J is for juggling with tasks

Back home, waking up late did not upset my schedule drastically, thanks to uber flexible work hours, domestic help and simply the convenience of living with my parents. I didn’t have to worry about breakfast, or have my lunch prepped or ensure my clothes were laundered in time for Monday. These are banal yet important tasks that will consume time if managing the latter isn’t your forte. And to be honest, it still isn’t.

My fellow bloggers and readers who’ve been faithfully following my posts so far would have noticed by now that I am lagging in this challenge by a week. My initial gusto to write about my experiences in Auckland has fizzled out, and tedium seems to have set in. This is very characteristic of me – I tend to bite off more than I chew. But I also know that if I were to quit the challenge now, my decision will deter me from ever attempting it again in the future. And so I shall soldier on at my pace.

It was easier for me to get through with the A to Z challenge when I didn’t have to manage research, chores and a cat (more of that soon!). In simple words, adulthood did intrude into hours of respite and leisure. And writing isn’t the only thing I enjoy – I juggle with a myriad of hobbies that range from art to bouldering. Was taking up this challenge a bad idea after all?

Here’s to hopefully finishing it on time…

Another ramble

I was all set to write a great post on my less-than-a-week-old trip to Bhutan, which has successfully surpassed our previous international trip (refer to my earlier post) to Paris-Switzerland, in terms of fun, sightseeing and a truckload of memories. Well, whilst each country has its own appeal, Bhutan has allured me with its old-world charm, its postcard perfect landscapes, and its people whose happiness is infectious and whose smiles are a part of their attire.

I was all set to write more about it. But I’m not able to.

Sorry, this one is going to be a bit of a downer.

It’s almost as if returning to Pune has drained us all off the excitement and zeal that was quite rampant in our house, two weeks ago. Of course, this would easily pass as a chronic case of holiday blues, but weirdly enough, methinks there’s more to this.

I sit here, procrastinating once again, when I should be reading up on topics for my final semester project. I detest social media for getting me addicted to this screen, as I refresh that damned Facebook page every now and then, keeping my eye on the notification bar. Occasionally, I scroll down my feed, often encountering numerous, pointlessly profound quotes on love and sex, or Narendra Modi memes, or posts on dogs ridden with cancer, or worse, status updates that are akin to NDTV’s banal updates about the sickening scenario against women in our country.

I am disgusted at how negative I sound. Surely, there’s more to life than scrolling down one’s Facebook feed.

I’m scrounging for notifications because I am eager to get more response on my first ever travel documentary that I uploaded two days ago. No points for guessing this one; it is based on Bhutan.
I get a feeling that I made this film only to garner appreciation and praises, and not to get feedback. I can say this with conviction because the other day when Mum tried to suggest some tips on improving my video, I got mad at her. Lately, I have been getting irritated with her for no good reason and I know I’m going to regret it, sooner or later.

The comments have been more than satisfactory, but there is this particularly genuine and sweet comment that keeps playing in my mind, yet bothers me. My close friend considers me as an inspiration, because according to her I’m multi-talented. I write, sing, play the guitar, click pictures and now, film videos. Her words make me feel warm from within. It makes me realise the extent of under-estimation and self-scrutiny I put myself through, all the time, everyday.

It makes me realize that undergoing complete personality transformation is a load of crock, honestly speaking. Deep down, I’m still that kid who occasionally suffers from performance anxiety, and mild self-esteem issues. How can I change that? The only probable answer to it is acceptance, and just moving on, really.

I’m also, extremely afraid of envy being directed towards me. More that once, I’ve sensed myself showing-off way too much and that maybe I’m going overboard with my creative side.

Some days, when I wake up, I tell myself that I’m going to delete my redundant social media accounts and start afresh. I was actually contemplating on starting a new blog on WordPress, deleting the so-called photoblog on Tumblr/Flickr/, and creating a fresh account on Instagram, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t have the guts to deactivate my Facebook account either. It’s like some stupid yet ironic lifeline. It has become my ritual to feign determination and tell myself that I’ll chalk out some sort of a career plan, but it all goes in vain. Why, just yesterday I felt happy with the course my life has taken, but today I’m back to feeling purposeless. And no, it’s not PMS.

