Happy Valentine’s day to all those who still manage to believe in the magic of special days. The rest of us cynical types, who’ve visited the rodeo too many times, are no longer entertained by the frivolity.

But I still ain’t buying myself flowers and I still ain’t going to write my own name in the sand. Too young and still way too spoilt for that baby dolls! Miley’s song may be the new anthem for jilted lovers, everywhere but it doesn’t resonate with me. It’s a nice tune to groove to, though! But it talks about self love which is vital. That’s a lesson I’m learning well, in my forties. It’s making me much more insufferable than I usually am but you can’t send someone else to do your own damn job! Watch your own damn back and pick your own damn self, from the shambles!

Nevertheless, this song still makes me smile. Most women want a fancy wedding…when I was younger I wanted a tempo ride with my brothers for a proposal, a tattoo ‘owned’ inked on each other ( all the feminists I know are going to freak. No we aren’t regressing down the patriarchal path…it’s being being mutually territorial……which is exactly what marriage is…so why not just spell it out?) instead of wearing those God forsaken, ugly solitaire rings and I had this song in mind if I was ever asked to ‘perform’! Still love it…

Hopeless romantic? Hell no! Love my darlings, they say for some is a practical issue, for some an emotional reaction and for others a game. Check this out

No guesses, what it is for me. No wonder, my favourite love story of of all times- The Thomas Crown Affair is about outwitting each other into submission. Of all the mundane things in the world…what’s the fun in loving if ain’t going to rip you apart, in every freaking way?

I wrote the following post on the 18th of this month, wanting to post it the next day. On the 19th my dad was hospitalized. So it’s written in two parts, with different mind frames.

18.12.2022-

It’s been an interesting year. One got to travel for a bit and got to drag oneself out (hopefully) from the endless pit, of hopelessness one was falling into. At the same time, one also learnt that the experience isn’t unique to me, irrespective of how ‘different’ I feel from everyone else. Existential angst, is something that is experienced by most ‘over thinkers’. Learnt a lot about myself, most of it not very pleasant.

Got nominated for a fellowship for one of my projects, which I couldn’t apply for due to the situation one finds oneself in…did manage to get a little appreciation this year. Undeserved, but much needed. Sometimes, when you feel persecuted, probed and attacked from all corners, for not being ‘woman like’ with all the traits and ambitions, befitting your gender, irrespective of the bravado, a part of you can always muster up when feeling cornered; there’s still something that makes you stay up at night wondering and questioning why you couldn’t be like the rest of the women in the family?

Though, on deeper thought, this gave me the opportunity to really appreciate some of the other women, who I didn’t think about that much. My uncle passed away, before his fortieth birthday, in a car accident, leaving behind a thirty year old woman, with three kids, complicated finances and mountains of paperwork, related to property issues. His wife, sorted things out and then did a fantastic job of bringing up her kids, giving them the best she could. She was married into a family, so for her the dynamics must have been difficult to sort. The stuff that must have been said to her must have not been pleasant at times but she continues to manage her life and her relationships, beautifully. She’s not whining away to glory, ‘oh my God! How can they?’ She’s brushed everything aside and has focused on herself and her kids. Is she perfect? Far from it! But usually women who are made by fire, aren’t!

Made me think of my aunt who is a doctor, as well. She was a tomboy all her life who lived and worked by herself, away from her hometown…four decades ago and then got married to a lawyer, but stayed on the outskirts of Ludhiana. Her husband and mother-in- law, were supportive of her, in every way possible. But I’m sure the transition must have been tough. She bought up two kids, taught, worked with thalassemic children, took care of her in laws and witnessed the loss of three parents, four sisters and three brothers. My Nani would cite her example , each time she would try to coax me to get married, ‘ uddi wakhaan daddi he tu! Jo inni dadiyaa hondi he…ohhi sabse changi wotiya bandi he!’ She does make a good wife because she’s a great partner to her husband not because she strokes his ego and tells him to shine, while she remains in the background. The other day, as I saw them peacefully coexisting, in their hotel room, each so proud of each other’s accomplishments, it was nice to witness the aberration. For someone who thinks of marriage as bondage (not of the good kind 😉 ) it was nice to witness, two alphas together. It’s the rarest of the rare, cases. But not impossible. Wild women, can sometimes find men, wild enough to run with them.

