Period Brain


For 5 days a month, I suffer from a rare (I hope not) syndrome called ‘Period Brain’. Common symptoms include –

  • Inability to think, which is basically so bad that if someone were to ask me what 2 plus 2 is and then waved 4 fingers in front of my face, I’d answer seven.
  • The super human power of being able to beat a sloth’s sleeping capacity and maintain a lead by atleast 4 hours.
  • Hulk rage, putting things into perspective I just had a fight with my mother cause she kept talking and talking and all the mitochondria in my body just gave up, slumped, dug a burrow and disappeared underneath it.
  • Teeth grinding irritation.
  • Fatigue, all the damn time. Sleeping is also tiresome. So I go to sleep tired, feel tired while I’m sleeping and wake up tired too.
  • Terrible decision making skills, given a choice between investing all of my life’s savings in either high return stocks or ice cream, I’d choose icecream. Also managed to have instant noodles and icecream for lunch and dinner yesterday.
  • Mood swings that range from I’m going to kill him to I want to have sex with him, all under 2 minutes.
  • Extreme emotions, I cry on reading, watching and sometimes even listening to things. Like if my friend’s distant cousin’s ex girlfriend’s uncle’s grandfather’s aunt was going through a tough time, you’d find me teary eyed.
  • The ravenous – I’ve been starving for a decade kind. I recently polished 6 doughnuts, all chocolate center filled, in about 15 minutes and had been craving for cheese burst pizza since then, and Oh, I’ll then look at my tummy and lack of exercise and the amazing clarity with which my brain calculates how many calories I’ve put on and then send me packing back to sorry land only to use dark chocolate to get out of that dark street.



And to think of it, I’ve been fighting the age old ‘woman-act-like-straight-up-witches-on-a-broom-with-chocolate-as-their-kryptonite’ during their period opinion, but I can’t seem to tame myself when things get the proverbial down and dirty.

Henceforth, cutting my rant short here, I’d like to state that in 3 more days I’ll be back in the control of my body and mind and the reign of the Satan’s little devil aunt flow will end, finally.


PS – What is with these bloody period ads, why don’t ads makers have enough sense into making realistic ads that don’t require me to jump through barricades nor shove my butt into people’s faces or trek mountains and prance around in whites!?

Instead make a simple tampon ad that tells people that the dragons need their rest and shouldn’t be disturbed and along with every packet of pads come a coupon for ice cream/ dark chocolates/ the cheesiest pizzas/ dense chocolate brownies at a flat 50% off.

And that’s how you keep it simple.



Of dark nights and the things you stumble on,

Of long walks and silence that envelops you,

Of days that push you to the edge of your soul,

Of words that stay stuck in the pen,

Of many that are said but don’t mean a thing,

Of those that need to be said yet don’t have a voice,

Of clenched jaws, blinding anger, punctured armor, tattered soles,

Of life.

A pinch of salt, a squeeze of lime, a bar of chocolate, a cube of ice.


I pulled a chair into the balcony, it had been raining since morning, at times a cloud burst and bought in a fury of water, thundering and rumbling and then so, it drizzled and poured, like a woman unable to make up her mind, leering at the pastry counter and weighing whom she loved more, chocolate or butterscotch, yet ultimately taking two of each.

For most part of the day, there wasn’t any electricity, so me and an empty house, the rains, rhythmic melody of tip tap and fragrance, grey skies and lush green trees, tiny rivulets running down the length of my arms and pools of water in the grasp of my palms, trying to win endless battles against the laws of fluid dynamics.

Making myself a cup of coffee, a book and a pillow plonked on my lap, I wondered how long it had been since I felt at peace, no internet pulling you into the virtual world, no television screaming at the top of its lungs, no soul to put a brake on the train of your thoughts.

If I could, I would buy myself a piece of the sky to lie under,

A little place in the forest, where its scent rubs off on you,

And if you were really quiet, you could listen to your heartbeat.

Shut your eyes and disappear underneath a sky full of stars,

Watch the mountains from afar,

Let the rain seep into the pores of my skin,

Spend hours making constellations, and guessing shapes of the clouds.

