Emotional Modulation.

I am an emotional wreck. If the character in a movie violently dies, my tear glands start pumping up tears from the air and starts generating renewable energy. Whereas when it is comedy I will make sure your eardrums blast with my laughter. It will be so explosive that after you watch a movie with me and go home my laughter will still ring in your ears and you will regret your decision to have hung out with me. Any emotion, be it happiness, grief or anger is expressed by me and my maternal family in its extreme form. The way anger of my relatives usually pans out, we can rightly measure it on a Richter scale. When they yell you can actually feel the tremors in the neighborhood.

Even though anger dominates any other emotion in the family, I am slightly different. Laughter mostly dominates my moods. I can remember jokes heard in movies or told by my friends during meetings and get myself into a situation wherein I struggle to control my laughter. I am, but wired to find a funny angle to situations and do not keep myself sad for long periods of time. I just keep the tears for the pillows, laughs for the ones who deserve it and stay far away from negativity. It isn’t easy but with determination it evolves.

If science develops a device that modulates emotions it would be a breakthrough for my family to be sane with each other and the rest of the people destined to be around them. I would buy it in bulk and distribute it an act of benevolence for Christmas. My anger outbursts are not very common. My laughter never hurt anyone. My sadness is fortunately short lived. I do not stew in regret. Basically the algorithm which runs that device should be inspired by me. Okay enough self-praising for now; I need a device to control that actually :D Even my boss tells me to stop self-praise. It is not even appraisal time, she thoughtfully added.

Last week I was on a cleaning spree when I dug out my son’s toy bin. Expectation was to find everything from shoes to food bits from 2011. However, I was in for a surprise. At the bottom of it was a comb, which belongs to my Papa which he was frantically searching for while he was here in September with me. He had to settle for a new comb, which we bought after his precious comb which seemed to have been handed down through generations was lost. Ever since, he had been dissatisfied with the very act of combing hair. Finding it was a eureka moment for me. Immediately I took a selfie with the comb and sent it to our family group captioned ‘Look what I found!!’. The group witnessed an outpour of sentimental emotions about the comb, tears of joy and one earth shattering revelation from Papa - ‘It is the closest to my heart’! And here I am, stupider than the stupidest, thinking vainly that I was the closest to his heart!!! My heart broke into a thousand pieces. No problem, in December when I meet him I will breakup with him.

Coming to think of it, have you noticed that some people actually value objects and situations more than we do? I wouldn’t even notice if my comb was lost (because there are hundreds of them at home, you know, just in case). Papa wouldn’t notice if his shirt was ten years old, but I care too much about what I wear. I search for sense of humor in people I meet and get along better with them, whereas Papa prefers knowledge and sensibility. He hates lame jokes and wasting time on small talk, whereas that is what I live for.

So coming back to that device I was talking about. I know what you are thinking. Don't gift it to me.

Church Etiquette for Dummies.

As an uber-cool, club-hopping, midnight partying, forever socializing person that I am, one of my much-envied weekend activity is waiting outside the church for two hours in the scorching sun while the son is at Catechism. By the way, I don’t know what is club-hopping or midnight partying and if checking Instagram for the 137^th time in one hour counts as socializing then yeah I am forever socializing.

To be honest I am not a regular church goer. My partner-in-crime (legally addressed to as husband) does not believe in the concept of going to church to pray. He says he wants to retain whatever peace that is remaining. I don’t disagree completely and I don’t agree also because in marriage we are not supposed to agree with each other. It is sinful.

Image Courtesy: Here

When I was younger (I'm still young), our grandparents taught us to dress conservatively while going to church. My Mom always wears her new sarees to the church first. All people in church were dressed either in sarees or salwars or tunics that were appropriate for a place of worship. Now if you see, times changed drastically. People arrive at church in their luxury vehicles with a statue of Jesus stuck in the front (which needs immediate cleaning because it is starting to look like Che Guevara) and makes a grand entry in a black t-shirt with a picture of a beer bottle right there in front captioned “Beer is Life”. Inside the church, at every 100 meters there is a small board that says ‘God sees you’. I am not sure whether these people see the board (or a mirror).