Then there are some who end up alone and manage to live with strength and grace, like my dad’s sister. At the age of seventy five, she lives a quiet life, by herself. Though, she’s not assertive like a lot of us, she has an undeniable strength in her ways.

Realized after all this that one’s developing a terrible persecution complex, which has become dangerous, now. Up until, one withdrew and went about minding one’s own business it was fine. But this year, I realized how cuckoo I’ve turned, when anytime more than two people would converse with me and ask me anything, about anything under the sun, one’s brain would step into it’s most defensive stance.

The picture above of Reeves has been me, most of the year. ‘Bring it on, come I’ll show you how to play this game! You think ganging you on me scares me! Come!’ SB would yell, inside my head, each time, one more person was called or even if my phone would ring. Paranoid much? Now, getting pissed with other people’s constant meddling is one thing, being in this constant state of ‘the world is trying to screw you over’ is a bit much for even me!

Of course, it had a terrible affect on my psychosomatic body, with my health deteriorating and my body ageing. The state of your mind is reflected on your face- look at the picture above. If any image, sums up my confusion and dread of the future, it has to be the one above. Who can say, it’s at one of the most beautiful places, in India, where one should have been glad to have visited…happy to be alive? But I felt like shit…like the future was going to be this dark, dreadful hellhole where my father would die and I would be married off to anyone or worse packed off to a mental asylum! I shit you not, I have spent night after night, clutching to my stomach worried about the worst case scenarios.

I wish I could say, it was the therapy that magically took all of it, away. It did act as a huge catalyst. There were a series of realizations. The first dawned on me after thrashing the entirety of my existence in therapy and realizing there have been three times when my life has felt totally out of my control- when I have retreated from the world and then there has been a paradigm shift. For the longest time, one thought ‘people betray you, kick you around when you’re at your weakest’ but it’s dawning on me, that one probably does it, oneself. Unconsciously, one probably can’t handle the intrinsic or extrinsic change, so one withdraws or maybe one can’t handle people’s energies during a paradigm shift. As for the shifts themselves and why they happen, a few concepts one’s heard from Hindu Mythology have been tickling one’s brain.

It’s stated that Hanumanji is the remover of obstacles but recently one has been educated about him being the creator of the obstacles, too. It is said, that to make a person strong and powerful, he creates frictions in a person’s life. It is only in moments of pain, that you come into your own. The other is Shani- Mars. I have no idea if any planets are screwing with my head but the same is said about bad times brought on by planetary positions. Apparently, these bad periods are supposed to discipline and prepare you for the version of you that you have to become in the future. Interesting.

The realization that the women I know, have had it real tough, that sometimes it ain’t people but the phase in your life when you’re energies are realigning…that requires introspection and solitude, helped. But more than that it was a stranger’s kid, who looked at me, while I puffed on my cigarette, who helped me the most. Ever since I’ve started smoking again, one’s been plagued by discomfort. I don’t know why… it hasn’t felt right, the same way cuts on my arms have felt, odd! One was returning from work, a month, a month and half ago and one was lost in thought, puffing at a cigarette. When I came back to Earth, I realized. a kid who was sitting in an auto, with his mum and aunt, was looking at me the same way, many a times I have looked at my Dad, when he’s been out of control. This may just be a figment of my imagination or the kid must have been as lost as I but the way he was looking at me, made me stop my bs. One promised oneself that one’s kids would never look at one like that…ever. It was like that kid, gave me a wake up call. It was almost like, your children are going to wonder why you derailing your life, like this! I couldn’t smoke after that, stopped the self harm, the thoughts that drove me time a shrink do pop up in my head but one tries to read them away, with better thoughts!

30.12.22- My last realization for this year, has been, the most important. On the 19th my dad was hospitalized. I found him out of breath, complaining of severe stomach ache. Over the past ten days, one has missed his yelling, in spite of us having the most tumultuous relationship. Of course in my case, it is also, knowing that my entire family will be gone, if anything happens to him, making me technically, what I have called myself, jokingly, in my younger years-lawaaris. That has sent a shudder down my spine. Being without anybody, might make me like Howard Roark on the upside but in my pessimistic head, I have woken up with the fright of being Shradha Walker, a couple of times. Of course, one has also wondered how our story can end so badly? Never having mended our relationship, what would I tell my kids about him, someday? Just all the shit that I remember? That ain’t going to be how this should end.

