Not Everyone's Cup of Tea: Turning 40, Talking Loud, and Setting Shit on Fire

I loudly announced to my team this morning during our scrum call that I can't wait to turn 40 in the next six months. My bones are at their creakiest best, my child is at his crankiest, and my back is ready to give up on me any minute now. Yet, "I know what I bring to the table professionally and personally," I loudly declared with both fists up in the air. Everyone sniggered, myself included, and I promptly added, "Too much information, as usual."

I must admit, though, I wasn't this confident even five years ago. That is terrible timing to mention, because that is exactly when my life changed forever. Is it just me, or does every 40-year-old feel the same?

Something about living half your life, witnessing death, and achieving things you thought you never could—such as traveling internationally alone with your child—is probably what gave me this confidence. Or perhaps it's the solo lunch, movie, and shopping dates I've taken myself on. Or maybe it's just the fact that I can pull off any outfit, with or without a food belly.

I'm not exactly able to pinpoint what led to this feeling, but I just feel content with my weird, little, loud self. I've accepted myself with all my quirks, and I accept that not everyone is going to like me. To quote an Instagram caption I read the other day: "You don't have to be everyone's cup of tea. Be gasoline. Set shit on fire."

On that note, I don't even like tea—especially not green tea. I just pretend to like it because I'm middle-aged now and hope to burn off my decadent meals by sipping on it. I'm more of a filter coffee or black coffee drinker. The darker the better—just like my son's humor, which is so dark and twisted that I choke back either laughter or tears listening to him crack jokes.

Almost 40-year-old woman, out!

Sardines, Stage Fright, and Shuttling Home: A Very Indian Thursday

Every year that my child takes the stage, I have more stage fright than he does. My mind is plagued with anxiety and doubt. I constantly question: Will he trip and fall on stage? Will he freeze upon seeing the audience? Will the mic stop working exactly when he has to deliver his dialogue? Will he be so sweaty that he collapses from the heat? 

My fear is valid because that last scenario actually happened earlier this week while he was practicing on stage with his classmates and teachers. So, it was quite natural that I suffered a 24-hour migraine that started at 4:00 AM yesterday morning. My heart was pounding hard in my chest as I dropped him off at the green room and said goodbye. By the end of the evening, though, I sighed a huge sigh of relief. I waved, smiled, and made conversation with his teachers and the mothers of his little friends. 

Perhaps my extreme anxiety and sleep deprivation passed right into my car, because it broke down on the side of the road with my entire family inside. We tried our best to bring it back to life, but to no avail. Finally, we flagged down an auto-rickshaw and stuffed ourselves—two children and three adult women—inside the vehicle. In that moment, we would have put canned sardines and the Mumbai local train's ladies' compartment to shame! 

My very Indian mother managed to scandalise my very NRI nephew a minimum of 100 times during that 45-minute auto ride home, saying, "See Vivi, you're in the middle of a very Indian adventure. You will never forget this holiday of yours!" Being the complete sport that he is, he didn't utter a single complaint. He simply made room for all of us, especially his mother, whom he kept reassuring to sit comfortably. I felt so much pride and joy in that moment, seeing his protective instinct and affection toward his mother. That is one non-indifferent teenage boy with a ton of empathy! 

My son, on the other hand, nattered endlessly and cracked a dozen inappropriate jokes, with each of us taking turns to say, "Please keep quiet, Riaan." 

So, that was my Thursday morning, evening, and night for you. Whew! I'm exhausted just typing all of this out. Thank God it's Friday. I'm all set to wrap up work faster than The Flash today and finally get some sleep!

An Evening of Pride and Promise: Bala Vidya Mandir’s Annual Day

I think it is safe to say that every parent, grandparent, aunt, cousin, and uncle felt a deep sense of pride watching the little monkeys in our family turn into gentlemen and young women for one beautiful evening. Year after year, the annual day function serves as the culmination of the hard work of teachers, the chaotic running around by parents for costume coordination, and, finally, the dedication of our children to put up a show that will be remembered for an entire year—until the next one arrives. 

I know I am doing something right in the world when I see my child take the stage year after year, perfectly performing the part assigned by his diligent teachers. For that one evening, every family member gathered in the hall sings, dances, and claps along with every little one on stage. This country possesses such bright young talent. That is an incredible amount of potential stepping into the world, and I know Bala Vidya Mandir will mould them absolutely right as they transition into future leaders. 

My heartfelt gratitude goes out to every teacher, volunteer, and child for giving us yet another memorable Annual Day. I cannot wait for the next one!

