Moving To A New Address: 2018

In 3 days we will finish yet another cycle around the sun. From 2017, we will move to 2018. Sigh… The journey was quite long, wasn’t it? It took 365 days that’s 8760 hours which is 525600 minutes. The more I microscope it, the more it feels like space travel. But it wasn’t, in fact, I wonder how many times this year I took the time out to look up and adore the beauty of stars and enormous empty space.

Or maybe I did. I did look up every time I thought I couldn’t deal with this life anymore. I’d look up and heave out a sigh as if I was moving all my problems to the gigantic, enormous, infinite empty space up there. Before looking back down, I’d always give a light smile and fool myself into believing that all the worries and problems were tucked away somewhere next to the stars. It gave the cynic in me a sad hope that even the darkest empty space can look pretty.

I had quite a journey this year that started at the breathtakingly beautiful Red Sea in Dahab. I guess I’ll end this year’s cycle by the Arabian Sea in Mumbai. Just for the cheap thrill of completing a full circle across two continents of the world. I spent the first day of 2017 crying through most of the afternoon, starving through most of the evening, and feeling chilly through most of the night. It sure as hell turned out to be a good demo for the upcoming year.

Honestly, first few months were difficult and depressing, but then I slowly started meeting people who showed more faith in me than I did in myself. Some gave me work, some took me to random food dates, some became my movie buds, some were just strangers restoring my faith in humanity, some gave me the confidence to buy the ticket and take the ride, and some others assured me that they always have my back.

Since the inception of this year, I learnt one recurring lesson – the importance of being solo; of being emotionally independent; of being happy with my own company and of not feeling the need to rely on anybody. Of course, I do greatly rely on my family both emotionally and financially; a handful of friends, emotionally. But I finally feel like I’m over the need of seeking validation and having a shoulder to dump my problems on. I don’t feel the need to constantly have someone to say I love you every time I have a dull day. I don’t need it, but do I want it? Sure! It does feel nice to have a pair of arms to run into every once in a while, right? But am I desperately looking for someone and trying to fit an Aman, Akhbar, or Anthony in the equation? Nope!

I’ve finally learnt to wait and let things unfold in their due course. I guess the wisdom came with a lot of experience, both ugly and pretty. To enter 2018 also means to complete 25 years of my life. That’s more than a quarter of my life considering that my lifespan is about 70 years. Have I made enough mistakes, taken enough chances, embarrassed myself in front of my parents to a no returning point, isolated myself enough, hung out in huge groups enough, partied enough and stayed alone in the comforts of my bed enough? Have I hated on people enough and loved some more than enough? Have I made enough new friends and enemies all in this one year? Hell yeah! Do I regret a single minute of it? Hell no! I wouldn’t do my life any other way if I had the chance to redo my life. The thought of being 25 makes me feel at my peak and mellow, both at the same time.

It’s true; years are passing by in a jiffy. In no time I’ll just be hoary and lose my peak. That kind of saddens me. Not because I forever want to look hot and stunning (I wouldn’t mind) but because I believe it’s time I say goodbye to a phase where mistakes were easily excused, and being naive was understood. I’m guessing being 25 is saying hello to a life where I am more decisive, and better than half decent at things as basic as being a good host, a better cook, a better daughter, sister, friend, and hopefully someone’s lover. It’s time I seriously look into how I’m being paid for my hard work, both financially and emotionally. Maybe I’m making a big deal by assuming how 25 and hereon should be, but I guess that’s just how I’d like my henceforth to be.

I never live up to my resolutions. Hell! I wonder who does, anyway! Ideally, I was supposed to write my first book in 2017, I haven’t even gone past the index yet. So I have no big plans for next year, just positive hope that it’ll turn out to be better than this year. Sure I don’t mind the ups and downs, but I hope I’ll be a better person than I was this year; A better person to myself first, and then to the rest of the world.

I hope I do better with my confidence issues, the incredible not-keeping-in-touch talent and my reluctance with being social every once in a while. Oh! Not to forget working on my unfit body that could totally use some exercise, and the spirit to appreciate myself more and be more optimistic about this life. I spent a lot of time in my company this year, and that helped me realise my priorities. So I hope this time by the end of 2018, I’ll be writing a piece about being a confident kickass chica that men and women are drooling over. JK. Maybe not.

And just like that, I believe I’m ready to move on to my new address. See you in phase two and on the hours of 2018!


