Letters to everyone, random rants … and other such blah! blah!

I am consciously going to be a bitch — and live up to a label I try too hard to fight off. Here is to the real me! Bring on the crankies, and get ready for the nasties.


Dear City of Brussels,

I love your chocolates. And your comic heritage. But dark streets, poor lighting, and black road dividers? Not so much.

Your emergency services? Not at all!



ps: Hamad hospital A&E rocks!

Dear Chocolatiers,

You’ve spoilt kitkat and toblerones for me. Nothing but the finest from Neuhaus or Marcolini will do henceforth.


Sweet tooth


Dear cowardly liar (you know who you are),

Say it to my face.

Don’t lick my ass and then go behind my back with accusations (even the valid ones) because I don’t get a chance to respond. So the bullshit I was given — ‘You took me out of depression by motivating me to work’, ‘You take on too much with a little baby’, ‘You made me a journalist’, ‘We do so much because she (meaning me) does so much’ — is officially rejected, and politely given back to you to stick up your various orifices. Instead I am buying what you said behind my back, that makes me a far livelier person.

And may your creativity thrive in all the stories you spin — good luck!

Best (really),

Queen B


Dear pint-sized dy-no-mite,

Thanks for missing my nose. I don’t think it would have survived another trauma. But seriously, your aim sucks. And it is very ungentlemanly to throw chairs in what was meant to be a professional debate.

Or were you preparing for a career in politics in the country you are going back to?

And get over it, you are not a gift to all mankind.

With no love lost,



Dear Me,

Bosses are never liked, let alone loved. Live with it, and stop trying to please everyone — you are not paid for that. Unless your job is that of a ‘ho.



ps: Learn to duck with grace


Ever wondered how a man’s normal tone of authority (or even rudeness) is accepted or brushed off, but if it’s from a woman every nerve is set on fire? Gender discrimination any one?


Dear dumb-ass admin folks in Salatha Ortho,

Chips, fizzy drinks, nuts, kawha… stop the party, and get working you dumb b*****es. There are bleeding and broken limbed people waiting to meet the doc.




Don’t judge me by my posts: My job ain’t that fancy, my mind is full of doubts and am not half as good a mother as I claim to be.

Don’t go by my fb-life: I don’t really have that many friends, and the few I do have don’t all love me.

Don’t be impressed by my status messages: I am just pimping for attention.

Don’t be intimidated by my Scrabble prowess: Far more than the bingos I publish and the games I win, are embarrassments that fb kindly doesn’t publicise.

Don’t be taken in by my comments either: I really am not that concerned about other people’s lives or opinions, and am only trying to bring traffic into mine.

Don’t be a sucker to my compassion: Sometimes I am so bored with your sob tale I am sleeping with my eyes open; And other times, as I nod and shake my head, I am only exercising my neck, ‘cos I really don’t care.

Don’t be a martyr with me: Because I sure will treat you like a doormat.

Dont’ give yourself too much importance either: It’s almost always about ME.

Don’t go by what you read, see or hear. In the dark alleys of my mind and within the walls of my home, I have a real life. Unfortunately.

mannequins with nipples, & what next?

I took this pic at a store in a local mall...


I don’t get this, why the eff should mannequins have nipples? I find it tasteless.

What next? Tampons or sanitary pads peeking 3 days a month? Maybe a stain on the white robe?

And during peak hours, the MAN-nequin in the next window could have a boner?

A couple of years ago, at Lulu, the mannequin actually had a bra (black) under the saree blouse (material pinned on). Some horny dummy-dresser for sure!

PS: This shop is some White something, and I can’t quite remember the name

Random Rant-a-nayaki…

I realise, second children are made to mock the smarties out of the parents.

Just when you gloat and think you’ve done well with the first, along comes the second and dismisses every parenting tool you choose to use.

With Oviya, from the beginning we followed a routine. Meal times, bed time, no-TV days etc.

But with great foreboding we realise that with Nilah, our test as parents is going to get horribly tough.


There is a daily routine that I find cute now, but has the potential for extreme embarrassment soon.

Every day, as soon as I return home, N climbs onto me and peeps into my shirt/blouse/kurta. Then she flashes this ‘aal iz well’ smile. For the rest of the evening, she takes quick breaks from play/harassing O/shadowing K (babysitter) and repeats the peeping-Tom exercise. When she is bored, she decides to do a touching-feeling thing too.

For her there is no discrimination of time and place. Even when we are out, she sits on my lap with her hands safely ensconced inside my tops. Cute, you may think. But not if she insists on doing this in the food court of a busy mall! Ha! What were we thinking, by even trying to have a normal life with a toddler in tow.


