Ooty and I - A True Love Story

 

How do you remember a place you've holidayed at recently? Is it the people? Is it the weather? No! It's the legendary food! And Ooty, is legendary when it comes to it's food. Right from chocolates to traditional bakery snacks (not the cheap junky stuff you get in the cities) and fabulous Mutton curries.

If there is a heaven on Earth, this is it. I've discovered my soft spot. Mutta Puffs and me - a sordid love affair, morning, noon and night. I'm announcing my love for this flaky, eggy, decadent delight to the whole world!

Ooty is also famous for Moddy's chocolates. Melt in your mouth and flavoursome, these chocolates are to die for. If i got hit by a truck right now and died, I'd die a very happy woman, because I've attained Nirvana with these gooey delights. There's also Moddy's hot chocolate in three different flavors - Classic, Mocha and Hazelnut.

Then there's that beautiful mountain air that you breathe in and out every moment of everyday - while you're working, walking, bathing, sleeping or pooping. It just hits you with a tinge of Eucalyptus. It's sure to bring a smile to your face.

Next there's the sheer variety of food, catering specifically to tourists - Chinese, Indian, Continental, Italian, Grilled Meats - you can't go wrong with any of them. You're left licking your fingers and ordering more, until you get a tummy upset.

I'm not sure what I've fallen more in love with - the weather, the food or the complete silence around me. I can hear bugs walking on the floor and birds chirping. There's the occasional interesting looking biker chap riding by, who makes quite a roar on his machine. Otherwise, trees and silence surround you 24*7*365.

Ooty - the perfect getaway for remote workers, retired folks and children. 

My Toddler, The Fighter

My 4.5 year old has experienced trauma beyond his years. He was half-orphaned at 2.11 years old by his seemingly active and young father. He doesn't understand the concept of death and initially thought that he's just playing hide and seek with him. 

Today, he accepts that he has no father and no longer waits for him. All he says with a sad acceptance is "Baba was my favourite person. He should have stayed with us forever"

I give my child so little credit for the enormous task he has to undergo and complete everyday, which is healing his little heart and adjusting to this new reality.

Between the two of us, he's the stronger fighter and has responded to trauma so much better than me. While I still wail and cry in moments, my child breathes through it all and looks at me with googly eyes and says, "Don't worry maamaa, I'll take care of you"

The role of caregiver flips in an instant and I wonder who is taking care of whom really. Who is the mother and who is the child? 

My child born out of trauma, has beaten all odds and has grown into a caring, sensitive and inquisitive 4.5 year old. He wins hearts in an instant - be it family friends, close neighbours, his school teachers, his summer camp masters. He has them all in his pocket with his intelligent volley of questions.

I'm so proud to be his maamaa and I hope I never let him down. 

Single Mom

Single mom, it's a badge I wear proudly, because I didn't allow my 35 year old husband's death to define the rest of mine or my son's life. 

My son broke two of his front teeth today and my initial reaction was hysteria, until my 67 year old mother told me to snap out of it and not scare him further.

My ever helpful and wonderful neighbours, Anu aunty and Seetharaman uncle who has rushed me to a hospital a couple of decades ago in a similar state, rushed my son to the nearest clinic today. 

Coming back to that point of being a single mom, am I one really, with family and neighbors like family around? 

A dead body being carried out of an ambulance was the first sight I saw this morning during my walk and as i passed the house, I heard loud wailing. Who understands death better than me? Life as they knew it had forever ended. I understood.

Death, what a convenient thing for the deceased. No work tension, no life tension and definitely no hassles of raising a child.

As i lay next to my 4 year old, with his freshly minced bloodied gums, i realised the purpose of my life. It is to make him proud and those are huge shoes that I'm wearing.

Someday he will grow up and tell the world, "My mother was a young widow and I was a baby when we lost my father, but she did not sit still and allow life to defeat her. She lived for us and I am glad she did"

I suddenly had a flash of myself as a very old lady, standing in front of a large audience narrating the very same story - the story of my life, the one that I kept fighting for.

So what if I don't have a fairy tale happy ending? The ending is upto me to write now and I'll write a great one, along with my toothless baby. 

Madras Gymkhana Club Magic

There's something magical about the Madras Gymkhana Club. Right from their massive swimming pool, to their polite waiters, to their overly sweet cricket drink and their butter toasted chicken sandwiches, nothing has changed in all these years.

