Pain

"The pain needs a place to go", says Shina almost everyday. "You can't suppress these feelings with work or food", she says with emphasis. While I don't actively listen to her, there are days when I'm completely bowled over with the grief.

I haven't accepted that my husband is no more. He is still alive in my head. We have conversations at night, where he looks happy and jubilant. Then I wake up in the morning, only to realise my reality is entirely different. 

Riaan and I miss him everyday. He lives on, in everything we do, in the chaos and in the moments of calm. He was mine and Riaan's home.

I wonder, how I can be so in love with one person and feel equally dissapointed, that he abandoned me. How can two emotions co-exist, at one time? 

There is no burying this pain. Not with work, not with alcohol and not with food. I wonder, will I ever be happy again? 

Close to ten months, since his demise, but I talk about him everyday. Phone calls from his close friends, instantly brighten up my day. 

Death; a brutal end to our beautiful love story. Death; a reality I'm still coming to terms with. Death; something our son just doesn't want to accept. Death; I won't bow down to it.

Durga Puja

Today marks, my first Durga Puja or is it "Pujo", without you. Suddenly, I have no one in the house, obsessing about the ten day festival. I no longer have to tell Shahnaz didi (my cook) to make aaloo bhaja and khichuri. I no longer have someone craving for chops, shingara and rolls. The fact that I don't have YOU anymore, sucks.

I don't have to go pandal hopping this year, I don't have to endure my annual dose of food-poisining thanks to all the deep-fried, open-air, stall food. 

I no longer have to get decked up like a Christmas tree and parade in front of half a million women I barely know, in the blistering heat. Perhaps, this is the only bit of the festival, I don't miss.

I no longer have to try and understand Bengali and retort in my hideous broken Bengali, to all and sundry. 

You tried your best to be a cool, fraud Bong, but come Durga Puja, your Bengali fangs were out like razor sharp claws. And I loved every bit of it. I loved the pandals, the food stalls, the mishtis and Durga maa all decked up on stage for ten glorious days.

I fell in love with the tradition and the festivities, along with you. This year I have no one to take me pandal hopping, no one to play Sindoor Khela with and no one to eat Puja Bhog with.

You are missed, everyday. There are times I look at photographs of us and it completely takes my breath away, because you are so young. Dying at 35, was the greatest injustice that happened to you, me and our son.

Subho Maha Ashtami, wherever you are, my dearest poopie. I don't have the courage to enter a puja pandal ever again.

Sunshine

Convinced a colleague to have a baby,

Called another "Riaan", a couple dozen times maybe,

Every chocolate cookie in the cafeteria, reminded me of you,

As the hour hand on the clock, turned six, seven and eight, I began to slowly and steadily feel blue,

Who knew a naughty, sweat-stained little boy, 

Incessantly demanding for toys,

Would capture a large portion of my heart,

And blackmail me to load up e-carts, 

Now the house is overflowing with toys,

And so much noise,

I wouldn't have it any other way,

You keep everyone's dark clouds at bay,

You are our sunshine,

And our moonshine,

You are loved beyond words,

Anything I write, would sound plain absurd. 

Death And Relationships

Death changes everything. In an instant it's clear to you, who wants to gossip and provoke you. Who wants to see you pull through. Who has the emphathy to focus on your pain, as opposed to ranting on and on about their life. And there's the initial sympathizers of course, who vanish into thin air, after the customary visit and condolence calls. 

I realised very quickly, there are just four people I need in my life to really pull through this. My parents, my sister-in-law and my brother. These four individuals have lived through the madness with me, and let me emphasize, it was utter, horrific madness. Not only was I traumatized over the death of my young husband, the comments that followed by his "well-wishers" completely threw me off. It was enough to drive me straight to an asylum.

They say blood is thicker than water, I have experienced this first hand, in the last ten months. While my father and brother, took it upon themselves to jolt me out of my pain, it was the women who told them to back off and give me my space. Somehow that combination of nasty, Army-style bullying by the men and emphathy by their better halves, has healed me. Almost.

The road to recovery might take forever, but I know, these two couples, have my back. Who knew, something so horrible, would bond us like never before.

