"Unacceptable Size 6..."

According to Devil Wears Prada, size 6 is the new size 8. But I don't care.

While shopping for a new pair of jeans -- to go with the new pair of boots -- I fit into a size 6 jeans! And that when size 8 has been getting tighter! And my bum bigger, or I think it looks it! But I fit into a size 6 jeans. Yippee yea! I will always buy Country Road.

And the joys of discovering you fit into a size 6 jeans?
A can of Coca Cola
A packet of extra fried, extra salty potato chips... with gravy
Chocolate icecream
2 Oreole cookies...and a whole lot of guilt-free staring at Timtams and Snickers bars.

PS... and ignoring the muffin top.
Pic courtesy: G Images

Thank-you, you're ugly.

Don't you just hate it when people meet you after ages and say, "Oh, nice, you have put on weight." WTF?!

Next time I shall say, "Thank-you, wow, your nostrils look smaller today."
Or, "Gee, did you get your stomach stapled? It almost looks flat."
Or, "Do share your secrets in bed, if your husband is screwing you despite your face, I wanna know what you do!"

Grr.

PS: Uni today; am off.

Little fatty...

I am fat. Checked my weight and I'm now 49.3 kgs. In November 2007, was 37 kgs. Not good. Sigh. Problem being the happier I am, the more I eat. I am happy and it's showing. Most of the weight rests between the neck and the belly button. Not bad but cannot afford anymore weight. The pic's from this weekend, we were at a wedding.

Friends over for dinner tonight. Menu for the evening:
Kebabs (for snacks) might team them with salami and cheese
Garden salad
Daal
Beans-carrots-potato subzi
Butter chicken
Rice
Chocolate butter cake with icecream for dessert (off the shelves both)

Current status:
1. Cashews made into paste (already ate half of them and did the rest first before I have to make another trip to the supermarket)
2. Will marinate chicken and keep it in the fridge to sit for a while
3. Then will put up mince to steam
4. Along with the daal on another stove.

Might put the recipes up, one at a time. Don't know yet, it's quite bleak and cold today and the light outside is not good. Why does that matter? Because I shoot my pictures in my backyard in natural light. I have no job, I am poor and thereby cannot afford lights.

Very happy cooking, Partner not too happy since he insists that the time I spend cooking should be spent writing. Not blog, but the book. Also got to finish 1200 word uni assignment. Damn. Should not forget that.

Am off; might update later...

PS: Ah, by the way, those in Delhi, Chennai and Hyderabad; there's a Spanish Film Festival on from 16-26th March. Check this out for more details.

Meat is neat + Glamour Bazaar video

As mentioned earlier, participated in the CNN-IBN show, Glamour Bazaar India that aired May 2nd. I can't seem to be able to embed the video, so click THIS to see the video. OR
Glamour Bazaar India

Early reactions from friends and family:
1. Gigo (in chatbox): You weren't as fidgety!
2. Friend on g-talk: Your eyebrows didn't squiggle as much.
3. another friend: Why do you look as if you're scolding everyone?
4. Mom: You looked 'fairer' in the NDTV show, kaalo lagche (looking darker). You did not tell me you have put on weight? (WHAT?!!!)
5. Partner: No baby, you have not put on weight, you look healthy. (THAT means I've put on weight) No, no baby, you have not put on weight and your arm does NOT look thick.

And now... Meat is neat!
From ibnlive.com story Kareena size zero: Hot or not?
Each time I think of Kareena's new look in Tashan, am reminded of what my thamma (paternal grandma) said about skinny women: "Na agaa, na paachha" (agaa = front, meaning boobs; paachha = backside, butt!!!) And must say, she's kinda right!
A white shirt with jeans and boots (or any other footwear) is one of the never-fail, anytime, anywhere outfit that any woman, irrespective of her body size can safely wear. From cocktail parties, the beach, a college reunion or out clubbing, jeans and a white shirt will never let a woman down. The outfit perhaps is also the saving grace of Kareena Kapoor's super-thin avatar in her latest dud, Tashan.

