Four things I would do if I were cheated on!


I like to plan things—down to the shreds. It gives me a feeling of faux-security, a vicarious control over my future. You don’t get a second shot most times. I have my proposal all planned—I decided to go with the shrieking and jumping up and down bit, followed by a twinkling tear to go with the diamond. I recently perfected the move I would use to handle the bum making lewd gestures, if he were to come within arm’s distance. And my Nobel acceptance speech has been ready for ages, save the few tweaks I make every time I read William Zinsser (His ‘On writing well’ is a delightful read).

It’s just something I do. Regardless of how unlikely the event is. Which brings me to the topic of my post: what would I do If I were cheated on? This one probably belongs to the hall of fame of unlikely events, but is certainly possible. And, yeah, now would be the best time to call me a twisted, paranoid lunatic for planning my boyfriend proposing to me and cheating on me in the same breath. But, this is a brain child of not only my neuroses; it’s mainly my compulsive watching of Mad men. There have been legends about men philandering, but nothing quite like the spectrum of skirts Don Draper has gotten himself into, scared the living hell out of me.

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My wife walked in on my fivesome! (via google images)

I don’t pretend to imagine what one endures when they gain knowledge of this horrible fact. Even constructing a scenario gives me the chills as I see myself doing things that would need Bobby Donnell to keep my ass out of jail. But, whatcha gonna do? The topic is such that it shoves the vilest of human emotions bubbling to the surface. A relationship hinges on mostly intangible attributes, the most valuable of them being trust. When some jerk stamps all over this already intangible mess, there is very little legal respite you’ve got. I checked it out. Adultery as a crime has no teeth unless you live in Michigan or are willing to settle for $10 in Maryland.

As much as I picture unleashing my feral side at the thought of adultery, I know I am not capable of violence. But, I am no saint either; no turning the other cheek for me. The least I can do is be prepared. So, here I am, shrugging off a thousand sanctimonious voices advising me that life cannot be planned, to present my cheat-sheet—a bite-sized guide for the future me reminding how to get a good deal out of the whole adultery business.

1. Make a kick-ass pre-nup

This should keep most men in their pants, when done the right way. Granted that this is a preventive measure, but what the hell, I am allowed to cheat in semantics. Invest in a good lawyer and make an air-tight prenup agreement; chances are if he’s ready to sign it, you wouldn’t need it at all. If not, you can sleep peacefully knowing you can make him pay through his teeth whenever you want.

2. Leave him

Stop reading what Prudence from Slate magazine has to say. Don’t bother what your shrink has to offer more than a couch to cry out the initial weepies.  Just dump him alright. It’s just not worth the rigmarole of forgiving and starting over. No matter how evocative his pleas of undying love for you, tell him he can shove it up an orifice of his choice. You don’t give second chances; not in this department.

3. Shop! Shop! Shop!

As much as you feel like listening to Adele, shrouding yourself in an introspective bubble, break out of it. Take a shower. Let him do the “what went wrong?” song and dance. You—soak in a spa massage, get those Zooey Deschanel bangs you thought you were too old for. Or that red silk Valentino number you wishfully gave up tiramisu for. The phrase ‘nothing to lose’ never had more meaning.

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Douches come in all sizes and shapes (via google images)

4. Learn to identify a douche

You can’t always thwart infidelity, but you can learn to weed out the riffraff early on. For example, if your guy has a friend who needs relationship help three nights a week, he’s probably screwing you over (with a guy/girl? don’t ask). If he is okay with you having ‘headaches’ every other day, yet wakes up looking like a million bucks, he’s probably getting some on the side. Also, if his face takes up as much space in the media as the state of Florida, there’s a good chance he’s the power-driven, alpha-male prototypic philanderer we all hear of. Nothing condones infidelity, but if you approach a tiger like you would, your garden variety cat, then this cheat-sheet is of no use for you!

PS: This post is just a light-hearted take on an emotionally catastrophic event; I do not mean to trivialize it. 

PS1: I am not a rationally closed off femi-nazi who thinks infidelity is a male turf; women cheat too (the relative numbers are irrelevant here). I am sure men go through hell when it happens. So, I give you the stage. Take potshots. Make your craigslist sugar daddy jokes. I’ll root for you. 

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5 reasons why you need not fear death while I am driving


Six months ago, I could have been the poster girl for the ad: How not to drive a car. Now, you may roll your eyes and be tempted to Cmnd Q me, amused at the idea that I could possibly offer anything new about car driving. That too in the United states. After all, is there anything more pedestrian, more amenable to multitasking, and after bacon, anything more deep-rooted in American culture than driving cars? There is a gas pedal and a brake. End of story.

I thought so too, when I came to this country. There’s automatic transmission and people follow rules. I was convinced about how much a piece of cake driving was going to be.

Then came my first driving lesson. And another. And a lot more, wedged with bouts of exponentially waning confidence and intelligence. To this day, it surprises me how I managed to up the ante of stupidity with every successive lesson; it felt like I was struggling to say oui in french.

