I Maybe Actually Dying

Today’s been the cherry on top of a fantastic month. Wow. I believe I had a near-death experience. As per my usual blunt style, I’m gonna just tell y’all what did happen. 

So I woke up at my usual time, maybe earlier. Put on my glasses and turned on the lights. Couldn’t see anything. At first, I thought it was a power cut or something. But I could hear my fan going. So I thought maybe my lights weren’t working. Reached for my phone and still couldn’t see a thing. Now, I’ve had blackouts before but nothing quite as bad. This was full-tilt utter blindness. At this point I think I felt really nauseous and passed out. 

When I came to, thankfully my eyes were working again. I was lying in a pool of sweat. When I tried to get out of bed, nausea hit me again, pretty much like a speeding train. I live on my own, and the first thought that crossed my mind was, “Who’s gonna make my funeral arrangements, because I don’t want to die forgotten?” So I calmed myself down, and tried reaching out to my parents. And couldn’t get through. Ah, lovely. 

I believe I’m dying. I’m not kidding, because my health has been failing for quite some time now. I don’t talk to anyone about it. But this bottling up of things is making me rantier than my usual ranty self. I’ve been snapping at people unnecessarily. Been spending too much, going into debts because YOLO. And giving people reasons to believe I’m a pathological liar. And I’ve been trying to hide what I’m actually going through under my huge sarcastic personality. When all I really am is just really, really sick. Maybe dying. 

I’ve got tachycardia (not important) and depression (oh fuck it, she’s lying and depression isn’t gonna do Jack squat) and hyperthyroidism (blah, she won’t die of that shit). All diagnosed. My retinas are super weak and I’m at a huge risk of tearing holes in them. Prozac isn’t helping me, either. So please forgive me if all I want to do is live a little. 

I don’t expect you to understand, and I definitely don’t need your pity. This post was meant to be for those readers of mine who seemed genuinely concerned about my MIA status. And a huge shout out to my friends who are psych majors for being so… extra. If only you’d used your degree and applied it to me and helped me get through my issues rather than doing whatever I made you do. All my fault. 

Anyway. So this is what’s been happening with me, and I just needed y’all to know. 

Some Nights 


I know he’s emotionally not into me. 

And I know he tries. Oh, how he tries. And I know he’s slipping. 

It’s been five months of this, this charade. Holy matrimony, they called it, waving us goodbye. Holy crap, I told myself. I was right. 

You know how people say a marriage changes everything? It does. It changed me. I’m calm. Calmer. Sweeter. Kinder. Nicer. A lot more patient. A lot more vulnerable. I quit my job to come live with him. Lisbon is beautiful. And so is he. 

The problem is, the rest of the women think so too. 

His longish hair. Proud cheekbones. That nose. Those eyes. Everything. When it comes to the Indian custom of the famous arranged marriage, boy, did I hit the jackpot. My husband Raghav is perfection. Husband. Did I just say that out loud? Six months and I still feel…new. 

He’s asleep as I stay awake, thoughts chasing each other like crazy inside my head. This is the fourth time this week he’s talked in his sleep. I hear him say the same name. Like a prayer. Over and over. Pooja

Some nights he makes love to me and he’s so gentle I almost manage to ignore him saying her name – almost. 

Some nights I want to kill whoever she is. 

Some nights I want to kill him. 

Some nights, I want to set myself on fire.

And some nights, like this one, I look down at my belly and feel the life growing in there. And I can’t bring myself to do it. 

Do I lose my man to her? 

Do  I  lose to her

Some nights I know what to do. Like tonight. I let him go. I leave the signed divorce papers in the hall where he can see them first thing. They’re a tad bit wet with my tears, but that’s okay. I wish I could watch him watch the baby grow, but I’m barely showing anyway. He doesn’t have to know. 

Some nights you know it’s okay to lose, in the name of love. 

