Right as Rain

I don’t know if you guys know this about me, but when I am not working, parenting, wasting time on Facebook, watching “Housewives” on Bravo, or writing this blog, I write songs.

I picked up a guitar for the first time late in life – my late 20′s and have been playing less than 10 years. But in that time, I finally figured out a way to channel my love and passion for music.

When I did my first open mic and did some Indigo Girls and Jewel covers, I was astounded when I received a standing ovation. Never mind that 20 of the 30 people there were my friends and had all been drinking heavily that day.

The feedback I got was. “Well, you don’t play guitar that well, but you sure can sing.” Which was nice to hear because in High School I tried out for “Grease” and didn’t even get into the Chorus.


This is a personal question. Feel free to answer in your own mind with as much honesty as you care to.

Have you ever loved someone in your youth and seen that love end? A love where maybe you knew in your heart, maybe in a place where even YOU couldn’t face it, that you loved the person just a teeny bit (ok, A LOT) more than they would or COULD ever love you? Is it possible that they assured you that your misgivings or concerns were crazy and to stop being so insecure? That everything would be “ok”? Then they would do something nice which would give you hope and give your doubts a breather.

But your instincts were right and things didn’t end up “ok.” What if it took you a long time to recover from that to heal? And what if you had to see that person after they admitted the truth to you – that those feelings that you were ignoring (telling them to shut up, shut up, shut up) were … right?

Strum This

I have a problem. I like to call it a quirk or one of the unique things I do which make me, well.


Me - the one on the Left. But if you don't like this post, I am the one on the Right.

However, my husband thinks I have a “problem” and for that reason, I guess I need to honor that he is allowed to have an opinion. I mean, of course he is allowed to – Lord knows he always has one to give me.

He likes to call it constructive feedback.

I like to call it being a pain in my ass. NOT constructive.

So my problem is something I know many of my readers will understand, if not empathize with.

I like to spend money. Like, according to hubby (nag, nag, nag) more than we have.

Get Me Some Man Pants, FAST.

A little over a decade ago, I bought a guitar so I wouldn’t do recreational drugs. When I realized that I wouldn’t just learn through osmosis, I decided to pick it up and teach myself some songs. Mostly Indigo Girls, Patty Griffin and some Dar Williams – you know, the really “bitchin” stuff.

Well, let me be clear about one thing. I use the term “learn” loosely. If by saying learn, I mean that I could actually hold the guitar in my hands and make sounds to accompany my voice, then we are both on the same page. I was no Jimi Hendrix. Or even Taylor Swift for that matter with the 8 open chords I knew how to play at the time.

During one of the indie performances I went to see, a young woman named Kris Delmhorst played, opening for Dar Williams. (I say these names assuming you do not follow Indie folk artists like me. If you do, ROCK on. Totally bitchin!)

Little Lion Man

Nico - My Little Lion Man

But it was not your fault but mine,
And it was your heart on the line,
I really f^%$#ed it up this time.
Didn’t I my dear?
Didn’t I my dear.?

- Mumford and Sons, “Little Lion Man”

I have a confession to make and perhaps you will judge me, but I said that this blog was about telling the truth and cutting past the phoniness, so I have to come clean.

I have a really bad habit. I listen to songs with curses in them. If the songs are on when the kids are around the room or if they walk in while I am singing my lungs out, I may NOT turn them off right away. I may not sing louder or turn up the volume.

Most of the time, anyway.

This is distressing to John.

Lie in Our Graves

You might wonder why I am writing a song about graves on what is actually my birthday. Give me a second, and I promise I’ll get there. I like to take, as Patty Griffin says, “The Long Ride Home.”

The Amphitheater - 12 freaking bucks! And no I did NOT go. Duh.

When I got to my college at the University of Virginia as a straight up thug Indian kid from New Jersey, I remember about everybody talking about this guy named Dave Matthews and his upcoming show at the UVA outdoor pavilion called, the Amphitheater.

“Who the f@#! is Dave Matthews and why would I spend 12 dollars to go see him?” I asked in my thug Jersey way.

Yeah, I know. What a dumb. ASS. Twelve freaking dollars.

The Storytellers

I have a problem.

Well, to be fair, I have many, but right now I want to speak specifically towards one. I think it would be unfair to burden you with more since this might even be the first time you are visiting my blog.

I like to let the crazy out slowly. Gradually.

So, the problem du jour is my spending problem. I like the color of money. But apparently not enough to save lots of it in our bank accounts. I also don’t feel a need to stare at piles of it on the floor. Instead I make sure our credit cards get a frequent workout and find lots of creative ways to spend that green stuff.

Which I think is a talent.

Add to cart, enter coupon code, enter payment info, submit, confirm order and take it from the top! Its a great cardio burning workout and you can break a real sweat.


Do you ever feel like your day just kind of ran away from you? I sit here and it’s 11 PM. I know I should be in bed, because I know the trouble I have when my kids get up. I want to stay curled up under the covers and no amount of coffee can make me move from out and under the lovely, comfortable, soft and downy warmth of my bed which all make me want to ….


Sorry – that’s about how easy it is to pass back out in the mornings, so excuse me while I get some coffee.

It’s just…

Well, I feel like whether you are a working mother or a stay at home one (I will include daddies in this too, because I know plenty who fulfill both roles), by the time everything (and I mean EVERYTHING, as if I really did sweep every last bit of rice off the floor) is done and the kids are FINALLY in bed, I feel a little like…

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I'm Kiran, I'm a dreamer. A writer. A singer. A mother. An ugly crier. An Indian-American. Who loves Gandhi. My stories are full of truth that is sometimes hard for me to say out loud. This blog is where I overcome my fears and live (and love) out loud. Read More....




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