I’ve taken it upon myself to answer this age-old question that men have for time-immemorial been pretending not to know the answer to. I mean seriously, it’s not that complicated, and man’s determination to hold on to the myth that they just don’t know is really starting to cease to be amusing.  wat_woman_want

Also, I’m not the first to be taking the trouble to put it down in writing for you men. If it was really that beyond you, all it takes is a simple Google search to learn a thing or two. But no. Why do that when you can seem so much cooler to remain the helplessly oblivious victim.

We want you to be honest: And don’t give me that crap about whether you should be honest when we ask you if we look fat in a dress. In such cases we want you to be kind. Is it too much to expect to hear good things from the person you love and is it really that hard to be nice? Really? And are you really that stupid to not know the difference between being hurtful and being kind?

Back to honesty; we need you to be honest about who you are and what you do. Because the moment you lie to us; for whatever reason; be it to hide a wrong or to avoid a fight; you make us distrust our own feelings for you. It makes us question our own judgment and makes us wonder whether we fell in love with something about you that you’re not. That’s where all the tears and tantrums come from. Be who you are. You lie because you’re afraid we’d leave, and that’s true. If we don’t like you the way you are or the things you do, we wouldn’t want to be with you. At least any sane person wouldn’t. And you should love yourself more than to expect someone to stay with you for something that you’re not.

You like fooling around with many women, flirting with options, being a chick-magnet, being impulsive and living for the day? By all means go ahead. But if you’re seeing some, respect that person enough to let them know so, so that they can make an informed decision whether to love you for what you are or leave you to enjoy your life the way you want to. You can’t have it all.

We want you to be the kind of boyfriend or husband who would love us for everything that we are, appreciate everything that we do, be proud to hold our hands and hug us in public, and make us feel like you’ve found the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. If your girlfriend or wife is not that, and you don’t want to be seen with her in public or have one good thing to love about her, then do everyone in the relationship a favour and walk away and look for the person who would actually make you feel that way. And women: you’ve only yourself to blame for being in a relationship where you’re not treated right.

It’s not that easy? You’ve been in it too long, you’re about to get married, you have children? Look, you always have a choice. Everything you have and are now is due to the choices that you’ve made. You can choose to live in misery or choose to opt out, you can choose to be faithful or you can choose to hurt your soul mate by flirting with an insignificant other, you can choose to stay or go. At the end of the day, you live with the choices that you make. You’re responsible for your choices. You’ve only yourself to thank or blame.

Back to what women want. Do we want you to be rich? Yes that would be a definite plus. Unless your money has been handed down to you by your parents or you’re a crook, being successful means that you’ve worked hard enough to earn something for yourself. It means that you’re not someone who sits around hoping to magically become rich or whine about what you don’t have or live off of your woman. It means that you respect yourself enough. Think all women are gold-diggers? There are as many gold-digger men who stay in relationships for the comforts, so enough with labeling women don’t you think?

Do we want you to have a pretty face? I know some women who like fat people, some who like the pretty One Direction types, some who like skinny white boys and some who like the tall dark types. We may be attracted to your messy hair, funny tooth or yummy chest. It really just depends on the woman. But if you’re a fat person who’s eternally blaming women for not being attracted to you, then you’ve only yourself to blame. Surely no one’s stopping you from putting everything you’ve got into losing weight? If you want to bad enough, anyone can lose weight. Quit making us seem like the bitches for not seeing what a great guy you are behind all that fat and lose it.

We want you to be intelligent. You don’t need to hold a PhD to have brains, be witty, or to be able to impress a woman with your smart mouth. If only you knew the things you’re capable of doing with your mouth. It’s really a shame that your brain can’t think beyond blowjobs. Ever heard of Voltaire having said “Give me ten minutes to talk away my ugly face and I will bed the Queen of France!”? He probably did.

We want you to stop putting us down. Just because you have not been taught better, it does not mean that it’s okay to put your wife/girlfriend down in public or otherwise about how she can’t drive or she can’t cook or she can’t do something when you expect her to drive or cook or do something when no one is around. Doing that only makes people feel sorry for the woman for having to be with a jerk who is the first one to say bad things about her, let alone defend her. You embarrass us, and not in the way you intended to either.