Pink Blues


Dear You,

I know I write to you every Valentine’s Day and crib about the same thing, over and over. Begging you to come find me. And then begging you to stay. This Valentine’s Day? Not so much – I guess I’m probably on the fence and that I might change my mind come February 14th but right now? I don’t want you here. 

I just want you gone. Whoever you are, whatever you pretend to be, whatever you led me on to believe. I can’t do this. Going to extremes to convince myself that you’d show up one day and sweep me off my tired feet when we both know you won’t. Valentine’s Day pretty much sucks and I’m tired of waiting. It’s a struggle, trying to hold back your tears and not cry when you feel like there’s an elephant sitting on your heart and it might explode anytime. 

I see you. I know you’re in love with other things. I will never make it to your priority list. You’d never buy me flowers, let alone take me out to dinner. I don’t deserve that is what you think and I don’t even want to know you anymore. You led me on to believe that I was maybe worth a shot and then you just left me hanging in there barely. Just by a thread maybe. Well, guess what? That thread is now fraying, and will give away before you know it. 

I don’t believe in you anymore. I don’t believe in love and most importantly, I don’t believe in myself. 

No longer yours, 


What The Guy ACTUALLY Means

So you thought women talk in codes, right? Think again. Men talk in riddles way more – WAY MORE – than we women do. 

Why do guys talk in codes? 

This question has been mystifying me since ages. And I think Sheldon Cooper might have given me the answer – soy milk. It boosts estrogen levels and thereby makes you throw high pitched hissy fits that are typical of women. So if you notice your man throwing these fits, you need to know that he might be slowly turning into a woman. And that’s bad news because we can’t have two women in the house – there’s going to be war, with Donald Trump singing Closer in the background. 

What are these “guy codes”? 

You won’t even know you’ve been hit with extensive guy-ism till it hits you smack in the face. Here’s one classic example. 

  • Boooooooo (notice the extra ‘oooooooooo’s), I really like you sooooooo much. I want to cuddle, and snuggle and hold you forever. 

Pause. At this point you get really excited. You’re basically sure this guy is so into you and maybe even wants to be with you forever, because he’s said the F word. And you tell him you like him and he says he likes you back. And everything seems so amazing and you have unicorns dancing in your head. BUT. Don’t get too happy because this comes next. 

  • But I’m not the guy for you. You can do so much better. You DESERVE so much better. It’s not me, it’s you. You’re precious and I have commitment issues. 

Which roughly translates to: 

How to know what he really means? 

Give it time. Like HIV pathogens, guys have a window period too. You’d know that his brain is harvesting ideas and you need to wait. Like I said earlier, you need to look out for estrogen spikes. One hissy fit and you need to be out the door in one second. Also, DO not trust guys that use reverse psychology to get to you. It works on most women, and men know that.

If he’s not being honest about anything, and your crazy sharp women antennae are picking up on signs of dishonesty, you are probably right and it’s time to run.  

And because it’s a terrible time to be in a relationship anyway. Everyone will try to bribe you, and hurt you, so NO. And I guess that’s it, I seem to have lost my funny bone to Trump’s hair. 


Isn’t it funny how opportunistic friendships have become? 

It used to be nice. And selfless. And then turned to some sort of symbiosis. You gave, and you took. And now? You’re an opportunistic pathogen. I’m not even kidding here. Look at my friends. They ditch me all the time like I’m a freaking used wet wipe. Actually no. Worse. What’s with people and forming new cliques at the ripe old age of 25? I’d understand if we were all teenagers and we’d form new cliques everyday and ignore our ex best friends but at 25, it’s kind of unacceptable. 

Which leads me to believe that true friends don’t really exist and friendships aren’t forever. And I need to stop watching Disney movies and wishing I had a Winne the Pooh to my Piglet. ‘Cause that’s never gonna happen. 

