Find Your People

The world is full of psychos, ourselves included. It's very important to find your bunch of psychos and stick to them. Those bunch of special people who've figured out the cuckoos in your head and don't flinch, get scared or run away. Those people are keepers.

Let the rest run. There is no such thing as an "almost person", "could have been", "almost happily ever after". Just no. This is not a romantic comedy with Adam Sandler trying to make Drew Barrymore remember their life together every single day, aka 50 first dates.

Those things exist only in the movies. Very sad realisation. But I've at least realised it now, close to 39 years later. In real life, romance is your mom-friend telling you in detail, the homework to be completed during the pooja holidays. Your mother pinging you 10,000 times a day asking if you've eaten. And your father investing in the mutual funds for you. That's real life. Solid. Constant. Steady. 

Let's not forget the siblings and their spouses, who also pamper you shitless and make you feel 10 years old, all over again. By you, I mean me, of course.

Go and find your people. And drink hot chocolate after you drown yourself in a bowl of luscious butter chicken. 

For everything else, there's HIT workouts and weight training. One minute of those bone crushing workouts and all your sadness will fly out the window, like it never existed.

Peace! ☮️✌️🏳️🕊️

Fluctuating Scales

The last two or is it five kilos,

Keep going up and down, like a blow,

To the ego, this proves that the metabolism,

Is on a perennial break, like a beautiful illusion, almost a prism,

That keeps you hoping against hope,

Almost like gripping onto a slippery rope,

As I popped luscious butter chicken,

With makki di roti for lunch, and then dessert after dessert, like I was grief stricken,

With the seasonal flu,

Not all grief is of the mind, some are of the body, that make us feel blue,

And so I ate,

And I ate,

Like I'd never seen food,

Each morsel lifted my mood,

A chocolate brownie, followed by a Biscoff cheesecake,

That ended with some pakodas and tart, today I'll take a break,

Back to the grind,

I've made up my mind,

It's a Monday morning,

There's no time for mourning,

Breakfast has been skipped,

The mouth will be closed and I'll remain tightlipped. 

Overcome

I think we're all in pain,

The least we can do is try to stay sane,

Fight those demons we must,

We certainly should not combust,

Mind over matter,

Even if you feel like the mad hatter,

Chocolates and weight training work for me,

It gives me the courage to free,

Those rabid thoughts,

Throw in a couple of squats,

And there's no time to feel sad,

Every drop of sweat makes me feel glad,

Strength begins on the outside,

Only then can it trickle inside,

Stay kind,

And just don't mind,

The white noise around you,

Just say boo,

And lift those weights,

You'll quickly start thinking straight.

Almost Seven

Almost seven,

Life together has been close to heaven,

My toothless wonder,

Makes me ponder,

With his 10,000 questions per second,

As I answer one, he's ready with the next, his chattering mouth, his weapon,

My personal All India Radio,

Sometimes I wonder if my house is a studio,

From morning to night,

This is my plight,

I can hardly think,

As his questions keep flowing in a wink,

What I don't like is that he's growing in a blink,

Where's my tiny baby with his diapers that stink,

Don't become seven so quickly,

I still want you to be that sleeping baby, tiny and picky,

Strange this feeling of watching my little bean,

Turning into a beanstalk, and into a wannabe teen,

100km/hr the speed of his mouth,

Anyone's ears will turn south,

My tiny chatter box,

With too many toy blocks,

I watch with you pride,

As you make the whole world ride,

Around your tiny fingers and mouth.

Little Hurricane

I've lost track of the number of times,

Your face has bashed roughly into mine for no reason or rhyme,

Was that blood mixed with pain,

Or the feeling of my teeth as they strain,

Into the obscure corners of my lips,

What joy to be a boy mom with you perennially stuck to my hips,

Or calling out for me every two seconds,

Like a baby dragon who beckons,

My house is a mess,

Toys in excess,

A tube of Fevicol to add to the confusion,

Smelly baby hands, however much I wash them, cleanliness is an illusion,

He's either sweating from running around too much,

Or spilling food everywhere as such,

When do they grow up to become less monkey like,

He's a little tyke,

He's also the apple of my eye,

Even if we don't meet eye to eye,

On many things, 

My ears ring,

With his constant nattering,

His speech both flattering and unflattering,

Off to bed I go,

Where we'll hopefully not have another row.

Take A Chill Pill

There's a fine line between turning into Gupt's Manisha Koirala v/s being Kajol. Choose to be Kajol, whatever your brain is telling you. Be a sensible, mature adult at all times. Let go when you have to let go.

Reciprocity is a two way street. Follow this mantra for jobs and personal relationships. Stop putting so much of yourself into a person or a situation if you don't see the same effort being directed back to you.

This is the only way that you can be, the aforementioned level-headed Kajol. There is no need to feel down and out. Accept people or situations as they are. Don't fantasize or glamourise them or the situation so much in your head.

That being said, there's no need to be bitchy or mean either. If you've been born with rainbows for poop and cotton candy for your thoughts, continue to be that person. You do not have to put out evil into the world, simply because you receive it.

