LOL: Life Of Leo

Image Source For me, infidelity is a deal-breaker, no doubt about it. It is the ultimate form of disrespect. I've had my share of relationships in the past and I'm glad that I did not have to go through this. I did not cheat, nor was I cheated on. Something I'd like to thank my exes for. Had I been cheated on, it would have broken me completely. It would have shattered my self-respect, my confidence and my very belief in love. It would have made me cynical and I'm not sure if I would have been able to get over it and move on. Although I haven't gone through it, I've witnessed it closely around me more than a couple of times. It is destructive, to say the least.  Infidelity isn’t only about bodies; it’s about trust, integrity, emotional survival. People often try to categorize it as just physical, just emotional, just mental; they speak of open relationships, grey areas, complicated circumstances. The language shifts. The context morphs. But the bottom line remai...

Image Source If you thought 2025 would be the year we finally retired the tired gender clichés; men as clueless oafs and women as nagging perfectionists, you probably didn’t watch the latest episode of 'Two Much with Kajol and Twinkle' on Amazon Prime. The guests? Akshay Kumar and Saif Ali Khan. Amazing men, but the conversation? Somewhere between a marital advice column from 1982 and a stand-up routine that refused to end. The women, both fabulous and ferociously independent in real life, decided to announce that men only need two phrases in their vocabulary: “I’m sorry” and “You’re right.” (Or as Kajol put it, “You are tight,” which, honestly, deserves its own Freudian analysis.)

Image Source Bangalore, the city of my birth and countless memories, was once the reigning champion of urban allure. A place where every street, every corner, was stitched seamlessly into the fabric of my childhood. Back then, simply saying one was from Bangalore seemed like a badge of honor: an unspoken declaration of sophistication, warmth, and unbeatable weather. It’s impossible to forget the gentle breeze that greeted me each morning and the canopy of trees hiding shy rays of sun, making every day feel like spring’s dainty encore. Where else could you enjoy a walk at noon without sweat clinging desperately to your brow? I recall wearing sweaters to school, even during summer. Bangalore was literally 'cool' back then.

Image Source Here’s the thing: I love a strong female character. In fact, I thrive on them. Give me Ripley fighting xenomorphs, Furiosa steering that war rig through the wasteland, or even Lizzie Bennet verbally dismantling Mr. Darcy before she falls for him; I’m here for all of it. What I cannot get behind is the constant, almost desperate trend of gender-bending characters who were never meant to be women just for the sake of calling it “progress.” Turning James Bond into Jane Bond or Lord Voldemort into Lady Voldemort isn’t feminism, it’s laziness disguised as creativity. It’s like putting lipstick on a franchise and hoping we won’t notice it’s the same old story with a different pronoun.

Image Source September feels like the universe’s reset button. For some reason, I associate September with the beginning of the end of the year. It’s not summer anymore and it’s not winter yet, the rains make an appearance here and there, making one more pensive. As it just precedes my birthday month, it also asks the big question: So… what are you still clinging to, and why? The air is cooler, the trees are casually letting go of their leaves like they’re above drama, and I find myself staring at my own mental closet thinking, "Should I finally declutter this emotional chaos?"

Image Source Another birthday just passed, and as always, I found myself looking back as much as looking forward. Birthdays have a way of doing that; pulling you into a quiet, uninvited audit of your life. This year, though, I noticed something different. The reflection wasn’t weighed down by regrets or a running list of what-ifs. Instead, I saw the bigger picture: the lessons, the patterns, and the quiet ways in which I’ve grown emotionally. Maybe that’s what maturity is, when your past doesn’t sting the way it used to because you’ve finally made peace with the person you once were.

AI Generated Image There’s a quiet, beautiful kind of heroism in those who refill the coffee pot. Or the kaapi filter, for us South Indians. Or the Moka pot, for fancy coffee enthusiasts. Although the title suggests this, trust me, this post is not about coffee. It is about people. You know the type, those rare angels who, upon taking the last sip, pause, rinse, and refill so the next caffeine-deprived soul doesn’t suffer the heartbreak of an empty pot. It seems small, almost trivial, but to me, it’s a gesture that represents something bigger: the philosophy of “Make it easy for the next person”, something I firmly believe in. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately - how the people I admire most, both in my life and in the world, are the ones who turn around and smooth the road for the person behind them, instead of walking away like it’s not their problem.

