Palada Payasam

As I sipped on Starbucks' version of filter coffee,

Just to drown out the guilt of some oversweetened dessert that tasted toffee,

My brain warned me,

Sleep tonight would be far from glee,

As our cab rolled close to home,

And I witnessed a lot of aunties and uncles roam,

Around the colony temple,

Sipping on what looked like delicious payasam, my lips trembled,

Greedily watching them take sip after sip,

My mind instantly flipped the regret switch,

Palada payasam right about now,

Would have hit all the right spots and how,

Oh how I miss palada sometimes,

The pangs hit me at the most unexpected times.

Item Girl Dreams

It was somewhere in the middle of watching Malaika Arora shaking her gorgeous midriff and entire body in general, on top of a train in Chaiya Chaiya, that the item girl dreams began to form in my head.

When Dil Se released in 1998, I was a fat 11 year old tom-boy, running around in silk shorts and a cycle in hand. The concept of unrequited love and marriage was slowly beginning to take some shape and form in my hormone untouched brain.

That maniacal love which Aman (Shahrukh Khan) was displaying for the mysterious terrorist (Manisha Koirala), somehow made sense to me. Love had to be toxic, hence concluded my 11 year old brain.

But forget that sob love story, back to sexy Malaika Arora and her hardly anything outfit, I had to be that woman on a train, I thought as I munched through my second bag of potato chips along with red wine (the alcohol was perks of being an army kid, there was always rivers of liquor flowing in all our households for as long as I can remember.)

I'm 38 now, fully sober, with zero alcohol in my system and as I watch Chaiya Chaiya right now, the drive to dance atop a moving train shaking my almost shapely midriff, is very very strong.

I think it's safe to say, being an item girl is a dying desire of mine. I must fulfill it before I go upstairs permanently, or else my soul will not rest in peace.

I've never been more sure of anything in my life. This dream comes a close second, after wanting to be a mother.

Dream gods and casting directors, are you listening? 

A Prolonged Fever

The fever is really fevering today,

It started on a Wednesday,

And hasn't said goodbye yet,

I'm suddenly missing being ammumma's pet,

She would have had Gold Spot ready,

As my head felt heavy,

Two sips of Gold Spot,

Would have hit the right spot,

Fevers are the worst,

It makes you feel cursed,

Both the mind and body are scrambled,

The mouth will probably join in and ramble,

So so sick,

I feel like a pile of useless bricks.

Jumping Riaan

Being crashed on fifty times a day,

In various ways,

With sound effects in toe,

For each "barrel roll",

Starting with wham, crash and boom,

Calling himself "Trash IRL", he's a little goon,

Terrorizing peaceful evenings,

And slow, lazy afternoons,

His toothless naughty chuckle,

Has my already broken back in a buckle,

Just another day of being Riaan's mom,

With my baby monkey around, I hardly get any time to feel forlorn.

Meltdown Fridays

It began with a 5am rain,

Followed by a whole lot of pain,

Hysterical sobs, announcing that school is hard,

And in general that the soul is charred,

Just kidding, I doubt a 6 year old understands what a soul is,

His tears in the meantime, continued to brim and fizz,

Hands dramatically folded,

Along with his legs nicely moulded,

I gave in quite quickly to his request,

Putting his mind to rest,

School is hard, I agreed,

Sometimes in life, we need the opposite of speed,

If slow Friday's are what your 6 year old desires,

Just give in and don't put his or her heart on a pyre,

Let them be,

Happy and free. 

Letting Go

Love is the art of letting go. And no one has explained this better to us than Doctor Stephen Strange. He watched Christine getting married in the multiverse, he proclaimed his undying love for her in another.

And that is love. To let go over and over again. Because you can't force someone to feel the same for you.

Whenever you do think of them, think of them with love and light and wish them the best. There's no point in forcing, chasing or begging someone for their time and attention.