High Stakes and Human Mistakes: Delivering Results as a Mother and a Professional

As a mother and a working professional, there is only one feeling I have from Monday through Sunday—extremely frazzled. Even then, as all working professionals and parents will quickly agree, there are only two aspects of my life that really matter: my son, who is my legacy to the world, and my work, a part of myself that I continuously put out there to contribute to my organisation and, ultimately, society at large. Everything else in between is just fluff. 

How good of a job am I doing as a mother, teammate, peer, and employee? Is my son satisfied with the amount of time I spend with him? Are my bosses happy? Are my peers—both juniors and seniors—able to learn something new from me every day? And am I learning something new from them? Frankly, these are the only things that matter in the grander scheme of things. 

I remember juggling my laptop over advertisement copies while nursing my son in the wee hours of the night, driving myself, him, and perhaps my then employer completely mad. But even as I reached the brink of insanity balancing work and a newborn baby, I ensured that I delivered everywhere. And that is all that matters, folks—delivery. Timely delivery that is accurate and without a single mistake. 

You cannot send organisation-wide emails to over 1,000 employees informing them about a town hall in a 7-star hotel without getting your facts right. And if you do (guilty as charged!), you quickly unsend that email, take ownership of your mistake, and keep moving forward. 

Corporate slave and devoted mommy, out! 

What did you learn today? I would love to know in the comments section below.

To My Safe Space and Sister from Another Mother

My dearest Oishee, 

I have completely lost track of the number of nonsensical voice notes I have sent you over the past two years, which you have always simply understood. You are the first and only person to ping me, whenever I am on leave. We are trauma-bonded, period-bonded, life-bonded, and just truly sisters from different mothers. 

Life without you around in a couple of months is incredibly hard to imagine. Whose brains and WhatsApp screen will I bombard now? I can already feel and see this sudden, looming vacuum once you leave. You are my survival kit and my ultimate safe space whenever my mind wants to flit. How exactly am I supposed to navigate daily life without sniggering and giggling by your side? 

Words are far too small to describe how much I am going to miss you. Rest assured, I will continue to bombard your WhatsApp screen with completely out-of-context messages, which I already know you will understand. 

This is not a goodbye, my Oishee. This is an "I am going to catch a flight to Hyderabad very soon and we are going to have that cocktail" letter. 

Love,

The mad person you have come to know as well as yourself, 

Your Gayatri

Back to the Cubicle: The End of an Era (and the Return of My Sanity!)

The days of remote and hybrid working have come to a full stop, and I've been told to come back to the office. The mom and daughter guilt kicked in hard as I broke the news to my son and my parents. And guess what their reaction was? Utter relief. My mother just grunted and said, "Please go to the office," and my 7-year-old's face lit up so bright he looked like a cross between a Bumblebee and a Cheshire Cat. I burst into laughter. Clearly, no one at home was going to miss me! 

So, off to work I go with my 10,000 multicoloured accessories, high-voltage chattering personality, and a post-lunch tiredness that is going to kick in so hard I'll definitely miss my bed. So that's that—the end of an era of one dreamy way of working. 

I can't say I was the biggest fan of remote working anyway, because I wasn't built to sit quietly at a desk and be hyper-productive. It was very unlike me! No, I've always loved in-office setups because I get to discuss everything and nothing under the sun with all and sundry. What a glorious feeling it is to meet human beings once again and chew their brains off. Ooh, and the sugary coffees—a 10-kilo weight gain, here I come! Bring on the office selfies, office gossip, long strolls post-lunch, and finding out the name of every single receptionist and security guard. 

Wheeeeeee! Life is looking mildly exciting again—like oregano on pepperoni pizza, extra peppers on pongal, and cardamom inside Mutton Biryani.

Moving Past the "Fat Thor" Era: A Fresh Start

Holiday weight, that dreaded stubborn belly fat, and the sudden 2-kilo weight gain that slaps you from simply sniffing a dark chocolate bar. I blame my big brother for looking like Thor from "Avengers: Endgame". He brings too many sweet liquor bottles, gigantic bars of chocolate, and dates of every variety. Evenings fly by in eating and overeating, talking and over-talking. 

No, I cannot look like fat Thor anymore. Instead, I am going to take his mom's advice just before he rushes back to the future with Rocket Raccoon. He hugs her and says, "I love you, Mom," and Frigga, his mom, replies, "I love you. And eat a salad!" right before he calls for his hammer, Mjolnir. 

"Yes, I'm still worthy too," I muttered this morning, quoting Thor again to my Gen Z trainer when she asked, "Are you walking and swimming every day?" The judgmental little thing immediately spotted my liquor, meat, and chocolate belly. 