While I was in Japan this April, everything seemed to align perfectly - the weather, the blossoms, the rhythm of the days. For two full weeks, we traveled across cities and countryside, and the skies remained consistently clear and bright. Ironically, on the one day we had set aside to visit Mount Fuji, the weather turned. It rained steadily, and thick clouds rolled in, obscuring every viewpoint where Fujisan is usually seen in all her glory.

Image Source For the longest time, I scoffed at anything that smelled remotely spiritual. The idea of praying, meditating, or seeking a “higher self” felt like escapism to me; a crutch for people afraid to face the blunt, chaotic, meaningless void that life often throws at us. As an agnostic, I don’t believe in God in the traditional sense, but I do believe in Karma - a quiet force that balances our actions with unseen consequences. I find comfort in the idea that a higher power, not defined by religion, watches over us with silent wisdom. For me, being agnostic means choosing faith in energy, cause and effect, and the mystery of the universe rather than doctrine. I’ve leaned toward Nihilism most of my adult life, not in a destructive way, but more in the “nothing really matters” sense. It was oddly comforting, even liberating. If life has no intrinsic meaning, I’m free to create my own, or none at all. That gave me peace. Until, slowly, it didn’t.

Image Source In my teens, F.R.I.E.N.D.S was more than a television show. It was a warm, familiar escape that aired like clockwork on cable (remember Star World and Zee Cafe?), the background hum to my after-school evenings. I didn’t just watch it - I inhaled it. The theme song was practically a mantra, and the six characters felt like companions who made adulthood seem whimsical and liberating. For a teenager growing up in India, F.R.I.E.N.D.S was my first real peek into Western television, a world where twenty-somethings lived in quirky apartments, drank endless coffee, and navigated love and life with a certain lightness that was irresistible. After Sidney Sheldon's books, this is what opened my mind to the "real" world.

The road bends sharp, the sky turns grey Just when hope begins to sway A whisper in the soul declares You’re made to walk through storms this way

Image Source Growing up, I thought that the only mode men came in was "angry". My father and uncles were perpetually unhappy and always ready to blow their fuses. We had to walk on eggshells around them with a constant fear of taking a misstep. My poor dog bore the brunt of my father's frustrations back then. As much as it was a toxic environment to grow up in, I now think that all they needed was a space to express their emotions. Clearly, they weren't able to come to terms with the pressures of taking care of the family. I strongly believe that the most burdened being on the planet is a middle-class Indian male who is expected to singlehandedly support his family, while keeping his ego and pride in check. My mother was the primary breadwinner of our family; this should have minimized my father's frustrations, but it only seemed to multiply it. Taunts by relativities didn't help either. A man is expected to do what he should, after all.

Image Source A recent article stirred the plastic pot by claiming that career-oriented Barbies wear flats while fashion-focused Barbies cling to heels. As if a woman’s ambition could be measured by her choice in footwear. The Barbie movie, for all its pink-splashed visual grandeur and viral soundbites, only amplified this bizarre binary. Do you recall the ending where she is seen in Birkenstocks instead of heels? Going to a OB-GYN of all places. I think the intention was to show that she's a normal woman now. Well, what if I personally like to visit my OB-GYN in heels? Or boots? Or whatever I'm wearing during the course of the day where I have to do a million things and visit the doctor. Instead of elevating the dialogue around femininity and freedom, the movie reduced it to stereotypes draped in designer clothes and pop feminism.  Once a doll meant to inspire imaginative play, Barbie has now become a battleground for social commentary; and not always in the most productive wa...

Image Source 22nd April 2025 - My partner and I were holidaying in Tokyo, drowning ourselves in copious amounts of delicious ramen and strolling through cherry blossom lined streets having the silliest but most interesting conversations. After a brilliant day, when we reached our hotel to rest, we saw the news notification. Nothing felt the same again. At this point, it is hard to not take things personally.

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...