Part Two. If part one didn’t work.


*drags self from bed after a night of repeated nightmares about the guy self is in love with and is desperately trying to forget*

*lugs the overweight body in the general direction of more misery popularly referred to as a PhD*

Hullo ladies who were redirected to this blog after a desperate attempt at googling “How to survive Valentine’s Day” or a more useful “Nude Pictures of hot Spanish Models

I had suggested watching a super-hot-hero movie rich in profanities and innuendos and comical relief dipped in sarcasm as a reliable cure for V day blues but unfortunately, like all good things in life, its effects will wear off or shrink in size as the time is being clocked. Unless you can hold the fort till the torrentDVD of the movie is out, we need to resort to quick action, longer lasting cures.

When I was at the receiving end of the phone line as my object of affection (hereby referred to as OOA) was gushing about his upcoming engagement and his genuine desire for my presence during the auspicious ceremony, I was a tad bit preoccupied with holding the breaking pieces of my heart together. Hence, apart from an incoherent muttering of “sure, sure, sure, sure” I was not able to come up with any wise cracks. I genuinely regret not being able to express how much I was looking forward to that day. Attending ex’s and OOA’s weddings, ceremonies, bachelor parties and the like are much fun, second only to severe diarrhoea or food poisoning, my excitement offering serious competition to that of the guy who was bitten  by the snake after being struck by lightning.

Amidst his repeated pleas for my presence, he forgot that insignificant detail, the lat. and long. of the event  in question. I had reminded him more than once in the past how much he overestimates my mind reading powers. But his faith in my stalking abilities is rock solid, he must have assumed I will just guess the place and “bless the occasion with my presence.”

But he is only human. Faith is such a fragile entity being subjected to so many touchstones. There is a good probability that he will call me up with the geographical co-ordinates so I have, as a precaution, blocked him indefinitely on communication channels.

I so vividly remember that last time an OOA was getting engaged. Ah, memories. My excitement hit the roof, digestive juices made love with my intestinal lining with such ferocity, I was hospitalised. Ah. Good old IV drip. One should not be greedy. One such experience is enough to last a life time. I will pass on the adrenaline.

My faithful readers……reader….(hmm.) will be wondering how is it that I managed to be on this spot twice in my life time, when men are aplenty like fish in the sea out in the real world. When the world offers men in such varying shades of grey, when it is “raining men” (Hallelujah!), why do I bump into the same kinds? What can I say, I have a type. Such a turn on- men who pretend to be aloof and disinterested in me and are engaged to other girls, who are much more popular choices, you know.

So, where were we? Ladies, we were pondering over how to survive the sweet agony of losing the OOA. If you ask me, writing helps. All those “get a haircut, have a blast with your girls, drink like a fish, get under someone to get over someone, be with friends” etcimho applies to those on the other side of that line of 25. For us on this side, with married friends and lower intestinal tolerance and hairloss woes, options are sorta limited. Writing helps.

Especially if you imagine you are another Sarah Jessica Parker in a movie with voice overs describing your life’s agony in calm undertones and witty dialogues along with an exaggerated love for shoes.

Also, very few things are as efficient in delaying your Ph.Das crying over lost love, which is(PhD) already skating on thin ice. Especially since around the corner there waits* the fun event they have termed “Doctoral Committee” which is a fancy phrase we PhDs use for work appraisal.

Writing helps.

A bit.


*LOTR reference.

Also, listen to this, or better, sing it aloud. ALOUD








The Art of Moving on- Part One- How to Survive Valentine’s Day*.


*When You are single and the ground beneath feels like rock bottom*.

*Especially if you are on the wrong side of 25.

Money. No other word can realistically describe the incentive behind *airquotes* Days- Birth, Mother’s, Father’s, Sister’s, Brother’s, Dog’s, Cat’s, Valentine’s- The kind art of giving people excuses to guiltlessly spend money and time on pointless things for useless people. IMHO,we are guinea pigs of experiments that test the Event Horizon of Carbon Biped Stupidity/Vulnerability. Somewhere on the viewing side of a microscope, an underpaid PhD student belonging to a superior species of intelligent aliens is making a tick on her list board, data collected to verify the above mentioned trait to be made into a thesis with a lot of statistical analysis on obscure data points.


(Sorry. I am a PhD student)

Instead of all these Parallel-Universes-Tesseract mumbo jumbo, we could all be this one giant set of lab rats – have you ever thought of that?



Possibly you had better things to do than to ponder life and it’s meaning.

Possibly you already have found what is widely known as “The Love of your life” and is busy on Instagramming your perfect life.

