Weird’s the word

Do you think I’m weird, he asked me. Who’s not, I responded. Wow! How poignant! Not really. The W word gets thrown in my face quite often, for me, to me, for people around me, by people around me. Enough to send anybody with a slightly lower degree of self-esteem than mine to go spiralling down the abyss of self-questioning and self-doubt.
It was a standing joke with an ex that you had to be ‘weird’ to be my friend. Another said he kept coming back to me because he liked ‘weird’. When I playfully suggested what fun it would be to attend the latter’s wedding, The Princess was horrified, “You’re weird!” Okay, so I’m weird, now watcha gonna do about it?! “Nothing,” smiled back The Wise One. What’s there to do anything about?
Well, we’re all weird, aren’t we? It’s our quirks that make us weird. But it’s also our quirks that give us our individuality. My obsession with having my finger and toe nails painted the same colour might be weird to you, but then that’s me! The day I turn up with pink toes and red fingers, wouldn’t you wonder what’s wrong??? My self-obsession might be weird to another, but, for me, it’s what keeps me from sweating the small stuff. That I can just dance around the house may be weird to you, but the day I don’t do it, The Mother wonders if all’s okay with me.
Nin quit job after job, and botched up that crucial interview, the one everybody felt was going to be a breeze for her and that would get her where everybody thought she should’ve been. The W word came up again. But what was weird about it? She didn’t feel she belonged where the world thought she did. She had other ideas, and she’s is in a much happier place today for it!
The Princess spent an entire evening flirting with a rather acceptable boy. But when he offered to drop her home, she chickened out. Weird, again! But she just felt more comfortable going back with the same people she’d come to the party with. Did she miss out on anything? Not really.
Coming back to the person who inspired this post. I call him Weirdo, just because he’s convinced of his own ‘weird’-ness, and the name has a nice ring to it. Weirdo’s concern is that he lives in his own head, so much that the world doesn’t matter. But should it? I’ve always lived with the conviction that you can do what you want to and be the way you want to, as long as you can keep looking yourself in the eye every time you look at the mirror. Nobody and nothing else matters. So then, how does it matter if he lives in his head? If he’s a dreamer?
Isn’t conformity just so overrated? Why would you even want to conform, especially if it’s at the risk of losing your individuality? Sure, we all do things to please others. Must we not do things that please us because they might displease others or cause them to call us weird? Who’s to decide what’s weird and what’s not? And if you do think I’m weird, so be it. You’re most welcome to raise your eyebrow, while I revel in my weirdness 🙂

Being fabulous

“Be fabulous,” Heh said, in this post she wrote for me on my birthday last year. As I look back at it, well over a year later, I see the wisdom in her words. Fabulous is the only way to be. I realise that it could sound like I’m too full of myself, or like I’m trying to give myself an ego boost. Perhaps why this post has been so long in the making. While the first wouldn’t be entirely untrue, as it turns out, the reason for me writing this is neither. For this really is more a coming-of-age kind of post.

Now, I’ve always been an extremely observant and perceptive person. I notice far too much, and tend to analyse even more. While this may not always work to my advantage, in that I often end up seeing and discovering things that I may, emotionally, have been better off not knowing about, it has given me more than enough reasons to justify the greys. Ah, wisdom!

But I seem to have gone a step further. Of late, I have taken to this rather peculiar habit of observing myself. I seem to be registering, more acutely than ever, what I say and how I behave, and later subjecting it to my own scrutiny. And here’s what has been revealed…I’m fabulous! Not because I believe I’m the best thing ever, because there really is quite a monster not too well-camouflaged by that endearing smile, but because I can see the fabulous-ness in others, and because I couldn’t really be bothered by the monsters they hide behind their pretty faces. Because frankly, my dear, I couldn’t give a damn!

And I’ve learnt I can help you be able to not give a damn too. Like in the curious case of Morbid Kat. So, I got what was clearly a distress call from her, yesterday. By the end of our talkathon, she really couldn’t let things get her down either, and all because she’s fabulous. And that’s what we’re all about. 🙂

Coming back to Heh’s post, all those who read it and who know me, felt she had me down pat. I agree. And not just because it makes me out to be this really awesome person. But because the traits she’s picked on are traits that have seen me through time,traits that have been consistent despite all the change that has taken place in me…my zest for life and for the prettiness it has to offer.

The 27-year-old me is quite unlike the 26-year-old me. But the PS Heh wrote about is right there, still basking in her own moonshine, through the near-decade Heh has known her. Ranevsky still holds centrestage, and the only way she goes off is with a kick in the air and a dance to the wings, only to be taken over by Pari, who flits about seemingly without a care and with all the good cheer in the world, because all her worries are in those pockets that only a select few can enter, because they can be taken care of with a swish of the wand.

