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.

Window Shopping

For a change, I didn't shop like an animal for clothes this weekend. Instead, I walked into Westside, breathed in all the freshly laid out clothes, touched all the fabrics and sighed, all is not lost in the world afterall.

The Westside in Adyar is still the best in the city. I've worn Westside kurtis since college and own the entire women's formal section ever since I first started working 15 years ago.

Super important to look sharp at work or anywhere else for that matter, because when you feel good on the outside, you're confidence automatically glows from the inside. 

Throw on some lovely junk jewellery (once again from Westside's junk jewellery section) and you're good to go.

Their variety of shoes are quite mind boggling as well. There's the blingy kind for loud folks like me, sneakers for casual footwear lovers and flip-flops and sandals of every imaginable variety.

They've recently launched a line of in-house perfumes and even have a home decor section. It truly is a one-stop-shop for the entire family, for yourself, for gifting and so much more.

Coming back to the topic I intended to write about in the first place i.e window shopping and why it's important for women. Window shopping is an exercise for the soul, it just makes you feel happy to be born a woman when you see the variety of pretty clothes and jewellery that have been made exclusively for you.

So whether you're a shopaholic or a window shopper, both are extremely stress busting and I can't think of a better way to spend your weekend. 

My Not So Tiny Human

I woke up this morning thanks to the constant wriggling of my not so tiny human. I turned around to see that his eyes were wide open and he had this beatific smile on his face.

I chuckled, despite the ache of my creaky lower back. How I function with that half broken thing everyday is still a mystery to me. "You almost look 6 months old again," I told him.

As I struggled to get out of bed, he screeched, "Lie down maamaa, lie down next to me." An everyday dialogue between the two of us that meanders on like a stuck tape record. "No Riaan, I have to get your tiffins packed and go for a walk. Then I'll have to get breakfast ready and pack you off to school."

The morning routine is a killer for both of us. His unending speeches I put a full stop to as I move around like a quick robot from one end of the house to the other, setting things in motion to kick-start the day.

As I began my morning walk though, my mind meandered back to my little boy's smiling face and googly eyes. I suppose this is what they call those glimmers in the day, those tiny pockets of happiness, which we're supposed to recall and be grateful for.

For the timebeing, we're stuck in this endless loop of working days and weekend relief, but in the grand scheme of things, I suppose these black holes of time that just slip away, without us even realising it, is what we'll recall when we have no teeth, more white hair and would slowly begin to resemble wise old tortoises. 

Grief and Healing

There's no one-size-fits-all solution to healing grief. When people ask me, how I've overcome this disastrous tragedy, I answer honestly, I never did.

The earth split in two beneath my feet and I just wanted to be a part of the spirit world for the longest time. I wondered why I lived, while the love of my life had to pass away.

Ours was a fairytale romance, with a nightmarish ending. I didn't see that coming. I've changed irrevocably as a person.

I take nothing for granted. I'm even more vocal about my feelings, and the fire in my belly just grew larger to survive and thrive. 

That being said, I've become very suspicious about happiness. I keep wondering whether it's short lived and I'm always ready with my long winding goodbye speeches.

While death is painful and downright shitty, it also teaches you that your heart is as large as your stomach, an endless pit of love.

Therefore, all is not lost. Love guided me once and it continues to do so. To quote from my favourite love story, The Beauty and the Beast, "Love doesn't have to be perfect, it just needs to be true."

School Mornings

Households with school going kids inside them, look like war zones every working morning. Everyone runs on a tight schedule - the adults and children, both. 

Sleep time at 8.30pm, wake-up at 5.45am, 3 tiffin boxes to be packed before 6.30am, a quick workout to be squeezed in before 7.10am (which includes fruit shopping for the week) and a quick dash back home to get the tiny human stuffed with breakfast and bathed for school.

While the tiny human looks shiny and happy, the adult would closely resemble a wheezy, sweaty, stinky potato that badly needs a boil and a couple of pressure cooker whistles to get all set for the day.

That's one day already rolled into a day that hasn't even begun yet. Once the tiny human leaves, the adult proceeds to start living, but not before he/she has had a good plop on the bed for 10 solid minutes at least. 

Time to login to work and talk like an adult human being for a couple of hours, until aforementioned tiny human being comes back from school. More cranky now, less shiny and more smelly.

Round #4 of eating begins, getting down to school homework and bathing (all this while the adult still juggles residual work that is left for the day).

Slowly and steadily the day ends, dinner is eaten and everyone is ready for bedtime again. And the cycle repeats until one or both of them die.

Sigh! I'm tired just writing all this down. Happy first day of school, after summer vacation, to every hassled or non hassled parent in the world. 

Tea Time Snacks

Snacks in mallu households are serious business. I've grown up watching my grandparents eat bowlfulls of chips and mixture first and then sipping on their sugary teas.

Tea time snacks are a meal all by itself. As one grandmother brings freshly baked puffs, samosas and burgers from the local bakery, the other is busy laying out the table with home made chips - jackfruit, banana and tapioca to be precise.

Plum cakes, jalebis and nankattais were a given. If you ask me how we ate like pigs and didn't get diabetes soon after, it's because we played like animals after eating like animals.

So all those calories would be burnt at a higher speed when you compare it with the thulping speed. Which is why even now my fingers automatically order puffs and bondas every alternate day and I'm happy to stuff my face with some deep fried goodness by evening. 

I wish the calorie burning though was still as fast as when I was a child. Puffs are just baked afterall and bondas are technically a vegetable that is batter fried with some dough, is how I pacify myself now, after sniffing down something unhealthy. 

The heart is happy, because the stomach is so full that I can't move. And food coma is the best coma to be in, for mental and physical wellbeing. 

Periods

A full body storm,

That makes women lose all their shape and form,

Those last 2 kilos,

Back with a blow,

Chocolates you never wanted to touch,

Suddenly become your body's crutch,

To grin like the madhatter on the outside,

While a tsunami is blowing inside,

That's periods in a couple of lines,

We must carry along like those happy-looking, white-pant donning girls, without a whine,

Mutilating an entire cheesecake,

Would temporarily stop the ache,

So that's exactly what we do,

Our mouths are open, 

Our tummies become oceans,

Let's not even talk about emotions,

Are we happy, are we sad,

The hunger pangs and the pain, drive us quite mad,

Be gone periods,

Just shoo, scram and split. 

Humid, Sticky Heat

Is it just me,

Or does this humidity,

Make you really want to eat,

I've had meal after meal on repeat,

And my hunger has still not subsided,

Instead my brain is prompting me to grab another side,

Of main course and dessert,

Yet my hunger pangs come back in spurts,

This murderous hunger,

Has made me plunder,

Zomato and Swiggy mart, thrice already,

And I'm ready,

For dinner number two,

My stomach has no clue,

Whether I'm stuffing her with lunch or dinner,

Either way, today she feels like a winner.

Item Girl

The idea hit me when I saw Katrina gyrating to "Sheela ki Jawaani",

I wish that was me,

My brain sighed,

I could make my body glide,

And jiggle like that,

I even had a chat,

With a movie bro I knew,

Do you think it's a dignified thing to do,

He asked, of course I replied,

My shaking bum will be seen worldwide,

Name, fame and immortality on screen,

I certainly want to become an item queen,

With each passing day though,

My lower back breaks a little more and my movements become slow,

I must fulfil this desire of mine, before I die,

Lest I come back to haunt every movie set which catches my ghostly eye. 

4AM Thoughs

My 4AM thoughts are crazy,

They're wild and far from hazy,

My brain shoots out spontaneous instructions,

It's a full abduction,

Of my sanity,

Let's not do this to humanity,

The sensible part of me reasons,

Luckily, my brain decides to squeeze in,

A couple of more hours of sleep,

I wake up to find I infact did not send out heart emojis to all and sundry, like a creep,

Thankgod, there is a God,

My 4AM wake-ups are equivalent to drunk texting, how my brain functions, sometimes has me also awed,

Never make decisions at 4AM,

Or even 2AM,

Go to sleep, wake up wiser,

And thank your brain a million times, for being a sensible advisor.

Bondas and Bajjis

Potato bondas and vazhakkai bajjis, can there be anything better in sight,

Am I right or am I right,

Show me one bonda or bajji,

That didn't make you smile,

Copious amounts of coconut chutney,

Slathered on that deep fried goodness, and feelings of mutiny,

All fly out the window,

By evening the mood is mellow,

Work is all wrapped up,

Your body is all warmed up,

It's the perfect time for a crispy delight,

Something light,

Like a bonda or bajji,

I'm kidding about the light part, but just look at that beauty,

How can you resist,

Bondas and bajjis exist,

Only to spread joy,

So don't be coy,

Just attack and enjoy,

Calorie burning tactics, you can later deploy,

Get lost in the world of bajjis and bondas for now,

And don't ask how,

For now, just eat and burp,

And slurp.

