…. I guess it is time to revive this blog.

Just like that.

I feel guilty of ignoring this blog for a long time now. This blog gave me happiness. It gave me joy. It kept my sanity intact.

Randomness floating around in my mind and some notes to myself:

Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing. So says Oscar Wilde. And PA agrees.

The feminist in me has got lost somewhere. Somewhere.

When something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.

I am thinking of making Rajma Chawal tomorrow.

Sending out a hug and a smile to anyone who needs it right now.

 

 

I happened to watch this song after eons today, thanks to BA. I totally love the peppyness and joyfulness this song exudes.

In love with this song!

Hum tum pe itna dying jitna sea mein paani lying

I have some clutter to give away. Clutter, I no longer need. Clutter, I no longer want. Clutter, of the voices in my head. Clutter, of memories. Of people. Of places.

PA is thinking of taking up this Ten Day YOU Challenge

Every blogger worth his/her salt has already taken it up… at least the ones on my google reader list.

PA resisted…. yes, she does resist tags but later gives in.

So, you may find her doing this tag soon whenever she hops onto her wordpress acount next. ‘May’ is the keyword.

Via Madmomma

Real Women

Excuse me while I throw this down, I’m old and cranky and tired of hearing the idiocy repeated by people who ought to know better.

Real women do not have curves.   Real women do not look like just one thing.

Real women have curves, and not.   They are tall, and not.  They are brown-skinned, and olive-skinned, and not.  They have small breasts, and big ones, and no breasts whatsoever.

Real women start their lives as baby girls.  And as baby boys.  And as babies of indeterminate biological sex whose bodies terrify their doctors and families into making all kinds of very sudden decisions.

Real women have big hands and small hands and long elegant fingers and short stubby fingers and manicures and broken nails with dirt under them.

Real women have armpit hair and leg hair and pubic hair and facial hair and chest hair and sexy moustaches and full, luxuriant beards.  Real women have none of these things, spontaneously or as the result of intentional change.  Real women are bald as eggs, by chance and by choice and by chemo.  Real women have hair so long they can sit on it.  Real women wear wigs and weaves and extensions and kufi and do-rags and hairnets and hijab and headscarves and hats and yarmulkes and textured rubber swim caps with the plastic flowers on the sides.

Real women wear high heels and skirts.  Or not.

Real women are feminine and smell good and they are masculine and smell good and they are androgynous and smell good, except when they don’t smell so good, but that can be changed if desired because real women change stuff when they want to.

Real women have ovaries.  Unless they don’t, and sometimes they don’t because they were born that way and sometimes they don’t because they had to have their ovaries removed.  Real women have uteruses, unless they don’t, see above.  Real women have vaginas and clitorises and XX sex chromosomes and high estrogen levels, they ovulate and menstruate and can get pregnant and have babies. Except sometimes not, for a rather spectacular array of reasons both spontaneous and induced.

Real women are fat.  And thin.  And both, and neither, and otherwise.  Doesn’t make them any less real.

There is a phrase I wish I could engrave upon the hearts of every single person, everywhere in the world, and it is this sentence which comes from the genius lips of the grand and eloquent Mr. Glenn Marla:

There is no wrong way to have a body.

I’m going to say it again because it’s important: There is no wrong way to have a body.

And if your moral compass points in any way, shape, or form to equality, you need to get this through your thick skull and stop with the “real women are like such-and-so” crap.

You are not the authority on what “real” human beings are, and who qualifies as “real” and on what basis.  All human beings are real.

Yes, I know you’re tired of feeling disenfranchised.  It is a tiresome and loathsome thing to be and to feel.  But the tit-for-tat disenfranchisement of others is not going to solve that problem.  Solidarity has to start somewhere and it might as well be with you and me.

 

 

 

As many of you know, PA got married and has successfully crossed the six-month mark. The man in question is called Hubster on the blog – regular followers may know about this. He may be addressed by any other fancy name depending on the occasion. Coming to the six month mark, all credit goes to the caring and compassionate – Mr Wonderful for enduring this crazy, cranky woman who can even make God pull his hair, and generally create chaos.

Okay, coming to this other crazy thing called marriage –

How long is a newly married person considered newly married? Have you ever thought about it?

Do you ever wake up in the morning thinking about how cool single life was, and then you turn around, look at your spouse, feel a gush of love and then think how wonderful this thing called shaadi is…

Frankly speaking, I sometimes just forget that I am married until I notice the Hubster around – and in my head exclaim – Oh haan! Yeh toh mera pati hai!

Oi, someone get me back to blogging regularly!

The only thing that I have been doing for quite a while when it comes to blogging -

Open wordpress.

Click on the ‘add new post’

Look around for a while.

Yawn a bit.

Logout.

-

After pondering a bit, I realized I generally don’t blog when -

1. I have nothing to write/share.

2. I have lots to share but don’t know where to begin.

I am currently in the second category.

 

 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 193 other followers