About the Author

The author is an Economics student with irrational expectations about everything and a near non-existent social life. She loves conjugating French verbs as a pastime, worships Chester Bennington and offers dating advice on Quora, regardless of the fact no one would listen. Her unfailing laziness often overrides her passion for writing, thus saving everyone the trouble of reading the crap that is her brainchild. She is perpetually on a vegetarian military diet with some minor modifications entailing high carbs and frequent cheat days. She is not a social star or the centerpiece in cliques per se but does not mind occupying a little spot in Student Governments, which she’s never offered; being invited to parties, which happens almost never, or talking incessantly if the subject in consideration intrigues her – the Trump administration or black holes, for instance, among other themes tangential to the career she’s trying to build. Her distaste for Indian cinema is reaffirmed every time she spends 3 hours on a movie which accords greater importance to flashy dance numbers than story line.  She finds herself embroiled in a generation putting their lives out on Instagram stories, considering ‘anxiety’ as a fad they can’t miss out on and confusing getting laid with falling in love. She never intends to use Tinder unless it is certain that it’d set her up with Richard Madden (with Scottish accent). If the author is made the President of Russia (ignoring her Indian nationality), she would like to launch herself into space and would preferably like to be called Fury Gagarin, a sobriquet suggestive of her penchant for space travel and her short-tempered nature. Having suffered innumerable heartbreaks of which she does not like to speak, it’s bold of her to still believe that she will someday find true love. She has got played so many times, it wouldn’t at all be wrong to change her name to Mario Forever. Just in case the American hero of her dreams happens to stumble on this page, she’d like him to know that the marriage proposal should be excessively cheesy, all hearts-and-flowers, capable of making her cry (an uphill task), coupled with a mushy John Mayer number – she’s not settling for anything less, not after the bullshit life has thrown at her. 

The picture is one of the rare semi-okay photographs of the author she’s been spamming everywhere.