So yesterday I had to pick my son fifteen minutes before the mass was over and drop him at a birthday party. Oh yes, that is a sin and I am a sinner. He is just six, it’s not like he was on his knees and talking to God from the subconscious.  In my defense, I am sure God will agree that it is better this guy leaves the mass. He is that guy whose pranks distract everyone. His Catechism teacher rolled her eyes at me as if I was Satan. “You can take him when the mass is over” she said strictly, pointing to my son who was winking behind her and making few other kids laugh. I pleaded ‘Ma’am we have to go somewhere, it’s very urgent” (otherwise we won’t get cake ;-)) and she was burning with fury. So this is a Catechism teacher with a zero tolerance. I now know why I have to literally drag my son to church on Saturdays. This is the exact opposite of how the scriptures have to be taught and practiced.

Once you exit the church there is a 45 minute wait for traffic to clear until the main exit. This is a ground for cut-throat competition because either you go first or ensure that others don’t go. The priest said something about patience but what does he know- he does not drive and travels in chauffeur driven cars. Priests often give us marriage advice also. You should see the hues evolving from myriad facial expressions in the congregation.

Then there are others whose phones do not have a functioning silent mode. In my knowledge Charles Babbage would have invented the concept of silent mode in the 1800s. The intention of bringing the phone or keeping it in full volume inside the church is something we have to ask God in fasting and meditation. I am sure He also will not be able to comprehend such complicated psychological behavior.

I am not holier than any one of you to lecture about church etiquette but I really think that keeping a gadget away and dressing better is not as hard as trying to get your car out of the church premises.

Right?

Small but Happy Things.

The systems we work on at office are unavailable due to maintenance being done on them and for us techies this means - YOOHOO !!!. It is a digital hartal which is a welcome break and an amazing opportunity to look at ourselves in the mirror and reflect on how old we have become, the scalp of our heads getting more conspicuous, the ever-growing forehead, the crow’s foot which is gaining prominence and the panda eyes that can’t be ignored. Now don’t you say that pandas are cute.

We compare pandas for all the wrong reasons. You have a beer belly and say it looks like that of a Panda. You develop dark circles under your eyes  and again call yourself a panda. Even though all of these look cute on the Panda, he went on to learn Kung Fu and became famous whereas you are stuck in your cubicle.

Some small but happy things happened recently.

One is that I have been nominated for Indiblogger awards under Humor and Personal categories.  In humor I am competing with the likes of Mr.Bean and Mickey Mouse. Not exactly, but other bloggers in that category are all exemplary in the genre and are established columnists. In the personal category, again my competitors are bloggers who have it in them to be one day shortlisted for the Pulitzer Prize. Basically I have no choice but to congratulate myself for having the nerve to go nominate myself in the contest. This nerve is also known as shameless.

Second small but happy thing is that my parents were here for a month and we had the time of our lives. We went on picnics, ate Mom’s heavenly food, experienced what it actually means to live in a clean house, and my son became a bit hyper excited- well there is a downside to every upside.  Then they left and as usual I went into homesickness mode in my own house. When you’re homesick you are actually not ‘HOME’-sick - you are just missing your parents. Who doesn’t, right? Especially when you have to leave them to go back to your mundane life. The day I came from the Departures section of the airport, I was too sad to cry. Life has to go on, right?

Third small but happy thing is that one of my acquaintances became so obsessed with the three piercings on my ears that she took a picture of just my ear and looked at it like Ranveer Singh looks at Deepika. Isn’t that a wow moment? I have never felt so proud of any other part of my body before.  No, wait. I did once before when my Engineering final semester results came and I was so proud of my brain even though half of the marks came from a project which I dint do.

Fourth small but happy thing is that my son has started reading quite well and is very excited about his new skill. I am a super proud mother (except when he reads my whatsapp messages).

Fifth small but happy thing is that I have lost a lot of weight owing to excessive work, stress and other lifestyle factors but weight loss is something one should never complain about. My parents are not too happy about this, but like I said, there is a downside to every upside ;-)

When turbulences strike, when your loved ones no longer think of you as priority, count your small and happy things. I already counted five ! These are the things we live for. Laugh aloud.  Laugh like crazy, unapologetically, freely. Live for the parents who will always love you. For the friends who worry about you when you whatsapp them at 4 am. For the colleagues who make the workplace lively. For the cashier who always smiles at you. For the tiny tots in the neighborhood who wave at you. For the wine that is waiting for you. And for the person who actually pinged me on facebook and asked why I am not updating my blog – here is to you dear – you actually made my day which was not going too well.



Image Courtesy: Here

 

Cheers to little things and people that brighten up the day!


Those of you who still think this blog should be up there on Indiblogger awards, click the image on the top right of this page or click here and leave me a testimonial :-)

A recap of June..

