The "Gayu Going Nuts" Show: Act 2026

I’ve clearly needed therapy for a while now—specifically since five years ago, because when my husband passed away in late 2021, some sane parts of my brain obviously passed away along with him. I call this final quarter of the year, from September to December, the "Gayu Going Nuts" period. It’s tattoos and hair colours galore for me because October is Durga Puja—a festival he dearly loved—November is his birthday month, and December is his death anniversary.

I’m a mixture of Harley Quinn and the Joker now, leaning heavily toward the Joker at this time of the year. I’m full of jokes and beans while dying a slow death on the inside. I read somewhere that it’s the saddest people who crack jokes all the time. Sounds like a familiar person who lives inside my head. I’m not diabolically sad like Grumpy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs—no. I’m more like Deadpool sad. I’m the "so funny, look at me and laugh at my jokes so you don’t think about my shitty love life" kind of sad. Big difference!

Yesterday, my mother called his death "unfortunate." I vehemently opposed her, reminding her that luck and fortune had nothing to do with him dying. He wrote his own time and day of death by choosing a laptop over human beings—that is on him for the rest of his afterlife. Let’s not burden ourselves with the stupid decisions taken by power-hungry people. When people talk about choosing their careers over human life and feelings today, I lose respect for them in less than a blink of an eye.

Circling back to the point of this piece: it’s the "Gayu Going Nuts" period. Everyone, get your popcorn out. I’m ready to put up another show for you this year. Watch and learn!

*mic drop*

The Sweet, Slow Flu

I've had to cancel my entire weekend;

What a way for the week to end!

I've eaten so much sweet pongal,

That I closely resemble a pongal.

A wretched flu,

Contracted from my co-worker, has left me feeling blue.

Two days of lying flat in bed,

It has really gotten to my head.

No gorgeous workout,

Or reasons for having to step out.

Yet, the inactivity is surprisingly peaceful,

After rescheduling my weekend from full to zero.

I've had to cancel my entire weekend;

What a way for the week to end.

Till All Are One: A Tribute to Optimus Prime and Peter Cullen

I grew up watching those gentle giants called the Transformers, and I have always been amazed by these Autonomous Robotic Organisms (often shortened to Cybertronians). I have always wondered why this marvelous species of living, sentient robots took a shining to such a selfish race on Earth. Humans often do not seem to feel as deeply as they do with their gorgeous "Spark"—the Cybertronian equivalent of a human heart or soul. 

The Autobots are always ready to fight all our battles against the Decepticons (Megatron and his second-in-command Starscream) just to save the human race. Meanwhile, we are the types of beings who cannot even open up emotionally on dating apps, instead making an infinite number of excuses to avoid human connection. It is absolutely pathetic. Of course, one could argue we don't deserve saving when we cannot even save ourselves to begin with.

I have loved every single Autobot: Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ironhide, Ratchet, Jazz, and Grimlock. It is my dream to own a Peterbilt 379 or a Chevrolet Camaro one day. I am fully set on importing one from international shores in the future so I can take it out to E.C.R. on late-night drives.

When I stumbled upon the news of Peter Cullen’s passing yesterday, I sighed deeply, realizing it marks the end of yet another beautiful era from my childhood. It is something the next generation, including my son, will never fully understand. What a pity it is that he is growing up in a day and age where people think robots do not have feelings, because I knew some of the best. I am an Autobot in spirit, and I am always ready to roll out. Optimus taught us that freedom is the right of all sentient beings. One shall stand, and one shall fall.

I will always look to the stars for you, Optimus. Rest in peace, Peter.

The Bouncy Castle of Motherhood

My maternal instincts kicked in the minute my nephew was born 15 years ago. He was the cutest little baby, with a head full of curls and a finger always stuck in his mouth. He was the apple of my eye. I didn't know that a love like this could exist inside me. I bathed him, rocked him to sleep, and spent all my time with him whenever he visited Chennai. 

I knew immediately that I wanted to make a baby just like him—and lo and behold, I did. However, mine is a more devilish, naughtier version of him who drives me up the wall! Still, I think I was always meant to be a boy mom, or just a mom to begin with, because I love little girls too. 

My ovaries cry each time I take my son to the pediatrician and we watch a newborn baby boy or girl stumbling in front of us. My son immediately goes, "Aww! Can you grow another baby, Mama?" I sigh and reply, "Sure. We don't have a father anymore though, remember?" And we sit in that hospital waiting area hugging each other, yearning for another pair of little feet to join our family—a dream that will probably remain just a dream in this lifetime. 

Coming back to the point of this piece, perhaps I was always destined to be a boy mom and have a tiny human use me as his bouncy castle, fart on my face, and occasionally hug me super tight from the waist down saying, "Mama! You're home!" Tiny humans are those necessary evils in our lives that keep us sane and in check at all times. I am grateful for mine every single day. No complaints—except maybe five a day, six if he's particularly tantrum-prone after a hard day at school.

The Myth of the Corporate Godfather and Why Work Dating is a Hard No

I have never dated anyone at work—not my colleagues, not members of other teams, and definitely not any of my bosses. So when people say, "I didn’t have a godfather in the industry," I ask you: "Who actually does?" Every corporate employee is a one-person army, figuring things out over the course of their career. 

I come from a defense background, raised in a family of Army, Merchant Navy, and Air Force professionals. None of them understand what I do; they scratch their heads whenever I talk about Corporate Communications, Public Relations, or Content Marketing. The same goes for software engineers, advertising professionals, and almost every other current career path. Most likely, our parents and ancestors never even dreamed of the fields their children work in today. 

When it comes to not having a "godfather," the reality is that no one does. We are all truly self-made and deserve a pat on the back every now and then. That being said, it is crucial to keep your head out of the clouds and stay firmly grounded. The higher you rise, the kinder you must become. It is that simple. Otherwise, you will just be remembered as a terrible human being rather than a Vice President or a CEO. 

Circling back to the topic of workplace dating, I have mostly worked with older, balding men and the occasional attractive woman, so I never really had the opportunity to live out those fantasies. More importantly, I am not sure anyone should indulge in romantic relationships with the very person responsible for their performance appraisals and promotion discussions. For me, that is a hard no today, and it will remain a hard no for as long as I am part of the workforce.

Wishing for Ardhanareeswarar: Mothering Through a Father's Absence

My late husband wasn't a hands-on dad. He didn't change diapers, he didn't burp the baby, and he didn't ever attempt to clean or bathe him. While I spent a hazy six months of sleeplessness nursing my newborn, his life went on as always with work and travel. So, when I meet fellow moms who tell me their husbands were—and still are—hands-on with their children, there's obviously a pang I feel in my heart. 

By the time my son, Riaan, was nearing three, my husband was gone, and they had barely any playtime together. I have only one or two random videos of his late father and him playing on the swings and see-saw in our old apartment's park. For the longest time, my child's face would fall when I took him to play gyms and he watched fathers playing with their kids. He would immediately turn around with a heartbroken look on his face and say, "Let's go, maama." 

In those moments, I always wished I could be both sexes at the same time, like Ardhanareeswarar. Whenever I mention that I'm both of his parents now, he says very vehemently, "No, you're not. My father is dead and you don't look like a boy to me." All valid arguments, of course, which is why I attempt to break my back every weekend in play zones doing bumper car rides with him—something I assume his father may have enjoyed indulging him in. 

The guilt that I married a man who died exactly when my child needed him is something that eats me alive every single day. I can never be Riaan's father, however hard I try, and I just hope he doesn't feel the vacuum too much.

The Espresso Tonic Epiphany

As I sipped on a vile, medicinal-tasting, bitter cold coffee beverage named "Espresso Tonic"—which was apparently Instagram-influencer approved—my mind raced down memory lane to when I was a broke student. Back then, I would borrow a few hundred rupees from my parents every week just to blow it at Café Coffee Day and Qwikys, the "it" places for young, cool people to hang out in the early 2000s. 

Those outings were always met with immense parental remorse and infinite lectures, ranging from "Let me just make coffee for you at home" and "Money doesn't grow on trees" to "How can you spend 300 rupees on coffee?!" 

Fast forward to this afternoon. I was sipping an expensive, subpar caffeinated beverage at a young, vibrant coffee pub with one hand, while holding my phone firmly to my ear with the other, listening to my mother complain about my seven-year-old. I cut into the conversation to break the news to her: I am still spending over 300 rupees on terrible-tasting coffee. 

The only difference now is that I have my own spending power but zero friends around, since I was just taking a mid-day office lunch break. 

She chuckled upon hearing this, and I chuckled back. Life truly comes full circle every now and then. Guess what? Mom was right. She—and now I—can indeed make better coffee at home. It is officially time to blow that money on more useless things instead, like Lego blocks and remote-controlled cars. What joy! 

I suddenly realized how many similarities my son and I share. We both never listened to our parents; we are rebels without a cause. I am really hoping he has his own Eureka moment before he hits 40 and realizes that "mom indeed knows best." 

Ah, the beautiful circle of life and parenthood—it simply amazes me.

Shadows at 2 AM

Strange how the torrential rain of pain,

Envelops and reigns

Over my trauma brains. 

At 2 AM dot,

I wake up like I'm shot. 

No bullets to the chest,

Yet I cannot rest. 

The discomfort is unbearable,

My life suddenly unrepairable. 

Rest I must,

For I don't want to turn to dust. 

I must simply accept

All those who've left, and not allow myself to feel so swept. 

For promises without action

Are just that—empty and hollow. I must not have a reaction. 

Strange how the torrential rain of pain,

Envelops and reigns

Over my trauma brains.

The Longest Five Minutes

The most excruciating minutes,

Those last five at work, are what crush your spirit.

Firstly, I don't understand the 9-6 grind;

It's something that will always boggle my mind.

The last time I did this jive,

I was still a little bee coming out of the hive.

Perhaps I'm not a queen yet,

Still, all this A/C-induced sweat

Makes me fret.

I realize I'm not built for the 9-6 grind;

I seek timings that are more kind.

The most excruciating minutes,

Those last five at work, are what crush your spirit.

Returning to the Office: A Warm Homecoming

However cliché it might sound, Indian offices, whether we like it or not, are in fact a home away from home, and our corporate families are exactly that - a family away from the ones we have at home. After two years of remote working, stepping back into the organization that hired me in late 2024 did feel like a homecoming. All my colleagues rushed to greet me, asked me about my son, and wondered what I was doing in the office in the first place.

It was a warm, cozy feeling to know and experience that people had in fact not forgotten me. My floor is lively and vibrant with the constant chattering of people, and I added to the confusion yesterday talking about funky hair colors and tattoos and where to get them.

Daily Vibe Breakdown: 

1)Morning (Until 12:00 PM): Everyone is focused on work.

2)Afternoon (After 12:30 PM): The lunch break sets in.

3)Late Afternoon (3:00 PM): Everyone gets ready to head back home in the next three to four hours.

Despite all the distractions, I was still hyper-focused at work and managed to get a lot more done as opposed to when I work from home, where I have to juggle home responsibilities as well. All in all, it was a memorable day one back at the office for me, and I look forward to the rest of the week going by as peacefully as possible.

Back to the Office: Terrified, Unprepared, and Grilled by My 7-Year-Old

After close to two years of working remotely, I have been called back to the office. I am absolutely terrified. I feel like a five-year-old who forgot to do her homework, knowing both of her principals are waiting at school to give her a lecture. My nervousness is at an all-time high. 

Where will I sit to begin with? Will I be moving from one desk to another like a game of passing the parcel? Furthermore, my office laptop hasn't been connected to the corporate Wi-Fi in almost two years, so how am I even going to work? 

I have passed my fears on to everyone at home. My seven-year-old has been reassuring me, saying, "Nothing will happen to you, mama, don't be scared!" However, he followed that up with unnecessary technical questions about my laptop, asking which processor it uses and the exact model name. When I confirmed that I am not a laptop engineer and haven't bothered to check those details, he tut-tuted, smacked his forehead with his little hands, and said, "How can you be like this, mama?" 

The little boss at home is all set to manage things by himself today alongside his grandmother. Meanwhile, the anxiety in my head is incredibly real. Will anyone want to sit with me during lunchtime? Will the people I met two years ago even remember me? 

I have so many questions, the answers to which I will discover over the course of this week. A very scared remote worker is officially off to the office. Wish me luck!