It’s Time! Secularism Should Become An Official Religion

You know what’s the best part about travelling and exploring the world? If you have travelled then you do, and those of you who haven’t, this one is especially for you.

I’m afraid what I’m about to tell you might just shatter your feelings but No! The best part about travelling is not finding Instragram worthy posts. It’s okay; take a moment to let that sink in.

Now that we got this out of our way, let’s hop on to the real deal. So I was born in Palghar, a small village on the outskirts of Mumbai. Fortunately I was only born there; my parents raised me in a popular suburb of Mumbai. I said fortunately, because I take pride in the fact that I come from THE cosmopolitan city of India. I went to a convent school and my first two friends at school were Muslim, and Parsi. I was constantly surrounded with classmates from different religions and backgrounds.

I grew up praying to Jesus every morning, then praying to Ganpati Bapa every evening while simultaneously hearing the Adhan calls. Every year I celebrate Diwali, Christmas, and Eid. Honestly, the latter is just about eating Biryani and Sheer Khurma.

As I grew through my teenage years and entered the young adult phase, my personal life complications kept me so occupied that I forgot to address God, religions, and form an opinion on the same. All these things just existed in the background. On the foreground however, my belief in God kept decreasing. I didn’t pray daily, I didn’t visit temples and I became agnostic. I couldn’t decide whether God existed or didn’t. I didn’t even try to understand Hinduism, let alone our fellow religions and their significance. By 23 I had quite a handful of friends but they all were Hindus, maybe one or two Christians. Remember my Parsi and Muslim friends from school? Well, over the period of time I lost touch with them too.

I was quite indifferent towards any religion. In fact I even occasionally blamed people’s annoying behaviours on their religions/castes. I did that because their stupidity would fit perfectly in all the stereotypes I had heard about all the castes and religions. Heard… not experienced.

To be honest I had become too lazy to care and understand why the world was divided based on their faith in God, why people were at war, and why were religions a defining factor. Until one day when I magically and quite unexpectedly landed in an African Muslim country. How and why was it magical and unexpected? That is a story for later. Today, I’ve sat down to write about what my time in Egypt, and travelling across the country taught me on a deeper level.

I met people from all across the globe who’d also come to Egypt to work and travel. My friends are from Brazil, Georgia, Tunisia, Columbia, Germany, Mexico, Kyrgystan, Spain, Jordan, and Canada. I lived with a few of them and we exchanged our ideas, thoughts, beliefs, and learning. However, three months out of the four, I lived with a bunch of Egyptian girls; A bunch of Egyptian girls… that’s a bunch of Arabic Muslim girls. That’s a bunch of girls who wore veils every time they stepped out of the house, and read Quran five times a day.

To be honest, before I flew to Egypt, I had inhibitions about Muslims. No offence, and nothing personal but the fear media, and society had ingrained in me, led me to believe it’s a territory I wouldn’t dare to explore. I was better off living in the dark, believing what I was told by filtered sources. And then there I was, willingly moving in with these wonderful girls.

Honestly, the most comfortable I felt throughout my time there was with my Arabic Egyptian friends. I could connect with them without even understanding their language. We ate the same food, lived in the same house, used the same washrooms, and slept in the same bedrooms. We had similar insecurities, fears, and worries. Our core values were the same. Our parents taught us to not disrespect people, to be compassionate, honest, caring, independent, bold, smart, value education, build careers, and not just have opinions but also voice them. Through my Egyptians friends I made some more Egyptian friends, and by the end of my stay I had more Egyptian friends than I have Indian friends.

They told me about Allah, the teachings of Quran, why they wore veils, why was fasting so important during Ramadan, and how was praying five times a day changing their lives. By now I know as much about Islam as I know about Hinduism and Christianity. I learnt a lot of life lessons in those four months; it wasn’t all flowers and rainbows but I’d still without a doubt say it was the best time of my life.

This time for the first time during Ramadan, I was more aware of why half the world was strictly fasting during the day. I ate the delicious Iftari with a sense of familiarity of where it was coming from. I’m still an agnostic, but only this time I am more aware of different religions and have finally formed my personal opinions.

For a change, after a long time in the midst of all the hullabaloo of my city, I paid close attention to the call of Adhan. It took me back to the memories of the Adhan I heard five times daily while travelling across Egypt.

So going back to the beginning, the best part about travelling is (without a doubt) realizing the fact that irrespective of our faiths, we’re all just humans, after all.

