Fairness cream…Broccoli and a nightmare.

Its been long I get time to even open my laptop. All the ceremonies of prolonged Hindu marriage( my sissy’s wedding) has really made me tired enough.

Adding to that was the food. I was so much stuffed with all those delicious dishes that my brain freeze to think due to non stop finger licking good action.

Tonight I have to sleep for the sake of dirk circles that happened to creep in last few days.

Grab a coffee and off to sleep. ( disconnect the data connection of my cell phone)


V0011130 A black man buying some of J. Morison's pills, hoping they w Credit: Wellcome Library, London. Wellcome Images images@wellcome.ac.uk http://wellcomeimages.org A black man buying some of J. Morison's pills, hoping they will make him white. Coloured lithograph. Published: - Copyrighted work available under Creative Commons Attribution only licence CC BY 4.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/



What the hell are you thinking when buying that Sunset orange and Pistachio Green Lehnaga for the reception

Me; Why?

Dream1; Does it suit with your complexion (brown skin) at all?

Me: Why not? And am not dark….its just am less fair.

Dream1: LOL

Me: @#$%&*

Dream1; Goodnight and sleeptight! At least your dark circles matches your skin colour so no need to worry about that. ROFL!!!!

I was awaken in middle of night. Increases the temperature of AC and tried to sleep again.



Dream2: Practice of using chemical substances in an attempt to lighten skin tone or provide an even skin complexion by reducing the melanin concentration in the skin.

Me: What are you talking about?

Dream2:Pre-melanin synthesis:Use of tretinoin  somewhat effective in treating skin discolorations.

Hydroquinone  is considered the primary topical ingredient for inhibiting melanin production.

Glutathione is an antioxidant that plays an important role in preventing oxidative damage to the skin.

Post-melanin synthesis:Alpha hydroxy acids (AHAs) — have a molecular size that allows effective penetration into the top layers of skin.

Niacinamide is claimed to be a much safer alternative when applied topically for skin

Laser treatments :Both ablative and non ablative lasers can have a profound effect on melasma

Cryosurgery :Another alternative to laser treatment is cryosurgery using liquid nitrogen. Controlled destruction of skin cells causes the skin to naturally regenerate itself

Me: How can I even dream such intellectual procedures in my dream.

Dream2; Choice is yours!

Me; Of course…..U f@#* off and let me sleep.

Dream2; But that colour will not match your complexion I warn u.

Me: Ok I will wear something else. Now u go.


I was awaken by the sound of conch and ladies laughing all around at early morning.

I was late already and had to get ready for rituals.

Just before getting ready for the evening party my dear husband somehow manage to steal outside the ladies green-room and handed me an orchid to decorate my hairbun. My dotty look at me with full eyes to see her mumma in such couture apart from pajamas and jeans and tees.

I walk proudly with my sunset and pistachio flaming me for the evening party.

Tonight I will either not sleep due to party or will be hell tired for any dream to come. So enjoy.


The Fear…..Am afraid of.

Etymologically fear is an emotion induced by a threat perceived by living entities which causes a change in brain and organ function and ultimately change in behaviour.

Scene 1: The Diva Girl.

Gosh! The alarm goes off and I went down with one half an hour late sleep, sprang wake up to realize the damage. Rush for a quick bath ( sometimes without foaming and shampoo I get quick one) . Hand knotting the tripping wet hair I have no option to wear the same dress of yesterday. How could I? Then long wait in the queue for shuttle( curse the bitch)

Wait! How am I supposed to look messy? That elegantly dressed girl smirks at me squinting her Dior eyelashes wishing me good morning waving her manicured hand flawlessly as I headed towards the corridor. How could anyone manage to be so perfect at hell of morning? My inner Goddess frowns at me.

My fear pours down.

Scene 2: The Lady.

The apartment we shifted last month holds a planned and decorated rooftop arena which becomes favourite to my kid as soon as we get there. The earth blow looks like cartographic map. But each time am pushed to get there to accompany my kid I got edged with fear. I sit and surf through my I-tunes. Getting higher to boast how low things can be never excite me. Or am afraid of heights. Simple.

My fear pours down.

