Mood Swings & Milestones...!!!

  Circus at the Airport Airports are meant to be hubs of excitement, anticipation, and occasional overpriced sandwiches. But my recent trip turned into an observational documentary on human behavior—more comedy than National Geographic, honestly. So there I was, finally taking a long-overdue holiday to meet my family after months. For once in my life, I was early to the airport. A full two hours ahead of schedule—no traffic jams, no last-minute sprints, no panic. It felt... unnatural. My flight was slightly delayed—just 15-20 minutes. No biggie. The airline rep made sure everyone and their ancestors knew about it by announcing it every five minutes like a broken radio on repeat. “The flight is delayed slightly, please don’t panic.” And yet... oh, the drama that followed. I decided to chill and read a book (yes, a real one made of paper). Around me, people were locked in intense relationships with their screens. Mobiles, laptops, tablets—you name it. Not just using them, mi...

How do you live without the person who’s basically become your human oxygen tank? Every little thing in life somehow ties back to him . He’s the first opinion I seek on everything—from dinner plans to whether I should splurge on another overpriced candle. No, this doesn’t mean I’ve lost my individuality (hello, I’m still the queen of my chaos), it just means his input feels essential, like seasoning on fries. Can you eat plain fries? Yes. Do you want to? Absolutely not. His daily hugs, those random cuddles, his annoying-but-cute gestures that somehow manage to pull a smile even on the worst days—those are now part of my emotional DNA. And now, I’m expected to survive without any of that. I mean, sure, we have video calls and good ol’ WhatsApp voice notes, but let’s be real—it’s like replacing a warm brownie with a low-fat protein bar. Meh. Yes, I made the adult decision to move to a different country for a fab new opportunity (go me!) and I’m genuinely excited. But also? I res...

Did you know you need a whole new set of bank accounts before you pack your bags and leave India for work? Yeah… me neither — until I found myself sitting in a bank branch, asking a very serious-looking officer how I could transfer money from my soon-to-be foreign account back to my humble Indian savings. I vaguely knew about the NRE (Non-Resident External) account. Sounds fancy, right? Turns out, there’s also something called an NRO (Non-Resident Ordinary) account — which, spoiler alert, is anything but ordinary. Apparently, both these accounts serve totally different purposes, have their own transaction limits, tax implications, and even moods (okay, maybe not moods, but you get it). At first glance, it all seemed simple — just another account, right? Wrong. The more I read, the more confused I got. Maybe it’s the stress making me overthink, or maybe this stuff is actually designed to mess with your head. Either way, I’m now spiraling over something that probably just needs a...

  Gym Fear Is Real… Like, Emotionally Real. Going to the gym daily? Oh, it’s a blast. The endorphins, the sweat, the smug sense of achievement—it’s practically a motivational Instagram reel in motion. But then I skip a day. And then another. And suddenly, the idea of returning feels like preparing for war. Against myself. I checked my gym class attendance for last month. Brace yourselves: I averaged a whopping 1–2 sessions a week. I mean, what even is that? A fitness plan or a part-time internship? This week though, plot twist: I’ve already managed three whole classes. Three! Naturally, my body now feels like it has been run over by a truck carrying dumbbells, despite me diligently gulping down protein shakes like I’m training for the Olympics. I just want to lie down. Permanently. Is this normal? Like, medically normal? Meanwhile, there are people in my gym doing double sessions like they’re trying to qualify for the next Avengers audition. Where do they find that kin...

  Moving Again… and Again (Internally) So, I’ve officially resigned. I'm currently serving my notice period, smiling politely through exit calls, and pretending I have it all figured out—when in reality, I’m spiraling into a mild (okay, medium-rare) panic over moving to another country . Yep, that’s right. International relocation. Fancy title, terrifying logistics. Now before you ask— “But didn’t you choose this life?” —yes, yes I did. I raised my ambitious little hand and said, “Pick me, I’m ready!” But here’s the plot twist: choosing chaos doesn’t magically make it less chaotic. So yes, I’m excited. And yes, I’m also an anxious ball of emotional yarn. Both can co-exist. Let’s normalize this, okay? To calm myself, I did what any overthinking, control-loving, type-A adult does—I made an Excel spreadsheet. Not one tab. Multiple tabs. A multi-tabbed masterpiece of madness: ·        “Things to carry” (that will probably exceed baggage allowance) ...

  So, it hit us—me and my husband, both—like a midlife fashion crisis: we have nothing decent to wear. Absolutely nothing. Everything we own is either faded, stretched beyond its original DNA, or so boring it could put a Red Bull to sleep. Now, I’ll admit I have this adorable, totally unnecessary habit of spring-cleaning my wardrobe every three months. If I haven’t worn it, liked it, or remembered it existed—I Marie Kondo it out of my life. And since I also extend this unsolicited wardrobe audit service to my husband, we’ve been “decluttering” aggressively for over a year now... but without actually shopping. This, my friends, is how you end up with two adults and zero wearable clothes. So, last weekend we finally decided to fix this dire situation. Destination: the factory outlet mall near Bangalore Airport. It’s basically Disneyland for grown-ups who love a good discount. Big brands, bigger discounts, and the small joy of pretending you’re “investing in timeless fashion”...