June was my birthday month and usually the time I post euphorically on how the day went, but let’s face it guys, birthdays are not fun as we grow older. It is almost like I did not want this day to come so soon. There were gifts, cake-cutting, photos and new clothes, but the thought that I was younger just the previous day is deeply saddening to say the least.

On the job front I can figuratively say that I am being sliced and dumped into a blender. My brain now works overtime, and even while conversing with people I have a load of stuff running in parallel in my brain. I am overloaded with work which has reflected in my behavior in the recent past and I am guilty to have pissed off some people.  Over a period of time I have turned into a workaholic and I know that because nowadays I dream software codes. To be honest, I am now a complete loser of a wife, mother and friend but a full time consultant and programmer.

Anyone who may have gone through this space earlier may know that I am a die-hard fan of SRK. However, yesterday the most unimaginable happened. It was a school buddy’s birthday and a friend posted this latest viral selfie of Madhavan in whatsapp group and all of us married women with babies(ya, plural) became sinners  and were in blatant violation of one of the Ten Commandments.

 

Such hotness that my phone almost exploded.

My brain ditched the codes and took me back to that train scene in Alaipayuthey ....how exhilaratingly he rode that bike near the beach just before the song ‘Pachai Nirame’ ...and Kadhal Sadugudu! Alaipayuthey released when I was in 11^th standard and the naïve convent school girl in me thought that wow- men are so cute! And that is the biggest lie my friends :D

Maddy had and still has such an impact that my best friend named her son Madhavan. However this picture is a whole other level. It can ruin the lives of innocent girls. Even married women with kids…and morals. Maddy why did you have to do this to us? Why? **Deep Sigh***. I showed this picture to my spouse who could say that I was clearly smitten over it and he looked at it with a weird expression as if it was Shakti Kapoor and then looked at me pitifully. When people give such looks it makes you want to give them a piece of your mind but wait, isn’t that a salt and pepper beard? I realize this is a U/A blog and that I should maintain decorum. If you have any female friends going through a breakup or a bad time in general just send them this picture. It will make their day…and night ;-) #MaddyMaddyOhOhMaddy

My parents are arriving this month and very soon, so now I have to throw out unwanted stuff because every time my Mom comes, she brings a portion of Trivandrum with her. My apartment cupboards are already full term pregnant and cannot even accommodate a hairpin. Clearing out stuff from my home is a war scene as all unwanted things seem very dear to the boys who never may have seen those objects until I ask the earth shattering question ‘Do you need this?’ Suddenly they swoop in from nowhere and act like I am throwing away their boxers. Basically nothing is unwanted. It’s time we rent another flat just to keep stuff. And our parents thought that girls were high maintenance they need more space for their accessories and stuff. If anyone reading this has such an idea in mind, you are invited to my house.

My boy who recently turned six celebrated his birthday and was spoilt to the core with gifts. He has also started asking all kinds of questions and as a result I hold my sanity and patience at the tip of my fingers now. Like the other day we were driving past the church and there was just one car outside. “That must be Jesus’s car. Does he spend the whole day here?”

‘Mmm” I hummed.

“He doesn’t go to work or anything?”

This is just a sample of what usually happens here. The kind of questions I am asked every minute of the day is baffling to say the least.

In general life is going on like usual and I feel like Incy Wincy spider trying to climb up the spout but keep getting washed out by the rain. Unlike the rhyme, in life the sun does not come so soon or may not come at all ,so Incy Wincy bought a new book and is reading under an umbrella hoping the rain will subside.

Pain that glitters.

Sometimes in life, we come across situations when we suffer immense pain, which cannot be shared with anyone. Helplessness, vulnerability and trauma can weaken the strongest of people. This is a story from two months ago and no, I dint give birth.

I stepped into a popular state-of-the-art hospital that could give stiff competition to star hotels in the region. Apparently it is meant to be visited by people who have plenty of money to spare and have chronic diseases like sneezing and dandruff. They treat your acne problem and give you a facelift that can give Sridevi a run for her money, but if you have a cardiac arrest and go there on emergency you may die. My purpose of visit suited the hospital profile. The marble floors were immaculately clean and I am sure even those 0.01% germs that escaped Dettol were handled. We walked to the reception contaminating the hospital with the germs we carried involuntarily.

‘Ear piercing’ I mumbled.

 ‘Have you been here before?’ asked the receptionist who looked like Kareena Kapoor. Obviously not, young lady. People like me can come here only once in a lifetime. 

‘No’ I said.

