Facebook For Parents

Dear readers,

I know I know I haven't written forever! But believe me, I had an iron-clad reason not to...you see, working as a Software Engineer has sapped all my creative juices. My activities have been reduced to:

• Stalking people I hate on Facebook
• "Upvoting" answers on Quora
• Ignoring Google+ notifications

That takes up most of my working day. In between, I compile my useless code which, believe me, hardly ever works. But it serves the purpose of taking up enough time for me to go and ping a friend something like "Can you believe - what she was wearing/who she was snogging- on Facebook?".

Quite a few family members of mine are on Facebook. Not very active apart from the occasional wall post on their own walls(really) and mentioning my embarrassing pet name publicly to the delight of my evil friends(seriously). You know where they are really active, though? Matrimonial sites. Yeah, I had the distinct pleasure of gawking, spluttering and hyperventilating in office when I discovered my own profile on one such site. Very loudly, let me add.

With a choice between a sheep, a monkey and a variety of pictures with drinks and food and cartoon characters from my Facebook profile pictures album, they smartly opted for some picture of me in a Saree where I looked pained while flashing a fake smile. A million other invasive details such as horoscopes, star signs, caste and stool samples follow. I stumbled upon the "Personalized Messages" section and that's when I was convinced that I was in the darkest corners of the Internet.

By the end of the ordeal, I was experiencing a weird emotion where the urge to kill someone was greater than the urge to make funny about-to-cry faces. Okay not that weird, considering I have had this feeling a million times before. I am wondering if I should ask my parents to change my occupation to "Potential Serial Killer".

Bitchin' In The Kitchen

For the past year or so, I have been living it up in Bangalore. Oh yeah...I have done some crazy shit. In fact, just the other day I had my curd rice with a side of cough syrup while bundled up in a blanket watching Sex and The City. I know. Naughty.

My bachelorette pad is the shizz. Just a stone's throw away from ten hep places serving dosas to auto guys. But enough about that. The reason I am writing this post is because I wanted to share something with you guys(Hello? Anyone?). It's a little bit of an embarrassing thing to admit but...ah hell, I am just gonna come out with it. I am a bit of a domestic Goddess. Booyah.

You see the symbol on the right? You think it's people in trouble calling Batman, right? WRONG BIATCH! It's actually people who flipped their dosas wrong and now they look inedible. Domestic Goddess got swag.

Enough about me though. I have been receiving a few questions as to how I maintain my general domestic awesomeness and as I love helping people I decided to answer their questions. Let's go!


I just wanted to know what I can do to salvage this curry I made. It's a little bl-

So simple. Just chuck in a pound of masalas. Whatever you have in the kitchen. Everything tastes better with a little brick powder in it.

Hey domestic goddess, my room is messy and I wanted tips on cleaning out the clutter because my mo-

Too many words. It's so simple, honey. Just take all the stuff that's lying around on your bed and throw it into the cupboard. No one is going to look there anyway. DUH.

We have a red ant problem and I don't know what to-

Tch tch not to worry. Just do as I say. Take some sugar and leave a trail leading up to your roommate's room. She will have the ants all to herself and you will have peace.

That's all we have for now folks. Send in your queries and some cookies and I'll think about answering them. Toodles, my water is burning.

Bottle, bottle, everywhere; Not a drop to drink

Yes, I haven't written for a long time. No, I am not going to apologize. Why? Because I was practically swamped at work. Okay, you can stop snickering now.

Moving on.

Recently, I was flying to Chennai from Bangalore. One centimetre on the map, 4k dent in the wallet. Sad. Anyway, during security check I was busy not listening to music but having the ear phones plugged into my ears so that noone talks to me when all of a sudden the girl in front of me was called by the Airport Security Lady. She ripped open the girl's bag and whipped out an extremely cool-looking, well-hidden Finlandia vodka bottle. She gave the girl a look of disgust and called the Airport Security Guy. The guy also gave her a dirty look.

Airport Guy: Madam you cannot take this.
Girl: But the bottle is empty. What is the problem?

So the guy walked off and after a lengthy discussion that involved a lot of bottle-smelling and back-slapping he returned.

Airport Guy: Arey madam...there is beer smell in this.
Girl: Sir, I washed it many times. The smell won't go completely na?