Scene 3: The Mother.

My little fussy eater throws away her tantrum along with the veggies off dinning table and somehow manage to manipulate me over hot chocolate. Then diving in my lap with tight hug fastening her arm-belt around me, I know she is all set to take off a fairy  tale flight. Bed time stories time. She lives in the world of fairy and pixies with overloading her room with such stuffs and dolls and truly believed them. She believed the prince who ride horses and the princess who spell magic.  She is scared of witch and demon and she bubbled with happiness in their defeat. But how am I not supposed to tell her  that no magic spells or magic wand disappeared the demons in seconds. No prince will ever sweep off my princess to hold her for eternal. Demons are around. They are masked and creep in darkness to make us fall. I watch her fall asleep brushing through her silk hair.

My fear pours down.

Scene 4: My inner self.

As the honey-green apple scrubs my gloomy day off and the silk robe pampers me with comfort the night sets in. I hold an oversized mug plumes with hot coffee. The regular beauty chores keep me busy for half an hour more. The happy couple cuddles and show love. All it takes to fake it and satisfy the boyhood.  Sleeping is more essential to continue.

Then nightmare crawls in my queen size bed unveiling me. The eyes behind the spectacles dripping with carnal hunger haunted me in my dreams. How I wished to shelter myself to my mother. But she left me long long ago for a demonic hunger.

My fear pours down.


Never fake it…make it.

Thanks God am an atheist! But I am smitten with love with the beautiful creation Oh! Almighty! that you have created, like every morning I adore myself in the mirror for couple of seconds. Smirk! I have learnt to chant prayers in my early childhood but then sometimes it is for the sugar coated sweets I guess. As nursery fussy toddlers I learnt to join my hands and close my eyes( one eye slightly open to spy an eye on friends) and jumble and mumble to Holy God. Life was easy and so was praying. The prayers got easily accepted then. Father comes home early. Mom gives my favourite snacks in lunch box. The fat bully sits near class teacher and so on. Now even national holidays merge with Sundays. Boss comes early to office when am late. Is the problem with prayers or the way I pray? But growing up made me realise that I only pray when I need to pray. I asked my mom one day about this technical fault but she instead discussing on such vital issue reminded me that I should concentrate on more logical chores. Next day I had office so I guess finishing off my dinner and pressing my dress was more important. No argue.

I too had a hanging, wooden temple like engraved shelf. Where I have kept one brass and silver metal idol of too strongest divine character to adorn the living room with complete homeyness. I thought when I need to pray it will be easier if I sort  a target among the many divine spirits. I am quite lucky that my husband is pure and religious from heart. Not a single day he misses to offer his prayers.He offer sweets for a sweet beginning and incense stick hold the holiness all around. Quite a home. My five year old dotty joins his father every morning. Sometimes to be with her father and sometimes for the offerings he served.

One day when I was watching both of them submerged in their prayers I heard from my tiny little dotty which I was longing to hear for so many years. She with her eyes closed and joined hands chanting prayers and saying ” God! take care of us ” as she learnt to say after each prayer. But what jostle me with joy was she also added ” You also take care God” . We repeat it when our beloved ones show concern but we never thought that God Almighty too need a token of concern. He is the Generator Organiser and  Destroyer when he needs to. But that doesn’t  mean we stopped showing our concern affection for him. So all the way down for years we just fake it. We decorate him. Offer him our best servings. Do our best rituals but never love him truly. This time lets make it. Love to be loved.

The content is not to vilify any person in personal. So readers discretion is highly appreciated.


What I owned! What I earned!

End of month April and on an one fine morning my baba hold me for the first time. My ma was bit unconscious and taking rest after the mess I have created in her. That day along with the nauseas-tic smell of  Bengal brand phenyl and a bit fresh air I owned my world in the warm lap of my baba. I was born.

I technically didn’t remember those days but guess I created a busy schedule for my family members especially regarding my feeding and sleeping schedule. Two months later finally they feel to give me a standard name apart from puchki and sona ma. This mammoth task was given to my younger uncle as he was doing his college with a hope that he will come up with something new and crisp. I got a name along with their surname which I was asked to change after my marriage but I denied because its the first thing that I earned.

