Date with Her

Her worth in my life can never be defined in one day. Every day spent with her, be it lazing at home or walking aimlessly outdoors, is just as special as this one. It’s wonderful how she gives me the power to be her daughter, friend, guardian, critic and sometimes, even her boss. Here’s to many more enriching conversations and profound ruminations over the much loved, Caesar salad in the warm glow of love, admiration, pride and candlelights!  #datewithmumma #celebratedeveryday

Ki & Ka


Ki & Ka: The second annoying aspect of the new-soch entertainer. The first being; Kareena’s voice. As opposed to the reviews, I personally liked the movie.
The story does have substance, exaggerated in parts albeit. A message, we most conveniently brush under the carpet as trivial.

In a nutshell, Kareena is an ambitious marketing professional, wanting to be the best in her arena. And Arjun (IIMB topper, mind you) is a man who wants to avoid money’s rat-race and do something meaningful instead; be a house husband. They marry after some easily forgettable songs.

Arjun, the man, is chiseled, looks good, cooks well, seems apparently great in bed and yet wishes to be a homemaker. This fact has not been emphasised by the writer (thankfully). This is no feminist movie that men would use as an excuse to skip watching. It’s about wanting to do what you really want to, without having to compromise on love and good food or sex!

This seemingly story of the life of Chetan Bhagat is actually endearing, but we could like it a lot more with Kareena on mute. Although silly in bits, it does teach us to swallow our pride, forgive ourselves of our vices and admit to needing each other just the way we are.

For eons housewives have been made to feel unambitious and worthless. And no,  a correction in the title to ‘homemaker’  does not give them the dignity and gratitude they deserve. What really hit me about this movie was how the script seriously pulled it off. Right from the beginning, I waited for them to screw the bubble, bring in unreal drama and make a mess out of the subject. But no, the film reached its peak wonderfully and honestly. The end was a predictable,  but forgivable freefall.

The scenarios in the film are very human-like. Something we have grown up seeing around us, by fathers to homemaker moms.

I don’t want this to be a spoiler, hence, won’t be giving away the entire story.
For a change, this one wasn’t just about gender bias and equality. Or ego and jealously. It is about celebrating the people (whoever it is) that make our house a home. And that is alone a life-taking task.

Just see in it unconditional love, effort and dedication, something that we have all been blind and often, hurtful to. Watch the movie, to smile, wish for Arjun’s transport buddy, admire nothing more on Kareena than her chic corporate clothes, applaud for Arjun Kapoor’s super secure attitude, be grateful and a little more loving to the sadly, neglected people in our lives.


How would it be, if insomnia could steal,

A wink of happy slumber?

The stars would bloom in an autumn noon,

And turtles would fly to skies of amber.


How would it be, to sing with the breeze,

A couplet of merely three lines?

The piano would sound like the bass,

And morning appeared after the sun dives.


Why believe not, that life’s but a part,

In a whimsical play of the universe?

And water a pool, of lonesome tears,

At the horizon of unspoken fears.


So surreal it is, to learn to miss,

The pain of this wounded heart.

Today leaves us unkind, even heavily fined.

Several moons away but truly never apart.

Hardcore Bangalorean!

Some double filter coffee, aimless metro rides, double meter night fares, ” lopper nan magne ” swears, hot benne dosa, jammed roads with green trees, the high court pigeons, long kadle paper cones, vibrant nightlifes, ring road galavanting, the famous ” swalpa adjust madi “, soap bubbles at sanky lake,          some ” yen guru ” tiffs, highly maddening traffic, egg factory breakfasts, dug up roads, shameless bargains, bisibele bath, some hi-fi english, to ” super macha” , big bribes to ” tarle nan maga”, aristocratic painting exhibitions, some money on wheels, tilted local buses, India coffee house, inexplicable fun, a little bit of me; a whole lotta Bangalore!

Priceless Identities

When I touched my twenties, I began honing my skills of profound pondering, owing to my interests in art. Back then, it was cool to feel artistic with erratic moods and going deep on anything as trivial as hairpins or pebbles. I began to find substance out of form. To find meaning out of being. Although a lot has changed since, I sometimes still slip into my thinking mode quite regularly, and one thought continues to cloud my thoughts eternally.
Like most artists, I love my space. It is when I learn the most about myself. Eversince I became a young woman, I have seriously pondered about the essence of life. Why am I born?
What do I choose to die as?  It is a thought that makes me the core of the universe. And I know I will spend a lifetime figuring out the significance of my being.
So while the thought hovers around me, it alienates me from the intricacies of a mundane life. It is then that the subject becomes the spectator. And it is when I begin to communicate with my soul on my most loved debate of life as a woman.
The only learning achieved so far is of our idea of existence. Most of us believe to be born to grow, earn, marry and procreate.
But the real meaning to our being runs deep. I believe, with every new day we breathe life into our souls. We are born to create a form of an invisible substance. As women we have two choices, to choose to live either in reflected glory or inspiring independence.
But prejudices and societal myths shadow us in our journeys, clouding most minds effortlessly. Unfortunately it is we women that add fuel to the fire. We have understood that the only meaning to our existence is to be somebody’s daughter, wife or mother. All our lives we are happy to carry forward a name that defines not our best abilities. Our identies are unpaid endorsers to our parents or spouses, and the kitchen, is forever our only greatest arena.
All through, we fail to look within and let our identities grow only because we think we are born to nurture our surroundings. What about nurturing our souls?
It is hard to digest that we are at ease to live for our families without giving a chance at independent survival to our souls. We create our borders, we confine our capabilities and even succeed in proving that this is the best we can do without even visiting the threshold of our potentials. And if ever so, venturing out of our zones is justified only when we flaunt a fancy degree.
Why are we women so comfortable in another’s skin? Why don’t we search for our own musk? We confidently flaunt attitutes that are made out just of our father’s earnings or by the wealth of our husbands. What are we so content about? Although our essence of being is not subjected to financial independence alone, it is a start towards light. Financial independence gives you a confidence that you can be all that you are and much more, without giving up on life. And it has nothing to do with your social standing.
An identity is priceless and only when women get a taste of it will they enjoy the indulgence. Nothing satiates me more than my thirst to get better and touch the corners of my potentials. And I can never imagine to quench this thirst.I wish more women understood this to find the true meanings of their lives. For the answers lie only within us. And the society is no mirror to it.
We will still turn to our loved ones to borrow, but, we will now only borrow values from our parents and love from our spouses because we will know just how to create our identities.