Anyhoo, I remain, faithfully, your next door whiny girl who cannot learn to appreciate the finest things in life she already possess while screwing up her life with bad career choices and badder boyfriend choices and baddest grammar.

But I am a survivor.

I have seen one ex get married after one year of pure torture of suspense as he pondered over his life choices and chose the better looking girl of his dreams over me. I attended his wedding as the whole college pitied me on my plight as I walked up on the stage and congratulated an irate bride and nervous groom, holding my tears until I was safely outside the auditorium and inside my car. (tears of freedom, ofc.). And I have somehow survived the “official invitation” of the new guy’s engagement which he insisted I MUST attend. For those who came in late, please refer to my older posts describing how my ex put Chandanamazha script writers to shame with his twisted life story of many girlfriends and finally settling on an arranged marriage.

My point is, I consider myself adequately qualified to advise desperate women who google for “How to move on from a relationship”, “How to stop thinking about your ex” “How to get back self esteem after being dumped” etc.

(Yes, This is a global phenomena much more serious and much much more researched than the prophesied “Mini Ice age” we all seem to be heading towards. Google is the new Agony aunt for us dumpees)

Anyhoo, the responsibility for sharing the wisdom I acquired rests on these fragile shoulders *pats both shoulders* , and I gracefully accept it.

V day is nothing special. But it’s cruelty can be hard to escape from. Especially in this new age era of tweets and instagram posts and facebook status updates and snapchat and whatsapp dps. Its hard to pretend to be oblivious of the show on the road celebrating the entity which has eluded us wallflowers- Love. Or Something like it. 

Maybe this post will be written down in the history of google searches as the best answer to V day survival tactics.

Or as usual, this will be lost in the millions of similar posts in transiting through this wide Cosmic Void.


2016 V week saw me quarrying through rock bottom as I received the invitation to the engagement. Which I, for reasons unknown, accepted. But he forgot to mention the address so I can only assume his thesis is on “Innovative methods for H.U.M.L.I.A.T.I.N.G stupid stalker girls in love with you”.

I have blocked him (again) on communication channels in case he actually call me up with the address.

I had trouble figuring out ways to survive gracefully the days, and the first step, ladies, is total abstinence from social media.

Save yourself the agony of seeing his love posts.


DO NOT stalk him.

I said NO!!!!

We good here? Okay. Now, I cannot give you a recipe for surviving the day with grace. I have a database of all clichés associated with heartbreak and *airquotes* moving on, from the classic “If you love someone set them free” to the insightful quotes by Eckhart Tole, Thich Nhat Hanh and Bryant Mcgill( for the spiritually and by spiritually i mean Buddhist inclined) and “save as PDF” files of related google searches from bloggers and writers of my sort. I can give you a list of to do’s and not to do’s.

But all these, as is obvious,have already been done.


So let me suggest one way which worked for me like magic.

I went for Deadpool.

Yes, go for a movie which has, according to a website,

“84 F-words and its derivatives

34 scatological terms

21 sexual references

19 anatomical terms

9 religious exclamations

8 mild obscenities, name calling

3 obscene hand gestures”

Laced with a sense of humour which will help you through the atrocities fate will be throwing at your face.

Besides it has Ryan Reynolds.



And a super ssssssssteamy hawttt Ed Skrein.


Works like magic I tell you.

Even if you are encaged, the best way to spend your valentine’s day is to Deadpool it.

While allowing the movie to heal me of my heartbreak induced wounds, I forgot to take notes on the awesomeness of the movie to quote later in a movie review. I will be doing it as soon as I watch it again (and again)

So here is to survival, girls.

Deadpool it.





Warning. Too Long.

Have you read Harry Potter, dear readers? I can never stress this point enough- I have no respect whatsoever for those who haven’t, by default. Mainly because you wouldn’t understand half my posts on account of your chosen ignorance.

Those who have read the series, continue reading.

I am not sure I like J.K Rowling. The books, although actually children’s fiction, have a certain sinister quality to it, perhaps more dignified and fitting than Game Of Throne’s vulgar brutality, which its author defended as being close to reality. I am not just talking about the deaths in the series, there are certain instances which I cannot recall now, that have bordered on a certain measure of bitterness concealed within a veil of bravery or secrecy or a perfectly reasonable explanation later on. I was more convinced of this when I started reading Rowling’s books for adults- The Cormoran Strike Chronicles, as I call it. I didn’t have the stomach to finish the latest addition to it, The Career of Evil. I had nightmares after the first couple of chapters, and I walked around with this rising taste of bile up my throat midway through the book, and I have not attempted to read it any further.