From an actress who looked positively thick in the Don item song—her thunder thighs could have given south Indian actress Rambha a run for her money—to someone who perhaps needs special camera angles to find curves, Kareena has changed. But is it for the better? One look at the Tashan poster with all four characters ‘ishtylishly’ strutting and two things stood out: One, Kareena is holding the assault rifle somewhat awkwardly and two, you can see her ribs.

If one were to choose a personal Kareena favourite in so far as her 'look' is concerned, it would have to be Yuva. In flowing skirts, peasant blouses, flip-flops and with her eyes thickly kohl-lined, Kareena looked beautiful. She didn't have her current chiseled cheekbones either—first seen on the cover of Maxim—but looked radiant. Even in a simple salwar kameez, with a single plait and kajal, she looked perfect as Dolly Mishra in Omkara.

Somehow, simplicity suits Kareena much more than ‘tashan’. Consider her glamour doll avatars, whether as the always-wears-glitter Poo in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham or as the navel-showing, tattooed Kaurwaki in Asoka, Kareena was never thin, always pretty. In Hulchul or the horrendous Yaadein, she is positively cherubic but manages to woo the audience with a freshness to her looks. Her chubbiness made her endearing.

Now, despite it being touted as oh-so-hot, her waif thin look leaves something to be desired... There's a certain meatiness that is missing. It's ironic that Kareena's Tashan look is being lauded by some since it was the same body type that got once-upon-a-time newcomer Amrita Arora to be called "too thin for a Bollywood actress." Bollywood's double standards or simply a marketing ploy to sell Kareena's new looks? And is the viewer buying the new look?

The Indian audience, male and female, has preferred its women with meat on their bones. One look at the list of yesteryear heroines and the only name that pops up as 'thin' is Saira Banu. But she never reached the popularity levels of a Mumtaz (slim but never skinny) or even an Asha Parekh (by no means slim and rather bottom-heavy). Even actresses later in the day, be it Rekha, Sridevi, Jaya Prada and Madhuri Dixit were well-proportioned. Think Kimi Katkar and you'd know that even most 'sex symbols' were more on the healthier side than on the skinny.

Perhaps it's unfair to compare Kareena's current looks to those of the yesteryear heroines; times have changed and so perhaps have priorities. But has the allure of a well-endowed chest and a curvaceous butt changed as well? Afraid not and a check on Kareena competitors will tell you so. Whether it's Katrina Kaif—who recently made an appearance for an IPL match and looked beautiful in jeans and a loose IPL tee shirt—or other actresses like Vidya Balan, Bipasha Basu or even Aiswarya Rai, none of them are skinny and yet all have a 'wholesome' figure. A look at the international figure scenario and you'd realise that waif-thin figures of either a Victoria 'Posh Spice' Beckham or once-popular Calista 'Ally McBeal' Flockhart have never won popularity votes. The full-figured Scarlet Johannson and Angelina Jolie though always score high on having desirable body frames. Recently too, tennis's favourite poster girl Anna Kournikova made headlines for having lost her curves. To Kareena's credit, she has been something of a style icon and it would perhaps be sensible of her to check in with her audience and see what they have to say. Initial reactions say her new look is more style, less substance!

What do you guys think: Skin(ny) is in or meat is neat?

Big boobs for sale.

"I hate my big breasts" could well have been my tag line two years back. And then I lost close to 30 kgs and literally shrunk in half... all over. Was I happier then or am I happier now...as far as my body is concerned?

Before some of you ask the how-did-you-lose-that-weight question please be aware that I don't think there is any quick, without-side-effects way possible. My losing weight -- after fantasizing since I was 17 years old -- happened by accident. The medical diagnosis was 'stress and starvation' coupled with hyperthyroidism. I was so unhappy that I stopped eating. I could go three days without food and not realise it. From a girl who breathed in air and put on weight to changing into someone who can eat more than Porky the Pig and it won't 'show', the weight issue is something I am still coming to terms with. I am talking weight loss here because fat or thin, big boobs or small, it all has to do with Physical Perfection. Truth be told, I don't think we are ever completely happy or at ease with our bodies...

