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Considering it is 13 years since I started my Corporate journey, it is only obvious that once in a while I stop to take stock of where I am headed. Mostly, this bout of contemplation ends abruptly, because the boss calls about an escalation that needs to be looked into. Or Zo calls about a word she did not understand in the book she’s reading. Or the Dude calls because he has something funny to show. You know, the usual. But quite clearly, I know the real answer. I have known it for a while. Nowhere.

I think I have written about it in the past. The fact that mid-life crisis has hit, and shouldn’t I be doing something I love because life’s so short, or is what I am doing worthwhile at all? So many questions. Nothing new, or different from what all the other people my age and stage in life are going through. Atleast most of them. Accepted, a few of them are thoroughly sorted, and to them, I salute. But most of us, are either in this jittery ‘where’s my life headed’ mode. Or they are in the ‘ignorance is bliss’ mode, which one can also call ‘too busy to notice the crisis’ mode.

I oscillate. The former feeling dominating my life more than the latter. But then, I wonder. Why did it take me so long to come to this realization? Did I really believe at any point that I’d be passionate about the work I do? I mean, I know I have to do it, I prepped for this for a good 7 years. And I do it fairly well (or so I’d like to believe). I definitely don’t mind it. But do I love this?

The culprit here, is this over-exposure to thoughts and ideas and people that we are all subjected to these days, in this world of too much information. Frankly, I always prided myself for being immune to the banes of social media. I mean, there was this point of time when people I knew were quitting Facebook because pictures of others’ vacations where making them depressed, and I laughed. I found it ridiculous. I believed, still do, that they should look at it for the pretti-ness it offered, take it all with a pinch of salt, and eventually just be inspired to plan something for yourself. Like I do. Simple, no? No.

Because, turns out, vacation pictures aren’t the only thing that you can envy. And while I hate to say it, I truly envy people who are able to pursue their passions and make the world pay them for it. Basically people, who love their job. Not like, not be content with, not excel at what they do. But truly, love  it. Like, I do my job because it is just amazing fun to do, and if given a choice I could do it all day. Because it gives me joy. Direct joy, not joy through the lavish lifestyle I can afford because it pays so well. Or joy, because everyone thinks I am amazing at it. Pure, direct happiness that I get from doing the thing I am doing. AND, I get paid for it.

And there are those folks who have a very high tolerance for risk. The ones that quit their Corporate job to start farming. The ones who moved to the mountains and are living the minimalist life and finding it wonderful. The ones who have decided they have had enough of the future and they would rather live in the present. Unfortunately, I am not one of those too. My heavily conservative, middle-class upbringing has always explained to me the relevance of being ‘financially independent’, planning for the future and being the ant in the story of the ant and the grasshopper. And it was all fine until the grasshoppers of the world started sharing amazing photographs from the wonderful places they were in week after week.

But like I said, these thoughts are relatively recent. Yes, agreed,  I have spent the last 3 years wondering whether I was where I wanted to be, whether I was doing what I wanted to do, whether I even knew what I wanted from life, but slowly, acceptance has been settling in. I have started to wonder ( I know, so much time to wonder I seem to have!) if it is even worth thinking so much about things that are so unclear. I mean, shouldn’t I first atleast know what I want to do with my life? Is the fact that this thing that I am doing right now might not be giving me the joy I look forward to, reason enough for me to stop doing it? Because what if I never find the thing I love doing?

So yes, I am choosing the easy way out. Of not making a choice, until it presents itself to me. Of not sitting and wondering if it ever will, maybe it won’t. Or maybe it will. Of not bothering that though I know that I’m not really headed anywhere,  there’s nothing much I can do about it.

Because maybe I don’t want to. Maybe, this is as good as it gets.


5113 days

I have mentally given up blogging. I cannot keep up with it, I realise. I still love writing, and I do, but on Instagram. While the 140 character limit of Twitter was too suffocating, the colorful world of Instagram with it’s rose-tinted filters and short stories about things  works just fine for me.

