A few weeks ago I discovered something. My tits were on the internet. Not in an Only Fans kind of way. But. Ok. Let me back up.

I write, I act, and I act in what I write sometimes and film it. When I was shooting a few scenes from a 30-min TV pilot I wrote, I decided impromptu to film me playing my real self in my real bedroom getting ready. And in that, I have a shot where I’m lifting my boob up under my dress and dropping it.

Not exactly sexy. Not exactly unsexy. Exactly womanhood.

It has become more and more important to me to capture these super specific moments from my own life because I know all the weird things I do other women do, too. That’s the impetus behind it. Feeling OK being me.

Fast forward a few months after I finished editing this 3-min video (a “teaser”), I was interviewing on a woman’s podcast, also a fellow South Asian writer, who asked if she could cut part of the video into the content and I said sure, as long as it was marketed as a custom teaser and not a show trailer (different things in the industry). I didn’t really think beyond that and I forgot about it.

Well my mom saw it when she googled me. And then we had to have a conversation about it. I knew she was upset when she called I felt it. That’s what hard sometimes about knowing someone really well. You just know, even if they’re trying to hide it.

She kept mentioning it. And at first I truly had no idea what she was talking about. Finally when I went and opened the YouTube video myself, I saw that my tit was in fact showing on the internet, in that scene. I mean technically, it’s acting and not my “boob popping out during a podcast episode” which I think is really different. It’s also aligned with a vision I’ve had for a long time about South Asian women being able to explore their full, messy, sensual selves on screen.

None of that pre-conceived vision prevented what happened next.

Straight up nausea. Beads of sweat. Heart racing. I kept replaying it.

There it is. there’s my tit.

I guess no one will ever want to date me now.

Well men won’t, especially Indian men.

Women might want to..more. Or they might not care.

Omg my mom was right. Why is this up here. Why didn’t I know.

Why when I was gifted with a moderate amount of good looks was I going and fucking up my life like this. I know this sounds arrogant. I’m typing so fast I’m not really letting myself filter and I think that’s kind of the antithesis of shame.

The week before this, my therapist and I had a long conversation about how my shame is my mom’s voice. And look, I don’t even blame my mom! She inherited it probably from her mom! And you know, keep going back. No one is BORN with shame. I truly believe we were born to the women that needed us and vice versa.

But in that moment as I took a deep breath and attempted to self regulate, I decided not to react. So I said this,

“Ok, I hear you. I didn’t know this was up. I’ll talk to the creator..”

but. but, say but.

“But..I’m old enough (as if there’s some kind of age moratorium on when you can show skin), if I am OK with this artistically, you have to find a way to be OK with it.”

She took a sharp breath. No words yet. I barreled on.

“I think you should also ask yourself why it’s so easy for you to call me every time you’re ashamed of something I’m putting out into the world but you’ve never called to compliment me on my writing or storytelling or my work.”

Long fucking pause.

“I have! I have. I love your work and I even print it out and read it again.”

“Ok mom, well I didn’t know that. You don’t tell me that. But either way, I’m asking you to find a way to be OK with this yourself rather than trying to do it through me. It’s your feeling, not mine.”

…”Ok”.

OMG. I could tell she kind of got it. or at the very least, it went from sweaty emotional escalation..to calmness and potential reflection. IDK ever since then I feel like our relationship has become more adult. Look it’s a two way street. She can’t help how she feels, but I can help how I react. And in that, maybe we can co-create new modes of being where shame is not revered but rather something to at least attempt to eliminate. Lessen it’s power.

A lot of South Asian people in the entertainment industry race to hide personal information from their parents. I do the opposite. I create semi-autobiographical content and self-publish a lot of it, which means I am constantly putting myself on blast. It has taken me almost 10 years of therapy to get here. Wherever here is.

I think the fact that I come off as someone who “doesn’t care what people think” is hilarious and wholly incorrect. I care a lot. I care so much I experience several whole months of shut down when I am confronted with criticism, especially when it’s rooted in “you should be ashamed”. BUT. Instead of shying away from it, I am working through it.

Because the work matters. Our stories matter. I matter.

12 years ago, I experienced a pretty gnarly assault via a friend. When I wrote about it, I remember my mom saying, “please don’t publish that” (I can’t believe I shared it with her). "It will just be so hard to be known as the mom whose daughter was assaulted.”

At the time, I believed the sacrifice - the not publishing my voice - was not only just worth it, but necessary. Noble, even. Which I said to my non-South-Asian girlfriends while sipping white wine in Costa Rica. They kept asking me why I felt the need to sacrifice. What are you worried will happen? Over and over again, the question was posed as I twirled my toes in the black sand.

“I can’t do that to my mom.”

“Do what to her?”

“She sacrificed so much for me. I can’t do that to her.”

I truly believed I was right back then.

I was wrong. And it took me another 12 years, but my stories now live in public, and I’m better for it.

Love,
Aneri

Check out my new website: anerishahstudios.com

And the latest podcast episode, NOT QUITE HOME on Spotify & YouTube

Please share this with friends! I would love to keep spreading my stories. Also will be dropping my “how to build funny, emotionally intelligent voice agents” course here in full (90min) for paid subscribers next week. Much love.

Subscribe now

On January 18, 2026.

Ok wait I know this feels like an abrupt way to say it. I didn’t know how to ease into it. It was very peaceful, in my childhood home, and she was surrounded by friends and family looking at pictures and singing bhajans just before she took her last breath. Kind of poetic in a way.

I am sad, like not sad in a way that acknowledges or implies that it’s tragic. It wasn’t. I know I am supposed to say she wasn’t suffering, but I think she was. Getting old is kind of brutal. While she was mentally there, her body was deteriorating near the end and I think in many ways her death released her soul, her atma, so she can move on to her next phase of life. I fully believe hers is moksh, the final stage, the ultimate liberation from the cycle of death and rebirth.

One of my good friends who I just know is reading this newsletter will begin nodding “yes” in a minute. The first time her mom used chatGPT, the first question she asked was, “Will I attain moksh?”

Please release me.

The first question my nani asked chatGPT, which was just a few months ago, was “Su cadhu?”

This means “What did you eat?” in Gujarati. Classic.

I just spent the last week with family in Detroit, singing bhajans (prayers), giving speeches, MC-ing 100 person events with my cousins where people got to come together and honor her life. Her ascension to moksh.

It hit me as we were setting up boxes of sweets for people to take from one of the programs, that my nani was everyone’s nani. A matriarch in our Gujarati community. With a big presence. A presence she insinuated, expressed, and spread with impressively few words.

A lot of people talked about how she loved to feed everyone. She lost her mother really young, and when her father remarried, she acquired 6 half siblings.

“It is women’s duty to serve”.

My grandfather, my Pappaji, who died 13 years before my nani used to say this to me while he combed his two remaining hairs on either side of his head, sitting in his wheelchair at our kitchen table while we sipped cha together.

Oh, I loved him.

A woman outliving her husband by 13 years, in a generation where women didn’t - or rather were not allowed to - have much identity before or after marriage, is wild. Somewhat profound. A little whimsical.

I remember when he was alive and his Parkinson’s was progressing she would joke with him and tell him we already all ate dinner when he woke up and that he was on his own. His frustration every time made me laugh.

Why isn’t she doing her job?

She would make puri after puri while family members in Michigan would pile into our home. We had a fairly open door policy. Growing up, it felt normal to have a family or two or 20 people drop by unannounced. And we would feed them. Well she would feed them. My mom and her were always in the kitchen, feeding everyone. I would join them when they would let me. Massaging the dough into circles and flattening it to make rotis on our gas stove. I really hated puri, so I always pushed the roti.

My mom pulled the blanket over my toes as we sang last night in front of a dozen or so relatives, snow coming down in Detroit. It was cozy and freezing.

“Do you want to sing another one?”

Vaishnav jana tho. I kind of know it.

I start, she joins me. We start off kilter and then harmonize and I can see people nodding. Haaash (a sigh of relief). Approval.

I keep getting emails this week with Urmila Mody LLC in the body of the email. That’s her name. My nani. Urmila Mody. Though we called each other burgo, which translates to “free spirit”.

I would come home from Los Angeles, get into her twin bed in my parents’ piano room where she slept every night, and curl around her and press my cheek against hers until she got annoyed. She rarely did.

“You’re showing me val (love). Why would I be mad?” she would say.

Life is oddly connected. The reason I am getting these emails is because I worked on a documentary 6 years ago, where I followed 6 South Asian and Black women ER physicians, all daughters of immigrants, in NYC throughout the early days of covid. I had to make an LLC years ago for all the contracts I had to sign with that film, and I decided on a whim to make it my grandmother’s name.

Now, 6 years later, we are days away from the documentary package getting finalized for our distributor and the timing is uncanny.

"'I’m doing my job”, one of the doctors in my documentary would say when we would ask her over and over what it was like being on the frontlines and risking her life everyday.

We loved it so much we made it the title.

I’m Doing My Job.

A 48 min film where we get to see just how much frontline responders take on when they decide to assume a position that is inherently risky, that fundamentally requires them to put strangers lives above their own.

My nani kind of did this her whole life, too. The number of people she cooked for in a given day, even strangers, was likely in the dozens. I can picture it. My grandpa, the chartered accountant, deciding last minute to bring home his business associates and letting her know when he got home since cell phones didn’t exist back then.

She was on it. She was doing her job.

And now. Today. I am reading story after story about Alex Pretti, the hospital ICU nurse who lost his life when shot by ICE agents just two days ago.

He died on January 24, 2026.

When I see photos of his face, I remember March 2020 when I was filming ER physicians at a distance talking about how they saw 50 people die in a night, teaching them how to film covertly with their iphones inside the hospital so we could get real-time footage instead of relying on the news, keeping my phone under my pillow and taking calls at all hours of the night from these women so I could understand the mix of fear and pride and love and even humor in their voices as they attempted to recount what it was like to be putting your life on the line for something so misunderstood, and in that being brave enough to be misunderstood themselves.

People kinda hated physicians during this time. They represented, restriction, isolation, a blockage from the way of life we had.

When I see the videos of Alex Pretti, I know, I just know in some way when he was engaging in peaceful protest, in protection, on some level he was thinking,

“I’m doing my job.”

I commend Alex for his bravery and grieve his death.

My birthday was on January 25, 2026.

A friend texted me when he found out my nani died right before my birthday and told me that his grandfather died right before his birthday many years ago. He said to me that it can feel odd saying goodbye to someone I love while also celebrating my own personal renewal, but that that complexity feels gratifying in some way.

I concur.

I woke up to messages from my friends in Wisconsin and Minneapolis (I went to school at the University of Wisconsin), from friends and family members in LA and Detroit and New York and Seattle, from love interests on Hinge who I haven’t met yet, to people I recently parted romantic paths with.

I wondered. What’s appropriate to reveal to people. Do I simply say thank you? Tell them about my nani? How porous am I willing to be right now while still so raw?

On January 25, 9:33 PM, exactly (to the minute) 7 days after my nani passed, the candle at our prayer flickered and went out.

The next morning we saw this stranger’s car outside my mom’s brother’s house.

She’s out there, doing her job.

Rest in peace.

Love,

Aneri

(grandchild #3)

I had a thought yesterday about the last time I truly felt lost.

I can picture it so clearly.

6 torn up pieces of a map. 6 Spaniards holding a piece each. One man picked up the other and twirled him.

I remember laughing as I watched them speak in rapid Spanish. Finally one looked up to the polluted skies, threw up his hands and proclaimed.

“I am lost!”

I felt lost too. But more in a metaphorical sense. I mean it was 7 AM and I was just leaving a club in Beijing after my 11th straight day partying into dawn. I’d stepped on broken glass more than once. I saw a man bleeding one morning after a brawl with a bartender. The next morning I ran down the street with the inflatable, amorphously animalistic mascot of an unnamed bar asking random people if they’d like to talk to him. It may have been my friend Henry asking. The details are fuzzy as this was 17 years ago.

The 2008 Olympics were a time.

In that, we didn’t know, couldn’t have known, how iPhones and social media and politics and life would forever shift our reality.

the other day on Hinge, I loved this girl’s profile specifically because when asked about her best travel story, she didn’t talk about some extravagant tour or bullshit popup she found on tiktok she instead wrote a beautifully raw soliloquy about the preciousness of studying and traveling abroad pre-iphone-pre-social media and like a little reel of weirdly blurry polaroids my entire travel life pre-smart-phone flashed before me.