As a 17-year-old who was an "all-rounder" -- I had fat on every conceivable bone of my body, even on the knuckles -- I often wondered if I would ever have the 'curves' I saw on posters and on models and actresses. When I say curves, I don't mean breasts because I had those in ample. I was a 36 D...on a five-feet-no-inches frame. Each time I looked in the mirror, all I saw was the head, BIG BREASTS, a gut, a HUGE bum and two stick-like legs. I had no 'waist', no demarcation of where the breasts ended and the stomach began, my body was a segregated blob of flesh. I could not wear anything tight because it would either stretch and highlight the rolls I had on me -- and accentuate the bloody breasts -- or be very uncomfortable and look as if I was trying too hard. I could not wear anything loose because then I looked like a tent.

We lived in Amritsar then (three years) and I studied in a school (grades 11 & 12) where there were two types of girls: The hotties and the behenjis ('sisters' but not meant politely at all!) The hotties dressed well with skirts folded at the hem to ride high above the knee, looked good and got much attention from the boys, both inside and outside the school. They studied 'cool' things like commerce or fine arts and were usually the ones to participate in sports and had the best-choreographed dances in school competitions. The behenjis were usually the science students with somber expressions, spectacles (it was supposed to be studious so some had them just to look the part), oil in their hair and no attention from boys. The 'hotties' we had in class tried their best to stand apart and usually hung out with the Commerce kids. I was an outcast in both groups -- definitely NOT a hottie what with oiled hair, a single choti (plait), unwaxed legs, caterpillars for eyebrows and a science student (PCB) at that. I wasn't even a behenji because I had way too much attitude ('cocky' was the term then, 'snarky' is the new one) to fall into that category. The more I felt I didn't fit in, the more defiant I got. That hasn't changed much; I don't know about others, but I don't react too well when pushed into a corner. Hmm.

I have always had male attention though... Some because I was good in studies, some because I made a good 'buddy' and was not 'girly', some because I had more balls than most boys, some because strangely all my female friends were drop-dead gorgeous (that hasn't changed, most of my female friends fall into the really beautiful category) and the boys wanted to get close to those girls and a whole lot because of the bloody breasts. When you are cute, fat and have big breasts men tend to think you would "appreciate" the attention. As you grow older and start fornicating, that ‘kindness’ is called a ‘pity fuck’. As I grew I realised that having a smart mouth and wearing "Fuck you" on your sleeve is taken as a challenge. But at 17 I believed that if I lost weight and looked what I thought I should/ could look like, I'd have the "kind" of man I wanted (or the one I foolishly thought myself to be in love with), wear what I wanted to, not be shy of getting into a swimsuit and looking like a mini blue whale... (shakes head, we can be so stupid when we are young, no?)

I hated my breasts. It was always as if they got the attention and interaction stopped at chest-level. I was banned from playing in school at age 11 because I was the first one in class to sprout breasts and the class teacher found it 'obscene' to let me run amok on the field with boys my age standing and gaping, albeit a bit confused themselves. Two years back when I reduced weight and shrunk... It was like an identity crisis. I had become attuned to making jokes about my breasts to avoid being too conscious about them. And since it was not a healthy weight loss, the breasts looked 'shrunk'...There was loose skin, no adipose tissue in them and they looked shrivelled. I was terrified and scared. And it didn't help that almost ALL women and men I knew started espousing epitaphs about my breasts. "My god, you had such breasts, now you look dried up." "Damn, you looked healthier then, what happened to you?" And so on and so forth... Funnily enough, these were the same people who'd say things like, "If only you'd lose some weight, you'd look SO good." "Damn your breasts are disproportionate to your height you know JB, try a reducing bra." Hah.

Now I am the EXACT image of what I'd visualised myself at 17 and had given up on by 24... Now my stats read 34-23-35. I love my hair, some fine lines and wrinkles have appeared but I know that quitting cigarettes will get rid of those. I have a chin now (earlier the cheeks masked it), I discovered bones I thought I didn't have...like the pelvic bones. But am I happy with myself physically? (Smiles)

After careful consideration, I would say it's a 95 % "yes". There are moments when I wish my hair was as lustrous as it was at 17, or wish the laugh lines around my mouth would go, or my skin wouldn't feel as papery, or wish I could have a slightly higher arch to my brows or wish my brows weren't as tough to give shape to, or wish I had perfect abs (now that it's an almost flat tummy) and want biceps and triceps and muscles... I am also finicky about the condition of my feet and can sit and scrub for hours. Then there is the paranoia about putting on weight and suddenly waking up one day and finding the 17-year-old is back. (I was my heaviest at 25 years, 68 kgs and at my lightest, a year back, weighed 35 kgs).

