I have been using the Salt operator since February. However, even though I live in a central place, the internet speed is very low (3-4mb). Sometimes I even have trouble talking on the phone. I solved the problem at home with wifi, but I started a new job a month ago and I am experiencing the same problem at my workplace. I made a 2-year commitment when subscribing, but it is very difficult for me to continue under these conditions. Can I change my mobile operator without paying any penalties?

Does a security system exist that does not need wi-fi or electricity?
A camera would be nice but even if it is just window/door sensors as long as I could get notications/alerts to my phone when it has been breached.
Trying to protect my old mobile home. I am living in a different home in the same court, not too far away, and would have wi-fi there but that would be long range.
Any help would be appreciated, as someone has already tried to break in and it's only a matter of time until they rob me.

very active storm season and i need to drive across the entire country by mid june. right now im thinking to go as far as south as possible. richmond to raleigh, charleston, savannah, mobile, san antonio, el paso, then san diego

Hi All,
Hopefully this is a newbie friendly forum. Wife has been asking for a home defense gun for some time. We have an old .38 revolver that works well, but it's got some kickback that she doesn't like.
I haven't ever bought a gun, and I understand the rules in CA are complicated (according to a gun loving friend) on what weapons can be bought. It seems like to save some money, I should buy before July 1st (both gun and ammo). Can I buy ammo in another state and bring it here?
I suppose I'd like a suggestion on what to buy that's CA compliant. I am located in the south bay area in SoCal (think Redondo Beach / Torrance area).
Is there a reputable place to test some different guns out? We stopped by a gun store many years back, but they were just ultra-dicks and so now she's nervous about going back to a store or range.
Thank you in advance.

Sorry for the shitty formating, I'm on mobile.
TLDR: Stupid idiot (probably) gets flirted with by a GORGEOUS girl, like she could just walk into a bar and everyone looks over gorgeous. Stupid guy ends up on here, not know how to react.
So this morning, I was at school, as you do you do and I had to go to the hall to use one of my schools pcs because I forgot my charger. As I start walking towards the pcs I noticed there was an aqaintance of mine sitting at a table behind me (she had a short fling with a friend of mine) I don't really pay attention so as I start logging in, I get my name called, I look over and just say hi how are ya, the basics, right?
Onto the relvant stuff we go.
I turn back, and I've been growing a mustache over the break and the acquaintances friend (I don't know her name, so I'll call her Anne from now on) tells me it looks really good on me
I'm not really good with compliments in general so I just said thank you with a big smile, then Anne asks me "Can I touch it?", I get really flustered, and without turning around from my monitor I say "sorry, only I get the privilige to touch it", and I understand that it's either just teasing, or maybe even flirting. I make a bit of a joke about it as we go back and forth, mostly without turning my face away from the screen (because I'm embarressed? Idk) eventually she jokingly tells me to face her when she talking to me, and after a bit of pushing I do, and immediately I don't know what to say because let me tell ya, she's GORGEOUS, like she's not even hot just actually gorgeos, I can't put it into words.
Then I ask her if maybe she has a mustache of her own and she could touch that instead? (????) She says no and even had my aqaintance check it to which she says; yea a little bit. Before I can say anything she immediately says but I want to touch yours! Again, I don't know if this is just a stupid joke or genuinely flirting. I tell her she can get on her knees, beg and cry however much she wants but she won't get to touch my mustache (my horrible attempt at flirting) She just straight up says ok I'll get on my knees, probably one of the most obvious innuendos I've ever heard, coming from a gorgeous girl, who seems to be into me somehow.
I don't know what to say and luckily a few more of their friends join them and I'm relieved but also frustrated that I don't get to keep talking to her. I also forgot to mention that the both of them complimented me on a few things beforehand like how I'm smart because I used the excuse "I forgot my charger at home, can I work in the hallway" to which I responded with "I know right?" Then Anne said something like "Well don't be too egoistic" I just responded with a little quip which I use far too often:"Can't help it, massive ego" She said she likes that about me (???)
So I know this seems like some random internet weirdo rambling on and on about some dumb thing, and that might be so, I just genuinely want to know why I can't just go up to her and ask for her number or instagram, you know? I'm an outgoing guy, mostly, but when there's this gorgeos girl who is almost definitely into me, I shut down? Again, I might be misreading things I have a tendency to overthink basically anything with girls and make a bigger deal out of it than it needs to be or is.
Be that as it may, what is wrong with me? Can anyone for the love of god tell me what it is that I'm incapable of? Like what the actual fuck can anyone please talk some sense into me and tell me what I should do next? Honestly I can't stop thinking about it, like I don't even know her name but since today I've been into her alot.
Sidenote, this, again might be nothing but she knows my name, which for some reason just makes me smile, like she took the time to memorize my name, however small of a thing to memorize that is, I just get butterflies in my stomach when I'm thinking about that little fact :)

https://www.adoptapet.com/pet/41510355-weaverville-north-carolina-border-collie-mix,
We are looking to rehome our border collie/Labrador mix for those interested in having a loving, energetic dog in their life. Phoebe is 2 years old, comes from the Madison County Animal Shelter, and is a very sweet dog. We wanted to give her a good home, but with our lifestyle, and raising our first child, we ultimately had to face truths about our situation and realized we couldn't give her the home she deserved. She would do well in a house with a fenced in yard for her to run in, someone willing to spend plenty of time with her playing, walking, exploring (I think she'd make a great running companion if you're into that), and allowing her to interact with other dogs.
For more information, I have a profile set up on Rehome that you can view with the included link. If you have any questions, please reach out! Thanks!

