The​ cost of adulthood.

It rained today. It was sunny in the morning. It was sunny when I boarded the metro bound home. It was sunny when I claimed it was not raining despite my mum’s messages on how heavy the downpour was. But, it soon started raining, a little out of nowhere but, almost everywhere.

Rain makes me both happy and sad for conflicting reasons. What are they? Oh, you shall soon get introduced to them.I stood in the city bus armed with my waterproof bag and an umbrella. The sweet simple joyful drizzles had now converted into mini streams all around the bus and tiny ones threatened to form as I found water entering through the gaps in the window and within no time, there were puddles of rainwater inside the bus. It was a little irritating but, I was glad that the roof of the bus was not leaking and I did not have to open my umbrella just yet.

The bus stopped at my stop and I was automatically pushed out along with the other people who were all too eager to get home. I opened my umbrella awkwardly jammed amidst the crowd and may or may not have poked someone in the process and be cursed for it. The walk back home was tricky. I had to make sure I do NOT accidentally step into one of the many generous puddles enriched with rainwater and mud because then, the water would seep into my shoes and socks and I would definitely be asked and forced to wash my shoes. No, I am not spoilt rotten, I just don’t like doing something when I know I can avoid it. This all led back to the “game” I played as a kid while my parents bought vegetables at the city market. It’s the one where I would pretend to be in a video game or Mario cart, except anywhere outside the cobblestone of the street was hot, piping lava. Back in the real world, I began stretching my legs and walking on the parts of the road without any puddles. I would have looked an idiot to everyone that might have seen me that day. But, it was a fair price to pay in order to relive my childhood and escape the chore of washing my white shoes that had the potential to be burned off from lava splashes get dirty and muddy.

I had almost, ALMOST reached home when my neighbour’s car splashed a good chunk of muddy water right into my shoes with such velocity that I regretted the next day ( A Sunday or my holy-sleep-day) that I spent scrubbing off the mud and hoping it magically turns back to its original state.

Was it the price of reliving the glory days of my childhood or the price of the so-called adulthood and self-dependency that I had entered?


The Final Decision

The clock struck one-o-clock and it was now decided. the four-year-old was scared and afraid at her own house. She did not feel safe anymore. She had to make a decision and, if she did not, she would never have her version of the safety blanket.  She sat up on her bed clutching her blanket as the breeze of cold air from the window sent shivers down her spine. She whispered into nothingness,” Boogeyman, please don’t hurt me. You and I are very similar. Let’s look out for each other.” She then proceeded to tiptoe and collect all her prized possessions in her brightly coloured school backpack. Her ears were ringing with anticipation and heart beating as she did the unthinkable. She stuffed it with her superhero action figures for, they could protect her in times of need. Soon her bunny and her water bottle followed. Now, the time had come for the most prized possession and the main reason she was taking such risks. She changed her clothes and went downstairs still afraid to make a noise and alert the enemies. She opened the refrigerator and stuffed as many candies and chocolates as her bag could hold. Yes, the bag might end up being heavy but, she would soon be five and that was older. she would be stronger soon, she didn’t have to worry then. She was tired of everyone stealing her share of chocolates or asking her not to eat many when the chocolates were in danger or in clutches of her evil older brother and sister. It was very scary and she felt unsafe at her own house. No adult cared for her safety here. She despised it when her brother would run fast and snatch or steal all her saved stack of treats. She also felt scared when her sister would snoop around her room like a dog and take them out from the safe place. Now, her bag was packed and she would soon be free from the clutches of the demons that would watch over her. But, right when she was about to open the door of her personal hell and step into the great free world, she was jolted awake. ” Wake up Nina! Wake up Sunshine! It’s time for school” Her mom woke her up and took her to the bathroom to freshen up. What a strange dream she wondered. She was safe here. This was her safe haven, her safe house of El. And, she never had any sibling that even liked chocolates. Her brother hated them. She said aloud, “Ha! He is mad. Who doesn’t like chocolates.”. ” A mad person.” said her mother as she poured some of the evil-eye burning shampoo on Nina’s hair.