We want you to be able to take care of us, stand up for us, respect us, respect our opinions, and appreciate the fact that if a woman let’s you call her yours, she chooses to be with you, and that she can very well choose not to.

So what do women want? We want you to grow up and stop assuming we don’t know you know.

I like someone. Dude could very well be a jerk. I don’t know. I don’t know him. But my brain has decided that his CV matches the profile of the vacant position of prospective father to my children, the latter of whom, incidentally, I’m terrified of having.

Yesternight I had a nice dream. I was in bed, all tucked up, lying on tummy and half asleep, telling the object of my affections’ mum  – she was sitting on the bed showing me a sari – why I didn’t like the sari she was showing me. Now to the best part. Object of my affections lies down on top of me, hugs me and goes to sleep. And I fall asleep like that because I’m cozy and warm. And it’s a perfect world.

And then, in the morning, I wake up to our, who-are-we-kidding, less than perfect world.

But it’s alright’ it’s all good. I slept well and comfortably.

And I’m saying this completely unsarcastically – I  truly am blessed.



Posted: February 2, 2014 in Uncategorized
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You know that scene in a movie when the girl has invited the guy up to her apartment and they’re both acting all casual while the coffee is being made and then the guy casually puts on some music and they flirtatiously start slow dancing and you’ve watched this scene over and over again various other times before and you know how it goes? And usually you love this scene in the movie and this scene is the reason you search for lists of romantic comedies that came out in a certain year and download them and sit back and watch one. I was watching one of those on tv just now. And I got up off that couch. And I walked away.

Senile. Someone called me that recently. So I thought about it. And looked it up. What I usually do when in doubt. And thought about it some more.

It’s just that people get married. And have kids. And the kids grow up. And they get married or move away. And there you are, on your own, old, having done what your parents did before you and maybe a bit more, and you realize that after all that, you’re just going to die, and you have nothing much to do except hang around and wait for it. Sure you’ve had good times and sure you may even have done some things to change the world and perhaps make it in some way a better place for those inhabiting it. But so what. All those others are going to die too. At some point. What’s the point?

And what about feelings? Those feelings you don’t want to contaminate by trying to put into words like you did before. All those moments that make life worth living even if it just ends in death. What about that heart that’s beating inside of your chest even as you read this right now? That lump of odd-shaped flesh that’s pumping blood in there like your life depends on it. That chunk of flesh you rarely think about in that way. Nor think about at all.

No one’s special. We think we’re different, but really, we just look different. No one wants to be hated, no one thinks trust is not important. Basically all of us are in a constant where we try to match ourselves up to the stereotype of the perfect man or the perfect woman. And we all think we are pretty much there. And what we think, we are. Which brings it down to the fact that no one is special. We all are.

I read a nice article today about how to not give a fuck what others think. I think you should read it too if you have some time to spare: http://thenextweb.com/lifehacks/2014/01/27/stop-giving-f-people-think/#!uaVI5

And we don’t always do, do we, have time to spare. And most times it’s a good thing. Coz when you do, you stop, look around, and wonder what all this is all about anyway. Image


I didn’t know I was. And now that I know and have accepted it, I’m not sure how others will take it. There is a thrill in it. It makes me happy. Sort of a forbidden pleasure. But I don’t know if I will be accepted out there. I don’t know if they will judge me. I’m wondering if it should matter…

Never accompany your friends when they go shopping if you don’t intend to buy anything. Mine wanted to buy a handbag, bought two, and didn’t stop me when I went and bought myself a bright green one which is really not the black sensible but nice can-wear-with-everything bag that I would have wanted to buy had I actually wanted to buy a bag, which of course I didn’t.

I am now the vaguely happy owner of a bright emerald greenish handbag which I will be carrying to office, as well as, other public places.