Agatha Christie had the same sinister quality- her ability to highlight the evil in people is uncanny. Of course, And Then There Were None is singularly the best in crime fiction ever and those who have read it would surely remember the chill down their spine while reading the last few chapters. Endless Night, Five Little Pigs, and Poirot’s Last Case- all have an astute albeit exaggerated insight into human tendency for evil.

I digress.

I was in many ways than one, affected by Alan Rickman’s death. I take no pride in admitting that I knew him only from his portrayal of Severus Snape in HP movies. I have seen Die Hard, but not at an age where I had enough taste to appreciate villains as well. I lamented on my Timeline over twitter, ignoring the jabs by the real fans who have followed his career in theater and in movies diligently. But I do not hesitate to state that his achievement is tremendous. To be immortalized like that, by one character is far more challenging than having done multiple quality roles.

Why did his death affect me?

Because of Severus Snape of course.

Six of the seven books, and three-fourth of the seventh book shows Snape as the villain we love to hate. We all may have had a teacher we loathed in school, perhaps not to an extent Harry and the others loathed Snape. we, those who have read HP that is, have loved that mysterious aura he possessed regarding his status- was he the villain? Why does Dumbledore trust him so much despite his clear affection for the Dark Arts? What was it that Snape used to convince Dumbledore of his loyalty?

And now, as I finish the sixth book(for the umpteenth time), I still feel the same anger but now that I know the full secrets, the anger reshapes into a terrible terrible ache somewhere and I cannot really contain it.

Of course, immortal love is a concept which is being clutched by hopeless romantics in their battle with ascertaining meaning to pain and life. To live for the one who loved you back, even after they are gone, is in itself a feat not many can endure. Kanchanamala maybe. But to live for someone who never loved you back, to live with the regret that you caused their destruction, to live with the last hope of redemption and to do so with such grave danger to one’s life- THAT is precisely why Harry Potter is a “Fantasy” series.

Yet I do not find that so unbelievable. Because I am scared that I find that in me somewhere- there must be people like me as well, or maybe we all have that little ability in us- to love our own version of love and to convince ourselves to live that life of fantasy we have created on our principles of love.. I may have loved more than once, but after the first taste of it, my association with people had shadows of previous loves lingering in the corners. Guilt and fear. H knows about J, S knows about H. Their greatest struggle had been to diminish from the present,  the ghostly presence of loves lost without redemption in my past. Hardly romantic, almost nearly stupid and so clearly an obstacle to happiness, especially considering what a short time we all have on this spinning rock hurling through space around a massive ball of fire- Perspective cringes in anguish while some of us talks of immortality especially associating it with something as fleeting as, love.

But the fact that Alan Rickman’s death affected so many people ultimately points to how much we are all, for want of a better word, comforted by the fact that there can be dignity attached to our way of loving.

But that is not the point of my post. It is regret. S had been so worried that I would commit suicide that at one point, desperate measures to give an impression that I was physically hurt, had to be taken to have a conversation with him. Not proud of it, but still, I was amused by how it was easy to make people believe you would actually kill yourself. They are reckless, those who die in the name of unrequited love anyway, because they never think of the consequence- not of dying, but of living, and living with regret.

Did I lose you? I went off a massive tangent from HP to suicide, but my point was to, well point out how we live with regret. Dumbledore lived with the weight of the terrible regret that he could not save his sister, Snape lived with the regret that he was responsible for his love’s death. To live with regret.

That is hard.

Boy. That is hard.

Long list of regrets there, of how I hurt some people. Even S and H, people I loved, or a long list of others- people who loved me. But there is someone that tops that list without competition.


The countless number of times I watched myself being mutilated beyond recognition, while I defended my actions on love or more accurately, fear- A collection of those moments at which people pause and ask me incredulously “How could you have done it to yourself?”

It is not easy living with regret. No.

So I admire Snape- not just because of his unwavering loyalty towards his own emotions: Bear with me here- Why is it so unreal? Why do we mock and despise those few people for whom moving on is not an option?They can’t let go of that one person who defines the exact type of person they want to go through all the pains of existence with. I hate it but in all his imperfections and gross habits, S came really close and maybe that is why a nagging feeling of loneliness taunts me day and night. (God Forbid). But even this feeling is masked by the battered and wounded and shriveled piece of self I walk around with, without knowing how to apologize to.

Back to my point. Snape is admired not just because of his fierce loyalty, but also for his courage to live with regret. Silently, unceremoniously, without drama, without an attempt at self pity. Maybe that’s why he is more loved than Dumbledore. We see glimpses of Dumbledore’s pains in his worst memories of his sister, he lived that regret with people around trying to lighten it. But I know enough of how difficult it is to forgive yourself, Dumbledore’s pain is in no way belittled.