For now, I guess I’m so steeped in negativity that I probably need to get my eyes off this screen, and indulge in something that makes me happy. It has almost become a reflex to pick up my phone and click photos of the food I cook, the pictures I paint, and the stuff I write on paper. It’s like I’m living my life for a virtual world with virtual friends;  yep the ones I would awkwardly encounter in a mall or something. Ugh, what the hell.

Anyway, here’s a pointless end to a pointless post. Gotta go inform my friend that I wrote a new post today.


Coming to terms

It’s been a long time.

It’s been a long time for various reasons.

Today I have decided to complete this post after having contemplated on finishing it two months ago.

Today I have decided to forget that I’m a student pursuing a gruelling post-graduate course that usually eats up my Sundays.

Today I am not free.

I wrote my previous post sometime in December. I  know that unlike the past two years, I did not bother to come up with my usual year-end ramble about how much 2014 meant to me, my experiences that year, etcetera,  etcetera .

The reason for this exception isn’t anything very special –  I’m still trying to hold onto the past year and the much-deserved warmth it infused in me. I refuse to accept that 2015 is another new start as every year has always been, or rather, has claimed to be.

The one thing I miss the most is the summer of 2014, especially our whirlwind trip to Paris and Switzerland. Out of the two destinations, Switzerland felt more like home to me; a second home that I had previously been unaware of, a home that had existed all this while, quietly, amidst snow-capped peaks and lush green meadows. This time we decided to deviate from the usual hotel accommodation, and chose to spend three days in a chalet owned by an old Swiss couple. Why did I fall in love with a locale and setting as humble as this? There are answers to this question, of course. I could owe it to the balcony overlooking the Alps, or to the contentment of letting words run in my diary whilst the mountains gave me company, to the wisps of smoke arising  from my coffee one particularly cold morning, to the wooden flooring, to the joy of wearing winter clothes and boots after a winterless year, to the winding streets of Grindelwald that led to an old station which could transport you back in time, to the snowman we built, to being overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the rugged yet kind nature that greeted us everyday, to being a part of the quaint surroundings – oh the list is indeed endless.

Every minute spent in the country that wasn’t my own, counted, and more so because I knew what awaited me back home. I wanted to push away my anxiety and worry regarding academia, temporarily.

Though the holiday blues took a long time to fade, the year turned out to be a great one. What I have been left with ever since, is a dull craving to somehow experience it all once again, though dejavu will never be the same.

I have been asked to, or rather, been telling myself to stop myself from clamming my head with too many questions and expectations. I find myself wondering if I would have indeed done better, had I left this city to pursue my academics elsewhere. Would I be still loathing myself for being so dependant on my parents for everything? Would I still be that person to whom everything comes easily? A good university within the city, a fabulous vacation, good grades, a steady relationship with a good boy,  good food, and good friends. I’m probably jinxing everything good in my life by flaunting it on social media but the fact is everything good doesn’t guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction.

I have gone on severals rants bout my dissatisfaction, and I have noticed that it’s one of those things that lasts temporarily, fades away, only to sneak into your routine sometime later. And folks like me express it through words whilst there are some who find other mediums of venting it out. Also, I can’t help but notice how stoic I sound.

As much as I would like to deny the fact that it was change that made the whole international experience so memorable and that it’s the lack of change I have been sensing all this while, I have to come to terms with it. On one hand, it scares the s*** out of me on the other hand I guess it’s the only thing that can guarantee some peace. My close friend told me that living on my own is a lot harder than I think. It will be really hard but I guess that’s what I need. Change comes with a price.

It’s turning out to be a long post, but who cares, I’m amazed at my train of thoughts. 2014 was a great year, because at some point it seemed like a year different than the rest.

It’s time I acknowledge this year and appreciate it for its worth.

I have two examinations due this week and I’m not free. Coming to terms with that isn’t so hard. 