But it’s not the same, and I know it. I mean, here, I could write about 20 things in one post with absolutely no relation to one another and get away with it. There, first, there’s got to be a picture. Second, it should be a nice picture. Third, it should be a picture that you can write a story about. And how many stories can you write about chocolate and desserts and alcohol and pretty corners of your home? Yeah, there’s books, and there are places, but they don’t happen all the time do they? So you’re back to the the beer mugs before you realise it.

Basically, I think that I have destroyed the very purpose of Instagram. I have made it about the stories I want to write, and then hope that there’s a picture I can take that it will go with – rather than the other way round. But it’s working alright for me, and definitely for the world whose collective attention span has gone down to a 100th of what it used to be. And when you are on Social media, you might as well be putting out something that doesn’t put the reader to sleep.

Anyhow. This was not the point of this post. The point of waking up and writing on the blog today was it is 14 years since I started this blog. Fourteen years is a long time. And no, I have not churned out enough posts to justify the 14 years online but anything is something, right? Also the page isn’t fully dead, it is only dead-ish, I think. Or I tell myself.

This also means that I have been reminiscing quite a bit, and one thing I did was go through the April posts of the past, to see if I remembered the Blog’s anniversary. Turns out, I didn’t, especially the first one was promptly forgotten because there were bigger problems in life like being posted in Hyderabad ‘for 12-18 months’, which apparently was so hard-hitting that I forgot to give title to the post. I actually feel like walking over to my 22 year old self, and giving a tiny whack to my 22 year old head and tell that I am pretty much going to be there forever and that I should suck it up. And skip those chocolates I am sure I was hogging.

My second year’s post seems much nicer and actually happy, but by the time I read it (and a couple of posts after it, one which was about a trip to Jim Corbet that I loved), I was done reminiscing. So there are no more links and tidbits for you.

Ok there is one, just because I went and checked the 2007 post, and guess what, there is no post! There is one in that month, and it is about my first encounter with Grey’s anatomy. Turns out, I started watching it in London, where I went for my first International work trip, actually first International trip in general. And mainly because there were not enough English channels to watch. Who knew I would grow to love it so much and then love it some more, before I pretty much got bored because they killed or sent away everyone I loved. Who knew.

I really should stop now. See, this is the thing. I would never do this on Instagram, just go on and on without rhyme or reason. Talk about this and that. And then suddenly, decide I have had enough and stop. Just like that.

But then that’s the thing I guess. That’s why this blog has it’s own charm. And maybe that’s why I have not really given up blogging. And maybe I won’t. We’ll see.

Tuesday evening thoughts

Google Chrome wants me to go to Kuala Lumpur – or maybe it’s the reader I am using. Just for 6999/-, it says. Either way, I cannot go. I am here, at my work desk – waiting to tick off the last of my to-dos for today. That might happen, or might not. Because my checklist, it needs me to talk to others, tell them all that has happened, or what I think about all that’s happening. All that needs to be done. By them, and by me.

But others won’t always be around – like right now, they are away – maybe ticking off their own to-dos. Their checklists would be long too, I presume, all checklists are. It’s just the content that differs, slightly. And for all you know, I do not feature anywhere on them. Which is why I will wait, atleast for a while. Till the urgency of the issue passes by. Till the time that thing that’s kept me awake, that thing I wanted to say, is just one of the may things that happen to you in a day. And eventually, I will give up, shut down my laptop, call it a day.

My to-do list – it will stay. On the right hand corner of my screen. Flagged red.Waiting for that tick, that will help it go away. Somewhat like me. Almost like me. Atleast like that part of me, that wants to click on that screaming red banner that says – ‘Fly to Kuala Lumpur. Just for 6999/-‘.

Actually, maybe not to Kuala Lumpur. But somewhere. Some day.

Ready, set, Go(a)!

2018 officially started for me only yesterday. Which means that all the things people resolve to do (and I hope to) from the 1st of January, I pushed by a whole week. And funnily enough, the reason was this blog.

How you ask? Ok, even if you don’t, I’m here to tell you. So listen up.

One of the nicest side effects of entering the blogging world was the people I met – through comments yes, but mainly through our shared love for writing. And I met a lo-ot of people of course, over the years. When 2009 was ending, I moved my blog from Livejournal, where there URL was basically my name, to WordPress, to be relatively anonymous, if that was a thing. And then the big blogging boom happened.