The time i got lost in istanbul and ended up in asia instead of europe (did I know the city spanned two continents? Nope. I had decided to pop over to istanbul after meeting someone in a hostel in a different country who recommended it as a fun weekend jaunt). I had to flee to find the ferry back to the european side, where my hostel was, before it got dark.

One of the men from spain, in beijing, saw me laughing as he twirled his friend around. He then picked me up and spun me until he couldn’t. I didn’t vomit. I just laughed and laughed and felt sparkly. It could have been bad but it was not it was so magical. 17 years later i find myself wondering if they did ever find their temporary residential address and make it home.

Probably not, you know?

Beijing is massive. I remember every hotel and restaurant laying out little business-looking cards with clearly labeled mandarin addresses on them for us to show our cab drivers. Sometimes pronunciations were included. Oh yeah, no ubers. Definitely no waymos. What a time.

If you pronounced something even slightly incorrectly, you could end up hours from your final destination with no easy way back to anywhere really. One night my friend and I had to get into different cabs because there was a group of 9 girls heading out for the night. God I miss clubbing. I’ll see you when we get there, I reassured her.

This was 8 PM. I did see her later. At 5 AM, someone came and grabbed my butt at a club with famously vibrating floors. PRIYA! She ran up to my and squeezed my behind. I turned around and screamed her name. PRIYA! I’ll say it again for good measure.

We ended up at different clubs at the start of the night. Look it was our first week in China. My mandarin was quite rusty. It happens. I guess? I didn’t know it could happen until it happened. We’ll say it right next time. None of us had sim cards yet being it was our first week in Beijing. Internet cafes were scarce at 3 AM.

These memories are so precious because they forced us to traverse things together, to discover organically, to live in the present, to carry inflatable animals and get bloody toes and laugh at bloody things and run and laugh and twirl with strangers.

Oh yeah there’s this story where my friend’s toe got all bloody from a stiletto encounter and I wrapped it in the bathroom while making small talk with strangers who expressed a lottttt of concern. Don’t worry we’re fine.

It wasn’t that we were young. It’s that we were free. Would recreate today 100. If it was even possible. Right? I wish it was still possible to feel lost. To feel so lost that your pores were human sized and let other people in.

I fundamentally think these aberrations are cinematic. That this type of connectivity is rooted deeply in inefficiency, which in essence means…humans, MORE PLAY.

And I do. I already do. I want more of it.

Feel free to reply whenever I always always always want to hear from you.

Love,
Aneri

P.S. People can subscribe to the not quite newsletter where i will keep writing stuff like this anytime.

I also explore these same questions about connection, love, and being human on my podcast Not Quite. If you’re curious: notquitebyaneri.carrd.co

I feel like it’s really important that you know this.

Well then what did happen. I know you’re wondering it.

I went to a cookie swap last weekend. I cooked peanut butter cookies after asking a friend over facetime what a girl who is allergic to gluten should make for a bakeoff. I mean it wasn’t competitive it was festive. people cooked, came, and shared cookies. my cookies came out delicious and decadent. peanut butter chocolate babies with pink sprinkles and love.

I wish I could share a picture but I just literally ate the last bite. When I was leaving the cookie swap, I took one of each baked cookie - the green, the brown, the almond-y - in a little brown paper bag to share with friends.

I came home monday night to a full bag of cookies because he - my friend - didn’t take any. I like to blame my problems on other people until I can’t.

I am a human. I was hungry. I ate half that plate of cookies while watching a rerun of new girl and prepping to watch another episode of heated rivalry. which obvs requires sugar-induced stamina.

Anyways, I am severely allergic to gluten and overly sugary things and other stuff I’ve just figured out on my own because I suck at going to doctors but i don’t suck at knowing when I see my swollen body and patchy skin post food splurge that something has happened. The reaction wasn’t immediate but it was such an extreme food splurge (for me) that it happened relatively quickly. I got itchy and irritable and I knew I was going to have to cancel whatever plans I had that night to prepare for a long night of discomfort ahead.

I woke up this morning and as I poked at the grey bags under my eyes I found the whole thing to be oddly comforting.

At least I’m not making it up. The allergy thing. I’m a little annoyed because I have a date tonight - the first first date in a minute - and I am not super excited about the dark circles but also sometimes I’m kind of fun when I am loopy and unguarded so I’ll throw on sunglasses in that dark concert bar and give it a go.

All that to be said. in therapy today, i walked in immediately said. i’m swollen not sad. i think it’s important you know that.

she laughed. i was in a huge jacket on top of what basically amounted to a sports bra. sometimes when i don’t feel well I’m like, really hot and sweaty but also really cold and shivery. so i need to be able to swap back and forth between semi-nude and kinda clothed.

over the years as i’ve randomly, furiously typed away into my substack and hit send, I get replies sometimes. Some people feel seen. one of the questions i once got was..”what is it really about though?”

obviously, a business person asked me that. i mean i can be a business bitch, but when im writing, im feral. that’s why i like it. that’s why i like her. the version of me that wakes up, journals, does therapy, goes on a run (ok i didn’t do that this morning but i try to sometimes) and then taps away.

i feel like i finally hit this wall where..i got really sick of people’s parasocial relationships with me and im just craving real, deep, un-karmically-bad relationships and connections.

parasocial stuff for me is really tricky because i write so honestly that people feel like they really know me. learning how to navigate who can actually deeply connect with me 1:1 vs who just finds my vulnerability fascinating but can’t actually be vulnerable themselves is still something i find challenging.

one of the times i felt most connected this year (yes this is a reflection i did this morning while staring at my ghoulish face in the mirror) was when i taught an IRL workshop about how to take your creative writing and podcasting to create a funny, sassy automated voice (a voice agent) people want to confess to. It’s like when you call your bank and get that dreaded automated voice but now instead of that drudgery you hear your sassy bestie who just gets you and because she gets you you want to tell her everything. I call mine, GABBY. I use her for things like warming up guests before we podcast and collecting stories and questions from listeners prior to recording.

Actually, the most powerful moment of my last episode with Amanda Knox (remember that girl who was slut shamed and imprisoned in Italy for four years for murdering her roommate but it was fake news so she eventually got out?) happened because a woman who was living in Italy and a teenager during the whole debacle called in and talked about how to women in italy, amanda now represents freedom. i shared this with amanda during the episode.

I don’t feel like explaining more than that so feel free to watch it unfold below.

Full episode on YouTube and Spotify.

It was kind of a profound moment where I realized bringing in perspectives outside of my own can create a lot of interconnectedness and powerful moments.

it’s almost nighttime, well almost 5 PM but dark. im itchy again. i still want more cookies. why don’t we as humans ever learn anything. wait correction, why don’t I ever learn anything.

if someone could instacart me the allegra-d I can’t find i would be truly grateful i just looked everywhere.

ok so i have heard from a few friends - both married, single - that they feel kind of sad and kind of lonely during the holidays. interesting, right? it’s so festive. maybe that’s the pressure of it, though. it’s supposed to be a certain way. we light up a bunch of stuff and look at a tree - or in my case, down a barrel of cookie gluten - to feel something.

ok going back to my therapy session this morning. she pulled out her notes today and went back to our very first session where i was complaining about family boundaries.

may 13, or something, that was my first session with her.

you don’t realize how far you’ve come.

I lost a lot of people this year, to not being a doormat.

you have done so much work. in less than a year. you don’t realize. so much.

she said to me. i guess i don’t.

weird realization. I have given two people copies of my artist’s way this year. if I give you a copy of the book artist’s way (google it/chaptgpt it), it may mean our loop may be karmically closed. At least for now. let me back up. artists way is this book that walks adults back into their creativity and spirituality and sense of play through 12 weeks of reading and exercises and if i hand it to you it means that I probably tried to guide you myself and when I couldn’t because who can walk anyone through anything, really, i decided to let go. it’s not an insult nor an acceptance, neither a kindness nor a dig, it just is. i have a pattern. we all do.

if you’re in LA anytime, and in NYC in mid January, and want to take a creative, personal-essay writing workshop with me, im thinking of hosting a series of intimate ones at bars or in gardens (for the LA peeps). hit reply and let me know if interested and I’ll send over the dates and locations.

Parting thoughts. I looked at my youtube podcast stats this morning, which I don’t do often. it made me laugh. the second most popular search term for my last episode is “women’s masturbation”. love it.

I have been writing and re-writing a piece about shame I’m going to be submitting to The Cut and NYMag. In that, I’ve been perusing my favorite Not Quite podcast episodes, hunting for soundbytes and soliloquoies where we talk about shame and found some things. listed a few below for you.

 Like, I remember asking my friends like, how do I know what an orgasm feels like? And everyone was like, you know. And my OBG was like, what? Uh, you know.

 Like if I go on a date with somebody who’s a lot older, like a man or a woman who’s a lot older and people will be like, oh, the label people will be like, oh, but has he or she ever been married? And if I say no, they’re like, oh, that’s weird. I’m like, as if the people that got married early have it all figured out.

 I’m in a long line of women who give birth very quickly.

she just like didn’t want me to go to therapy. She’s like, well, why don’t you just like talk to family? And I was like, I don’t know if that’s like the best thing for me. You know what I mean? I’m like, I feel like not that family caused this, but it feels like it’s, it’s, I won’t be able to be honest.

 You’re wearing a sweatshirt, I’m wearing nothing.

 Like my interrogation, for example, insane. That I felt incredible amounts of shame over because I couldn’t even explain like what, what happened to me. What, like I couldn’t untangle what was my fault and what was the fault of the police. And because everyone was blaming me for it, I was internalizing a lot of that blame.

that’s all i got for now

Swollen not sad.

Love,

Aneri

if you don’t already, follow the podcast everywhere.

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WELL. THIS IS IT.

Let me back up. For those of you who’ve been following my work on Instagram, or through my podcast, or who know me IRL, you already know.

I did a live, 60-min show in NYC earlier this year about the time I tried my friend’s titty milk (trademark pending) on a trip in Moab and liked it.

Watch a clip from the show!

kweenaneri

A post shared by @kweenaneri

I know it’s funny and weird. But also, I am obsessed with the unconventional ways in which humans connect to each other. Here’s what I mean by that.

We’re told we’re supposed to meet on dating apps yet most of the people I’ve dated in the last few years happened because I refused to sit on my phone at a coffee shop and awkwardly said hi to people. Or because someone listened to my podcast and slid into my DMs. Another thing I’m attempting is being super clear with my married friends on what I’m looking for so they can be on the lookout for me - let’s see how it goes. it just FEEELS right.

We’re often told men and women can’t really be friends. Bullshit. Some of my closest friends are men and I need them so much and there’s a beautiful symbiosis there plus what the fuck is gender and I know that sounds so gen-z coming from a millennial but I don’t care. Also I’m bisexual, what am I suppose to do, be friends with no one you know what I mean.

We’re told we’re not supposed to drink breast milk, which is somehow grosser than drinking cow milk? One of my friends likened it to “drinking human blood”. Well, I call bullshit again.

On this girls trip to Moab, Utah, one of the women was breastfeeding and I got pulled into trying it (and then adding it to my milk every morning but that’s a story for a different day) and it made me feel SO MUCH CLOSER to both her and the other women in the group and it also felt kind of ancient like we’d probably been doing it in our past lives and forever.

It’s kind of like when you bathe nude with other women and it feels more primal than sexy. Lol. Also a story for a different day.

Anyways, back to why this is a perfect moment.

Frida Mom, a brand that supports women through labor, delivery, and post-partum (queens), just launched a breast milk ice cream and I’m obviously here for it. Also so many of you slid into my DMs about it THANK YOU.

fridamom

A post shared by @fridamom

If you’re in NYC, go check them out they’re letting people taste it for the next few days - until Aug 10. Spoiler alert, my friend’s titty milk tasted like oat milk it was pretty good and sweeeet!

