Unisex to One Sex.

Alright, once upon a time I used to go to a gymnasium-a regular not much shoo-sha, sasta-tikau affair kinda space and daybreak was the best time to do so before my body could fully awaken and dawned on with what was happening to it and revolt. Since mornings it were, I was glad to have the much appreciated company of fellow sex-no, we were not having sex here per se simply referring to the presence of the ‘superior’ gender-the men, the boys and even those somewhere in between these two horizons.

And it would be fun to go there with playful, shampooed hair and hook them up in a semi messy but sexy and ruffled butterfly clipped look and let them cascade down post the work out, giving the head a shake as though you just de-boarded in leather skimpies after a long bike ride on a Harley Davidson and removed the helmet to sway the released tresses from left to right in slow motion. Girls, by the way, this NEVER fails and guys, please continue to fall for this one and save us from racking our brains with actual opening lines to draw your attention.

So, that unisex gym was fun. There would be men of all shapes and sizes strictly speaking in physiques, dressed in all colours and clothing, also wearing the weirdest of expressions and mouthing the horniest of moans though just made to dumbbells and also stopping after each set for almost a five minutes gap to “catch a breather”. I often had to physically stop myself from announcing to them that we as a species are called ‘women’ and not ‘breather’ sought to be caught.

It would be fun to gaze at someone eyeing you from some corner that got unwittingly reflected in the mirrors or watching how sometimes men would herd around the area where women were doing the jumps too often so that they could get an up close look of how it feels to go up and down. Fun to notice how often some cute ones attempted to pick up more weights on their rods than their poor frames could handle just because there was a hot chick there to impress non metaphorically speaking.

Fun how some very middle aged man would try to strike a conversation by asking, “Aapka kaisa chal raha hain?” and you reply, “Chal raha hain” and watch the million dollar expression of his face as though I didn’t say it to him but threw it on his face. And also super entertaining if by chance some sexy-smoking hot kitten would get lost in that desi gym and what a stir she would cause as I have enumerated before in a post: The Ultimate Seductress or the Ultimate Bitch?

But then putting on 4 kgs in the six months in this gym was like a shock jolting my senses and screeching in my ears that perhaps I was having way too much fun for my bloody body’s good. Tried as much as I could with the toughest of routines, I was just not sweating-I justified it by saying that I may have an IDDM-Inbuilt Default Defence Mechanism that prevents me from looking grimy in front of hot bloodied men but then how long can you hold a candle in the wind. The tightening jeans finally ripped the truth.

It was time to change. So I looked into the track record of some other gyms flourishing sadistically on the malfunctioning of food loving lazy bums like me and hand-picked one. The only drawback-it was an ‘Only for women’ workout space. What? Are there still places like that except Convent schools, which served the purpose but dished out to the society specimens like me? And there wasn’t even a male instructor? Crap! Who would give me those, divine back and leg stretches after the workout that sent some of the eyebrows up and some jaws to drop?  

Happiest at the prospect was dearly beloved who had mocked and queried if I really went to the gym in those early hours every day for I had inches on my sides to prove an otherwise story. I would pout and talk in a deeply husky, breathing whisper to fan some insecurity that would get my leg pulled even more.

Anyway, so came my first day at this new so-called gym for I’d rather call it 'one giant step back for mykind' and a development of a new sort of claustrophobia, may be. So many women under one roof-I can’t breathe....OH MYYY GAAAWD yes, in Janice style from F.R.I.E.N.D.S my friends. I can barely bear my girlfriends at social get-togethers and find myself magnetically inching towards the male corners and here I was almost tethered in a room full of in-the-heat women: some jabbering, making it an extended kitty party circuit, some exercising as though how far they came in life depended on how far they had panted on the treadmill and some admiring themselves only in the mirrors with god knows what tendencies surfacing along with their curves.

Don’t get me wrong-there were women in my earlier gym too, but they were either so busy in trying to appear presentable while doing their jobs, or too old to bother about how their flab dangled from under their arms how else do you think I got so much attention there? Besides, most women in small towns generally still chicken out from appearing at the male timings for obvious reasons and that would explain the near population explosion at this new one.

So although used to of being scrutinized, this is a new ball game altogether, like I have said somewhere before-women dress less for men than for other women-as in not less in quantity but as an act in its number.

Competition has been taken to a new level as brands galore and ‘how did she get on the treadmill before me?’ look with the envious twinge gets rampant. Good old days, when I would stand next to the cross trainer and some nice guy who’d almost stepped on it, would get down and say “Pehle aap kar leejeye” as though I’d become happy and agree to a twosome someday-on the cross trainer of course.   

Also when my t-shirt gets a little inched up while doing the bending stretch, I perceive more vixen vibes here than foxy ones as of the erstwhile space. Good old days again when conversations occurred aankhon he aankhon mein- He: *you look hot* Me: *you do not*. Cut to now-the polite conversations on treadmills and mother-in-law and the television serial recitals would definitely kill me some day, if the trainer madam ji does not. She is women’s answer to Sunny by the way-not Sunny Leone, stupid-Sunny Deol. I know lame and over-abused joke, but could not resist. She almost makes it a sophisticated akhhada.

And worst of all are their diet plans-eat 8 rasugullas along with milk in a day and nothing else??????? What, balls to you-I feel like saying. They are worse than horny nuns in the school I went to-although they do say no to bananas. Or just a bowlful of papaya in dinner-really? Do they know how hyper active I get at night and thereby the need for more energy and food? Bah! Let’s just hope I knock down some 20 kgs and be such a head turner soon that the pain of being sandwiched without men gets replaced by being flocked by them-the desirable ones though of course. Till then I keep telling myself I am more important than a bloody number on the weighing scale and the number of grey cells and niceness within count too as I keep waiting for my stupid fat to cry and release in the form of sweat.

But just to vent out my frustration, here’s my parting letter to:

Dear Diet,

It’s not me, it is you. Let me tell you, no matter how much important you feel by coming into my life every now and then, you suck, literally and otherwise and I care a flying fuck about you. You are the bitch who laughs when I fail although you tempt me in the first place even when I decide not to cheat on you. Please be gentle with me this time and let me complete the drill so that you get rid of me once and for all.

Thank you,

Not yours sincerely ever,

Pleasantly Plump Me.

P.S. Someday soon I would be looking like this-more clothed though of course:

For my 'Love Being Interviewed' Instinct!

After a long time I got tagged and found something interesting to cater to my ‘love being interviewed’ instinct...
So here is my 25 point Something-on a run and all in the name of fun!