May be because I am such a huge ball of emotional mush that I am crying because the actor who gave a face and antics and nuances to my favorite character, died. And that represents an end to a hopeless, unreasonable fantasy we clutch- of eternal, unconditional love.

Rest In Peace, Alan Rickman/Snape. No one, simply NO ONE could’ve played that part as perfectly as you did.



May be it is not about living a life without regrets, but learning to live with them.







“Hi God.”

“Oh. Hello dear. ”

“Why that oh.? That was totallie unnecessary. ”

“No I thought you were someone else. ” ( oh dear this is gonna take  long time. Will save the hungry children from Somalia some other time) ” You continue. Sup?”

“He is getting married. ”


” Well first he told me he didn’t want an emotional relationship then he said he was already committed to his girlfriend and he was scared I would go away so he lied. Then he said he was marrying this girl and now she is marrying someone else and he is marrying someone else and I am not marrying anyone THISISNOTFAIR!”

*scrambling through old palm leaves exhausted* (I didn’t have half this trouble with The Arabian Nights or Chantrakantha or  Chandanamazha!) “Which one is this now? I thought the guy already got married a couple of years ago?”

“No this is new. ”

” This ain’t the one who wanted to eat his brother?”

“Don’t remind me about him. And don’t change the topic. ”

“Where do you find these guys anyway!”

” Yea these were the only ones who liked me back. Besides all had stubble. I like stubble. ”

“You know, a stubble, in most cases, just mean he is lazier than usual for the species. ” 

Me. “…..”

God. “……”

Me. ” ok. I will keep that in mind. Back to my topic. Why the f*** am I single while every guy out there is getting married??!”

“You mean why the girl who is having an imaginary conversation with a abstract concept which has been subject to several controversies all through the history of mankind, about a guy who lied to her and is now getting married, is single? Beats me. ”

” I don’t want him to get married. ”

“That’s the maximum revenge I can impose upon the usual playboys. I don’t give death penalties for cheating. I myself am weak in that aspect. Boy if I wasn’t God, I have no clue How I would’ve managed. ”

“But he is getting married!!”

“Tch. Poor guy. ”

“What poor guy?”

” Well. For starters, I would’ve preferred the extra bed space. Don’t even get me started on the drama with the in-laws. The curfew is awful. Saygoodbye to any kind of privacy. Life will be a hard battle with the hormonal emotions. Either it is PMS, pregnancy or menopausal. Imagine sleeping next to this emotional bomb for the rest of your life. People are still trying to figure out which is worse- not having kids or having kids. Do you even know the cost of tying to put a kid through kindergarten en? Precisely why I gave all of them One extra kidney.  I have more or less left the handling of the end of the world to teenagers with mobiles. No more of the tensions of the whole waterworks like last time. And I am taking a vacation after that. No more humans for a while. ”

“Hmm. If you put it that way….”

“Yea sure the regular sex is a bonus. But meh. Chocolate will do just fine. ”

“Hmm.  ”

“Hmm. ”

“So you are saying….”

” Trust me. I know what I am saying. ”

” But I am awesome!! Why am I single?”

“May be if you stop asking that question I can find someone fitting the sin quota. Meanwhile can’t you just, I dunno, do whatever the f*** you want to do?”


“Now please, lemme catch up with Ricky and Bowie and the gang. And please, next time go for someone with a spine. I am sure there were some in the batch I made.”

“Okie. ”

God.: “I have a feeling she is gonna be back soon. Well if women listened to us in the  first place…..”

*looks longingly at the apple on the table.* 


I was waiting for an epiphany. The weight of existence was bearable with the possibility of an epiphany, the confusion was accommodated with the mundane activities  of life because there was a voice  inside which promised me an explanation, an epiphany and the voice urged on,” any minute now. ” 

I have cheated, betrayed, destroyed, lied, begged, cried, demanded, I have done everything that was deemed doable, to bring this epiphany as soon as possible.

But that is not really how it works. In the wait for that epiphany, the moments were shaping my life. There were feather touches that were creating a dent in my destiny, but I failed to notice them because I was waiting for the answers accompanied by a huge dhol dhamaka of epiphany. 

The answers were all there all the while. In the little things. But even then I had to understand that uncertainity was a big, essential, unavoidable part of living. 

I don’t want to miss out on anything anymore. I wonder if I would get a chance. 


My eyes were closed.