When I walk in there, I'm greeted like a long lost daughter who doesn't visit often enough. The waiters ask in surprise, looking at my screechy tot, "Your son?" and I nod with a smile. 

Time really flies. The MGC love has passed on from one generation to the next in my family, starting with my dad, to me and now my 4 year old. He jumps back into the pool like a slippery eel, each time I try to pull him out. 

I drink his leftover Cricket and the crows in the lawn steal his french fries. I'm a child all over again, only this time I've created my own.

If the Gymkhana pool could speak, it would tell you tales of a fat 10 year old girl, an ambitious 21 year old, an almost bride at 27 and a single mom at 36. The pool embraced me like always in her warmth, washing over me and soothing me, melting all the pain away.

The MGC was such a big part of my childhood, I cannot even begin to put in words, the waves of nostalgia I feel each time I walk into those familiar corridors and well moved lawns. 

Change is not the constant of life. Stability is. And the MGC is the epitome of constant and reliable. It's a home away from home. 

I will always root for this 139 year old charming young lady! 

Loss

The finality, the emptiness and the loss of identity that death leaves in it's wake, is something that you can't shirk off or walk away from. I'm suddenly not a wife anymore.

I have zero marriage jokes to crack and no comments to pass when someone talks about their respective partner. "At least they have someone", is the only thought that comes into my head. 

This year of grief, the second year to be exact, is where I grieve the person I used to be. Somewhere between trying to juggle work, baby and this new life sans a husband, I've lost my sense of self.

I'm no longer chatty, I'm no longer confident and I'm always a little sad. There's nothing like a good cry last thing at night. And there's no shame in admitting to this. Crying is the best way to get it out of your system.

Cry for the life you once had and can never have again. Cry for feeling so alone. Cry, for all the moments in the day when something reminded you, of your person in heaven.

Who knows if time heals wounds. Who knows if crying heals anything. All I can say with sureity is, life is fragile.

I said goodbye to my husband as he left for work in the morning and brought back his motionless body at night. He was 35. 

The shock and the disbelief that life as I knew it, had forever ended is something I'll probably never snap out of. So at 34, with a 2 year old in toe, I moved back to my parental home.

We will be okay.. eventually. Today is not that day. 

13 Months

13 months since I stared death in the face, lost my mind, gathered all the broken pieces of my broken heart and patched it up with cello-tape. On most days I'm fine, until I see a dumb cane plant, fancy looking house decor or a band playing in a mall.

"In your healing, lies your child's healing", said someone during my early days of grief. Healing; there's nothing peaceful about it. You oscillate between rage and more rage, and it's completely alright. Its best to let it all out, as opposed to experiencing body pains, hairfall and nausea. 

It's so easy being the deceased. You're suddenly free of all your earthly responsibilities. You can have endless pints of freshly brewed beer and continental food, without putting on any weight. I imagine this is what my late husband is upto.

My child no longer remembers his father's face and I was both surprised and relieved. He has finally made peace with the fact that his father is never coming back and his baby brain has permanently wiped out his father's memories. "We no longer have a husband", he declared this evening, along with "I'll marry you and cars mumma"

There is no point spewing hatred and venom about the dead, because they're dead. It's time for us, the living to just let go. Life, death and everything in-between is not in our hands. So let's make the best, of the very short time we've been given on Earth. 

Let our children remember us with love, friends with laughter and family with fondness and utmost affection. Most importantly, let's spread love and light, to everyone we meet, especially sad souls with traumatic pasts.

Riaan's Mumma

There is no greater feeling that being a parent. You will be entertained and tormented 24*7. There is no "me-time" or free time, once you have a little devil to tend to. And they are, the spawn of the devil himself, let no one tell you otherwise! 

Let me also tell you though, in the chaos, the screaming and the mess, you will find yourself falling more and more in love with your child. It's almost feels like you waited for this tiny person your whole life. How did you even exist without him for so long?

I was very clear I wanted a son, until I had a son. Now i look at little girls, their fluffy little dresses and long to be a girl-mom. The maternal instinct in me, has always been very high. 

I was more excited to become a mom, than the day I got married or got a promotion or a pay hike. You could say, the day, I became a mom, was the most defining moment of my life. Nothing gave me greater joy, if you can ignore the initial few months of perennial nursing, filled with no sleep and post-partum depression. 

New born maamaas and babies are both grouchy and cranky. Thread with caution! Never visit a new born when you're sick, don't kiss them on the face and don't hang around their house for endless hours. Both individuals need sleep or food or Netflix! So just let them be. Visiting a new born is only exciting for you, never for the infant or the mother. 

As cliched as it may sound, with the birth of a child, a mother is born too. Babies don't come with user manuals or remote controls, so you learn on the job. And it's the best job in the world. 

Your mornings and nights are incomplete without their cuddles and "I love yous". The excruciating pain of child-birth is all worth it, as you watch them grow into the intelligent, entertaining beings that they are. 

I'm blessed to be born as Riaan's Mumma. I pray we keep finding our way back to each other, in this birth and the next. 

22 Lessons 2022 Taught Me

1. You are alone and no one can fix that, except you

2. No one really understands what you're going through, except you

3. Having a child is not a consolation prize next to a dead husband

4. However, being a parent is the greatest gift 

5. Your memories never really fade, instead they play on an endless loop, like background music waiting for the volume to be cranked up or down

6. You end up having to bear the weight of your dead spouse's decisions, alone, for the rest of your life

7. Even with an army of well-wishers and loving family by your side, you're alone, because no one can replace your young husband

8. You really want to give one last whack on your late husband's head, because what was he thinking really?

9. Did I really know this person of 14 years?

10. Was it all just a dream?

11. Can I ever find happiness again?

12. Just like life, death is messy and complicated too

13. You can't forgive or forget 

14. Coming back to my parental home was the best and the worst thing that happened to me. Best, because my child is surrounded by so much love and an overdose of pampering. Worst, because I've become an oversized infant all over again. 

15. Work is great, but long weekends are even greater

16. There is no such thing as work-life balance. There is only maddening, bone-crushing, never-ending work. 

17. Everything reminds me of my late husband - starting with the morning fog to the crickets chirping in the night

18. It sucks that he can never see his child growing up

19. Once the romance fades, there's a pile of household chores, office-work and baby-work. If you're a partner who doesn't contribute in easing this load, then there's a problem

20. I no longer believe in the magic of love, because it got me widowed 

21. Forgiving my dead husband is not in the cards anytime soon

22. I can never be at peace with his untimely death 

Prolonged Grief

Hospitals along with it's the forgotten corners with empty stretchers strategically placed there, will always remind me of my husband's motionless body. For a split second, I thought it was all a cruel joke. He hardly looked like a corpse. 

His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted. I shook him violently, forcing him to wake up. But he paid no heed. That moment changed everything. The sinking feeling of being completely alone for the rest of my life, hit me like a boulder falling off a cliff and crushing everything under its impact. 

Prolonged Grief; a state of still being in utter shock and disbelief over having your world ripped in two. You're basically an empty Easter egg without the chocolatey goodies inside. You have nothing to give to the world, except darkness. You're Wednesday Addams with a better sense of dressing. 

Prolonged Grief; it takes your breath away, when you least expect it. You find it staring back at you when you catch a band doing sound-check in a mall and when someone at work says, "Close your eyes and be grateful for just being alive" and my brain immediately retorts, "But why should I, a widow with a toddler to fend for, be grateful? My life is hard. I see fairy tales all around me and larger than life weddings, while my partner of 14 years just dropped dead. So no, I'm not grateful"

I have the best parents in the world. They have rooted for me every step of the way. But even with them by my corner, I feel shattered. I never want to be let down by another human being ever again. I've cello-taped all the pieces of my heart to never experience that pain again. 

They say time heals, they lied. They say, the memories fade, they lied again. The reality is, I'll always be the person whose presence makes all the lights in the room, go off. I'll always feel sad and carry the burden of my husband's absence. And that's okay. 

Life is not a bed roses. It is infact hard, horrible, abrupt and bone crushingly final just like death. 

Forward

A little over a year, since Riaan and I found ourselves in this new reality. My young husband's death, was equivalent to the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the months that followed, my toddler and I faced terrible side effects - physically and mentally. 

The debris in both our minds, will probably take years to clear. But we're moving forward, with immense help from immediate family and well-wishers. 

In times of crisis, it becomes crystal clear who your real friends are and were all along. Expect nothing from anybody. No one can help you, unless you want to help yourself. 

The choice to overcome any hurdle and create a reasonably driven life, is in your hands. While I've always loved working, becoming a mother and having someone to call my own, gave me greater purpose. 

I push through hard days at work, for my son. I stopped wallowing in self-pity after abruptly becoming a widow, for my son. Everything I do, is for my son.