Secret Garden

Hazy and disoriented,

I woke up yet again.

Far away from dream land,

Right in the middle of hell.

Amidst the walls of concrete jungle,

There lay a piece of paradise.

Where birds fly around,

Chirping their summer songs.

Kids play, fearless of moster cars;

And beetles play hide and seek.

That was my safe haven,

My tiny secret space.

For if they were to know,

It would cease to exist.

The joy of waking up late.

Once in a blue moon I get to enjoy the joy of waking up late. By late I mean post 9 or 10 am. I’m usually up by 5:30 to 6 AM or woken up before 7 AM. You would wonder what the joy of waking up late and being in a sleep haze or distorted surroundings are.

Well for starters, nothing wakes you up. Not the alarm, not a single person and surely not the sunlight if you sleep in a dark room or just have thick curtains like me. (NOPE. I just had once converted my window into a bookshelf because my cupboards were full.)

Having a lazy beginning is not usually idea but, this lazy day lets me read novel for hours together without leaving the comfortable space that I made since several hours. The bed is warm, and the fan blows cool air to stop me from sweating. Add on my reading glasses and I’m good to go for a few hours until brunch/lunch.

Third reason being a late breakfast or a brunch. There is piping hot and yummy food ready if some one preps it up.

Post lunch the huge titanium wall of realisation hits me. Damn! Half of the day is over and I have a quite a few things to do. The pressure of the hour stops me from procrastinating on the internet and get to work. Whats good about this you ask? I get my job done and make sure that it does not pile up in my do-it-ASAP pile. What’s not to love about work that is completed?

The splurge of energy paired without a coffee can let me work through out the day for a few hours post midnight or even more without feeling drowsy. But here comes the cons after the oh so exhaustive list of the pros. What is this only con?


Because right at 11 I realise tomorrow is a working day and the fact that I have to show up to classes in order to get the attendance and learn information. I could convert this to a pro stating and concluding that this will even make sure I sleep om time to wake up before 6 AM the next day. Just because this last one is a pseudo-pro. This solely depends on the ability of my realisation to make sure it flashes in my brain and makes sure I realise it.

Signing off,


Happy Father’s Day 

Though today,

You are far away.

I see you here,

In bright spirit today.

Flashing that bright smile,

As you find me stealing

The last scoop of heavenly ice-cream.

I feel a pang of sadness,

Knowing I can’t hug you tight.

But there you are,

Ready with a joke.

To stop my train of sadness, 

Far before the arrival time.

You point to a spot up in the sky,

Where the train fades away.

“To nothingness” you say

And that’s where you fade away to

Right before I whisper,

Happy father’s day.

To nothingness,

Maybe that’s where you’ve gone

Is all that I can now think of.

– Your loving daughter,


Book review #2 : The Moonlit garden

The main reason I picked up this particular e-book was because it cost me exactly the change that was left out of a kindle voucher I had received.  Also, the summary whispered sweet nothings about the book being a good read right when I was about to close the window. It was originally written in German but translated into English. Perhaps that’s why some things doesn’t seem to fit. Beauty of words are that though they can be roughly translated into thousands of languages, the essence only prevails in its true tongue. For a moment I wondered if I should have read it in German but unfortunately my German is as good as that of a kindergarten going child.

It’s 5:50 am and I stayed up all night reading the book because I couldn’t stand not finishing the book. The book begins with a mysterious man giving Lily a beautiful but old violin with a rose burned into the wooden design. Lily is a widow and an antique dealer in Berlin. She along with her best friend Ellen,  a restorer settled in London begin the adventure to uncover the mystery of why she got the violin and a composition sheet of “The moonlit garden” as they uncover the stores of two famous owners Rose Galway and Helen Carter. Both who were world-famous violinists but had rather mysterious disappeared or dead following their peaks . The book isn’t a great work of  literature but, it was an amazing page turner and kept me from sleeping without finishing it despite having a long tiring day. The book is set in 2011 and 1900s which gives an insight from all possible the view points.  I loved the idea of unravelling the story where all three narrative view points were given equal justice. The beauty was mainly because all three characters were from a different time lines. Each narrative threw light on their life, upbringing, view of the world around them and their own baggage of emotions or problems.  The plot can be expected after a certain point but, it’s close to the end of the book.

The book takes you to different places in search of its origins and that of its previous owners. It throws light on the strict life of the female violinists back in 1900s, their love for music and having to resist a life without what was normal for a woman back in their society. The 1900s scene was mostly set in colonial days of Indonesia both my Dutch and the English. I couldn’t possibly reveal a lot without gracing your screen with countless spoilers. Because it would result in you spamming me or even cursing me for spoiling you the joy of and good ol’ single time read. I could either say a lot or just not enough on how beautifully they depict the joy of playing music.

It’s a 3 out of 5 for me. Let me know down in the comments section if you’ve already read it / soon shall or not.

Good day to you!

P.S. Imagine me playing spring by Vivaldi as I bid you farewell.

Book review#1 Hello Mrs Funnybones!

I picked up this funny specimen of book because my dear friend, the Internet recommended me to (well, e-book because my mother once claimed that she’ll go broke soon if she keeps aiding to my habits any longer). Anyways, I had to control myself from laughing out loud and making sure no one in the train broke down the top secret hat I’m half crazy and god forbid! They’ll realise that half crazy is code for completely crazy when they get to know that charecters of books or the situations they get into are what make me laugh. Luck me my non existing expertise of yoga and my ever famous art of trying to keep a poker face ( read pursed lips and laughter filled cheeks ) helped me from being judged a little less than the time I laughed out loud in the silent school library. The author has an amazing knack of getting into rather comical situations and makes sure they’re depicted in the exact manner and successfully not butcherin the joke. It captures several little escences and just to honour her, I should probably make a To-do list.

1. The little things like the email that  butchers well, uses the mere sentence “My sister is dangerous and I need leave ” and the ample usage of  na(s) as a mandatory suffix to indianize English. Yes,  I’m pointing at YOU back when you’d say come na? Please ya! 

2. It spot on hits my emotions about every other uncle and aunty who have taken it upon themselves to make sure I sport art my day by wasting my time in opening their good morning or motivational day messages and pictures.  Because the only they it successfully does is gobble my data and try to make it nonexistent while my bill is exactly the opposite.

3. I’m definitely not a mother but she makes it sound as difficult as it actually is. I’m sure my mother would love to read the book if I pestered her enough but, I’d rather not take chances on being ridiculed for several of the silly mistakes I’ve commited as of now and of course the once I shall be in the coming future.  And I’m sorry of all the times I was a mess.

4. The usage of “I myself xyz” right after someone asks you for your “good/sweet name”. I’ve wondered if there was an alternative bad/salty/spicy/bitter names that people never told me about. Or rather I should take a trup down  to the birth registery office to get some official info on that.

8. Not a point. It’s just here because I like the number 8. And because it’s twice of 4. (Some nonsense rambling that you should  definitely skip. But it’s too late isn’t it?)

Surely there are several other points that made me laugh but, I’m really tired and lazy right now.

I’ll rate it a 4.5/5 and read this if you need a good laugh and break from your monotonous day.

The truth about an extra/ free Screen-guard


We walked into the nearest croma store (a chain of stores) and getting my first ever “smart phone”. Along with that came the mandatory screen guard pack was bought by mommy dearest fearing I’d put it in my bag that has pens and other possibly pointy objects that would pierce through the not so delicate gorilla glass. It was indeed a little fishy that the pack and the sales man said there were two screen guards. I went for the one with matte finish ( Trust me. This point is mandatory).