All of a sudden, I was in midst of so many bloggers, so many comments and conversations, that if I think back, I wonder how I got anything else done at all. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t have anything else to do in fact. Posts would be published and then the comments would be checked every few minutes and responded to. Then the blogs of the commentators would be visited and the favor reciprocated. Basically, there was time, and we were spending it all on this new found world of like-minded people.

Ofcourse, some more like-minded than the others. And this is where I come to finally telling you the crux of the story. Of these many, many people that came and went – some stayed back for longer. They moved on from WordPress to being Facebook friends, to whatsapp friends, to friends who rushed over the day after Zo was born to see her in the hospital. To friends whose virtual Baby shower was planned and carried out with so much enthusiasm, that I am pretty sure no work was done in office on that day. To friends who you never met, but freely discussed parenting, working and life in general without the slightest hesitation.

Until last year, one of them said that we just had to meet up. There were excuses and there was un-sureness, and family holidays and kids to manage and companies to run, but somehow, after a number of dates getting vetoed – we finally managed to decide on weekend that worked for all. And again, after a lot of discussions about where we would meet up – a highly dependable and always-in-holiday-mode destination was finalized.

So in the first weekend of 2018 – Nu, Nuttie, Saga and I – put our respective lives on hold (well almost, yes Saga? ) and flew in from our respective cities to Goa, to spend an amazingly relaxing and refreshing 2 days. The time we spent together was full of eating and drinking and lounging and reading and massages and playing Taboo (this deserves a separate post), and mainly, a lot of talking. Which was both a surprise and a relief – because the number of times I had met each of them before, ranged between 0 and 3. But turns out that reading someone tells you a lot more about them than meeting them in person, or talking to them.

Because the year started on Monday, and we were leaving on Friday, much of my week was spent preparing for the trip and closing loose ends before I took a day off immediately after the official holiday season (Ahem. Not cool in the corporate world). There was hardly anytime to start anything, because everything could be done ‘after I came back from Goa’. And only when I came back to work on Monday morning this week, did reality finally hit.

Which is why I am extremely thankful and grateful to this blog. I might not be writing as often – heck the other three are not writing at all (cue to feel guilty and restart) – but this place brought me in touch with folks who I would have never met, never known otherwise. And I think that would have been a pretty big thing to miss out on. Plus, it helped me extend my new year high by one whole week.

So finally, Happy New Year folks. If the first week is anything to go by, I think I have a lot to look forward to.

Sue me, I’m happy

The world is full of unhappy people. Not the ‘unhappy for a particular reason’. Generally unhappy. Always complaining. Perennially depressed, annoyed, angry at the state of affairs – and not exactly sure of what that is. Ironically, all these people constantly state their need for happiness, but if you sit back and analyse the situation a bit, you realize that they are unhappy not because of the circumstances, but out of choice.

This might sound silly, because who would do things that would make them unhappy? No one. But that’s the thing – these people are not actively doing anything to cause their unhappiness, they are just being so – unhappy. Which, by the way, further proves the age old cliche – that happiness is a state of mind.

In the last year, I thought a lot about this syndrome – discussed it with a few, even wrote a long frustrated post about it; which I didn’t publish because it was what I said it was – long and frustrated. And a vent out of the sort did not deserve to be online. But today, I am revisiting the same thing, with a calmer, clearer mind. Why do we have so many people pitying themselves constantly? And talking of every small thing that they think isn’t working out well for them?

One of most obvious reasons why everyone seems so unhappy all the time is that they choose to share the unhappiness more than the happiness. One reason I can think of is that maybe they truly do believe that they deserve a better deal than the one they got. Most of these people will constantly compare their state with others. Mind you, the comparison is between all things bad in their lives, and all things good in the others’. It conveniently ignores the other halves of both lives. But of course the end result is a lot of self pity and sighing and statements about just how perfect someone else’s life is. In short, unhappiness. What else do you expect?