Heh’s post helped me embrace aspects of my personality, not because she lauded them, but because she made me realise they existed. Well, these aren’t exactly things you introspect and ponder over, and, so, I’d never spared them any thought. And, her post made me unapologetic about being so awesome, about striving to be fabulous.

And that’s just how the 27-year-old me is. Not perfect in any measure, but fabulous in every.


So, Doc’s boy read the last post. He thought it was funny, and introduced himself as the guy with my phone number. I could’ve been embarrassed, but was just glad for his humour.

But, how do you react when a guy compares you to Homer Simpson?

Well, I just thanked him for ‘unsulting’ me back. What would you have done?

P.S. He’s probably reading this, too, but I suppose there was ‘unsult’ enough in the last post to bother much about making this public! 🙂

Celebrating First Blogiversary with tartlets & a Giveaway! (via )

Celebrating First Blogiversary with tartlets & a Giveaway! Finally after the clouds tantalizing us for days, they decided to shower us with some water! And oh what a downpour! I have always loved the smell of freshly wet parched land! And since it started raining a little after I put a fig-date nut torte in the oven, the whole house smelled doubly good. Couldn't wait for it to bake and have a warm slice with some tea, sitting outside, listening to some good music and enjoying the weather! And that's exac … Read More


Life’s a lesson

Doc has a knack for it. She’ll disappear, off the phone, off FB, off the face of the earth, but every time I’m sick, even if it’s just a sneeze-inducing, brain-addling allergy like I had recently, she turns up. How she does it, is anybody’s guess. Strange as it is, Doc and I have no direct connection, except that we went to the same school. You’d say that’s a connection, but actually, it’s not. She went to the said school the six years that I didn’t and I went there the two years that she didn’t. Basically, we both studied with the same people, at different points in time, and so, have countless mutual friends. I’d met her in passing a couple of times, but knew nothing beyond the fact that she wanted to be a doctor. Then, about two years ago, we were re-introduced. “Happytoberandom writes about babies (I was, at the time, writing for a magazine for parents) and Doc delivers babies (she’d been interning with a gynaecologist),” said The Lazy Housewife. No, we did not bond over the babies at all. But by the end of the evening, Doc and I had decided we were decidedly fond of each other. We had made the fraandships.

No, this is not a post about our fraandships. I just wrote the above para because I felt like it. This post is actually about an interesting point that came out of our conversation, while my brain was still addled and I was sneezing my innards out (Oh, did I just disgust you? Well, I’m not sorry :p). So, apart from showing up when I’m sick and having the ability to make me take meds (how I hate those things), Doc also has a knack for saying some of the most profound things, without quite intending to. Now, I usually don’t go into that area (profundity) in my posts. But that one intended-to-be-funny statement Doc made has had me thinking, and questioning its truism.

So, Doc was trying to sell me the idea of meeting this friend of hers, a boy of course. She used every rationale possible–he’s tall, she thinks he’s good-looking, he’s intelligent, he’s just moved to this city and knows very few people, blah blah blah. I finally conceded. Well, she’d convinced me, but was at a loss as to what was to be done next. Her excuse: “These things weren’t taught in school.” Well, Doc, did we emerge a trifle ill-equipped for life?

Over the last few years, I have found myself in or seen those around me in situations we were never taught to handle. Not in school, at least. Like how to handle the screechy landlady. Or how to survive a dragon boss. Or what to do with the realisation of the fact that you’re hopelessly in love. Or how to get past the incorrigible office gossip. Or what to do with a friend who insists on behaving like an adolescent. Or what to do with a horror of a mother-in-law. Or something as commonplace as running a house. No siree, school does not teach you that. Life does. It’s not the classroom teaching that tells you how to deal with a truant maid or cook for your husband every evening. It’s your instinct and good sense that gets you through these situations. You learn to get around it, or you get past the situation.

Education is what you remember after you’ve forgotten what you’ve learned, my mom, the teacher, said. Well, it’s been a long time since I forgot all about carbon and its compounds, and calculus. But you do somehow manage to figure out the value of X in an equation. Like The Lazy Housewife finally figured out shortcuts to feeding her husband (courtesy yours truly, but nonetheless). Or like The Novice Housewife learned to put her time to good use on her blog ( Or how Morbid Kat decided the only way to get away from the monster MIL was, unfortunately, by ending her marriage. And, like it struck Doc (brilliance at its best! :p) that all she needed to do was give the guy my number. It’s another matter that a week on, he still hasn’t called. Perhaps he’s going through his books to see if they said anything about how to go about a phone call 🙂