She started a procedure that required me to provide details as though she was issuing me a new passport. When she finished her tedious yet systematic process, I received a card that looked like it was laminated and gold-plated, along with a bill huge enough to pay for the renovation of the ground floor. I was paying them to put a hole in my ears. It was not like I was asking for a heart transplant. I paid the bill (through my nose) and waited outside the specialist’s office.

There were magazines on the table, neatly stacked size wise. I dint want to contaminate them with my germ laden hands. My son who accompanied me had no questions so far but as we waited, he remotely sensed that this could be a Doctor’s office. ‘Amma I don’t have any pain anywhere! Let’s go from here! Now Now NOWWW’ !! How can children be so unreasonable? After paying a bill like that even a fire alarm couldn’t move me.

Few moments later, I was called. It was like entering an office from Grey’s Anatomy. The Doctor stared at her computer as we sat on the pristine white revolving chairs.
She then looked at me and politely said ‘Yes?’

‘Doctor, I need to get ears pierced’. I said.

She looked at my son inquisitively. Her look sent chills down his body. He in turn, gave me a death stare.

I corrected her in a split-second ‘It is for me’.

The correction was immediately made; otherwise a meltdown with ‘Why did you bring me here-I told you I have no fever -what is this- I want to see Appa NOW’ would have echoed through the hospital which always maintains pin-drop silence.

The Doctor then checked my ear which already had two piercings. She was amused. This was not as amusing to me as the cashier already put a hole in my purse. The procedure lasted hardly three minutes and two months of excruciating pain whenever my ear touched the pillow- which means I slept like a statue facing the ceiling for two months, and suffered sleepless nights whenever I twisted or turned in my sleep. Then there were nights I woke up and cried why oh why do we have ears on both sides !?

Now it is like an achievement I should include in my bio data and Facebook profile. I also made sure that my hair does not cover it at any time because hard work, pain, patience and persistence is for everyone to see. I literally burned the midnight oil for a worthy cause! I couldn't complain about this pain to ANYONE, not even parents or friends, as I did not want to willfully invite irritating responses like ‘Did I ask you to pierce your ears?’

 ‘What kind of emergency made you pierce a third time?’

‘It was your decision, suffer on your own’

People who get the opportunity to say the above dialogues enjoy sadistic pleasure which I personally do not intend to give them. So I suffered in silence the outcome of my own decisions.

Whenever it hurts and I have no one to say it to, I look at my reflection on the mirror, how cute my bejeweled ears look. It heals all kinds of pain. Trust me.

Marching through March.

March is usually the month I scream from the rooftop that I completed another year as a blogger and then fill up an entire post about stuff about which no one cares about. However a post is a post is a post. Then I bask in the glory of one, having completed another year and two, having posted something at all.



Image courtesy: Here

I have been rather busy last month. My son started first grade, which means he now has to wear uniform for the rest of the best part of his life, which means I don’t have to invest on other clothes for him in general which means more clothes for me. I am that evil mother who calculates how much more shopping she can do when her son actually crossed an important milestone. I am actually supposed to be happy and crying tears of joy at the church. Well I am drinking wine and planning where to go this weekend to shop.

Another important development is that one of my tooth from the farthest corner of my mouth fell off as I was eating grapes. Apparently my mouth was pretty shocked by the fact that I was eating a fruit for the first time in ages. The shock was so bad that the tooth just collapsed. Nowadays teeth are equally as dramatic as us. Thankfully I dint swallow it, but yeah the dent has given me that look that I am only a broom and black cloak short of being an authentic witch.  As my son has lost a couple teeth as well and is rejoicing when new ones are sprouting from his cute pink jaws, I can only look at the mirror and sigh aloud. Obviously my jaws are way past menopause and are unlikely to produce teeth again.

However highlight of the month was not that. I made a traffic offence while taking a left from a lane which goes straight only. Which actually means the lane which goes left was waiting at the red. I smartly crossed the red. Few cars recorded their protest by honking in unison as part of their ‘holier than thou’ campaign. I realized my mistake but it was too late and kept going. I came home and cried into the pillow, the only thing that understands my pain in the house. I was so lost that I dint notice the camera flash as well. However, till date it has not been updated as an offence on the website, which means I will not be swatting mosquitoes in jail.  My son was pretty excited by the idea of me going to jail, as he wanted to tell his friends how cool his mom is compared to their boring law abiding moms.

On a serious note, I will be in India coming week, to be with my parents as one of them needs a medical procedure and has to be admitted in the hospital. They were both against the idea of me going there for this and were sternly voicing their objection which I ignored, the same way they ignored my pleas when I wanted to go for excursion in my college days. This is payback time.

That week I will be away from the baby for the first time since 2011. Now this is a serious matter, because I’d be leaving him with a bigger child who also needs adult supervision. My child may also experience the bitter taste of hunger because whenever I leave him with his dad at meal time, the food is eaten by the one who was supposed to monitor the child. I am leaving him for a few days, knowing that it will be the worst days of his life, and hoping that he will appreciate me more when I am back.

It has been eight years of blogging, and March was the birthday month of my blog. Thanks everyone who read, appreciated and criticized me. Special thanks to those who found me irritating but still refrained from sending goons to my house. Love you all!

The thin line.

How do we know when we have crossed a line? Or about to cross it? Or almost crossed it? Crossed it and left it far behind? There are ways to know. When someone ignores your texts long enough, when the speed radar flashes, when the teacher sends you to the Principal’s room, when your Dad sits you down to talk, when the spouse actually notices your outfit, when your kid says 'Mama leave me alooooonne', you know it. You have crossed the line. 

Image Courtesy: Here

There are thin lines between elegance and vulgarity, a friendly conversation and flirting, love and friendship, discipline and abuse, donkey and mule. If you don’t see these lines, it is considered to be felonious. 

  

Take for instance my help who doesn’t know when to stop talking. She talks too much and soon enough it goes to the next level, which is free advice. I cannot stand my own mom giving me opinions about things I dint ask an opinion for.  This is one of those situations when you cannot survive without the help, but cannot stand her unsolicited views about marriage and children, but nod along anyway . How great would it have been, if she knew that there is a line and the exact geographical location of that line. In the case of my help, the line I have set for her is not a thin line. It is bold and highlighted in fluorescent yellow, topped with night glow; so you can see it even in the dark. Sigh. Still she doesn’t see it. Like the dust under the bed or the cobweb behind the door. She just ignores it.

There is a thin line between the freedom enjoyed by a man and a woman. I have started going alone to watch movies at night. Previously this was a facility enjoyed only by the man of the house. I enjoy it when some women walking accurately on the shadows of their husbands look at me as if I was Geeta Phogat. Anyone here afraid to go out at night should try it, only for those looks you get from other women. Who knows you may as well be inspiring them to be independent! You get plenty of looks from men as well ;-). This is a personal line I crossed; it is never really a line for a lot of women. For others, it is not just a line; it is one of the Ten Commandments.

The playground where all kinds of lines are crossed is Facebook . It is a sinful, tempting place for people to break rules. It is the place religious people propagate their views, obsessed people write paragraphs about their one-in-a-million child who won a first prize in God-knows-what at age 4, ignorant people circulate chain messages and press-like-to-save-a-child nonsense. Finding a post worthy of a like on the Facebook timeline is as hard as trying to find a logical person in a crowd. 

Image Courtesy: Here

It is International Women’s day. All the women here - empower yourselves and do what you want to do, and go where you want to go. Noone is coming to empower you. Break your own personal barriers. There are no lines where you think there are. Try it. Free yourself from the shadows of others. Stop living for others. Have fun. There is only one life, stop living the life of another person.

There is a nonsensical dare in Facebook about publishing your age on Women's Day. Is that even a dare? If you want to dare anyone just be you, and do what you want to do. Start saying NO when you want to say it. Stop pleasing others. 

That, my friend, is the dare. 

Happy Women's Day !

A fangirl's review of Raees.

January 2017 is already behind us, and most of us have failed miserably in our New Year resolutions. The crowd at the gym has been diminishing slowly but consistently, and this space did not see regular updates like I expected. Resolutions give us motives to improve, but they are also secret backstabbers. Just because they exist and we fall short of meeting them, they make us feel like complete losers.

It has been a hellish month with fevers, coughs, home sickness and having to actually enter the kitchen to cook. The month after  vacationing with parents, and gradually slipping into the BTR (back-to-reality) complex  is painfully frustrating. At Mom’s place, everything is taken care of and oh the sweet bliss of sleeping till 9 am without a care in the world! Once I wake up, I could just walk into the dining room and hot breakfast would be in the casserole. Once back, I become the hot breakfast if I don’t cook up something for the hungry boys.

It is amazing how long it takes to settle down from a vacation, when the month of January silently fast forwarded itself in the background. It takes a lot of effort to step down from the clouds and feel the ground.

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Two weeks after its release, I watched ‘Raees’.

