For a person who’s tolerated you ever since birth, not having some love for them despite of all the bitter moments put together is next to impossible.

My sister would be quite the example. She’s 6 years elder to me, yet no different. Establishing superiority using the ‘I have existed for an entire 6 more years than you have’ argument, she succeeds in keeping me from getting my heads in the clouds.

But with years of experience, here’s what I’ve learnt about learning to live with a sibling.

1. No matter how much the inner-kid-monster in you wants to, it is utterly unacceptable for you to pull apart your sibling’s Barbie doll’s head from her pristine and unrealistically perfect body.

2. Yelling ‘Me too!’ after everything your sibling says won’t alwaysss bring you good things, because you might just end up doing a chore because of the same absent mindedness and jealousy.

3. Your sibling will never hear the end of anything, or vice versa. If you can’t rant to them about how you spilled some water on the floor and now you’ll have to clean it before mom yells which makes life so difficult and complicated- then whom else would you do it to?

4. However conflicting your relationship is over the little things, your siblings will always have your back.

5. The movie marathons and the nights up listening to the entirety of a childhood playlist make it seem like the sun will never come up.

6. You can give them your best puppy dog face look and emotionally blackmail them into doing something for you, but when you’re in desperate need for help they are the first ones to realise and run to help before you trip and fall over something.

7. They deep down know that you’ll miss them like crazy & will have an emotional breakdown when they leave home to live their life, but will act as if it’s not a big deal, and that you should learn to live with it, because apparently that’s what life is.

8. They’ll have a stupid little grin spread on their face reading this, and realise that you actually love them and appreciate them tolerating all your endless ravings and rants.

Because hey, let’s revisit number 4 again, shall we? =)


Today’s Assignment: publish a post you’d like your ideal audience member to read, and include a new-to-you element in it.

Blogging 101, Day 4


Mind Voices

Here’s my response to this week’s FFfAW prompt! Picture credits to Ellespeth’s friend =)

For every constant & focused mind voice in everyone’s head, there’s always a wandering, purposeless, and a simply out of context one.

The former was definitely the one and the same for each one of the boys in the photograph. This should make a striking pose for the photo!

The latter went quite like this.
This beach needs to be our school. That way, at least I’d show up every day!
8 packs of masala popcorn. Hmmmm. My stomach still asks for more.
Oh my goodness that crab looks like it’s coming to rip the living soul out of me.
I kind of miss Mamma.
Trust the shorter ones to accurately hide your face with the excuse that they need to stand in front.

Yet, when the boys looked at the photo about 3 decades later miles away from each other, their mind voices were the exact same.
Those were the days that will never come back.
The funny, and somewhat profound coincidence was that they all had the same faint, nostalgic grin on their face.

Memories You Can Reflect Upon

Writing 101- Serially Found

The glossy sheet of paper that stared back at me said a lot of things at once. It screamed out that the Taj Mahal is an extremely crowded place at any given time or day. It shone through without a doubt that the sun was scorching hot. It also came with a little bubble of thought that amidst a busy day in front of Shah Jahan’s token of love for his wife, if you’re in your mother’s arms, along with your little family & having a good time, any picture that’s taken becomes picture-postcard-perfect.

Another one was a reminder of a rather not-so-joyous day. The occasion was a festive one, with a fancy dress competition ready to start. Enter, I. Draped in a silky white gown with a star wand held in my hand, 4 years old, crying my eyes out. The picture said nothing about the amount of enthusiasm and rehearsal I’d put behind my appearance on stage and instead showed the terror on the fairy’s face upon facing the exorbitant number of people looking at her. Either way, it became a thing to look at, to relish, and to laugh away.

Set in a dimly lit restaurant, at the table we’d dined was another one. It didn’t speak a lot, but what it did, it did pretty boldly. We were in Andaman, having our last meal on its fresh coastal ground before our flight back home the next day. A quick phone enquiry came with the news that the plane is overbooked for the entire week and there’s no other feasible means of transport from an island floating on water. Everyone’s face is grim with worry if we would somehow get the last few tickets, while someone in the scene is carefree, going in for another bite from the tasty plate of food in front of her.

Then there was one with a lot of familiar faces. All together, smiling and rejoicing being together. The friendship and frivolity that had closely knit this group of friends blared through evidently. There was also a great, happy, reminiscing smile seen off the reflection on the sheet of the glistening paper.


Finding photos that I thought I’d lost forever is quite amazing. The joy that comes to me thinking ‘Oh remember this day when we thought we were the happiest we could ever be?’, somehow seems overwhelming owing to the happiness greater than anything else when I gaze at the sheets of photographic memory which has found its way back to me.

Photographs are indeed time capsules. They are embodiments of the times that you’ll always long to revisit; that you sit idle and run wild through the roaring flood of memories in your head. Trying to hold on to every last one of them through the years rushing by!

‘Photo’ Credits:

Writing 101, Day 13

A Step in to a New Place

Writing 101- Size Matters (In Sentences)

Moving can be pretty tough to go through, especially when it’s happening for the first time in your 12 year long life. Moving meant a change of place, pace and people for me. I was torn down of having to leave all that I had behind to start a new life in a new city, from the liveliness of Navi Mumbai, all the way to the coasts of Chennai down south. How lively it was, I didn’t know, and honestly didn’t care as I was too occupied with sulking over the momentous change in my life.

