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.