1. If you were caught cheating, would you fess up?
There is a whole lot of ‘if’ here and there’ll be a whole lot of ‘but’ there :-)


2. When was the last time you felt honestly broken?
Is there a dishonest way of being broken too?


3. Are you craving something?
You mean besides a killer figure, travelling around the world, a blog that is read by millions and a complete stress free life? Yes, and that something knows about it ;-) *feeling super smug at creating mystery*


4. If you could have one thing right now what would it?
 A peek into some brains and a control over some others! *evil laughter*


5. Would you rather have ten kids, or none?
*Aghast expression*I would rather have Maggie, Biryani, chocolates or brownies-I mean, I know it looks like I eat but spare the poor kids for god’s sake :-)


6. When was the last time you put your foot in your mouth?
Okay, this happened recently when someone I was introduced to said he was an engineer working in Accenture (a software firm) and I asked him if they made cars (remembering the car company Accent, which I presumed for some god-damn reason, used the nickname of Accent). Alright, you can LOL now! :(
  

7. Last person to see you cry?
Has to be my beloved and he’s seen me do so, so many times that even when he sees it now he often sees through :(
Besides him many others do off and on and get to hear ‘Pyaaz kaat rahe the’ or ‘cold ho gaya hain’...thank god for onions or else half the world would be stuck up in explanations.


8. What do you do when you get nervous?
I smile and try to get away or grab whoever is nearest (please don’t ask me for what).


9. Be honest, do you like people in general?
General se waale-NO, non-general se-YEEEEES


10. Whom would you like to see at your funeral?
All those who said they loved me and all those who couldn’t (But really-SEE here is an overstatement, don’t you think?)


11. Does anyone completely understand you?
Yes, but I keep challenging their understanding every now and then!


12. Have you ever made out in a bathroom?
Yes, yes, yes...for once I am so glad I am married and can answer that without being judged! :-)
  
 
13. Do you think the last person you kissed is nice?
Du-U-H! If I had not thought so, I would not have kissed him, na? Who goes around kissing people who are not nice anyways?


14. Who was your last crush?
*Checks her watch*Damn, it is not working-can’t tell you the exact hour now, can I? :D
  

15. Love or Lust?
It’s like asking brains or beauty! I always sucked at choice questions-why can’t we say we want to have and eat our pie too, when either ways it ultimately goes in the tummy? (Okay, I didn’t understand that myself)


16. Last person to slap you?
My class teacher is Class 3 for I entered the class after recess still chomping food in my mouth. (I guess, it was then I decided to be a teacher and set an example-who slaps hungry kids or even adults for that matter?) Or wait this could also be Seeya for she often gives me the Sunny Deol waala thappad when she gets all whimsical :(


17. Are you afraid of the dark?
No, andhere se nahi, andhere mein rehne se darr lagta hain*waah, waah*


18. Is there anyone you wish was still in your life?
*Smiles*


19. Do you flirt a lot?
Define ‘a lot’ :-)
  

20. Have you found a purpose to your life?
Yes, I did and then I did again and before I could decide among the two, a third one came along-I just have too many things to do and only one lifetime to do so-life sucks!


21. What is you USP?
I can crack PJ’s, I can be a good listener, I am curious, I am witty...oh wait, you asked for one- I’m genuinely nice


22. Do you believe in Love at First Sight?
Yes *moves a hand lovingly over a new pair of shoes* and no*looks doubtfully even at those professing to be “in love” after many sightings*-all love is essentially self-love.


23. What situation for you would be like ‘Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea’?
Stuck between a witty guy and my beloved...err...actually that would technically not be a ‘stuck’ situation :D


24. What is your favourite part about your body?
My skin colour (sorry for being such a racist here)-if that can be a part, the rest was all created at ‘faulty by default’ settings :(


25. What was your secret ambition as you were growing up?
I wanted to be an actress and tell in interviews that since childhood I wanted to be an actress...magar, kyonki, parantu aisa ho na saka so I manage with drama in real life:-)

Alright, this was cool-please take up the tag whoever wants to!

Have a Happy Week!

Crushing Crushes!

A dear friend of mine just got me down the memory lane to where I began my journey of handling crushes and being crushed!

While growing up and as adolescence set in on my hitherto super seedhi life, I used to have crushes @ of one every day...yes, you read right-almost EVERY DAY on an average. I think it is a little girlie thing don’t you dare single me out now my sisterhood gender on this. We little girls become all ‘awwww-ed’ with and about anyone who is relatively nicer or essentially cuter or gives us a little more than usual attention. For some, this inbuilt defective tendency continues till an unfathomable age, as I am a living proof. So I used to think the world about the new computer teacher-the only male teacher by the way in a convent school, governed by super staunch nuns-are there ever nuns who aren’t those anyways? Also about the friends’ cousins, the aunt’s brother, my elder brother’s friends, the shop keeper’s cute son and heck, much to my embarrassment now, even the boutique owner in those days he was called a tailor but that sounds even more awful and hence these small fonts to escape readers in a rush. There’s a reason why the government does not provide voting rights to adolescents and I just proved them right. But on second thoughts, if they did, at least the leaders representing our country would be good looking...sigh!

So my friends could pretty much count my crushes on their fingers, not the middle ones, please. And for accurate counting here I mean each finger getting into further sub divisions of three and thereby thirty at a time would suffice for reference’s sake. Just so that our moms would not know while eves-dropping, we rechristened the hunks as Anita for say Arun, Sonia for Saurabh, etc*the names have been changed to maintain the privacy of those concerned and also a concerned me* And before you think I was the worst, to keep a count of my friends’ crushes we had to maintain the abacus!

But more of my crushes some other time...this post is not about THAT!

I can almost imagine with sadist pleasure, you watching the screen with a gaping mouth and a disdained look that says, ‘She ranted one page about this crap and says she will “talk” about it some “other” time.’ Yes, sorry, this post was meant to be about people who had crushes on me and the encounters thereby which thankfully did not lead to the ‘happily ever after’.

Cut to my first year in college-the bubbling excitement of being on the threshold of adulthood was barely under control and we attended college for almost a full month as dedicated students. Of course later we realised that in Kanpur, you DON’T attend college, you just appear before the exams to collect your admit cards and then for the exam itself.

