Why did that feel so bad?

 Today my friend passed a comment about the way I look and consequently failed the test of friendship. It was a joke. It always is. "When was the last time you got a manicure?" he said. This was the same friend, who just yesterday treated me to dinner for women's day. What started as two people going for a pleasant walk to revel in the beautiful weather, ended up in absolute silence and awkwardness.  What he said took me back to that scene in Sex In The City where Samantha asks Miranda when was the last time she got a wax. Miranda got up and stormed off, but their friendship remained. Well, today was my breaking point. Lately, I've been feeling very conscious about the way I look, and I haven't quite been able to place my not-so-manicured finger on what/who is making me feel this way. Is it the way that men label women as "hot" or "not hot?" Is it snide, teasing comments about my face or my hair or my weight or my dark circles or my nails? Why

Fervor Fever

I've always envied people who are soaked in their dedication and perseveration for something they're passionate about. You know those people you occasionally come across who are hungry to achieve their professional goals and are walking on the path that leads right to it.  Those people who inspire you and burn your self-esteem at the same time.  When I listen to someone talk about how they spent the whole night researching some random concept even though they didn't have to, I'm absolutely dumbstruck and left in a state of awe. They just did it because they wanted to. I think that's just brilliant (mostly because I usually sleep and procrastinate all the time) and they make it sound so natural and easy. How are some people so focused and completely diluted in their work?  Sometimes I wonder why I'm not that diligent. I haven't found that raw hungry burning desire that makes a person forget the rest of the world, forget any sense of time and space. I haven

The Culture of being Clean

   The fresh smell of recently washed clothes, the crease-less surface of a bed, the crumbless- spotless countertop. People say that you can't find happiness in objects. I refuse to believe that. I think that when kept in a state of near perfection, objects can give a warm, fuzzy feeling called cleangasm in your heart.  Do you know that stress relieving feeling you get when you see a Buzzfeed video of someone squeezing weird pink gum-like substance? That's how I feel when I see someone using a squeegee to wipe away dirty water. Yes, it sounds crazy, but it's true. And I know that some OCD-Monica type person out there can relate.     It took two years and three roommates to get to where I am today and to surface the Monica within me.  I was nicknamed Monica during my freshman year at college due to my unstoppable urge to clean my surroundings.   One of the most educative experiences I have had in college took place in my own apartment, not in the classroom. Letting my

A Frustrating Flying experience

The winter break has just set in and despite my repeated attempts to resist going back to India after every single semester, I sit in a burgundy yellow colored seat of Air India, (insert random number) miles above sea level making my way back to home sweet home. Speaking of sweet, did you know that Air India's gajar ka halwa smells like Vivel soap and tastes like soggy oats? This is something my taste buds have discovered in the past few distinctly unappetizing minutes aboard this flight. So here I am typing away on my half-charged laptop (that I cannot charge because there isn't an outlet) mainly to give constructive criticism to Air India but mostly to make time go faster. You see I wouldn’t be in this uncomfortable position, twisted at odd angles like Ram Dev baba- bored out of my mind had it not been for certain circumstances created by Air India. Unfortunately, I don't think Air India can do anything about the baby crying somewhere right behind my head, becaus

Dreaming in Dollars

I bought a six dollar coffee this morning that is four hundred and twenty Rupees on just caffeine and milk! I could have had three meals in that much money in India. I could have bought 42 packets of 10 Rupee  Lays . This is outrageous. I think I am hyperventilating. That is me from one and a half years ago. Why was I like that you ask? Read on, I’ll tell you. When i was in high school, I could take up to an hour deciding what to wear, but I didn't need much time to decide that I wanted to migrate all the way to the United States of America to get my Bachelors in Journalism. My middle-class Indian parents supported my dream to become a writer; my father shed a good chunk of his savings (money he had saved for my marriage apparently) and my overdramatic mother emptied her stack of home made pickle. Sitting huddled together with our faces inches away from the laptop screen my dad, my mom and I, scrolled through the list of top journalism colleges in the US screening those t