Gaajar Halwa

Technically, you can't call Gaajar Halwa dessert,

It's fibre mixed with some ghee, very good for the eyes and heart,

An instant mood uplifter,

The cure for any jitters,

I'm almost always hungry after dinner,

So, Gaajar Halwa came to my rescue today, like a winner,

The golden orange and the scattering of fried cashews,

Quickly drives away all my blues,

My heart and face, both have a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat, 

As I gobble down spoonfuls of gooey, ghee-laden halwa all under 30 seconds flat,

At some point the sugar rush hits my brain,

And I allow that feeling to wash over me like euphoric rain,

Gaajar Halwa, it's the best creation of makind,

This is true love and I'm absolutely head over heels, as good as blind. 

Salads

Salads in the rain,

Will cause you nothing but pain,

I should have just ordered bonda and chicken fingers,

Instead, I decided to curb,

A start of the week indulgence,

I experienced a split-second of reluctance,

And stupidly ordered salad and sugar free cake,

That was it, my sleep was full of breaks,

Until the whole thing was thrown out of my system,

Listen carefully now, as I pass on this wisdom,

When it comes to food,

Eat only what makes you feel good,

Swap salads for deep fried junk,

And you'll sleep like a well meditated monk,

Salads in the rain,

Or any weather for that matter, never again, never again, never again.

Politically Incorrect

"You bloody idiot, do you realise what you just said?"

"Question after question, we don't want from you, please keep your mouth shut", another threat,

I've heard these accusations from colleagues, friends and family,

Like I'm some hillbilly,

Of course I'm not thinking before I talk,

We have a mouth, therefore we must talk,

Has always been my logic,

Talking has been passed onto me by genetics,

If you think I'm a chatter box,

You must meet my late grandmother, my father and my child, then you'll realise calling me a talker, is nothing but a hoax,

"Your heart is on your sleeves",

True, because diplomacy makes me squirm and freeze,

I believe if words are left unsaid,

It will eventually fill you with dread,

So speak, let it all out,

The right ones will anyway stay without a doubt.

Tomboy

I was never a girly girl, growing up,

I preferred my hair tied up,

Playing or creating slush pools,

Drinking them up and feeling cool,

While I had my collection of Barbies 

I felt equally at ease,

Playing with my toy guns,

I remember having multiple chins,

Because i simply loved food,

Overeating, always made me feel good,

In my tiny boxer shorts,

I built sand forts,

Crashed my cycle numerous times,

That poor machine, probably outlived it's lifetime,

Perhaps I'm still a dude in my head,

Because my son calls me "bruh", more than mumma, much to my dread.

40

40 in less than two years,

I'm no longer all ears,

For advice of any sort,

Unless it's someone telling me, how to eat copious amounts of butter chicken and still look hot,

Not sure if it's all the collagen I've been drinking,

Or the magnesium tablets I've been popping, 

But there is a clarity that comes with age,

When you know what works and what doesn't, it's almost like I'm a sage,

I've learnt to accept unpleasantnesses,

Along with pleasantness,

You let go of what you can't hold onto,

With the peace and knowledge that what belongs to you, wouldn't vanish with one little boo,

You're suddenly grateful for family and good friends,

Who catch you at every bend,

They keep you grounded and humble,

My mother for instance, who announced, "Of course you look like a 38 year old mother of one", without so much of a mumble,

I no longer want to look 21 at 40,

I'm happy to look 40 at 40,

Here's to more peace,

And settling into my weak bones with ease. 

Butter Chicken

Felt like a bloated python the whole of yesterday,

And woke up with the delicious aroma of butter chicken under my nails today,

Before you ask, of course I bathed, twice yesterday,

And so far, once today,

Why the smell then you wonder,

Because the saucy gravy, I decided to plunder,

We became one, the butter chicken and I,

For those delicious 5 minutes, we faced each other eye to eye,

There was love in every bite,

I drowned my garlic naan in that decadent gravy, until it was no longer white,

Heck, I couldn't even taste the garlic,

There was only butter chicken in every lick,

What a blissful Sunday afternoon I had,

There's some more of that gravy, yet to be had,

I can't wait for lunch today,

Although I must admit, I'm still full from yesterday.

Americano

Who knew I'd be guzzling down so much Americano,

And gorging on puffs like never before,

Dropping by Starbucks, felt like homecoming,

It almost felt like I was slowly becoming,

Some version of you,

One sip of that bitter brew and all my brain fog just flew,

That really was the best coffee, I'd ever had,

I walked out of there feeling rad,

Bits and pieces of you, still exist all around me,

It was a bittersweet feeling of sadness and glee,

Three years on,

I'm pretty sure I've moved on,

Yet, there are moments like this,

Where I still feel suspended in time,

I wonder what you'd think of me now,

I'm sure you'd ask me how,

I've started drinking so much black coffee.