If there was a forum where I could post movie reviews and be rated by experts, mine would be categorized as ‘Not Applicable’ for SRK movies. Being a die-hard fan-girl I should not review his movies because every word would be conveniently prejudiced. How can I focus on a movie and study the details when I am continuously distracted by the hotness that is being exuded by this human called SRK?

After the freak show that was ‘Ae Dil Hai Mushkil’ and a very forgettable ‘Dear Zindagi’, the SRK starrer ‘Raees’ did deliver a solid punch. Nawazuddin as the police officer, who takes personal interest in bringing down liquor dealer Raees, rises to stardom equivalent to SRK and this was very refreshing to watch. The script defies cliches by sharing spotlight of the megastar with the earnest police officer, who took the opportunity and did full justice. Action and punch dialogues are thrown in aplenty. Songs and romance appropriately took a backseat. Mahira Khan did not have anything to do but to look pretty, and that she did. Mohammed Zeeshan Ayub as SRK’s confidante did a good job, as he shared screen space almost throughout the film.

Raees is a good watch, whether you are a SRK fan or not. If you are a female SRK fan, then there is the added advantage that you get to see the dimpled smile peeping out of that hot beard and drool. Male SRK fans can watch the movie for the action and fearlessness of this alpha male that is Raees and get goosebumps. If you are not a SRK fan you can still enjoy the movie because it is one of a kind from the usual stuff that is going on the Bollywood now, which is biopics on sports legends, stupid family dramas or useless romantic shit in  general.

Watch Raees. Not for SRK, but to be reassured that Bollywood is not dead. 

Follow by Example.

Back from a month long vacation in India, my monotonous workplace appeared bland and discolored. When homesickness gripped me, the resolution I made for the New Year flew out of the window. I usually never make resolutions, mostly because I am horrible at following instructions, even my own.

We have a rule of carefully using words while at home. As the little boy has an internal recording button always on, he keeps using the same words as me, even the tone of speech. I want him to be soft spoken and gentle, which is the exact opposite of me. Hence in order to show by example, I have decided to reduce the intensity of violence and decibel level. Going by neighborhood feedback, my voice can be heard two floors below mine; hence the last month was peaceful for them in terms of noise pollution. However, whenever we want to improve, there will be obstacles. Even Adam and Eve had, right? It is when we say no to the snake that we emerge successful. However snakes these days are not as straightforward as the snake from Eden Garden. Today’s snakes are evil backstabbers. Even if you say no to the apple, they will find ways to eradicate every other fruit so we have no choice.

Me, after two glasses of wine.
Image Courtesy: Here

Words like ‘stupid’ ‘idiot’ and ‘bloody fool’ have been frequent in my vocabulary since school days. However, when one becomes a parent, forgetting these are only one of the sacrifices one has to make. To add insult to injury, I met (still meet on a daily basis) more idiots and bloody fools at this stage than ever before. I am therefore left with the only choice of clenching teeth in frustration. Being human that I am, one day I said it and my little one said ‘What is ploody foo ?’. I pretended never to have known that word ever, and said ‘what? Whaaat? Whaatttt? There is no such word’. I know that it is not possible to unlearn any words. I am the bloody fool. I am the mother who taught her kid abusive language. Thank you very much.

In India, there is no way one can live to meet such resolutions. With demonetization in place, every retailer, auto driver, bus conductor will bring out the demon in you. Auto drivers are the worst. When I ask balance to these guys they look at me as if I asked them loan. Arrey, I gave you what your meter showed in red digital numerals, now please give me what is rightfully mine. My money did not fall down from the sky, it was hard-earned by saying yes sir, okay sir (without clenching teeth of course, never never) all year. One auto driver had the audacity to say, ‘Madam, people like you should not even ask for four rupees to a person like me’. From which angle did I look like Nita Ambani to him, I’ll never know. I replied ‘What is four rupees to you, so it is to me’. He laughed. I didn't. That infuriated him further. So now I have to laugh when he laughs? Get ready to have your patience tested my friends. Little boy was watching me speak argumentatively to a driver. This was not going to be an easy resolution. It needed and needs me to change as a person from the inside. This is impossible, as I am set in my ways, and I am not the Dalai Lama types. I am more like Kung Fu Panda. Inner Peace, here I come. Dishoom, dishoom.

Still I am going to try. Whenever I hold the door open for the person behind me, say ‘Thank You’ when I don’t have to, smile, be kind, I am shaping a human. I have to be aware every second, be conscious, and remember that the tiny human cctv is following me everywhere including trial room. What can be more frightening than this? God is watching too.

But God said not to fear humans.

Seriously. I need wine.