Sandhya Menon Quotes

When the finally pulled apart, Rishi's mouth tingling still, Dimple smiled shyly and looked down at their hands, entwined between them on the bench. "So," she said softly. "That was unexpected."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, like it was the most natural thing to do. Was this going to be their thing now, casual kissing? He hoped so. "Unexpected but awesome." Rishi paused. "Right?"

She laughed and looked up at him. "Definitely."

He grinned, his heart soaked in happy.

You're going to see a lot of it. People getting ahead unfairly because of the category into which they were born: male or white or straight or rich. I'm in a few of those categories myself, which is why I make it a point to reach out and help those who aren't, those who might not necessarily be seen if I didn't make the effort. We need to shake this field up, you know? We need more people with different points of view and experiences and thought processes so we can keep innovating and moving ahead.

We humans think we exist like this." Dadi gestured to the powders in their individual bowls. "Apart. Single. Beautiful and vivid, but alone." … She upended the two bowls into the center of the larger container, and the powders came together. They were mixed somewhat, but still in their separate piles for the most part - "Then" Dad continued, " with each interaction with another soul, we begin to change." She put a finger into the pile of powders and began to stir gently. The powders mixed more the longer she stirred, red mingling with orange, losing its distinct form. "We take pieces of them, and they take pieces of us. It's not bad. It's not good. It just is." By now the powders were completely mixed together, indistinguishable from each other. "Our best friends, the ones we love the most, are the ones who can hurt us the most. Because look." She pointed down to the powders. "We have had so many interactions, that we cannot separate their pieces from ours. And if we try, we would only be getting rid of ourselves.

Seriously? That's what you think I should be relegating my brain space to? Looking nice? Like, if I don't make the effort to look beautiful, my entire existence is nullified? Nothing else matters-not my intellect, not my personality or my accomplishments; my hopes and dreams mean nothing if I'm not wearing eyeliner?

Geeks are smart and talented and passionate. I don't think that's a bad thing.

Dimple didn't want to admit how much what he was saying resonated with her. Loneliness. That's what he was describing. And she'd felt it so much it had become like a constant presence in her life, curled up against her like a sleeping cat. "I know what you mean," she said softly. "Unfortunately.

I order the fragrant bison meatballs in a tart cranberry sauce to start, and then move on to other mouthwatering things- the roasted-vegetable platter sprinkled with just the right amount of herbs and pepper, and the honey-roasted rabbit, which practically falls apart on my tongue.

Dimple took a deep breath as an uneasy pulse bat within her. He was trying to make it official, and she wasn't sure she wanted official. She wasn't sure what she wanted, really.

Underneath the "no," she wrote in:
Other
And handed it back to Rishi.

She wept for her hardheadedness, and for a world that couldn't just let her be both, a woman in love and a woman with a career, without flares of guilt and self-doubt seeping in and wreaking havoc.

Maybe this was how it would begin, her transformation from Sweetie the Softie to Sweetie the Sassy: one statement at a time. Watch out, world. I'm coming.

No. It's not. When I walk down the road, people immediately make judgments about me based on my body size. That doesn't happen to you guys, no matter how self-conscious you might be about your bodies. You're still thin, and you get to exist in spaces without constantly being found wanting.

He should just say it. 'That's because we . . . we're supposed to be getting married.

Amma … I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I'm a feminist too." Amma stared at her, her eyes wide in horror. She didn't notice when the red floral dupatta of her salwar kameez slipped off one shoulder. "Sweetie! Feminists don't get married. Stop that nonsense." Sweetie did laugh then, openly. "Amma, what the heck are you talking about? Feminists can do whatever they want. They just want equal rights for women.

Her body conveyed anger like a second language; she must have had a lot of practice

I feel like I need to speak out, because if no one speaks out, if no one says, this is me, this is what I believe in, and this is why I'm different, and this is why that's okay, then what's the point? What's the point of living in this beautiful, great melting pot where everyone can dare be anything they want to be?

Lila smiles, reaches into the cloth covering whatever goodies are in the basket, and pulls out a concha. The top of the pastry is a swirl of colors- deep purple, inky blue, pink, green, gold. It reminds me of the galaxy, and I stare for a moment, mesmerized, before I take it from her.
My mouth begins to water. "This smells incredible," I say. "What do I owe you?"
"It's on the house," she says, already turning away. "Enjoy."
I want to argue, but the urge to bite into the pastry is nearly irresistible now. I've never had Mexican pastries before. But first... I pick up my phone from the bench and take a picture of the gorgeous creation. Then, putting it back down, I take a big bite and close my eyes. My mouth explodes with flavors and sensations- sweet, yeasty, warm. In another three bites, I've eaten the entire four-inch ball of dough and am licking my fingers.

Dimple opened her mouth to say that, yeah, in her opinion misogyny was complicated. Mainly because of the way it was integrated into the very fabric of society, which made it hard to see when a guy was being a total d-bag to you.

Sahil: Sometimes I worry I don't know who I really am. Sometimes I'm afraid nothing I do will ever be enough to set me apart.

Eating was so fraught when you were fat: If you ate something unhealthy, thin people would say it was no wonder you were fat. But if you ate something healthy, they'd roll their eyes, laugh, and say, "Yeah, right.

Achchan would make these random comments, just interject them into the silence. Like, "Oh! Bob's Air-Conditioning!" because he'd literally seen a billboard and wanted to talk about it since that was better than what was going on in the car. Sweetie would've laughed if she hadn't been so pissed off.

When you lose weight, mol, you will be a suitable match for him." Sweetie knew in her heart that she was good enough for Ashish just as she was. But why couldn't her own mother see that? "I'm … I'm sorry you're so ashamed of me," she said quietly. "But I'm not ashamed of myself." Her eyes burned with tears.

Dimple could see, flush from the endorphins of a great performance, why actors and performers got addicted to this kind of thing. It had always seemed unfathomable to her, choosing a career where all you did was put yourself out in front of hundreds or thousands of people and risked rejection in real time. But if they felt even half of what she was feeling now when it went well...

I've always found putting food on top of my feelings is a much more pleasant way to deal with any kind of crisis than actually, you know, dealing with the crisis.

But with Sweetie time passed in gentle waves. A conversation with her was like a warm hug and a cup of hot coca on a cold day – comforting, familiar, a place you never wanted to leave