New-food love

Disclaimer : I do not apologise for the usage of tongue twisting Tamil vocabulary in the following post. Pronouncing “zha” may be seem a bit daunting, but I promise you will get there. Yes, you shall. My dear non-south indian buddies/foodies, I hope this post enriches your knowledge pertaining to Tamil cuisine.

I am not sure if everyone will relate to this but of late, my taste buds have re-discovered comfort in food I used to detest as a kid and a teenager.

As a kid, I was not too compliant with food. I was a notch higher than a picky-eater and there were instances when my Thatha would threaten to shove food down my throat if I continued to make a fuss. This spelt hullabaloo, followed by tears and my Paati valiantly trying to defend me from her intimidating husband. “Aapudi bezhamuduthandengo! Paavum kozhandai.” –  “Don’t scare her! Poor child.” And of course most of my relatives correlate this to my weight, even now. “Sappudata epuudi weight poduva!” – “How will she put on weight if she doesn’t eat!”.

As I grew up, this practice began to fade gradually. I learnt to appreciate the characteristic tanginess of rasam and sambaar.  As a six-year old, there were times when I would slurp rasam sadam (rice) from a mini-plate with gusto, just to see a smile of intense satisfaction spread across my grandpa’s face. Honestly, I loved exaggerating the slurps at times. Not only was his grin satiating, but also the whole slurping experience was fun. The adulation I received  for merely finishing a meal was undoubtedly encouraging. “Kuuthu! Innu Kuuthhu! Mmmmmmm!”  which translates to “Pour some more! More!” Soon, I could proudly tell everyone that potatoes were my among my favourite vegetables. Garam masala and onion-garlic paste were mandatory in most of the sabzis. I developed a taste for omelettes and scrambled eggs. Restaurants began to hold meaning for their gastronomic appeal rather than for their air-conditioned ambience. Though meat was taboo in our household, Thatha unscrupulously introduced me to the world of seafood and tandoori chicken (and I haven’t looked back ever since). Moreover, watching my baby sister happily guzzle mango pulp made me all the more curious about this fruit that had initially seemed revolting. By the time I was nine, Mum had introduced me to paani-puri and chaat, albeit with extra meetha chutney. All said and done, food definitely began to seem more appealing. However, apart from the enthusiastic slurping of rasam, the Tamilian in me hadn’t been stirred completely.

In our meals, rice, rasam, sambaar, kootu (vegetable stew), curd, urrugai (pickle), upma and yes, idli and dosai have always been regulars. Moreover, greens were, have and will always be omnipresent in every South-Indian preparation. Keerai (spinach), Pushanikai (Ash gourd), all types of beans, dudhi (bottle gourd), vendekai (okra), vazhakai (raw bananas), you name it, and it’s bound to be there in our cuisine. I had never been too fond of kootu and greens prepared in this style always eluded me. To put it in simple terms, kootu is a dish with minimal spice, predominated by a single vegetable. The taste of kootu is such that if you were to be subjected to it frequently, garam masala cravings would take over your taste buds. I could hardly understand the relish with which my mother ate keerai kootu, and I’m pretty sure her sensitivity towards my disdain was mutual.

In addition to this, I used to consider ravaa upma to be the most lacklustre breakfast dish ever (to know that it was THE winning dish in the Masterchef UK finals was disappointing). Idlis weren’t exciting, and after a point I lost interest in the good old dosai as well. Pongal was reserved for blocked noses and dormant taste buds. I didn’t understand the point of eating food from a banana leaf, whilst managing those rivulets of rasam and sambaar that formed along the veins of the leaf. Whatever happened to the good old steel plates?! Plus, eating a combination of cucumber raita mixed with rasam with traces of paaysam (kheer) had never been a palatable experience. Consequently, I never looked forward to Tamil weddings. My elitist food habits probably earned me the reputation of being the posh Tamilian in my family. Much to my friends’ shock, I felt South-Indian dishes were far from exotic. I was subject to questions such as “Dude how can you get bored of Dhosas?” *cringe* I had even gone to the extent of eating chana-masala from a fast-food joint  in Chennai.