P.S. Now you know how Adhan called out to the writer in me and awoke the slumber of my blog.

P.P.S. Penning down this post has honestly been quite difficult because of the constant recurring of words like Religions, Castes, Hindus, Muslims, Christians etc. I strongly feel if only the world was a secular place?

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Adhan Awoke The Two Year Old Slumber Of My Blog

Before I start pouring out my thoughts I’d like to thank the rain and internet for finally making me do this.

I sat to write this post, got distracted and decided to hear an old song called Replay by Iyaz. Then found an Alia, Siddharth, and Fawad’s old interview in the suggested video section.

Procrastination is a bitch. But a procrastinator gets f#@ked.

So magically I sidetracked my plans of writing and started watching this video where they spoke about dysfunctional families.

5 minutes into the video, heavy rains temporarily made my Wi-Fi unconscious. This helped to finally shift my focus back on this post and so, here I am.


Honestly, I’m writing this post just to force commitment down my throat. I’ve been meaning to resuscitate my blog for a long time now, and hopefully post this post I will successfully keep it alive. It took me a lot of time, thinking, self motivation, and numerous Adhans to finally reach this stage in life. I’ve decided to ritually dedicate time to my writing without expecting a pay check at the end of the month. Last two years the only time I wrote was when I knew I was getting paid for it. It was simply easier to discipline myself then. However, what I am about to do now is as good as deciding to go on a diet from this Monday.

After 5 months of going back and forth, I have settled upon a semi-steady path for the next two years. I will be in Mumbai, studying Masters in Communication and Journalism. That’s five hours of college, 6 days a week. In my remaining time I intend to continue playing and practicing Tabla for at least an hour daily along with writing. I’m happy to tell you that my ‘someday’ has finally arrived and I’ve decided to revive my blog that has been napping since June 2015.

I’ve taken this as a challenge to inculcate habits that do not promise immediate benefits (pretty much like writing and dieting daily). I think this will be a good way to feel less guilty and more productive in my everyday life. So, in the fit of self-motivation, like every other enthusiastic writer, I have decided to write more on this lovely space that I mother. I hope to receive constructive criticism and support from all of you in this journey.

When I started this blog I intended to put up only fictional stories and poems. However, I’ve now changed my mind and decided to put anything and everything that inspires me just enough to sit down and write in my otherwise lazy life.

To know why particularly it was Adhan that awoke my blog, stay tuned for the next post.

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Bullets Don’t Kill They Die

“Sshh…This is a secret; please don’t tell this to anyone.” I said to the knife while rolling inside the gun. “So you mean to say you’re not in the mood to die today and so you plan to not hit the aim and just fly away in the sky?” Knife confirmed once again before the shooter got the gun ready to shoot me out.

Hi! I’m a Spitzer bullet and I see a lot of my brothers and sisters dying these days. These humans are exploiting us like we’re some flowers meant to be on a grave or the wedding car. But today things are going to be different; I’m in no mood to die.  I love the gun I live in; I hate the shooter who might shoot me out. I don’t know what happens to the aim once we’re fired, because I’m meant to die as soon as I hit the target.

Imagine being in my position, if I work towards the ultimate purpose of my life, then I’m meant to die. This sounds unfair, doesn’t it? But hey! As a bullet I have the liberty of living every once in a while. Wondering how? It’s simple, I just have to miss the target and save myself. Mostly it’s difficult because the shooters are well trained but if it happens to be a practice session, then the luck is in my favor. Oh! It also depends on the wind speed, humidity, barometric pressure, and the air temperature. These things can save my life too.

I have a dream and that is to act in action films. You know how they shoot in the air without aiming at anything in particular? Its fun, looks like a way out to escape in the open. My friends and I are often traded from one shooter to another. Sometimes I belong to the terrorists, sometimes to people who keep me with them just for “self defense” purpose, and other times I belong to the encounter specialists. The hardest part is, I don’t know which destination will be my last. Whether I will be cursed for my work or appreciated for my work.

Anyway, I have decided to escape death today and live a free life, unless of course a tree comes in the way and I’m stuck in the wood forever. Sometimes I do dream of having a glorious death, you know? Either by piercing in the body of a known person or a famous wall, where people can come and see the mark I leave behind.

So the shooter is all set to fire me and I’m all set to be free. Shot!