I feel like there’s something wrong with me. My friends would rather get drunk or stoned with their friends than hang out with me. This makes me about as interesting as a dead booger that some rabbit on the highway left to dry in the sun. And they only ever remember me when they have financial crises. I’m not specifically saying it’s just ONE friend, because it’s the whole LOT. They won’t invite me to house parties because ‘your mum doesn’t like you partying’, they won’t call me over for movie dates because ‘oh we totally forgot’ and they won’t wish you on New Year’s or on your birthday because ‘how the heck am I supposed to remember your birthday when you don’t have a facebook!’ Also, I tend to notice that my female friends make most of these excuses. More than the dudes do. Man, am I uninteresting or what. I’m guessing I’m the ‘or what.’

This is why I’ve decided I’m going to stop talking to people that only ever remember me when they need something. Add that to my list of 2017 resolutions. 

Midnight Musings 

It’s been eight whole days and I haven’t published a thing. Good going, woman. Great start to 2017! Insert dollops of sarcasm right here. 

I have no excuse. Really. When I started this blog I thought I could be committed. That I would stay committed to writing. But no, oh no. What did happen, you ask? Everyone knows that most blogs die out within the span of a year or so. Just look it up. I’m not saying every blog does. The ones that start out like mine, you know, all promising looking, they do actually die. I mean, when I started LilRant two years ago (WHOA. TWO YEARS. WHAT?) I’d actually manage to get like a hundred followers every month. I got about 200 each month mid 2016, I was producing hilariously bitchy content and even stories. I’m really proud of my Libby’s Diary series. (You can check these out – here and here.)

You know how they say an empty mind is the Devil’s workshop? Well, I have an empty mind currently, at 00 hours IST January 9, 2017. And no, it’s far from being the Devil’s workshop. It’s buzzing. Empty and buzzing. Sitting in a post op ward with patients and their families around. Surrounded, and alone. I don’t speak the language, never bothered to pick it up. I don’t and can’t and couldn’t be bothered to connect. The nurses don’t help because I’m the only North Indian here that’s basically sticking out like a sore, fractured, rotten, middle finger. I can’t complain. I brought this upon myself. Nobody warned me this would be scary and lonely. I can handle lonely and scary, separately. Both together, it becomes hell fire on my ass. I can’t do this. 

You know what sucks? Having people tell you you can count on them, and then they do a bunk. And having the same people claim they’re your best friends when in fact they aren’t. WTF? I’m having a very crappy 2017 already. Between sticking pills up patients’ butts multiple times a day and breaking phone cases – dropped my phone several times this week, and broke three cases in seven days – I have a crappy life. And yet, I’m thankful. This could be a lot worse. I mean, I could end up doing gynaecology and never be able to eat. Good Lord. 

Oh, and by the way, when did buying makeup turn into a competition? I can’t even. I know this was random, but I just wanted to talk to you guys. Thanks for hearing me out. 


Have you ever sat down in front of your computer, opened up WordPress and been at a complete and utter loss of words? In a “Oh my God, it’s 2017 and I haven’t written anything” way? That’s what is happening to me right now. 

I’m a very superstitious person when it comes to things like this. Like, if I don’t post something on the first day of the brand spanking new year, I’d be neglecting my blog all year round. And which also explains why it’s nearly 2 January already, and I’m typing this up as fast as I can. 

To be honest, I’m terrified. I feel like my brains are suffering from the Benjamin Button syndrome and going into retrogressive metamorphosis. I’m terrified the day started off with being posted to look after a bunch of pulsating ‘hoo-ha’s ready to pop out a tiny human at any nanosecond. Imagine having to go into work knowing you’re fried for the rest of the day. Imagine having to locate case sheets, screaming at the top of your lungs trying to locate patients and then drawing blood – all this in an alien environment, and imagine now, having NOBODY else to blame but yourself because you’re the one that couldn’t pick up the language. Because your brains and heart both suck rotten mouldy bananas. 

As if that wasn’t enough, you have a stupid instagram page to run because your love for makeup has turned into a business and you’re now a so called advisor and people flock to you and you can’t be rude because you don’t want to be a blog snob. 

Stay tuned for a lot of depressing posts this year guys. I’m on the edge of a snapfest. And it’ll keep coming. You’ve been warned.