All this lasted till I was nineteen. This I say, owing to a change in my food habits afterwards. The change wasn’t overnight, definitely. It was gradual, and the earliest I realised this was when I ended up eating lunch at five in the evening. Little did I know that lemon rasam could actually quieten my stomach’s guttural tones. I couldn’t believe that I had actually enjoyed a  humble home-made meal without onions and truckloads of masala. But then again, hunger is blind. I presumed this to be an once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, only to be proved wrong again a week later, when a whiff of bhindi-do-pyaaza (one of my favourites) put me off instead of having me salivate. I was feeling ravenous after a day’s worth of hard work, but the only thing I could visualize was a crispy cheese dosa, sitting regally on a steel plate, surrounded by a bowl of sambaar traced with jaggery, and coconut chutney so smooth that even the world’s best bhindi-do-pyaaza wouldn’t do justice to it. I was probably being unfair to bhindi, but at the point I couldn’t care much about it.

There were, of course, many such episodes of sambaar/dosa/vada cravings that followed, some of them being fueled by chance encounters with South-Indian cooking shows on the TV.  I partly owe it to them chefs for their minimalist choice of words to describe the process, in their Tamil-tinged accents. “Ippo namba molgai podi podlaam, slight-a, summa konjum colour kahai” – “Now we shall add some chilli powder, slightly, just to obtain some colour.”

However, I achieved a milestone when I helped myself with 3 servings of beans kootu and avial at my aunt’s place. The impeccable taste and texture of these dishes will be forever etched in my taste-buds. So technically speaking, I owe it to my aunt’s magical cooking for helping me discover the delights of our cuisine. Soon after, I began to look forward to Sunday meals, much to my mother’s relief. I learnt the art of eating out of a banana leaf, much to everyone’s amazement. Curd rice and pickle were reliable on lazy evenings and on bloated stomach days. In a nutshell, the graph of my food tastes began to show a significant rise with time.

I guess I have changed as a person over the past few years..and this is by no means a prelude to a long rant. What I want to say is that, my food tastes have evolved as well, simultaneously.  I do not, by any means, consider myself to be an ardent lover of my regional cuisine. But I need it after a weekend of experimenting with other cuisines, or on days when the pungent odour of bhuna masala ambushes my nose. Yes, THAT.

A quote from a favourite short-story comes to my mind –

“The asparagus appeared. They were enormous, succulent, and appetizing. The smell of the melted butter tickled my nostrils as the nostrils of Jehovah were tickled by the burned offerings of the virtuous Semites”

(The Luncheon by Somerset Maughum)

Five years ago, the idea of asparagus had seemed totally revolting but now the aforementioned analogy serves as the ideal salivary stimulant. Mmm. Quick, serve me some asparagus.


What began as an attempt to reorganize my blog, change its look and start afresh with bubbling enthusiasm fizzled out to be a long sabbatical from writing, not to mention a writer’s block being the most convenient excuse to spout.

For starters, I deleted the Facebook page that I had created for my blog. Why? Because my neglect towards the poor page began bothering me to such an extent, that I began to feel like a hypocrite who had initially promised to blog regularly with fancies of hitting 500+ likes within weeks. No, that page didn’t deserve my neglect, and nor did my blog deserve to anticipate audience.

Moreover, I recently read something in Derek K. Miller’s blog (archive), that instantly struck a chord with me. He says, “… I can’t not write, but I’ve never been able to keep a diary, because I’ve always wanted an audience. I write my blog for myself, of course, and as something for my family and friends, as a record of my thoughts. But deep down, selfishly, I also want an audience of strangers, people who know me because of my writing, and who find some value in what I publish on its own merits, not because they are my friend or my relative.”

For the longest time, I had wanted to pen down something along the aforementioned lines, without making myself seem like a pompous idiot, mind you! And I’m grateful to Mr.Miller for making it easier for me.

However, in retrospect the page was a reminder of my overambitious tendencies. Not only this page, but also my Soundcloud and Flickr profiles serve as classic examples of my habit of biting off more than I can chew. Followed by vehement denial on my part to massage my ego, of course. Interspersed with spurts of devotion. I realised this when my blog page popped on my newsfeed after what could have been months, the latest post dated around January.