Airport Guy: No no why are you taking the bottle?
Girl: It's a gift for my sister.

Airport Guy: Arey madam how can you give anyone an empty gift? Hehe...what madam don't fool us.
Girl: No really it's a gift for my sister. She collects bottles.

Airport Guy: Hai this is something people collect? What kind of girls are you all? AREY RAMU....O RAMU!!! THIS MADAM HAS A BEER BOTTLE AND SHE IS TAKING IT FOR HER SISTER. LET HER GO OR NOT? 

By now the entire airport knew that a girl *SHAME* was taking a smelly "beer" bottle *GASP* for her sister *TAUBA*. Finally, Ramu did give his approval but not before giving her a speech about how true Indian women would never carry around beer bottles, let alone collect them.

I wonder what would have happened if the bottle was full.

Shoppers, Stop!

On Sunday evening, my mother came up with the oft suggested mother-daughter activity of (her) choice: Shopping. While I have more tolerance than my father/brother for such activity, I still prefer not to indulge in it. However, I relented and gave in. Because she is my mom and I love her. And because she bribed me with food. Mostly the first reason though.

But before that we had to buy a packet of milk because the milkman had some personal vendetta against my mother and he never put milk for us. I know...first world problems!

Anyway, we buy the milk packet and then we head into Shoppers' Stop. After perusing through the clothes at different speeds - me, at a super human speed eliminating almost all of them with a single glance, and my mother, stopping to admire each and every thread on each and every bead on each and every garment - I declared that I didn't like any of them.

While my mother and I were bickering, one of the attendants started approaching us. Immediately, my mother ran off at lightning speed. I was, to say the least, perplexed. The guy had just wanted us to sign a membership form! After I put a fake number on the card, I ran over to my mother who was hiding behind some handbag stand.

Me:           Amma, what happened? Why did you just run off like that!
Amma:     I thought he was going to catch us.
Me:           What? Why? Why would he catch us?
Amma:    No, I thought he saw the bag in your hand and thought the milk packet was a bomb.
Me:           .....soooooo you were going to leave me to get caught by these guys and run away?
Amma:    Haha I know!
Me:           ....carrying the milk that YOU bought? Seriously?
Amma:    Hey I gave birth to you. You cannot do this much for me? Vaaya moodu (shut up)!

Mission Impossible V - The IPL story

Mission: Get on TV during IPL match

Tools needed:

1) Tickets for CSK vs RCB. Check.
2) Dent in bank account. To be specific, a Rs. 1375 dent for the "Bagpiper special view". Check.
3) Hot friend(more probability of getting the camera to land on us). Check.
4) Weird props for cheerleading. Well, not really but hoping to grab some props from other spectators when they aren't looking. Check.

Preparation for the mission:
1) Tell everyone in office, including the China headquarters that I am going for the match. Check.
2) Dilly dally at work(in anticipation of the match, of course). Check.
3) Leave office at 4. Cash....I mean, Check.

Ideas that we flirted with:
1) Sit in a stand dominated by RCB supporters wearing red, while we wear yellow and support CSK. Smells like a death wish.
2) Hope for Gayle to smash a 6 so that one of us gets hit by the ball and we get admitted to the hospital. And then Gayle, along with the rest of the players come to visit us. Irrational much?
3) Get hot friend to gyrate sexily so that the spy cam spots us. Well, no luck there.

What really happened:
1) Cheering for CSK did not work. The RCB supporters started throwing their cheerleading props at us.
2) 1375? You would expect a nice seat. Well, the joke's on you. They were plastic Nilkamal chairs that creaked and groaned when you sat on them. I think it's because the rain weakened the molecular integrity of those chairs. Hmmm.
3) The match kept getting delayed. At about 10, we realized the match wouldn't happen since it was 2 hours behind schedule. So we trampled on many RCB fans' toes(the highlight of the evening) and managed to get out of the stadium.

The moment we were outside, the stadium erupted with noise and when we looked up we saw a little boy waving an RCB flag and calling everyone back. Naturally, being in the same stadium as 50,000 other people, you form a bond of mutual trust with them. So we ran back in.
At 10:45, the match got cancelled due to rain.

If you thought Mission Impossible IV was a flop, you thought wrong buddy.