Mumbai Meri Jaan.

I have been thinking. Trust me, that is never ever a good thing. You know what happens when something that you believed in is not true. But I guess, it is a process of questioning the things that you believed in without any reason.

I believed that my city is an awesome place. But what makes it awesome? That is something I really can't say. It kills me to think that people think of Mumbai of being full of glamorous people or beggars. Mainly because I am neither. And that makes me feels that I don't belong here.

It is worse that my friends got their wallets stolen in the train and we had to file police complaints. This after telling one of my friends who is new to the city that Mumbai is one of the safest places.

When Mumbai got voted as the rudest city, I was appalled. I never have seen this city as rude. People always seemed eager to help me. But then as pointed out by someone, I haven't really spent enough time anywhere else to compare objectively.

What makes this place awesome? It is my home. It will always be special. That is reason enough for me, if not anyone else.

The Imperfect Me

I baked a cake today. I read somewhere that a cracked cake is a good cake because it releases all the hot air from inside. I smiled and thought I am glad that I am cracked from somewhere. I am glad I aint perfect.

(Oh the crack was covered beautifully with cream.)

Here is a pic of it : http://tweetphoto.com/19733383 (Honestly, I made it)

I love Mumbai

All said and done, I love my city. I love Mumbai. I love my home for what it is and more importantly what it can become (No not Shanghai). I love it for everything it has to offer for the ones who are ready to take in on the experience.

But it kills me within to hear people (read : visitors) commenting only either on the glamour and "chaka chaund" or on the poverty and dirt. I have seen this glamorous and many times, lonely lives and I have also seen the poor yet happy smiling lives. They say you can't live anywhere else, after you have lived in Mumbai. Well, I don't agree completely. But I can say for sure, you can't know what this city truly is unless you have lived here. You have to travel in the local trains and eat Bhel Puri from Juhu beach. You have to smoke that cigarette at Marine Drive and look at the "Queen's Necklace". You have believe in yourself or atleast pretend to. Even if you are beggar, you have to exude confidence.

When you spend that 250 rs for a beer at Hawaiian Shack and on your way back, a small child taps on your window, you feel a sense of guilt but then, you also know that you do your bit. Very few of us have that capacity and the capability to change the world all by yourselves. And we try to do it by whatever we can. Does it mean we are not good people? I really don't know. I, in fact don't know what makes a good person.

I don't know what makes Mumbai special. I will defend it both ways. I will not agree when people say that it is the best places to live in and I will totally oppose when people say anything bad about it.

I hate it when people stereotype. Mumbai is about a place that I call home along with many many others. It is special because people come here with dreams like any other place. Because people live here and people die here. Some eat on the roads and some in posh restaurants. Everyone calls it home just like any other city.

It is just another city.


(I haven't re-read this post because it is an emotional outburst and I might not post it if I do. Excuse all contradictions of thoughts and more importantly all stupid spelling/grammar errors)

Memories.

It is this feeling that I can't rationalize, I can't negotiate. Never ever does it ebb. When I think it has, something totally random brings memories flooding back. A stupid grey car like the one we had. Scrambled eggs like the ones you used to make. Memories so little and not really vivid but the pain, never once dulling.

I miss you, Mom. I wish I had known you more, I wish I had known you longer.



Submitted to 3 WW : Ebb, Random, Negotiate

Follow Friday

So those who have absolutely no idea of what twitter is or what happens there, to such people, I would like to introduce the concept of #followfriday or #ff. Since people on twitter "follow" each other bcas they find them interesting, once a week, people refer to their followers, handles (or usernames) of interesting people they are following.

I, in my life have a lot interesting people. And unfortunately, they are all mine :) Keeping the pompousness aside, these are the people I love and wish you could know them as well as I do.

(Most handles are not real, if they are, I have linked them, you may want to follow them, they are awesome)

Akash (@sportsfreak/ @reddevil )

We have the same set of genes, wish we could fit into the same jeans.

Dad ( @dada_don/ @technN00b)

Loves to have all the latest gadgets. Can't figure them out. #epicwin for me and @sportsfreak.

Jr ( @jinxxedout / @tallboy )

Mean. Rude. Potentially scary. Affectionate. Misunderstood. Taken.