My family had rented a compact little three bedroom flat as soon as we moved. Being the thoughtless kid that i was, I was insanely excited to finally have my own bedroom. Ludicrously, it didn’t take me more than 24 hours to realise that it scared me to death to sleep all by myself in the eerie darkness of the night. I was back to sharing a bedroom with my dear elder sister, with my half always being the messier one, if not the messiest of all bedrooms that have ever existed. To think of what happened to the supposed ‘my room’; it was turned into the internet room. Back when WiFi wasn’t prevalent, the broadband connection gave out just one chord that would connect you to the internet. It was indeed quite the hype when compared to life now, where the internet is, literally, in the air.

The view from the terrace above our apartment on the fourth floor was quite the scene. The sunrise would make the sky go a shade of orange with layers of minimising reds towards the rising globe of light and energy. The fresh air and cool climate was just right to exercise about a little. Skipping to a five hundred count would always be my target, which I would achieve occasionally when hunger luckily wouldn’t draw me to the fridge abandoning the workout regime instantaneously.

We had several shops and shopping complexes in and around the locality. A 1 km straight road outside our home, with us being on the extreme end, would be the challenge to overcome in order to gain access to the plethora of entertainment and food. A brisk walk along with my mother and my sister as my companions in the journey to visit the library, the supermarket and the confectionery were delightful. Our reward eventually would be the sweets, chips we’d be munching on as we read our favourite books.
Life in Chennai had started to turn around.

Our balcony would be the alcove of our home for some peace, quite and to sit amidst the trees all around the apartment.

The late night camp outs in our parents’ bedroom would be great fun with the card games, recollections and laughter.

There would be periodic badminton matches between me and my mum, where eventually, the winner would be the person who’d willingly retrieve the shuttle cock from over the fence for the umpteenth time.

Daily wars to fight the mosquito attack with an electrical bat would turn our to be extremely satisfying, if not fun.

The reconnecting calls to my old friends back in Navi Mumbai always kept me up.

The infrequent, yet terrifying visits of the monkeys from god-knows-where became something to remember.

Even along with all the little imperfections I realised that place was not all that bad. 12 year old me decided to stop sulking and live a little, because it was worth it.

Writing 101, Day 11

A Happy Meal

Writing 101- Happy (Insert Special Occasion Here!)

After a week of exhausting second grade mathematics, extremely long hours of playing with friends, and trying hard to surmount the herculean task of remembering that friends is spelled with an ie and not an ei, a reward smoothened out all the wrinkles of hardships in my life. With my look messed up as if I’d just come back from war, but it actually just being a winning game of dodgeball at school, it was almost as if a dinner treat was equivalent to conquering an additional nation well after winning the war. It became a tradition, if not a routine, to drive to the nearest mall to go have some McDonald’s after such happenings.

You might think it to be clichéd for a kid to like anything that comes out of a McDonald’s, but my story holds a place very near my heart, that it being a cliché doesn’t really matter.

Every evening waiting in our home on the fifth floor was a rather eager little girl, waiting to hear the sound of a car horn. The moment she heard it, she’d rush to the door to wait for the man who drove that car to arrive home. In a whoosh, with the speed and precision of that when my hand moves to press snooze as the alarm goes off, she’d go step outside and would squeal gleefully just as the lift arrived, “Daddy!”. He would reciprocate with a huge grin and would ask how his precious daughter’s day was. That would be followed with some good news from work, a hilarious incident that happened on the drive home, or a box of black forest cake from our favourite bakery. Sometimes, to treat his apparently exhausted little daughter and more importantly his loving family, he would do just that and meanwhile would also take us out on an enjoyable trip. As much as enjoyment the night would be filled with, a Happy Meal for dinner would always be the icing on the cake. Choosing which action figure or toy she’d want along with the meal, from the available characters from the then-famous movies posed as the biggest dilemma. Tinkerbell? Peter Pan? The Lost Boys? They would all be equally appealing and she’d put her hand on her heart and finally give in to pick one. Later at home, she’d somehow be grateful that she picked Tinkerbell with her glow-in-the-dark wings and pleasant smile, and that all that melodrama was worth it. As for the meal itself, the french fries prepared oh so hastily with the customers rushing in and the perfect dash of salt would taste just right. The burger being the main course to her little line-up of a 3 course meal for the night would disappear within minutes of her picking it up. The Coca-Cola never seemed to get over even after the innumerable sips and that came to become a part of its charm. She’d sit back in the car, a little jumpy, with the real exhaustion of a grown up after all the intense eating and running around she’d done.

I love the fact that I am that little girl who grew up to realise that she was an immeasurably happy kid who would become happier past the limit when occasionally handed a red box with a huge yellow smile printed on the face of it.


At present I have indeed come to realise that how much ever McDonald’s is near my heart, it really isn’t going to do great things for it. But in all good causes, an occasional visit isn’t that detrimental, is it? You might want to think about the taste and touch of memories twice or a couple of more times if you think it is.

Writing 101, Day 10

Picture Credits: