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How Self Deprecating Thoughts Shape You into a Shell

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When I look around myself, I see everybody moving, working, accomplishing things. Someone is studying, some are working on their assignments, a few are working hard to earn, some are travelling, others are photographing, many are baking, writing, publishing books, leading a group, speaking in the public! Everyone has done and is doing things. And while I am looking in all my directions, I see not even a single person who is sitting idle. I forgot to tell you that I did not look at myself lately, which is why I could not find anyone idle. Not carefree, but idle. No work, yet stressed. No worry, yet depressed. Many friends, yet lonely. Just the basic woman-on-period stuff, you see. But I am talking about doing something. Motivational speeches, soulful writings, poems, sumptuous food, experiments, inventions, art, architecture... Everyone is into one field or another and yielding decent money. Whereas, I, despite being a woman of man...
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Because you don't need Make-Up to Cover-Up!

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I saw her today; like I do every day. To my utter surprise, she seemed content. She had an unusual glow on her face, a smile which had a romantic story hidden to its depth, and a glint in her eyes which spoke of both apprehension and passion. These days, she keeps her blonde hair open, applies kohl in her eyes, wears her lipstick, and fancies looking at herself in the mirror at least seventeen times a day. She has started using the bentonite clay mask over her face, putting a layer each of foundation, primer, the BB Cream, and the bronzer before stepping out of the house and applying the rose water before going to bed. She has bought three slim-fit jeggings, got four of her tops tailored, so they accentuate her feminine form even more, and she has stolen my favourite perfume bottle from my cupboard. The little bulge of her belly, the flabby thighs, upper-lip hair, and the acne marks on her forehead-she has grown conscious to all the traits that carry with them a formidable...
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Kids; Bespoke Troublemakers since birth

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“Ma, I love you,” Rehaan said to me while pooping. I looked up from the sink where I was washing Azaan's underwear. Wondering where this sudden love for mother came from, I looked at him with scepticism written all over my face. My brow arched and mouth curled a bit did not waver his expression. He was looking at me with the same gravity that he carries while looking at the phone screen, watching his favourite car videos. That was from where he learnt all the means of transport, colours, water animals and wild animals. “Okay, Rehaan. I too love you, son.” I had had my brow raised in confusion, and he went back to pooping. For a boy of 3 years and ten months ago, he was pretty active. Jumping around in the whole house, playing pranks with a cousin, irritating everyone with his consistent rambling and leapfrog, basically being a nuisance, were some Rehaan's most favourite things to do. And when he would ask for permission to go to the loo to either poop or pee, h...
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