So that's what I'm going to do for the rest of my life - be a mother. I'm not "brave" or "strong", I'm just a mother, doing right by her child. I've left behind the anger stage of my grief, for my son. He doesn't like it when my voice is raised and when I sound aggressive.

If there is a God who can orphan my child of his father, I'm sure he will give us something else to cling on to. Right now we're clinging on to each other. Me, a little more than him. 

Forward, that's how we must lead the rest of our lives. With or without, a father and a husband.

365 Days Of Grief

Close to a year, since I became a widow, had to double up as two parents, transformed into the Hulk; learnt to keep that rage in check (a little) and found my way back into the world of the living.

I died too, on December 6th at 4.30pm. And I continued to die multiple deaths on the days and weeks that followed. During those initial days, my baby kept asking me, why his Baba didn't take his suitcase with him, when he went to God. And then I caught him hugging that suitcase to sleep one night.

The more my son asks me why his father left without saying goodbye, the more I want to live, for him. One parent has irreversibly broken his heart. Psychologists claim children without fathers are aimless, anxious, insecure, clingy and troublesome. 

So I better be alive for his rebellious teen years, his know-it-all 20s and his back-breaking 30s. I'm not going anywhere! Infact, I'm going to hold him to his promise of making 10,000 babies - 5000 cars and 5000 tiny humans (his words, not mine).

My 2.11 year old shook me out of my lunacy/grief/depression. His scared little face and podgy fingers vigorously wiping away my tears, cemented my heart. Going forward, all my decisions will be cold, calculated and self-preserving. 

Grief is like an annoying pigeon, that poops on you, on a bright Monday morning. It comes in the form of management consultants who sit behind you all day at work, who closely resemble your late husband. Same clothes, same banter and the same sleep deprived, tired looking faces.

Then there's the short, slightly podgy, black T-shirt donning chap at the mall, who eerily resembles your late husband. Infact, my child ran behind this fellow, screaming, "Baba! Baba!"

I'm subject to, "Bring Baba back" and "Baba is my favorite" everyday. His baby-brain has wiped away memories of his father's motionless body. He doesn't understand the concept of death, which makes his grief so much more painful than mine. 

In the middle of a screechy, stompy 20 minute, toddler meltdown, he admits, "I'm sad that Baba is gone. He should have stayed with us forever" 

Grief, it multiplies when friends leave your side and when you're told to "quickly move on" and "forget". But grief also irreversibly changes you, a newer, more confident version of you emerges, because you have nothing to lose anymore. So might as well break a leg and unleash your madness into the world.

In the words of Rajnikanth, "En vazhi, thani vazhi"

The Physical Pain Of Bereavement

The pain of bereavement is not restricted to just the insides of your head. It travels all over your body. You feel it in the pit of your stomach, you feel the heaviness in your chest and you feel it on your lower back. It's like carrying a ton of bricks that you never wanted to hold in the first place.

Therefore therapy doesn't work. I realised this very quickly, two months into my grief to be precise. I had to bid goodbye to my very sweet lady therapist after eight weeks. Talking about it, wasn't helping. It was doing the exact opposite!

An illness I thought I had gotten rid off, came back to me with full force. That's grief. When you try and suppress it with forced laughter and piles of work, it comes back to haunt you as a painful disease. My colleague and work mentor, Shina warned me about this from the moment she saw me. I'm a living testament of her warning, "The pain needs a place to go. If you don't release it, it will eventually sit inside you and kill you".

I can't live for my child, unless I learn to live for myself. "You can't rush the process. After a year, you can't beat yourself up, asking why do I still feel so low?" adviced Mary, another work mentor, I look upto. It will take days, months and years, to feel "normal". This is my "new normal" now.

My husband's death broke my child and me. There's no undoing that damage. My child is always anxious and insecure. He keeps asking his grandparents and me, if I'll disappear at work, like his father. He expects me to not come back from work, just like his father. And he expects, that I will forget him and choose work over him, just like his father. 

I don't know how to fix my child, because I don't know how to fix myself. No team outings, no boozy sessions with colleagues and no amount of holidays can make me forget. My late husband slips into my head, sneakily and without warning. 

I thought of him when I went through an MRI machine last week. I recalled that he went through the same machine, one month before he died. I recalled walking with him and the baby at a local mall in Powai, on a Sunday afternoon, just before knocking off to sleep, two nights ago.