Sorry for the shitty formating, I'm on mobile.
TLDR: Stupid idiot (probably) gets flirted with by a GORGEOUS girl, like she could just walk into a bar and everyone looks over gorgeous. Stupid guy ends up on here, not know how to react.
So this morning, I was at school, as you do you do and I had to go to the hall to use one of my schools pcs because I forgot my charger. As I start walking towards the pcs I noticed there was an aqaintance of mine sitting at a table behind me (she had a short fling with a friend of mine) I don't really pay attention so as I start logging in, I get my name called, I look over and just say hi how are ya, the basics, right?
Onto the relvant stuff we go.
I turn back, and I've been growing a mustache over the break and the acquaintances friend (I don't know her name, so I'll call her Anne from now on) tells me it looks really good on me
I'm not really good with compliments in general so I just said thank you with a big smile, then Anne asks me "Can I touch it?", I get really flustered, and without turning around from my monitor I say "sorry, only I get the privilige to touch it", and I understand that it's either just teasing, or maybe even flirting. I make a bit of a joke about it as we go back and forth, mostly without turning my face away from the screen (because I'm embarressed? Idk) eventually she jokingly tells me to face her when she talking to me, and after a bit of pushing I do, and immediately I don't know what to say because let me tell ya, she's GORGEOUS, like she's not even hot just actually gorgeos, I can't put it into words.
Then I ask her if maybe she has a mustache of her own and she could touch that instead? (????) She says no and even had my aqaintance check it to which she says; yea a little bit. Before I can say anything she immediately says but I want to touch yours! Again, I don't know if this is just a stupid joke or genuinely flirting. I tell her she can get on her knees, beg and cry however much she wants but she won't get to touch my mustache (my horrible attempt at flirting) She just straight up says ok I'll get on my knees, probably one of the most obvious innuendos I've ever heard, coming from a gorgeous girl, who seems to be into me somehow.
I don't know what to say and luckily a few more of their friends join them and I'm relieved but also frustrated that I don't get to keep talking to her. I also forgot to mention that the both of them complimented me on a few things beforehand like how I'm smart because I used the excuse "I forgot my charger at home, can I work in the hallway" to which I responded with "I know right?" Then Anne said something like "Well don't be too egoistic" I just responded with a little quip which I use far too often:"Can't help it, massive ego" She said she likes that about me (???)
So I know this seems like some random internet weirdo rambling on and on about some dumb thing, and that might be so, I just genuinely want to know why I can't just go up to her and ask for her number or instagram, you know? I'm an outgoing guy, mostly, but when there's this gorgeos girl who is almost definitely into me, I shut down? Again, I might be misreading things I have a tendency to overthink basically anything with girls and make a bigger deal out of it than it needs to be or is.
Be that as it may, what is wrong with me? Can anyone for the love of god tell me what it is that I'm incapable of? Like what the actual fuck can anyone please talk some sense into me and tell me what I should do next? Honestly I can't stop thinking about it, like I don't even know her name but since today I've been into her alot.
Sidenote, this, again might be nothing but she knows my name, which for some reason just makes me smile, like she took the time to memorize my name, however small of a thing to memorize that is, I just get butterflies in my stomach when I'm thinking about that little fact :)

Honestly, I don't know where to begin. I'm on mobile so I apologize in advance if the formatting of my post is awful. Also, bad grammar for sure.
I have an almost 5mo baby boy and I love him so much. Most days, he is the only reason in the world I can be happy but the problem is, I suck at being a mom. I let him sleep in his swing since he was about a month old so I could actually get a few uninterrupted hours of sleep... And this was before I knew the risks of him suffocating or having container baby syndrome and hindering his development.
I'm a lazy person with health issues and my husband is also lazy. I'm a stay at home mom but the only thing I do all day is feed my son, change him and nap with him. I try to do tummy time and play time but he hates tummy time and I'm so tired most of the time from my diabetes slowly killing me that I don't want to do anything which includes tummy time. When my son smiles at me, it makes me so happy and so sad at the same time because I realize I'm not doing a good job with him.
I'm too tired to cook or clean because of my health conditions so we end up eating out and exacerbating said health conditions. I cry every other day and I tell my husband that I'm a bad mom and that I've screwed him up and he says that's not true but I could be doing more around the house... Which is also true because I complain a lot about the house being messy but I don't clean it. I'm so overwhelmed and need help to clean and to make good food. I can barely function because I'm so tired and hate myself so much. Feeling down on myself doesn't motivate me to do better, my husband helps me clean but not the way I want help. I literally think my son would be better off without me sometimes but then I remember he breastfeeds and hates formula so much that I know he wouldn't do well without me.
I hate our apartment and this stupid town I moved to when we were dating to be near my husband. I hate our cat that destroys our carpets and doorframes. I want to throw away everything in the apartment but my son's things so I don't have to clean anything. Better yet, I just want to take my son and run away. But then, I'd be even worse.
And finally, I'm tired of venting to my best friend about it and my husband too. My friend is understanding and says it is post partum depression as well as hormones. And she has been through the same. My husband tries to understand but he offers solutions on things I can do to "fix" my problems when all I want is some help and a hug. I'm unhappy except for when I hold my son.

