Best way to save yourself from physical abuse [Quora Answer]

Image result for physical abuse

Heya, Bleedsters!
Final year of Engineering really 
is a b*tch! All around me, I see nothing but tests, exams, assignments and projects! And with the D-Day of my student life (for now) finally approaching, it is times like these, times of hectic confusion and exhaustion that I find solace in Quora. During one such time, I found this one answer in particular that fascinated me. It provided a simple solution to a very complex problem: What to do at a moment’s notice when you are being beaten up by thugs, your abusive spouse or corrupt officials…. Share it as much as you can and let it help someone in need!

What do you do when you find yourself on gravel, screaming in pain, your bones probably broken, your lip fat and bloody and your wounds open like a faucet? What if you are being towered by a group of thugs, or rapists or attackers? What if they want to cause you real pain? How do you make the pain stop? How do you escape this tragic situation quickly? Well, here is your answer:

QuestionWhat are the best one-minute life hacks?

by Kandarp Joshi, Counsellor, advisor, motivator (of a different kind)


Black Heart but a White Soul.

While being in a relationship is important in life, the right kind of friendship is even more crucial. Today, I want to talk about a friend who has been in my life for almost two years now and it’s his birthday. His presence has changed a lot of things completely for better or for worse, believe it or not. I guess that is what being a Bro is all about.

No – not a brother. Brothers are blood relatives. They are multi-faceted: sometimes a nuisance, sometimes a relief. Sometimes an edge between the two. You never know what a brother is for you. He can be a friend, and yet an enemy. He can save you from an angry mother’s wrath, and yet at a different time throw you under the bus driven by the same angry mother.

A Bro is different. A Bro crosses the lines of friendship, close-friendship and best friendship and emerges victorious as your truest companion. You do crazy shit with this Bro. It is you and Bro against the world. Heck, there is a whole Bible of sorts for Bros called the ‘Bro Code’ (by Barney Stinson – patent pending).

I, thankfully, have one in my life. His name, coincidentally (not really), matches partially with the name of this article – Black Heart*.

Although the name doesn’t really suit him, the story behind it is one of the many reasons why he is my Bro. I mean, we have succeeded in doing a lot of crazy shit together. Trust me – we have made a fool of one another so many times that I can’t even begin to fathom … We have been through so much, have faced so many difficulties in our own lives. But then again, we have also have stuck with each other with complete discipline… just like Bros should.

The funny thing is, we know each other because of a common liking for a TV show. Of all the ways we could meet, a TV show (called How I Met Your Mother) is what made us Bros. Our paths crossed solely because we were big nerds with respect to a sitcom! And since then, we have had a wild ride.

An awesome friend, Black Heart has managed to help me through the rough, support me through the thick, bitch-slap me appropriately through the thin and all-in-all been a great friend. Not only that, but he has also managed to do so with utmost sincerity and transparency. And with the rising number of back-stabbers, liars and pretentious friends, he is truly a gem.

I always value friendship. I do my best to nurture my friendships. Sometimes, I fail. I am not ashamed to admit I make mistakes. But guess what? Only true friends stick around. And Black Heart is one of them.

And you want to know the funny thing? The most ironic thing? The strangest of facts about this awesome friendship between us? We live in – wait for it –  different states and have – wait for it – never met in person.

It is intriguing, really. How can a person, who I have never physically interacted with, have more of a presence in my life than a people who already are? Because of a missed opportunity and dumb luck, we are yet to meet. But guess what? If a virtual friendship is this exemplary, then meeting him in person would be ambrosial… Impeccable… Flawless…

For obvious reasons, I cannot name him. Nor can I reveal more. Privacy is important. But Black Heart, if you are reading this – and I know you are, else I wouldn’t be making a post about it – a very Happy Birthday to you.

You have been a perfect friend, an inspiration in ways you cannot imagine and a truly White Soul.


*mine was White Scar. Yuck, I know.

This is a very special post, dedicated to a very special friend. Hope he likes it!

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.