Second borns also serve another very useful purpose. You appreciate your first more! At least in our case, we are increasingly grateful to O for letting us believe parenting is easy.


When I raise my voice with O (even when she was really little), she immediately pays heed. When I do that with N, she screams back. But I am quite sure this horrible behavior is in no way a reflection of me as a mother, but more a reflection on O. As a big sister, she is way too indulgent with N and misguides her. I am not to be blamed. Hmph!


After a long, long time I heard the term ‘boy cut’ at a saloon yesterday. That should have been inspiration enough for me to jump off the chair and run out with a ‘not-quite-finished’ hair cut… hindsight and all that. I stayed put and left only after the ‘boy cut’ was done – complete with stubble on the neck, which R says only the Marines still find fashionable. Yeah, the man has a smart mouth which he should keep shut to save his teeth from being knocked off.


The two most important people in my life, who are not related to me by blood or by marriage, are T the tailor, and K the maid.

My life as I know it will go to pieces without these two fantastic human beings. The first provides me with almost-stylish clothes, that I don’t find in my size in stores. The other runs my home, and cares for my children.

But sometimes, I wish they would just SHUT UP!

Two weeks ago when I picked up a set of new suits from T, I told him he seemed to have got the measurements wrong. And pat came the reply (arms stretched wide, as if I would  misunderstand his Malglish and need the charade): “You’ve become fat!”

K, till a few days ago couldn’t stop boasting about how ‘anthee’ was one of N’s first words. As if that weren’t irritating enough, yesterday she tells me with a pretend-sad expression: “N is not calling me ‘anthee’, she keeps calling me ma-ma!”

If I didn’t need them so desperately, I would kick them.

The time of my life? A tag…

Here is a meme from lakhs. She didn’t tag me, but I liked the idea, I’m tagging myself.

This is what she asked herself, and what I asked myself too.

How much of each day (and hence, my life) do I spend on doing
things I love;
things I like;
the ho-hum things;
things I dislike;
things I absolutely detest?

I realise that I almost never do things I detest, and rarely do things I dislike.

The ho-hum things like washing N’s bum or doing monthly budgets at work are either not so bad or done not so often.

By and large, I spend my time and life only on things that I like and love. For all the rest I either employ help, delegate or just neglect/ignore.

Now this must seem like a ‘perfect’ life or scenario, right? WRONG!

What this has resulted in is me being rather inflexible and unbelievably lazy about some things. It has also made me a wee bit unhealthy.

If you are curious about the details, here are a FEW:

  • I hate housework, detest it. I spend about 10 minutes on this in a week.
  • I dislike cooking, once a month is just about all I can live with ‘happily’, if at all.
  • I don’t like to socialise for the heck of it — I will ONLY hang out with people I am totally comfortable with. Which means, I do cut off those that fit the description. I don’t do sangas and associations and women’s clubs — so my social circle is rather limited. I do it probably an hour a month, dropping off and picking up O from a friends or something like that…
  • I don’t network in lieu of actual productivity. I hate being nice because of a person’s title or position. In my line of work that’s difficult. But I can’t stand it. I can’t be nice to people or show ‘respect’ however high up in the corporate ladder they maybe. I NEED to respect them to SHOW it. I just hope my work will see me through. Which means my growth will always be limited. I know I should spend a lot of time on this. I ABSOLUTELY MUST. But don’t.
  • I love my books and my reading, and can lose myself in it. So spend a lot of time on this.
  • I love the internet. Obsessed with it. Use everything it has to offer, including **ahem** 😉 when permitted! I am online at least 2-3 hours a day.
  • I love rolling around with the kids and playing with them. Evenings are for this. But I am ‘ho-hum’ about homework and the likes…
  • I love driving aimlessly. Do it too. About twice or thrice a week.
  • I hate arranging my cupboard. Do it now and then — monthly or bi-monthly.
  • I hate opening the bunches of PR that lands on my table. That amount of paper makes my stomach churn. But I do, albeit at the very last minute.

Bottomline: Need to mature. Need to realise that things that are not liked or loved can still be good for you. Like spending some time on healthy cooking, or working out, or actually keeping my mouth shut even when something bothers me…

Ha, but then I wouldn’t be me!

Come on take on the tag… do it. Couple of you have previous tags pending, still here goes: teesu, shyam, inba, blogeswari, and then a few others, AMbroom, kamini, jestme, wmw, likhati, SN