Spare me, bloody Mary!

But, I’m on the other side now, and very much a member of the snooty driver’s club—cursing drivers who stick to the speed limit, making a grudging stop at every red light and outright scornful of any past-me(s) trying to learn. Also, no longer forcing fellow drivers to check their airbags every time they spot me on the road. I owe all of this to my complacent instructors—they dared to assume that I had a basic level of common sense and quick judgment to begin with. I proved them wrong on all counts, and with such élan, that I truly believe there isn’t room for more blunders. Of course, I could be woefully wrong. Until then, here’s what I have gleaned from the tons of driving classes; my precious tenets of driving, if you will:

1. The gas is always on the right 

I have lost count of the times it took me to get this right. I mean I am not directionally challenged, but I have stepped on the gas at a signal, with a stationary car mere feet away from me, so many times that my instructor had to give me the “How many fingers am I holding up?” test to make sure I wasn’t blind.

and stop means BRAKE! (compareautoinsurance.com)

2. Dividers are meant exactly for that

In a typical four lane road with a divider in the middle, it wouldn’t take long to figure out that the divider separates traffic in the opposite directions, right? Wrong. Yours truly saw the divider, decided to ignore it, and almost rammed into a car headlong, hurtling at 45mph, until the significance of the divider finally dawned upon her. (The other driver had my share of common sense to shift lanes and save us an accident.)

3. The rearview mirror needs an audience 

It was probably because my brain was focused on hanging onto the steering for dear life, that my eyes were incapable of axial movement when I drove. I backed up, changed lanes, braked at will, all without glancing at the rearview mirror for once. The instructor told me to back up. I did. He told me to take a turn, and I obeyed like a dutiful medieval wife.

 4. Blind spot, where art thou?

Granted that this is something all new drivers have a problem grasping, but I used to do a head-check for changing lanes when I need not and forget when I should. It took me a while to come to terms with the concept of the curved yellow left-only lanes and the center lanes that merged into left lanes. Wait….did I get that right?

 5. Right indicator; right turn 

There was this one time in my early driving days when I was told to take a right turn. I diligently switched on the right indicator close to the stop sign, halted for traffic and then turned a perfect left, having my instructor bang his head against the dashboard (Well, maybe I am a little directionally challenged.) He told me later, that if I ever succeeded in getting a license, he would consider his job on earth done.

It’s great to laugh at someone’s expense right? I love it too!  Glad I could oblige.  But, just remember: I do have a license now and you know exactly what I am capable of 😉

Raincheck


The excuses for not updating the blog seeming increasingly inane by the moment, I finally resigned to brute force. I forced myself to squeeze out every bit of creativity from the crevices of my left hemisphere. I whisked off an old notebook, managed to find an unscribbled half a page (very encouraging!), and sat down to put my cello gripper to paper.  I shut my eyes for a few seconds trying to focus my writing energy when the facilities in my brain burst out laughing. The creative thoughts department (T) chair was the first to interrupt the raucous outburst and speak up, as always-

 “You silly girl! Haven’t I barked enough that this grand buildup of yours can never make you churn out as much as a word? I think you should dialogue with me, set some ‘thoughts’ (wink wink) in motion…..what say?”

I sighed “Thanks for the lamest pun ever…..but I don’t care to haggle with you now…..its the words department that is being a pain in the wrong place…..bunch of sloths….they never seem to get work done on time. Vwls i, e and o ar ff n a vacatn t th bahamas…th cnsnants can’t sm t functn aln….you get the point!”

 The chair of the words (W) department was enraged “ Don’t you point a finger at my babies! Theirs is a high-stress job unlike department T here whose job is to daydream, or the thoughts-to-words (P) processing unit whose job is to fedex the thought….and by the way I haven’t received any shipment today, so stop breathing down my neck!”

 “WHAT!” I shrieked “ What do you mean you haven’t received any packages…..Is Dept P down too?”

 “Ma’m, the top ‘P eers’ have vowed to support the anti-corruption crusader Anna Hazare ! They are out on a rally for the noble cause! Wish I could join them too! Hail Shri Anna Hazare ji!”

 I couldn’t believe this blithering idiot was part of my brain. Anna Hazare controlling the workings of my brain…..so much for democracy! Considering their allegiance, under the table incentives clearly wouldn’t work with the ‘P eers’ (as if the name wasn’t ridiculous enough). As it dawned upon me that my left brain had turned into this bureaucratic quagmire, I thought of-

 “I told you so…..I told you so….U had to come back to me” pranced the chair of T, much to my annoyance

 “Now for my classic sermon…..” Oh God! This was just what I needed  “There’s no need to get worked up…you need to snip off the slack here and there and you will be able to write like a dream” that wasn’t so bad “but why do you care about blogging? Hardly two souls read it anyway….have you given singing a thought? I could use a song or two ….how about doing the cha cha cha?” Aaaaaaaah…enough!

 It’s so true what they say about writer’s block!