I can’t control my speed but I’m hoping the wind pressure will help. Today looks like a bright day for me. Yay! I managed to skip the target, wait oh! oh! That’s a bird, no no no…Boom!

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When The Cheese Starts Oozing Out

P.S. (Pre script): Thought and tried to give this post a fictional touch but couldn’t. I figured I’ve got to express my love for John Mayer in the most honest way possible.

It all started a year ago, yes. I’m not an old fan of John, well comparatively. Like many others I only heard two songs of his as a college student. Any guesses? Yep, that’s right! Your body is a wonderland and who says. I never really gave importance to the singer until then and it was always about the song, mainly the lyrics.

A year ago, my then boyfriend told me about how he used one of his songs to impress girls in the past. Well, it’s a beautiful song by John, and I absolutely loved it. In that phase I started listening to more of Mayer’s songs to feel good about the guy and the relationship we shared.  This introduced me to other wonderful songs by John that played in the YouTube’s playlist. Free fallin’, half of my heart, heartbreak warfare, and gravity became my new favorites. I slowly started building memories around these songs. For instance, in my trip to Leh July 2014, I was on a bike riding down the Rohtang Pass, it was cold and serene. I was surrounded with snow clad mountains that twinkled in broad day light due to the beautiful sun rays. I knew in that moment I had to plug in my ear phones and listen to free fallin’. Yes, that’s exactly what I did. That was the best 5 minutes I had in the entire trip.

Every song by John Mayer reminds me of something, something that is extremely important and close to my heart. That’s how I started listening to more of his songs and I was introduced to many other songs that are absolutely perfect in their own way. His songs gave me the strength to go through some really long days. The lyrics of his songs felt like they were meant for me, like he knew exactly how I felt. And before I realized I started growing passionate about a celebrity for the first time. I slowly fell absolutely, madly, and deeply in love with him. I’m never in awe of celebs, but with him it was or rather is different.

I went through a lot of rough time later in that year and his songs were one of the reasons that helped me survive and kept me strong. My days started and ended with his songs, I figured I could watch him play and sing for hours. Those cute (sometimes disturbing) and extremely passionate expressions stole my heart every time I looked at him. I slowly started expressing my love for him on my social media accounts and people started telling about the negative side of him. It was difficult to believe because the image I had rather still have about John is way different.

So I read and felt bad thinking that there was that side to him too. But hell! Who is perfect in this world? Not you, not me or not him. I did feel for a second that I shouldn’t have heard or read the bad side about him. Only because I didn’t want the feelings I have for him to fade away. I have a rule that I almost always follow – Don’t ask the questions you don’t want to know the answers to. I did feel for a moment that I should have stuck to the rule but the grey clouds cleared out soon.

A lot of things were now more than clear. I figured he is just another human who has the liberty to make mistakes and learn from them. We don’t just stop loving someone because they did something bad in the past, right? So, how could I stop loving him? Of course I couldn’t and I didn’t. I soon realized after all he is a big celebrity who will never know about my feelings for him. This obviously means he is not obligated to live according to my perception of John Mayer.

And life made so much sense after that. My love for him taught me the true meaning of love in return. I realized I was in that comfortable stage where I could love someone unconditionally. We often fall in love with the perception of a person in our minds, but it takes real courage to continue loving that person even when the bubble bursts. This is exactly what I learnt from the one sided love that I share with John Mayer.

I’m soon planning to get a tattoo that says – Heart of life is good – with two little cherry blossoms on both ends. It is one of his songs that is also one of my absolute favorites. The song is simple but I believe has the deepest meaning. Life can be shitty but what we really need to believe is that its heart is good. Life has its hard ways to teach some important lessons but it’s all just to make us better humans. The tattoo will be in dedication to this rough phase I had in the fall of 2014, and my love for John Mayer.

P.S. When I feel low about the fact that I don’t have a boyfriend I listen to the song named – Love Soon by John Mayer. It feels like he is singing it for me. *Blush*

P.P.S. Hey John! I really think you should gain some weight. You’re too thin now and that makes you look old. I don’t like it. But I will always love you.

