Category Archives: Being me

Remember to forget

Now, I forget.
There used to be a time when I would vividly recreate memories from my childhood, early childhood, that my elder sister refused to believe I could remember. She would always say I was making them up because she couldn’t remember them at all! Those were the days when I would remember people and names, and could attribute the right names to the right faces. I remembered people I’d met but once, people who did not, much to my chagrin/embarrassment, remember me. That was when I went to bed with a to-do list in my head, and remembered next morning to actually do those things. I would remember to call people on their birthdays, to buy them gifts, to be there. Now, I just forget. And I think I do not regret it. I do not regret losing a bit of ‘my good memory’, because honestly, I want to forget so much.
Of all the things I forget — people, names, dates (yes, I never remember what date it is today, even though I work in a daily newspaper), I’m most thankful I forget the grudges I once had against some people. I forget why it was important to me then to mind what someone said, to take umbrage to how I was treated… No, honestly, I am beginning to forget why I had a squabble or a fight with anyone. Most importantly, even when I remember the reasons I drifted apart from certain people, I do not remember why I cared so much. I think sometimes, why exactly did I react so sharply in a particular situation, and I can’t remember. So I let go — of the memory of that situation, the feeling, the negativity associated with it. I feel free when I forget so much.
Perhaps, if I think long and hard, I will be able recall the exact sentiments, but I do not want to. I do not want to remember why and how of things that were so unpleasant. Because they just do not matter to me anymore.
Which is not to say I have forgotten everything that has ever gone wrong in my life. Some moments are etched like forever in my mind. They will go with me to my grave. But that’s because they are still important to me, perhaps in a life-altering sort of way. The things I forget, I think there isn’t any space left in my head, or life, for them. They’re redundant and therefore I can get rid of them. Not so long ago, I would have had to make a concerted effort to forget.  But now, I couldn’t be happier I have learnt to not remember.

The pace maker

For the longest time in my life, I’ve lived life in the fast lane. There was never a dull moment, so to say, and I kept myself consciously engaged in so many things that left so little time for me to be alone. I was a visitor in my own home, I loved being out so much then! The Guy and I were the ones making plans with friends, for movies, dinners, late nights… We were society’s ‘it’ couple, at some point I think.

But in the last two years, it’s been a different story. I’ve learnt to slow down, breathe in, exhale, and live life at my own pace. My new pace. Because the life in the fast lane was also a pace I’d set for myself.

This new life that I’m living at breathable speed is probably the stuff that would classify it as boring. And by my own admission, it’s the kind of life I hadn’t imagined I’d be happy living. Yes, it’s taken some getting-used-to, but now that I know that this space I’m inhabiting, and the way I’m doing it, it’s where I am meant to be right now, I feel so much at peace. I no longer want to be at ten places at the same time, I’m okay saying no to doing things I don’t want to do, I’m okay, in fact, doing nothing. To me, it’s the most evolved I have been at enjoying my personal space.

Some of you who’ve followed my blog in my hey days might remember my tales of partying, dressing up, and partying some more, of ‘living it up’, travelling, burning the midnight oil when it came to work. Now, I cuddle my baby and hit the bed at 10pm, wake up to his smile and the sweetest ‘Mamma’ ever said, and just go about my day doing things as they come. Yes, there are days when the baby work is just too much, and getting to office is so much hard labour, and there’s the mad morning rush to do all the chores that need to be done before I step out for work. Perhaps, those days make me cherish even more the ‘doing nothing’ — periods of quiet and calm, when I can just sit and watch my son toddle away, busy at his ingenuous games, chasing lizards, running after his ping pong balls, pushing his fruit cart around, and hold him in a tight hug when he remembers in the middle of all his playing, that he needs to smell and feel the warmth of mamma. Pray, tell me, why would I want to do anything else?

Earlier, I would be loathe to spend a Sunday just being home. Yesterday, I revelled in the feeling. I curled up on our lazy boy, and watched Hindi films on the TV from middle to end, and that’s it! No movie outing, coffee, dinner, nothing even remotely interesting.

I understand that this transition is everything to do with having a baby. But I’ve seen unhappy parents, mothers who feel too tied down, restrained, bored with their lives, for whom it’s a half-hearted choice. I’m just thankful I’m not in their shoes. Probably because we’ve been there, done that, there’s more reason to enjoy this and now. But I also think that this isn’t just about having a baby. I think I’m just happy I know how to be happy without attaching it to a hundred things outside of me.

There are people who would like me to believe I’m losing the plot, that I must get back to a ‘normal’ life now that my son is 1.5 years old. To them I want to say:


I am alive. Again.

Because it’s summer, and summer’s when everything comes alive, most importantly my spirit. It’s like I’ve been sleepwalking all of the year, and Spring begins to awaken me, every tiny nerve in me that tingles with restless energy — happy, restless energy. And it awakens within me this will to be happy, to go and embrace the world — the same world that’s been a pain the rest of the year.

I hate the seasonal cusp between summer and winter, when the days become shorter, and darkness descends on sunshine. But I love, in capital letters LOVE, when the season reverses, and the days become longer, and I can step out at 6, even 6.30 in the evening, to be met by the gently setting sun, still a warm orange at that hour. It calms me down at the end of a hectic day, tells me to slow down, because I still have ahead of me a long evening to unwind.