Point being: We CANNOT be physically perfect and the more we try, the more we keep trying. 'Physical perfection' is like cocaine, you start slow, enjoy it, indulge in it, spend more money on it and eventually you get fucked. Big boobs, small boobs, big dicks, fair skin, a higher brow arch, steeper cheek bones, a sleeker nose, flatter stomach, fuller chest muscles to no wrinkles... Anything that you don't like about yourself can be fixed. Despite the 5 % unsurity, I am done wanting more from myself. I am done criticising myself for not looking a certain way and for not pleasing everyone's eye.

PS: I shared all of the above for my friend who told me that she loved the post because for long she considered herself flat-chested. For another friend who went in for rhinoplasty (nose job) and eyelid operation because she got many stares from people. For one of my cousins who had one eye severely smaller than the other as a child and was the butt of jokes at school, he’s a guy. For the married lady I had interviewed long back who has had six tummy tucks so far and is still not happy. For another who thinks she needs an upliftment because her breasts sag. For the friend in grade 9 who had a huge birthmark on her left eye and it looked like an eye patch...and she refused to get it fixed. And more than anyone else... for the anonymous lady who wrote in saying she is going in for breast reduction. Please go ahead no matter who says what, but please consider whether you will really be happy with it in the long term: Small or not, your breasts will still draw attention. I can understand the TRAUMA of breasts that start to shadow your whole existence... But do be prepared that the comments and advice from so-called well-wishers will only get worse. Best of luck with the procedure once you have it done; hope the happiness stays.

Let's talk breasts...

All women reading this: How many times have you really felt your breast? Or touched it, all surfaces? Or seen it properly in the mirror? You need to. If you notice that your breasts have a different shape, or one is really different from the other, or the colour of your nipples is changing… you need to get yourself to a doctor.

So there I was on Sunday afternoon, reading some magazine and after a particularly motivating story on how we need to love ourselves, decided to give myself a self-breast check-up. Other than the idea of feeling myself up, I also gave myself that check because I realized that I had never really FELT my breasts. And it’s not just breasts, how many times have you really checked out any body part? So, as I checked myself on Sunday afternoon, I discovered that my right breast has a lump in it. I’ve been to the doctor now. She says it’s not cancer but an accumulation of the fibrous tissue in the breast. Why has the bloody tissue decided to accumulate? In the doctor’s words, “Your breasts have no fat in them. In fact your body has zero percent fat.” And that is NOT good news. Since the weight loss was drastic, the fibrous tissue decided to get to one side, stick together and form a lump. Now she has given me medicines that are supposed to dissolve the lump. I wonder if that would further reduce their size... then they'd become booblings.

What if it was not just tissue? Or... comes back as something else. I also realised - without ever having consciously thought of it - that I am scared of, cancer. Disturbing, not going to think.

Please do give yourself a check. There are umpteen sites on the web that tell you how to do it. Also, if you have had sudden weight gain or loss, doctor says you should get your thyroid checked every 6 months. Gentlemen, I don't know the comfort level you guys share with the women in your life -- like suggesting a breast check to your mom -- but if you can, please ask them to get a gynae to check for them.

Uh-oh, it's an I-want-to-write night!

I hate reading medical sites. They always convince me that I have ALL symptoms for the worst kind of diseases. Current afflictions I am convinced of: uterine cancer, suspicious lumps in the breasts -- or possibly the last of the adipose tissue left that make my booblets -- and perhaps tuberculosis of the bone, thanks to the horrid little tail bone I have sticking out. It seems bigger everyday. And since I seem to believe in all the signs, I could be a borderline hypochondriac as well. And let's not forget the weight loss...

What bothers me more than the illness itself is: who will look after me and how will I pay? Because I need to work to pay and if I am ill and not working, where's the money going to come from? My parents are there for me and there are no two doubts about that. However, I cannot be a burden on them...or anyone. They of course don't see it like that, but I cannot explain it. I have done things my way and I have ensured that if anyone has had to pay or suffer, it is me for as far as possible. I have tried that my actions don't reflect on my parents or don't hurt them. Like I was very clear that if I wanted to live on my own -- which Papa was against -- it would be on my own money. Being able to 'earn' was all about being responsible for your own self.