An invisible corner in the middle of nowhere,

For when thoughts burden your shoulders and make your head feel heavy,

To take a pause from time.

Walk away from the mess,

Paint your nails red, the leaves pink,

Carve love on the barks of trees.

Wait for the waves to bring back what was once yours,

And the wind to take you, to where you truly belong.

Single Pringle vs Double Trouble

More often than not, I think about saviors, better halves as they are called vaguely. Those who lend a shoulder, sometimes an ear to your sorrows, wipe your tears, make you laugh, leave a blush on your cheeks, throw you in a mad fit of rage, unlock the green gremlins of jealousy yet send a thousand violins to play in sync on the arrival of their thoughts.

And then I read a hundred words, on how you should be your own person, pick up your crumbs, build walls, and abandon that ship wreck of a life that you have, put on a life jacket, swim a mile and set off for a new island, to build it all up from scratch.

Is it unreal that we have such high expectations from others or such low ones from ourselves?

There are days that I want to curl myself up like a cat on someone’s lap, some days when you need that one hug, smile, and pat of comfort. And no, this isn’t something that you’d get from just anybody, a flurry of tingles and goosebumps that automatically sets and signifies the presence of a particular person.

Other days when I pick up my sword (my backpack that I carry everywhere), put on a brave face, line my eyes with kohl to underline the message and set off to war. With an armory of jokes on what fun it is to be single (I’d give it a 10% fun limit), and come up with an automatic defense mechanism. You find someone inching dangerously close to the single talk territory, you push/shove/trump them in their race by coming up with witty one liners/humor on the apathy of being single.

All this fight, watching public display of affection, listening to other’s ‘Aww’ love stories leaves you injured, and chocolate turns into your immediate relief balm.

They say don’t actively search for love, it’s supposed to hit you in the face when you least expect it and jerk away the carpet right underneath your feet, now that is exactly how you fall head over heels in love.

But they also add that you attract what you think, hence forth keep yourself in that frame of mind, to attract yourself a man (yeah, right!?) Honestly enough right now I could go and pull a guy by his hand and attach 2 huge unlike pole magnets just with the intention to attract and it would immediately repel and deflect and zoom a thousand kilometers tangent.

In all this wishing, praying, hoping, giving up nonsense, what do you really do?

Do you wait for prince charming to finally give up that he has no clue on directions, use the damn GPS and track his way back to you or do you decide it’s high time that he show up, pack a few sandwiches for the road and pull him back on track by his ears?

You’ve got mail

I have my feet resting on the opposite chair, half slouched on a cane chair with a bowl of chocolate ice cream along with a glass of espresso vodka right next to me and mooning over this movie.

There are some people you meet, completely out of chance, to think of it everyone we meet is out of chance. Out of the 7.2 billion people here, there must be a stroke of luck for us to meet. I wonder at times if we would talk to each other the way we talk now, over mails, twice a year phone calls, messages, or 3am calls, if we were to be passing each other on a street, or if we were standing in a line at the supermarket.

Would you glance, turn around, walk up to me and say hi?

Strangers are nice, maybe or maybe not. At times they remind me of lilies, slender, long green stalks with delicate white petals, or like a cup of coffee with warm cake, or lights in a wine glass. At times not some nice people too walk in, with motives, intentions, books of lessons to be learnt.

Like long walks on a sandy beach, licking popsicles, blue orange green, though the sad part is that there are no beaches where I live. Or sitting on a bench in a park listening to songs while the world walks by. Wolfing down the cheesiest pizzas topping them up with brownies at a shop around the bend. Soaking sun on a cold morning, like the smell of a second hand book, rediscovered.

I started writing which I now discover gave rise to this blog after watching this movie. The prospect of chancing upon a stranger, long random conversations, no specifics, about life, stars, winding roads, ferris wheels, fields of daisies and colours of the sky. Riding on a bike in Kashmir, relearning how to ride a cycle, dance without a care in the world and sing loudly even with a tone deaf voice.