I can speak without judgement in front of them and I can lay out my deepest wounds on the table. I'll either be kicked out of my reverie, or we end up having a roaring match with one another. But no one goes to bed unhappy. All misunderstandings are sorted, with a couple of pegs and some deep fried food.

I may have lost the battle to life, but the war against the world will be fought and won, because these human beings are not made of blood and flesh, they have liquid steel running up their veins. 

If I'm back on my feet today, it's only thanks to them. I do take them for granted, I admit. But the year is mine, to behave badly. I am a freshly minted, young widow afterall. 

I try not to be bitter, but the wounds are still fresh, I can still feel my husband's stiff rigor mortis hands, under mine. The same chap, who brought me freshly baked brownies from Theobroma.

It's hard. But I can get through this. 

Anu Aunty

Anu aunty; devoted mother, fabulous cook and my lovely neighbour for the last 18 years. The thing about Anu aunty, is that she's not your typical nosy neighbour, who snoops around for no reason. She makes an appearance at all the right times and says and does all the right things, when you need it the most. 

So is she just a neighbour? In my son's words, "nopey nope!" Anu aunty for my toddler is "akka", "best friend" and according to Seetharaman uncle (aunty's husband), "Riaan's girlfriend". It was love at first sight, for Riaan. He can't get enough of aunty and her house full of baby trinkets. 

Anu aunty has held my hands during my darkest hours. She held my bloodied, mangled hand out of an autorickshaw in 2009 and took me to the hospital for a shoulder surgery. She warned me, to never touch a two-wheeler in my life again. She was the person I held and cried for hours, when my husband died. We had impossible conversations, about death and communicating with souls. 

She has pulled me out of depressive bouts of madness with freshly brewed filter coffee, paruppu vadai, saambar saadam and fryums.

She's an expert on many things. She is well networked and knows many people. So if you want to join M.M.A classes, eat out at a unique restaurant, are confused about which swami-bhajan you must hear first thing in the morning and when you're pregnant - Anu aunty is the person to go to. 

There's nothing she doesn't know. She is a human encyclopaedia filled with hard facts, statistical figures and first hand experiences. You must know the right questions to ask and she will give you a well-researched and detailed answer. 

I've never left Anu aunty's house feeling glum. She has always lifted my spirits or enriched me, with a wealth of knowledge.

It would be unfair to write about Anu aunty, without mentioning Adhithi, her daughter. Adhithi and I were best friends, for as long as I can remember. She was a sweet, naughty little baby, who regularly pulled my nose ring abruptly and without warning, right in the middle of a serious game. I've been invited for Adhithi's birthday parties, I've met all her baby friends and now she's grown into a graceful young woman. Time truly flies!

I'm not sure what mental and physical state, I would have been in today, if it weren't for Anu aunty's timely interventions. I'm blessed to have her as my neighbour, counselor and supplier of endless freshly brewed, filter coffee cups.

Poopie

It's strange to hear you being referred to as Rajarshi and Raj,

You were always poopie for me and I for you, we were a perfect match,

Or so I thought,

Love is enough, is what I had been taught,

I put us on a pedestal,

In hindsight, a silly act, very regrettable,

We were not alike,

You had a strong dislike,

To exercise and going to bed early,

You prioritised work more than family, you were hardly sorry,

While meeting your unrealistic goals,

I had goals too, but I was a damn fool,

To have invested in family instead,

A mistake, I'll never indulge in, as I forge ahead,

My son and my work,

Have equal parts in my heart,

Unlike you, whose heart only beat for people pleasing,

Hardly pausing,

To see the damage of your actions,

No wonder, God ripped us apart and hurled us in different directions,

Rest in peace,

Now watch me and my son, do as we please. 

Goodbye

"Will baba jump down from the stars? Then will his die go away?"

"Will you also disappear in the office, one day?"

Questions asked by my three year old,

Who watched his father's body turn cold,

"Just cry, whenever you miss him",

"Let your tears fill to the brim",

I retort, looking at his sad beady eyes,

My boy is wise,

Life has already hardened him,

His only mistake was madly loving a father who had stubborn, unrealistic whims,

My son will be better,

He won't drop dead in the middle of a working day, but that doesn't mean he won't be a go-getter,

He won't abandon a 34 year old wife,

And a 2.11 year old son, for some idiotic ratrace of life,

He will have a spine too,

And stand firmly by his family, without turning blue,

I don't miss you anymore,

Your memories, I don't wish to store,

I want our son to forget you too,

For memories of you, only make him and me, feel blue.