Perhaps it's the perennial rain or the fact that Chennai has suddenly gotten a few degrees colder, I'm feeling very sage like. Or perhaps I'm getting older and wiser. 

Zen-mode is always the way to go. Embrace it, practice it and become a mini Buddha. Peace! ☮️

Fried Goodness

Tomatoes and onions are considered grocery essentials in most houses,

As for me, when fried goodies deplete, I start my grouses, 

What kind of a day have you even had,

If fried goodness hasn't been shared,

Chips, ribbon pakodas, murukkus and Bengal biscuits,

I begin to nitpick,

The moment my stock is empty,

When I open my snack cupboards, it must be filled with fried goodness in plenty,

All night long the farts must be pungent,

The nasty smells have to be abundant,

And then I know, I've had a good day,

Bad thoughts, far far away,

Inside my veins you will find fried goodness,

Aong with sugary delights, as opposed to hemoglobin fullness,

Aaah fried goodness,

Have you ever experienced anything with this much greatness. 

Pani Season

The sun's never out during the Pani season,

Everyone's coughing and sneezing for no reason,

Where did all that mist come from,

We wonder, as we experience our brains growing numb,

Bright as light days are replaced,

With a perennial fog, that has us feeling amazed,

The typical Chennaites that we are,

We continue wearing summer clothes like superstars,

And then we complain about itchy throats,

As we croak,

Most mornings I sound like a broken record,

My voice chords,

All muffled up, 

Someone even asked whether I've manned up,

On a late evening call,

I chuckled nonstop, perhaps sounding like an unpleasant squall,

Pani season in Chennai,

Has us all feeling like unguided Samurais,

Perhaps we like it, perhaps we don't,

Yet none of us want to get off our warm-headed thrones. 

Trauma Bonds

Just as painful as the name sounds, trauma bonds are are those unpleasant memories that you create and hoard in your head, until the end of time.

These people and events are played on loop in your head and it slowly and steadily chips away at your confidence and peace of mind. Trauma bonds appear in the form of vivid dreams or a sudden memory recall. And in those moments, it's totally normal to feel down and out. 

The important thing is to allow that feeling to pass, accept the situation as it is and keep moving forward. 

I'm a strong believer of karma. I believe that what you put out into the world, both good and bad, will come back to haunt you. It can be anger, jealousy, hatred, love, a sense of competition, protectiveness, these thoughts and feelings that you project onto another person will come back to you with full force. 

So when you dream that sweet, vivid dream at 4.30 in the morning, accept the harsh reality of it not being true. Allow yourself to feel like shit for a good hour or two and then get on with your day. 

While the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is merely an urban legend, you can always create your pots of gold in tiny pockets. Hold onto those pockets, stop brooding like a Vampire and get on with your life. Stat!

The Battle Of The Sexes

The most irrelevant of all battles, the world has witnessed over centuries is most definitely the battle of the sexes. Recently someone looked me quite rudely on the face and declared, "You like bad boys. But you don't like the repurcessions that come along with trying to maintain any sort of equation with the bad boy"

He was right of course, regarding my fondness for bad boys. He was grossly incorrect with the second part of that sentence, my dead husband being case in point. He was a rebel with and without a cause. Close to 13 years and one child later, it's safe to say, of course I know how to maintain relationships, of every kind.

In hindsight I realise the following should have been my reply to him. "You like independent, self-made women, but don't like the fact that she comes with a sharp mind and tongue that she uses at will"

The whole concept of Adam and Eve has been diluted with time, thanks to ridiculous apps and just the fact that people are impatient and don't want to put in the time and effort, to build something long lasting.

Therefore, the battle of the sexes is as irrelevant as the skies trying to survive without the sun and moon. Men and women are two sides of the same coin. They have to come together to create something fruitful for themselves and ultimately for the world around them.

I prefer having a healthy debate with an opiononated human being, irrespective of the sex, as opposed to someone spineless who just chooses to ghost you.

The lack of spine that you display, will ultimately come to bite you back really hard on the ass. And in that moment, I hope you decide to either quickly grow a spine or just take accountability for everything you've ever put out into the world.

Let's be the generation that ends the battle of the sexes. Let's accept that everyone is important and plays a part in this world. Let's give and receive love and respect. 

Peace! ☮️

Icecreams for World Peace

Choose icecreams on a sunny day,

Pounce on it, on a muggy day,

As well,

And you will find, all is indeed well,

Sore throats and moody weathers are temporary,

Icecreams however, are forever, so reach out for that diary,

Or non-diary, whatever rocks your boat,

Eat one today and feel your brain gloat,

Over all the things you did right,

Despite your plight,

Forget and forgive, those who pissed you off,

It's time to cut out and shut off,

Those negative thoughts,

Instead focus on that creamy delight that's exploding in your mouth, like a piece of molten lava, hot, hot, hot,

Grab an icecream today,

And feel better in every way. 

