethical Treatment of Married women Association) and stop watching the married women bashing serials or they could put on their discriminatory shoes and tell their single friends ‘‘ Yeah, I am smart enough to get a guy ’’. On the brighter side at least MWS is better than having a boyfriend with the MMS facility.
Where Are The Curls?
Long long ago when the grandfathers were young men and grandmothers were blushing girls and when there was no ‘Cosmopolitan’ to tell the latest fad, grandfathers and their mothers loved curly hair and grandmothers spent hours making their jet black hair twirl into coquettish curls. And when somebody said crowning glory, everybody assumed that it’s a long curly cascade. And those women who had straight hair looked at their curly counterparts and sighed. Long time ago. But today if somebody says crowning glory, it is assumed that it’s perfectly straight hair preferably in some asymmetrical cut with copper, blonde, plum or burgundy highlights. And curly haired women look at the straight haired ones and go to the nearest or the farthest expensive parlour where the stylist has diplomas and degrees like a medical practitioner and rebond their hair. What about those curly locks? Oh that’s so yesterday. Most of the shampoo ads show healthy soft lustrous hair as straight and when I notice a shampoo ad that by miracle features curly hair (mostly straight hair that is made to curl at the end), I want to open up a champagne. Nobody can deny that there is a wild obsession about straight hair and every other person is sporting the straightened look. A typical rebonding takes about four to five hours to do. And it’s not exactly fun having the hair pulled at regularly in chemical concoctions all in the name of perceived beauty. Yet even the actors like Sunil Shetty and John Abraham and cricketer Dhoni is also sporting the chemically ironed straw mane. Men are not shy of the hot iron anymore. The other day a friend of mine was complaining about her boyfriend. Her grouse was why couldn’t he accept her the way she was and not conform to his way of thinking. As she said this I couldn’t help staring at her straightened abused burnt hair conformed to the coercive fashion statements. Recently I saw a makeover tip in a reputed magazine that proposed Arundhiti Roy should straighten her hair and get a razor cut. I wanted to protest, do a Medha Patkar but the love of food got better of me. When people are talking about movie, models and fashion, I tell them Sheetal Mallar, Juhi Chawla and Tanaaz Currim have curly hair And then without batting an eyelid, they ask me ‘‘Ever heard of Aishwarya, Kareena, Kajol and blah blah?’’ One of the trickiest questions is, ‘‘Which shampoo do you use?’’ Refrain from answering this. It can make and mar you. A wrong answer would make you look like the poor country cousin. The right answer would be ‘‘Frizz free hydrating, intense repair, colour stay shampoo with any unprouncable name.’’ Another snob value question is ‘‘How much did you pay for your rebonding /straightening?’’ The true and right answer. A bomb. Is it a coincidence that there is a bombardment of the straight haired beauty in the media? I guess these are questions that will remain unanswered. May be the government should take steps and see that there is reservation for curly haired people in all Central institutions or give free education to the curly haired child. On second thoughts they wouldn’t really need it after all the theory of relativity did not come from a straight haired head.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

My princess is happy inspite of a neurotic, self obsessed mother

Sunday, April 09, 2006


It's been three days after my B'day debacle. I turned 25 on April 6th but I feel 95. Okay that's an exaggeration....65 is more like it. I woke up more cranky as usual........and then it started. the bad karma or whatever that pursues me on every national holiday, sunday and any special day. The driver didnt come. And I had to phillion ride with my husband. Fought with him as usual.


Hubby: you are just a cribber. This is more like a letter and there is nothing creative about the crap you write.

Me: You fool, this is a's like my diary.

Hubby: It's a cribber's diary. If anybody's a little positive, they will not read your crap.

Me : Like I care.


And I was thinking on my B'day, riding phillion with my helmet wearing hubby. "It's kinda cute if i die today, born on April 6th, died on April 6th". And I wallowed in something called sadistic self importance till I reached the dreaded office.

The evening was worse. I looked nice in my b'day dress. Yes bought one with the money my grandfather gave me. Guess I would be the only married working woman who takes money from 78 year old grandfather on pension. Yes in things like this I am always first. Then just when we were leaving for dinner, my mother and my aunty had an ugly argument over my baby. My aunty said that it's my mother's responsibility to look after my baby and my mother said that she has a job to do and she has my bro to look after. My baby's greatgrandmother the original caretaker now no longer in the post due to asthma and a thankless baby looked the otherway. And i looked pretty in pink. Blah blah blah blah sobbing mother, heated words, screwed up birthday.

Moral of the story

Always be 18.
Have babies when babysitters are available at Annai Illam.
Pretty in pink need not be happy in pink.
Always use a condom.

Sunday, March 26, 2006


Sitting on a snail………..
I am moving to work
Cycles are faster, cars are a blur
Pregnant women, don’t even ask
Sitting on snail, I sigh
The glass monster waits
To gobble me up,
To chew , to spit, to chew
Signing in time 9:14..Whew

Pretending …..
Personal calls………
“Am busy, call me later”
Snub a rubba dub
Checking mail
Mail Google
Calls to journos
Fake voice, fake love
Oily lunch, watery coffee
Knifed at back
Claws claws claws
Pony tail or corporate bun?
Brainstorming in the loo
Strumming hands, lazy clock
Tick tock, tick tock
Clock gives in, 6,0 clock.
Hidden smile, Casual walk
Sign out time 6:02.
I give glass monster
2 secs of eternity

And rush back to my golden snail
We crawl home.
Until tomorrow……..

Thursday, March 02, 2006


Icky picky irritaty pee
All I can feel is “poor poor me”
N nothin I can see
Tuba labba sicky pee
So uncomfy not in my lee
In Silly Billy’s head, wanna pee
Mommy is back to the crappy job n damn it hates it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!