The irony called family.

I belong to a nuclear family. And we are as nuclear as it gets- the only child of my parents, the three of us currently live in three separate geographical locations altogether. I meet my mother every possible weekend and my dad flies down (or vice versa) to meet us. And today, being Diwali, I had gone to visit a friend’s place. She is a Punjabi, with a joint family, occupying two apartments in one building. The grandparents live along with the two brothers of the family, their wives and each couple has two children. Essentially, their house is always open to all the kids of the colony an we actually have had meals after meals at their place and have never felt out of place. It is funny, how I, being from a nuclear family, yearn for that kind of noise and banter while they, the joint family party, cannot wait to be in peace. Even though this feeling is a fleeting and passing thought, it is a thought nonetheless.

Let’s analyse a sentence, one word at a time: Your parents scolded you.

Lets see, your parents scolded you for something, anything. Not your neighbours, not your friends’ parents but yours. They have the right and authority to do so. Besides, if they don’t boss over you, then who will they boss over? And most of the times (yes, mostly) it does turn out to be good for us. We do benefit from it. And OUR parents, specially Indian parents, are super protective about us. I’m a girl and I know the number of times I have to listen to the words ‘Reach home before it is dark’. When your parents scold you, thank god for the fact that they are there, doing just that, alive and breathing and beside you, in the same room. Thousands of children would give an arm and a leg to just get scolded by their long lost parents.

Who gave birth to you? Who paid for your first date? Who made you coffee while you studied for your finals? Who sat with you through your first nightmare? Parents, right? So when they do get a little mad and angsty about something you did- whether big or small- just let them scold you. The world wont break down if you heard them talk loudly and you are never to old to get scolded. Never. They care, probably more than that weed-smoking best friend of yours and their judgement is definitely better than the weed-smoking best friend. Trust them and let go.

Just cross your heart and promise, to yourself, that you will not abuse your parent come what may. Agreed, they scolded you for something petty and made you look silly in front of the girls of your class. Agreed, they have no sense of when and where. Just close your eyes and count to ten (like i’ve been told to do) and thank god for them being there and agreeing to bear with all the non-sense you think is cool. All they have done is discipline you. You deserved it, at least some of it, in the first place. They might be over-protective of you, they might even shelter you more than necessary but that is only because you are still that baby boy/girl to them and they love you, to bits. Stop analysing each of their words and understand the root cause of their so-called scolding.

They scolded you and shouted at you because they still have hope for you to improve. They still believe that them, investing their energy and time on you, is useful and helpful. They want you to be a better person and they want you to grow into someone larger than what you currently are. YOU- thier child, thier hope. The moment they stop believing in you, they will stop ‘harassing’ you. And there will be no sadder day in this life for you, than the day your parents stop keeping faith in your abilities.

Yes, the full-stop is as important as the words. It marks the end of something. It marks the end of the episode (of anger and possible bloodshed!) and marks the beginning of another chapter, a new chapter without the faults of the previous one. A better chapter. A happier chapter. And thus, with the punctuation called full-stop comes the end of my banter.

What I wanted to state was, that despite all the fights and problems, issues and heartaches, there is a very strong glue that binds every family together and it is unique to every family that is there. Every individual family have their own set of good and bad times an it takes a lifetime to understand the intricacies and dynamics of it. An outsider to a family will never fully understand or accept the mesh work of events that bind a family together, only those who are a part of it will hold on to it. Life actually does depend on it, so yes, they will hold on tight. One family will never fully understand another and thus, arises the irony of being a family. The irony is that despite being fragmented again and again, the family always rises as one strong unit in the very end and then, breaks up again only to unite in the time of crises.
It is very easy to stand at a distance and judge the dynamics of any group, be it a family or an Olympic team. Every unit has a way of functioning and it is not necessary to understand everything. SOme things are best left undisturbed if they function perfectly.

– Cheers to family and togetherness!


A family that travels together, stays together.


Diwali: Festival of LIGHTS.

Notice how I have kept ‘lights’ in capitals? That is what it was and has always meant to be. Lights are to be the prime focus of this darn festival and not sound, bombs, scaring poor animals and hell, not pollution! I don’t like this festival and I don’t agree with how it has been manipulated into this concoction of smoke and really bad gunpowder. Diwali was supposed to be the celebration of Ram returning home, he was ushered in by the ligthing of Diyas in all the homes. I don’t think we give that man a second thought while bursting the thousand patakas. Shaa.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not a party pooper, a festivity spoiler. I love the sweets and diyas (or candles) that adorn every window of every house of every alley of every city of every state. I like the whole taash playing atmosphere of winning some and losing more. I like how people meet their relatives after just a week of meeting them on Dashami. Brings the family together, yes but do we really need the smoke? It makes me sneeze and the birdie in the sky goes blind (and thus you have bird poo on your newly purchased clothes)

I like Holi. Yes, I waste water and yes, the colours are synthetic but March is the month of my birthday and therefore, Holi rockzzz, er, rocks. I like the colours and the SINGLE day of celebration. Diwali gets prolonged into a week-long smoke fest just so that people can finish all the baarud they purchased. It is never ending, I mean come on already? India won the world cup ages ago and you STILL have those crackers left or what? Save money, save paper, save trees and don’t burst those nasty things. Okay, maybe a few just for fun cause we are all allowed that much. Right? Like I waste water on holi, you can blow off some rockets into the night sky but when the sky falls, when the drum rolls (or does she say when we crumble?) lalala laaaaa.

Anyway, the point of this post is that I don’t celebrate diwali and I only make a rangoli and light some lights and clap along with the rest of the people and ihaveaboyfriend and that Holi is awesome! HAHA, gotcha. Now read the last sentence again. I have to get milk+bread off of my face now. This is a regime that my mother makes me do to get rid of the tan I am not-very-happily boasting of.

Of sudden breaths and real feelings.

I am listening to some really bad music by A.R Rehman and I realised that grand romantic gestures happen only in the movies. Do boyfriends really fly down from half the way around the globe to meet the one they love? Do roses really look more red onscreen? Are there really no cheaper gifts than diamonds? Do normal girls meet their prince in a Rolls Royce only in gossip girl? Or is there some semblance of reality in what they show on the silver screen?


I would like a grand romantic gesture, if someone decided I am worth the effort (and let’s face it, money). Yknow, the kind where I am sent bouquets after bouquets merely because I am unwell. Or the occasional diamond (haha). Okay no seriously, how many of us really end up getting the fairytale romantic gestures? It isn’t fair, how the movies glorify love. To us, girls, love is like a dream sequence where the boy would propose in a game of Scrabble and we would see hearts on the coffee foam. It is surreal, the way we imagine love, in the true sense of the word.

Do the horse-coach pick ups and limousine drop offs only happpen in books and stories? Why haven’t I seen a candle light dinner yet, one that is actually planned so and not forced by CESC? I want to simply know if the ‘hands to your cheeks surprised’ expression that the female brightens the screen with, is genuine or make belief. All I want is one dance I the rain. All I’d like is one valentine gift. All I want is one sunrise together and maybe a sunset too. All I want is youuuuuu. Okay that was U2 speaking.

Knight in shining armour, prove to me that you exist and give me my grand romance. Just once, cause post that it would just be an overdose.


– waiting for the star to fall.