Vulnerability is Cool

Let's take a moment to appreciate that scene in Lokah, where Neeli/Chandra bids adieu to Sunny. This badass, undefeatable, invincible immortal being hugging a puny, fragile human with tears forming in both her eyes, as she watches him walk away.

What this teaches us is that being human is an excellent choice, even if you're superhuman. Crying and being vulnerable are the best human emotions. Sometimes we cry tears of sadness, sometimes it's out of joy and at other times it's out of sheer frustration.

But I'd choose crying over bottling all that emotion up and bursting like a pressure cooker. If you have deep rooted anger issues, it simply means that you've bottled up your feelings for far too long.

All that pain needs a place to go. If you hold it in, it will come to bitch slap you, in the most unexpected of places and times. Therefore to avoid being a pressure cooker human being, it's crucial to let it all out.

Crying works best for me. At times screaming too. Life is hard. Let's accept this reality for one second. You weren't born to eat, work and die. You were born to enjoy your time on earth and do things that make you truly happy.

Unfortunately we have bills to pay and in my case a child to raise, hence we give in to the monotony of a 9-6 and get on with it.

But somewhere in that process, it's important to take time out to feel all your feelings. Close to 4 years since my husband passed away and I've let myself feel all those feelings. This is a shit situation and I've made the best of it, thanks to an army backing me up every step of the way.

Going back to that powerful scene now, let's takeaway from it that even a superhuman needed to feel human and craved love during all her centuries of being alive.

Love is the oil to every human wheel. We need to be well oiled at all times. And there's no shame in admitting that you need someone to hold your hands through it all. 

Kudos to the makers of Lokah to have made an all heart, subtle, yet powerful vampire movie. It was much, much needed. 

Empower Yourself

Empower yourself, mind, body and soul,

So that you feel whole,

Empower yourself, so that you have the courage,

To walk away from a barrage,

That is disrespectful,

Have the courage to move on from people and situations that are uneventful,

Empower yourself, so that you recognise those who value you,

Just as you are, truer than true,

Speak your truth, loud and proud,

Empower yourself, so that you're comfortable without a crowd,

Empower yourself, just for you,

So that you can chew,

Bitter pills, when it's strewn,

Empower yourself, so that you can recognise goons,

They come in all shapes and forms,

Empower yourself, so that you can withstand the swarm,

Walk away and never look back,

That's life's ultimate hack,

Empower yourself, mind, body and soul,

So that you feel whole.

The Monsoons

I always wish for these last four months, to go away,

Wet and muddy, each step taken we have to be wary,

A slip of the leg and a fall on the bum,

We don't want broken bones, everytime we hum,

Umbrellas and rains,

Such a pain, with only gloom to gain,

I prefer the angry months of April and May,

When the gorgeous heat comes out to play,

Lots of swimming,

A whole lot of winning,

I'm a Chennai girl through and through,

The rain just makes me feel blue.

Moving Forward

Life is a series of moving forward,

Forgetting every bitter experience without glancing backward,

The brightest sun,

Of my life has always been my son,

Every leap of faith ever taken was and is for him,

For him, I put aside all my sorrows and look less grim,

The best part of me,

Has always been my little bee,

He's pulled me out of my sorrow,

And made me feel less hollow,

So leave behind every bitter experience,

Allow time to cause it's disappearance,

Chin up and ownwards we march.

10 Minute Homework

A potato had to be made,

40 minutes before school, our minds completely slayed,

No chart paper, no stick,

The path to complete this project seemed full of hazardous tricks,

Slowly the solution appeared inside my mommy brain,

The materials slowly began to rain,

All around us,

An icecream stick, to help us sort this fuss,

A gift bag, 

Would make the perfect chart, and we're back on track,

Crayons on paper,

Along with Riaan's imagination and mild labour,

Concluded our 10 minute homework,

The morning havoc,

Turned to calm,

In an embrace we held each other, happy to have diffused yet another bomb,

All in a day's work,

Until the next homework begins to lurk.

Gloomy Skies

Dark the skies,

As gloomy as my sad sighs,

As we head into your favourite part of the year,

I remember you grinning from ear to ear,

As we stepped into a Pujo Pandel,

Your excitement I couldn't handle,

You would have turned 39 this year,

Yet another year,

That I've grown older without you,

Funny how the years just flew,

The emptiness inside me, growing larger everyday,

As I operate with a broken heart day by day,

Almost 4 years since you've been gone,

I'll always wonder what went wrong,

Perhaps my love for you wasn't enough,

Why else would you have chosen a life this tough,

As I live with the weight of your decisions in life and long after your death,

I realise the one thing I should be grateful for is all my breaths,

I hope you have some regrets now,

And realise that some of your life choices were far from wow.