Monsoon in Mumbai

Hey Bleedsters!
Not everything has to be about something. So, I decided to write this post about rains in Mumbai. It is an extremely unique experience. Tell me your views on this post!

Rain had attacked Mumbai like bullets for four days non-stop. Everything was wet. Nearly all the streets were clogged, the whole city at a standstill. While some parts of Mumbai were smart enough to not venture out of their houses, those zealous and brave citizens who had taken their chances were now stuck in traffic. Horns blared around impatiently; angry, fed-up drivers were peeking out of their cars carefully, trying not to douse themselves in water, trying to find out the reason behind the hold-up. Voices were being raised in the distance. The traffic lights were blinking orange in patterns, denoting that it was out. A poor old policeman stood amidst the chaos, trying to solve the complicated knot of cars around him. He stood no chance to resolve the issue anytime soon.


The fifth day, skies cleared. The ugly, gloomy grey dissolved into a shining, sunny blue. A depressed Mumbai turned jolly. Droplets sparkled in the sunshine. It was blissful for those, who wanted it to stop. Finally, the rains had halted.


Nothing is permanent. Knowing this, many citizens had finally stepped out of their homes to meet other people, or to restock their houses knowing that the rain could resume anytime soon. They rushed in every possible directions, umbrella or raincoats folded in one hand while shopping bags or purses in the other.


Elsewhere, vendors were removing the protective plastic sheets from their products: clothes, spices, jewellery etc. They were checking the skies frequently to determine whether they needed the protective sheets again. After a deep coma, Mumbai was living again.


It felt great. Those who had lots of free time dared to go to the beach area, where the waves slapped the rocks and sand on the shore sadistically. The sand itself was wet from the showers, the day before. Many of the beach-goers, who had mindlessly taken a seat in the sand, had problems because the wet sand had lodged into places. Dry sand is easy to shake off, but wet sand? That is a whole different story.


While the market vendors restarted their businesses for the day, food vendors on the beach were also not so far behind. The fastest type of food vendor was the roasted corn stall. He pulled his cart energetically, setting up the coal and the stove. Pulling the sack on top of the cart was not an easy task, yet he seemed to do it with relative ease. One after the other, he pulled the husk of the corn, neatly piling the raw corn in a stack, ready to cook until the coal was ignited.

Within minutes, the aroma of hot, cooked corn (which was rubbed with spices) seemed to emanate from the cart. The beach, wet and almost about to dry from the weak sunshine, was alive with hunger. Like moths to a flame, the beach-goers were flitting towards the corn stall.


Meanwhile, the Shawarma Guy was also readying himself. It took a bit longer for the Shawarma stall to be set-up than the Corn stall. The smell of spicy, cooked meat wafted through the atmosphere, mingling with the aroma of cooked corn. Heaven for hungry tourists.


In other parts of the city, children were dancing and playing. Heavy rains had assured that their school would be shut down for the day. All the lectures had been cancelled because of the heavy downpour. The children had not been allowed to rejoice because of the worried mothers, who didn’t want them to catch a cold or fever. But now? The rain was gone. The skies were clear. The clouds had disappeared. It was the perfect time to rejoice.


Their happiness was short-lived, however. It was raining – again! In no time, people were scurrying inside their homes or hunting for cover once more. The vendors were rushing like crazy to hiding spots. Protective sheets lined their carts and stalls once more. The rain showed beach-goers no mercy. In the matter of seconds, every person on the beach was totally drenched. The pitter-patter from the rain could be heard forever and ever … or so it seemed.


Everyone wondered how the rain had begun once more. A moment before, the skies had been clear. Now, however, the gloominess had returned. The clouds had ganged up together, so that the thick grey hid the bright blue of the sky. Droplets of water attacked every inch of the city heavily.


Those, lucky enough to be indoors, sighed in relief at their better judgement of not venturing out.


An old woman sat near the window, in just another apartment in Mumbai, quoting musingly, “Life is like rain. One must always be prepared,” while her grandchildren pondered in interest.


It was time for the Monsoon in Mumbai once more.

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.