Nab( @MysteriousNabz/ @mypartnerincrime)

Most of the time, all she can say is "I know" and she always knows.

Nive (@purplenomad / @secretninja)

The secret ninja that is scared to cross the road. While not ninja-ing, she listens to me go gleeeee.

Neha (@secretkeeper / @levelheadedgirl )

The only reason I hate her is that she is in UK. She is the voice in my head in non-creepy way.

Paridhi ( @lostinBangkok / @ImissIndia )

Bhaji Dosa, Palak Cheese Dosa, her and me at Shiv Sagar - Picture complete. I miss her.

Preetam (@preetam_e / @lostandfound)

My lost and found friend. Though, he keeps getting lost every now and then, he is one hell of a listener. If he had a personal's ad, it would read "Loves long walks on the beach"

Shwe ( @peskychild / @laughingbuddhi)

Things she understand about me no-one can ever. Probably, one of few people who I let call didi and get away with small little things like these. Oh, we need a nice Kashmiri doctor for her. Applications open!

Criminology

I hate it when people called them deviants. Deviants who don't follow and deviate from societal norms? We all do as we are taught. If your environment as a child was saturated with crime, what else can you expect from them as adults? All you can do is identify such environments and saturate with tender, loving care, instead.

This is what my future looks like if I do end up doing that criminology course I have been eying.


For 3WW : Deviate, Saturate, Idenitfy

Time Capsule

One of the worst part of having a blog is probably re-reading all the stuff you have ages ago. It is like a time capsule. You move on from that place but leave a dog-ear in the book of life. When you have moved on miles from that place and re-read that particular thing about that incident that happened and memories, emotions come flooding back.

Sometimes you wonder how could I have felt that way. But most often, I feel all those emotions within me. Why? Why? I fail to understand. I shouldn't feel this way.

Who am I to ask anything to emotions? They have a mind of their own. Stupid damn emotions.

Someday, I will laugh at all that I have written. Someday, I promise myself.

Judge me not!

How often do we judge people? Don't you dare tell me that you don't. Of course you do. And it aint a bad thing. It is our way of be aware of people around us and we would be stupid if we didn't.

However, making an assumption about a person on the basis of a single incident is the worst kind of generalisation. What prompted this weird post are 2 sets of interaction with a particular someone on twitter.

1st incident happened a few days ago, when I tweeted, " It feels really nice and comfortable talking to a friend in Marathi."  Marathi happens to my mother tongue and the comfort of that can't be compared to anything else. It is like sleeping on your mother's lap. Secure!

Getting back, this random dude decides to tell me that I being like a particular someone (ahem) and was being a lingual racist. His replies to me regarding that got weirder and very very brash and not so subtle. I asked him to stop following me if things I said bothered him so much (I was being nice). He refused to cease till I said I would actually block him if he irritated me once more (no #chetanblocks jokes, please) He stopped!!!

Now the second incident. The same random dude happened to read my last blog post about MAD and says to me, " What a marvelous job you are doing. You are such a kind-hearted person. God bless you and your team."

His words mean zilch to me. But, look how his opinion of me changed with 2 sentences.  Now he has got me thinking. When was the last time I judged someone on basis on what he said or did? How many have I judged and not given them a second chance?

Fool

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 9; the ninth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I know it and yet,

I choose to be me.

I know that rainbows

and unicorns exist.

And you may laugh

at me for thinking so.

I know it and yet, 

I choose to believe

in myself and my beliefs.

I know it and yet,

I choose to be me.

I know that life 

is lovely and easy.

And you may scoff

at me for thinking so.

I know it and yet,

I choose to live

like I would live, forever.

I know it and yet,

I choose to be me.

I know of the world

and of it's crooked ways.

And yet, I choose to be.

I know of you

and your devious mind,

the cruel intentions,

And yet, I choose to be

Just another fool.

The knack of defiance,

The norms that I shun,

With my heart on my sleeve

and head on my shoulders,

I proclaim, myself to be,

Just another fool!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Oh you CAN smile!

I would be happy if I could just get those score.
I swear I will never be sad if I just landed that job.
Oh I need to land that promotion or I will never be happy.
I need more money.
I need more clothes.
I need those purple shoes (Those M&S ones....Sigh)
I need my brother to listen to me.
Why doesn't my bf understand me?
My bf doesn't love me. My life is over.
She is prettier than I am.
Why isn't he with me?