Anyhow, as he comes out of the woods and still lies in the ICU, one has also come to the conclusion, if you can, avoid doctors like the plague. I took him to Apollo, where the first hour I told them he is an alcoholic, which instead of helping him with, they turned into a freaking lab rat. Ten days, down the line, one has been on an emotional train wreck, trying to juggle, hospital and his life’s work…worried he’s not going to survive…worried he’s going to come out and tell me, I have ruined his business. Friend of mine, flew to Delhi, in a panic, when they put him on a ventilator for something that could have, probably been treated with a few pills. When they kept him off the alcohol, for five days, it led to seizures, which were scary as hell. So, now, one’s stuck…can’t get him out due to fear and am frustrated knowing, they just took advantage of a vulnerable situation. Anyhow, it’s good he’s in one piece, we have a lot more fighting to do!

Last thought, being healthy is most important. So, you all take care of yourselves. Be healthy, be safe! I too will get on without my whining in the next year and go in for a total system overhaul. New year, better me, hopefully!

Dear Love,

Every morning I wake up, hoping that this is just my childhood nightmare. That all the fears that I have imagined and fretted, over for the past two years haven’t manifested themselves and the reality will be different.

Yet, here we are, it’s real. As soon as ‘oh no shit, this is actually happening’, leaves my mind, let me be you, not like you but his son, stems up. So I start, the machine and it runs through the day, making sure everything remains intact. It’s tough, shouldering the responsibility of being a man. When all the employees look at my face and search for answers, I realize I’m not a sick man’s daughter but the son of a man who has spent forty years working, who has lost you and if I ain’t going to keep it going, he’ll feel, you would have never let him down. No wonder, men remain so stoic. They can’t afford to breakdown when all eyes are on them, searching for answers, looking for the direction to move in. I always wondered, why the sons weren’t the ones sitting outside the ICU. They are the ones ensuring everything is running smoothly, providing for everyone and not losing their minds.

The funny thing is, irrespective of how much I try, I fail miserably-at all of it!

Got a panic call from a friend, this morning. ‘Do you want to marry a Muslim man? Is uncle not giving you the permission to marry outside your community?’ The question was met with peels of laughter from my end. ‘ Do you think if I wanted to, anyone would be able to stop me from doing it? My dad would only be too happy if I agree to marry anybody at all, as long as I am paying for it! Come on, we may have a tumultuous relationship but there is nothing he would like more than a son-in- law, especially a live in one, irrespective of what religion he follows! The question is whether, I will marry a Muslim man, not whether anyone will allow me to? Well, I could as long as a man, any man, will not ask me to change my name, my religion, will be okay with the kids using my surname as well ( unless, they don’t want to use mine or either of ours), will not ask me to straighten my hair, will be ok with how I look (weight, colour of my skin etc) and the most important will be okay with living with two different versions of me, both that aren’t very pleasant! So, no, till I don’t find such a namoona, I don’t want to marry anyone, so all of you stop fretting!’

The panic, was created due to a comment I made on a page called, ‘Being woman’. Aftab, murdered his live in partner Shraddha and mercilessly chopped her into pieces, burnt her face and dumped her into a fridge. The cold blooded murderer, then kept her remains at home for twenty days, dated other women, while her corpse was in the house and then scattered her remains, one at a time, every night at 2 a.m in the Mehrauli forest. Gruesome, is the word for it!

But considering the regressive state our society has been stuck in forever and the current political climate; this murder like everything else became about questioning the woman’s morality, a sermon about the virtues of listening to your parents and of course the man’s religious identity. Is he Parsi or Muslim? Muslim it turns out to be! Not that it makes an ounce of a difference.