Neighbor built onto my property with rocks and 4x4 for a patio. Only about a foot. I put a flag on the property pin last night so I could talk to him after work today. He removed the flag and the property pin.
Owner is flipping the property. Not here all the time.
Talking to him tomorrow. I have a video of the pin yesterday, and another of no pin today. What should be my recourse/action should things go south?
Property pins were located when I purchased the home with my plot land sheet 1 month ago. It wasn’t a “real survey” where a 3rd party came out and put brand new markers. These are iron pipe markers I’m assuming from years ago.
Talk to my town department? Can they actually do anything without a true engineer survey? I’m worried the house goes on sale and the new owner pretty much assumes the rock and patio is on their land.

Thanks to Patron Member u/Entharo_entho - Here is the wiped out Tweet retrieved
Context - Wiped out from Internet
In March, I got a chance to work with filmmaker Sanjay Leela Bhansali right after he made Gangubai Kathiawadi, and Alia Bhatt, playing the titular character in the film, retweeted me.
The headline (in my head) was going to be, ‘The Boy From Kamathipura Goes To Bhansali Mandi.’
Then reality struck in April.
One of my closest friends Sweta called me from the Shivapuri National Park near Kathmandu and put me on speaker. Two other friends Mona and Ayush were listening to the WhatsApp call.
‘How’s it going with Bhansu?’ Sweta asked.
‘We are not working together anymore,’ I said.
‘Whaaaaaaaat?’ the three people shrieked, creating a wavy disturbance in audio frequency.
‘Whyyyyy?’ they cried, collectively anguished.
‘He said he is not feeling the vibes.’
‘What?’
‘Vibes,’ I said aloud, causing a seismic tremor in the audio frequency.
‘What vibes?’ Sweta jibed, ‘Maybe he can’t feel the vibrator.’
Laughter upped the vibes.
First, a little context on how I got that far. Check this, this, this & this.
So my tweets were going viral in February-March.
In the second week of March, a woman DM’d me saying she loves the tweets. I said thank you. She said she works at Bhansali Productions.
Whoopsie Daisy!
I asked if I could be a part of the production. She checked with SLB and team. He said he wants to meet now.
NOW!
How?
I was in Calcutta.
I called an actor friend in Bombay and told him about it.
“They will book your tickets and put you up in 5-star,” he said, “Like Hollywood.”
“This is Bhansaliwood,” I said, “Yahan dhanda hamesha manda hai.”
I flew (on my own expense) and met him.
I was ‘prepared’ by his team for the meeting with His High and Mightiness.
I was told:

Arre, then what do I say?
I sashayed in a brown kurta and white linen trousers. Please see Madhuri Dixit-Nene’s brown ghagra for aesthetic reference I used from my very limited wardrobe of the only kurta I had at the time. By the way, the chorus sings ‘Jhanak Jhanak Payal Baaje,’ aesthetically referencing you know what, right?
He was lunching with his minions (strictly calling them minions from his pov) when I arrived in his pristine white dining hall in a building called Magnum Opus. Where else should he reside, no? Both his house, and his office (where I was ‘prepared’ earlier) were tastefully done in creamy white.
It was, as I said to my friend later, like walking into a cumulus cloud, or like sitting on his favourite singer Lata Mangeshkar’s lap. Calm, serene and quite surreal. I was inside his snow globe. Violins from a Bach concerto (in my head) were replaced with say Madan Mohan’s doleful rendition of ‘Mai ri main ka se kahoon peedh apne jiya ki.’ (Side effect of writing this on Mother’s Day.)
I look for books when I enter a house for signs of intelligent life. There were lots of lamps and candelabras but where were the stacks of books they were perched on? The aesthetic was high on film set disposable kitsch. I stared into a cumulative void.
The minions were intensely debating Darjeeling momos. What’s that? I spent my childhood there. Never heard of this GI tag!
SLB relished his meal and said, “I want puranpoli today.”
Puranpoli appeared not out of thin air, but a house-help flipping wishes instantly on a griddle on the fifth floor. We were on the first floor. Although the puranpoli is shaped like a flying saucer, it doesn’t fly, perhaps burdened by the weight of excess ghee and crowd-pleasing expectation. It does, however, reach SLB’s plate at the speed of light.
‘Give him some,’ he asked a minion to serve me while I waited on the sofa.
‘I’ve had lunch, thank you,’ I said, trying to behave. The plate arrived. I took a mousy bite to exhibit my failing attempt to transform into a champion minion.
When he came to chat, he noticed the unfinished food and gently reminded me how there were days he went hungry. I should have rolled my eyes for my own lean days.
‘One should not waste food,’ he said.
‘I don’t,’ I said, ‘I was going to parcel it home in a doggy bag.’
Hearing the word doggy, his well-behaved dog came over to inspect me.
He observed me. I petted her perfunctorily. Am a cat person. Stereotypical writer stuff — allergic to undesired petting and attention.
‘So, what have you done?’ he asked, sitting on a sort of empire-style bergere chair. Full marks for faux-ornate.
‘A novel, some writing for a series,’ I said nervously, dismissively.
‘Anything I might have seen?’ he asked.
‘No, not worthwhile.’
‘Are you interested in direction also?’
‘No, am not delusional.’
A moment passed. I might have displayed an errant repartee.
‘I mean, I can only write, or am trying to,’ I said. L’esprit de l’escalier.
He gave me a spiel on writing, how screenplay is an art not many understand, etc, et cetera.
I nodded to make his voice disappear.
‘What are you writing now?’
I showed him the cover of my new book, The Last Courtesan, featuring my mother, on my phone.
‘Oh, this is so fascinating,’ he said.
He spoke rapturously about Calcutta’s great food and colonial architecture when I mentioned growing up in Bowbazar kothas. If you watch any of his interviews now on YouTube you will realise he only speaks in raptures. He’s always explaining things like an impassioned conductor at a dime-store opera. It can exhaust the boorish audience immediately. He spoke about living in the Kamathipura area as a child when I said I had lived there. The mythmaker was interested in exoticising his own legend as an ‘outsider’.
‘But how will you work here if your mother is in Calcutta?’ he said, ‘I am a maa-ka-bhakt.’
Everything is about him or his mother. I have reached that stage too, though only by circumstances unavoidable.
‘Actually it was my mother who asked me to come here. I told her it would only work out if you understand that I will have to vacillate between the two cities initially. Jaise Sanjay ki Leela hai, waise meri Rekha.’
Corny dialogue, but worked. No one calls him by his first name, except perhaps his own mother. He is sir for everyone.
‘If I am speaking to you for so long means I like you,’ he said. ‘Otherwise, I would have asked you to leave long ago.’
Barely five minutes into the conversation, he asked me to return to his office and inform his team that I was going to be a part of his writer’s room.
I went back to his office and read a script. This is the part I cannot mention. His legal team sits in the adjacent room.
I flew to Calcutta and was to return after a week. I had to make arrangements for my mother’s tri-weekly dialysis sessions at a nearby hospital, figure out a tiffin-delivery service for her, find a house help (she sent four nurses scurrying in the past), all of which is a bit of a task in this retrograde city.
Remember the woman who had DM’d me about my tweets? She messaged. She had met SLB after my meeting. He said this about me: ‘What a wonderful find. That boy has so much potential and is talented. Most importantly, he is sensitive.’
I told her I’d get this engraved on my tombstone.
Like how he wants to take Alia Bhatt’s golchakkar in Dholida to his grave.
“It’s a shot that I will take to my grave. If there’s any shot that I want to be played when I breathe my last, it would be Alia doing that shot. It is the best thing I have seen an actor do in a very long, long time.”
I was only emulating the high priest of hyperbole in my tombstone comment. Perhaps I was regressing into a minion.
I had only managed a few tasks for mother when I was back in Bombay. It worried me that the old, frail woman with shaky limbs and slurred speech was trying to be brave to send me to work. I hadn’t worked since the pandemic; she was in and out of hospitals so frequently that I had surrendered the thought of getting another job ever again. Taking care of her was my full-time job.
The first day in his office was to chill in my new, aesthetically pleasing kurta I had shopped for in Gariahat. There was a security camera in every corner that was apparently accessible on his phone. My skin tingled with this information. Chilled. He was at home. Probably watching. That’s a great way to create a myth.
The next day, there were more minions on the lunch table in his first floor apartment. The magically appearing steamy and fragrant sheera was delicious. A minion deemed it the best sheera in the city. I nodded to make that statement evaporate.
A courier boy interrupted for a document signature. SLB flared at a spelling mistake in the document papers.
‘Go wash your face and come back,’ he yelled at the young man.
The minions at the table laughed nervously. I so wished I was wearing a mask to cover my surprise emoji face.
The minions on the table were writers and assistant directors.
‘Dastavez,’ SLB said, ‘would that be correct to use?’
‘Kaaghzaat,’ the minion replied.
‘Kaaghzaat is paper, dastavez is document,’ said the second minion.
‘You always mislead me,’ SLB sternly reprimanded the first minion. ‘Don’t ever do that again.’
Only that minion tried to laugh, offering an apology. He shut the minion down.
My mask, my mask emoji face.
A third minion was sulking in a corner before I arrived for the writing session. This minion had reportedly offered a script suggestion, which he disliked and barked down. I liked this minion the most. Relatable.
A faint noise of a person running or perhaps just a rumbling sound from somewhere outside interrupted the room. He looked up at the ceiling and said, ‘No one lives there. Am certain it is a ghost. I hear running sounds all the time. I have heard sounds of furniture being dragged.’
I wondered if he actually believed in half the things he uttered, or was he just saying it to create enigma about himself. Mythical thoughts certainly kept him preoccupied.
Reality bored him. SLB had nothing good to say about the ‘current plague’ of South Indian films upsetting the Bollywood cartel. He compared them to a circus. He wasn’t kind to the actors he had worked with in his last film. He cracked lame jokes about everyone and everything. The minions laughed and kept him busy. I chuckled a few times to blend in. The mythmaker revelled in his prophesies about the impending doom of charlatans with no aesthetics: just crass, commercial peddlers pimping art. It was all said to amuse and bemuse while he fussed over the yellow shade of fabric from several swatches.