To the stranger reading this, you won’t find me in pubs, bars or parties, on facebook or tinder, instead you may chance upon me in a café around the corner, nose stuck in a book, munching on crumbly Osmania biscuits with strong sweet chai at a makeshift shop, or mail me at

Happy Birthday to Me

Its 2 in the night, or the morning, somedays time seems to lose all of its vague significance. People say don’t waste time, that time flies, yet there are days that pass like years and others when you fall into such a grind that all days seem the same. Time loses its effort of being put into boxes of seconds, minutes and years, all muddled.

In the arms of a lover, seconds feel like centuries, that heartbeat was one that lasted for ages, witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, the birth of stars, yet never is enough. You could lie wrapped in those arms for years, and that wouldn’t still be enough.

Why all these thoughts?

It’s my birthday today. Another year passes and I can feel my soul getting older, or younger, wanting to be nestled in a blanket, listening to Janacek Sinfonietta, and also being buried in an avalanche of balloons. Or wolf down two big bowls of chocolate ice cream, this for all you know maybe the ice cream high talking.

Another year and still the same relationships. I try to not let things mean too much, some things can’t be fixed, maybe they aren’t broken that requires mending, maybe that is the way that they are supposed to be.

Called my twin sister to wish her, all that she did was cut the call. Well still better to acknowledge my call instead of pretending that I don’t exist.

The funny thing being that I hate telling people that it is my birthday, or those 12am calls. Like an old bird, I prefer a warm hug, long conversations, mails or letters and chocolates, instead of a HBD (height of being lazy) on whatsapp or a forcible facebook wish, one that refuses to step down the top of the notification bar.

This year I make no promises of being strong, being better, getting over people, building/burning bridges. This year I want to breathe, and feel free. Do nothing, let the waves push past me, leave those chains of ambition and walk on the grass, let problems and confusion tie themselves in a knot and be undone on their own, not bother, take a hot bath and let my thoughts flow.

Of lists of love and hate

I was nominated by the lovely prajakta for the love-hate challenge, and here goes my list!

Ten things that I love –

  • Shahrukh Khan, the love of my life and I pretty much objectify him so he has to top this list! I love this man, to the moon and back.
  • The tingle that I feel when I read a romantic conversation between two protagonists in a book, needn’t be entirely romantic, witty flirting works too.
  • Reading a book over a cup of coffee in a fortress of pillows and blankets while it’s raining outside.
  • A cup of strong chai after a long day at work.
  • Chocolate/ice cream/ brownies/ cake (you get the gist, right?) on the days that I feel like nothing is in my favour, to just take a big bite of it and surrender for the day. Or ponder on life’s problems over a plate of steaming hot pav-bhaji, chocolate milkshake and dahi puri 😛
  • Long late night conversations and jamming sessions.
  • Handwritten letters.
  • The hindi songs of the 60s and 70s, because there can be no voice more melodious than Rafi’s or Mukesh’s or for that reason Kishore Kumar too!
  • Watching the latest Bollywood releases, I try to catch up on almost every decently watchable movie alone and then manage to sing all the songs out loud 😛 Yeah, if you have heard your neighbour annoyingly singing the songs in the theatre, there is a very high chance that we have already met 😀
  • To finish what I had planned for the day, that feeling of achievement when I tick things off my to-do lists.

Ten things that I hate –

  • People who spit and litter.
  • Not saying please and thank you while asking/ after taking favours/things.
  • When small talk is made just for asking a favour, why beat around the bush?!
  • Extra chirpy people when you are discussing extremely sad events. If you don’t bring your sad stories or chocolate and its cousins to the table, please don’t even bother!
  • Not finding things at the moment that I need them, the rest of the time the damn things keep running around creating a mess!
  • People who don’t respect others, be it anyone, rich or poor, pretty or ugly. It takes a little to give someone else the dignity that they deserve.
  • When people knowingly cross limits, be it in relationships or friendships.
  • When we don’t realise that it takes little to make a difference, if people like us try and act helpless when all it takes is to raise your voice or make a little donation, as much as it costs for a cup of coffee at a fancy place.
  • When people throw stones or harass street dogs.
  • Eve teasers.

And I nominate –





Mallee stanley




Izza Ifzaal

baby steps 😛