The clock was ticking at its usual pace, but to her it seemed a tad slow. She wrung her hands in anticipation and pulled at the rings on her fingers. The grandfather clock chimed to mark the next hour and with that she swept away her beautiful curly hair from her face only to let them loose once again. She rubbed her fingers on her face out of restlessness for the evening was nowhere in sight; the sun shone strongly and seemed adamant to set anytime soon. It wasn’t her fault because this day had been planned a long time ago. They were going to meet after months of endless calls, distance, and fights fueled by frustration and longing. This was a price one had to pay when in a long distance relationship.

There were hours to kill and two hours long dance class to attend.  It was this thought that had her smiling after hours. She loved to dance more than anything else and wouldn’t miss it for the world, not even for this day. This is where she let go of all her troubles and embraced the beauty of the beats. She knew it without doubt that it was her love for dance that would make the time fly effortlessly.

She rubbed her face once again as it seemed to itch, but gave it not more than a few seconds of thought. The day and the moment demanded efforts like never before: first came the face scrub to bid a farewell to the dead skin, followed by a neem tulsi face pack to close the exposed pores, and finally the aloe vera gel. Scrubbed, cleansed, and with a spring in her step she walked out of the home but not before putting a few essentials in her bag.

After sweating away on the rhythm of ghunghroos, her face glowed with the exhaustion, but it continued to itch. She couldn’t be bothered because the time was there and nothing could dampen her spirits.

However, one look in the mirror drained her face of all the joy. The weather, sweat, and anxiety had led to red angry patches all over, which were hard to conceal. A few splashes of cold water wouldn’t do the trick and the stress was only making things worse. The glow had been replaced by a red tinge of embarrassment and a burst of pimples.  She couldn’t face herself in the mirror or look at the people around her. It felt as if every pair of eyes was staring at her.

A desperate search in the bag revealed her saviour: Garnier Pure Active Neem Face Wash, on which she had been depending for months. But in the moment of despair all hope seemed lost to her.

Escaping the whispers and snickers, she trudged slowly with a downcast face to where he stood, but couldn’t muster the courage to meet his eye. His face was aglow with happiness but he couldn’t fathom her reluctance to come close to him. She stood a few steps away from him in the shadow for the marks of humiliation were writ large on her face.

He stepped forward to pull her into a hug, but was taken aback by the sight in front of him. It was hard for him to believe that the beautiful and happy girl he knew could even look like this.

One look at his face and she couldn’t stop cursing the pimples on her face and the tears rolling down her cheeks. She turned around and mumbled incoherently about the sudden burst of acne. On grasping the confused emotions and the reason for the outburst, he gently pushed her towards the car. A half-hearted look in the mirror reflected the churning emotions in her face. Fear gave way to surprise and happiness for now she saw what he had seen. It was the sadness in place of pleasure that had made him pull back from her; she thought the pimples to be the reason for his frown. Garnier Pure Active Neem Face Wash had soothed the redness on her face leaving behind only a few pimples, which were barely visible. She turned towards him and found herself being kissed on the forehead; a gesture that again filled her up with hope and the lost time seemed like a thing of past. So, she realised that the real beauty lay behind a radiant smile.

This blog post is a part of Garnier Pure Active Neem Face Wash contest. 

It is an IndiBlogger Activity on Indiblogger.



I am unable to write. There I have accepted it. I have a zillion thoughts playing peekaboo in my head but not one is close enough for me  to catch. They dance at the edge of my mind but keep eluding me. My worst nightmare as a writer has come true and I can’t do much about it.

Yes, I have tried every trick in the book to crush this bloc but to no avail. Quaffed countless cups of green tea (First Flush turned out to be my favorite), done away with all the distractions such as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram… you name it and I have turned my back on anything and everything that can entice me. Did it help? No, Sir! On the contrary it gave me 10 new thoughts to dwell upon. My mind looks nothing short of a playground at the moment.

If I come to think of it now then it is not all that bad. See, while cajoling my brain to unleash its creative bend, I ended up learning the delightful art of doodling. Happy, sad, surprised, puppy face… I can draw it all. Brilliant no!?