I kept them closed, I was in no hurry. I could hear the wind blowing softly. The desert wind in its elegance, almost like it knows it is intruding upon personal space. “Excuse me, I am terribly sorry, I see you want to be left alone, I won’t bother you, this is just my job. If anything, I hope I can be a companion?I am so awfully sorry…”

Th sound is what keeps me falling into the abyss in my mind..

It feels peaceful. Stars are lovely, their lights are not hurting my closed eyes. The sand beneath my body is cool, soft. I feel almost weightless. I have been here once before, when pain like this struck for the first time. It seems incredulous that I survived enough to give myself one more chance, to end up exactly the same way. Here I am, at the same happy place of mine, the same star lit sky, fueled by an equally intense and sharp pain numbed momentarily by lack of conviction.

I remember the old man, how he told me to wake up and move on. How he knew my thoughts. How he wanted me to survive. I remember the same calmness being broken, I remember the pain striking my nerves when he invoked it with deep understanding. I remember the coffee, through my veins, merging with my stale blood, giving it a jump start to life. I remember the strength that was base to my pain, i remember dragging myself around for years to numb that pain, and now, I remember it once more. The taste of loss, The taste of abandonment. It is on my tongue, in my throat.

Lack of conviction.

The wind is growing stronger, it has lost that polite edge to its sound. It is impatient now. Like the raging storm in the corner of my heart. A tornado. It is gathering up words, scenes, images. I can faintly recognize my own voice of pleading, my own sound of betrayal. I can recognize my anger, my despair. I can recognize my storm.

I open my eyes. I feel the harshness of my surroundings. This is not how  I remembered it. The coolness is gone, I can now only feel the sharp hostility. It prickles my skin.

I run.

I run towards my refuge, my hut, towards the old man and his wisdom, but I already know that I had lost my refuge in recklessness of a decision to take a risk.

My pace slowed down when I spotted the hut. The light was gone, and the door, open.

It was like I remembered it, but only in structure, not in essence. I lingered at the door, inspecting the place. I saw that light was there, dimming in the dirty lantern. I turned up the light, I see more clearly.

He is there. Calm and serene, sitting there, right in front of me, expecting me. He smiles, nods. I feel better. I stand there, next to the lantern, next to my shadow, and I search his face for traces of disappointment.

He was smiling.

The sort of knowing smile without any agenda, without any concern. Patient, waiting. I turned my head heavenwards, feeling the heat on my neck, the weight in my chest, I take a gulp of air, and like blowing a smoke ring, I exhale out.

There is a cat on his lap, A snowy one, with the arrogance of knowledge, and the despair of that weight. I find the bitterness I deserved and expected, from the cat. It’s green eyes are ablaze with discontent and even….disgust. It blinked, and alighted, the movement deliberate yet graceful, and it walked towards me, and wrapped itself around my ankles, its head against my legs.

Suddenly I felt sad. The cat wasn’t angry, it was also sad,sympathetic even, like it felt my pain. Its soft body against my feet, and I suddenly felt tired. I sat on the floor, knees up to my chin, leaning against the pillar, the cat at my feet, my hands stroking its head.

I don’t know how long I sat there, I let the silence talk. I felt it wrap itself around me, around my heart, my eyes, my ears, my skin, my senses. I sensed the silence in every cell, every pore. I was being filled by silence.

And everything started to fade.

He hasn’t said a word. He had no words of wisdom, I guess. Of course, he was disappointed.

“I am not.”

I heard him. I felt ashamed. Leaning further back on the pillar, I averted my eyes. I raised my hand, kept my finger o my left wrist, and felt the pulse.

The arrhythmic, hurried, scared beat of life.

It slowed..

Seconds passed me by, and the beat slowed. he was still there, looking at me, waiting, listening, watching, with the same understanding smile.

I sensed movement, I sensed presence, I felt his wrinkled soft hand on mine. His fingers touched my wrist, and my normal beat was back.

He whispered.


His arms around my shoulders, he helped me up. And I knew I had to go back. He was kind and gentle, but I was still broken, I didn’t want to go.

Everything was fading, but not like last time. The features were blurring, careful not to disturb the fragility of anything. He was fading, and the silence was returning.

I fell into a sleep, and woke up again, this time in reality.

I had a cat by my bedside, with green eyes, and a kind face.


“Lower your expectations.”

“OK how low is adequately low?”

“Mariana Trench you know?”

“That low?”

“Double the depth”

“Oh. ”

“And some more.”

“Then I won’t be disappointed?”

“Oh, no you will be. But this way you get to be disappointed on a grand scale. ”

“Live life king size?”