I’m pretty sure you readers (if at all, there are any), might go all deja-vu on reading the previous paragraph. The same disappointment,  the more-than-frequent lapses, the same rant, all over again. It is but ironical that I’m only answerable to myself at this point, and not a so-called audience. Because,

a) The so-called audience resides in my mind
b) The whole purpose of a hobby is misplaced whilst trying to please this imaginary audience.

I consider myself as another victim of the Jack-of-all-trades disease. I write, I sing, I click pictures. But, can I proudly flaunt any one of those with conviction? Probably not. I sense that my quality has deteriorated in the process of focusing my energies on my unknown spectators. Let me just talk about writing. I realise I have been restricting the content of my blog in order to be appreciated by my friends and other fellow bloggers. Previously, I had to force myself to come up with inspiring posts, when all I wanted was to whine about the weather, or vent out my frustration, or talk about my break-up, or probably just describe a delicious mango. And here comes the weirdest bit – I wasn’t obliged to do so actually; the Facebook page just amplified the need to popularise my blog.  Good riddance, I suppose. But I feel sorry that I couldn’t stick to it.

What have I been upto over the past three months? Well post an unforgettable whirlwind trip to Paris and Switzerland, I unhappily returned to the oppressive Pune heat only to get neck deep in a college hunting process. June was worrisome considering I had nightmares about not making it to a good institute to pursue a postgraduate degree in Bioinformatics.I had to eliminate some institutes from my list and additionally appear for a couple of examinations. I was subjected a lot of why-don’t-you-go-abroad and what-about-that-college conversations, plus feeble don’t-worry-it-will-work-out reassurance. I had to run around from one office to another, and likewise make my poor dad run around to procure a Domicile Certificate, an unnecessary document to prove my residence in Maharashtra. My admission in Pune University, depended on that damned piece of paper. After dealing with nerves for what seemed like eternity, I was finally offered admission in the said institute which had always been my first preference. College resumed a fortnight ago, and I have been happy and occupied, ever since. Besides a good campus, crowd and staff, there’s a coffee stall next to my department. What more could I ask for…

On the downside, I haven’t been writing, playing my guitar, or clicking photographs that often. It bothers me. Classical music has taken a back seat; the playlists on my phone are craving to be updated. The persistent rains have draped a blanket of gloom on the city. Plus, Pune tops the list of India’s Worst Public Transport Systems (I just made that up, but you can imagine), and commuting obviously sucks. Moreover, I joined the Teach For India volunteering service, only to withdraw from it because of my (already) hectic academic schedule. Also, saying goodbye to some of my oldest friends who moved out of the city recently, has affected me to an extent.

As of now, my motive is to be consistent in all my endeavours. I don’t want to be that person who turns to her blog only when “shit happens”.  My blog is indeed a solace during rough phases, but it deserves better. I am also contemplating on deleting my Flickr account and switching to a daily/weekly photoblog. That way I can concentrate on writing and photography, simultaneously.

On a lighter note, I will be turning 21 in two days. I don’t feel excited as of now but I hope to, by tomorrow! My resolution for my 22nd year is to hold onto my resolutions, develop a thicker skin, and write more. At this point, I can only wish myself luck.

Thank you Akoustik, for standing by me through thick and thin.

Pictures in my mind

There are times when I open my blog feeling inspired, but then end up staring blankly at this box because inspiration seems to have disappeared in the blink of an eye, or isn’t there to begin with because it probably must have been something I imagined.

Frankly, I’m not inspired to write today. I am writing because I feel like I should, and I am hoping I will get some inspiration along the way.

The year has begun on a tedious note, with academics and more academics, and one messed up entrance examination for a Masters degree in IIT (something which I had been looking forward to since the past six months). I know I’m beating myself over it;  I feel regretful and disappointed. I should have worked harder. I should have done this. I should have done that.
And these thoughts run a vicious cycle.

Sometimes, I wonder what is it that attracts to me to this institute. Is it the prestige? Its grand campus? Or the course structure? The crowd? I can picture myself studying there, but does the picture truly hold any meaning? Is it another chunk of my whims and fancies? I would like to say I don’t know because it’s convenient, but I do know. Let that be a secret.