When he left for his music session, the minions bitched him out, and how! All the horror stories I had heard over the years about his moods, behaviour, language and violent temper were true. How else will he create myth about himself as a maestro? The Glomar response. Let the plebs indulge in hearsay. I will neither confirm nor deny. The minions sang effigy songs in happy tunes, if I may stretch this part a bit like his penchant for high camp.
That night, when I went to my actor friend’s house, where I was temporarily staying, I said to him, ‘I don’t think I will last a week there.’
I was rattled by how he spoke to the courier boy and the minions, with no filter. Well, at least it was clear he had no tact, endearing as that might be of a ‘genius’ if one compromises with his erratic behaviour. The CEO of his company does it beautifully and advises to develop a ‘thick hide’ around him. Cows, essentially.
Verve
The words genius, great, master, maverick, were so loosely bandied by his office staff even in his absence that I was tempted to add auteur, if they could spell or pronounce it. They worked in perpetual fear of him turning up at any hour and checking on their tidiness. A minion whined she wasn’t dressed appropriately for his surprise visit. Once, he even cut pay for unscheduled leave, said another minion. A minion narrated a shot he copied from a photographer in Gangubai Kathiawadi. Another minion recounted how he made her cry on shoot by screaming at her for a silly mistake. Minions couldn’t leave the office till his evenings were scheduled. It was a well-paying job so long as they did not have to see ‘chacha’s’ face and only applaud his cinematic sorcery.
His office team would assign me desk-work and warn me not to inform him about it.
‘What am I supposed to say if he asks?’
‘Make up something,’ I was told.
‘Why should I?’
‘You will slowly understand,’ I was told.
His team of assistants would sneak around me. I didn’t know who was reporting what back to him. He would interrogate the management team. They would lash out at me for informing the assistants. The management wanted to control me a certain way because ‘sir’ does not need to know everything. It was quite a guessing game. He had created an ecosystem of complete chaos and loved the hubbub. New people were hired for him to use the ‘new energy’ to rekindle the ‘old energy’ that needed to be reminded it could be snuffed out and replaced. He thrived on confusion because it all boiled down to him to sort out the mess. He was the provider so long as the minions ingratiated and served their grand master.
One time he called me upstairs, what his CEO called the god’s chamber aka the Shahenshah’s durbar: his office on the seventh floor. Walls were lined with giant posters of his films. We minions sat on the fifth floor. I was of course by now a week old in the toady mill. On the seventh floor, production team members, set designer, director assistant, young people sat on the floor, armed with notebooks and laptops, alert and sugar-tongued. He sat on a throne and dictated each one about their duty. A masseur massaged his leg. He asked me what I thought of a script. I said it was lovely. He asked me to elaborate. I said I liked a character’s resolve. He denied it was written. I said that’s my interpretation. A minion promptly backed me.
‘What changes do you suggest?’ he asked.
‘We should sit on it collectively and decide,’ I said.
He mumbled something. My suggestion was dismissed. I was dismissed. I bowed out. A minion whispered to me, ‘We all walk on eggshells around him.’ I had to be a chicken in a coop I suppose.
Another time he dismissed my suggestion for a scene saying, ‘That’s not how art is made.’ I had referenced a scene from Bandit Queen to illustrate my point. Just like his entire oeuvre is homage to a classic. How else does he make his art?
Allow me to illustrate with a frame from his first film Khamoshi: The Musical. The second image is from Pakeezah.
Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam references Red Beard, Woh 7 Din.
Devdas references Pakeezah more than once.
Black references The Miracle Worker.
Saawariya references Pyaasa, Awaara.
Guzaarish references Whose Life Is It Anyway?
Goliyon Ki Raasleela: Ram-Leela references Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet, West Side Story.
Bajirao Mastani references Mughal-E-Azam.
Padmaavat references Mirch Masala.
Gangubai Kathiawadi, let’s give him the benefit of doubt is all his own, original artistry.
The American filmmaker Jim Jarmusch once meta quoted the French filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard when he said:
“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery — celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from — it’s where you take them to.”
SLB believes he takes art and betters it, removing the grubby coat of slime from the sublime, often not concerned with acknowledging the source. He is a master’s master, elevating it to an otherworldly experience, the creator of a mythoverse.
He asked me to rewrite a scene I didn’t agree with. He banged the script folders on the table like a petulant, little child. I watched his posture change into a frump. Tiger Shroff’s ‘Bacchi ho kya,’ dialogue comes to mind.
‘You are talking like those critics who find fault but don’t know how to write. They should write the film,’ he said.
That argument will never make sense to me but since I write movies now and not just about them, I rewrote the scene in half an hour and showed it to him. He found it rubbish.
I was not called to the writer’s room for a week.
His CEO said I should go to his house; hang around him, like the other assistants whose only purpose in life is to feed his ego. We are slaves to his vision, she said. She thought I was a better writer than the team he had assembled. ‘From whatever I read, only three lines of your work on social media, I could sense it,’ she said.
Either she was encouraging, or bluffing with a perfectly Zen face. From the hundreds of Ganesh idols stacked in her room, it was clear she wasn’t a reader. She was good at reading numbers, data, and stats. She would sense a sign if one of the metal idols sucked milk from a spoon on the day she enquired about box –office figures.
There was more than one right-wing hardliner in his office. Secular staff was invisible. A pretty minion in baby pink t-shirt, whose main grouse was that another minion called him a Barbie doll, said he was happy with the Modi government building roads in his home state Bihar. Another minion countered him by asking: What about the persecution of minorities by the same government? The pretty minion said he didn’t care for that. He was assisting ‘sir’ because he wanted to be an actor. Which lead me to wonder how many Muslim actors has this production worked with? Silly of me to think, right? Given that I myself don’t use my Muslim surname. I’ve now successfully planted a myth in your head. That’s how it works.
In the time that I was in Versova during my brief stint at Bhansali Productions, I met several people with their own SLB horror story. A producer said, ‘He is a difficult man but life changes for good after you work with him. Some people want to go through hell first. Life bann jaati hai.’ I didn’t understand why purgatory was necessary. Another former assistant said, ‘When you work with the worst (SLB) and the best (KJO), you are ready for the rest.’
A young woman gave him a thesis she wrote on his films. He asked her to write a book on her. She said she wanted to assist as a director. She never heard from him. A filmmaker said SLB was too friendly with another assistant, suggesting intimacy. A writer wasn’t given credit in a film.
Another writer was promised his script will be turned into a film but it never took off and now he feels his life has been ruined. A young filmmaker’s debut movie SLB produced was delayed, not promoted, and called ‘kachra’ to his face.
The young man said SLB is sexist, homophobe, classist, fat shamer, emotional abuser, and a body shamer. “He is a joyless pit of darkness where happiness goes to die. And those are the nicest words I can think of to describe him,” he said. Another filmmaker said a choreographer was in a relationship with SLB and wanted to marry him but he wouldn’t even touch her, a hotly discussed conversation amongst his minions.
Everything sounds hokum. A successful man is likely to upset a few. The few will talk. Their words may ring true through a gossamer veil of implausibility. Myths magnifying his persona.
There are too many myths about his personal life, aroused by his silence on the subject but all too obvious in his work. When people want to confirm with me, I am equally appalled at their lack of aesthetics. Like the great reader of curtains, Edgar Allan Poe, you only have to look at SLB’s use of billowy curtains in films to guess.

