Those whom the gods want dead are pushed through the grinding blades of med school first. It's a rite of passage; you have to die bit by bit so that others may live. So, my dear sucked-n-spitten-out meddies, if you're reading this, you probably already know that you're dead meat, zeroed in on the crosshair of a 222, which is connected to a truck-load of pinless grenades, which are lying around in the middle of a couple dozen landmines.
Trust me, bacho! Your Aunty jan's been through it all. The roaring machine guns of wicked, wicked gossip; the pinless grenades that are really just a hotch-potch of pretty/bitchy girls and pappu/bad boys and then some. And the whole cwap-festival running high and wild in the fertile landmine that KE is.(Don't mind the language, meri jaans! When you'll get as ahead in years as your aunty ji, you'll find that cussing can do wonders for an aging life and a low self-esteem. You can ask Baba-e-Biochem if you don't believe me. Or if you want to go for someone closer to home, ask one of the grand-daddies of the societies that must not be named.(Don't forget your running shoes though. Those things are fast on their legs!)
Trust me, Aunty jan knows and Aunty jan cares. And that is why she's here to help. Write to her. Tell her about the president who likes playing it dirty; the professor who loves using you as food-taster for his [poisoned] chai-biscuit; the near-cat-fights over posts; the reactionary resignations, the break-ups, the heart-breaks...the love-lives that aren't and the Facebook lives that are! Tell her all. Pour your pained little hearts out. Your Aunty loves nothing more than lapping up the things which are giving you headaches and heartaches. There's nothing more important to her than listening to you and your lives' epic dramas and dishing out the little nuggets of wisdom that she's gathered over the years.
So give a shout-out to her at kellogsaunt@gmail.com, with or without your name. She may not be your regular, 50-something aunt next door. She may very well be all digitalised and modernised. Heck, she might even be persuaded to say yes, every now and then, if a sufficiently gorgeous guy asked her to 'get up and dance', but she's got a heart made of 100% pure, 21 carat gold and she is sending out 'I'm here for you 24/7' signals to all you victimised, wounded souls out there.
Help has arrived, my darlings and it will always be given at KE to those who ask for it! See you in my inbox!