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गले से लगा ले कही

भीड़ भरी सड़क पे चलता हूँ कहीं

और जब लेता हूँ एक मिठीसी अँगड़ाही
पलखे झुकाती हुई देखती है वो हर घडिं

ज़िंदा हूँ मैं यहीं और ज़िंदा है वो भी कहीं

उस दूर बसे किसी जहां में मिलना तो शायद किस्मत में है भी या नहीं

पर ज़रूरी है की आज इस मोड़ पर चलता रहूँ
शायद ये रास्ता लेकर जाये उस जहां में कहीं

ज़िंदा होने की वजह समझ आये तभी
जब मुस्कुराते हुएं वो मेरी खुली अँगड़ाही में गले से लागले कहीं

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The Filth

“You dirt! What are you doing there? Don’t you know which area you’re in?” He screamed his guts out. I pulled up the zip at once and tried to leave but a tight grip on my collar and some nails piercing through the back of my neck held me back.

“What’s your name you filth? How dare you come in this area and try to dirty the streets with your filthy act?”Mr. R Bolton asked with a death glare that made me want to pee all the more. I looked down and saw these shiny leather brogues that looked freshly polished.

“Forgive me sir, I realize I shouldn’t be doing that out in the open but it was kind of an emergency.” I said in a firm voice, holding tight the sides of my worn out loose jeans. Mr. Bolton said, “What is your name? I will note a complaint against you right now! You filthy cheap bastards who absolutely lack manners, social etiquette, and toilets! Is there no one from your area who could teach you how to behave in the outside world? Add to it you have the audacity to come to this side of the city and litter a public place by peeing all over it! What if you’re carrying some disease on you? What if it spreads in this side of the city and becomes the reason to kill hundreds of prestigious men? Sigh.”

He went quiet in the efforts of calming down and I chose to be silent. After a moment, I gathered some guts and spoke, “My name is Ron, yes I’m poor and I come from that part of this city where you would never dare to put your feet on. The reason why I’m here is because I wanted to meet the government officer who takes care of the needs of people from economically backward class. I have a letter that’s signed by every adult from that “filthy area” that clearly says, “We need toilets with taps that has water flowing through them 24×7.” This is the fifth time I’m coming here in last 5 days and every day they ask me to come later. This morning I left from my house in a hurry to reach here in time and meet the officer. In the efforts of not getting late I left without finishing my business and in order to release the tension, I asked a gentleman to guide me to a public toilet.”

The man looked at me, laughed hysterically and said, “Why do you need to use the washroom, you guys are in a habit to do it in public, so go ahead roll your pants down and do it! Why pretend to feel shy or ashamed?” I don’t know what was so funny – the fact that I asked for a public toilet or the fact that I come from a backward part of this city – you know, one that is not blessed with enough toilets and forces people to defecate in public?

To prove my point sir, I decided to do what was asked of me to do. Now I did that only to grab the attention of well cultured people who are stuffed with “manners” and social etiquette. Well, and of course to get some help from them. That is if they’re humans enough to understand the problems of other humans and choose to help them. And don’t you think that will be a much better thing to do rather than laughing at us and giving us grief for having been born poor?

Sir, I have one question here, what exactly is filthy? Your thoughts about us and by us I mean all the poor people out there who are deprived of their rights of having basic facilities like public toilets or us who are forced to pee in public just to prove a simple point?

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Little Tim’s Little Story

“Tim is stuck in a pit mom! I need help to get him out.” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

Tim is my best friend and what I love about him the most is that he is shy, almost always. Tim and I have been friends since 8 years now. Well, we’re planning our 9th birthday party that we’ll soon celebrate. So, practically we’ve been friends almost all our lives.

“Clint! What were you boys doing out there? I told you to not cross the fence while playing!” my mom yelled on her way out from the kitchen in hurried efforts of helping Tim.

Tim and I were playing in the backyard with our dolls and cars. Tim loves dolls and I love cars. However people always tell him that he should be playing with superheroes and not dolls. We don’t get the “adult’s” logic and we hardly care. We love how our dolls travel in the car and make a grand entry at the movie premiere.

“Mom! hurry! Tim is getting scared.” I yelled back as she went in to find something that would help Tim come out of the pit.

We were playing our usual game where Tim dresses up his doll and I polish my car. Later we pretend to take Tim’s doll out to her movie premier in her favorite car. Sometimes our stories change and other times we like to stick to our favorite movie premiere story.

“Clint! Help me! It’s dark in here, it’s scaring me!” a shaky voice from within appeared as mom and I were struggling to choose between a ladder and a rope.

Dance, coloring, and dressing up were the kind of things Tim enjoyed the most. On the other hand, I loved to be his guest, so I practiced the dance moves with him and let him dress me up in my mother’s scarlet colored scarf, Victorian hat, and a pearl white purse.