Love simply is. It's either there or it isn't. It's as simple as that. So cry over that "almost-person", drown yourself with an entire bottle of Bailey's, talk about him or her until kingdom come with all your best friends, but ultimately let go.

For only if you let go, do you allow your heart and lives' doors to be flung open again to be filled with the right person.

I lived a Shakespearen sonnet with my late husband. To lose someone you're still in love with it and thrive after that person's long gone, now that's a love story for the books as well.

Let go my friend, let go. It's the only happy conclusion for you and whoever it is, that you are fantasizing about. 

Anxiety

Recently someone described me as, "A person who'll go into war and win that battle. However you're petrified of the rats in your own house and really lose your shit!" That was the first time I laughed during the course of those tense 24 hours.

Anxiety and negative self-talk have been my best friends for as long as I can remember. I'm never fully convinced when good things happen to me. I either sabotage it in my own head or worst case, sabotage it for the people around me.

Luckily, the folks closest to me, understand this screw loose situation in my head and look past it. Unfortunately, those who are trying to get to know me, either abandon ship and run or they stick around and we remain good friends.

My anxiety has gotten worse over the years and some days I feel extremely low. The human brain is complex and I haven't been able to figure out mine yet.

In the meantime, icecream and butter chicken help, along with 45 minute swims. Mental health, drumbeaten enough and more by the Gen Zees are something we must seriously consider improving.

Zero mental health equals a poor quality of living. The human brain, can either be your best friend or worst enemy. We're all either stuck inside the cages we create or we're free like carefree pigeons, pooping all over people's heads. 

Let's choose to be the pigeon. Happy and poopy. 

Accountability

In a world full of asslicking charmers, who keep showering you with praises, choose to listen to Hulk instead. They're honest, blunt, direct, in your face and hit you with truth bombs that completely blow you away. 

Accountability, both in the personal and professional front is surprisingly missing. Perhaps, it's the system that has moulded people this way or ridiculous apps that have destroyed the sanctity of relationships. There's not one single factor, but multiple of them, that have left people with no spine.

Instead of ghosting someone, choose to have that difficult 15 minute conversation with them. Instead of showering someone with praises mindlessly and then running away from their lives so blatantly, tell them what they did to piss you off.

Let's face it, we're all spoilt little brats, masquerading as adults in broad daylight. Our childhood was filled with adults and siblings, who gave in to most of our desires. 

As adults, perhaps we have the same unrealistic expectations from people we meet. Therefore, meeting Hulk once in a while is a breath of fresh air. I have immense respect for these kind, yet angry souls. God bless them and let there be more of them in this fake-nice world. 

Honouring the Dead

Let's face it, in India we have an age old tradition of honouring the dead. We talk about them, we hang photographs of them at home, we perform pooja's annually and we even get tattoos dedicated to them.

My two pence in keeping up with this ritual for my late husband is by visiting Starbucks at least 2-3 times a month. He was a regular Starbucks customer. The outlets he visited knew his drink by heart and would have it ready, even before he reached the counter.

Family weekends were also spent in Starbucks. I'd order the drink of the week, advertised in shiny posters right outside and inside the outlet, which would taste terrible. And he'd end up making fun of me for buying it.

3 years and 8 months since he's been gone and Starbucks gives me so much peace each time I visit. A part of me hopes to bump into him and another just breathes in the aroma of the coffee and snacks being churned out around me.

I took our son to Starbucks yesterday evening and I felt the cycle being complete. He no longer remembers his father, but he vaguely remembers Starbucks from all our visits in Bombay.

As I took a picture of him and me sitting together, inside Starbucks, I almost shed a tear. I think his father would have been proud to know, that he's successfully converted a Starbucks hater into a lover.

While the Americano still doesn't sit well inside my tummy, the ambience and the savoury snacks are something I look forward to soaking in, at least once a week.

I saw a formally dressed man, working furiously on his laptop last evening inside Starbucks and it instantly reminded me of my workaholic, late husband. 

It's funny how the dead never leave you, even if they have in reality.