LOL: Life Of Leo

Image Source I consider myself a fairly well-informed person, even though I no longer access social media. I read the news, I keep up with books, and I like to think I understand the world around me. But watching Adolescence on Netflix felt like being hit by a tidal wave of something I had never truly grasped before. While the whole world is talking about the brilliance of this show, with each episode being shot in a single take, it exposed me to a word I had never encountered: ' incel .' I had no idea about this subculture of young men who blame women for their loneliness and frustrations. To such an extent where they create groups and have meet-ups to discuss and trash women. Apparently, this culture is catching up in India as well. There was an article in last Sunday's paper about this. As I watched Jamie, the protagonist, slip deeper into this world, I felt a growing sense of horror. How could such a community exist? How could something so dangerous and hateful be shap...

Image Source A few weeks ago, there was an interesting article in the newspaper about how a lady immersed her six sets of Chinaware in her pool, before being evacuated by firefighters during the LA wildfires. The same article spoke about people hurrying to gather their belongings when a flight crash landed during an emergency. Humans have always taken pride in the things they own. It is so vital to them that they are willing to protect it at the risk of losing on their own lives. Thanks to this article and in the wake of recent wildfires that ravaged communities, I've been reflecting deeply on the transient nature of material possessions. Growing up, I witnessed how my parents hoarded their belongings, filling our home with objects that seemed to define our worth. Be it an old TV, worn-out pillows or a broken fan, it occupied a proud space in our already crammed house. "I paid for it", was the standard answer my dad gave when we asked him to dispose of this junk. With tim...

Image Source I grew up an angry, young woman. Patience was never a virtue and I was quick to defend myself even when the situation didn't call for it. I had to react to every person, situation and every spoken word. It was almost a compulsion and never a positive one. I was perpetually angry and discontent. This was the default miasma at home and that's the only thing I've seen growing up. Naturally it is what was imbibed in me too. It took me a while to realize how wrong this was. Honestly, majority of the learning on my way to sensibility and maturity involved unlearning. I had to shed pretty much everything I knew about life, the way to behave and almost everything about myself. Today, while I understand why I was the way I was decades ago, I cannot relate to that person. Doesn't mean that I have forgotten her. I'm someone who never forgets where they came from, but I'm not someone who hitchhikes there. I walked out of this dysfunctional setting with my head ...

We’ve always been night and day I, the fire; you, the rain Yet still, our heart beats to the same rhythm  In the quiet, we break the chain 

Image Source I've always been someone who is persnickety about dressing well. I've had my share of wearing bawdy clothes and colors, thanks to the hand-me-downs that were a primary part of my wardrobe growing up. For me clothes go beyond dressing up, beyond fashion trends and it brings out the personality of the person and honestly, I can tell a lot about a person by the way they dress. I didn't have a choice in clothes as a child. Coming from a lower middle-class family, we liked what we could afford and were fascinated by the clothes handed down to us by our affluent cousins even though they felt the need to yell out "Hey, that's my old skirt" during family occasions. I guess taunts like these are what imprinted a sense of being well dressed in me, in the clothes I choose to wear and own. Looks like the shroud of the toxic family had a skein of silver after all.

Image Source When storms of life begin to roar And hearts are torn and souls are weak Remember that the sun will soar You will find the strength you seek

Image Source Ah, the great Indian mentality; a unique blend of centuries-old traditions, unspoken rules, and a dash of unsolicited blame. If there's one thing we've mastered over the years, it's this: Whenever something goes wrong in a man's life, let's point the finger at his woman. Whether it’s the office presentation he messed up, the fact that he doesn't have the time to meet his own parents often, a change in his tastes or priorities, his habits or the cricket match he failed to win, there’s always a woman to blame. It’s like the woman is the invisible force behind every man’s performance, except when he does something great. Then, of course, it’s all him. But I digress. Let’s take a recent and omnipresent example – the Indian cricket team.

Image Source I'm not a believer of new year resolutions, mostly because I cannot keep up with them, but one thing that I surely wanted to do this year was to go off social media. Instagram especially, as that's the only channel I'm active on as a viewer. I stopped posting updates months ago. Most people enjoy being on social media. It gives some a sense of purpose or a sense of validation. It did for me too, a while ago. It started feeling like a hindrance a few months ago, something that I was compelled to look at even if I did not want to. I was not enjoying it anymore. While I know most of the content out there is genuine (yes, I'm being generous using 'most'), more often than not it felt like "fitting in". Like being forced to do something just because others were doing it. Honestly, I got saturated of the monotonous dancing videos, baby updates, food and travel updates and milestone photography, even if those were of people I cared about. I knew I...

Image Source Friendship, as we once knew it, is teetering on the brink of extinction. Thanks to all offline friends veering towards becoming online friends, it’s been replaced by a new-age phenomenon called “microdosing friendship.” A like here, a fire emoji there, and the occasional “We should catch up soon!” that nobody actually means. It’s a cocktail of digital crumbs and shallow interactions, served with a side of obligatory birthday posts. And while it might seem harmless, even convenient, this surface-level engagement has a price: the slow erosion of genuine connection and the profound emptiness it leaves behind. I’ve felt it, the hollow ache of touch-starved relationships.