In a joint family along with a joint neighbourhood you got to be pampered. They will gift you if you smile at them, just riding on a cycle with them will bring chocolates for you. You can own any of their private belonging by just bringing splash of false tears in your eyes. What a lovely life I owned. Thanks Ma Baba.

Things got changed. Gifts got limited with tag line of achievements. The buzz of life started to limit. I was sent to school and after that hostel for a discipled life where I was given option to choose my friends and life. I earned the best friends and best moments where we celebrate life’s happiness and stay strong when life came with challenges. I earned my success I earned my failure. Then after coming back home when I opted for a job I watched my ma how intensely she filed my certificates and medals. Now I owned them after serious and severe years of toil. The first salary I earned I spent each penny with my family which they own now.

Years after I met my soul mate. We decided to stay together for life. We made commitments, we made promise…and for some we made and some we failed. After years of togetherness we decided to blend our happiness with responsibility. We had a baby. She was born to us giving us our completeness. I neither owned or earned her. It was the best return gift from life. But the day I hold her close in my heart and feel her smell I know I owned my life.

A life is complete with a life. Death is just a trance. If we owned a life we earned a death also. Through all the smiles all the woes we crave for a chance to life not knowing death do not apart us. Life is beautiful so is death. It just don’t come with a reminder but sometimes we give it a snooze button. O my reader lets enjoy the life we owned and embrace everything that we earned.


Speaking up your mind.

Living with the devil….Everyone does. Whom you let win the game, wins. In my story sometimes I let her loose. But then I had to mend it or end it. They say when you are in pain the pen is yours. What a beautiful use of homophones. But pain can make you stronger if you win through it. Couple of days back my dotty asked me what I do? Really what I do? Because home-making is not the answer required in her scrap book.

I have been always wanted to become a writer. I was a voracious reader since my childhood. I had to use pencil torch inside my blanket to finish my thriller novels. I had to switch my library books with my hostel mates as they issue one book in a week only. I read even the packet that comes as packing item. But my parents wish something conventional for me.

What you will write? Is the very first question popping into someone’s mind after listening to my idea of writing. “Anything’ is not the convincing answer to their million dollar question. We never speak out our mind. If we can ever speak our mind freely its like a bliss. Like someone asking you about ‘ How are you” and you are responding with ‘ Fuck off’ is not the answer but it is like speaking up your mind.” Get your fat ass moved and pass me the stuff” is not what you called a request. I want to write all these things. I want to speak my minds true version.

I want to write each secret I hold. About the first puff of smoke I had in my college hostel room. About the first peg of Vodka with chips which we ( four other novice friends of mine) sipped in quickly in my college excursion trip to avoid mess and slept till mid day. About each crush I had on my teacher, friends brother and that unknown relative I met on wedding ceremony who added a little extra blush along with my make up. I want to write about how life seems to be a fairy tale when my prince charming swept me off my foot and landed me to cloud nine but then I had to fall. I want to write about the hurts and pain but that is life outside the screensaver. I want to share my “sinfood” recipe which I devoured shamelessly in spite of gaining weight.I call them sinfood because baked cheese-butter cake or deep fried chicken patty with extra molten cheese or sunday biriyani or midnight maggie is not considered conventionally good. But then I sometimes cried profusely all night after fight with my hubby.I loose all my extra weight along with tears.It is my own therapy to stay in shape. So I consider my extra loaded food as healer. I want to share about how I was scared shit when my hubby disclose the positive report that we are going to have a baby soon. I was afraid to loose my lady hood.  I was afraid to take responsibility of a little angel. But the moment I saw her upwardly hanging from my docs hand all pink and messy I got my life back with her. I want to write about how I loose myself, screamed at my baby being upset with other family issues and how I curled her in my lap all night and kissed her feet silently and asked her to forgive me. I want to write about the luxury vacation I had the last summer or about the road trip on bike where we spent the whole day on coke and chips.

Words banged into ideas. But I want to write for them who believe in me. When you choose content writing you want them to read by a target audience who think like you or wanted to listen to your story just because they have similar story deep inside them.