As a celebration of what this all means - liberation in a fun way? titty milk flowing from the streets? communal-living? - or all of the above, I decided to share the full story I wrote in a fever dream a few months ago that birthed the live show and the podcast episode I recorded as a post-mortem:

Low-key, would absolutely love Frida to…

-sponsor a follow up episode where I dive deeper into ALLLL the wild, juicy, emotional stories about titty milk people shared with me after the show

-help me bring my live show to other venues in NYC, LA, India

-reach out to me and say hi. they kind of feel like the girlfriend I’ve been waiting for

Like did you know…

—>morning titty milk has cortisol so babies can wake up, and evening milk has melatonin so they can sleep? So when pumping, moms have to label it so they don’t accidentally switch. wilddddd.

—>women release oxytocin right after they finish pumping, so it’s common to fall asleep. I kinda love this because it’s like they’re having little mini-orgasms every time they breastfeed. we love this for them.

Ok, below is the raw, unedited piece I wrote about titty milk. The trip that birthed the next version of me… and whatever Not Quite by Aneri is becoming.

You’ll be hearing more about this soooon as I build the brand, pitch the TV show I’ve been writing, and figure out my paid tiers on this thing. Thanks for being here since the early days.

Love,

Aneri

Subscribe now

NOT QUITE TITTY MILK

(names have been changed)

Titty milk. Why do I love that phrase so much? Ok let me back up. I was in Moab a few weeks ago with 6 other women. One of them I went to high school with. The rest went to the same high school ish. In the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan.

Ok so I was really nervous to go on this trip because I was really good friends with two of the girls and the other 4 I don’t think I had seen since high school. That’s a long time! I am..many years outside of high school. Stop asking.

One of the white girls. Oh let me back up. Of the 6 girls. There were two indian girls, one persian, three white. One of the white girls told us she tried to make tshirts with us on them for the trip. But the AI-generated image kept generating all white girls. So then she put our ethnicities in. Then it kept generating an image of three white girls and then three girls in straight up burkas. I just had to google that. Nvm. Hijjabs. She kept playing with it and telling the AI. No they’re just like. American and don’t wear hijjabs. She literally couldn’t get it to not put those in every time she would put our ethnicities in. Lol. but not lol? Anyways apparently mixed race girl trips can’t have nice things. No tshirts for glen coco.

I almost backed out. And then somehow my friend saying “You don’t have to come! Whatever you want!” really made me want to come. The container had been created. Glamping at a gorgeous resort in Moab, everything planned, no pressure. My kinda thing. Ok so I decided to drive. It’s an 11 hour drive and change from Los Angeles. That’s too far to drive alone in one day. So i decided to stop in Vegas on the way there.

Low key. Vegas is the perfect place to stay alone for a night as a woman. So many people. Bright lights. No one sleeps. Everyone wants to take off their wedding ring and buy you shit. Also hotel rooms are cheap because they figure you’ll spend a lot otherwise. As a woman who doesn’t drink and didn’t bring any cash to gamble with…hehe. I am a taker, Vegas. Gimme.

I stayed at The Wynn and had a fabulous time sitting at the coffee bar in the morning. I was editing videos at 9 AM when this guy came and sat next to me and somehow we started chatting. There was also a man and a woman next to me who I hadn’t paid much attention to. When I’m in the zone, I’m in it. Then the guy’s brother came and we all started chatting. Then their dad. At some point one of the brothers leaned over and said, “You know the girl next to you is a hooker, right? At least that’s what we think.”

I looked over. Yeah she was in black, visible underwear and fishnets over it next to a much older man with a wedding ring on who was visibly drunk. I kind of loved it. So quirky. So sad. So all the things. But not quite anything. Well, maybe that’s just Vegas. Yeah.

Ok so fast forward to one hot tub with married man (don’t worry we just chatted) session and two non-alc proseccos later, I was headed to Moab! It was another 6 hour drive. When I got there, there was a rickety little dirt road leading to the campsite which was by far the scariest part of the drive because it was so dark and I was alone. I did smile at the guy standing at the entrance of said road and he just stared back, like an axe murderer. A handsome one.

That guy ended up working at the front desk of the fancy lobby of the glamping site we were staying at. Will never understand if he was trying to scare me or just a weird guy.

Weird guy maybe. In Moab when I walked into my tent there were three women sitting inside. My friends! My girlfriends! Yay!

I think there’s nothing cooler than a heated blanket on a cold night in the desert. Our blankets were heated. I got into bed and napped out.

The next morning I realized one of the girls in the other tent, Stephanie, was breast feeding.

By breast feeding I mean. Her baby wasn’t WITH us. But she still had to pump every three hours. To clarify, her baby, her second baby, was alive. Just back home with her husband in Michigan.

So immediately our trip kind of scheduled around whenever she had to pump which I low key loved so much. It just felt very aunty-ish. You know? I don’t have kids but I love being able to be there for the moms that do. During the pandemic I went through a breakup while my friends bought houses and had 2-3 kids each. It was a time because we didn’t even get to gradually get used to these new role changes.

Anyways. One day we went on this hike and when we got to the entrance. Stephanie was like I don’t know if I can do it. We were like, why not? And she goes, look at that photo of the man dying on the hike poster. Sure enough yeah. It said, “possible thing that could happen: death from dehydration.” Why would they put that at the entrance?

Covering the legals I suppose. I still wanted to see the arch. I wanted to do the hike. We were here! But i felt guilty. If we did it she’d have to do it because there was nowhere to go. Were we willing to risk the livelihood of a mother, of her breast milk? Idk. Actually most of the girls were moms. Except me and my friend who just left her job at TikTok to become a DJ. I digress.

We ended up doing the hike and it was really fun and no one died.

Every morning Stephanie would have to pump. Every night she’d have to pump. In the lobby fridge they made space for her growing bottles of milk. One day in the morning someone goes, Aneri hasn’t tried her breast milk yet. I was like oh is that a thing we’re doing? Well ok to be fair, nobody had. But they all had tried this other woman’s breast milk at one point years prior and they kept making fun of her for how bad it tasted. Damn. That’s kind of cold. But she took it like a champ.

So that morning it just became a little girl chant. Fill her up. Fill her up. Stephanie took the bottles from the man behind the lobby counter and poured a little milk into each of our cups. I did film it (see below). I was scared. What if it tasted sour? That was my first thought. It’s going to be sour.

We cheersed. I shotted it. It was sweeeeet. It tasted kind of like oat milk. I wanted more. TBH Stephanie kind of has great boobs. Like the whole thing was less weird because we were drinking it from glasses like ladies. But if she asked me to suck her boob I wouldn’t be put off. I would maybe do it. In the words of Megan Fox when she plays a bisexual babe on New Girl, I’m a real melon felon.

Is this porn or girlhood? Sweet or sexy? Fucked up or just normal and we’ve been socialized to think of it as fucked up? I mean it’s free food. How much greener could we be. We’re not even wasting our friend’s breast milk that she’d probably have to throw out anyways. Right?

If Gandhi was a woman, would he have been handing out titty milk?

Ok real talk. I mean all of this is real talk. I loved that a group of women moms / married / single / breast-feeding / multiple ethnicities, all of it was kind of like…open to this. It made me feel closer to them in some way.

Stephanie seemed to be happy we all liked her titty milk. I told a friend this over text just now and it auto-corrected to kitty milk. I had to keep deleting and reentering to not have titty swapped out. Correction. Girls can’t have nice things.

Kitty milk is kind of cute. Titty milk makes me think of porn hub.

But ok it wasn’t sexual. I know it sounds like it was. But it really was a super bonding experience. She trusted us to drink her milk. We trusted her to be healthy enough for her baby that the milk was more than good enough for us. I mean why is it that drinking “cow’s milk” is seen as normal but this is weird? Yet another way we are kept from exploring the true nature of girl bonds.

Camping in the middle of a mormon state drinking each other’s breast milk is pretty peak.

The next day I did acid - for the first time - and thought about all of this.

I told a guy friend of mine who has two daughters. He made some comment about how drinking the blood of someone else would be less weird. Um that’s disgusting.

I just told another guy friend of mine and he said he tried his friend’s too, and he didn’t think much of it when she asked him.

Ok I’m going to share it with him now and see where this story leads. Brb.

Also, if you. made it this far, congrats. you’re awesome.

I am unofficially announcing the first paid version of my newsletter which will give you:

• The full 60-min Not Quite NYC show

• Behind-the-scenes from my life

• Extra essays, audio clips, and ideas-in-progress

• Book recs I actually swear by

Become a paid subscriber ($5/mo) - will be kicking off last week of August!

Subscribe now

Thanks again for being here. =)

Love,
Aneri

I wanted to plug an event I’m hosting in Los Angeles this Friday, April 4th from 7-10PM as the official release of a zine of personal essays I wrote in 2024 called Not Quite BLANK, stories about how I’ve reinvented myself through every experience from coming out as bisexual to taking a solo trip to Paris. I have this deep belief that we create labels to feel like we belong to something. And yet. When we express honestly from a place of disconnection, we create real connection.

If you’re in LA and didn’t attend our first one (or even if you did), come! Also please free to fwd to friends. The more (cool) people, the merrier.

Link to event: https://www.handstamp.com/e/not-quite-a-zine-release

I will be recording the talk we are doing at this event for my new podcast, Eyebrow Kweenz, where I banter with people on my couch on stories about love, sex, therapy, “becoming” and anything that kind of edges into topics people don’t normally talk about. It’s raw, intellectual, kinda offensive, and super femme. My favorite things.

Watch and subscribe below! Always open to feedback and guest ideas. Can record live in LA or remotely.

Apple | Spotify | Instagram | TikTok | YouTube

Byeeee for real.

Love,
Aneri

I am doing the Artist’s Way right now. People keep asking what that is. Well, it’s a book. It’s also a spiritual practice. And a commitment. It’s a 12 week thing and in some ways it’s harder than training for a marathon but easier than making a bowl of ramen, if that makes sense. (Does anything).

It gets you in touch with your inner creative soul child and part of that for me has meant processing ANGER. I recommend it, lol. Here’s a link. This book changed my life in a very specific way in 2021. And it’s changing my life in a very specific way in 2024. It’s upsetting and amazing. (Isn’t everything).

Ok where was I.

Stream of consciousness. Let’s talk about it. That’s how I write. It’s how I think. It's what I find most tickles people’s neurons. During both a past life regression I did and during acting class, I was told my head and my heart are connected so so SO strongly. My teacher seemed scared. I think it’s good. You?

Some number of months ago, the Women in Medicine Summit asked me to 1. teach a storytelling workshop and 2. sell a book I had written.

UMMM I hadn’t published a book yet. A friend suggested a create a zine of personal essays. By that she meant, dig up and dust off provocative outrageous words from your word document and write this thing. So I did!!!!! Issa a lot. I write about my reproductive health, my love life, solo trips to Paris and through it all how following my intuition has been juicy, fun, and infinitely better than succumbing to voices outside of myself. So many lady doctors from the workshop bought one because they wanted to see “what I was like”. SO MANY. I loved it. Queens.

Ragni Agarwal, one of the raddest designers and illustrators and humans I have ever encountered, illustrated each essay with so much poignancy and humor. It was kinda neat to share my writings with a fellow queer South Asian woman who just..gets it. BUY HER MERCH. Seriously it’s gorgeous.

Many of you here today came to my zine launch event at Bodega, a coffee shop slash wine bar in Santa Monica, California. Here’s me and Rags just before we hosted a supremely vulnerable talk.

You’ll like it, I swear. BUY A COPY.

BUY IT.

BUY IT.

BUY IT.

For real, I only have 39 copies left I’m willing to personally mail and sign so this is your last change to get a cute one and after that it’s going to be a slightly shittier unsigned version unless you come to a future event and I hate events so who even knows when that will be.

The newcomers and the old comers. HI. I created the most queer coming of age girl TV show, Lonely Girl, and I want it to sell. I really do. I wrote the pilot. I produced a trailer (fuck it, here it is). And now I’m going ALL IN. The stories in the zine? They are the exact hefty Aneri bones of what makes Lonely Girl a story worth blurting out. To be unique is cool, but also lonely, right?

I am also launching a podcast I’ve been recording every week for 12 weeks tomorrow called Eyebrow Kweenz. I refuse to reveal anything other than self expression has been our core cuntra. Is cunt + mantra a thing? I am making it one. Listen to the first few quips on Apple & Spotify. Follow our Instagram and TikTok before the jump tmrw.

We know it’s out there. We know we’re out there. I don’t know who we is. We is me. We is the collective energy we source our truth and comedy from.