And then, Papa had said on my 18th birthday, "Legally now, you can do anything. But not under this roof." Those two years were the worst between him and me... dating the boys he expressedly pointed out as 'bad' boys, not consulting him on ANYTHING, announced the college I had joined, announced the first job I took, announced I would be coming late, announced I wouldn't stay with any relatives... And we fought. I think I have been angry since. But not at him anymore. It was never his fault.

Are we what our parents make us? Do we somewhere choose what we want and conveniently blame them? Are they who they really are... or what their parents made them? Mine did not teach me to smoke or skip meals or walk out on a marriage (no, am not guilty about it) or use bad language... wait till he sees this. Once he sees the use of 'fuck', dad won't be seeing much else in my blog. Like the first time he discovered that not only did I know the word 'fuck', but my vocabulary also included 'horny'. And ALL that because even then, I liked to write. The scene goes thus:

Eve*, 19, typing on a Word document in her 2-year-old computer. It's early-on in second year of college and she's writing her diary entry, a la Doogie Howser, M.D. (well yes, and loved Wonder Years too, preferred it actually) And it's a sensitive post: happily writing about this "new dude at her new and first-ever summer job who's really 'fucking' cute and how the other girls say he is always 'horny' and".... (Hears door open and sees intimidating father figure walking inside room in her peripheral vision) (turns out the father figure is indeed the father)
(Acting quickly, and in blind panic, Eve* quickly switches off the monitor. Unfortunately, a) she's not swift enough b) the act in itself is too loud an announcement of I-was-doing-something-you-won't-like)
Dad: What were you doing?
Eve*: Finished a college project, now going to help Ma in the kitchen
Dad: What project?
Eve*: Since when did we start discussing my projects? (In hindsight, now, 10 years later, I think THAT sentence should have been avoided)
Dad: Hmm. Show me.
(Sh!t) (Eve* of course instantly switches the monitor on, she's always one to take the bull-y by the horns. )
Dad: (reading, eyes moving up and down, pupils constricting at offending words, then becoming pin-points in anger) Hmmm. What trashy language is this? We need to talk. Come out.
(we go to the 'court': that's the outside verandah in our ground floor house, there's a cane hammock-swing and he is sitting in it, in his pin-striped, tweed housecoat and white, cotton pyjamas, looking every bit the army man he is... )

Dad: What do you mean by 'fucking'? And what are you writing?
Eve*: 'very' and fiction story
Dad: what?
eve*: It means 'very': he's 'fucking' cute means he's 'very' cute and it's write fiction project
Dad: (left brow raised, looking very threatening, he directs look at Ma, who's standing behind Eve*, trying to put in a word) --> "and what do you mean by horny?"
Eve*: It means stupid.
Dad: WHAT? Who told you that?
Eve*: The seniors in college. They use both the words frequently, so one day I asked, they laughed at the fact that I didn't know the words at 19 and told me the meaning."
Dad: And that's what they told you?
Eve*: Yes, fucking means very and horny means stupid.

And that was it. He let me go. I still don't know why. There's no way in hell he could have believed that... but WHY did he let me go?

Like I really want to know: Are they disappointed in me? In the way things turned out? Because if they spent their entire life wanting good things for their kid and just when said kid is supposed to take hold of the reins, she keeps doing things that are worrying and downright freaking out... WHAT do they think? I asked Ma and she said, "Dont ask stupid questions, we are your parents. We will always love you and be by you." And well, there's no point asking Dad because he will say, "Dont get melodramatic on me, go ask your mother, " and when (obviously) irritated I will remind him that I am 30 and an adult and we need to have a conversation, he would say, "You are 28, not 30, dont teach me your age; and even though you ARE 28, I am still your father." That would be the end of the conversation with me really angry.