I'm trying my best to uproot these memories from my head, but they always come back to haunt me. These memories don't evoke joy anymore. They remind me of a life I once had and can never experience again.

I've been told to get married from the moment I've sprinkled my late husband's ashes away, into an obscure looking tank in Bombay. "Get married, you're too young", "Get married, for the child's sake", "Get married and you will be happy again" and the icing on the cake, "Did you not check your horoscope before marrying this boy? This tragedy could have been avoided then" The last remark was made by a fellow widow!

I've watched "Beauty and the Beast", more than 40 times as a child and have scoured through every last Mills and Boons novel in Madras Gymkhana Club's library. To call myself, a romantic fool would be the understatement of the decade! My relationship with my late husband was a Bollywood movie. I'll just leave it at that. 

Pain, it's completely physical. I don't know how to fix it, but I will fight it. I will stand up to it and I will push back. In the fight and the war against pain, I will always win. 

I've been cut up and heartbroken ever since my husband passed, but I've never allowed myself to feel depressed. In the first week of his passing I folded my hands across my chest and walked shakily through the hilly roads of Chandivali, wondering, "Who will protect me now?"

Close to 12 months since he died, I realise, "I, me and myself". I'm the only saviour I need, I'm beauty and the beast, I'm Rapunzel and her charming prince. I'm my own knight in shining armour. 

My Big Brother

My big brother,

Is like no other,

Growing up with him was both interesting and scary,

I was always a little wary,

Of all his whims and moods,

He has the most profound taste, when it comes to food,

Zomato and Swiggy have a ball, when he's in town,

He can bring the roof down,

With the everyday festivity of food and drinks,

In two blinks,

We become round, happy souls again,

And our clothes begin to strain,

While all of us lounge around and sleep with the food overdose,

Big B rushes to the gym, looking groggy and morose, 

That's his secret to always looking young and pretty,

While the rest of us remain round as ever, but hopefully witty,

If I have to be honest, I've taken him for granted,

But some of my best ideas, he has planted,

He is awesome, 

Under his guidance, you're sure to blossom,

A word of caution though, the man is full of ammo,

So try to keep up and don't be slow,

Today is his birthday,

So let's all wish him, on his special day.

Ambivalent

The perks of living at home,

Equates to being the emporer of Rome,

I doubt Ceaser, made as many demands,

As Riaan baby, wringing his grandparents' hands,

Such a pleasure living with mummy and daddy,

After bidding adieu to my husband's motionless body,

If this dreadful year, has a silver lining,

It has to be my parents, who encourage me to keep climbing,

No crisis is too large,

All you have to do is fearlessly take charge,

Look at pain in the face,

And command it to vanish without a trace,

All is right with the world,

Despite the father of my child, being in the netherworld,

I'm no longer a ghost,

I'd rather raise a toast,

To all that has passed and is yet to come,

So why be glum,

When you can choose to be ambivalent instead 

The Dynamic Duo

It took me sometime to warm up to the boy,

But now he's my favourite person to annoy,

The woman is a diva,

She's entered my heart and crossed complicated borders, without so much as a visa,

Together they are a force to reckon with,

A dynamic duo, with whom I don't need to politely wordsmith,

We're loud, we're inappropriate,

We scandlize families, that look prim, proper and quite appropriate,

You probably don't want to sit next to us for dinner or lunch,

Or maybe you do, because our words pack quite a punch,

We oscillate between reality and fiction,

We speak without unabashed restriction,

When we unite there is magic in the air,

I even turned my boring black hair,

Electric blue, 

To look brand new,

Sho and Kiron, Kiron and Sho,

My love for them just shows. 

A Letter To My Son

My darling Riaan,

In the past 11 months, mumma has been called "brave", "courageous" and "inspirational". We've just lost your father and we're re-building our life from scratch. I feel far from "brave", "courageous" or "inspirational". I live for you. You are my glimmer of hope and will continue to be, until my dying breath.

In one hour, it's your father's birthday. His name was Rajarshi Bhattacharyya and he would have been 36 years old today. I'm not sure what you will remember of him, when you are 36 and have kids of your own. Just remember, that he loved you and he didn't want to leave you or me. It was just his time to go. God has some maniacal plan for you and me. I'm not sure what it is, at this point in time. 

Know this, mumma will never leave you. I'm not going to drop dead in the middle of a working day. Instead, I'll drop my career in a heartbeat for you. I've done it in the past, just to give birth to you and I'll do it in the future, without a moment's hesitation.