I know this one is weirder. I don’t care. Buy her.

Aneri

Oh also we changed our URL to anerishahstudios.substack.com. Pass her on, love

.

There seems to be a deeper logic behind big, sprawling, interconnected families over nuclear ones and one of my deepest points of sadness in life is that if I stay in the US I most likely will not get to experience that. Unless I start a women’s commune where men are welcome but not put on a leadership pedestal. It’s on my vision board so prominently, so that’s my imagined future.

I did a past life regression with a friend a year ago. This is when a trained professional hypnotizes you and walks you through visualizing your past lives. Mine lasted around 4-5 hours.

My friend had just finished her process training and needed to do up to a certain number of free sessions to fully be certified. Like I do in other parts of my life, I said “yes, and”. I asked very few questions.

It ended up being one of the most interesting and disturbing and deeply illuminating things I have ever done, especially considering I had never been hypnotized and didn’t (if I’m honest) really believe in it’s power.

Well, all of that has since changed.

First, we spent 45 min on her couch talking. She said to me, “Tell me your entire life story up until now”. Whoa, no one had ever asked me that before.

I proceeded to tell her my entire life starting back from as far as I could remember, which was age 4. She took meticulous notes and talked about how it was clear that people and relationships are really important to me and it’s how I mark and witness my life. I cocked my head.

Accurate.

She then walked me into her basement bedroom in Playa del Rey. This sounds way more ominous than it actually was. I’ve known Kendra for over a decade and her house is cozy as fuck.

Then she proceeded to lull me into a slightly buzzy sleep. It’s hard for me to remember the details of this descent a year later. 

Once I was semi-under and feeling comfortable, she asked me to talk about past lives I was envisioning. My eyes were closed and I felt foggy but clear. Suddenly, I saw horse’s feet running as fast as they could. I was on top of the horse, holding a baby. 

Where was I going?

I was running away from the Sultan.

Was the baby his?

Yes.

Why was I running away?

He was married. Unrelated, I didn’t want to raise it with him.

I handed my baby to people over a semi-defined border. 

Later, I saw a version of me in a red sari working in the Sultan’s yard amongst a sea of other women servants. We were laughing and doing laundry in a well. Meanwhile, the Sultan and his family sat at a table loaded with decadent food, looking sullen and not speaking to each other. 

I took away from this story that I deeply value community over class, camraderie over wealth. It explains so much of my almost involuntary anti-capitalist mindset despite having gone to a private school and living in NYC. For so much of my life, I have been surrounded by obscene wealth, and unhappy, lost people.

Later I saw myself as a blonde woman gazing at her naked butthole in a full-length mirror in a boutique hotel room with a red sofa, waiting for her Johnny Bravo.

Another vision began with me as a woman in a grave, dead, gazing up at her relatives and friends. She said that was the first time she’s ever had someone describe a “beyond life” visualization.

One of my most profound takeaways was that I need to go to India and find the journals of a great great aunt of mine who was engaged by age 8 and widowed by age 9 when her betrothed died of typhoid fever. For the rest of her life, she had to wear a white sari, shave her head, and go devoid of makeup, jewelry or anything feminine. She was never allowed to get married again.

The family decided that since she was too young to live in a widow’s home, they had to allow her to get educated. So she did, and she became a school principal and saved our family’s wealth.

No one in our family talks about her or how revolutionary she was.

I became convinced during my past life exploration that she wrote journals that reside in my Nani’s house in Godhra somewhere. Next time I go to India, I’m going to go find them.

We often let women’s stories in our family die because they are so much more remarkable than the men that we feel almost guilty. Well, I’m bored and I want to know more about our women.

I think my life is defined by this exploration of women’s stories that so often go untold. In learning about them, I am trying to understand myself. Where do I actually come from? Who else in my family may have been queer or gay? Daringly herself instead of afraid? 

These questions keep me up at night. 

I started recording audio interviews with women in my family 8 years ago. 

I remember one of the more shocking ones was my aunt telling me she got “accidentally pregnant” with her husband.

“We lived with his parents in a small house on the East Coast. The only private space we had was our bedroom, so what else could we do but have sex and fight?” she said, deadpan.

She said extended family would make snide remarks. 

“Oh, you’re pregnant. I thought you wanted to get your pHD,” the smirked, while throwing paan into their greasy mouths.

She was so upset she threw herself down the stairs and carried heavy loads of laundry when no one was home, until the baby died. To be fair, those things may not have been the reason the baby died. 

She said afterwards, she felt happy. 

She never did get her pHD though.

She let me record this story in front of a room full of nosy relatives at a wedding. 

“No one ever asks me this and I don’t want these stories to die with me.”

The end. The beginning. <3

Show Spotlight (SS)

I recently binged the show Baby Reindeer. A Scottish comedian gets stalked by a middle-aged woman Martha who he meets at the bar where he works. Someone had recommended it to me because the comedian plays a version of himself in the show, which is similar to how I’ve approached Lonely Girl, the comedy pilot I wrote, directed, and acted in loosely based off of my personal life. The show is so fantastic, the score, the pacing, the story itself. I’m not going to lie - it’s dark, it’s not for everyone. I couldn’t look away. If you want something riveting and dark and absurd with brief moments of comedic relief, check it out. It’s streaming on Netflix.

Two shows I haven’t seen yet that have been recommended to me over and over again are Hacks (streaming on MAX) and Killing Eve, created bye Phoebe Waller-Bridge (also the creator of one of my favorites, Fleabag). Killing Eve was described to me over text as “a cool queer spy kick ass female cat and mouse across Europe TV show.” I mean, come on, I have to watch that.

Aneri’s Book Club (ABC)

Wanted to shoutout my good friend Khushbu Shah’s debut cookbook, Amrikan, which contains 125 recipes from the Indian-American diaspora. Having previously worked as the magazine editor of Food & Wine, she knows what she’s talking about. I went to her book launch yesterday and the food and vibes were delicious. I also loved her inscription in the book:

We both hail from suburbs in Michigan where we grew up in large South Asian diaspora communities, so it’s really inspiring to see how far she’s come, and it reminds me to keep going. The book officially drops June 4 and you can preorder it now.

I’m also reading Like Brothers, a book written by the comedic sibling duo the Duplass Brothers. They talk at length about how they got to where they’re going, recounting every funny story and insight about comedy and timing along the way. It’s been really helpful for me as I finalize the Lonely Girl edits and think about my next few scripts and essays I’m writing. Even being funny and having been a writer my whole life, editing for comedy is a totally different ball game and I didn’t even go to film school, so I’m finding ways to absorb knowledge from the people who have paved the path before me.

Upcoming Events

I’m going to a literary event tonight hosted by inimitable author Fatima Mirza. I actually have no idea what to expect. I believe it’s hosted at her studio space. I’ll report back.

I know I haven’t written in a while. Well that’s not true. I write everyday but I haven’t put out a newsletter in a minute. Thanks for the patience! I needed to do some deeper writing work to figure out and continue to figure out how I want to show up in this space. If you ever have thoughts or ideas, always feel free to hit respond and let me now.

Love always,

Aneri

I decided to write out my own eulogy today. I don’t know why. Maybe I am going through a much needed ego death so reminiscent of Diwali passing and the American New Year approaching. It’s also inspiration from “Eulogy”, an episode of Better Things, one of my all-time favorite shows which I cover below.

She liked to read fiction, especially memoirs about rebellious women like Joan of Arc and Janis Joplin. Fiery alcohol infused death was kind of her sweet spot. Sometimes she liked the smell of flowers. Other times, she preferred the smell of human sweat. The kind that was earned and also incidental. This was Aneri’s conundrum between Los Angeles and New York City. Each city spoke to her in different yet equally meaningful ways. When she lived in New York she fell in love many times. With people, ornate cafe chairs, chatty baristas, and random smelly passers-by. In LA, she fell out of love with other people, other places, other things, and in love with herself.

It took her a long time to find her own couch after her last big breakup. She finally settled on a grey sectional and had it delivered, spilling coffee on it mere weeks later later. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t attempt to remove the stain for months. Sometimes, despair and clumsiness were life blood, at least to Aneri, who found the deepest diamonds in not beautiful, not ordinary, but flawed things.

The stain is gone now. She? She remains buried in her impenetrable imperfections.

She spent a long time wondering when she would ascend to the next levels of life. Partnerships, babies, career milestones.

Thinking was boring, so she stopped.

One time she was living in Beijing and she took the train for an hour and a half to an unknown stop and spent the day exploring guitar shops and hat stands with her partner.

He is long gone, yet the spirit of that day remains.

She felt alarmed when people glorified the pursuit of nothing.

When people died, she always wanted to ask one thing.

Did they live their truth?

She did.

Show Spotlight

shows I like

Better Things is an LA-based show about a woman who is an actress and single mother raising three Gen-Z daughters, created by Pamela Adlon. Based loosely off of her own life, she writes it, directs it, and acts in it. Each episode gives such a raw, intimate look into the complexity of mother-daughter relationships. I love the scenes where Pamela is cooking elaborate meals in silence.

In the episode “Eulogy”, she gets frustrated with her daughters talk-back and storms out, demanding that they “host a funeral” for her while she is alive so she can hear all of the nice things they have to say about her before she is dead. Because “no one ever says anything nice about you while you’re alive”. Those may have been her exact words.

Well she comes back and her daughters deliver on said funeral. It ends up being so darkly comedic and emotional it might be one of my favorite episodes of any show, ever. It made me want to be a mom in a whole different way. Just watch it. All 5 seasons are streaming on Hulu.

Aneri’s Book Club

books I like

fiction

Pineapple Street is a fiction novel I picked up from Zibby’s Bookstore on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica. Was I crying when I walked in? Yes, obviously. Unrelated.

The book is about one woman who marries into a rich family and struggles with the class difference, the eldest daughter from that same wealthy family who gives up her inheritance for motherhood, and the baby sister of the family who is starting to act out. Set in Brooklyn Heights, it was good research for the character of Priya in my comedy pilot, Lonely Girl, about 4 South Asian women in their early 30s navigating NYC. Priya aspires to marry into deep generational wealth and it was helpful to understand some of the nuances of that subculture, specifically in NYC. Phrases like “their third house in Aspen” entered the chat.

non-fiction

10X is Easier Than 2X: How World-Class Entrepreneurs Achieve More by Doing Less. My dad got me this book as I began raising money for my first few projects under my production company, Lonely Girl. It’s all about how 10X-ing your life, whatever that means to you in terms of money or growth, is not necessarily harder than 2X-ing it. In fact, it’s often easier because it gets you to think differently and put more creative systems in place instead of just applying brute force.

This book got me thinking about the bigger vision for Lonely Girl and how to aim high, offload work consistently, and adopt more of an abundance mindset.

Upcoming Events

Love Isn’t Blind is a live comedy show where 4 bachelors compete for one bachelorette, blindfolded and not allowed to speak. I was in it a few months ago and I’ve been asked to come back in a Revenge of the Bachelorettes version where 4 of the hosts’ favorite bachelorettes from previous shows come back and compete for the bachelor. Should be fun. If you’re in Los Angeles on the evening of 12/2, come through (LINK). Use Code: ANERI for a discount.

This is long.

Well. I’m trying it. Happy living!

Love,
Aneri

I packed for a flight early. Which never happens.

By early I mean I packed last night and I am on the flight now. I usually pack 2 hours before and just get it over with quickly. Today is one of those days where I am starting to write before I know what I want to talk about, so welcome to my mind grapes.

I’ve spent the past few weeks getting some materials together to raise money for my production company, Lonely Girl. It’s been hard and also fun, because I get to have conversations with funny women in entertainment who are f*cking bomb. I’m trying to fund the different projects I am working on (selling my documentary, filming a proof of concept for my TV comedy pilot, building out our TikTok channel and this newsletter), under this umbrella. The common thread in our content so far is that it all features complex & comedic South Asian women and it’s kind of raw and vulnerable and funny.

Sometimes I find myself wondering if stories, specifically these stories, are enough to move mountains. I mean I think they are, but do other people?

I took the TV comedy pilot I wrote and created some pretty rad character descriptions for the series regulars, which are 4 South Asian women and one South man so far. Here’s a quick snapshot.

We’re shooting a proof of concept in October with a dope Toronto-based production team of South Asian women, so casting call is coming soon. Get ready for some fun behind the scenes here and on my TikTok and Instagram.