Too Little, Too Late

How many times must my child relive his father's death?

Each time he asks me to narrate, "Baba die story", I catch my breath,

We don't want these blasts from the past,

Please get a hint and scoot away fast,

You've damaged my child and I enough,

Your lies and your greed, we no longer have to put up with, we've had enough,

Leave, just leave,

Allow us to grieve,

The loss of a loving husband and precious father,

Stop being a bother,

To our lives, 

With your meaningless half-baked strives.

My Funny Little Boy

My baby boy, is the best part of me,

He fills me with pride and glee,

He has promised to have a 1000 babies,

I pray he accomplishes this task, with just one devoted partner and not multiple ladies,

He has also assured me, he will make them all sit on my head,

"You can't run away then, maama", he emphasised and said,

I couldn't help but say yes,

To his unreasonable little request, how he plans to create so many miniatures of himself, is anybody's guess,

For the time being, I've let it rest,

Lesson learnt, let me not be a pest,

And talk about marriage to a three year old,

Whose main hobby is digging for nosey-gold,

Here he comes again,

Finger rightfully up his nose and a million thoughts, running through his baby brain,

What is he going to do and say next?

Whatever it is, I'm sure it will leave me, feeling hexed.

What A Year!

What a rollercoaster of a year it has been for Riaan and me! It feels like we have lived multiple lives in a mere span of nine months. The absence of his father, haunts us a little less, as the days roll by. 

Mary, my favourite boss from my early PR days in Bombay aptly said, "You will always feel this pain, but just like a rusty blade of a knife, the sharpness eases off with time". She was right, as always. 

Riaan and I, are not fully okay. We still have our off-days. My current boss Shina, is convinced I'm drowning myself in work, and am suppressing all my emotions with work. She advices me to sit with the pain and feel it going through my body. The woman has a zen like calmless to her, while I am "she-hulk", so it's easy for her to dole out such saintly advice. Perhaps she regrets hiring me, but too late now, she's stuck with me for a good 100 years, at least!

I'm suddenly single, after 14 years, with a 3.8 year old to tend to. The journey has been interesting so far. I am financially independent. I have a good support system of friends and family, who don't ever give me a chance to feel alone.

I am a single mom, only on paper. In reality, my child hardly gives me a second look and has latched on to my parents, for dear life. His ammumma has the answer to all his toddler problems. I am no longer needed. I am already irrelevant and uncool, for my boy. 

I recall the Pandit-ji's words to me, as I did the 11th day puja for my late husband. "God will give you the strength to forge ahead. You will find a way". He was right too. 

In hindsight, none of what I did was out of strength really. Everything I did and continue to do, is for my son. He is my whole and soul and will continue to be, for as long as he needs me. 

His confused and frightened little face, over my husband's motionless body, gave me the strength to pull it together and stop crying immediately. He has seen and experienced things, much beyond his years. We share the same scars, in different magnitudes. 

We've got this, my boy and I, because we don't have a village, we have an entire Army behind us. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, you know who you are. 

Women And Sugar

All women work,

Whether it's at home or behind a desk, we drive ourselves berserk,

We're excellent multitaskers,

Often times, we bite off more than we can chew and the tasks, hit us like daggers,

I don't know about other women, but I'll probably die of a heart-attack or a sugar rush,

Endless cups of coffee and sugary biscuits, leave me feeling flushed,

It's not the office air-conditioning,

It's just me, taking for granted and belitting,

The intoxication of sugar,

That evil white grain, the creator of boogers,

Throw out sugar,

Right now, stat, if you want to be a looker,

Alas, the call of the cookie jar,

And the decadent chocolate bar,

Drown out every voice of reason,

I cling on to chocolate and sugar, for dear life, every goddamn season!

Nine Months And Six Days

Nine months and four days,

Since we've parted ways,

I'm finally home,

After eight years of directionless roam,

Perhaps "directionless" is a harsh word,

But it's hard to forget the moments you made me feel unheard,

I want to forget you fast,

And blur out all our happy memories, from the past,

Its not impossible,

But everyday, there are constant reminders of you, that don't make this possible,

Sometimes I pray for you to rest in peace,

Other times I pray your soul never finds peace,

I don't want to miss you,

Therefore, I'm tightening up all my heart's screws,

You may have laughed reading my 200 poems on you,

What your reaction may have been, I'll never have a clue.