But if you grew up in as Islamophobic an environment as I did, where right from childhood you were told, ‘ kisse naal bhi vyaa kari muslmaan naal ni kari!’by the elders in the family…you know where all this is coming from. Sikhs are terribly suspicious of the ‘other’ and surprisingly this is not just the generation that moved from Pakistan. I was at a holi party, this year and a Sikh friend of mine, who had seen the Kashmir files, said things that were exactly the same things that the elders of the family, who actually witnessed horrific things, say! So the bias, is carried through generations and has very little to do with actual experience. But you know what, all the suspicion vanishes when people come face to face…when they have personal relationships. The same friend, was really nice to my Kashmiri Muslim friend, six months later, at another party. My nani, who was always worried that l would elope with an Muslim man, said to me before she passed away, ‘if you want to marry a Muslim man, go ahead!’ Inspite of her belief, Ms Rashid was like a daughter to her. My bhabhi who is a Muslim woman from Bhaderwah, remains an angel to the family because they know her! For my friends who spew venom against the community, Afshan remains wonderful.

The hate is directed towards an abstract, a wound of the past, carried through generations but who you love is real- flesh and blood! Love is….love! It gets embedded on your mind, heart and sometimes even on your skin, irrespective of what religion the man follows! If the love of Shraddha’s life was Muslim, she wasn’t going to not live with him because society was against it!

Unfortunately, in this case, it ended badly for her. But there are many cases of such kinds of murder, where the perpetrators weren’t Muslim. The trouble is, the poor girl lost her life and her dignity is being stripped off of her mercilessly, as all her decisions are being dissected, ruthlessly! Then we wonder, why she didn’t leave him? This is why. If she was alive no one would have spared to punish her for this bad decision. I’m saddened by the loss of her life but I grieve more for the life she must have led. Don’t you think, something must be terribly wrong with her existence if her family didn’t figure out she was dead? It was another man, a male friend who got worried! Don’t you think, Aftab knew that she had no where else to go, no one who would have stood up for her (other than her male friends) if he misbehaved with her? If anyone knows, including a cold hearted killer, that you are loved and cared for, they cover their tracks better. He knew her weakness and he exploited that. I feel sorry for the lonely life, this girl must have led. Not knowing you have people in your corner…no place to call home, isn’t a nice feeling and definitely leaves you exposed to wolves! She should have left….I wish she knew where to go!

P.S- One comment on a post, on a random page, got me comments like -‘ You are poison for your parents!’, ‘ You will get a big fridge’ ‘How many children do you have?’ and ‘Frustrated Nibbi!. Wow! Remind me to indulge in this nonsense when I’m getting bored, this is entertaining!

All my upcoming series or at least most of my works will be named after the year, in which the images were made like the last two 2019 and 2020-2022- Barely Surviving. My latest works, will be 2022-…the rest will be revealed when I exhibit the works next year. Hopefully, next year one should be able to show a lot more more work.

Anyone who knows me, will tell you I view my gender with the same kind of fascination and confusion, as a man. For the longest time, one thought it had to do with the company one kept, after all one was always most comfortable around the opposite gender. But through therapy, one’s realized that it has to do with my rejection of my feminine side- the softer, gentler version that one’s afraid off. Funny, most people are afraid of their shadow side, the darkest versions, mine are on view for the world to see! What you get, is always the worst version! The better one, for only my car and the wind to witness!

Anyhow, ever since mum’s gone, one’s deepest fear stares one in the face, the worst case scenarios, the cynical me, could have imagined have actually happened. So, in actuality that’s a relief! It gives me time and space to explore other versions of one’s self, really imagine a different life. Try to let go of some baggage! Dude! uff, it’s a lot! So, one struggles, like the caterpillar struggles! That’s part of the process, I guess. But for someone- self depreciating and masochistic, to come to a point, where one is able to really believe, ‘ I deserve better! I deserve a better life!’ is amazing! And though, one slips and slides, goes through the highs and lows, one knows one has come a long way from where one was!

Anyhow, my endless rant has a point. As I get in touch with my own femininity, I long more and more to hear the female voice. Not the voices, I’ve been hearing…not the voices of the one’s who chose security over adventure and then carry on a tirade, against the one’s who don’t comply by the norms society has set for women. The other, voices- of the go getters, of the jet setters; voices of the one’s who rose- through the odds, through the ranks, inspite of it all!

I’ll be sharing snippets and quotes from famous women. These are coming unfortunately from books and the net, as one isn’t venturing out as much as one used to, these days. Someday, these will be actual interviews. For now, let’s just get the party started.