Also, an LA based production company is interested in helping us sell our documentary, I’m Doing My Job, to a big streaming platform. So stay tuned on that as well. YAY!

The other day an Indian uncle who told me he was interested in investing in my company sent an email to an owner of a fund introducing me as his “cardiologist friend’s daughter who he’s ‘trying’ to support”. After everything I’ve accomplished professionally (big tech job, ad-tech startup for 7 years after, now building Lonely Girl), it was strange to see it reduced to that. I couldn’t stop ruminating on it, so I actually said something. He apologized and I sent him a more appropriate blurb which he is now using. I considered it a win because I could have done nothing, but now, I reasoned, he’ll do a better job for South Asian women moving forward.

Well, 2 days later, he sent me an intro to two South Asian women with no context other than where they grew up and their parents’ professions. I looked them up and this duo has a kick ass YouTube channel with over a million followers. Important information, man!

It kind of makes me think about how when older South Asian aunties and uncles in my network try to set me up on dates, they unintentionally send all the wrong information and then get upset when I don’t immediately want to jump into marriage.

It always starts with Dad’s profession, and sometimes is followed by an astrological chart. After that there might be some information about the actual man in question (because no one ever sets me up with Indian women! I wish they would). If I ask for more information, like “what is he like?”, I get hit with the “look up his LinkedIn”. Yeah right, he’s going to see that and then I’ll definitely look crazy.

The last picture someone sent me (when I asked, because there’s never a picture. WHY?!), the guy was wearing a sweater vest and mismatched socks and looking away from the camera and it was blurry. I mean come on there’s no way he knew that was being taken. Poor guy. Next.

So I’m heading to Chattanooga, Tennessee for a 5-day self-guided writing retreat with a friend who is writing a book. I’ve wanted to do one for some time now but every retreat I looked up was expensive and somehow just didn’t feel like the right fit. Kind of like getting a masters in creative writing - you just assume the class will be all white people and your stories will seem out of place and “exotic”.

So my friend, who is also a South Asian woman, and I put together an agenda that involves meditation, morning walks, dedicated hours of writing, reviewing each other’s work, pitching a few of our shorter essays to media outlets, and watching shows & movies that relate to the projects we are working on.

I am going to be leading our morning meditations, and I spent quite a bit of time putting it all together. I tried to make it meaningful and funny and directly related to some of the writing blocks women of color & daughters of immigrants in particular face. I’m excited! Well and nervous. Maybe I’ll share a recording of it here.

As summer comes to a close, and Labor Day nears, I always find myself drawn to deeper life planning and introspection. For me this is a blend of figuring out my financial goals and how my creative goals intertwine with them. I’ll be doing more stand up comedy and storytelling in the coming months, so if you’re in the LA area you’ll have to come by. Will share links here.

Oh also, a young woman reached out to me asking me to mentor her in film directing! It reminded me that the purpose is bigger than me.

Ok to close off this meandering monologue, sharing some stuff coming out of the South Asian diaspora and beyond that I think is worthy of your eyeballs and time.

No Nazar is a DJ collective that plays amazing dance music. It kind of feels like Bollywood meets EDM, but better. They’ll be in NYC Aug 27 and in LA Sept 16. Trust me it’s worth it. The last time I went to one of their full day dance parties I didn’t get off the dance floor for 8 hours. IT WAS AMAZING.

This summer I read a lot of books. One of my favorites that I picked up in Mumbai when I went earlier this year, was about the history of porn. It’s called Cyber Sexy: Rethinking Pornography by South Asian female author Richa Padte. It’s liberating and it’s wonderful and it’s fresh. Enjoy.

I’m getting off the plane now so I have to run!

Bye for now.

Aneri

It all started with a ring.

“What is this ring? It’s beautiful,” she said to me as I tapped my freshly painted red nails on her white counter top.

“I got it in Ojai. I love it.” I replied.

There’s a pause. So I spill.

“It’s a rainbow colored ring because I’ve been watching TikTok videos, and I learned that if you’re a femme* presenting bisexual like me, you have to make it clear somehow that you’re into women.”

*all starred terms elaborated on at the bottom of this email

I used to tie a rainbow shoelace to my Louis Vuitton purse. This both felt like a proclamation of my sexuality as well as an indication of my disregard for luxury goods. In this woman’s beautiful, multi-million dollar home in Silver Lake where she is hosting a July 4th party, I decide not to mention this.

“I came out so late in life - in my mid thirties - I’m just trying to figure it out,” I said.

“Me too! I realized I was bisexual at 34, and and I’m already married…to a man,” she said.

Immediate kinship.

“Amazing! Wait, so what does it mean? What happens now?

I have a million questions. She tells me that she just realized one day, similar to how I did in my last relationship, which was also with a man. It explained so much of her past. All of the sober girl make-outs and “friendship” heartbreaks that she would write off as “girls will be girls”. (I did that too). We laughed. Where do you know how to draw that line?

I mean, I had one of my female friends as “Wifey” in my phone at one point.

Similar to my last long-term boyfriend, her husband isn’t bothered by it and they talk about it pretty openly. She’s allowed to make out with other women if he’s there and they’ve talked about it beforehand.

When I realized I liked women and I still had a boyfriend, I actually had no desire to experiment. I just kind of chalked it up to, “Oh well, maybe if I was single.” It wasn’t until we hit the rocks that my desire came back up again.

In my previous post when I first started talking to women romantically, I was so god damn hopeful. It was thrilling the first time I sent a message to a woman on Hinge, or when I was approached and asked out by a beautiful woman at that Holi party. I was even kissed by a woman at a social event the other night which was the first time that has ever happened. And I kissed her back. =)

That being said, since I’ve been single for the last 11 months, I’ve been deeply struggling to put myself out there romantically with women consistently. It’s really hard and it feels easier to retreat back into dating men only.

I mean, I’ve been dating men my entire life and I know how that game works. I’ve had time to finesse the way I flirt, interact, read the signals. I know how to know if they like me and what clear next steps are. With women, it feels like such a different ball game where I have to learn all of these new rules about who takes charge, and who asks whom out, and who pays. I’ll confess. Part of me keeps wondering.

Am I faking it? Am I really even queer? Should it be THIS confusing?

She tells me she felt the exact same way, and kept asking her friends in the LGBTQIA+ community if she was allowed to come to Pride, or say things like “masc” and “butch”. And then one of her friends in community kind of shook her and said, “You know, you don’t have to ‘prove’ to anyone that you’re gay.”

That freed her. And her telling me is freeing me.

She tells me that she has a female friend, same age as her, who is married, just had a baby, and soon after realized she was bisexual. So amidst all of the “what the fuck” moments they’ve both had over the last few months, they’ve decided they’re going on a mission to figure this out.

I’m so intrigued, as I feel like I have mostly been alone in this journey. I put my elbows on the countertop and lean forward as I continue asking questions about what ‘figuring it out’ means for them.

She tells me they’ve been going to lesbian bars like the Ruby Fruit and sitting as close as they can to other people so they can observe and listen.

“Ok, what is she wearing? Would I wear that?”

“Cute nose ring.”

“Just heard the term ‘comphet’*. Writing it down so we can look it up later.”

“Ahh, they just kissed! I felt the vibe!”

Then it hits me. Me trying to learn how to navigate dating a woman doesn’t mean I’m faking it. I’ve had 35 years to learn how to date men. And as I navigate this new phase with a more honest attachment to my truth, as a woman who is romantically and sexually into people regardless of gender, I owe myself that same time to figure it out.

This is all kind of embarrassing to say out loud. But f*ck it, here we are.

So I’m going to join them in these expeditions, date with the beautiful intention of finding a life partner that actually suits me, give myself some grace in the inevitable trial and error of this pursuit, and see what happens.

That’s it.

Revelatory enough?

Aneri

The Lonely Girl <3

P.S. For fresh content from the live comedy show I was in, follow @lonelygirlconfessions (it will not disappoint, will be making it private soon).

comphet: Short for “compulsory heterosexuality.” This is the idea that heterosexuality is assumed and enforced by a patriarchal society, and can be adopted by people regardless of their personal sexual preferences. I mean, from basically birth, we’re socialized through movies, books, family structure and more to think of romantic relationships as male-female. It’s a strong script and it’s hard to navigate away from that, even if you’re not straight. Hence, comphet.

femme/femme presenting: Someone who presents or expresses their gender in a feminine way. In our current world, many people assume femme-presenting women are straight, even if they are not. On one hand, femme-presenting women likely experience less discrimination right away. On the other hand, they may not be as readily accepted by the LGBTQIA+ community and may constantly feel the need to ‘prove’ they are gay. More on that here if curious.

“Why aren’t they dancing?” she wonders. They are at her cousin’s wedding reception and the DJ is finally playing Kala Chasma, a song they know, not Chingy.

Leela sees the other woman put her arm on her mom’s forearm. Her mom doesn’t flinch nor speak. Her dad speaks animatedly, frenetically moving his hands.

What could they possibly be talking about?

Then it dawns on her.

They must have a single son.

She doesn’t see her parents for hours. As she heads to the after party at midnight, she feels kind of bummed that she travelled across the country to their hometown in the Midwest for this 350 person wedding and didn’t get to spend as much time with her parents as she had hoped.

The next day, she asks her mom, “Why weren’t you dancing? Where were you?”

She says, “Bhavani aunty and Sanjay uncle wanted to talk to us.”

Leela takes a deep breath, bracing herself. She’s done this dance before.

Her mom rambles on, “I think you might like their younger single son more, but their older single son lives in Santa Monica, near you.”

Naturally.

Leela thinks about the fact that her parents helped organize this wedding and then sat most of it out, already investing so much time in a family they don’t know.

Sigh. OK, I’ll go out with him if mom and dad ask me to, I guess I owe them that for being single at 35.

Leela had already met their older son 7 years prior and didn’t like him.

“But maybe by now you’ll have changed your mind,” her mom says, after Leela brings this up.

A few months later, after some texts, Leela agrees to meet him at a restaurant in Santa Monica that she picks out.

Day of, he texts, “Hey, are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Leela: The follow up is nice.

Leela: “Of course. See you soon.”

Leela wonders if he’ll offer to pick her up since they are dining nearby. He does not.

Is this strike one? No.

Leela: I’m asking for too much. Be open.

Leela clicks her heels up a little alleyway off the ocean into a beautiful, Middle Eastern restaurant and sees him standing at the entryway on his phone.

She instinctively checks her phone and it says 7:35 PM. “Hi! Sorry I’m 5 min late.” she says.

“Whatever. (clearly annoyed) I made the reservation for 7:45 because people are always late here,” he says, as he averts his eyes to the hostess to seat them.

Leela: Fair.

“I’m vegetarian, so Mediterranean was a good choice,” he says.

Leela remembers him bringing this up over text a few times.

They put in an order for a Mezze platter with all veggies. Leela pauses for a second and then timidly asks, “Can I add a chicken souvlaki skewer?”

He motions to the waiter and repeats three times, “Please make sure the ‘chicken’ is separately plated from the rest of the food.

Leela wonders if he will be grossed out kissing someone that has just eaten meat.

Later in the meal, after talking endlessly about how much money he lost in crypto, and how much his dad lost in crypto after he brought him into it, he proceeds to volunteer some information.

The guy: “Yeah, so I don’t think your cousin Gauri likes me.”

It dawns on Leela that he knows people in her extended family well. Makes sense given his parents were at her cousin’s wedding.

Leela: (nervous laughter) “Haha, why?”

The guy: “Who knows. I told my brother to use a different fork at a dinner we were at and she went crazy.”

The guy’s imitates Gauri: (annoying, high pitched voice) “Hey, your brother can eat how he wants. Stop telling him what to do.”

Leela counts down the hours until she can ask her cousin what actually happened.

The guy: “By the time I got home, I noticed she had unfollowed me on Instagram. (laughs). Figures. She’s so dramatic.”

Bold move insulting my very-reasonable-and-extremely-intelligent cousin.

They start talking about food and fitness. Leela mentions she likes running. He goes on to tell her he weighs 235 pounds and that he hates cardio. Then he asks her how much she weighs, looking at her expectantly.

Even as a fit person, this feels like an intrusive question, so Leela changes the subject.