And yet, even though he doesn't even know the brand I wear, he would say: "Baba, do you want a new pair of jeans? Let me buy you a TV, birthday present, eh?" And I would have to politely find a way out - so he sends gift cheques instead - and ma would still call every alternate day - because I yell if she calls everyday -- to ask the same questions. They really dont seem to care about the shit that I keep doing, or the things I should be doing and don't do, or the trouble I get into or me just being stubborn. I wonder: if this is Love, do I have it in me?

Eve*, and then they said...

He said, “Oh my god, where is the rest of you?”
(Then: She of course will take up space for two.”)

She said, “You look so dried up.”
(Then: “Well, you have always looked well fed.”

He said, “Somalia returned?”
(Then: “You have a sweet tooth?”)

He said, “You used to be voluptuous.”
(Then: Love your bust size.)

He said, “Hahaha, you have no breasts now.”
(Then: “I like your breasts.”) L

She said, “You can be packed in a suitcase and taken.”
(Then: “How can you walk around with those two?”)

He wrote, “There is something deliciously man-handle-able about you.”
(Then: “A woman should have flesh.”)

HE said, “At least look healthy.”
(Then: “Kam khale golu.”)

She said, “Your arse is absolutely flat, na?”
(Then: “Her arse is so big it could balance a tray.”)

She said, “How sad, the glow from your skin is gone?”
(Then: Forever beaming, eh?”)

She said, “Arre, you used to be so nice and golu back then.”
(Then: “Earlier she was sexy and hot, now she is married and fat.”)

He said, “You know, you were ‘better’ when you were rounder.”
(Then: “Will you do a gym-wear shoot, without undergarments?”)

She said, “You should have seen her earlier, she was all curves.”
(Then: “Where is that chubby trouble?”)

She said, “Madam, your face skin has become looj.”
(Then: “Stop it now, don’t spread out so much.”)

I had always thought my face was ‘round’ till recently. It took me a while to figure out my facial angles on camera. Earlier – hahaha – I had to suck my cheeks in to ‘bring’ out my cheekbones. Women at the salon would refuse to give me an eyebrow arch saying arched brows would look out of place on an absolutely round face. My nose looked rounder too! And I had stubby fingers. And really jiggly arms. And my breasts! Oh god, no matter how much I tried, no cleavage looked classy. Even the tiniest inch glared. And the cellulite! They were little pick-me-up handles on my flanks. And buying jeans was a pain…according to the arse size the length would be longer and then a boot-cut wouldn’t remain a boot-cut because the boot, the cut and half the knee had to be chopped off to accommodate my height. I didn’t know my hip bones were fucking sexy. I didn’t know I HAD hip bones. They didn’t make string bikinis in my size. Bras had to have thick straps for support. And yet dancing was made difficult because no support yet has been built to prevent heavy boobs from jiggling.

So… it’s very weird. I am just constantly bewildered: What????!!! So when I look at myself in the mirror, it can take a little readjusting to see everything shrunk by four inches. But for all that everyone has to say about the "oh so cute chubby me", I don't really miss her. Now I can perhaps say "shut the fuck up"...then I took it. Yet, now i am dried up, anorexic, look bad, dont have boobs. WTF? It's my weight either way and I can carry it around. So why don't people stop talking out of their arses and just mind their own business, and weights?

Cheeky Tongue: I am fat, I am happy...?

It was a usual evening after work; one was sitting with mixer-blended cold coffee and surfing the web to see what people were up to on cyberspace. As one read through agony aunt columns – the kind of things people come up with can give one quite a complex, sometimes inferior, sometimes superior, and things to write about as well! – a particular query stood out. A woman reader from Canada had asked: Do husbands like untoned-body wife?
Read further...
I am fat, I am happy?

I can shrink to fit!

In another month (some days short) I am going to hit 29, running. And lawrd, I swear I was sitting for my college entrance exams just the other day....
Maintenance Check:
1. No grey hair, not even a strand...anywhere!
2. Ever so light, laugh lines, no crows' feet yet
3. Don't border on fair anymore, definitley, darkly, dusky

4. Had thick, bushy caterpillar eyebrows -- now they've been tweezed and threaded into feminine curves under the expertise of nimble fingers and an often-wet thread
(Warning for women - and men - to not go for threading when you have cuts and pimples. Also, please ask the salon person to immediately stop the moment you feel a wet thread. It is not ok. A thread that's been wet with someone else's saliva is not just gross, it's unhealthy and could mean AIDS or Herpes).

