Okay. Let's do this.
Some facts are hard to digest but true.
To all those pretty people with sour cream 'fairness' masks sploshed on their dusty dusky faces once in every week, the fad dieting extremists whose diet routine involves surviving a whole year through the energy generated by a single pea (Are you the dragon warrior? Tai Lung is on the look out), to all those having a face lift, botox and brouhaha for looking the GLAM-WHAM aunty-next-door (scratch that!). This is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
Lend me your ears! For the media is ambitious yet honourable! The idealism that you believe which you have set for yourself is an outcome of the billion frames that pass by every time you click the remote to fill your mind with the colours of the junk box. (I'm speaking about the TVs that you either get as freebies for voting for bad-guy-politicians or that flat desirable LCD screen that you've bought online on the TrapFart's Big Bullion Day Offer)
It has infil…
Turning smelly air into smiley takes a lot of time and effort. But my mother and my grandmother were harbingers of tidying our home and enravelling mystical aroma into the air. I strongly associate some fond memories of my grandmother when I think about the different smells that unfurl at home.
Every morning when I used to wake up by 9:00 AM as a kid, the first person I used to almost see was my grandma. She would be cutting vegetables for my mum to cook. The aroma of turmeric from her golden yellow skin used to waft in the air. When she calls me for bath and to apply turmeric on me, I used to runaway fearing the rabid yellow stains that my face will suffer. But I secretly steal a pinch of the yellow powder just to smell the pungent smell of it.
My grandfather was a voracious reader. When the clock strikes 6, he used to eagerly look forward to the arrival of the paper boy with his favourite 'The Hindu' news journal. When he reads the newspaper, I used to sit on his lap and s…