I may not be missing the monthly salon trip, pandemic upheavals et al, but my mani hasn't lost its mojo!
Homing in, the mask has miraculously morphed into a wicked cloak for all my nefarious articulations.
Slipping into the right pair of jeans is like settling down with a dishy partner.
The past few days into the new year have winged in a new realisation, I love my own company more than ever. I am increasingly growing into a happy loner.
Forget the quips and quibs, desist from looking for validation and treat yourself like someone you love. Remember who you want to be. And be the person you want to be. Nothing else matters.
Why dye? My hairstylist surprisingly sniffed in disapproval each time I broached the subject of colouring my locks.
Robust, rugged and sometimes rib-tickling, Punjabi and the ability to converse in it is a pivotal ice-breaker. I speak from experience.
When you have children, you sign over your right to privacy. It is an instant process, with no clauses attached explaining when you might possibly retrieve it.
I am a born survivor. I may not have done a PhD in maid management, but I certainly hold a diploma in dividing time to strategise smart — the only sliver to skim along these challenging times.
From the throbbing Sarvajanik Ganesh Utsav powered by freedom fighter Lokmanya Tilak to unify the population, to the present day e-Ganapati pooja. From eco-G to e-G.