Blood thicker than water, eh?

Yes I went on this trip again. I stalked distant judgmental, officially loser-ly relatives on Facebook. Again. Ever expanding waist lines and deepening by the minute wrinkles make me giddy with delight. Was this not the same bunch of maasis and chachis and other assorted relatives that appointed themselves judges of my life?
Because you've got the money and the time and the vellah-ness to spend hours at a beauty parlor, you totally earn the right to point your puny little manicured fingers, yes.  My apparent lack of good looks (The mirror says I'm pretty, surely it can't lie for such an extended period of time, can it?) warranted their eternal pity. My parents' lack of excessive assets was probably a manure for their thoughts.

It was the time when I'd curl up, read up some Sheldon, think of myself as the next Lara Camaron- The Iron Butterfly, or Elizabeth Roffe, a real HCB (Hard Core Bitch, for the n00bs). Vivid scenarios would play in my  head, where I'd be tall, rich, slim, wearing ironed formals rushing from one big round table meet to another, signing papers and firing off tasks to the trusty secretary. Then I would think of a point in time when these big weenies would need me and I'd be a mean bitch to them. On good days, I'd imagine helping them because I chose to be  nice person.

Today when I look back, the vulnerability is funny.
I'm not really tall. (Well, in *ahem*, juxtaposition, if you know what I mean)
I can't wear high heels to work very often.
I'm not rich. (Insti regulated stipend, people!)
The only formals I can wear are rich desi numbers.
I get yelled at by mum in the morning, boss during the day and professors in the evening.
I sleep like a log through the night.
I've got dumb seniors, and dumber juniors.

I've a bunch of friends that can be called up at any point of time to bitch about the aforementioned *problems*.
I've a couple of friends who enjoy all my feminist, sexist, masochistic jokes and don't judge me.
I chose to be in this profession, in this state of life and I'm happy.
I don't pay taxes to a government that doesn't even consider me one of its own.
I can talk to mum dad about career, love, life in general and receive "culturally sound" advice, if you know what I mean.
I'm too busy to go on to Facebook and post desi jingoist agenda from my house in the US of A.
I might actually have posted a full blast entry on this money-seeded hypocrisy  but I'm too busy making tasteless jokes and snorting as a laugh to care.

Fuck you migratory relatives and fuck your ABCD kids, I'm happy, bhenchod.
Tu tera dekh.

-WispySilver: The Undercover Jingoist

P.S. Hate Toblerone. And Hersheys has a vomit like after taste. 

30 things...

Mostly for the newbee articles- More of a office-ly rant. Purposefully sly. Permission to take it with a pinch of salt is hereby granted.

1. Please stop asking stupid questions. Yes, your professors lied. There are stupid questions. And stop asking.
2. Don't come here with a mentality that everyone around will 'teach' you. You've come to learn, we get it, but we ain't here to "teach", honey.
3. Don't lie on your resume. If you say you went to a computer class, we'll think you know computers. And we will not "teach" you.
4. Don't cry.
5. Don't leave half eaten, half-to-the-floor food lying around. We will insult your parents' upbringing skills if you do that, then you'll cry. Refer rule 4.
6. Don't have tax study sessions with clients. Our knowledge is our product, don't dole out free samples.
7. Don't think "I'll write it down" is the solution to everything. How do you plan to find where you've written that one tiny point you are looking for? Ctrl+F on the notebook, eh?
8. Don't misplace files.
9. Don't misplace any papers. 
10. Don't misplace any stationary.
11. Use Deodorant.
12. Don't insult the 'cutting chai'.
13. Sit properly.
14. If your senior is being mean to you, then you probably are dumb. Because they've seen things from your perspective, and if they still chose to be mean, there is something wrong with you. Or your luck. But mostly you.
15. Act like you've really earned the qualification that qualified you to take up this job in the first place.
16. Don't say,"Because the senior told me to" in front of the boss. Because being told something will be better than not being told anything at all.
17. Don't peep into other people's monitors unless specifically told to do so.
18. NO JEANS on a Tuesday. Just NO.
19. Bring you own goddamn water bottle.
20. Learn backward computation work. Appreciate any senior who can patiently teach you that art.
21. If a senior/ boss takes the time to point out each of your mistake, appreciate it. A lot of people will never bother telling you where you went wrong. And that's more dangerous.
22. A lot of this job is going to be just data entry. Deal with it. A lot of people can't even get this right. Be careful.
23. If you are really smart, find a faster, accuracy retaining way of doing aforementioned data entry.
24. Oh wait! Are you telling me that that friend of yours from your classes dared to ask for an extra jalebi from the halvai and he got two of them?! Absolutely Free?! Guess what. Nobody cares.
25. No. I don't always take out "elsewhere ka frustration" on you. Sometimes, honey, its just you.
26. Your unnecessary arrogance and attitude is not a required or desired job skill.
27. It does not mean you succumb to bonded labor. Maintain your dignity. 
28. Apologize when wrong, give credit when due.
29. Stop talking. Learn to listen. 
30. Don't act two faced and be all nice to me. I couldn't care less what you think of me. 