Matcha

Matcha was had, and it wasn't bad,

It made us happy and not sad,

As the boba pearls burst inside my mouth,

I gobbled it down like a being who was greedy and uncouth,

Little flavour bombs of custard,

My brain was flustered,

What was this heaven,

That was taking me right upto midheaven,

The boba bits and I,

Looked eye to eye,

In my tummy you will reside,

So glad I had this before I could die,

Ecstatic that I didn't stop Devyani from placing an order,

Suddenly my mind files opened up in disorder,

Memories of my dead husband slurping down boba pearls flashed past me,

It's crazy how that man never lets me be,

Even on a Friday evening when I was trying to let my hair down,

With my girlfriend, with whom I'd paint the town,

Red, blue, green and every other nonsensical drunk colour,

And that's exactly what we did, until we were far from sober. 

3AM Thoughts

Similar to PCOD pain,

That comes in waves, 3AM thoughts, can never give you any gains,

For the PCOD, pop a dolo,

For the 3AM thoughts, decode it solo,

Acting on those rabid thoughts,

Will only make you feel at fault,

So drop it all,

Lest you fall,

Just like Humpty Dumpty, who also had a great fall,

It's natural to feel appalled,

To have such thoughts,

As long as you have the ability to connect the dots,

And decide to be a mature adult, yet another day,

You're not best friends with shades of grey,

So let it fade away,

Oh look, it's a bright new day,

The sun's out,

Time to get get our bums out,

Shoo and scram, dark thoughts,

It's time for me to soak up some Vitamin D, beautiful yellow and blistering hot. 

Pancakes

Made luscious pancakes at seven,

My house suddenly smelt like heaven,

The baby ate half,

I ate the rest and felt like a calf,

More like a balloon,

After licking up chocolate sauce in galloons,

No wonder my weight is stuck,

And my mind goes on a rut,

Why can't I resist desserts,

Those sugary little flirts,

One bite in and you're all in,

More, more, more, until you feel like a human garbage bin.

Fond Memories of Being Mrs Poopie

Some of the cutest things that I own - a pink strapped Minnie Mouse watch from Disney Land, most of my cartoon character t-shirts, a woollen beanie cap with ears, a pair of Staccato boots, a white Teddy bear printed handbag and so much more, have all been gifted to me by my late husband.

So when I'm questioned and sometimes wonder, why it is that I'm still single after 3.9 years, it's simply because I've experienced whole-hearted, undiluted, you could even say "shiddat wala pyaar" from my dearest poopie.

Those are very large shoes to fill, for whoever wants to "hit this situation up", as a cool Gen-zite might term it. And this time, there's two of us, similar to a "buy 1, get 1 free" offer you might pick up from Reliance Smart Bazaar.

That's two smart talking mouths for the price of one and two diverse set of mood ranges to handle. So God bless, who ever wants to take ownership of this task.

That being said, we're also lovely human beings, once you peel off all those layers. My dead husband is testament to that. I think he enjoyed the close to 13 years with me and close to 3 with our son. 

While I can't promise, we've unburdened ourselves of the trauma his sudden death caused, we're slowly and steadily getting there. 

In the meantime, we power ourselves with plenty of laughter, crazy little boy games like being swung upside down from my shoulders and deep fried food. The deep fried food is very important by the way, everything else is fluff. 

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. 

Meltdown Sundays

"No" to Nutties at the crack of dawn,

Had my peaceful morning torn,

The next screech was for sharpening pencils,

Never underestimate the will,

Of a 6 year old,

Who has made up his mind to completely fold,

Mouth so wide open, you can see his tonsils,

Big fat tears that stick to his fluffy cheeks and sparkle,

The decibel levels well before 8am,

Will make you want to scram,

Too heavy to pick up and console,

You end up with an awkward shove on the lap, as he continues to howl,

A generation that takes us for granted,

With YouTube ideas already firmly planted,

You crack a joke about his kitchen mischief,

And how the water drenched him like a fountain, which abruptly ends his grief,

A quick bounce out of the lap,

And he bursts into hysterical laughs,

I breathe a sigh of relief,

As his mood turns a new leaf,

Tears give way to smiles,

And I realise we have so many more miles,

Of tears and laughter left.

The Friday Exhaustion

The Friday exhaustion is real,

Somewhere in the middle of a ranting call, I heard myself squeal,

And completely broke down over the loss of my husband,

The grief shook me, I assumed I was already accustomed,

Who knew, a tiring week,

Would make me feel so weak,

I was drained,

And relieved,

For letting out a hysterical sob,

I could feel the violent throb,

Inside my brain and heart,

Those feelings never rest,

It hits you waves,

And clogs your breathing and airwaves,

Perhaps I should rest,

But this elephant sized memory that I have, makes me feel both cursed and blessed,

The Friday exhaustion is real,

And it's only human to let out an occasional squeal. 

Whoopsie Wednesdays

Got bitten by an ant this morning,

Accidentally broke a glass bottle without warning,

The brain's a ball of mush today,

Just the same as yesterday 

I struggle to put one word in front of the other,

My edits, a failed attempt to smother,

The key message, 

Splat in the middle of every tumbling paragraph, like a stubborn carriage,

Perhaps I am done,

I stop typing so maniacally, my fingers exhausted from being a rabid gun,

I munch on a giant Toblerone bar,

Trying to erase invisible scars,

A shitty day can always be turned around,

Simply by looking around,

Exhausting Wednesdays,

In our heads we dramatically convert them to doomsdays.