I have perfected the beautiful task of daydreaming too. In just a few seconds, I can envision any scenario from the beginning to end; for all you know in a matter of few days I might turn into an exceptional scriptwriter. So, all is not lost.

All this while wondering about what to write, I managed to resume my training in Kathak under the legend of classical dance, Pt. Birju Maharaj. Unfortunately, I had to leave it midway because of the stupid pothole in the middle of the road that had me putting my ankle on months of bed rest.

Oh! I have also done away with my hesitation and anxiety over swimming with arms and legs flailing for help. Then there is bathroom singing, cooking – without burning much- and the list goes on. Not bad right?!

Mind you, I have also perused all the blogs trying to soothe your churning emotions and help you sail past this bloc. Unfortunately, staring at my laptop screen and the walls around is my only solace. Now, do you believe me that I can’t write? Imagine, I haven’t come up with even a single world all this while. Beat it!

I forgot to mention my foray into the adventurous world of startups. It has been nothing short of riding the rising and falling waves in my handmade boat full of excitement and insecurities. I design and customise planters and they are absolutely gorgeous; I retail them under the brand name GreenOBahaar. Someone taught me to never be shy in promoting your hardwork!

Well, time to break free of this bloc and indulge into some constructive thinking before my mom throws me out of the home again.

Mourning The Living

My mother lost her father. The world was resonating with cheers and shouts to welcome the New Year while the home where my mom grew up was echoing with a deafening silence. The same morning we too had a reason to celebrate: my nanaji (maternal grandfather) was being discharged after a prolonged stay at the hospital. He had suffered a heart attack. The doctor saw nothing wrong in letting him go home and be amidst the family.

Naani (maternal grandmother) along with my mom was enroute to the hospital where they were greeted with hysterical sobbing and ashen faces because nanaji had gone into a cardiac arrest only to leave behind an abyss. No one had anticipated that the whole world will crashing down because you just don’t ever do.

It was a huge loss for the whole family and a pretended loss for rest of the world that called themselves family. I am sure in this hour of grief these words seem harsh but I believe this is exactly the time when you are officially introduced to the hypocrites and gossip mongers. I met these idiots in the prayer meet organized for my granddad.

In this fast paced world it is hard to do without a smartphone; it is more of a necessity than someone’s presence or absence. I learnt it the hard way and was quite disappointing. An hour long prayer meet just doesn’t ask for much except for you to stay quiet in the memory of the departed soul. Of course even keep aside the gadgets too; I am sure was quite difficult to comprehend for the dimwits. These include relatives, friends, etc. and I feel no remorse in calling out such fools. They were not kids because even children a lot more sensitive to someone’s grief. But these people unabashedly were busy indulging their trashy sense of humor. I am sure such imbeciles cannot have anything sane and classy to say. A joke on Whatsapp (obviously they won’t be discussing world politics), talking about the features of their new phones that I am sure they don’t know how to operate, and well other bullshit things. Oh! There was this one ‘gentleman’ who had the audacity to answer his phone and chat at length. Bravo to such so-called ‘respectable’ men. I glared at two of them with all the disgust that I could muster – since they were the unfortunate ones who ended up meeting my eye – and I had the pleasure of see them squirm. What bliss!

Some people are blessed with divine stupidity or they simply evolved like that. Anyway, please tell me that who talks about a wedding at the time of funeral?! Yes, it did happen. There was a man, apparently someone extremely close to the family, who decided to lecture me on my weight and how it won’t be in sync with my wedding. He was most concerned about my stress and stamina which my weight wouldn’t be able to cope with. I wonder what kind of stamina he was really talking about… I wish that I had asked him.

My patience was sorely being tested because another woman decided to do a detailed analysis on how much did my mom weigh when she was my age. Like seriously?! All this happening while my naani was still trying to come to terms with her loss.

I feel these instances depict a sheer lack of sensitivity and absence of humanity. Such people have made me realize that hypocrisy is for sure leading the herd and that’s the way it will always be or even worse.

Bless the departed souls, but especially the ones who are still alive.