Mom Guilt

Mom guilt, that nagging feeling of not giving enough time to your child. And kids are classic creatures! When you do have all the time in the world, over the weekends, they don't give you a second look.

Bang in the middle of a working week, with murderous call after call, my toddler wants to play with me, sit on my lap, say hello to everyone I'm on various calls with and ultimately just bangs shut my laptop and says, "Stop it maamaa!"

It kills me, the guilt. Then I take a step back and retrospect on the time that I did invest in him. Five years! Two in getting pregnant and three in raising him. That's equivalent to a 100 years for mother's of my generation, who neatly hand over their babies to creches and nannies by six months. 

I'm not mom-shaming anyone. Whether you're a working mum or a stay at home mum, you are doing the best that you can for your child. So hats off to us, for deciding to become mother's and then spending all our time and effort into nurturing these monkeys, into dignified human beings.

The stress of it all gets to me. On the work front, there are multiple projects running with strict deadlines and on the personal front, I have a toddler whose numerous meltdowns in a day, are enough to give anyone a brain tumour.

Kids are sly, manipulative beings, who can put any politician in India to shame, with the mind games they play with adults. I will gladly hand over my son to any political party, who want to hold rallies and make speeches. I guarantee, he will not only get votes for you, he will have crowds gathering in throngs. He can talk endlessly and senselessly. Much like Modi uncle and Rahul uncle. 

Babies; if you don't want to have them, good for you! Enjoy a life of freedom, bliss and tranquil silences that calm you forever and ever. However, if you do want to have them, you have my whole-hearted sympathies. Bless your kindred souls abundantly, today and everyday.

On a serious note, I'm so glad I have a baby. I waited for him for a very long time. I wanted to be a mom, even before I got married. And now that he's here, he fills my bleak life with so much colour, purpose and drive. I wouldn't have it any other way! 

Hard days at work are made bearable only thanks to my son, who I know will be waiting for me with open arms even before I can enter the threshold of my house. 

I love my baby, to bits. I aspire to be a great mum in law (he's only 3.5 years old but there's no harm in planning for these future events) to his future wife. I also pray they have lots of babies, but perhaps I should refrain from passing these comments to the young couple, if I intend to stay in their good books. 

Babies, you can't help but love them, despite all the grief they give you, day in and day out.

Grief

Close to nine months today since the biggest disaster of my life struck. I lost my reason to live. Getting out of bed was a struggle. I couldn't deal with my own grief, let alone my toddler's. I went through rage, so much rage. Against the world, against God, against my own husband for just abandoning me at 34. 

I'm not sure, if i can call myself a "Grief Survivor", just yet. But l learnt soon enough, wallowing in self pity would get me nowhere. I had a son to raise and a full life to lead.

So I got out of bed, wiped my tears away, went through the motions of grief, stood on my mother's balcony for hours, until I felt nothing but wonder and awe for mother nature.

"Life goes on", said a fellow widow 7 months ago and I couldn't agree more. Just because my world came crashing down, doesn't mean happiness doesn't exist. People move on, very quickly. 

Once the initial condolence messages stopped flowing in, I saw them partying, getting married, holidaying and sending me invites for their happy occassions. It's almost like they forgot I'm a new widow. Perhaps it's time for me to forget I'm a new widow. 

I don't feel my late husband anymore. He is truly gone. Or he has let me go. Quite understandable. Ours worlds are different. The only common thread being our son, who is also slowly forgetting his father, with each passing day. It's probably for the best. 

During those initial days, people called me "brave", it was hilarious. I was a weepy, screechy mess! How is that "being brave" and "being strong"?!

Being a management consultant's wife for eight years, the one thing that comes to me like second skin, is living alone, making decisions alone and never being dependent on anyone, especially my husband. His solution for every life problem of mine was, "Figure it out", because he had no time or interest to immerse himself in life. His work truly consumed him. 

This is the year I make peace with his death and his bad decisions, because I played no part in either. He was a stubborn, pig headed man who believed he was always right. He travelled through the week, he slept after 2am on most days and he didn't shut off from work, even on the weekends.

He had a beautiful house, a gorgeous son and a devoted wife. You would assume, a man like that would prioritise his personal life and health over a murderous job and people pleasing (both personally and professionally).

His death is an example of someone who failed miserably in life. It doesn't matter that you were an IITian and a Partner in BCG. What matters is that you left behind a 34 year old wife and a 2.11 year old son. I can't forgive you. But I am letting you go, the best way I can. 

Rest in peace. I am enough for our son. I am enough for me. I am enough for my life. I am well and truly, more than enough!

Goodbye poopie. 

Shanti Ayyah

Shanti Ayyah has been a part of our household, for 18 beautiful years. She has seen me go to school and college. She has seen me go through my rebellious teen years. She has seen me failing maths, time and time again. She has seen me binge eat Pizzas. She has seen me at my fattest and my thinnest. She has seen me bringing my first pay cheque home. She has seen me leaving home to get married. She has seen me turn into a new mom and she has been my shoulder to cry on when I became a widow.

Shanti Ayyah is family. I can't imagine my life without her chicken and prawn gravies, her brinji rice and saadams, her chutneys and her fish fry. 

Shanti Ayyah is no ordinary person. She is an emotion, a firehouse of talent and a soother of jittery nerves. She is convinced I was meant to be born as a man and is very particular that I don't slack off work. 

Her first question to me, even before she can enter the threshold of our house is, "Don't you have office today?" and looks at me very suspiciously until I sit down in front of my laptop. Being a hard working person herself, she doesn't like slackers. 

I don't need to look at anyone else for strength, when it comes to being a single mom. Shanti Ayyah totally aced it, with 3 kids, whom she single handedly raised. And all 3 of them, are hugely successful individuals professionally. 

I have never underestimated our beloved, soft spoken cook for a single minute in my life. I've listened to Shanti Ayyah's advice on work, health and motherhood over even my own mother's. 

She has taken my side over arguments I've had with my parents. She has fed me ghee laiden rice until I could eat no more - particularly when I was pregnant and when my heart broke into smithereens over the death of my husband.

She has loved me, unconditionally and has gone out of her way to try and heal me. She may not be tied to me by blood, but she is family. 

I love her. We all do. Shanti Ayyah is the best thing that happened to us 18 years ago. We will be shattered the day she quits cooking for us. A life without her delectable home-cooked meals would be beyond miserable. 

My Favourite Eating Haunts in Chennai

Chennai, the city I grew up in. Madras, the city my mother grew up in. We squabble a lot, just like any mother-daughter duo. But the one thing we agree upon, is the exquisite array of food in Namma Chennai. Whether it's Continental, Thai, North Indian, Traditional South Indian, Chinese, Pan-Asian or just plain Chaat, you get it all, at it’s authentic best, right here, in my favourite city, our adopted home, Chennai.

Some of our favourite haunts in the last few decades of living in Chennai are;

Sangeetha

Masala dosas doused in ghee, filter coffee that you could just bite into, Punjabi Kofta that you can’t get enough of, flavoursome Gobi Manchurian and voluminous portions of thali, this is one restaurant you can’t afford to miss eating at, if you ever visit Chennai.

Benjarong

Authentic Thai food, straight from the heartlands of Thailand. I took this restaurant for granted, until I actually honeymooned in Thailand with my late husband. The Thai Chicken curry, the glass noodles and the Pad Thai taste exactly like the local Thai cuisine eaten by residents on any of the islands in Thailand.

Shree Mithai/Gangotree

Paapdi chaat, paani puri, samosa chaat, cheese balls - if you are in the mood for trashy, deep fried, comfort food, look no further than Shree Mithai and Gangotree. I spent 90% of my post graduate years in Gangotree as opposed to sitting inside a classroom of Stella Maris college. 

Tangerine 

Cheesy penne pasta, with corn, mushroom and chicken cubes has been my staple in this steak and sizzler joint, for the last twenty years. Death by chocolate seals the deal. 

Cascade/Liu's

Head to Cascade if you are in the mood for Indian Chinese food, with an interesting twist. Liu's is the place to be, if you are a fan of Tangra chinese. 