Drunk Awakenings

As I down one sugary glass of alcohol after another,

The face of my late love begins to appear, without too much of a bother,

I truly believe,

Alcohol has the ability to weave,

Reality with fiction,

I suddenly begin to natter without restriction,

Let me correct, natter more,

Perhaps I become a bore,

In my most drunk state,

I feel great,

On top of the world even,

While the floor beneath my feet feels uneven,

I cannot be trusted with alcohol,

My body gets into a slow crawl,

My brain's contents further enhanced,

I become entranced,

With everything and nothing,

I find myself constantly chuckling,

High my spirits,

Along with the alcoholic spirits,

Cheers!

Brothers

This bonding of brothers,

Is like no other,

They scream and fight,

With all their might,

When it's time to bid adieu,

Their hearts turn blue,

Sobbings eyes and hysterical chests,

Their minds are far from rest,

The love they have for one another,

Is like no other,

All you can do is stand by and watch,

Witnessing their love for one another go up every year by a notch,

How wonderful that they have one another,

This beautiful bond of brothers,

Bonded by blood,

Our family's three little studs.

The Juggle is Real

I'm not sure what is worse, being a single parent during Parent Teacher Meetings and Annual Day functions or knowing that even if my husband was alive, he wouldn't have taken an interest in attending any of these school do's.

For the most part, I don't feel the pinch of taking on the burden of a dead husband. This is all thanks to my supportive family, who try their best to show up for all these events along with me.

So while I witness full families in all their grandeur, for such programs, I'm still thankful for my mother or an occasional generous friend, who takes the burden off me for collecting uniforms, school books and attending school events with me.

It's hard, having to be two people at the same time, at two different places. I have to completely let go of work, while I'm trying to fulfill my motherly duties and I have to completely forgo my child, while I'm focusing at work.

My brain works on overdrive on most days, trying to make sure nothing slips off the list. Project submissions at work, buying gifts for birthday parties, shutting between tuition classes and work calls, the list is neverending and exhausting.

It's ironic how we're expected to build careers and raise our children at the same time. Every generation and the ones before us have done it and I look back at each one of them in awe.

The burnout is real, which is why I take to oversweetened cocktails and liquor shots every once in a while. To everyone going through this juggle, let's survive and thrive. Cheers! 

The Youngest and The Loudest

Growing up with three much older siblings, I was almost always left out from kiddie games, conversations and even card games well into my 20s. It hurt, the negligence and the neglect. But I'm just being dramatic now.

The plus side of being the youngest, was always being showered with gadgets, chocolates and clothes, much before it hit Indian shores. 

I grew up loud and attention seeking, partly because I was always left out and partly because I'm probably a little bit of a drama queen. But which woman isn't?

I spent a glorious 4 days off with my cousins in Trivandrum last week and came to realise, these men and women, along with their spouses know how to pamper me shitless.

My sweet older sister who knows absolutely nothing about superheroes, discovered a superhero store in Lulu Mall, Trivandrum. She proceeded to wake me up in the middle of my afternoon slumber and video called me to show me all the bobble heads around her. Our conversation went like this, "Gayu, do you like this little warrior lady?" 

"I already have Wonder Woman, show me someone else", I replied. "What about this masked man with an A?", she persisted. "I don't want Captain America. Do they have Spiderman hanging upside down?" I enquired. And our conversation went on like this for about a solid 5 minutes, until I zoned in on a handsome Deadpool figurine.

The next morning I was all set to catch my flight back to Chennai. I dressed up my 6 year old in a Transformers tshirt which my brother had picked up for him.

"Thanks for the wonderful Transformers tee for Riaan Swaroop chetta", I told my brother. "You're welcome. I remembered that he had Transformer toys at home", he replied. "Those toys are mine", I answered with a Cheshire cat grin.

He chuckled for a good 2 minutes and promised to buy me a Batman figurine which he had seen in the Chennai airport.

My siblings and their spouses have a special place in my heart. They've seen me in my diapers, they've seen me getting my first job, they've seen me falling in love, they've witnessed me breaking down completely 3.7 years ago and through it all they have stood by me with chocolates and toys, always handy.

What a blessing to have so many siblings and now their spouses, whom I get to call my own. What a pleasure it is to be the youngest born. 

Post Swim Blues

A mighty fall has been had,

On my butt I fell after a glorious swim, it was bad,

I felt on top of the world,

Until I found myself hurled, 

A slip of the feet,

Jute hotel slippers on wet concrete, it was quite a feat,

To have been a graceful swan one minute,

And a waddling injured duck the next, all under a minute,

I held my bum in pain,

With my left palm, which also felt sprained,

As I crawled back to my room,

I felt a sense of gloom,

I bumped into my tiny human,

Who was flanked on both side by my parents, like crewmen,

I cribbed about my mighty fall,

To them all,

Hopefully the rest of the day will be uneventful,

I'm ready to devour the scrumptious local cuisine in huge mouthfulls.