Though one likes to run alone with the wind and wolves, once in a while, company is greatly appreciated. The Wall, flew down to Delhi and we chilled out for a couple of days ( meaning eat and packed, since I take forever) before leaving for Ladakh. Since, Ladakh has become a UT, for my project I needed to make pictures there but one’s body can’t withstand the high altitude, so my go to- ‘I get into trouble, you get me out of it’ man, gave me company. He adores kids and tends to hurt animals, so no guesses for figuring out how we tolerate each other. After two solo trips- once when I was in college and the other one in 2007, one hasn’t really been eager about visiting. The landscape is like I wrote in my diary then, ‘a mysterious lover’ but with age, lovers and especially mysterious ones have totally lost their ways with me. Now, one just longs for familiarity and grounding.

Anyhow, Life doesn’t unfold according to my plans. One may not be the fastest or the most skilled driver one knows but nevertheless, one is a relentless one. So, once one decides one is going somewhere, there are very few pit stops, it’s usually a ‘just let’s get there then we’ll rest’ kind of an attitude. The plan was to see if Google is right and I can drive 24 hours straight to Ladakh without, staying over. My assumption was I would reach Leh in 36 hours if not 24, since my companion can’t drive! Then we would go to a camping site in Nubra, since one has already been to Tsomoriri and Pangong, earlier.

Man proposes and God disposes. An hour from Delhi I concocted this plan and I said to my companion, ‘I think I’ll just keep driving, let’s just keep going. Mein kheech lunga’ and then from somewhere the words came out of my mouth- ‘ if God wants me to, then.’ I shit you not, it slipped out of my mouth, without me wanting to say it and by the clock within thirty seconds, the tempo infront of me came to a screeching halt and the car infront of it, did a J turn (180 degrees) and slammed right into the tempo, we were saved by the bell, in my head. Of all the things that scare me about myself- my temper being high up on the list, this is by far the scariest trait-sometimes, things slip out of my mouth right before they’re going to happen. Most people, flip backwards trying to figure out how I ‘get to know things’. I wish somebody would figure out- my body reads energy very quickly and goes into defensive mode, almost on cue.

The night proceeded just like the first omen, it poured profusely, the wiper broke…so the Wall, whose great under pressure and fabulous with his hands, fixed it, while getting drenched. We slept in the car for a few hours, drove the next day and reached, nowhere close to Leh! After 24 hours in the car, we decided to stay in Jispa, right at the border of Himachal Pradesh. One was glad for the rest, I may be nuts but the body is ageing, dude.

Nothing went according to plan is an understatement, we took one wrong turn and by the the time we figured it out we were on our way to Zanskar, instead of Leh! A biker convinced us, it was prettier, it didn’t occur to him, to inform us just how terrible the route was. By the time I figured it out, all I could do was yell, ‘air lift my car, I ain’t going to put it through this. It never troubles me, how can I do this to it?’ Other, than mumbling, ‘sorry baby…sorry baby…sorry baby’ as one drove through water and over boulders, through the narrowest roads…as one stopped to inhale oxygen and pee under the sky, one knew his plans unfold in mysterious ways. We visited places, we’d never heard of, slept on the ground, in a tent, in the middle of nowhere, saw the most spectacular night sky, studded with stars, gasped for air, almost collapsed, let go of the sadness that I’m told has engulfed me and eventually found our way back to what seems like ‘home’. Of course as soon as the air changed and one knew one had reached where one belonged, the smile returned, much to the amusement of my fellow traveller. There are many places, I need to be but there’s only one place, where pieces of me, lie hidden underwater. They bring me, home!

One began the year, wanting oneself to feel better…less erratic and less melancholic. Half the year is over and it dawns on me, it’s time to rise. It gets awfully uncomfortable being on the roller coaster ride, as I age. Thankfully, one’s no longer a teenager and as masochistic as one was but these raging emotions, that make one feel like one is so terribly down in the dumps that one doesn’t want to go on even for another day, some days and then suddenly flying on a rocket, feeling absolutely invincible, on others, can be quite confusing, tiring and many a times very scary. When will it get a bit aggravated? When will I stop being aware of what’s going on in my silly head and start overturning cars and turn violent like my mother is what constantly worries me. ‘You’ll be fine!’ says the shrink, ‘you’re better!’ More productive, masks as better, rather well.