I love how green summer is. No, not a pallid, faint excuse of a green, but a bright, sharp green, that’s calling out to you. I wait for the yellow blossoms to bloom, when the red Gulmohurs fire up the leafless trees. I love how blue the sky is — the colour you get in pictures after they’ve gone through serious photoshopping.

I love how we no longer need to rush to shut out the icy cold winds that slyly find way through the smallest crack, and that we can now finally open our doors and windows to sunshine and summer breezes.

Next time, I want a summer baby. Imagine, the double joy of a baby and this season! Oh, and I must add, if there is a second time, that is.

I’m no angel. Possibly then, I’m the devil?

Sometimes I wonder if, instead of trying to sort out so many misunderstandings, we could just give in to perceptions about us, how would that be… What makes us want other people to think good about us, to like us perhaps, to definitely not think we’re bad people. Why does it hurt when someone says something unflattering about us? And why do we want to prove our goodness?

I wonder if maybe I’m just deluding myself into believing I’m a nice person. Who knows, maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m wired like that, differently, and I’m trying very hard to be “nice” in ways that I wasn’t intended to be. How would you feel if you chanced upon the truth — the truth that basically, you’re a rotten person inside?

We hear all the time that people aren’t black or white, they’re grey. And for the most part, I’m of that view. But it could be that we’ve just come up with this notion to make the blackness of our souls more acceptable… That there are some among us who’re not grey, but all good or all bad. I’m thinking what if I’m one of them… And that what appears good in me is just stuff I’ve acquired through conditioning. It’s not entirely impossible.

I’m no angel, so possibly I am the devil?

Who says women can’t keep a secret?

I kept one for so long that it doesn’t even classify as a secret any more. Because now, it shows. I can’t hide it, even if I vow never to speak about it.

Yup, as of now, I’m 20 weeks pregnant.

And don’t look at the screen so incredulously! Even I don’t believe I’m so far gone into the pregnancy already that I can feel my baby kick ever so lightly at my tummy. Yeah, I waited three months before I could announce to the world, because everyone said I must. And then, I just became tongue-tied. I couldn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t know how to. Now, however, my telling or not telling is irrelevant. It’s there for everyone to see.

I’ve gone from being from one antsy pregnant woman to a super cool mom-to-be. And by super cool I mean, just cool with the idea of being a parent. When I first realised I could be pregnant, I was so nervous. Scared. Super scared. I would cry because I didn’t want to think about what’s in store with me ahead. But now, I’m just pregnant and loving it! (A knock on the wood moment, this)

And it’s incredible how everyone’s welcomed the news. I mean, everyone I know. I think more than The Guy and me, our friends and family are excited. It’s like when you get married and everyone dances like crazy at your wedding and you wonder, ‘what’s wrong with them?’ Just that kind of feeling, except that this time I love that everyone loves me so much and are so excited for something that’s happening in my life.

Of course, there have been well-wishers who’ve asked what medication I took, and inquiries from totally unconcerned parties about why I hadn’t had a baby for the last seven years that I’ve been married. But frankly, I couldn’t care less about such people any more. This is about us and our baby and no one’s allowed to ruin it.

I’m as excited as a baby!

You see the expression on a baby’s face when you give him a new toy, or when he sets eyes on something that truly fascinates her? That’s how I look right now. After dilly-dallying and procrastinating, and honestly not minding Blogger for all these years (they were 5 whole years!), I finally moved to WordPress after the huge disappointment on Friday, when I lost a post (I could re-publish it here, because it was saved in my drafts) and so many comments! And now that I’m here, I’m not minding this either. It’s going to take getting used to being around here, and I’m still taking baby steps to unravel the complexities of WP, before I really begin to enjoy them. But, being me, being the romantic me, all fascinated by the shiny, newness of this place, I’m loving this exploration too.  I’m a little scared of pressing tabs too freely just now, not knowing where they’re going to land me, but haule haule ho jayega pyaar, I’m told!

Till then, all you WP advocates, make me feel welcome here!

>If you are what you watch on TV…


…I’m one confused soul.


  • Top Chef
  • Hell’s Kitchen
  • Nigella Feasts
  • Man V. Food
  • And any other cookery show on TV

Going by that, I’m sometimes a gourmand, a gourmet, a closet-chef, a foodie. But I’m none of that. I actually spend more hours watching cookery challenges/shows than I do in the kitchen! And I have no idea why…


  • The Amazing Race
  • Roadies
  • Bigg Boss
  • Khatron Ke Khiladi
  • And sundry reality shows

Does that make me a drama queen? A vain voyeur?


  • Balika Vadhu, a Hindi soap on child marriage
  • Re-re-re-re-runs of Friends
  • How I Met Your Mother
  • And shows like the Modern Family

Does that make me a couch potato? A soap junkie?


  • News channels
  • Debates
  • Travel shows
  • And Discovery

Does that make me an intellectual, a thinking viewer, a half-geek?

What kind of a person are you, if we judge you by what you watch on TV?