Oh, and enjoy the ride, if you can ;)

Will I ever trust again?

To be so dependent on someone, someone who is not worthy of your trust. Trusting someone else to take the right decisions on your behalf is pure, unadulterated foolishness. And then expecting an apology from them when they go wrong is ludicrous.

Not getting your closure because they refuse to admit their mistakes is going around the same grind and yet, expecting different results each time. 

To let yourself flow to the whims and fancies of another person, that is suicide. 

For somewhere down the line, as I look back, maybe it was my fault. I would always bend, take the high road and eventually I felt like I was being taken for granted. 

This probably is my karma coming back to bite me. 

And the best alternative I have is to forgive myself, cause I am all I have. 

Apologies for being so needy, so emotionally dependent and so vulnerable. For being so open and unprotected and impulsive.  

But one must also accept that the other person is not one's source of feelings anymore. And should never have been. Blaming someone else for how you feel is immature, and must not be encouraged. Nipped at the bud, if you may. 

The acceptance that not all are capable of an apology is the best thing you can give yourself. Cause all you've got, is you. 

But in this haze of self acceptance and self realization, will I be able to trust again?

Being Single

I'm 20 years old. And for the first time since I was introduced to the whole concept of love (read: high school) I'm single.
I don't mean to imply that I have been in string of relationships right through my high school and out into college. I'm not that type of emotional slut. My 'have-no-prospect-of-ever-becoming-a-couple-crushes' last longer than some relationships, trust me.
I have been in a relationship with the idea of being in a relationship. Or, the idea of love at least.
Right after the hottest girl in my batch declared she had a boyfriend, being desired by someone from the opposite sex became somehow, very comforting to imagine. Admit it, undivided attention feels goood!
Ever since the hormonal forces decided to play God in my life, there has been, at any given point in time, one object of obsession in my life. I say one and not at least one because I'm a one crush only woman, silly like that.
Unfortunately, my excellent choice in men was blatantly imitated by a lot of better looking girls in school, leaving me to to sit in a corner and cry about how he broke my heart without even knowing I exist.
That was the story of my first serious crush. (Note: Looks fugly now. Bad sense of style. Too dumb. Yay to past me for not getting involved!!)
While I was still pining for something that was never to be, the mummyji decided to hammer me with the idea that your soulmate must belong to your own caste and not have the same gotra but good sanskaras are a must.
Now I spent time mentally imagining myself being wooed by this deshastha brahmin mumma's boy. (I was THAT young). I can't keep my life on hold while you don't even bother with a glance, I told my first crush (all in my head of course) and moved on to the next one. This was more of an on off thing, and right now, I don't know where this stands. This is like that fall back option, something that kinda always has a spark, but nothing consequential.
Then the third thing happened. Shit got real. I went on a date. Or so I thought. We split the cost of drinks, he had a strawberry slush (men and pink drink- big no no) and tried to convince me to do that whole e-biz sales thing. No Joke.
I could never take the boy seriously after that.
I got lucky after this. Forth time lucky in love. A beautiful relationship unfolded, lasted though the years of college and after that, it just stopped working. To find someone with so much intellectual compatibility and dream of a life with them is a warm, gooey and comfortable feeling. I still don't know what went wrong, probably never will, but I stopped being happy, and he did too, and beyond a point I could not take the hurt.
For a very long time, every time I read a mildly mushy-teenager-appealing paragraph about love, I always had someone to think of. Unrealistically assuming my aforementioned love life started at the onset of teenage itself, after spending 5 years being 'almost single' and then four years being audaciously committed, I now am wholly single.
And while this is uncharted territory I like this already. I don't have to blame anyone or their thoughts for the lack of sleep, the phone isn't etched into my hand or to my ear anymore and I can have my own opinions, without seeking approval of any one, I can read books I like to read and I don't have to go through the pain of having to look good for someone else, I can do it to feel good about myself.
After years of having trouble getting someone's thoughts out of my head, the top floor is now officially empty. There is no ideal guy I can mentally cook up a relationship with, no real guy I can do a little healthy flirting with. Basically, there is nothing going on in the love section of my life right now.
I'm still very optimistic, I still believe in love, and that someday someone will woo me again and sweep me off my feet, but until that time, this singles waiting room isn't too bad is it?    