There was this College Union Leader. Remember Salman Khan in a flick called ‘Tere Naam’ but minus the atrocious hair flicks? He was the dada of the college-everything, even the teachers seemed to be under his control. He somehow developed a fascination for the plain Jane in me. While I would sit in the class and try to listen to the lectures, he would stand outside and watch me through the French windows. Then like the good Hutch puppy or is it Vodafone now, he would follow me around. This went on for a month till I became the butt of everyone’s jokes, as the moment I entered college and till I left, I had acquired an obnoxious, unpaid, almost pupils dilated for he would just stand and stare, as if in life there was no care body guard. I remember just when I had decided to not come to the college because of him that I got into trouble with not getting an admit card for some stupid reasons. And who else would I have to turn to instead of standing in long queues to wait for irritated professors to hear my plea!

His answer- “You do not worry, the admit card would reach your home.”

Me- “But I can wait here till you get it, sir.”

He- “Girls like you should not wait around here, aap jao, mein hoon na.”

Needless to say the admit card reached my home, without me being asked for my address.

I had not complained about him for he never really tried to approach or talk to me and anyways no one would have listened to me against him. I did not see him again, although till now I can picture precisely his slightly tilted stupid head and fixedly gazing face and all the filmy drama that he created. Maybe that was my preparatory ground of influence for acquiring the title of ‘drama queen’ that I subsequently developed.

There was this another time when a friend’s cousin managed to extract from me, my phone number after badgering me about it for months. After five days of telephonic conversations, he proposed to me I do sound vain here, don’t I? Well, it is a good thing I can’t show you pictures of these samples, so you would then sympathise with me instead. Now, I was in a fix. How do I tell this totally bhaiyya ji type manushya that this was the worst idea ever, even worse than watching shows like Rakhi Sawant or Rahul Mahajan getting hitched on television-my epitome of experiencing hell on earth? So I managed a little argument to confuse his duh-brain-ic abilities. He was thin like a rake and dim like a cake*used the analogy for rhyme’s sake*.

Me- “I don’t think we would have a future. You are soooo thin and I am well, not soooo thin. We would look terribly odd and soon you won’t like me anymore.”

He- “You think I am so shallow to like you for your body. I like your soul”

Me- *Oh my bloody hell-actually thinking that and not saying it aloud...probably because he had rendered me speechless and thank god I did not lose my voice forever out of shock, after hearing such utterances*

Somehow I succeeded to use my weight for the first time in my favour. Sometimes when I still bump into him in public gatherings, after a cold eye, I get a murderous look from him of his late realisation that he was hoodwinked then and how!

There was another episode that is tumbling down the annals of my suddenly revitalised memory. When we gang of school girls would get together at someone’s house, our idea of fun would be to get phone numbers of the hottest, cutest guys in towns and call them up to indulge in anonymous chats over the speaker phone. One would talk and the rest would indulge in mute guffaws. My friends were professionals in the game and we would later sit and do character assassination of too eager boys to spill their beans. With no caller Id’s and cell phones in those good old days, we connived with panache, knowing we’d never be caught.

One fine day at my friend’s house, I was challenged and a new number was put on the platter. I was handed the baton*in this case the telephone receiver* and instructed to get him bewitched. Come to think of it, television shows like “Emotional Atyachaar” where boyfriends/girlfriends get loyalty tests done on their lovers, was actually our brain child, devised years ago but sadly not patented. Anyways, there was a capsule course of voice training given by my batch mate followed by a briefing of what I should or should not do and say yes, the only thing missing was an armour and gun for I felt I was going at the border for a war and the onus of all womankind was on my not-so-little shoulders.

I spoke to this so termed ‘newest dish on the block’ for half an hour and was quite proud of myself, as everyone looked at me with a new respect for they didn’t expect me to last beyond 5 minutes. I still remember we all used the name “Anamika” ironically and left half of the eligible guys in quaint little Kanpur wondering who the hell for ‘who the fuck’ was not so common then was Anamika, screwing up the happiness of their lives.

The drama began when two days later I got a call from this ‘dish’ at my home number. What the fuck! Yes, I decided to fuck decency even in my thought bubble. This had never happened before with any of us girls that the guys managed to know who we were or get our numbers. They were always left at our mercy, to make the next call at OUR pleasure-that is whenever we got together again.

All hell broke loose. My virginal attempt became the biggest screw up and for a long time I got blank calls and pleading calls when I picked up the phone, till he eventually gave up. We never got to know how he reached me but our little secret enterprise died an untimely death and all Anamikas were wiped off from the face of Mother Kanpur for good.

Another dim wit of the highest order, called at my house and the schmuck flirted with my mother thinking it was me and my mother carried along with the whole idea for a couple of calls, throwing in her defence that she wanted to get to the bottom to know how deep my knees were in it. Years later, now I tease her that she did so then for her own little kicks that she must have got out of it!

Enough revelations for now! Such is life-there have been rarely “crush”ed people advancing towards me whom I did not actually want to crush with a rolling pin.

Does everyone go through these buggers or am I god’s special child?

My take on the Semi-Finals, MY way!

So how did I spend my day on 30th March, when 99% of the human beings and conceivably some species of animals also in Mother India sat glued before their idiot box and the remaining 1% were perhaps straining their bodies in Mohali stadium in Chandigarh or busy updating gyan on Twitter and Facebook, bringing to life their latent dreams of becoming cricket commentators and critics, rolled in one? Waah, such vast talent in India, lying undiscovered-not of players, of people who have so much to opine, whine and declare crime!

My god-calling India a cricket crazy nation is an understatement. And fortunately or unfortunately I am not a part of this flock that eats, drinks, sleeps cricket when normally you are just expected to watch it and move on. But na ji na...our nazuk naak and the rest of the body and some people’s zindagi bhar ki kamai depends on this one sport, which at the end of the day is just a sport.

The day India beat Australia to reach to the semi-finals was another ordinary day for a boring housewife like me. At 10.30 p.m. I take my beloved daughter for her one hour ritual of beckoning Goddess Sleep. Suddenly the thunderous sounds of crackers broke the serenity of an otherwise solemn night. And in the middle of March, when Diwali was months behind or is months ahead, I knew it had to be one and only cricket responsible for blackening the skies a little more.

12 midnight and Seeya slowly succumbs to the lure of Madam Sleep and I log in on Facebook to catch up with all that I missed during the day yes, facebook times are now either on the shit pot at dawn or after darkness falls...sigh! And do I get a thorough summary of almost ball by ball account on my friends' statuses! Innovation was at peak as hitherto lesser mortals, as far as writing catchy statuses are concerned, were churning out one smart ass after another talking of statuses still of course. My poor fingers and thumb were tired of “liking” them all yes, I was almost thinking of what body parts to use now to express my deep admiration that must be expressed. Men and women were walking shoulder to shoulder, without any gender bias in making Facebook seem like the blue-book. And I was also enlightened on the fact that 30^th March would hereby be a war by any proportions.  