Love In A Single Frame

Love in a single frame,

All my favourite food in big fat portions, despite the pouring rain,

Thatukada chicken, naadan chilli chicken, palada payasam and mutta puffs, all under one roof,

This is proof,

That food is love and love is food,

An instant brightener of moods,

A quick trip down memory lane,

The days when life felt more sane,

No responsibilities,

A childhood filled with endless possibilities,

All revolving around games and food,

Life was simple and good,

We relive those simple days,

Through various ways,

Gobbling down food we grew up on,

Until one of us stifles a yawn,

Is one of those ways,

I can't wait for tommorow's rays,

To continue gobbling down to my heart's content.

Stranger Things

There were very few things in life poopie (my late husband) and I agree upon. Stranger Things was one of them. We had divorce inducing fights over who watched one more episode of the series alone, sneakily at night, disregarding the other.

Our taste in music, food, clothes, hobbies and lifestyle were vastly different. Yet, we were madly in love with each other.

Everytime a new season of Stranger Things drops, my heart skips a melancholic beat. I realise the vaccum in my life, left behind by my manchild husband. I suddenly have no one to argue with anymore on Stranger Things.

A world without you, even after 3 years and 7 months seems surreal. What a pity, you never got to see the Hawkins kids grow up and get into more adventures. What a pity, we can no longer binge watch the series together in complete silence. 

I'll miss you as I watch the final season this year. And I'll always wonder why this had to happen to us. 

Mothers and Tanning

Indian mothers are obsessed with their daughters tanning. Mine didn't show obvious biases except whenever it came to my career choices. "Mom I want to join the army", was met with "Shee! They'll make you cut your hair like a boy and you will do rigorous drills under the sun all day. Don't you like your hair and skin?"

"Mom, I should have continued being a journalist like Lois Lane and I may have met Superman", to which she replies, "And stand under the sun on fields all day to get one comment? Think again!"

Scorching summers, the sun and Indian mothers do not go hand in hand. I almost feel like crying and laughing when I recall these conversations today. How on earth can someone's career choices be dependent on heat?

Fifteen years in corporate communications and one child later, do I have life regrets? Yep. Just like anyone else. Therefore, the one thing that I do proudly now is to take a glorious dip under the 4pm sun in Gymkhana Club's heavily chlorinated pool.

I step out looking like an overbaked potato, nicely tanned and shriveled up. And that's my answer to tanning in the sun. Tan however much you want to, because the sun was created for you and me.

Too late to switch careers now, but it's never too late to sun-bathe and look like a juicy, burnt ripe watemelon. 

I have no solutions though, for the brain frying we endure during the weekdays. Sigh! 

Happy 70th

Wishing my mum a milestone birthday,

It's your special day,

All of 70 years old,

Your heart is filled with pure gold,

And your speech filled with wise cracks,

However much I rack,

The insides of my brain,

It certainly does not rain,

The wisdom which you disguise under sarcasm,

You've always kept me humble and advised me without words to tame my ego dragon,

Happy 70th mum,

You've seen me glum,

And you've seen me merry,

But your presence always make things feel less scary,

Enjoy your day,

Today and everyday,

We love you, 

As much as your chicken stew.

The Power of Icecream

I don't think my generation really understands depression or how to process it. We dealt with all our life problems by eating tons of icecream, deep fried food and crying. And I'm a certified whinebag. I'll mope and mope for months on end, until a good friend catches hold of me and shakes me up. After the shaking ends, I'll go back to moping.

And that's how I cope with uncomfortable life situations. Moping and crying are important to get all that negativity out of your system. Call me naive, call me too chatty, call me annoying and in your face, but the fact of the matter is, if I like you, I will share my sugar free icecream with you, forever.

Luckily, forever doesn't scare some of the best people in my life. They know I'm stuck with them and they're stuck with me. But not everyone can be chocolate sundae on a Monday (I'm chocolate sundae, of course) and I'm slowly and painfully wrapping my head around this reality.

They say by 40, you reach a balance in life, you're clear about your life goals. Perhaps I am clear. I've certainly hit a sweet spot in many aspects of my life. But the everyday juggle between work, baby and home gets to me. Me and ten billion other working parents I'm sure, so I'm not whining about that now.

May we find the strength to make peace with people and things we do not understand. May we have the power to let go of things we cannot control and most importantly, I really hope that sugar free icecream is infact sugarfree. 

Happy Monday!

My Tattoos

My tattoos are an extension of my soul. I get one every year around October partly because there's always a long weekend in October and partly because it's the beginning of Durga Puja, my late husband's favourite Bengali festival.

So the tattoos are in remembrance of a life I have shed away and an expression of my deepest desires. Not everyone understands it and I don't expect anyone to. Call it madness, call it impulsiveness or simply call it the desire to live knowing that there may not be a tomorrow again.