And I’m not sure how I feel about it. And I know it’s not because of what I actually think about it but because of what I think the world in general will think about it. This then, is what it must feel like to be gay. I know. I don’t know why it took me so long to make the connection.

I know that what I should have actually bought is a black bag. If I make the right choice no one’s going to give it a second (eyebrows raised) glance and I could fit right into the crowd. Merge, weave-in, not upset anybody. No one’s going to put their lives on hold for a few minutes to stop and point fingers at me. There would not even be a question of being accepted.

I also know that if I could have gone one step ahead and bought a beige or grayish bag. Without a bat of an eyelash and just a sling of the bag I would have been elevated to an envied echelon of taste and when people did turn to give a second (eyebrows raised) look, it would be one of unspoken respect. In their heads they would be bowing down to pay homage to my beige bag. I know it. No one’s going to question me. The bag commands authority, and even if it was an ugly eyesore, the bag commands respect.

But what will become of my bright green bag? Image

The thing is, I’m not exactly that arty type of person that can wear coloured headbands, or a bright beaded waistcoat or a mix and match of bright swatches of colour and get away with it. Thus the concern.

So what if it looks different from the rest and stands out from the crowd. I like it. Why should it matter to anyone that it’s bright and that it’s loud and that I can’t match it with all my clothes nor my shoes or my belts. Why should anyone have the right to an opinion about it in the first place? If it’s not going to impair their eyesight or give them a sexually-transmitted disease in any way, why should it matter to them? To each their own business surely?

I’m standing up for my green bag even before carrying it because I know that it’s going to have a hard time out there. And it’s not fair.

People Are going to ask me why I bought a green bag. “I like green” for an answer will not satisfy them. It will not compute. “But you can’t carry it with everything” they will say. “Watch me do it” as an answer is going to come off as rude. “I don’t like it, it’s ugly” they will say. “Then it’s a good thing you won’t be the one carrying it so it really shouldn’t bother you” as an answer will probably come off as rude as well.

I like green. And if I don’t have a problem with it, it shouldn’t be anyone else’s problem.

I think I’ve always liked green. Even through my blue phase, orange phase, and turquoise phase. And this is not the first time I’ve gone all out with green. *Remembers being inside a chunky jewellery story and reaching out to touch an emerald green huge plastic beaded necklace with some emerald green crotchet work on some of the beads; and falling in love instantly* The necklace was not accepted too well by society as well, except by a few discerning eyes.

Why am I getting defensive about my new green bag even before it crosses the cruel, judgy eye of the public? Because it’s not fair.

The bag deserves a chance. A chance at finding out who it is. Everyone does. The bag deserves a chance at maybe discovering that it likes itself the way it is. If I really wanted a black or beige bag maybe I would have bought a black or beige bag. I bought a green.

I’m proud and green. Remind me again how that’s anyone else’s business?

Note: The bag’s going public tomorrow. Woe be to anyone who feels it their business to tender un-sought-after disapproval. No I am not a lesbian. I just bought a bright green bag and think that it’s nobody’s business if someone is gay. One purchase, one thought; two things. Carry on.

You know how when you’re small you have certain things in mind for yourself and how when you grow up things don’t happen the way you imagined they would? I can’t remember most of what I wanted, but one thing I do, and that is that I wanted to fall in love with that one person and marry that one person, and live happily ever after; with that one person. The one.

So that didn’t happen. It’s fine. I’m good. I’m glad it didn’t happen that way.

But while washing the dishes at the kitchen sink awhile ago, I had a sudden thought.

What if there was no one person out there, destined for you.

How many times have you thought you were in love?

And when it was over, didn’t life go on?

How do you know that someone won’t walk into your life when you don’t expect anyone to and make you realize that the world we live in is infinite. That there’s no such thing as a stop.

That you don’t fall in love with one person and love that person for the rest of your life.

What if you keep on falling in love with people? With things, with thoughts, with words and with possibilities?

What if what you fall in love with was not the person itself, but life. The life within that person.

I watched a horror movie sometime after a breakup and it wasn’t a horror movie at all. It was called The Last Kiss (2006) and it falls under the romantic comedy genre for some reason. Which I think is wrong because the movie scared the crap out of me. Don’t watch it.