I love you, more than your father. This is the hard reality of our life. Something I've already digested and something you will learn to live with and overcome. You will be a better man. You will make wiser decisions. I'll make sure of it. 

Ever since your father died, I've developed a strong liking for the great big outdoors. Long walks, hour long swims and lounging in your grandparents' balcony are my favourite things to do. Nature heals, like no human being can, because nature is non-judgmental and has a numbing effect, to the volcano of pain bubbling inside you. 

I'm almost healed now, thanks to nature. Almost. I saw a golden ray of light, pass through a dense tree cover this morning and it instantly reminded me of you. You have been that ray for me, ever since I became a widow at 34. There is no me, without you. 

I'm so grateful to God for having become your mumma. I love you maniacally, my darling child. You're the most handsome, almost 4 year old, I've ever laid my eyes on. 

I want you to work very, very hard and make something of yourself in this world. You became the man of this house at 2.11 years old. I know that's a very heavy burden to bear, but you've got this, because I've got you. 

Together, we can do anything. The world is our Oyster. So let's kill it sweetpea!

Love,

Your mumma 

Shina

I always knew the girl was special,

The perfect vessel,

To dump all your life problems on,

She listens intently, without a single yawn,

Her heart's in the right place,

Her personality is ace,

Strong and confident on the outside,

An empath and a deep thinker on the inside,

Who knew, she would be more than a friend,

After a decade, she has decided to lend,

Her ears and her problem solving skills,

Sans a fuss or frills,

A teacher, a friend and a boss,

My personal life may have taken a royal toss,

But under Shina's guiding light,

Everything seems bright,

Just like her luminous smile,

That she flashes once in a while,

She has opened doors for me,

And my little bee,

Just when I thought my life had ended,

She took me under her wings and reassured me, that life has merely taken a bend,

There is no end,

Only lots of love, light and positively to send,

Towards the universe and my inner self,

I can always be myself,

With Shina, my one and only,

Superboss, who makes me feel far from lonely.

Riaan The Menace

Riaan the menace, 

A lethal animal, deadlier than the original blonde-headed menace,

He can destroy spotlessly clean houses in seconds,

He is a toy-destroying, savage weapon,

A killer of peaceful minds,

A powerful gust of neverending wind,

That can't stop,

Won't stop,

You can cry, scream and shout,

He will still continue shamelessly, on his path of destruction, without a second of doubt,

Dennis had Mr Wilson,

Riaan has multiple Wilsons,

To pick and choose from,

Who are both overjoyed and frightened, when he comes sticking out his tongue,

His naughty face,

Never out of place,

Moments before something breaks,

And everyone shakes,

Their dismayed heads,

Swearing to be faster next time, instead of being at loggerheads,

With the master menace,

Our only and only, Riaan the menace.

Our Boys

Who knew, our peaceful house,

Would be turned into a mad playhouse,

By two lollypop eating munchkins,

Who've turned the entire house into their unruly, toy dungeon,

There's no reasoning with the two,

They can fight back, until their faces turn blue,

If I have to be honest, I adored the big one,

So much, that I manifested one just like him and created a little bun,

But when I popped him out of my tum-tum, I realised, "Whoops! What have I done?",

Babies are fun,

From afar,

When the little devil is yours and demands for a million toy cars,

You better be loaded,

For, having a baby means being eternally goaded,

By a tiny being,

Who will slowly and steadily have you agreeing,

To every unreasonable whim,

Let me assure you though, your happiness quotient will be overflowing from the brim,

Your house will always be a mess,

But without them, your life will be full of stress. 

Lava Cakes

The curious case of the decadent, lava cakes,

That Mohan uncle and I, desperately attempted to grill and bake,

Our efforts were in vain,

For the cakes did not moisten, despite turning up the griller's heat, over and over again,

So, cold lave cakes we ate,

With hard centers of freezing cold, gooey chocolate, which we did not hate,

The experience was interesting,

Our taste buds were left tingling,

"What are your intentions for the six lava cakes uncle?", I asked,

He replied, "I'll relish them and have a blast",

I hoped beyond hope, he would offer me a few,

But he greedily amassed them all, leaving me feeling blue,

Now I'm back to reality,

Jealously envisioning uncle's chocolate stuffed glee,

So many lava cakes for one man,

Does not sound like an ideal plan,

I miss those lava cakes,

Just like thirsty animals miss large lakes.