Cakewalk

Chennai's answer to Theobroma's, at half the price. Brownies, pastries and mousses to die for. A chocolate lover's haven!

Punjabi Nation

Let me be honest here, the Butter Chicken is a far cry from what you'd get at Pind Balluchi or Punjabi Nation (Delhi), but the fluffy rumali rotis, the creamy palak paneer, the moist Tandoori chicken and the decadent Afghani chicken, will leave you wanting for more. Dhaba Express was THE restaurant for Punjabi food fifteen years ago, but I shudder to enter the premises now. 

I'm so glad to be back home. Back to my Chennai. The land of warm filter coffee, warmer weather and warmest people. I am never leaving!

Single Mother

It's crazy how we're supposed to just live,

After the death of a loved one, we are expected to thrive,

And pretend everything is fine,

While all that was once ours and mine,

Has vanished, without a trace,

There are moments I feel out of place,

Like an alien, from outer space,

Until I catch a glance of my son's mischevious face,

He is my reason,

To live and thrive, every season,

I can't fail him, not now, not ever,

He is clever,

He understands my melancholy,

And catches my every folly,

The night I saw my husband's motionless body,

Was also the night I realised, I am somebody,

Somebody beyond just a wife,

I am responsible for an innocent life,

This is who I am now,

A single mother, who refuses to cow down to death, I will not allow,

The absence of a father,

To ever be a bother.

Old Habits Die Hard

It's hard to get Rajarshi Bhattacharya out of my system. It's hard to forgot and "move on" from a habit of 14 years. I've ranted and raved, picked up a job after a five year sabbatical, sent my toddler to school and relocated back to my childhood home. 

Yet, he haunts me. He is the first thought in my head along with the sun's rays and the last thought at night just before sleep takes over. It's difficult to forget, it's difficult to move on. 

There are days of acceptance, there are days of anger and there are days of frustration,  wondering why this horrible thing had to  happen to my child and me. What wrong have we done to deserve this fate?

Memories of us going on long drives and eating out extensively come flooding in my mind, like it happened yesterday. Who knows if there is a soul? Who knows if that soul has any attachment to us anymore?

The days of quiet acceptance are the best. I am 35 years old. That's not even half a life lived. Yet, I've seen and experienced my world crumbling. So, the best thing to do is breathe and be greatful for the people still alive and trying to make a difference.

My late husband will always be a part of my life. But, it's time for the fairy tale to end. There is no life after death. There are no ghosts. There are no souls. Everything was just a fragment of my imagination.. perhaps.

It's time to "move on", whatever that means. Here's to another chapter, one where I'm not Mrs Rajarshi Bhattacharya anymore. 

Powai

The streets where it all began and ended, 

Those days were splendid,

Our happiness abundant,

Who knew, I'd very soon be redundant,

Our carefree days were soon replaced,

By loneliness and distaste,

You changed, so did I,

We couldn't see eye to eye,

On big and small decisions,

You left no provisions,

To make me feel heard and seen,

Perhaps your death was God's chance of cutting me clean,

From this toxic relationship,

Which was rosy at first, but soon turned into an ammunition filled ship,

Goodbye and good riddance,

Perhaps your disappearance,

Was exactly what my son and I needed, 

As opposed to the lies that you feeded,

Into our non suspecting minds,

Go on, blow away, into the winds,

We release you,

We have learnt long ago, to live without you.

Unending Anger

Fourteen years of wholeheartedly trusting you,

Only to realise I didn’t have a clue,

Of this dual life you led,

One where you just fled,

The responsibilities of being a father and a husband,

While I got accustomed,

To the loneliness of being your wife,

Our son, made you the focus of his entire life,

Forget me, perhaps you took me for granted, you foolishly assumed, I would understand,

But let me tell you - I didn’t! The things that you planned,

Keeping our family in the dark,

Has forever left an ugly mark,

Deep inside my heart and soul,

You have shattered not just a wife, but also that 21 year old girl who took a stroll,

In the maddening Mumbai rains,

Who caught crazy local trains,

Just to spend time with you,

While everything in her life was askew,

 We don’t forgive you,

The girlfriend, the wife and the mother of your son, none of us forgive you,

We deserved better,

Not an obnoxious, lying jet setter.