Does this seem better? I have to wonder, when I pause between non stop action, for just a bit. Weeks go by, sometimes, when one goes without interacting with people unrelated to work …everybody is shrugged aside, with ‘ya, ya just busy’, calls go unanswered, messages are replied to curtly…while one hides behind computers, books and machines, sometimes howling like the world has come to an end and at times, so ecstatic, like one’s just fallen in love, yet again! Even the house, makes one uneasy, so one spends night after night on a make shift bed, staring out at nothingness and my only constant, the moon. Oh, I’m such a peach, ain’t I?

Most people I know have figured, engaging with one is either going to be met with deadly silence, a quip or just rage, so they tread rather carefully but then there are others, who insist on showing up to check on the crazy lady! I think the Art Fair was emotionally cathartic, helped coming to terms with a few things. Since, I promised the shrink to break my childhood record of crying on my birthday, this year, one worked like crazy the entire month, to not be melancholic, outdid all the sales records, started to pick up my camera again but broke the promise, nevertheless. The next afternoon, as I sat in an empty house, lit two candles, cut the cake a friend had sent the previous day and sang happy birthday to oneself, , one also promised oneself, this has to end, not the solitude silly, this fear of when I’m going to go absolutely cuckoo!

Things happen as they must and always for the better. God, karma and time are even and merciful. A friend wanted to come check up on me…it’s been five years since Road tripping began…someone nominated that project for a grant ( which I didn’t apply for but so thankful, nevertheless) and many things are telling one, it’s time to get my behind up and running. Over the past two years, I’ve wondered constantly, if I’ll ever lay eyes on someone whose eyes light up when they see me and after my birthday, like a gift from above, a little boy walked in seeking employment. If I tell you he looks a little like my brother and smiles each time he sees me, you’ll think I am exaggerating but it’s true. Each time he calls me didi, he makes my heart melt. Some of us are born to run alone, mostly but when we can’t thankfully, God, sends people to nudge where he needs us to go. There are many places one needs to be but the only place one really wants to go, is home. The Dal beckons. Here’s hoping for some brighter days!

Why? Kuch nahi he karne ko life mein? Iss na cheez ke liye itna effort? Whoever you are, I’m absolutely convinced, you must be following this blog…considering you are going on random sites and linking my name to shitty urls! I don’t know which is worse- finding my name on sleazy sites or my profile appearing on ‘celebrity’ websites. Aisa he, hum mar jaye to koi char aanson na bahai…celebrity, my ass!

What is wrong with you? What? Continually, for the past two years, you’ve been at it. Did your mum not hug you when you were little? Ithe aa mein tenu dasaa, mera shoe size jo itni achi tara se pata he na, wohi padega. Yucks, sleaze!

In a few days, one will start inching closer towards a milestone birthday. Not much seems to have changed in the past year and yet everything seems to be changing. I still like my seven year old rickety car and eight year old broken phone. I still sleep alone but always with books on my bed. The loves remain the same and the hates? Well, I hate very passionately, like I can scare the crap out of myself with that emotion it can be so intense so I avoid going there, completely. But the people I’ve harboured resentment towards the past two years…I wish I was mature enough to say I’ve forgiven (I’m not there, yet) but one’s found a better way of dealing with it, by being totally engrossed in other things and venting on this platform. Therapy has helped, it makes me realize, how intense the abandonment issues are , what an asshole one is ( not really a revelation but the intensity certainly is) and how intuitive one is. The humour is too self deprecating, apparently, areee come on, I don’t have a spouse to pick on, so I’m my best source of entrainment. But the prime get away has been there are things you can gain with effort but love isn’t one of them, so there’s no shame in giving up on some things and some people. Another thing one has figured out is avoiding human contact, is freaking awesome for my mental health because I have the maturity of a two year old.

One’s been surprised by people, this year. The Art Fair, was something else. The gallery didn’t inform me that they were discussing my work during the art walk, so one was a bit taken aback, with the way they described my pictures. One’s only met a few people in the past two decades who have really seen it from my point of view, so that was refreshing. And there’s another thing that will stay with me- I met up with some batchmates and one of them, has written this interesting read called Cupidity. So, one was having a fan girl moment and what truly surprised me was her friend’s reactions. They were so thrilled for her, that it pleasantly surprised me. Aspirational. I think one would want to someday be like this author’s friends, actually be really, genuinely as thrilled for another woman, with that kind of intensity.