Cut to THE day: Now my beloved, who is not a cricket fanatic, so far as other normal citizens like my brother are concerned (read his status-Office Holiday: CHECK, Wife Out Of Room: CHECK, Cheerleaders: DOUBLE CHECK, Chilled Beers: CHECK, Pizzas: CHECK, 2nd Innings @ Felix: CHECK, India f@#$in Pak: CHECK.. All CHECKED, now BRING IT ON) was suddenly behaving weird nopes, we don’t need to call a doctor. He overnight became a cricket enthusiast-finally I guess, the nation calls you on duty and stirs dormant patriotic streaks in all individuals at the time of crisis-whoaaa...what crap am I talking! Anyways, he got up in the morning and ordered a 32 inches LED television set that my mother-in-law had been pestering him to get from months. Grrrr- I don’t know what made me grumpier: the fact that he suddenly and without seeking my super valuable advice, had turned into an extremist that I would not have approved/ advocated or the fact that my pesterings are never as effective as hers squinting the eyes and raising one eyebrow in the unbelievable typical fashion of the saas-bahu serials that she watches all day and I have to bear them when passing by.

Putting Seeya to sleep, for her one-hour siesta in the noon, I turn again to Facebook for some solace and it was like any other news channel, where the masses were giving free and unsolicited but so-thought expert advice, right from the toss to the boss. Some gifted individuals were updating statuses within every few minutes, making me wonder if they were more diligently cricketing or facebooking! I saw Sachin being compared to God and comments about him having many lives. Now, had I been Anjali Tendulkar, I would have been seriously worried, but as I am not sigh multiplied by 1000, I let it pass. Here I am unable to manage my own ONE life; I expressed mute sympathies and log out.

I woke Seeya up. Got her dressed and took her out on the pram for our customary one hour walk in the lush green HBTI College campus, where she says ‘Hi!’ and ‘bye!’ to every bhaiyyas and didis passing by and even raises her cheeselings that I put on the board before her saying “aa-aa” to them I give them a half apologetic and half explanative look that says I know you guys are not cows as we beckon cows in this way but she’s just a kid, forgive her. She thinks it is her moral duty to feed cheeseslings to everyone tumbling down the road from cows to watchmen to students, as though we live in Somalia and the poor souls would succumb and perish without the generosity shown from her end.

Anyways, much to our shock, the campus was deserted today. I make her pass her time by pointing to cars/motor bikes/cycles and walkers passing by but today the road was as empty as my hot chocolate fudge cup after I lick clean every bit of it, when I don’t have sophisticated company. So much inflation, I can at least make my contribution by saving on the washing powder, that would be expended on uncontaminating that cup. See, a little speck of thoughtfulness and we can save our planet.

Anyways, coming back again, there were very poor visibility of human specimens- actually there were a couple of couples in the gardens, making good use of the fact that nobody 'known' would bump into them today. That’s what we call ‘Incredible India’-we know the ways and means. But I couldn’t point to them now, could I? And neither could I tell her look at that bhaiyya and didi for they weren’t so for each other, na?

A handful of motor cycles passed by with youngish looking boys that made me raise my eyebrows now not for what you think silly. I was wondering that something must be wrong with these kids maybe they were retarded/ had violent family backgrounds/ unhappy childhood/ inferiority complex and the likes for how else would they manage to un-cling to their homes and the television sets. And before you blame me saying ulta chor kotwal ko daante, aise mein nahi, normal perceptions hain. I know I would be heavily lambasted after this post, you wait and watch for being an outsider or even gaddar for writing anything not pro-cricket, especially with an Indo-Pak match at hand I can already hear “How could you?” and see accusing fingers pointing at me.

As soon as we reached the entrance gate of the boys hostel, to cross it on our sojourn, we were shaken out of our wits by the loudest of cheers from inside. Sigh! If only it was to welcome my presence, I would not have minded the rude interruption of my sweet reverie, but for a match...ah! To top it, I received a message: Today is National Women’s day! A lot of mothers and sisters would be remembered from 2. 30 pm onwards. Ah...eeeenough...time to head back.

It is 7 pm and G has just returned home early today- not because he thought of babysitting Seeya one evening out of the two months since the maid’s untimely departure no, she’s not dead so save the condolence letters for me or not because he thought of taking a long walk in the nice weather with his daughter’s mother. But because the new television set was coming and he wanted to watch the match in peace. “Baby, will you please take Seeya and sit in the other room till the match gets over?”

Huh? What? Whoa?

And the rest like they say is history.

P.S. My woes list refuses to peter out:

1. I was left wondering through the day if stingy mobile service companies had cruelly  connived to cancel the blessed free SMS packs today akin on festivals, etc and for every vella forward that I forwarded in vellapanti, I was being charged double so that they could sponsor more such dumb matches.

2. I have had a tough time explaining Holi and Diwali to little Seeya. Now why in God’s name and all that is holy and pure, was a mini Diwali being celebrated this night when the country’s complaining of lack of funds...it would take more than all my blogging skills to explain and more than all her comprehending skills to grasp.

3. Over excited husbands after such victories evoke over-doubled efforts from already over-fuming and neglected wives to calm them down for more things than one :(

All said and done...we won...and happy cricketing anyways! :) 

The Maid of Honour

Yes, I am on a desperate look out for a maid of honour.
In fact it's almost like-Gori ho kaali ho...ya nakhare waale ho...kaise bhi dila de!
And before my dear readers a handful of whatever is left decide to jump onto the conclusions bandwagon...
Nopes, I have not altered my sexual preferences!
And also nopes, I am not planning to walk the aisle again!
G and me have decided to stick along to each other- he says he doesn’t make enough money to get married again and I feel I have drained out of ideas and inclination to turn another guy into a hen-pecked husband.
So that’s about it for the love story.

And then the “maid of honour” you ask?

They say it takes a thousand workers to build a castle, a million soldiers to protect a nation but just one woman to make a happy home.
Let’s be grateful and show our deepest gratitude to our
KAAMWAALI!

Yes, the maid in question here is a maid/domestic help/nanny for my one year and three months old whirlpool of a daughter. Ignorant people of the world, people who have no children yet would never understand how crucial this one woman can be in the lives of women all over. Ask me, I have been guilty of mocking such poor sufferers and hence perhaps condemned to bear the crushing shackles of their torment as my penance. And now although I am at the brink of hiring just about anybody to prevent me from premature balding by tearing my hair apart, yet I am praying for someone honourable to fill the post...honourable bole to who would not desert me now till death do us part modern times woes-maids share an equal and prime slot of significance along with the spouse. Sad but true-often you can manage without the husband being around but oh no, not without the maid-blasphemous thought!

In the last nine months of having Seeya with me, two maids have come and gone alternatively and this because every month they conveniently decided to sit at home for around a week to ten days, without any notice they should train this race for more loyalty and selfless service, I tell you. This brings me back to the grind every fortnight or so, just when I begin to get smug that my life is finally settled and about to be on the roll and I can don my avtaar of the super star, super sexy, super mom writer of this millennium...tch, tch!

I would like to think I am a super nice employer but perhaps they would beg to differ, or perhaps they know it and hence take me for a ride when I mentioned I love rides, dear Lord, you should have asked me before manifesting it in this way in my life.

So now there is no maid again from the last 16 days, 5 hours, 15 minutes and 30 seconds and this is how my life is- You can discover me anytime, not bathed till almost 12 noon (this is huge because no one ever saw me in my nightwear until now, except of course G), running between getting her dressed to making her do her potty. My god, I never realized someone else’s bowel movements would govern my life so decidedly some day that I would spend half my waking hours and half of subconscious dreams in fretting about- patli aaye ya kiss colour ke aaye...kam aaye ya itne zyaada kyon aaye...ya phir simply kab aaoge maharani ji...phew!

It’s been ages since someone’s hands touched my body, for a massage that is, and this latent craving rises within every time I drench my hands in almonds soaked ghee to give a body massage to my little princess, who has made sure I give up my title of the big queen. For the erstwhile big queen then goes to clean and sterilize her bottles, wash and iron her clothes, boil her water and milk, make her khichdi and in all this while check her from chomping off the soap bar or putting a pencil in the electric socket or spreading the peas I am about to cook, in the whole kitchen, fascinated by the size of these new “balls”.

You would almost catch me doing the famous Dimple stunt from the flick ‘Bobby’, when I would run to the door to meet the arriving guest with one hand smearing the flour on my hair and leaving him mesmerized causing love at first sight. Ah, since no one better than delivery guys or the postman visits my humble abode, let’s give up on this thought bubble!

I am almost the modern day Superwoman, or so I’d like to believe, minus the red and blue outfit and the figure too actually and the ability to have soft flowing silky hair in the midst of the morning rush they are oily now thanks to lat jo I have to suljhao every time while oiling Seeya for old habits die hard, especially of settling the hair which are used to of dangling flirtishly on my face.

So I pack my husband’s lunch, see him off and return to sing “Sheila ki jawani” to get her to gulp down the milk before taking it all out in her pyjamas some ten times till it is time to feed her with it again. And my dearies, when I look at the clock, it ironically says just 1 p.m. Do you really want to hear about the rest of the day? I don’t want to relate it though, for the prolific writer Amitav Ghosh once said, “For great writers, the pang and jubilations of situations set in when they write about it”. So I’ll save myself from being a pain, you know where!

And best of all is my predicament, when I asked my bartan-dhone waale to baby sit her for two hours while I teach my students although I make sure Seeya sleeps through most of it. This because I burnt the midnight oil teaching Seeya words like Car, carrot, star, apple...which she now calls gaadi, gaajaar, eshtaar and aappale.

Maid...maid...maid...I am beginning to wonder now if there was any maid made for me or not. You know like Shahrukh Uncle says, ‘Koi na koi kahin na kahin hum sab ki liye bana hota hain’. So I am waiting for my knight in shining armour to come or rather knightess or whatever...

And every time I bow my head in prayer for the well being of my family, I also say a little prayer for me...no marks for guessing what THAT is!

A Mish-Mash of Emotions and People

Yes, a PHUNNY/FUN space this world is especially when you get into the observatory mode!

~Stand in an escalator going up and you’ll know what I mean.

It can be a purely sensual experience-one that involves all the senses.

A conflux of hundreds of influences and shades coming together or rather going up together!

~A hesitant newly-wed from the outskirts, on her virginal step to the big city “mall” making it almost like the ‘giant leap for mankind’. She’s dressed in a gawdy, loud manifestation of six yards of silk with a super fragrant gajra, adorning her long, jet black, silken tresses, plaited meticulously makes you sniff down at your own Chanel No.5 probably to ascertain who’s/what’s stronger. There’s a chunky, gilded mangal sutra tossing against her bosom that is filled with an equal bounce of thrill, along with an armful of marital circles termed as bangles let’s call them the marriage arsenal or cuffs as her situation may be. These bangles jingle with one another as they reflect the blinding mall lights which seem to fade before the glow of the “just married bliss” that fills up her countenance and ear to ear grin.

You watch with half annoyance and half fascination as she tries to take a step onto the fast moving planks and then hesitates, shaking her head with a visible fright that could match the one that she probably had on her first ‘golden’ night.

You see how her husband holds her hand so gently and yet assuredly and takes her on board, almost symbolic of what he’d be like in life even otherwise.

~And then again would be gym-going wanna-be’s in tight fitting t-shirts with rippling muscles that could give away at the first hint of pressure; Folded sleeves of the shirt, never mind the sweating armpits and adding to the burst of sad whiff, would be the chameli ka tel on their heads, that settles the side flicks in a gel-like illusion. They would be wearing sunglasses, never mind the interiors and standing proud on heeled boots that would creak even when they stand still. The gold printed on their clothes would make you want to wear eye protectors for yourself. And also wish you had got ear plugs too for defence against their on-the-mobile-phone, blaring verbal attacks termed as ‘conversation’ made more on your poor ear drums. 

I am not prejudiced against the have-nots, I just don’t understand why go out of your league to be what you are not. I would rather carry a good leather bag from the store around the corner than a fake Louis Vitton please mind the pronunciation as you read that surname, walking with a toffee-nosed air that says ‘look at me world, I am too good for thou’.

~In walks a teenager girl in the shortest of mini-skirts. She flaunts ‘a figure to die for and brands to kill for’-the embodiment of size zero, never mind if there’s no body to speak of as such. The pumps make her appear taller than her frame would otherwise allow, solving the purpose of standing up to the equally supercilious onlookers she would be aiming at. A ‘omg, wtf-blah blah’ on the mobile in one hand and locks of her hair being settled perennially with the other, she forgot perhaps that she might have to go up the stairs somewhere and have people below stretching their necks to find out if it would be their lucky day to get a peek.

*You make your way to the most happening lounge-cum-bar-cum-pub I never really understood the difference between each of them being claimed separately to fame, as though you would not be served drinks at a lounge that was not called a bar or as if there would not be a lounge to sit onto if the pub is not a lounge...ah, never mind. The party of the year is supposed to be taking place here with an elite theme and fringes to boot. A pole dancer and bartenders have been flown in for the occasion-the DJ has just returned from a successful stint in Singapore and thereby added another zero to his charging/changing figure. The swanky lights that cost a bomb for each bulb, the drinks flowing freely as though it was Ganga-jal and costing as though it was liquid gold, the over dressed and under dressed as in they look in dire need of clothes going by their current shreds. There is techno music that you cannot mouth to match and beats where you can do not much but gyrate as though the fits engulfed you.

The people there are swooning in your joy although they don’t care two hoots if it was your wedding anniversary or anniversary with another new dish by your arm. They are not interested in you but whether you would invite them to the next bash you throw. They inquire about who’s walked in and why Mr. X’s wife is giving so many pecks on the cheek to Mr. Z or even Mrs. Z. They fall over each other in the name of having fun and the men try to feel the bare backs of women out of their leagues taking advantage of the lack of inhibitions and maybe deciphering if they could have their chances now otherwise claim later “Ah, I was too drunk then to remember now...I hope I did not go out of line?”

And you wonder, being in the naive, vulnerable shelled inhibitions of that new bride on the escalator is better or being the uninhabited, exhibited, hip social bug at the next happening party?

From my mahaan random sense of Observation n Understanding!

Here’s a collection of some random mad thoughts that have occurred to my great mind in routine observation n experience. If anyone benefits by these, the owner takes no liability for it n any resemblance to sense is purely coincidental n not intentional!

First love is the hardest to give up...
Unless you get married to him, that is!

Men mentally undress women...
Women, mentally post-mortem them!

You don’t need to throw away the knives of the kitchens...
I may be super sharp...but I don’t cut!

There are two ways of doing something...
Do it my way or let someone else do it!

I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth...
Damn it mom, you could have at least swallowed some utensil to give me a kick start in more ways than one!

When most men are “checking” out a potential chick...
They are also “cheque-ing” her out!

All relations should come with a ‘mute’ button setting and also the Facebook’s ‘invisible mode’ when you are for too long at the receiving end!

They say ‘Dance like no one’s watching’...wtf!
Then how would we know the difference between the loo n the dance floor?

‘We live only once’...
Thank the lord for THAT!

I have yet to see a man who matches my standards...
I have now stopped seeing...Better blind than never!

Most men like to listen...
To their own voices, that is!

Try yourself...you can never be too stupid, too trusting n too dependent!
You are bound to break your own record, time and again!

Making love requires lesser effort than making money
And derives better dividends!

It takes just a little something to shift focus from “life rocks” to “life sucks” and vice versa!

There is nothing sexier than a short skirt on a hot woman...
Yeah, read it right... “nothing” is sexier than even a short skirt!

Our ancestors were monkeys...
Would that explain why we chatter so much or why we grin without reasons sometimes or why we imitate?

I don’t believe in love at first sight....
Neither in love at first night!

‘And they lived happily ever after’...but after “what”?

The most sure shot first flirt line researched and concluded is:
“You have beautiful lips”.
What a mouth-watering way to open something!

The grapes are never sour...
They just aren’t worth it...when there are bananas n oranges n a plethora of other options available!

When I was a little child, I had big dreams and many aspirations...
Now I am a bigger and I remain that child still!

A funny line a man could say to a woman in bed:
“Make effort not an excuse”
A funny retort back:
“Make love with what’s defused?”

Since my skin is as smooth as butter...
I prefer men as sharp as knives!

A lonely woman’s mail to Santa:
Dear Santa,
Please don’t be the only man
To “come” to me at Christmas...
And “give” just gifts...
And “do” only ho ho...
And get stuck “in” the chimney instead of better places!

‘Dream a little dream for me’...
Ya rite...coz I have better things to do with my night!

Never trust a secretary that says: “What’s up?”
And a boss who replies: “Get down to it!”

P.S. Sorry to all my blogger friends...haven’t been able to read your amazing blogs or comment on them...or even on my own comment box.
Winters is keeping Seeya’s health on a see-saw n me on toes. Hopefully would soon be back in action!

I miss You December!

Christmas is round the corner and this Christmas is making me kinda nostalgic.
From the last ten years, December has been a month that I spend in indulging n self pampering because my beloved is heavily touring during most of the peak winters*yes, I do wonder at his sense of timing too*.

December is the month then, when I would go out for coffee with friends...shop at the onset of “sale” across the counters...spend more time than usual with my students n get connected.
It also marks nights of me loving me.

I take out my double bed*got in dahej waale* soft satin cosy blanket and dig deep into it at the stroke of nine-ish each night for everyone would know her husband is not in town so she’ll retire early for the day.
I would have already checked in the morning in the newspapers*yes, that was THE only reason why I read them* what flicks would show on HBO or Star Movies*the only reason I view the idiot box* or if nothing suited my taste...get DVD’s of what did.
And from 9-11 n then again 11-1 n sometimes in sheer madness 1-3...I would sit before the television screen watching mush or suspense or simply nonsensical comedies.
I would even try semi horror is desperation days and then spend the last hour before falling into slumber in checking if someone is peeping from the other end of the bed or not.

There would be a big bowl of Act 2 popcorn or Lays chips sometimes*yes, the secret of me being in the shape that I am, is finally out ladies n gentlemen*...
Or a plateful of Maggie with Diet Coke loaded with ice*er..diet coz I would be on a supposed “diet”*
The lights would be dimmed...
There would also be my laptop on one side of the bed to write some blog post in case I feel inspired or to chat up with some lonely soul on Facebook after splashing all my madness on statuses.
Whoa...I would even do stupid quizes like ‘How sexy is your name?’ ‘When would you die?’ ‘What is your true calling?’ along with other insanities n even publish them to display how in need of a life I was!

A phone on one end*to yack with friends in case the ears n mouth felt too left out of the action while the eyes gulping down all the glory*...
The mobile on the other*btw conversing on sms when you get 500 msgs per day free is a great deterent to normal human social behaviour*...
A remote on my lap...for a CD playing in the backdrop...or visions appearing exotically on the screen...
I was almost a techie...hehe...well, almost!

N then at the day’s end*or rather the night’s* I would slowly cuddle up my own self n slide into a warm bed...missing my G a bit but feeling the ultimate pleasure of a week night well spent. It would be quite a contrary mood if the week day was substituted by a weekend n I’d be alone in the four walls then and in the mood of “life’s-not-fair”.

And often than never Life takes such a turn!
It’s been over five months of having Seeya.
One year now of she being on this planet!
No movies watched on the television during all these months of her sauntering into our lives.
Just four movies caught in the theatre*we watched a movie every Sunday n also during the weekdays if there were choices available...n now the average of one movie a month...tch, tch...ghor kalyug*
We have left Seeya alone just one night in five months for a party n two nights*half night actually* to watch two out of the four movies mentioned above.

Why am I relating all this here?
Coz December does not feel like December anymore...
No more bothered about how to look hot at the New year’s bash as I am so bothered round the clock about how to keep Seeya warm each moment.
No longer cuddling into the quilt but getting out of it every hour through the night to settle her layers in the crib, when she moans in sleep, to check if all is okay, feed her and make her cosy again.

No more luxury of taking steam baths at gym or sitting and frittering away time in the sun reading a best seller doing the rounds.
No more wearing new nail paints and watching them take their time to dry.
No more changing earrings to match with an outfit while going out or bothering to complement my purse to let it also breathe in fresh air out of the cupboard.

Yes, December has made me nostalgic!
December this year is not the same.
If you hear my sigh...I don’t know if I also ought to make you watch me hold my hand to my heart when she smiles n starts a new drama of her own.
I miss the stars on the screen or the narratives of authors opening the portals of my vivid imagination...
But then my little star twinkles a bit longer and suddenly the galaxy seems lit enough for now!:-)
But yes, good old days...
Often we do not realize how good a life we had till it swishes out of our hands for good!
Often we do not realize how good a life we are leading at present, till it also would swish out of our hand some day!

The Hairy Story

Hair...here...hare...hire...okay the last one does not rhyme in the context...but homophonic-ally*I know that’s not a word either*it suits the tongue so, I’d let it stay!
For lesson No. 1 baby, whatever suits the tongue...you MUUUUUUUST let it stay! ;-)

Okay...back to the context...
What is it about hair that evokes so much hue n cry?
If they are not there*but most needed THERE!*
If they are there*but OMG not wanted THERE!*

If they are not enough*and create a trickle where there should be a cascade*
If they are more than enough*and create a bush in place of a twig...er...I meant the eyebrows here by the way*

If they are black*when the rest of your body screams you are pre-historic*
If they are white*when you haven’t even developed your wisdom tooth*
When they rise all over the place or fall all over one!
Ewwwww....

OMG...I think I am going to have hair-nightmares tonight...
Hair-scare, anyone?*what lengths I have to go to, to satisfy my readers...so many sacrifices n self torture...ah, someday my worth shall be learnt*

 Anywaysss...I would now take you through some hair adventures through my history and knowledge...I hope they do not turn into hair-raising ones!

I remember the first time my dearly beloved had come to “see” me, along with his jing-bang of a family*not that they believe in too much bang-bang...or do they...or whateeeeeeever...I intend to stay married dearies...so please don’t ask for details*

We were given some alone time by the pool side of this hotel to get to “know” each other better. I have mentioned earlier that mine is a purely arranged marriage...but let me restate it for those of you who were born late*well, that does not imply I am ‘ancient’ dodo, that states you were a douche-bag to be so non-updated on me*

Oooffo...where were we?
Ya, right...So, let me retell my tale of our first meeting!

We queried on our education*which our mothers had already told us about* then went on to hobbies*yes, it was like an appointment interview...thank god they do not ask about the ‘experience’*
And then about friends and hang outs*hmm...character assassination...oops...I mean assess-ion...what ass of words!*
And finally it melted...the ice of course!

So my beloved threw his volley, in his true blue Raja Harishchandra style...
“Let me tell you two things very clearly about myself...”
I am listening with very intent ears waiting to be audience to a very earth shattering revelation *and my mind’s thinking-he has an affair...he’s gay...he likes my mom better...aaaaaaah...shut up my mind!*

“Firstly, I have less hair on the head...”
And he bowed his cute head down to show me the commencement of his journey into eventual baldhood...baldism*okay stupid ‘Word Review’ tell me the god damn word* BALDNESS...phew...finally!*
But actually it was a sparsely spaced kinda mound in between...

“And secondly I like watching girls....”
Yes...yes...yes...I still walked the aisle with this guy!

His brutal honesty is a trait that I still cherish*alrite...remove that smug smile off your faces...I know what you are thinking...she agreed because the same was the case with her...Oye, hellooooooo...that does not imply that “I” was balding or that “I” liked watching GIRLS!!!!!!!!
Please get the drift for I don’t have much energy to explain!*I have to complete a long post here, remember!*

So there...my first real association with hair-bare talks!
Since then...it’s much ado about nothing on the head actually!

He carries a comb more dedicatedly than the most conscious of models...and before getting out of the car, he HAS to comb his hair although I tell him, darling not even one strand of what you have on your head has moved even by a centimetre...but talk about hair fetish!

Why I remember the hair today, you ask?
1. I saw a man this evening during my walk treading towards me in slow steps and I noticed something peculiar about him...He had abnormally large*no, not those*abnormally large*please stop picturing things till I give you details*
Abnormally large EARS!
I was watching him with wonder and as he came closer, much to my horror, I realized it was not an extension of his ears, but a spray of obnoxious hair forming a maze at the edges of both his ears!
You know, like a spool of thread wound in a messy bunch and stuck there!
Yes...it was a completely OM good G ewwwweee situation!

2. I have two dear friends who are bald...and they light up my facebook status often with their unbeatable humour and wit! So I have been researching with professional experimentation and inferences on a possible world altering premise that baldness is directly proportional to razor sharp intelligence!
I was so tempted to conduct this experiment is a greater degree outside the temples of Tirupati Balaji...but then on deeper speculation hopped into the conclusion that complete surrendering*or accepting destiny’s verdict of natural loss* of hair FOR LIFE alone, would lead to the desired consequences*just to make this sound more technical n hence believable*!
So there’s hope for all you dumb guys...and stop gloating The Bald Guy!

3. Baldness seems to be in vogue...my dear blogger hunk buddy Mohit, recently decided to go bare*relax, I mean just on the head...much to the disappointment of bevy of beauties* and he seems to be loving it!

And why wouldn’t someone? I mean:
You become a sure shot head turner...whatever the reasons...at least you don’t have to do weird things to stand out in a crowd!

You get to stay forever young...how you ask...well, the first indications of old age are white hair, right...so no hair...no tell tale...offo how duh can you be to not get that on your own!

It is also economically feasible:
No expenses on shampoos, oils, combs, hair spa, colouring or straightening, hair cut, dermatologists!
Heck you even weigh less on the weighing machine, minus the hair*what more can one ask for!*

4. I recently got a new hair cut...that makes people think I look younger and slimmer*wtf...and I blew so much money on gym and facials...if someone had told me it was THAT easy, how much of my khoon-pasene ka kamai would have still been with me...
So for the benefit of the rest of the world...I have hereby declared another breakthrough brain wave!
*you can send the thank you notes along with the cheques expressing gratitude on my email address above*

Enough on hair for today I suppose...
Before the hair fraternity decides to boycott me and send my luscious, cascading tresses on the extinction way!
Have a hairy life...I mean hari-bhari or rather black-bhari life*reminds me of the awesome ad of Blackberry boys*! :-)

Anonymous Blogging!

I am often asked how I can be so blatantly blunt n brutally honest about stuff on my blog!
Sometimes I wonder too...
Is it because very few folks in family or friends-acquired not the through the net, actually read me?
*although I always link my posts on my Facebook page so that anyone out of the 400 odd people there can feel free to traverse down the lanes of my mind*
Or is it because on this platform I have made friends with individuals who know me through n through coz they hear/read me speak/rant my guts out about all my issues, which normally no one around me gets to?
*I actually feel no need to vent out my mind to any person once I have done it here to the laptop screen*
Or is it because all*most*of you, dear readers, have no access to my life directly and hence there is no real harm done...so I play a safe n snug game?

Whatever...
I take a long while to trust people with my feelings and opening up before them in actual life...I may do all the hee-haw’s n spend hours in mirth but never really disclose the gory details before them.
The net n blog provides me the breathing space to do so without inhibitions and with a recklessness that sometimes even I speculate on.
Like even I have my Omg moments...
Wtf!!!!!! I am mentioning the frequency of my sex life...or I am accepting that perhaps I may not be inbuilt to be an exemplary mother...or oye hoye, did I just tell the world that I have a big butt, when I could spend hours pondering on how to hide it*not literally hours there btw*!

I also wonder if I had been blogging anonymously, would I be any different.
Well, since I already mentioned the frequency...what worse...mention the poses n positions? Naaaaah...fat chance!
I already enumerated my crushes, my pangs, my desires, my anatomy...
Why the F@#% do I need anonymity when I can do all the damages being myself?

But on second thoughts...imagine the fun being anonymous...
I could mention my devious plans to seduce my object(s) of crush...
I could mention how fantasizing is good for well being...
I could be Agony Aunt...err...Agony Angel to love problems...
I could tell you how I was so good at dates*calendar waale nahi*
I could also be evil and a complete bitch for a change...
I could relate tried n tested formulas on what to do to make a man melt, literally n otherwise, that could save the world...
I could enumerate on the subtle art of evoking compliments from others...
And so much more gyan from my presumably now hypothetical world*eyes glint with devilry*

I spend so much effort n money*yup, the internet does not come for free dude* in trying to convince my dear anonymous blogger buddies to come out of the hiding...It is sometimes very frustrating to be flirting with a faceless person...to think of a blog page and screen words when you try to reminisce about a blogger!

While some have relented...others continue to play games*looking at you Bluntu with squinted eyes and wrath of a woman...okay of a cute woman*

I now enjoy beautiful friendships with a whole lot of my blogger friends on Facebook...
So thank you Pallavini, Amn, Rishi, Ria, Akshay, Achyut, Nico, Tamanna, Rahul, Bhavika, Menkah, Bikram, Hary, Persis, Lincoln, Sobhit, Amit, Ankur, Sulagna, Cathy, Saket, Shayon, Nil, Chandrakala, Vikram, Bishu, Prithwish, Sakshi, Shriti, Sayantan, Tanvi, Malpani, Smrithi and some more people I met on the blogosphere just like that and they now stand witnesses to my life in passing.
These are amazing writers, fashionistas, poets whom I get to know more each day through their statuses n pictures, besides the posts-who opened up their world to me.
*The Bald Guy n Bluntu...you don’t get counted in this list n you know why...but you do get counted in being two of my favourite writers n someday I’d succeed in knowing how u look...haah!*
Imagine my plight of may be someday just walking down your hometowns n passing you guys by...
You’d recognize me n I’ll not know that you were there*ahh...matlab no time to doll up to look delicious or at least act as one!*

I am still pondering upon anonymous blogging and its benefits though...
You can be downright dirty, mad, scheming, outrageous, breaking social norms and no one ever knows...
But then why tell the link to those who might know n judge?
Or better still, let them judge.
This is your space n you chose how to be...if they don’t like it, let them sit on the middle finger n spin!

It is better to reveal as you are instead of letting them live in a supposition of how you think they should discern you.
Imagine the burden of existing in apprehensions of them knowing the reality someday- Juggling between make-belief and the truth that is out there!

And then any sensible person who really knows you or is worth you thinking about his opinion would see through how much blabbering is just for fun, or to generate an opinion instead of the actual state of affairs.
Quoting my example, most people do not really take me seriously...like I’d say I am concerned about the growing ‘heat’ on the planet n they’d think I am making a sexual connotation instead of being genuinely hassled about global warming! Hah! Can you believe that?
Now I don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing :-)

I don’t fear judgement... I invite it and that’s my defence!
I am like this only...take it or your loss and go for a toss!

Anyways, most writers suffer from hyper exaggeration syndrome or dramatization of descriptions...
They use words more to hide than to reveal...Hence a few writers often have disclaimers on their page.
They are smart enough to convince you of humour, when they are actually being truthful and make you cringe in their pain, when all they really want is sympathy.

So how sad it is when the humanity does not know or love you for who you are but for a phrase of URL that you project.
Is such a silent admiration really worth the effort?
Come out...say as you feel...be as you are...
And the world shall love you still the same...at least those would who are worth keeping would!

P.S. This is not a venture to get anyone out of the hiding...I love all my blogger friends whom I interact with whether they are anonymous or not...It is just a general expression of my bafflement to understand the contentment of an anonymous existence of any kind Vs a less glamorous but honest one!
The blogosphere is known for weird characters n thankfully none that I know here!