The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 12,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
Click here to see the complete report.
Photo Credit: Associated Press
In a world where the sanctity of life can be so brutally violated, do I really want to create a new one?
As I’m writing this post, the screen in front of me appears hazy and my head is buzzing—that’s because I’m crying. Silent tears. The office boy is giving me a side glance every now and then, wondering what’s wrong with me. I wish he didn’t see me like this, but I can’t seem to stop myself today. Since morning, all I’ve done is read up and watch the news as more and more details pour in about the Peshawar school attack. And with each lurid story, the tears flow faster. Continue reading
As I grew up, all I did was carefully construct walls around me, to protect myself from people. From being too attached. Determined not to give someone that space to come so close that they have the power to hurt me or affect me in anyway. There was always a distance, a determined aloofness, that gave me the cool confidence to carry on with life. Continue reading
This is that time of the year again, when everyone in the world wants your good. Or so it seems. Everyone sends you ‘happy and prosperous’ new year wishes via various mediums – Texts/ Whatsapp/ BBM/ Facebook/ Twitter/ G-Talk, you name it. Only a percent out of these people will actually bother to make a call and wish, or even better, meet you and wish. That probably shows what these wishes truly mean. It is more of a custom than a heartfelt gesture. Continue reading
It was raining incessantly. Bombay rains. They never stop. They are unusually white and misty. It blurs your vision. Makes you dizzy if you stare outside for too long.
I was perched on top of the window seal of my little rented apartment, and gazing outside. A cutting chai and a chhota Goldflake in hand. I was puffing absent-mindedly. He creased his forehead and gave me a disapproving look and went back to photoshopping photographs in his laptop, as I threw my head back and laughed.
A raindrop fell on the chai. The smoke came out in little circles. Got lost in the white rains. Continue reading
I know my small eyes and straight hair, more often than not, makes you jump to a conclusion that I belong from that part of India, which is always in constant political turmoil. Maybe it is about the petite frame, or the small eyes, or the decent skin or the unnaturally straight hair – I don’t know what exactly, but I have been labelled with the word ‘Chinky’ ever since I learnt how to write my name. Two days back, I was sitting in the Volvo bus on my way to Pune for some work, when the uncle sitting beside, caught me off-guard by asking the awkward question, which I answer at least thrice every month – “Are you from North East?’
So, they say ‘Karma is a bitch’. Which breed, I ask? And most importantly, why is poor Karma a bitch anyway? Karma is actually a little orphan who has nowhere to go. It craves for some love and sufficient attention. So, it looks for a chance and jumps on you, given an opportunity. No, not exactly the same way Rakhi Sawant craves for the media.