The "Unfertile" Bitch

Warning: This is a VERY offensive post. I am very offended and I'm gonna bite back. 

So, long story short, I had a friend who'd keep "getting some" without making the guy put on "some" and now there is something something in her v-jay-jay that she isn't very proud of. I kept telling that a condom would always be cheaper than an abortion, but economics was never really her strong subject. 

One day, she called me and told me there's a bun in her oven. And she wanted my non existent money to 'handle the situation' because the daddy pooped his pants I think. 

 I was worried for her and I was pissed, 

"Are you proud of yourself now?"  I asked her. 

"Shut up you unfertile bitch" she screamed back. 

Really?! Okay. I admit. I have a problem. And thankfully I'm not one of those ladies who figure it out in front of their whole sasurals that they can never give a "vansh" ka diya to them. 

I'm aware of whats happening. The gynac has been nice very clear to me about what is going on down there and mum dad have been supportive through it. 

And honestly, I'm 20! T-W-E-N-T-Y!  Just 20 years old for god sake! Pushing another human out of the most *ahm ahm* part of my body is really not something I want right now. I refuse to be a baby-factory.

Just no.

I don't even like kids that much. I'm not going to produce someone who can't poop, piss, eat or even sleep on their own. I really have better things to do. 

I refuse to believe that we are only here to 'push our species forward' and the whole point of our existence is to produce replicas of ourselves and then die. 

I refuse to do it. 

Fertility does not make you a good parent. Giving birth or bringing another human being into this world makes sense only if you can teach the little one how to live. If you can ever love them so much that all your needs become secondary to their wants, that's being a parent. Being almost twice their age, and still understanding what they are going through and being supportive-that's parenting. Putting your foot down, saying no when you know its' for the child's own good, that's being a parent.  

 Being really eggy down there won't make you a good mother, having enough grey matter and sensibility up there, might.  

And, considering how your fertility is doling out a love child who won't know why his daddy is such a coward and why his mommy doesn't have any good friends, I'm happy being the way I am. 

Oh, and by the way, its not unfertile, its "infertile".

One of the best emails I've ever written...

This is the mail I wrote to my ex. I was really upset and frustrated and I felt abused and disrespected. 
I mean honestly, he'd start a conversation with me on twitter and reply to my tweets with a "ShitGirlsSay" 
hashtag. 

He wasn't happy in Goa, Ahmedabad, Banglore, Mumbai, Singapore and finds reasons to complain about his room mate in New York. He was a whiny sissy for 4 years, and I accepted him, with all his goods and bads. 
My one bad spell ( Okay I admit, it was a long one, but not 4 years long, I swear) had him packing bags and blocking me on twitter. *gasp gasp* 

I didn't like him talking to other chics, for the sole reason that he'd be super nice them while I got a shitgirlssay hashtag. Won't I feel insecure, you tell me?
I don't think he knows who my favorite artist is, but I'm sure he's ridiculed him without even listening to his songs. 

He ridiculed my choices in music, books, authors, sitcoms, and career paths.  