A few minutes later, he volunteers another interesting piece of information.

The guy: “I would never date a woman older than me.”

Leela is almost 5 years younger than him, so feels perplexed at the declaration. Even if they were the same age, she’d have questions.

She looks at him quizzically and asks, “Why?”

He answered, “I mean. Why would I date older women? Never have, never will.”

Cool story, a-hole.

At this point, utterly exhausted, Leela is ready to leave. So they motion to the waiter for the bill.

Dun dun dun.

He holds it close to his face as Leela reaches for her credit card and pulls it out.

A god damn eternity goes by.

Finally, he says, “Thought I should let you know. I’m not ready to date. My parents guilted me into going on this date. So yeah…let’s split it?”

Gut punch.

He does not offer to drive her home after they split a $125 bill.

Big surprise.

He’s a 39 year old IP lawyer who owns a home in a coveted part of Los Angeles. Leela puts her soft white leather jacket back on and stands back up on her heels, walking the 20 min back home.

Later, Leela tells her mom the gritty details.

Her mom says, “I knew you would like his 33 year old brother more. I asked his mom if we could set you up with him, and she said, ‘We won’t do that. Your daughter is older than him.’”

Gut punch.

Leela asks her mom, “So when she forced her older son onto me, why didn’t you say to her, ‘We won’t do that, because my daughter is younger than your son?’”

Her mom seems flummoxed and says, “I didn’t think of that.”

Leela thinks about how bizarre it is that this guy’s mom is able to call the shots simply because she has a son, when she herself is far more attractive, enigmatic, kind, and vibrant than him.

She also thinks about how even her own parents were quick to diminish her power, albeit unintentionally. Parents of South Asian daughters don’t hold the cards, apparently.

Blerg.

She then lets her mind wander over to her South Asian female friends and their stories.

One friend went on a date with a guy her parents set her up with and he had her pay for her own $3.95 latte and then serve both of them when the order came. He was in his mid 30s and lived with his mom. When she said ‘no’ to future dates with him, she was admonished by her mom for years for being “too picky”.

Another friend in the US was ambushed by a guy from India when she was 23 - he was literally sitting in a suit and tie in her family room one day when she walked down. She said she didn’t want to marry him and was ostracized by her family for years. She’s a doctor now, thank god.

Yet another friend had a great grandmother whose educational certificates were publicly torched at her wedding as a show that “men in our family take care of their women”. She was never able to work again.

Weird life, ladies.

Look, I am Leela. And Leela is me. And this date actually happened three weeks ago. (WTF). All names have been changed for privacy purposes.

I wanted to tell the story from a third person perspective because I am writing so much of my personal experience into my latest episodic comedy show I am pitching, Lonely Girl, so I wanted to see how it comes across.

What do you think? Do you have a story? Reply. Let me know. <3

Also hi to the folks that found this newsletter through my TikTok last week. THIS WAS ONE OF THE WORST DATES OF MY LIFE! To be honest, I think it was made worse by the realization that our families are sometimes socialized to want us to expect less. Anyways, welcome. =)

Stick around for future laughs, loves.

x

Aneri

The OG Lonely Girl

I asked him if I was his worst trainee. He laughed.

“No, you’re not my worst! You’re my slowest, but not my worst.”

I asked him, “Well what does that mean? What would it mean to be the worst?”

“You’re not a pain in the ass. That’s the worst.”

You know what, in a land of assholes, I’ll take it.

Jeff trains Olympic athletes. We ran into this guy Willie Galt at the track, who used to play for the Chicago Bears and won a Super Bowl championship in the 80s. Willie used to train Jeff, which fascinates me for some reason. Imagining my coach getting coached.

Willie beamed at us as he leisurely sprinted back and forth between two orange cones, gracefully stopping to tie his shoe and taking off again. That man might be in his 50s, but he vibrates like a 30 year old. “I want that,” I thought.

“I’m going to be as fast as you someday!” I said to Willie.

He looked me directly in the eye smiling and said, “I welcome that.” He’s won over 10 world records.

Hurdles, done. Next up, sprints.

“This next part is going to be hard.” Jeff looked at me, expecting me to react. I shrugged and tucked my phone into the pockets of my emerald Vuori pants.

Bring it.

I sprinted 400 meters, starting extremely fast and then ending really slow as my legs gave out. Then I sprinted 200m. Then 100m. I got faster each time, starting from a 7min/mile pace and coming down to a 6min/mile. This is not a pace I can hold for longer than one lap around a track. Still, I felt powerful.

There has been so much going on in the last few weeks with the writer’s strike, and weddings, and a bad dating experience I had. Running and these tiny optimizations I’m making to my practice help me stay grounded. So I am writing about it.

OK, back to the sprints. I did a walking lap around the track to cool down and Jeff told me about his upcoming Paris trip. He’s going with one of his athletes who is competing in a big international race only ~45 people in the world get into. Jeff is going to train him and get him in the right mindset for the two weeks prior, as are 3-4 other coaches. I imagine what it would be like to be so good at something that an entire A-team accompanies you to your craft and helps you prep for weeks. “I want that,” I thought.

Ok, fine. I will kind of tell you about the bad dating experience. I hung out with a guy a few times, he got kind of obsessive, I got scared, I ended it, he (mostly) left me alone, I was relieved, the end. I am actively in the process of identifying tests the universe throws my way and working to pass them.

“Can she avoid romantic partners that possess the ‘bad’ traits of one of her caregivers?”

“Can she not mirror someone else’s emotions, and instead just feel how she’s feeling?”

“Can she say no to someone, period, without the need to justify?”

So much of my ability to set strong boundaries and clear hard hurdles happened through my commitment to running. And lots of therapy. Both, really.

In 2015, I did my first ever half marathon. A handsome man working in the same startup office space as me in Brooklyn asked me if I wanted to train for one with him. I didn’t realize at the time that he had a girlfriend, so I quickly said yes. (lol). After I figured it out, I realized I was now on the hook for training for a half marathon and I could barely run a mile. “He’s going to figure it out!” I panicked.

I also legitimately thought I might die or something. 13.1 miles felt very unrealistic. Looking back, training for and actually finishing that race unlocked a new me. I wrote about it in 2015, when I discovered that committing to something long-term helps you break down every part of your life - your goals, ambitions, and visions - into tiny increments. I’ve since done 8 half marathons.

So here I am. This small South Asian girl training at the UCLA track amongst world record holders and Olympic athletes. I love it, because it reminds me we all start from the same training grounds. Next up for me, a 5K, because I want to work on form and speed before I recommit to longevity.

Other things that are going on right now:

-live comedy dating show. I’m going to be in what is basically a live version of the bachelorette (I’m the bachelorette!) tonight hosted by a comedian friend of mine for a few hundred people. I can’t say much more until it’s done. stay tuned, and if you’re in the LA area, hit reply and I can send you a discounted ticket. ;)

-writer’s strike. I was pitching the comedy pilot I wrote to production companies in March and April. Standing in solidarity with the WGA writers since they went on strike beginning of May, I am now finding creative ways to keep the project going and keep building my media empire. We will be producing a short film this summer based on the pilot, which will strengthen our network pitch when the strike is over, while also giving us a way to engage with uber-talented creatives.

-LA tech week. We are just heading into the weekend over here at LA tech week. My favorite event was one on storytelling and technology where we all gathered to listen to founders, writers, and investors in the space speak in a beautifully lit backyard in Venice. There were a lot of interesting predictions about how streaming platforms, networks, and scripted content will evolve. I also enjoyed some of the female founder breakfasts and founder/investor matching events.

Pro-event-tip: Wear something that stands out so people have something to comment on. Whether it’s a bright ass yellow jacket or for me, my gorgeous green Lilith sneakers (which were created by a woman!).

I know I rambled a little in this one. This has not been edited for clarity.

I hit 100 subscribers a few weeks ago SO THANK YOU!

Love you all, probably. Gotta go massage my hips now.

Aneri

I heard about this concept called “loose ties” from one of my mentors. It’s this concept that the people in your network that are “weaker” connections are actually going to be more helpful in terms of job mobility, introductions, selling your work, dating, you name it.

Well. I didn’t totally buy it. Then I had an experience a few months ago that shattered all of my preconceived notions about how to best leverage my network.

I’ve been writing a 30min comedy pilot for a year or so.

Some of you are new here so I’ll talk about it again. It’s called Lonely Girl, and it opens with a scene of 30 yo Leela Gupta blurting out she’s gay to her doctor right after her egg retrieval surgery (the surgery you get after you freeze your eggs). This is loosely (tightly) based on real life events. Ok it’s me. I did this. And at the time, my then boyfriend was waiting right outside the clinic.

This opening scene leads way to a comedy-drama series that follows the main character and her 4 best South Asian girlfriends in Manhattan navigating sexual fluidity, relationships, career pivots, and other coming of age stories in their early 30s.

I personally think children of immigrant families, especially women, come of age later in life because we’re trying so hard to navigate so many cultural identities between work, home, and family that we don’t really figure out who we are for a while. In Gen-z speak, it’s giving “people pleasing bullshit”. That’s a thing for a different day, though. Back to loose ties.

So having been a startup founder in the media-tech world for the last decade, I don’t have as many connections in Hollywood. So how do I get this pilot picked up and my show made? I wondered.

Well one of my mentors took the script and the deck I had made outlining my vision for the entire series, and sent it to several people in her primary and secondary network.

One older, Jewish man that received the material was particularly drawn to the humor in that opening scene and decided to forward the material, with our permission, to all of his big entertainment contacts. I mention his age and ethnicity because it kind of warmed my heart that someone so seemingly different than me could resonate with my story.

Well, little did we know that there were some big people in that list. One female exec reached back out to him and said something along the lines of “We like it! How did you find her?!” along with some other notes and potential next steps. (EEEK).

It was really cool reading that about my work from someone who I, just days before, would have considered un-reachable.

I thought about this a lot. Why did a man that had literally never spoken to me go out of his way to make these introductions? And more importantly, why did it work?

So here’s my theory. Imagine someone knows you really well, like an old boss or a parental figure. Now say they introduce you to someone in their network for a job or, in my case, to take a look at my pilot, and it doesn’t work out. This rejection could create awkwardness on either or both sides. Big potential for downside.

Conversely, for this random man, if my pilot is rejected, he can simply move on and say, “Well, I didn’t really know her. It was just something that fell on my lap,” and there’s almost zero chance someone will question his judgement. Now say it does work out, the upside for him is huge. It makes it look like he has his finger on the pulse and can quickly find gold amidst pewter.

I decided to apply this same logic to love. I was at a birthday a few weeks ago with my friend’s boyfriend and a few of his friends. One of his friends was really attractive and funny, but he was taken. It happens. We exchanged numbers, in a platonic way.

When I got home, I decided to do something about it. I texted him and said, “Hey, I obviously think you’re awesome. Would you be open to setting me up with anyone in your friend circle who is single, or inviting me out next time?”

He quickly shot back, “I would be so honored! Let me think about it and I will get back to you.”

Simple, yet effective. I liked his energy and his humor, so chances are I will like his friends’ energy, whether man or woman. Again, I am struck by how much easier it is for this guy to set me up with someone vs a friend or relative I’ve known forever. Lower stakes, higher upside.

I like those odds.

Aneri

If interested, here is a more scholarly article on the topic.

Header image was auto-generated using DALL-E.

I am talking to this one woman in Mumbai, let’s call her Sapna, who is moving to London (I know, I live in LA, not ideal). She’s funny, though, and I enjoy her frankness and the big words she uses and how I have to google stuff all the time. Like today I had to look up Qawwali and the game Pharaoh, both things she mentioned she did this weekend.

Qawwali is Sufi music, and Pharaoh is a game she played in childhood.

So in these conversations, one thing that always comes up kind of quickly is the “coming out” story. Some women - like Sapna - have left hetero marriages they were in for years and realized they are fully lesbian. Others are just exploring but not sure because they haven’t actually slept with a woman yet. It’s kind of across the board.

When I complained about dating in LA, Sapna goes, “I’m a divorced lesbian in India. You can fuck right off.”

It was funny. And she was right. I guess I will hit up The Ruby Fruit after all.

It strikes me how little of any of these types of conversations I have ever seen in mainstream media, unless I am missing something. Am I?

I also met a gorgeous woman at a Holi celebration this last weekend, but that story is so precious i am saving it. Sorry =).