Three months ago, I indulged in a counselling session with Mum. Yes, she was the counselor, and a good one that too. For those two hours, it wasn’t my mother who addressed me. It was a counselor who had a third person perspective regarding my career and interests. We spoke about what worried me the most. I remember talking about dropping Biotechnology as a career option, and instead opt for a media-related field, something along the lines of photojournalism. And then began the tumult of questions.

“Why are you confused?”

“What appeals to you more?”

“What made you think about this?”

“Have you jotted down the pros and cons of both options?”

“How do you picture yourself in each field?

“Do you see yourself enjoying the field you’ve chosen?”

The first three questions seemed pretty straightforward, but the latter got me thinking. Imagining. Picturing. Maybe, the picture I had in my head wasn’t going to be the real thing. I mean, it felt great (it still does) to see myself as a photographer, waltzing with a camera in hand and clicking pictures on-the-go . The flip side being monotony, extensive travelling, low stipends, and lack of creativity on a daily basis, was hard to picture. Not to mention, unpleasant to analyse. And yet the real thing is a mix of both. I just liked the former.

I had a stereotyped image of a career in biotechnology. I think I still do. I’m not too fond of wet labs, and research is something that doesn’t appeal to me. On the other hand,  I haven’t explored the field, and sticking to the stereotype seems to be a more convenient option.

I find myself asking the same question each day. What is it that I really want? Am I scared of flip sides and cons? Do I expect too much out of everything and everyone? Or do I just prefer seeing those pictures that I want to see?

One reads stories, hears rumors, swallows what the Internet has to say,  absorbs opinions flying around, or probably gets influenced by others, that invariably creates a slideshow of scenes in one’s head. What are these scenes? Do they reflect the actual circumstance? Probably not.

Then again imagination always runs wild. It maybe positive. It could be negative. Rationality is something else altogether. And where imagination is, illusion exists. Illusions are unidirectional. Almost dreams.

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” 

– Edgar Allan Poe 


Whatever is my favourite word.

Because it seems to sum up everything that I’m unable to articulate appropriately. Does that even make sense?

I am feeling quite disappointed today. As a matter of fact, currently I’m more than disappointed. I’m angry. I’m upset. I’m sad. And I’m Whatever.

Let me keep it simple and say that all the wonderful plans I had for December (with folks, of course) have gone kaput. Moreover, I can’t seem to conveniently hold anyone responsible for my disappointment, and that’s the icing on the cake (which has been burnt black in the oven). I could blame it on the situation, but, situations are unfeeling, heartless entities that decide to change their minds on a whim.

Life seemed to have been stationary, and pretty much humdrum a while ago (I just read my previous post). I’m glad that I enjoyed that phase while it lasted.

I have a major entrance exam coming up, and I’m nowhere close to finishing a syllabus that is easy yet endless enough to keep me flabbergasted all the time.

I shouldn’t keep time for whatever. Whatever, is out of question. Whatever needs to be replaced by focus, books, and more focus.

Maybe a little party and good wine could be thrown in. After all, 2014 is round the corner. Though, I’m unhappy that 2013 is already on her way out.

I’ll be off to Munaar for a week’s getaway. See you soon. And a Happy New Year.

Or whatever.



I could copy paste the first paragraph of my previous post, but in simpler and more blatant words, writing has taken a backseat. Probably the backseat of a bus headed to Timbaktu.

I should be studying for an examination that is due on Saturday. But, I’m spending time with a friend called Procrastination as of now. Friend is partially to blame for my sluggishness and couch potato-ness. Should I apologise?

I’m not dissatisfied or unhappy or frustrated, or anything of that sort. Strangely enough, everything seems to be stationary. Sometimes, I tend to forget which day it is and important dates such as birthdays. Sometimes, when I look out of the window and observe the sky, I feel as though the clouds haven’t really moved. They’re all still. Two pigeons visit my balcony every morning, and Mum has conjured a harebrained story about them being reincarnations of my late grandparents. My day is incomplete without filter coffee, “Romedy Now”, “Lost”, books, and my very faithful cellphone, not to mention social media.

