Diary of a Mad Indian Woman


You know what’s amazing to me? I’ve told myself (and other people) time and time again that I am moving on from Andre, but I’ve never actually meant it until my last blog posted and I saw it in writing. Words are powerful.

I was looking at those words and I realized that I have to really try this time, because I made it public. It’s as if I was toying with the idea of becoming a lesbian, but now I just came out publicly. I gotta date women now! Okay, it’s a weird analogy but you get it, right? (P.S. – I’m still straight, beautiful men: please holla at me.)

Anyway, I’m still angry at Andre and it’s actually turning out to be much more of a constructive emotion than sadness. I watched this Tyler Perry movie that’s a favorite of mine again this weekend, and it really got me thinking about anger. How much sadness can one possibly contain before it spurns into some serious rage? When will I get to the point where I clearly see that this man has treated me unfairly?

Believe it or not, it’s becoming very obvious because I’m starting to feel my own worth. And this has nothing to do with looks or that whole “good on paper” thing. Truth be told, I’m a good woman. I don’t cheat. I don’t manipulate. I won’t kiss your best friend in a drunken stupor. If I’m made to feel like a queen, I sure as hell will honor my king.

I deserve a good man. Screw that - I’ve been tied down too long - I deserve a FEW good men.

I am DETERMINED to close the Andre chapter on my own, without the help of a rebound man. In the movie, the woman realizes that she has to run through all the emotions she needs to before she can completely take this man out of her life and open another door to new romance. I need to discover other emotions. I need to be angry for a while.

Ironically, being angry at Andre makes me happier in other parts of my life. I’m currently being casually courted by a young man who seems to be quite taken by me, even though I showed up for our first unofficial date in pink sweatpants and a wife beater (I’m dead serious). Let's call this guy Alex.

“Your flip flops matched your sweatpants,"Alex playfully commented to me on the phone a few days later. “I noticed that. That’s a definite plus.”

It’s kind of sweet, even if he’s really not my type. For a while I had forgotten what sweet feels like…

Back to being angry. If “my type” is what got me Andre, let me tell you something: I need a new type. I can make amendments on my own guide sheet, can’t I? Of course I can. And here it is, officially:

Rajul’s New Type: (not in any order)

Sexy as all hell
NOT painfully dramatic
NOT deceitful
NOT a bully
NOT out to break my damn heart

Ladies, if you’ve fallen into a pattern, you need to switch it up. You don’t have the same flavor every time you’re at Baskin Robbins, do you? Change your “type.” Do it NOW. My cousin Priya did and now she’s all confused because she has a man that’s treating her the way she should be treated.

“Is this normal? Why aren’t we fighting?” she asks me, her eyebrows furrowing in genuine concern.

She chose a new flavor. And as soon as I get my taste buds working again, you better believe I’m going to try something different, too.