Here’s a pic of my friends and I at the annual Holi festival on Redondo beach:

Meanwhile I am also continuing to date men and observing the different types of energy all of these people bring out in me. It’s all a lot, and I’m just trying to be patient with myself in this discovery process. I am pretty sure I am pansexual, which means gender does not matter to me. Just energy. More to come on that front, as a mid-millennial who feels like she is navigating gen-z terms but low key loving it.

As a woman, I’ve always been taught desire is kind of a man’s thing. WHAT? If I had understood my own desire, I think I would have understood myself a lot better, much earlier.

So in my first comedy pilot Lonely Girl, I explore the “discovery of desire” journey through a 30yo South Asian woman from the beginning of her “knowing” through the murky confusing beautiful years that come after. It’s really hard, and I wish I had had more characters on the big screen that showed me the way.

TV, films, and digital media provide a path, an understanding, an example of who we can be and what we can want.

So I need your help with something.

When this show gets picked up, and we hopefully get to write many many episodes featuring complex South Asian characters, I want to know more about you and your journey and what you can relate to in entertainment vs what you wish you could see more of.

Our team created this survey to start getting at the root of what people want to see in South Asian entertainment. If you’re not South Asian, feel free to fill out anyways and then forward this email to a friend who is! We’ll be coming at you with a whole set of questions soon too.

Here is the survey link.

We’re workshopping this survey with y’all first, so please feel free to reach out with questions, comments, ideas, concerns. I just want to make sure that the characters we create now and in the future deeply and authentically represent who we (you) are.

Thanks for being here. =)

Love,

Aneri

We were driving up to Palm Springs with 5 girls packed into an Audi Sedan 2 weeks ago. I think Sedan. Whatever, it’s my first car and I honestly know nothing about cars.

It was my birthday and I had decided to do a weekend at an AirBnB with 11 people - women and men - in Palm Springs who, by the way, didn’t know each other. I had two girlfriends flying in from NYC and Boston, and then the rest of the people were local to Los Angeles.

I think anyone who has ever planned a group trip kind of gets this. Even for someone like me whose laid back aura is really a trauma response, it was kind of nerve wracking.

In the morning I picked up some *goodies* (read the room), came back to my apartment and I couldn’t get myself to pack right away, so I didn’t. Finally 2 hours after we were supposed to leave I threw some leggings, grey beaters, a purple wig, and some makeup into a few bags.

We hadn’t made plans to do anything. Rather, I had made zero reservations. The house had a hot tub, a pool, and a grill, and a few lounge areas. I kind of wanted to do nothing. I mean, when in our lives do we get to have agenda-less weekends, right.

This felt like the right move, but then I worried. Will people have fun? Is this weekend going to be boring? How are 11 people that don’t know each other going to create conversation and experiences?

Amidst lots of massages, dance parties, deep conversations, hot-tub nights, cooking with each other, insta-carting 4 times a day, and somehow flawlessly adhering to every single person’s dietary restrictions (I mean it’s LA, it was like a keto / sugarless / vegetarian / plant-based haven), I had this realization that like energy draws like energy.

A lot of people who were supposed to come this weekend cancelled last minute, while others joined last minute. I had made this decision not to stress about any of it. If someone couldn’t come? The answer was, “cool”. If they could and we had room? “Come on by”. Which is how we ended up with the exact right group of people - including a girlfriend of mine, her 17 mo old son, and her husband, and her second baby in her pregnant belly - that would be excited to do a weekend in Palm Springs with 11 strangers. Also, the 2 dogs that came that couldn’t stop playing and humping each other, were such a warm highlight.

And accidentally, by Sunday evening, we realized we had barely opened a single bottle of alcohol. Which felt wild, considering it’s something we see as a social lubricant. Given the circumstances, you think we’d by relying on it.

We came as we were. We conversed as we are. One of the people that came said, “I feel so nourished”, on Sunday morning.

Isn’t it sad that on some group trips we expect to be so worn out by Sunday that we need a vacation from our vacation? I wondered why this one wasn’t like that.

Another friend told me she felt like my energy had a lot to do with why people showed up as they are. There was no pressure to do a champagne cheers, or dress a certain way, or get ready for anything, or, what do the kids say? Rage.

I wore a grey beater and leggings and smudged eyeliner for most of the weekend. Until the sexy cake dance on Sunday morning, but I digress. =)

Come as you are.

That’s what I realized kept coming to me. To everyone.

You want to sleep? Go to sleep. You want to go downtown and go shopping while we swim? Do that. You want three bars of *goodies* while I want one? Fucking amazing.

I know it’s not revolutionary. I know that.

Coming as we are sounds so simple. But I don’t know, how often do we actually practice that?

Here’s something else. I have come to this realization that whenever I rush, or force literally anything, something else falls through. There’s a consequence every time we go against our own intuition and turn away from playfulness and towards forced rigor.

I mean look at the Rihanna halftime show. I’m not going to lie. I am in Mumbai and I was flying the day of the Super Bowl, so I didn’t watch it yet. What I gleaned from social media was this.

She came as she is. With a second baby in her belly, she didn’t try to be something she’s not. She showed up, she danced, she shone, she conquered. It was enough.

Come as you are.

I booked this trip to Mumbai during my Palm Springs weekend. I am here solo. Kind of revolutionary for an Indian-American woman to be traveling solo to India. I am currently in a black sweatshirt (obviously) and jeans. At my hotel they kept asking “when” not “if” my second guest would be arriving. When I said I didn’t have one, they registered me as a Mr. Which I know because every time I go to one of the hotel restaurants they’re confused that Mr. Aneri Shah is me, so they’re not charging me yet. I guess I’m fine with that.

I am here to meet with directors, writers, and potential investors for my future Lonely Girl productions. I could have stressed about setting up as many meetings as humanly possible And I almost did. Until a friend said to me, “Also, prioritize joy.”

I love that.

So I am meeting with a few directors and content creators. I did send out feelers for writers and investors as well. In the meantime, I am going to be spending time with my ba and dada today who live out here. I am also going to an urban art festival that I found through a poet in Mumbai who started following me on Instagram. Later in the week, I am going to attend a film screening with the composer from the documentary I directed, and then go on a studio tour with a South Asian female singer I met years ago in NYC. Last night I went to a dinner with my kaki and kaki who happen to be here from the US as well.

None of this would have happened if I had tried to fill every part of my day before coming here. It’s funny, people keep asking, what are you doing here?

I say, business and pleasure.

Come as you are.

This is my first time coming to India without my parents. I am forging my own relationship with a country I’ve only ever seen through the lens of my parents who left over 40 years ago.

As I sit in this cafe, eating a Masala omelette, and getting excited about going to Crossword the bookstore as soon as it opens, I wanted to send out this email and wish you all a belated Happy Valentine’s Day.

I love you, as you are.

Obviously.

Aneri

P.S. A couple of things to check out that I am excited about.

The Romantics just hit Netflix. It’s a docuseries interviewing some of Bollywood’s greats directed by Smriti Mundhra (director of Indian Matchmaking as well). I cannot wait to watch.

No Nazar, a Los Angeles based music and dance crew, is having it’s three year anniversary show on march 11. If you’re in LA, check it out. I went to their day dance party on Jan 1 and it may have been one of the best days of my life. I danced for 7 hours and it was the first time I felt like I was co-creating what Indian culture means to me rather than mimicking what I’ve absorbed from my parents.

Sorry I am not able to hyperlink to either of these things because my internet is quite weak in this little cafe (Silver Beach Cafe feat Mumbai). You can Google. I trust.

Come as you are. <3

I turned 35 today. People keep saying it’s a milestone birthday and asking what I’m doing. I did get a massage this morning. By that I mean a woman came to my home and rubbed my back and kept telling me my back was tight. I mean I know. I love massages. I’ll be seeing her once a month now.

Other than that I’m having my apartment cleaned and getting some photos taken of myself because apparently aging accelerates from here. I mean, they call them geriatric pregnancies at my age. This is bleak. Wait ok. I had a point. Here are 35 things I’ve learned and I’m writing this list in one two three takes so it’s real.

1. All you have is this moment. I used to live in the past, ruminating over things I wish I’d done differently or sooner. Then I would fixate on the future, creating goals that kept moving as soon as I achieved parts of them. I’m realizing now that all life is is the moments you’re living and I’m going to enjoy the shit out of them.

2. Masturbate often. I don’t know, it’s fun. It’s self love. It’s selfish orgasms. It’s pure desire. I do not understand people who don’t masturbate, even if they have a significant other. Like, are you OK? If you need help on this, hit reply. I probably can’t help but I honestly kind of just want to know who you are.

3. Black sweatshirts are the fucking bomb. I’m wearing one and I look kind of skinny in it and like I’m so comfortable and don’t give a shit and that’s a vibe too and I think it’s a much cooler vibe than being a try hard. Go get one.

4. Meditate. Even if it’s one minute a day. Even if your mind is racing while you do it. For me, meditation started with journaling and sometimes it would take me an hour to get out a single page because that’s how much my mind was wandering. I considered one page a success over time, because it slowly cleared the junk out my mind and directed my thoughts. Now I journal and meditate for 15 minutes *almost* every weekday morning and I swear it’s taken years off my life. Here is my meditation playlist. Enjoy. =)

5. Find your music. I developed my own personal taste in music a little later in life. As a recovering people pleaser, I was always trying to figure out what music other people thought was cool and imitating that. What the fuck. No. Probably explains why after every relationship ended the first thing I would do is listen to my old playlists and breathe deep sighs of ecstasy.

6. Drink coffee. I make black coffee with cinnamon in it everyday and I love it and it makes me happy and I am never ever giving it up. It’s also part of my meditation, making that cup. Maybe stop after 3 PM though. Sometimes I don’t. Shh.

7. Invest in your body. There is no single greater change you can make that will positively impact everything than investing in your body. I don’t mean spend thousands on a personal trainer. I mean you can. You can also just take a 15 min walk everyday. Then make it 45 min. Then throw in strength training and modify your diet to keep up. Do something that gets your heart pumping so you don’t turn into a lump while you’re still young. It’s only going to get harder from here.

8. Fuck alcohol. I know. This one kind of sucks. But hear me out. I’m not saying never drink. I’m just saying, drinking less (or not at all) will positively impact everything in your life, from your body, to your motivation, to that underlying anxiety you think you can’t kick. Try it.

9. Multiple income streams. I can’t get myself to be one of those preachy passive income people but it kind of breaks my heart to watch young people buy into this idea that their company or job cares about them. They don’t. Your job should be just one source of income. Build in more income streams based on your skills as you make more.

10. Communicate. When you’re in your 20s, and even early 30s, communication isn’t that serious. Your friends all live in the same city and your relationship hasn’t been tested with kids and mortgages and sick parents (hopefully) yet. As people start to move away and have kids and different types of unanticipated responsibilities, those dynamics change. It took me until year 34, when many of my girlfriends birthed multiple children and I went through a lengthy, slow dissolution with a long term partner, to realize that I need to communicate how I want people to show up for me clearly and with compassion. My emotional needs are potent, and that’s OK. This has been a life changing realization and deepened every single one of my relationships as I communicate clearly. Read not MORE. just more clearly.

11. Stay current. We’re not dead yet. Don’t let yourself slide into the “I don’t get new things or technology or kids these days” phase too early in the game. If you start avoiding new technology this early in the game, it will affect your job prospects, your lifestyle, and most importantly, your fun factor. So don’t.

12. You were that girl once and it’s OK. When we were 30/31, one of my girlfriends was criticizing a group of 16 year old women in a picture for wearing skirts that were “so short”, lamenting that “in our day we never did that”. I thought back to my 16th birthday when that same girlfriend flashed everyone because her skirt was barely covering her as* and she was really drunk. I’m not saying go relive that moment. I’m just saying, we were all young once. Just breathe and try to keep some perspective.

13. Drink tea. If it’s after 3 PM, switch to decaf tea. I like mint, ginger, or chamomile.

14. Drink a lot of water. But ok if you’re small not like a gallon a day like I tried to do for a 75 hard challenge because I felt like my kidneys were going to explode. I’m just saying, hydrate. I am still working on this but whenever I do get it right, I sleep better, my workouts are a little easier, and I don’t just drink coffee all day.