The other reason I can think of is, the fear of jinxing happiness. The worry that if you are constantly portraying a happy state, maybe an evil eye will destroy it. Fed into our heads from when we were children, while there is no scientific truth behind the concept, why would one take a chance? Ok, so you shared your brilliant vacation pictures in Tuscany on Facebook and got a 1000 likes, but to fix the evil eye – why not talk about how tough it was to handle the child when you were there? Or the terrible time you had finding vegetarian food, which killed most of the fun. Like I said, the Drishti Bommai of talks.

Whatever the reason is, I worry for these people. And more for the former set than the latter. Reason being that if you are putting up an unhappy facade to protect your happiness – while you are extremely annoying and negative to the ones you interact with – the eventual state of mind you are in, is actually happy. But when your unwavering focus on the ‘don’t haves’ in your life is really overshadowing the ‘haves’, you are actually extremely unfortunate – only it is not for the reasons you have concluded upon, but in general. Because if this doesn’t change, there is nothing that will make you happy, ever.

I know, I am sounding like a preachy old maata  here, but in this regard, maybe I have become one. Happiness attracts happiness. Positive brings positive. And just the same way, focusing on your sadness, will only make it more prevalent in your life. All these shitty, cliched notions that we have scoffed at all our lives have some bit of truth hidden in them. It’s no Secret, it’s definitely not magic, but it is, I assume, something that people have said because they have experienced it.

So no, we will not have perfect lives. No, things will not always work out. You will have to deal with people and situations that suck. There will be traffic jams, and annoying relatives, and beautiful things that you cannot afford. Your child will not always listen to you, you will lose money in the stock markets, you will put on weight faster than your colleague even though you eat lesser. There will always be things that are unfair, not cool, even horrible.

Yes, things could have been better. But they aren’t. So suck it up, move on.

And for heaven’s sake, try not talking about it all the time.

Inspired – Part Deux

One supremely uncool thing that is imminent repercussion of having blogged for close to 14 years now is the fact that I am forever repeating myself. It is uncanny, the way a post idea strikes me, and I am all ‘I’m going to write today people, watch out’ and then while I am actually writing the post, somewhere around 3rd or 4th line, I am like ‘Wait a minute, didn’t I read this before?’ And then a few more minutes and I am like ‘Oh My God, I totally wrote this before!’ And then I turn to faithful google, type my blog url along with a couple of keywords, and it very generously directs me to what I already know – or in this case, wrote.

Anyhow. My first thoughts in the new year have been around just how happy fresh starts make me – very much in line with what Preeks wrote here today, certifying me as an absolute victim of the Fresh start syndrome (it’s a thing guys, it’s actually a thing!). Only, I realise that for me, Fresh Start is a dynamic and situational concept. It doesn’t have to be a new week, a new day, my birthday or a special occasion. It is basically any moment that I come across something interesting and go – Oh wow! I should do that! Wait a minute, should I just go ahead and do that? 

This might happen anytime, on any day, sometimes more than once in a day.  Yes, sometimes, multiple opportunities for ‘fresh starts’ come and go and I sit put, refusing to lift a finger. But thanks to the multitude of things that I come across on Social Media, my life is ruled by the former instance. As I once wrote, I think I am forever inspired.

Is that a good thing? Does that mean that I go ahead and try out every damn thing everyone else is just because it seems interesting? Does it bother me that I am not doing as much as some others? Does it mean that I am easily swayed and have no clarity on what want to do?

Don’t know. No. Not really. Maybe?

What I definitely do feel is this sudden surge of energy pumping me up whenever I come across things that are awesome as per my definition. Like seeing photographs of people on a vacation, makes me whatsapp the Dude asking him if he has decided when he is going for his passport renewal. Or when I see someone’s dainty water color art (this is happening a lot these days), I immediately log on to Amazon to get myself a sketch book. And the most regular of the lot, when I see updates about 10 km runs by folks, I start mentally planning for when I would go for my workout, and feel extremely restless till I actually do it. Also, books. Following all these bibliophiles on Instagram makes me close my damn Instagram page and actually pick up a book.

The biggest plus? I don’t wait for a fresh start – for once assuming that every moment is one. So to answer my first question – maybe it is a good thing after all. Nothing of what I do is ever a resolution, new year or otherwise. It’s more like a want to experience. I also don’t kill myself for stopping any of it, after all I never resolved for anything long term, did I? I do it for as long as I want to, as long as time permits me too, and definitely, as long as it gives me happiness. No pressure.

So, keeping in line with every year till now, I have no New Year resolutions. I do however hope (not resolve, not promise), that I continue doing things that make me happy, bring me joy. And the rest will follow through. Hopefully.

But even for that, absolutely no pressure.


I have scarily good memory. People, places, incidents and faces – I remember everything with crystal clarity. If you ask me what my oldest memory is – I have quite a few ranging back to when I couldn’t have been more than 4. I say 4, because I realise that most of my memories are from after my little sister was born, not many from when I was the only child – but it is still quite  a bit.

And it is not just that I remember that something happened – I remember it very visually, in Ultra HD 4K mode. I have the blue print of our home which we left when I was 5 memorized. I also remember thinking as my father watered the many trees in our garden – how the muddy puddles resembled Bournvita. And while I typed this, I was pretty sure I had written about it before and so I searched for it, and yes, ofcourse I had, almost 10 years ago, albeit in a different context. The clang of my baby sister’s vitamin bottle, when it slipped from my hands as I tried to consume a couple of drops – something I had been doing for a week. Followed by my mother losing it because we all know children should not touch medicines, and then locking me in the backyard while I sobbed. Eating seeds from chillies being dried on the steps – thinking it was raw dal and crying bloody murder, running to the bathroom to tell my mum that Ramayana was about to start, slipping on the way and breaking my chin against a chair – everything, like it was yesterday.

Then there’s people. I realise that if you have been in my life, I will remember you. I will remember every moment we have had together – especially the good and definitely the bad. I will remember your face even if I meet you a decade later, and even if I have’t thought of you once in between. I will remember what we had discussed, what you said that had impacted me. Plus, I will remember your family, where you lived, even your children’s name if you ever told me.

In a way, it’s good. Everytime we are meeting any of the Dude’s friends, I am the one who will rattle off their kids’ names, and ages so that we can decide what to get them. I will also remember the last big happening in their lives, in case they declared it on social media, just to slip it into conversations. So yes, in terms of ‘being informed’, it is amazing.

But turns out, it is not as cool. Saying ‘I am so bad with names and faces!’ is infinitely more awesome, because, what it says I believe is – I have such a busy, happening life, I cannot really keep track of who you are, or how you look. Which is ok, you know, not everyone has an ‘elephant’s memory’ as my school friends say. Only, people are almost proud of it. And when they realise that you actually remember more, they scoff at your seeming ‘joblessness’.

So I stopped acknowledging this fact. When there were long drawn discussions in groups about something that happened years ago – with most facts either misplaced or unknown, I wouldn’t butt in and correct them. I would let it go on. Plus, I think I also developed a sort of an ego around this – on the lines of if you don’t think I am worthy enough to remember, why am I going overboard by acknowledging your existence? In fact, I think I have gone as far as saying stuff like ‘ I vaguely remember her, but cannot place her’ while the truth was that I could have given you a mini biography of sorts about the said person because of one simple reason – I do not forget.

But I think I have grown up. Of late, I find myself comfortably approaching folks I have spent time with before, and introducing myself – even if they struggle to respond. Ofcourse, I limit myself to people I have liked. But yes, I no longer feel annoyed. In fact, I go as far as making them feel better about themselves by saying that ‘It’s fine, my memory is amazing’, and then add a couple more bits of information to bamboozle them. Then I smile, the bigger person here, and walk away. It’s kinda fun.

Ofcourse, a good memory also has it’s minuses. I am incapable of letting go of things. As in, if our last conversation was ugly, I will never forget it, which means I will never strike up a conversation again, until there is some sort of closure. Lots of times, the other party moves on, forgets, and basically goes back to being normal. Absolutely understandable, but I stay icy – cut and dry. And again, here, I don’t take it upon myself to explain to them why I am that way – which means the entire relationship eventually fizzles out. But  I am not complaining. Afterall, we win some, and we lose some.

Atleast in my case, we remember everything.