Maybe he was right. I made bad choices. For instance, I chose to stick around this self centered piece of shit for 4 years.
So, here it goes, 

One fine day you wake up and realize I'm not taking "concrete steps" to get
close to you. So you tell me to leave all that I'm doing so I kill the
distance. Like I snap my fingers and get a new degree in a new continent.
Then you tell me you can't handle 6 years of immense separation, a number
you've randomly cooked up and its so bloody fixed in your head nothing I
tell you will change it.
So you call it all off. Send me a "good bye" mail and all that. My slow
reaction gets interpreted as me being "cold hearted" and "mean". And that
pisses you off more.
For an entire week my life is topsy turvey.. and you don't even realize
what you've done.
You say I'm the one for you, but you don't think I'm worth the wait.
You decide I'm not fucking serious enough about you. You act like a bastard
and victimize yourself by claiming borderline depression and loneliness.
I'm made to feel like the bad person in here by claiming I'm not there for you.
Your choice, your dream to go live in that big country, that wasn't the
cause baby, it was all me.
But this time, I don't apologize. I've had enough of saying sorry for
mistakes that were never mine.
I ask for one more try. But I'm not convinced about it myself.
I cry. I beg. Doesn't affect you.
Then you suddenly think I'm worth it. So you say a sorry. And you convince
yourself all my scars are gone. All it took was one fucking sorry from you.
I'm still not sure. You take a 'vow' to get me saying "I love you" by the
end of the week. Like I'm just another goddamn conquest of your glorious
bloody life.
You act like an arrogant shithead and I still take you back.
You manage to get me saying the "three magical words" again. But baby, I'm
still not sure.
I act like I'm treading on egg shells. All my words are measured. I'm not
being myself. You don't even realize it. Your closest observation is, "You
are saying too many LOLs these days"
Gradually, I'm getting around the fact that maybe, just maybe, you'll
really love me for what I am, no matter what I say or do, I'm not going to
lose you. I start being more me.
Then a little wishy wasshy argument happens.
I hope you'll just be a typical guy who'll try and make up.
But what do you? You tell me to cut back on the drama.
What the fuck were you doing all this while you asshole?
Your PMS-eque actions were aimed at getting me to leave my dream, my
ambitions behind just so we can fucking cure you goddamn self imposed
loneliness but that's all right.
I expect one time sweet gesture from you and I need to cut back on the
drama?
Fuck off you bastard.
*Honestly, is all this really worth the pain? I'm not even sure if this
makes me happy anymore.*


May this mail serve as a warning to all prospective guys (if there are any, at all) that as nice as I am, you don't want to piss me off. *snarl*

Signs of being a "Vipasshi"

1. You can sit absolutely still for one hour. Pillows attached, of course.
2. Red pants, green kurta, brown jacket, purple dupatta and yellow umbrella. Enough said.
3. Estrogen overdose.
4. Poha everyday, eleven days, sometimes twice a day.
5. All the poha eating has put you off poha. As a Deshatha Brahmin eating Saada pohe, Kanda pohe, Batata pohe, Dadpe pohe, Taak pohe, Doodh pohe, hating pohe is huge dushkarma. Huge, huge dushkarma.
6. A big ass bell wakes you up.
7. Louie the Macchar luurvves you. Because you don't use Mortein for 10 days. The whole sheel of non-violence thingy. Okay I killed 7 baby roaches so let's just skip this one.
8. Awake before dawn, lunch before noon, and no dinner at all.
9. Warm ginger water, everyday, 10 days, 3 times a day.
10. You realize your body can digest food without an illuminated screen.
11. You are so bored you start practicing a french braid, and by the end of it, you are a pseudo-pro at it.
12. Laundry tags!
13. No mirror.
14. Hindi vocabulary overhaul.
15. Sannatta. Not even eye contact. For 10 days. Then you don't even recognize your voice!
16. All religions start getting referred to as "Darshnik manyata" and all rites and rituals become "karam-kand"
17. Aaaand... you go out in  search of peace and find happiness insted.

:)  
P.S. I absolutely loved my time there, and if there is anyone who'd like to know more about the course and what happens there, I'll be happy to help! However, if you have queries about the technique I'm not experienced enough to answer them.
Drop in a comment about life in there and I'll get back :)
P.P.S. I'm going to write a serious post about it. Eventually. I promise. ;)

Pictures from the Igatpuri center.