15. Get a skincare routine. For the first 33 years of my life I basically didn’t wash my face or washed it with a shitty cleanser like once a month and called it a day. Then during the pandemic I had nothing to do so I was like fuck it and ordered a bunch of stuff from Amazon, like squalene, serums, retinol, Vitamin C cream, a Gua Sha tool, toner spray and a few other things. I even looked up the right order to add things to my face and started spending maybe 8 min in the morning and 8 min at night doing this. My skin, at 35, looks better than it did in college. More than that, (well not more important but equally important), it created a different version of myself that believed I was worth this extra care. That was huge.

16. Invest in relationships. Friendships, romantic partners, parents, cousins, the people that live near you. It’s up to you who you choose to invest in, but don’t skip on this. These interpersonal relationships - especially the ones you CHOOSE to invest in - will be your community and your support when shit hits the fan, and just in general. We need people, even introverts need people. When I went through my last breakup, I basically laid on the floor of my new apartment crying for months. The friends that came over just to sit with me and unpack boxes and do nothing, that was literally everything.

17. Do things that scare you. So I speak 4 languages. I always hear people talk about how it’s easier for babies to learn languages because their brains are different from adult brains. Yeah, not true. You know why it’s easier for babies? It’s because when they know literally zero languages, they have zero ways of getting the things they want, so their brain learns quickly. I guarantee if I dropped you in Russia for a year with no recourse, by the end of the year you would speak fluent Russian. I learned French growing up and Mandarin as an adult in college. It’s possible. And also scary when you first start because it feels so foreign and you have to make so many mistakes to get to even a conversational level. Trying new things and making mistakes and experiencing growth are the things that keep us alive and keep our skin elastic. I swear. Don’t lose them.

18. Get some plants. I was such a life hater when I lived in NYC. I couldn’t even keep a succulent alive. Now in LA I have a lot. I know, basic b move. But I swear all the greenery keeps me feeling alive. If you can, and your apartment allows for it, get some weird, fun, pretty, alien-like plants and put them all around your apartment and it’s going to lengthen your life. Or maybe shorten it. I have to read up on that carbon dioxide stuff. Brb.

19. Get a dog. I could put get a pet. I only have experience with a dog, so I’m going to say dog. I got my first ever pet in my last relationship. Brown people don’t fuck with pets growing up, so yeah. My parents were all upset and even I was kind of nervous. She was 4 and a dachshund mix and we got her from a rescue. Luckily she was the sweetest thing ever and completely transformed my life. I became more caring, more conscious, more loving. My parents and nani (grandma) also fell completely in love with her, which showed me people are capable of change. Also funnily enough, whenever my parents would take her on a walk, more white people would make small talk with them which shocked them and was really fun for me to witness.

20. You can freeze your eggs. I froze my eggs in June, when I was still in my last relationship. Right after, I came out to my doctor as gay. True story. Within two months I broke up with my boyfriend. Truly, I think I’m pansexual and it isn’t about gender, just core values and compatibility. But freezing my eggs freed me from my biological clock, which I didn’t even realize was stressing me out. Breaking up with the wrong partner became so much easier when I felt like I had the option to wait it out and still have children, which is really important to me. Doesn’t mean it has to be for you, it just is for me.

21. Know what matters to you. Speaking of which, knowing what matters to you is 99% of the battle. Maybe you want kids with a partner. Maybe you fantasize about being a single mom. Maybe you want to buy a house and flip it. Maybe you want to quit your job, travel the world, and create a documentary. I don’t know. All I know is, every single person has their own unique values, needs, and desires. Don’t let other people define yours. I realized a few years back that money is not what makes me tick. Creation is. Which ironically means that the more I create the more money I make and will make. That’s just kind of how it goes. Figure this out. Write it down. Look at it everyday.

22. Fail faster. One thing I hear a lot from women in mediocre relationships is, “I don’t want to start over”. One of my friends, also 35, said the best advice anyone ever gave her after her last long term relationship ended was to “fail faster”. I know this well in the context of being a startup founder. OK this product isn’t working, time to pivot. The customer didn’t respond well to this messaging, scrap it. Well here’s the thing about the perceived fear of “starting over” in relationships. If you stay in the wrong partnership, it will only get harder. If you let one bad date turn into 5 bad dates, you’re only wasting your own time. Get clear on your values, and cut faster.

23. Desire is the root of liberation. I can’t believe it took my 33 years to figure out I was queer, and then almost 35 yearss to act on it. The first time I was with a woman I was like wait I like this so much why didn’t anyone ever tell me. This realization opened up an entirely new part of myself where I realized that going after things I WANT, is liberation. How am I going to go for the job, the money, the accolades, the power, if I can’t even go after the girl (or guy?).

24. Get glam sometimes. I got my makeup done on my birthday, which I had actually never done just for myself. Sure for weddings, when it’s required of me to celebrate someone else, I’ll do it. I read a post by my friend Mackenzie Green about how getting her photos taken unlocked her confidence and changed the way she saw herself. So I decided to book a photographer on my actual birthday that I had met at an event to help. I’m not exaggerating when I say that for the last maybe 6 years, every time I looked at a picture of myself I wanted to vomit or I felt ashamed. Like ew, why do my arms look like that and why didn’t I suck in a little harder. That is so ridiculous, when you think about it for a minute. In 10 years, even in 5 years, I am going to look back and be like WHAT THE FUCK I WAS HOT. Anyways, doing a photo shoot on my birthday and seeing myself like that was so amazing. Special shout out to Manni Singh for capturing my multitudes.

25. Well I wanted to get to 35 but I am going to stop here. Maybe when I’m 40 I’ll make a list with 40, but probably not. I refuse to subscribe to some number because I have to and also I want to go masturbate now.

Le fin.

Also, I may share some NSFW photos in my next newsletter from the shoot. They are amazing. Stay tuned. You can see the PG ones on my Insta.

Also, also, this has not been proofread. Sorry.

Love,

Aneri

I woke up after weeks of prodding myself with needles and stuff. I mean I don’t know. It actually wasn’t so bad, that part. I didn’t have any side effects. I remember when I was nervous about whether or not I’d be able to get the meds right, someone said to me, “I mean heroin addicts do this. You’re fine.”

I don’t know if that’s OK to say. It’s just what happened.

Anyways fast forward a few weeks and I’m sitting in the bed being put under so the doctor can retrieve as many eggs as humanly possible so I can have so many kids in my forties.

I’m in my thirties, by the way.

I was under and I don’t remember the retrieval, obviously. But then I was kind of coming to. I could hear the nurse and doctor in the hallway. The nurse said, “We got 14 EGGS!!”"

She could be talking about me, or someone else. I wondered if they timed the retrievals so there was only one at at a time, in which case she’d be talking about me. Well that’s good, because 14 sounds like a lot.

They came back in. They sat down.

The doctor asked me how I was feeling.

My head was so heavy. I lifted my gaze and looked back at both of them, slightly slack-jawed.

“I’m gay.”

I don’t know if that’s OK to say. It’s just what happened.

They both looked back at me, stunned. The nurse dropped her clipboard, I think. I

“You’re b-boyfriend is waiting outside.”

Oh, did I mention my then boyfriend was sitting in the waiting room. Well, he was.

I flailed my arms around, wondering where to go next. I guess, home? I vaguely remember getting up and sitting next to the nurse who was getting some information from me on a big, old looking computer. Clack clack. She talked.

“Slight abdominal pain.”

“Bloating.”

“You should rest.”

“Eat something. Eat nothing. Garble garble.”

Ok, I don’t really remember. I went home and slept for a day. A full day, curtains drawn. It was nice. I think he drove, and I slept.

My body looked so pregnant. All that damn HCG hormone they make you shoot up the night before the retrieval.

Anyways so this scene is now the opening of the pilot I wrote, Lonely Girl, which follows the lives of four South Asian women navigating love and life in NYC.

I wrote the first version of this show a year ago, and it was about South Asian women in college. I went to University of Wisconsin-Madison and I thought there was something fun about incorporating all of the code switching I was doing when I would flit back and forth between my white and brown communities on such a white campus.

But then. I realized I felt more connected to the 9 years I spent in NYC (I moved to LA two years ago). So for the second version, I upped that age range to early twenties. Kind of like a “Girls” but with brown women.

I was workshopping the show with Meera Simhan, a mentor of mine who is a fabulous actress and writer, and she said something that kind of stuck in my mind grapes (re: 30 Rock ref). When you increase the age of the characters, especially with women, the stakes go up, meaning the characters have a different set of decisions in front of them that are more complex and nuanced. That made sense to me, in theory.

Well when this happened, and I was telling a friend about it, and she goes, “THAT HAS TO BE THE LONELY GIRL OPENER.”

She was right. It shows the times, it shows the main character is of a certain socio-economic class, it shows woman grappling with sexuality, something I’m realizing we have not seen enough of yet, especially with South Asian women, it’s raw, it’s funny etc. etc.

So I changed it. I then tried to slightly modify the rest of the script to match that opener, and my acting coach (as a former tech startup founder the fact that I now have an acting coach blows my mind), made a comment.

She said “How can you have this opener, and then not address it for the rest of the episode? You can’t leave your audience hanging.”

So there was that. It has and is actively forcing me to confront my own blase relationship to my own sexuality.

Then there was another issue. With v2 of the pilot depicting the girls in their 20s, I had them primarily bar hopping and having casual sex and other 20s things. Now that the age had shifted up to 29/30, It just didn’t ring true anymore.

So after lots of anxious rounds of trying to retrofit the script to a significantly different phase of life, I ultimately threw out v2 and kept just a few scenes that were really enjoyable in the table read I hosted in Dec 2021. (semi pictured below). It was hard to do that, that script took me almost a year to write. But, it served its purpose and now it was time to take the insights, let go, and level up.

can we all agree table reads on zoom are awkward lol.

As I rewrote, I had to reconsider where these women were in their careers, in their relationship to themselves and their families, and how their relationship to their partners or dating may have progressed.

I think v3 is pretty good. But also, I’m so close to it that I need some outside eyes. So now I’m waiting on feedback from my writing mentor as I finalize the TV Series Bible. I’ll share more on that later.

To wrap up on the gay story. As you know from my last post, my boyfriend and I did break up about a month later. Surprisingly, I don’t think my confession was the reason. I mean, I never told him I said that.

There was some other stuff that had been brewing for almost 2 years.

Anyways. Signing off. <3

Aneri

Fast forward to my adult life. I was hosting a screening for the first movie I directed and produced called, “I’m Doing My Job”, a documentary following the lives of 6 South Asian and Black female emergency medical physicians throughout the pandemic. The screening was in NYC, where the film was shot.

I mean it should have been one of the best nights of my life. Look at those legs. I don’t remember what I said before and after the film.

I think I was reeling from my breakup.

I had just broken up with someone I had been dating 4 years. It should have been 2 years. I digress, but I don’t know maybe that’s important information.

I was so excited to premiere a film that was primarily about South Asian women, about NYC, my home for 9 years, and to do it in a fabulous studio in Brooklyn for my friends and family and for the 6 subjects, who by the way didn’t see the film until that day with everyone else.

I had spent 2 years on this film. It took everything I had to crowdfund from my community, to film in March 2020 when everyone else was making sourdough bread, to teach the women to film themselves in the hospital when I couldn’t go in myself, to find a production company in Brooklyn to fund post production and get us into the festival circuit, to be just vulnerable enough with these women that they poured their hearts out to me over Zoom and on camera, but just strong enough that I could discern the best stories.

Our romantic relationships often define who we are. My ex-boyfriend - and his family - had watched me take this film from ideation in the early throes of the pandemic to completion at a time when we are all trying to dissociate from what happened, what we just lost.

In the last few months of our relationship, when the slow drip of disconnection compounded into something more definitive, a decision. A decision that pushed me out of my apartment, that pushed our dog that we got together into his arms a little tighter, simply because she loves him more, that forced my to live a lesser quality of life simply because being single is expensive as fuck, especially in a city like LA, was all a lot to handle when I was also expected to bring the energy into the room.

I felt lonely.

“Where’s <insert ex’s name here>?” people asked.

“We broke up.”

No follow up. No time.

I made the decision, and now I was putting myself on display while trying to process it all at once.

I don’t know where I am going with this. Maybe that’s ok.

The Lonely Girl

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