Isn't it easier to find reasons to unhappy and sad? Isn't easier to mope around in the corner of a dark room? Happiness is a fucking struggle. Happiness is a habit which very very difficult to acquire. I aint going to ask you to find happiness and have the sun shining out of your ass, but yeah, you aren't any fun to be around if you are going to sad all the time. I don't like to hear your sob stories all the time. It would be good to hear you cheerful as well.

So, once in a while, it isn't all that bad to stick a plastic smile and just go along. It may just make you feel better. Try it!

Caustic words

It was his caustic tone that broke me down completely. Did I always know? Did I have a hunch? A woman always knows. I hadn’t sacrificed myself for him. But he was a part of my life. We had a life together. Now it was over. It was over when he said, “I love her.”

Submitted for 3 Word Wednesday

My tryst with MADness.

2 yrs ago

A friend told me "Why don't you join MAD? They don't have a team in Mumbai yet, but you might be able to help them in some other way."

I was so bored that I did fill an application form and totally forgot about it.

1 year ago

I got a call from a girl called Parul, " Rashi, we are starting a team in Mumbai, would you be interested in joining us?"

"Yes, why not?"

"Meet me on Sunday at Barista?"

"Yeah. Sure"

On Sunday,

"Parul, I am done with fever. Can we postpone?"

"Next Sunday?"

"Sure. I am so sorry."

"See you then"

Next Sunday,

Meeting with 5 other random people.

Meeting every Sunday!

Saturday morning class.

Children = life. Smiles = Coffee (Wake up alarms) Didi didi = Music!

Today, right now,

On gtalk, I have around 7 windows open, 5 of them MADdies (the other 2 are school friends).

On my phone, if you check the last 20 dialled, received, missed calls, most of them will be from MADdies.

No we are not workaholics, we are just good friends who are out on a common mission.

Today, the classes are done for the summer. And the peace and awesomeness of each class, I shall just not mention because it just can't be explained. Come for class with me once. I promise, you will want to come again, teach once again.

Today, I realise that even if I want I can't escape MAD. It is like that tattoo upon my skin, the ink of which has seeped into my veins and now, MAD flows through me.

I kid you not when I say it energizes me. I remember this incident when I pleaded with the doctors to discharge me from the hospital because I had a MAD class. I was weak and had a high fever the previous day but in class, the energy of my children worked better than any of those doctor's medicines. (Highly recommended)

To the people who attempt to come between me and my kids, between me and my dreams, I have a debt to repay and I will do everything in my power to do so. I have dreams of children to fulfil. I have miles to go before I sleep, before I hand over the torch!

PS: For the totally clueless, MAD = Make A Difference. Check my pages for more information!

Open letter

To the dainty little kiss ass bitch,

You weren't there when I worked my ass off. You weren't there when I slogged and did everything on my own. Yet you think it is your right to comment on my relationships and my friendships? What I did shall never be known to you. What I did, you shall never be capable of it! Not that I doubt your capability but you might break a nail and we wouldn't want that now, would we?

I shall give this to you, you really know how to kiss ass, something I have never been good at. So please keep your opinions to yourself and be glad that I am not there right now, or else you would never ever made your presence felt.

I will never open my mouth and your secrets are safe with me. I, however, know how to fight and I definitely know how to be a bitch to a bitch. I can most definitely fight fire with fire but I hate that side of me and I shall not let it raise its ugly head. DON'T force me to do so. You shall be sorry! Don't you dare comment on my equation with anyone, ever again!

Your's sincerely (Yes, I mean this)

The one you should be scared of!

Child Abuse

Cold were his hands

Hands that hit me.

I lay still, motion-less.

Lest he hurt again

Devil, I saw, felt.

Angst, I felt within.

Begin, when did it?

Unending, it seemed now!

Scamper away, he said.

Everyday, once he finished!

Submitted for Acrostic Only

Speaking Out - An acrostic

She looked at me
Perhaps to say something.
Eyes, hope within them?
Aspirations aplenty, lay crushed
Killed, dead, lost, shattered.
I wonder and shudder,
Now what to do?
Give her some space
Or return her faith?
Under the covers, hide?
Take the leap, instead!

Written for Acrostic Only