The guard was much relatively used and I took it onto myself to change it and let’s say there was just one tiny little bubble. The only little thing its presence did was hypothetically laugh and mock at me for not being able to get a simple task done correctly. Even my own mother who probably wanted to scream ” I told you so!” declared that she could have done the job better. But these were trivial things in comparison to what was about to unravel.

As the number of days on the calendar passed by, so did little layers of the screen come out. My mum just laughed saying I might have gotten tricked. I replied with a “no” and I am correct. how?

Well, a quick search on amazon in search of a new screen guard revealed a tiny little note that shall aid in removing my tainted image of being tricked. It said something in lines of “extra screen guard provided for trial in order to get used/ Contents : 2 Screen-guards”

Let me just say that to escape another joke I might have claimed that I did not have m reading glasses on that day or that the salesman needed one.

The abundances and the lack of “Thankyou(s)”

221B Grimmauld Palace,

Baker’s Street,Borough of Isolation

Republic of Solitude – 007

To: ?

I’d write it to the good lord of pleasantries but, I don’t know if he/she exists and if so where.  Hence a letter to anyone who comes across this should suffice. Pass it on and maybe my non existing lord of pleasantries may begin to exist.

I’m often chided or ridiculed for saying my thank-you(s) and sorry(s). Do I over use them? Maybe! But,that’s just to compensate the lows of your actions. Yes, I thank my grandmother/mother or anyone who cooks and serves me food and let them know it was wonderful. Why? Because it was amazing to get food when I was hungry and they didn’t have to serve it to me . And because it’s a difficult job. Hours of standing in front of the stove and it’s tiresome. I realise it after every there I cook or bake something.

Overuse of sorry might lead to the missus or loss of the core meaning of what it stands for. But you’ve got to use your share when you really mean it. Not only when you’re being scolded or in a situation . Let’s imagine a scenario –

Stephen and Richard bump into each other on the road because, Stephen was in a hurry.

Case 1

S: (Yells) Dude watch where you’re going alright? Open those eyes of yours and walk. I’m in a hurry.

R: * Surprised by the turn of 3 and wonders what crime he committed *

Case 2 : What would have happened if their conversation had a sorry or two wedged in.

S : Oh sorry man! I’m in a hurry. Are you alright?

R: It’s alright no worries! Carry on.

See? That’s how simple it can be.

So, Use a sorry or two when you are actually sorry. Don’t misuse it and degrade its sole meaning. Think of how happy the person who cooks or serves you food will be when you drop in a little thank you in there. May it be your mother, father, grandmother, aunt or ever the lunch lady or guy in the canteen.

Yours  sincere user of sorry and thank-you(s),


The seedlings of gender bias.

I was by the window of my living room reading the day’s news paper. By the time I was done, there were little water gun welding kids pretending to be the secret service or the police. They also had imaginary walky talkies and bluetooth headsets to go with the ensemble. I expected the screaming to start again. And by the time I made myself some coffee they sure were screaming.

Usually their screaming would have been due to all the games they would play. But not today. They were fighting about what game to play perhaps. I heat one of the boys saying he’d like to play house today. That’s about when I decided to continue hearing on to their conversation. So, A wanted to play house. B just kept quiet and waited to see what C and D had to say in this matter or perhaps he was into the idea but feared the others. C started screaming and said or rather screamed, “NO WAY! It’s something girls play. I’m not an idiot to play house like a girl.” It shocked me for a moment and now, probably pressurised by the situation both B and C voice their opinions by teasing, calling him names and threatening A.

Would they gave agreed to playing a so-called ” girl’s game ” if one of them hadn’t objected? I will never know. But isn’t it all because boy/girl stuff is segregated right from birth in a hospital where they put on a blue/pink bands.

Dear humanity,

The seedlings were sown by those before us. Please, I beg you. Let us cut these toxic weeds and grow useful ones instead.

Yours truly,

In hopes of a wood-cutter or a bulldozer to knock ’em off.