What troubles me is the thought that if there really was no One, what that would mean. Would that mean that you can never get comfortable? Never settle down? How can you commit to someone for the rest of your life if you don’t know what it would bring you in future?

Sure it’s a decision to commit to someone for the rest of your life but how can you do it knowing that life is going to continue to happen to you.

The scary part is that you don’t see any of this when you’re in a relationship. I never did.

One, Two: (Give them the boot) Buckle my shoe

Three, Four: (Your hearts been broken) Shut the door

Five, Six: Pick up (the pieces of your life) sticks

Seven, Eight: (Try to) Lay them straight

Nine, Ten: A big fat hen (followed by a beautiful wedding, and happily every after)


Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so sober.

Today I set myself free for the first time. Let myself be swept away off my keyboard and into nothingness; another place where my being hovers, facing eternal infinity. The colours that sweep on before me are those of sunset and passion. Purple lurks. The air I breathe is uncontaminated by the life of the world. It’s a quiet here. But far in the distance, there is consciousness; always present, hovering. I am here.

What if in this endless void, there grew a flower. Just one.

Suddenly, there is presence in this place where I am. All of eternity focuses on this one lone flower that I thought to be. What if there was a tree. An apple tree. Growing in the middle of eternity. Life. A woman walks towards the tree, naked, her hair long. She reaches for an apple. Man walks to her and touches her softly. She shivers. A snake coils along a branch of the tree, watching.

Wherever there is purity, evil manifests. There can be no peace. Evil perceives and persists. Pervades. There is but one law. The choice of resistance. But temptation is seductive. Oh so seductive. It caresses you to a heightened state. Touches you so deep and fully as you let it in. And everything else becomes nothing and you are governed by desire alone; a maddening pleasure pain that writhes for fulfillment. You go on. You forget. You want just one thing. Fulfillment. And you arch your body closer and let the pleasure hit you, wash over you; blinding you, fulfilling you. You peak. And lie satiated.


But the memory of bittersweet want remains. Pervades. Reminding you. A tickling memory of the pleasure of yearning.

Purple. It persists. Pervades.

Looking down at the sky

Posted: February 23, 2013 in Uncategorized
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I remember noticing, back when I was about seven years old, the evening sky. Beautiful. Unbelievable shades of blue and orange. Perhaps it still is. But I’ve stopped noticing. I’ve stopped having the time to go out into the garden, walk up to the gate and look up at the heavens.

My house is by the main road of a dusty and busy town. If I walk out of my house into the garden and look up, I’d only see a square of sky. I had to go near the gate to see a wider stretch of  it. Only a little taller than a couple of feet then, I remember standing there by the gate, looking above the road, past the buildings and dust, over the roofs and antennas in the distance. At the kingdom of clouds that reigned up high in all its majesty, untouched by the noise and dust below.

I remember gazing at the well-fed fluffy clouds and wishing I could be amongst them. I remember picking out in my head exactly which cloud I’d want to be on. Surrounded by ethereal orange and blue.

And while on a flight for a conference recently, peeking out of my window seat and looking out at the skies, I suddenly remembered. Like in a movie, swatches of memory flashed before my eyes. And I saw myself, at the gate, in the garden of our house, looking up at me, up hear amongst the clouds.

Never did I think while looking up those many years ago that my innocent wish would many years later become a reality. Now I realize that it didn’t even take many years. I think it was possibly the very next year that I had my first flight to India with my parents. But I didn’t realize at that time that I’d gotten my wish, just like that.

It took a long time for me to notice and remember, but finally I did. Never did I think for once that I’d one day be able to be amongst the clouds. The thought of getting there by way of an aero plane didn’t even cross my mind. Sometimes you get what you want and you’re too busy to even realize and appreciate life granting your wishes.

 Now, looking down at the world below from up here in the clouds, I’m humbled and awed by the fact that there really is no limit to possibilities. 


Whether you look up at it or look down at it, the sky is blue.