I have the sweetest tatoo artist, Rinchen who I visit annually at Iruzemi studio. He's quick to respond with "yes" to all my questions. "Have I lost weight this year?", "Can I get a giant Tinkerball above my ankle?", "How about a huge anchor?" 

He asks me a few questions back too, "How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" And I respond cockily, "Not as much as childbirth. Please continue inking."

It does hurt, and I sleep hard on the days I get a tattoo. That's a lot of trauma for the skin, which the brain tries to mellow down. Each tatoo takes 4-5 hours to complete.

I'm ready with my design for this year, and I can't wait for October. I highly recommend tattoos for anyone who wants to express themselves through skin, anyone who is undergoing a personality or life shift. It truly is therauptic and it's a work of art that you can be proud of, for the rest of your life.

So go get inked today!

Sugar Mummies and Daddies

A close friend and colleague of mine, had a serious debate with me about marrying a Sheikh and being his third or fourth wife. "At least I can sit inside my private jet and cry in peace", was her reasoning. Fair enough!

I countered that with, "But Shina, what about our brains? Don't we need intellectual stimulation? And do you think these dudes will look after our children and keep our houses neat and clean? Absolutely not! Everything will fall flat on our heads, at the end of the day."

To which she said, "But Gayatri, we can be on a yacht in the middle of the ocean flaunting our bikini bods." To which I countered, "That means we have to loose another 10 kilos. Not at all happening macha!"

On a serious note through, relationships no longer have the sanctity it once did when we were 20 year olds. Long term relationships, a serious commitment and ultimately marriage makes people want to run.

The last 3.5 years have been the loneliest of my life and also the busiest. I may be single and leading a chaotic life, but there is peace that comes with not choosing to be with the wrong partner.

A lonely marriage and a toxic relationship is much worse than being single. So I count my blessings everyday despite the lack of a hot and sexy guitarist husband (God bless his soul) that I didn't "settle down quickly" with just anyone.

As a young widow with a child, I'm showered with all sorts of advice everyday, all coming from places of love and concern of course. But I'm not in any rush to meet Mr Perfect #2, let him take his own sweet time to come. 

Until then, baby menace and I have many scores to settle with each other. Our hands are full, so are our hearts and lives. We're not alone, despite the absense of aforementioned hot and sexy late husband. 

Marrying that Sheikh maybe a good idea though, if he is willing to share household chores with me and deal with my son's mood swings. Otherwise, I'm not interested in being anyone's option number 2, 3 or 4. 

World War 3

The most heated arguments, 

And genuine compliments,

I receive in a day,

From my little minion, in his unique way,

The fights are earth shattering,

And the love is equally staggering,

How a 6 year old can be this opionated,

His ideas far from dated,

Is beyond me,

He fills me with equal parts of gloom and glee,

Our house is a nuclear bomb,

Always ticking and ready to explode, our war of words, will make you reach out for Tiger Balm,

It's pointless and silly,

We definitely sound like two hill-billies,

Tommorow is another day,

And I'm sure he'll yet again, have his way. 

Pediatricians

There are many perks to being a little person. Attention, time and toys being some of them. I also envy little people because they have the best doctors in the world - pediatricians. These men and women have a fantastic sense of humour. They're kind, gentle, funny and occasionally give away chocolates.

What a blessed life indeed! I wish I was a child all over again. I don't remember pediatricians being this sweet when I was growing up. An injection straight on the bum or an enema being popped up where the sun don't shine, is what I remember from all my hospital visits as a child.

I had severe bronchial asthama as a 3 year old and vaguely remember being hospitalised. The doctor was someone everyone feared. My chattering with all my co-patients would come to an abrupt halt, the minute the doctor entered the ward.

Perhaps children are still scared of doctors and hospitals. I know my little villain is, because he vomits the minute he sees a hospital, forget entering one. But then there are times, when he has his moments under the sun and wrangles a giant slab of Cadbury's Dairy Milk from his sweet doctor, simply because he flashed his milk teeth and his one dimple.  That one knows he's pretty and makes full advantage of his charm. Sly little bugger! 

Hospitals are places that evoke feelings of calm and panic. It all depends on your doctor and your attitude on beating whatever mild or deadly disease you currently harbour. 

I can't wait for our next vaccination shot and the possibility of receiving a giant slab of chocolate.  

Stress Free Weekends

You know those Sunday mornings when you wake up with a cloudy head and a feeling that you've eaten an entire hippopotamus in one go and you're still digesting it? Or that Monday morning heart attack in the middle of your chest, caused by gas, because you overate a beautiful Sunday lunch? Now, that's what I call a relaxed weekend.

The feeling of doing absolutely nothing, but eating, drinking and sleeping. What bliss! I miss my weekend already. The Monday through Friday drill sucks the very soul out of my body and what's left of me is this machine who robotically finishes one task after the other. There's simply no time to think, breathe, eat or sleep. Work and baby duties consume me, and this would be an understatement.

There are moments I ask my mother, "Do you think I should retire by 50?" And we both chuckle, because I'm a workaholic and life without work would be miserable. My brain would become a cobwebbed dungeon without this crazy routine.