Above stanza, courtesy Poe, poem: The Raven.
Hope you get the drift, or draft, hawa ka jhonka! By the way, am digressing now, is the weirdly named character Sameer Rosselline in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam the first mainstream Hindi film hero to pass wind? The ruffled curtains are first to be cautioned though.
Unlike most people willing to swallow their pride to work with SLB, few like the eponymous Gangubai character choose izzat. The house-help employed in my actor friend’s house was asked to work as a cook in his house. When she heard the whimsy, dessert-craving demands, she declined the offer. I identify with her no-nonsense style.
In November 2021, a filmmaker read a film script I wrote and said, ‘This is SLB territory. Only he can make it. It is the modern love-story he has been wanting to make for a long time.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked, somewhat flattered but also bewildered.
‘Yes, we just have to change the setting from Calcutta-Bombay to Calcutta-New York. It is what he has been trying to crack. I’ll get him to read it.’
I never spoke to SLB about my script. I did not want to look like a schemer. I had only got a chance because of my mother’s story. I had come to write courtesan songs. Hindi films are recognised by their songs. His films have show tunes that live on long after the sequins and mirrors reflect a decadent style. He employs the old-fashioned method of making Hindi films, which is to stitch scenes around a song, not the other way round. And when you glean your references from the best of classical melodies, how can you falter?
My own SLB story is that after watching Saawariya in 2007, I wrote a few songs, moved to Bombay, lived in Versova, close to Magnum Opus, and hoped to meet him, but made no effort even though I came in close contact with people who worked directly with him. I never requested for a meeting. Over the years, I too had heard a few horror stories about him. I only believe in what I see. I waited when he would call for me, my work would have to speak for itself.
A day before Good Friday, his CEO sat me down and said it’s not working out.
There’s a mythical story of how Lata Mangeshkar was on her way to record a song for SLB but the heavens poured and she had to turn her car back. A typical SLB frame of hope and hopelessness.
Never work with your idols. You’ll have a better story to imagine and create myths.
I was so relieved to leave. I hadn’t got a moment to read, or write, let alone think since I got here. Why I wanted to work with SLB was to not believe in hearsay. I will either confirm or deny.
‘Great,’ I said, ‘everyone deserves an off on Good Friday.’
The office was unsure about public holidays. SLB’s mood dictated the calendar.
Before returning to Calcutta, I met a friend entrenched in the film business.
When she heard of the fiasco, she said, ‘I’ve heard he is very anal, is he?’
The vibrator jokes never stop.

I recently started collecting ouch plants and wanted to share everything I’ve learned in hopes that it will help others. These tips come from a mix of places—personal experiences, conversations with growers, reading cactus forums, Reddit, YouTube videos—and because I’m a weirdo, I’ve organized this list from essentials to less important.
Anyway… hope this is helpful and for all you experts, if I’m saying anything dumb, feel free to tell me. I’m still learning!
Miracle Gro = The Worst
Don’t use Miracle Gro. It contains coagulants that cause the soil to hold moisture for obscene amounts of time, making it incredibly easy to overwater your plants.
Personally, I prefer Uni-Gro, which comes with a good mix of organic and mineral ingredients. Depending on the type of cacti (especially those known to grow at higher elevations), I will amend it with pumice and akadama to ensure solid drainage and mineral content.
If your cacti are already planted in Miracle Gro and you don’t plan to repot them, I suggest purchasing a moisture meter from Amazon or Home Depot. Use it to keep an eye on how wet the soil is. If it’s not dry, don’t water them. If it is dry, a little goes a long way!
I’m a Plants Wetter (and Not Afraid to Admit It)
I am historically terrible when it comes to overwatering and have to remind myself that cacti are not humans--they are plants that have evolved to go years, if not centuries, without direct access to water. Take the Copiopoa, for example—they grow in the mountains of Chile, eat rocks, cook in the sun all day, and can live for hundreds of years getting moisture only from the coastal fog. Wild stuff!
I get that that’s an extreme example, but less is more and whatever I define as “less” is still probably too much. In practice, that means I’ll check my plants every 1-2 weeks (or less) and give them a sip of water if their soil is fully dry.
If you’re not sure whether the soil is moist or not, check the hole in the bottom of your pot—if it’s dry, then it’s time to water. If it’s moist—check again in a few days. If there’s no hole, repot your plant immediately.
The Waiting is the Hardest Part
Spring is cactus season! That means new growth, flowers, and action. The rest of the year? Your cacti are using that time to chill, grow, and get thicc—growth will still be taking place, it’s just less noticeable.
Don’t let that trick you into thinking your plant needs more water.
Merry & Bright
Cacti need as much light as possible. Even though I know this, you know this, and dogs know this it bears repeating.
If your plants are inside, put them by the window or under an extremely powerful grow light. Many moisture meters also come with a light meter, so it’s easy to check how much light you’re getting—but ultimately, brighter is always better.
If you’re putting them outside—morning light is the best light. Just be careful about how much exposure they’re getting in the afternoon. Here in the Coachella Valley, for example, the sun turns into a giant death ray in the sky every summer, which means most of my cacti need afternoon shade.
For everyone else, if you’re moving your cacti outdoors, like many on this subreddit have suggested, the best approach is to increase afternoon sun exposure over time; otherwise, they’ll burn.
Repotting & The Many Dumb Mistakes I’ve Made
Much like overwatering, I have made a lot of dumb mistakes when repotting in the past. C’est la vie.
Spring and summer = cactus growing season and the best time to repot. This is true of most plants, but for some reason, I didn’t figure it out until recently. I’ve killed a handful of plants because I repotted them in December and January, thinking it was OK because it’s warm here. Don’t be like me.
When it is time to repot, consider watering your plants a day or two beforehand. Take care to avoid damaging the roots and once you’re done, let them chill in a shady spot for two weeks before giving them any more water. I learned this from watching the Peter W. episode of Cactus Quest. The idea here is that the shade will reduce the shock, your plant won’t be thirsty, and it can use those two weeks to repair any root damage that occurred.
Buying plants from big box stores like Lowes, Home Depot, etc.? Check your soil! Most of these store’s wholesalers are using garbage soil that doesn’t drain and will kill your new buddies if they’re not repotted.
Propping
It’s crazy to me just how easy it is to grow new plants from cuttings. You can literally leave some species of cactus lying on a pile of dirt and they’ll start growing roots and eventually pop out new growth.
If you’re propping from a cutting—make sure to give your plant a few days to callus over, then put it in some dry soil or perlite and wait 2-4 weeks for them to take root. They’ll rot if you water them without roots because they won’t be able to drink anything.
Not sure whether it’s got roots? Give it a very gentle yank to see whether it comes out of the soil. If there’s any tension, then you’re making good progress!
Don’t Get Pricked
Cactus thorns suck. They’re a lot like splinters and can be a giant pain in the ass to remove. In situations where I have to handle them with my hands, I will do one of two things:

1. BBQ Tongs: Use these to pick up or plant smaller specimens without having to worry about my precious digits.
2. 2 Pairs of gloves: I go this route when handling heavier guys. The first layer is leather work gloves. The second layer is cheap raptor gloves from Amazon. I’ve found this prevents 80-90% of surprise punctures but reduces finger mobility.

Feed Me, Seymour
The right substrate (meaning it has a good balance of mineral and organic ingredients) should provide your ouch plants with almost everything they need, so you probably won’t need to worry about fertilizing.
If you do want to hook them up with some food, many folks on this subreddit recommend Schultz’s, which has worked well for me so far—I only use it sparingly only once in spring and early fall. I dilute it by 50% when I do.
If I’ve just repotted a plant, I’ll wait two weeks, then give it a sip of Moon Juice (which is 0-0-0, but full of micronutrients) to help it get established.
I Swear, it’s Not an Addiction
If it were up to me, I’d only buy from my local ouch plant dealer, but after spending some time online, I’ve found some great places to grow my collection! Here's a few:

• Arid Lands: has an incredible assortment of common and hard-to-find plants at very reasonable prices. Their website might be antiquated, but it’s a goldmine.
• Paradise Found: They have a smaller assortment, but also offer a ton of hard-to-find plants at reasonable prices. I was truly impressed by how thoughtfully the plants were packed when I received them.
• Planet Desert: They have a great assortment. Some plants are reasonably priced while others are on the expensive side. It’s best to check prices from other shops before making a purchase.
• Etsy: I’ve made several purchases from different growers here. It’s easy to find what you’re looking for and know exactly what you’re getting. The only disappointing thing is the prices tend to skew higher (sometimes they’re reasonable, usually they’re not).

Other Helpful Resources

• This subreddit. Appreciate y’all.
• Your local growenursery. All the folks I’ve met out here have been so kind and helpful—they care about plants as much (if not more) than we do and have always been willing to answer my questions regardless of whether I’m making a purchase.
• Cactus Quest: I have learned so much watching this dude’s videos… About how to be a better cactus dad, socal-local growers, different species, etc.
• Planty – aka ChatGPT for gardeners. Strongly recommend trying it out and asking questions. I’ve used it to better understand nuanced care for specific species such as recommended soil mixes, outdoor positioning, and watering, as well as how to best protect my plants from local climate extremes.

Link Roundup: Everything I Mentioned in This Post
Soil

• Uni-Gro: Unfortunately this is tough to find online. This store has small bags in stock, but I suggest checking with your local nursery.
• Pumice: https://www.amazon.com/Pumice-Volcanic-Succulents-Orchids-Hydroponics/dp/B09YWPXP9J/
• Akadama Soil: https://www.amazon.com/NOHOBE-Succulents-Amendment-Provides-Retention/dp/B0B7XXY3BF/
• 3-in-1 Moisture Meter: https://www.amazon.com/Sonkir-Soil-Moisture-Tester-Gardening/dp/B07BR52P26/
• Pre-mixed Stone Eater’s Soil: https://cactus.store/products/stone-eaters

Equipment

• BBQ Tongs: https://www.amazon.com/KingTong-Stainless-Steel-Tongs-Grill/dp/B07DBPL435/
• Leather Work Gloves: https://www.amazon.com/Wells-Lamont-1168XL-HydraHyde-Water-Resistant/dp/B079RQRWY1/
• Raptor Gloves: https://www.amazon.com/RAPICCA-Handling-Reinforced-Grabbing-Grey-Black/dp/B07DVXQ9RD/

Plant Food

• Schultz Cactus Food: https://www.amazon.com/Schultz-Cactus-Liquid-Plant-2-7-7/dp/B01E82THI6/
• Super Charged Moon Juice: https://www.moonvalleynurseries.com/supercharged-moon-juice

Growers, etc.

• Arid Lands Nursery: https://aridlandswholesale.com/oscommerce/
• Paradise Found Nursery: https://www.paradisefoundnursery.com
• Planet Desert: https://planetdesert.com
• Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/search?q=trichocereus&ref=search_bar
• Cactus Quest: YT Channel + Insta

Title seems obvious (at least to me), but let's just summarize the situation by saying I have roommates who bring over their random friends all the time. One of them was basically living on our couch for weeks while waiting to get into his new place, which I had notice of and was cool with... but they keep leaving their shit over here long after getting into a new apartment.
After the roommates and co spend a night hanging out, I wake up to a total mess in the shared main areas. Food wrappers on the couch and floor, half-full cups of drinks and bowls of food, dirty socks, used Q-tips (both for ears and bongs), random pieces of clothing, parts of the sectional moved and not put back, ashes and dirty bong water, etc. And then it all just just. Sits there.
I've asked multiple times for my roommates to clean up after themselves and their guests, but I'm tired of having to say something every single time when we're all adults. The kicker is one of my roommates has gotten frustrated with the rest of us not being up to her standards of cleanliness (she doesn't like seeing roaches, when we've gotten roach bait and stated many times that leaving food out is the problem) multiple times--yet this is her company that strews their trash about, many of these icky things are from HER habits, but she's blind to them because to her it's not a big deal.
The couch surfer seems to think our house is still his storage space, and I've noted multiple pieces of clothing, like hoodies and shirts, hanging over our dining chairs, strung up in the laundry room, or stuffed under tables and the couch for months at a time. Same with leftovers he puts in our fridge and then never touches again. I've even told him to collect his stuff. No moves to do so, though he visits frequently enough to keep randomly leaving something else.
So... I started taking matters into my own hands. Leaving dirty socks and old food in my home? That's trash, and I'm cleaning, so say goodbye to it forever. Perfectly useable clothing I could wear? I'm washing it and putting it in my closet. It's mine now, I just won't wear it around you.
I'm taking pictures every time there's a mess, and even of some minor damages my roommates and their buddies have caused. Currently sitting on it and building a case for the landlord if things go south. But for now, this is my vengeance. I'm sure it would piss them off to know about it, but I feel totally justified.