This stops today! No more heavy food for me from this moment onwards—only smoothies and maybe a piece of dark chocolate. Okay, two, if I have to be realistic. 

"Fat Thor" out!

I've Got This Handled: A Journey Through Loss

Grief is nothing but a celebration of love. The amount I've spoken about my late husband in the past five years with friends—old and new—and family, of course, is endless. From Milo milkshakes to Tumi bags, to all our holidays and every restaurant he ever took me to in my life—everything has been written about, spoken about, and photographed so much that people around me are either tired, amused, or irritated. 

I can't help it though: a) I'm a chatterbox, and b) it was probably a good marriage/relationship, even though we had our share of fights. That one man made me realise I can love fiercely, intensely, and give it my all. All of me truly did love all of him, to quote John Legend. Either he brought out all that love from within me, or I was raised by a suffocatingly loving family—it's a combination of both I guess.

When I think of my late husband, I think of him with love and almost zero hate. In the past five years, I've forgiven him for abruptly dying on me and our son, and in that forgiveness, I've found peace. I wonder which stage of grief I'm in now—perhaps it's acceptance. I'm at peace with having a husband who passed five years ago; I no longer curse him when I have to take decisions alone for my family of two. 

Rest in peace, Poopie. I think I've got this handled—life and motherhood, I mean.

A Parent's Dual Mind

My 48-inch personal photographer had a fainting spell today,

It was enough to take my breath away,

His teacher assured me that he was his usual chatty self,

With a mouth that flaps too much for a little elf,

My brain immediately split in two,

Half at work, half at school, as the panic just grew and grew,

He bounced in at three as usual,

sounding a little too casual about his fall,

His baby ego also took a fall from his lack of body control. 

By evening, the entire day had taken its toll on his little mind,

He turned into a little demon—the screechiest kind,

My 48-inch personal photographer had a fainting spell today,

It was enough to take my breath away.

Post-Vacation Blues and the Laundry Mountain

A relaxing getaway is all well and good for the mind, body, and soul. However, what is not fine is the pile of laundry you bring back at the end of that getaway, which immediately undoes all that relaxation. Four piles of stinky clothes have been washed today from our recent beach vacay, and I am ready to just curl up in bed now and wake up after 100 years.

Of course, I am dreading the Monday morning grind, which is dancing uncomfortably close to my face. I am ready to reload on that holiday now—minus the pile of laundry afterwards. Massive, bittersweet sigh! Why do good things always come to an end? Why did our holiday have to end so fast? Why do we have to wear so many clothes and swimming costumes during the course of the aforementioned holiday?

I am as heartbroken as my 7.5-year-old now. Today definitely feels like the worst day of my life because, from tomorrow, we are both "going back to hell"—his words, which I would like to cut, copy, and paste. He is lying on my bed now with Tiger Balm all over his leg and a gloomy look on his face, gloomier than Doctor Doom, I can assure you.

I look happy on the outside as always (a deep-rooted childhood problem which has no solution, unfortunately), but I am so sad on the inside that I could probably cause volcanic eruptions along the Ring of Fire in the Pacific Ocean, Indonesia, and Iceland. So, that is that. Goodbye, happy vacation; hello, mountains of laundry that just do not seem to end. My washing machine probably wants to slap me now.

Sun, Sand, and Seafood: Our Blissful Escape to Poovar

Beautiful, green, and sultry Poovar is the perfect quick getaway with family if you love seafood, sun, sand, pristine seas, and boat rides. All you can do here is eat, sleep, do a mild amount of sightseeing, and repeat.

Our holiday is coming to a close in less than 24 hours, and my son and I are already feeling the Monday morning blues. We checked in at Isola Di Cocco, a charming Ayurvedic beach resort, late Thursday afternoon. We have been eating, swimming, and sleeping ever since we arrived. The weather makes you want to just snooze because it is burning hot outside.

We indulged in a lovely boat ride around the breezy island of Poovar on Day 2 and visited the stunning Aazimala Shiva Temple on Day 3. Now, it is almost time to head back home. Cue the sad music!

The staff at Isola Di Cocco are warm and friendly. The food is scrumptious, and the pool beckons you after every meal to melt away all those extra calories. I am going back home three kilos heavier in body, but three kilos lighter in spirit. I highly recommend Poovar and Isola Di Cocco for anyone looking for a quick getaway from the mundane Monday-through-Friday drill.

I have lost track of the number of glasses of sweet and salty lime soda I have had, along with Uncle John's ice cream and every variety of fried vegetarian and non-vegetarian delicacy. I am off to sleep now for an hour before my child knocks me on the head with his swimming goggles and drags me back to the pool. