The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too

I’ve been watching a spate of romcoms lately. Why? Boredom. Getting silly in my old age. Finally hitting puberty. All of the above. I romanticize things, never people. I have never been in love. I have never been able to look at a man and feel any strong positive emotion toward him. The negative ones run aplenty though. At best I feel a lessening of the indifference and low to mild attraction. I don’t quite know what love even means. I am desperately fond of the mother. She is the only irreplaceable thing in my life. The father follows a close second. Aside from them everyone else’s presence is not vital for survival.  Which is why I do not understand people giving up lucrative jobs, making sweeping lifestyle changes and even committing suicide because a relationship never worked out. So a boyfriend ditched you. Big whoop. There are 7.6 billion people in the world. At least 1 million of those will be obscenely attractive men (statistics not wishful thinking). Gigantic sea. Innumerable fish. Someone better will come along. So to get depressed and seek medical intervention to get over a boyfriend/fiancée is just giving one man the importance that he in all probability is unworthy of. I know all too well the tendency to get consumed by a relationship. Even the crappiest of them. Most of us have this inherent desire to make it work at all costs. Even if the cost is one’s own happiness. Not all of us even recognize abuse in relationships. Because in our minds abuse is always physical. We do not count the erosion of self-confidence, the belittling of pride, the dismissal of intelligence and the condescension that makes all reactions even those that are warranted and legitimate get called overreactions, as abuse. Some of us blame ourselves for the partner acting up- I triggered the outburst, I caused him to insult, my behavior brings out the worst in him. Because we think that maybe if we let go of our egos and pride the one time, we’ll get our happily ever after. The one time turns into many and soon we are left with no ego and no pride. Thankfully some of us have mothers and friends who are all too willing to slap the subservience out of you, tell you you’re worth so much more and keep you the heck away from such fringe elements. I think every relationship is a power struggle. A lot of men say they love intelligent women with minds of their own. In theory. In reality- challenge accepted. Who doesn’t want to be the man who tames the shrew? Could there be any greater testament to a man’s manliness than making a fierce, strong minded woman toe the line.

Theoretically I would love me a Stuart Weitzman, historically I choose me some Paragon. I will be out eyeing a pair of fabulous Jimmy Choo’s but I settle for the Bata. Why? Because Jimmy Choo is high maintenance. What if I can’t handle those shoes? What if my feet aren’t worthy of them? What if they don’t last? So what do I do? Buy Bata. Justification- what Bata lacks in looks it makes up for in reliability and it is cheap. The only thing I get out of that is the cheap. I have regretted each time that I’ve bought a pair of Bata’s (literally and figuratively). For the more financially inclined, it is like making up my mind to invest in JP Morgan, yet choosing Shekhawati Poly Yarn instead. Both embarrassing to own and massively stupid to invest in. In my head I love the idea of meeting someone non repulsive, having this cerebral connection with him, and then living in non-annoying harmony forever after. Someone who will finally make me take a second to get over him given my ability to switch off all feelings with the blink of an eyelid. Actually scratch that, finally someone that I won’t want to get over. Someone who knows that body odour is not a measure of testosterone; that food can be ingested silently, being disagreed with is not emasculating and that alcoholism is not a desirable personality trait. And someone so marvelous that one can overlook Facebook posts from 2009 had him talking like ‘V hv got to meet up bruhh. Lolzz’. Admittedly, it hurt even to type that.

Are all men pigs? Thankfully not. There are some glorious ones out there that are worth holding out for, someone who deserves the best of you and will celebrate the entire force of all that is you. Do not let some nincompoop take that away from him by leaving you a weaker, diluted version of yourself.


Here’s to strong women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them

As I grow older I realize how much of who I have become was defined by the home I grew up in. And that is in large part is due to the women in my family.  Growing up I spent enormous amounts of time with my father’s mother. Now anyone who knows my grandmother will agree that she’s a force to reckon with. Thankfully her spirit hasn’t diminished with time. She may sit in her chair rooting for Virat Kohli and team but there’s no pulling the wool over her eyes and if looks could kill, there’d be a few people burnt alive by now. She encouraged all my crushes, even the ones that weren’t exactly realistic; I can only blame her for being crushed when I found out that Prince William wasn’t secretly in love with me. Given that for the most part of her life she stayed home with her kids and is one of the finest cooks I’ve ever met, not once was I given to believe that my role was in the kitchen nor was I encouraged to sew or clean because “that’s what good girls do”. On the contrary, she told me, nay force fed me the notion that I didn’t need marriage to validate my existence nor did I need to humour a man to have a good relationship. I may have heeded her advice a bit too carefully.

Then there is my mother. I maybe a little biased when I say this but my mother truly is one of God’s finest work. The hugs she gives are proof that God exists. Admittedly I used to wonder if I only thought this because my sample size of people was limited. Now I truly believe this to the core of my being. It’s not that she’s without flaws. Curls can be a tad tedious at times-like her mother-in-law and mother, she has this indomitable spirit but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t wish she’d tone down the spirit on some days. That and her ego. It used to be the size of Poland but now it’s slowly expanding into Slovakia and the Czech Republic too. But the size of her ego is eclipsed by the size of her heart. I don’t know why Hallmark hasn’t called on me yet. Anyway I digress- all my life I’ve hero worshiped my mother so greatly that I fought every instinct that wasn’t her. From her I’ve learnt compassion-I do not practice it with the vigor she does because I do not think HDFC will appreciate a 0 balance account for extended periods of time due to my rather naïve generosity. From her I get my convictions-my world is so clearly demarcated into what’s right and wrong I’ve turned into a self righteous cow. Unfortunately she has more talent in her pinky than I do in my entire body and while I resent her for it, I still write this post to prove how magnanimous I am. From her I’ve also learnt to run everything I do by my father. He has unfortunately taken his veto power a tad seriously. Anyone who has seen my father take me shoe shopping will dismiss the Syria war as a distant crisis given that there is nuclear fission unfolding right in front of them. I’ve never understood why she does it given that he doesn’t know his cheque book from his debit card. But apparently there is nothing as fragile as the male ego and my mother has mastered the art of feeding into it.

So I’ve decided to blame genetics and the long line of hard headed women (on both sides) for everything that I am.