“Goodness gracious! How are you Tim? Are you hurt? Do you feel fine? Tell me what happened?” Mom cried out like a scared lamb.

Clint and I were playing in the backyard and suddenly he started forcing me to play with Laida’s doll that he stole from school today. When I said no, he said he had a new game to play that he recently invented. He brought your stole, purse, and a hat and started dressing me. When I retaliated, he pleaded to play this game at least once. After giving it a thought I said, “Okay, but only on one condition, if you return Laida’s doll tomorrow and never again play this game.” Clint got furious and pushed me in the pit, that’s how I landed there.

“No mom! He is lying!” I cried.

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Berries In My Pie

“To have a bakery is not an easy task”, said my father. I always wondered why and what made him say that? I saw him wake up early in the morning every day and wear his colorful zentai suit. He ate fruit tart or berry pie for breakfast, just the regular leftovers of previous night. Then he went to the bakery to bake lovely cakes, delicious muffins, lip smacking tarts, and pies that had sweet fragrance of vanilla essence, and freshness of real fruits. These cakes, muffins, and tarts were sometimes coated with caster sugar and other times with roasted almonds or nougat. Dad worked till 1 in the afternoon then took a lunch break and relished the regular meat pie and a chocolate chip muffin for dessert. It was his tradition to have an 8.7 min power nap daily before getting back to baking with his assistant Mrs. Berry tart.

At 4 p.m. daily they took their high tea break and relished on some hot tea with freshly baked cupcakes that were baked in rainbow colors. My personal favorite is the red velvet cupcake with double layers of cheese crème. Their rainbow colors are fixed for each day of the week and so I loved Fridays, because that’s when they baked my favorite cup cake.

At 8 p.m. daily their last baked cake made a grand entry out of the oven and filled the bakery with its sweet fragrance that had the power to make anyone drool for hours. This last cake of the day was famously known as the ‘Berry’s special’. My dad and his assistant had a pact of coming up with a new recipe daily and trying it out instantly. This cake as you must have guessed was the Berry’s special. It had the most random and creative combinations one could ever think of. These combinations and flavors worked wonders almost every time. Some of the famous cakes were Nutella cheese cake, gooey double chocolate, nougat and crème cheese, caramelized bacon, rosemary banana macaroons special cake, blue berry and raspberry mint cake.

They had another interesting tradition that they followed ritually. My dad and Mrs. Berry Tart celebrated birthdays of less fortunate kids on their way home with of course a delicious birthday cake that said, ‘With love, Tarts’. By 9:00 p.m. my dad returns home. That’s his usual time to arrive and for me to watch my favorite sitcom – How I met your mother. This reminds me…

…Mrs. Berry tart is also my father’s wife, my mother, and the co-owner of the bakery – With love, Tarts. She wakes up little later than my father does and sleeps little early than my father. How do I know that? Well, that’s a secret.  She also wears colorful zentai suits every day, wakes me up for breakfast, dresses me up in my zentai suit and drops me to the school. She reaches the bakery half an hour later than my dad and spends an identical day like him at the bakery.

This made me wonder what was so difficult in managing a bakery and spending a regular day like that. Then it struck me maybe my parents are busy acknowledging aliens every day. Apparently they come daily to the bakery to take all the freshly baked alienai-crème cake back to their planet and accuse my mother of stealing their secret recipe. This one is our specialty and earns us a heavy income. It is my mother’s invention; although she claims that an actual alien friend told her the recipe. My dad says it was just a dream but I like to believe it was her creativity.

There is another reason that could make the managing of that bakery difficult. I remember long time ago when I was three, my father told me that he met a fairy on his way to the bakery one day and she was crying her wand and wings out. The sugar fairy was upset because she could not celebrate her 168th birthday, as she had to pay heavy government taxes. So maybe this could be it. Maybe it is difficult to manage the bakery because my parents are always busy attending her fairy friends and serving them their special order of 168 rainbow colored cheese cream cupcakes daily. Probably that is their way of cheering up sugar fairy and helping her get over her depression and bankruptcy.

Suddenly a piece of white chalk lands on my head shaking me out of my day dream and I see my class teacher shouting at the top of her voice. When I adjust my hearing capacity from under the zentai suite, I hear her yelling, “Wake up you dreamer! It’s not easy to manage a class of 50.” And I get my answer.

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