5. Realised - amidst a lot of other jumping thoughts that I forgot to pen down - that, umm... I lost my virginity at 19. It does not feel like 10 years since I first... nah it doesn't feel, NOT, nah, unh-unh.

6. Skin has become 'finer' than earlier - thanks to the cigarettes - and marks very easily.

7. SIGH. Hair is completely different, from down to my hips, straight hair, it's now short and reaches the bra strap. In another 6 months though, should be almost long. But it's not growing out straight anymore, it's just wild and all over the place.

8. The overall face, it's much leaner than I have ever been , suddenly discovered that I have cheek bones! And a jaw line!

9. The last time I had any sort of fringe was at 4...when I wore frocks that showed my panties. Heh heh, should try that now. :)

10. FUCK! There was a time I was 4! And 21 and brazen! Sigh. I was 21! :( SIGH.
11. Realised that Nubile Young Thing will NEVER apply to me anymore.
12. Realised that it was yesterday that I read an article that said facials are a must after you are 25...and am not getting the mandatory necessary-to-look-younger massages!

13. Is very grateful that science is constantly advancing: in another 8-10 years, in vitro fertilisation would have developed far more to bother about biological clocks etc.
And it would not cost as much to look like Demi Moore at 40. (Or bag a 25-year-old)

14. Have developed a strange empathy for people who say they have a committment phobia; even if the said people are Men. Some people just can't.

15. Ten years since the first relationship, and am still wondering if committment is perhaps about finding the right person or deciding to commit to the one you are with, right or wrong.

16. There is no point in cribbing; and no matter how much you complain, there IS a merit to saving for a rainy day.

17. Finally know exactly what the phrase "a rainy day" means. I have non-stop rainy weeks!

18. Maybe am also getting comfortable with being by myself, of spending day after day, at home, wtihout the need for other people or wondering if I am alone because I dont have friends or cannot make them. I CAN be alone and enjoy it. Thank God! Finally, I wont be dating dorks just to BE with someone. And of course there is Golu Dawg.

19. Realised that a lot of things Dad said were right; particularly the bit about a lot of things he said making sense when I was 30. Got it a year earlier Papa... Won't tell him though. :) Also realised that perhaps I would repeat all of what he said to my kids (IF i have them) and perhaps even they won't understand me... And I will have to wait and watch my child suffer and learn his/her own lessons....much like I did (am doing) and much like Papa had to watch... I dont know though, if I would be able to do it as gracefully as him.

20. And I don't know what I will 'do' on my birthday. Last year, it was with someone and there was a different direction to life; or at least one I wanted to take. Now I know that life must go on; but am not too keen on the directions. Or rather, on WHO is with me when I am walking my own road. I was alone, I will be alone. But I won't be scared anymore.

Ten years back, I was fat, wore thick spectacles, tied my hair in a boring plait and wore clothes that hid my body. I still thought the way I did, almost, except that I believed in many more 'good things' about life and people. Back then I was told that my butt was way to big for my size and my breasts were so big that some women even called them disproportionate. Jealous bitches :) Back then, I used to think that Acceptance By The Male Species would mean being the specified size and doing the things you are supposed to do to 'get' the guy you want.

LOL. Today, I am 36-24-34. Prescribed vital stats. Job that pays well. Own living space. No one to answer to, or question. And they tell me that my butt is way too small for my size and is almost not there. The same women who thought my boobs were obnoxious and misshapen earlier; now tell me that I should think of investing in a Wonderbra for cleavage. HAHAHA. Jealous bitches...they cannot handle the fact that I can go without a bra and STILL be pert while their boobs will be touching their navels.
Yes, in 10 years, I can definitely laugh at a lot of things, I can shrink to fit and STILL not care. When there was more of me, you didn't care; and now you say there is less of me?

Post Scrap: The Princess walked tall and content in her small form. As the full moon suddenly sprung from behind the pregnant nimbus, the other Fair & Lovely Maidens paled in the silver light. All this while the Princess watched - her small frame standing tall - as the moonlight danced a glow on her dark skin.

And somewhere in the shadows, a voice had once quoted else, "And not even the rain has such small hands."