Buffio

“Just check in my drawer, Mom,” he said from the other room. She opened the drawer and stared at its contents. A pack of cigarettes stared back at her. It brought back every memory she had had with her son. She felt her heart plunge to her stomach. She had known that she would have to deal with this some day, but had hoped that day would never come. She felt despair and rage simultaneously. But she kept herself in check. She forced herself to think about herself as a teenager. Hadn’t she done the same things? How had she reacted when her parents had shown disgust at her behavior? Her teenage rebellion had led to the downfall of her relationship with her parents. She still harbored resentment against them. She couldn’t let her son feel the same way. She would have to blind-side this. He was lost now and will find himself. “Did you find it?” She turned and saw her son looking at her. She shut the drawer . “ No, i don’t think it’s there.” He frowned ‘How has she not found the cig...

These days I am driven by meaning. Meaning has become my personal drug. Even washing my plate needs to be meaningful. It is great, except the absence of the meaningful means,well, it is meaningless. Thus, a casual chat, a fling, a polite hello all seem like it doesn't serve a purpose. Anchor, Concrete, Long-term. These elaborate words capture my attention. I willingly somersault into the web of security. Their sheer size makes me think it cannot be meaningless. Their sheer size makes sure that, by the time I figure out that it is truly meaningless, it will be too late.

Caution: This is a girly/ girl-centric post. I open my cupboard. Do I see designer tops? No. Do I see tight jeans? No. I see Cotton Salwars. Millions and millions of cotton salwars, photocopied. Stashed in my cupboard like the nuts a squirrel stores in winter. People had warned me about this stage. This general apathy toward appearance. This lowest of lows in lethargy. This picking of comfort over style. But I paid no heed. And then, when he looked me in the eye and said those three words, my heart just broke. "Aunty, please move," the ten year old boy said. Aunty. That word has been terrorising Indian women since the dawn of time. It is supposed to be a term used for Father's sister/ Mother's sister. In actual usage, it refers to any woman who looks old. And by old I mean any woman who doesn't look young enough to be called sister, akka,chechi, didi. Aunty becomes associated authority/nuisance.In this society, wearing clothes that are not considered...

Writers are usually depicted as one big clique. They are generalised (Oh, these writer types!) and stereotyped ( She is brooding in a corner , is anti-social and has no sense of personal hygiene., Must be a writer.) But you see, writers are like STD"s. There is such variety like Syphilis,  Gonorrhea,  Herpes but they all come under one umbrella term. Through careless observation and extensive article reading due to utter boredom, I have carved out the different types of writers one encounters. 1.  The Sarcastic Type Ever remember reading an article that gave you a good chuckle? The ones you read and feel very smart about because you understood the writer's intended joke (when so many others missed it).These writers have an extraordinary flair for language and use it to their advantage. Even if they have got nothing to say, they can say it. 2.The Irony-loving Writer These can't resist ending stories in a way that no one expects. Readers start expecting them to ...

I feel bad for Indian parents. They are portrayed as backward,  narrow-minded or oppressive.  The usual refrain of " my son will  become an engineer" or "my son will become a doctor" is all that one  expects from them. It is as if they have no better pass-time than to  hound their children into a job of their choice.  From Google If Martin Luther King Jr was Indian, his speech would be titled 'I have a dream,for my son'.  Most youngsters 'give in' to their parents whims and dejectedly spend  well-earned money (their parents,not theirs) on fulfilling the  maa-baap ka dream. Others renegade, rebel and dissent. They  triumphantly disobey their parents wishes.  They spend well-earned  money (again,parents) on taking up commerce or (heaven forbid) arts.  They do things their way. More often than not, 'their way' includes  multiple existential crisis and being clueless about what to do after  the cou...

There is a stranger in my head who wants you in her bed with you she wants to wed and see your children fed But my heart has already bled and nothing new is being said so I'll bite my tongue instead and see the stranger dead.

To 11th graders, it meant mugging up a lot of information that doesn't make sense. To atheists, it is the weapon of choice. To Breaking Bad fans, its the path to the perfect way of cooking meth. Science. My last checked out book was Periodic Tales: The Curious Lives of Elements by Hugh Aldersey-Williams. Hugh takes elements from the periodic table and scavenges their history, giving readers a book full of did you know's (in which,for most part, your answer will be "no, I did not.") Talking of cultural significance of the known elements shows how humans have provided a certain character to them. Silver is seen as feminine while gold is seen as masculine. Some scientist randomly waded a mesh through water to make carbonated water. His name was Schweppes.Before it was known that radium was radioactive, there used to be radium spa's and radium cosmetics (yay,capitalism!). Marie Curie and her scientist husband provided great fodder for romance entusiasts who w...