The only things that are liable to change are my shower timings and sleep pattern. I have also been munching on ‘Little Heart’ biscuits. I haven’t had time to explore new places for photography. I think I’m going to the railway station on my own during the winter break and capture various scenes out there on my camera.

Music hasn’t been exactly forgotten. I anticipate some worthwhile jamming sessions with a friend. So that’s good.

As much as I would love for some spice or masala in my seemingly mundane routine, I think I’d like to secretly savour the monotony because I know deep down that routines are liable to change, and that I might not be able to get this time back. I feel like some major change is imminent. It’s like the lull before a storm, but,\ this time the storm may not be a storm. It could be something pleasant.

I think I’d like constancy for a change. I hate pigeons, but if they are supposedly my thatha and patti, I don’t mind indulging in their company.


Another Blog Award!

Firstly, I apologize for having replied so late!

And of course, THANK YOU LISA! 🙂

These awards sure do make me happy. And inspire me as well. Yay!

The Leibster Award is for those blogs with less than 200 followers. I’m sure my blog (which has made it to a meagre count) has managed to please my fellow bloggers and friends, and heck yeah, I’m grateful! 🙂

The rules of the Liebster is to answer questions from the award giver and then pass it along to other deserving bloggers.

I’m ready to answer Lisa’s questions!

Why do you blog?
Ah, well. I began blogging on a random impulse to cope with this rough patch I faced, two years ago. So it would be appropriate to say I used my blog as an outlet to release my pent up emotions. But, things are different now. It’s not just about rambling pointlessly. My blog makes me happy. My blog makes me realise I can write and that I’m good at it. So yeah, I blog to feel happy.  🙂

What is your advice to someone overcoming adversity?
Think of feeling relieved at the end. I firmly believe every adverse circumstance is followed by relief. Cliched or not, optimism has always helped me.

If a movie was made of your life, who would play you?
My sister. 

If you could have high tea with anyone living or dead, what kind of tea would you drink? (Caught you off guard with that one, didn’t I?? 😉
Jeez. You sure did. 😛 Ummm. Ginger tea. We call it adrak waali chai in Hindi.

In one word, describe your feelings at this instant.

If you and I found ourselves in jail, what would we be “in” for?
For stealing books, definitely.

What is your favorite kind of donut?
 Chocolate glaze!

Mine is an apple fritter. Will you bring me one?
I will, only if you share it with me 😛

If you could be any kind of athletic ball, what kind would you be? Why?
I would be a ping pong ball. Because I like the name. And ping-pongs are robust. 😛

What’s your favorite form of exercise?
Early morning brisk walks with good, good music 🙂

I (apparently) want a parrot named Pooter as a pet, what kind of pet do you have/want?
A pup named Swami and a kitten named Charcoal

And now, I would pass on this award to some of my favourite bloggers who post great stuff.

Amruta at Iamamruta
Kanika at Sensitive Chaos
Sangita at Skaypisms
Saudamini at BeingSoda
Uttara at Billions of Blue Blistering Barnacles

And here are my questions !

  1. Is your blog an integral part of your life? 
  2. Do you regret having posted anything in your blog?
  3. Do you get embarrassed reading your initial posts?
  4. Crayons or paints? (because I felt like .. :P)
  5. Which is your favourite book character?
  6. If you were a musical instrument, which one would you be? And why?
  7. Your favorite day-dream?
  8. Which is that one song that has been stuck in your head of late?
  9. A stupid movie you watched recently?
  10. Which one of these inspire you to write – beaches or mountains? Why?
  11. Name a song that would have suited the most poignant moment of your life so far.

Don’t forget to follow the rules – Pass on this award to 5 of your favourite bloggers (with less than 200 followers) along with eleven questions!

Thanks Lisa, once again!


Purpose, again

I have reinforced my faith in the fact that purpose kills plans.

And right now I’m enveloped by disappointment, irritation and menstrual stress.

I don’t believe in coming up with pointless three-liner blog posts. But, right now, beliefs can take a backseat.

Purposeless posts do exist.