Have you ever munched on fafda dipped in a bowl of steamy sambhar with a ball of simmering batata wada in it? No one has, trust me. Not even me. But that dish is me. I was born and raised in a South Indian household, surrounded by Maharashtrians, in a Gujju locality. At first, I thought the location inspired my name but then it was unveiled to me, that my lazy parents conveniently went with the very first name suggestion thrown at them. 

 

But my turn for disappointment was over. I turned the tables and disappointed my parents in every career choice they made for me. I gave a crack at engineering and pulled out even before I got my foot in. My father proposed cricket. I said chuck it. Mum said science. I chuckled… and joined a dance class in Sion. But things got serious real soon. I started teaching dance. The streak of disappointment was about to end. I played one last move. I told them I want to be a writer. Every last essence of their hope had evaporated. Eventually… I decided to end their sentence and stick to writing. And they parented me happily ever after. 

 

p.s. I am not a vengeful person. Mother promise.