So, sugary alcoholic drinks in fancy glasses and lipsmacking food aesthetically placed on a table, is what I look forward to. It gives meaning to my life. It makes the entire week's brain frying suddenly worth it. 

Let's not forget shopping, that rabid impulsive disease where most women tend to hoard pretty little dresses and tops and jewellery and make-up. Sigh! What a beautiful life indeed.

As we kickstart yet another brain frying week, let's not forget that simple life pleasures aka food, alcohol and clothes are just 5 days away. So we've got this. We will conquer this week, even if it tries to kill us. 

In the words of those funny gundas in the newly released Malayalam movie "Bad Boyz", "Jai Bhavani!". 

Dynamic Duo

A moment of appreciation for my mother today,

Who walked with me from shop to shop, without much of a sway,

An expensive bright red dress I had burnt,

The brunt of it which she unfortunately earned,

I suddenly tasked her to help me fix it,

And she took up the job, her determined face, unwilling to quit,

Multiple tailors and shop-owners we met,

Two of them directed us to another shop without a fret,

They admitted that the task at job was grave, near impossible even,

Perhaps this other shop they were suggesting, would make our worries break even,

And lo and behold, we found a beautiful patch work,

Upon reaching home, mum quickly put dad to work,

Both were busy ironing the patch work onto my bright red dress,

From raising a child, to helping me fix a dress my life in general has no stress,

All thanks to my dynamic duo, mom and dad,

With them around, life can never be too bad.

Crazy Busy Days

A crazy busy day has been had,

An escalation which we're yet to tide

Never have I felt my brain so fried,

By noon all my intelligence felt dried,

So I slept, so hard that I drooled all over my pillow,

I woke up feeling mellow,

Just in time for my little menace,

To get back from school, ready to push all my buttons,

I told him about my day,

I could see his little heart sway,

He takes my work problems seriously,

For about a second, and then continues to destroy my sanity evenly,

Digging deeper into my insecurities,

Reassuring me that we'd be homeless soon, our life soon fading into obscurity,

I shoo him out of the bathroom and stuff food down his throat,

Back to my laptop, to stay afloat,

What a mad day has been had,

Tommorow will probably be equally bad,

Sugar free icecreams and coffee will be had,

By the arrival of the weekend, we will all feel glad.

Sleep When The Baby Sleeps

The most absurd piece of advice given to new mothers is, "Sleep when the baby sleeps." How is this even possible? How can an infant's sleep schedule be matched with a grown adult woman's?

But now, since I've graduated to being a 6 year old mum, I have new advice to share. "Power nap when your school going menace is not around." And trust me, this nap does a world of wonder for your mood.

 

The insistent squabbling with your child, dips. I'm not saying the silly fights end, but they definitely reduce. You can finally attempt to being the adult in charge, as opposed to being the tired human in charge of the house, office work and tiny human duties. 

My weekdays are an absolute blur, one activity merges into another and when I hit the sack by 8.30pm, I sleep hard. There's no waking me up even if a Tsunami hits me on the face, drags me down to the ocean floor and drowns me. 

My son is equally irritable and on edge. He's tired, he's hungry and he hates school - the list is just endless. 

This phase of our lives is perfectly described by Dulqer Salmaan in Bangalore Days, "Pressure cooker alle njan... kurachu neram vechirikkanam, sheriyaavum!" which translates to "I'm not a pressure cooker... Give me some time, and everything will be fine! 

For now we're stuck in this rat race, little menace and I. So breathing in and breathing out is all that we can do, as we helplessly witness our lives speed by us in a lightening flash, dare I say, faster than Flash's supersonic run. 

Priorities

The cheeky monkey was home for two days,

And thankfully let me work, in his own chaotic ways,

At some point, 

He walked upto me and asked, "Is your work over?", his googly eyes, staring at me at gunpoint,

"No sweetie, I get distracted occassionally", I mumbled, fingers swiping swiftly over my mobile,

"Omg mumma! Stop wasting time and continue making money", his blood almost at a boil,

That kid has his priorities straight, I chuckled,

"You need to work very hard mumma," he grumbled,

From one screen addict to another,

I continued to plunder,

All the nonsensical content on social media,

And decided, yes now I am wittier,

Let me take my child's advice, 

Get back to work and pretend to be wise.

Meh Mondays

Woke up feeling like an ancient relic as usual,

The lower back was wrecking havoc, like a raging bull,

Top that with a sick baby,

The perfect recipe for a Monday that looked absolutely crazy,

As I began knocking off all the morning tasks one by one,

The sick child decided to bring out all the contents of his tummy, like a splash under the sun,

Sigh, the joys of being a mother,

Shouldn't have given him so much milk today, I realised my blunder,

Half my mind's at work today,

And the other half is in disarray, 

Watching my sick child,

Go wilder than wild,

More hyper than ever, along with a fever,

Is the best description of my currently sick, eager beaver,

Meh Mondays in full blast,

Here's hoping it does not last.