The other thing one has been fixated on is:- what do I want to be when I’m forty five? So, the hours that one’s been putting in, has very little to do with money and much to do with that thing that one wants to turns oneself into- an unstoppable machine ( the only problem with that plan is the BPD- the highs are so freaking high, one’s totally energetic, like a disciplined soldier and the lows make it impossible to get out of bed. It’s like something I read- sometimes I feel like Van Gogh’s starry nights and sometimes like his suicide note) who doesn’t need anyone, especially not a man.

Before you accuse me of being a man hater, let me just say, ‘ come on, look at me, if anything I’m totally, unbiasedly, misanthropic. But I do adore men. Not all though, not the weaker ones who get off on verbally, physically or emotionally abusing women. I’m done with those, for this lifetime! But the rest- I love working with them, I think like them and I thrive in their company, as they’re aggressive and very competitive and that’s totally up my alley. In fact, every time I walk into a room, my first instinct is to gravitate towards the mundas because that’s where all the fun is and one has failed at decoding one’s gender, as miserably as they have. Plus, like them, I too am looked at like a spoilt, badly behaved, work in progress, rogue who needs to be fixed ( no man has been able to fix me, maybe a woman can).

Having said that, the super clingy (SC) part of my personality, looks at all of them with doe shaped eyes and has always wanted to be rescued by one of them. They’ve tried and failed at doing a job, that isn’t meant for them ( we have to rescue ourselves, I know, I know…dil ko behlane ke liye Ghalib yeh khyaaal acha he). In any case, women are better at this, unfortunately the thirteen year old who was going through a I hate all men after a molestation attempt, who developed a crush on SK and PK, twin sisters who played basketball and looked so cute, with their short hair hasn’t found a woman other than Anokhi Parekh and Sushmita Sen, she would want to be fixed by. ‘Please God, help me tap into my bisexuality, send me a woman with a deep husky voice, broad shoulders and strong hands before I die. I want to play Romeo, someone needs to play my Juliet..man, woman I don’t care’, is my birthday wish, this year but unfortunately nothing, nothing is happening.

Other than my very sweet aunt, sending me proposals. I know she likes me but sometimes , I want to tell her and the boys, who seem to loiter around that, ‘ For once look at me carefully….if I don’t get along with my own tubbar, I’m the blackest sheep in a family where everyone is not really normal, what are the chances that I would get along with a man’s family and especially his friends? With my Sheldon Cooper type ability to put my foot in my mouth and my intense aversion to being controlled or even being answerable to anyone for anything, on what planet would this work out?’ But I remain invisible, I guess, some are blinded by love and the others by contempt. But one remains Mr India, nevertheless.

Happy Father’s Day, to my constant source of entertainment and woes, my companion and my in-law and my source of inspiration for the person I wish to be and also someone I hope I never become. This statement, as dichotomous as it is, falls short in explaining our rather complicated dynamic. But like the boy, you insisted I should be with said, ‘it’s like Amitabh and Deepika in Piku!’ Who knows? For now let’s just try to fit into that box.

I look at you with amazement and horror and that makes me realize how lucky one is to be able to have parents who were fallible humans and not demi Gods, one would have idealised but instead looked at as co travellers, who didn’t have all the answers. Having said that, it doesn’t mean one doesn’t appreciate how hard working and dependable you were. How you stuck around when most would have bailed and how you managed human relationships, so well, for the longest time. To deal with your life partner’s illness, then loose a young son and then to deal with your wife’s death and inspite of your grief to consistently work and focus on someone other than yourself and not shut shop, when you have the option of an easy life, is commendable and highly admirable. It reminds me of the tortoise and the hare.

Your sense of humour keeps me entertained and is also the absolute death of me. No one in this world can come up with such one liners-

‘There are two biggest doomsters ( which isn’t a word, it’s doomsayers but you insist on calling me thus) one was Nostradamus and the other is you! Always, preparing for the worst case scenario .’

‘Jo bhut aur dayan hote he unna koi gender nahi hota!’ Ya, I know, I’m one!

And my most favourite, ‘ You’ll never be a good daughter to me, so don’t do this pakhandbazi!’

The last statement has helped me more than a year’s worth of therapy. It has set my heart free. Hope something takes away the woes of your heart, as well. Have a lovely day.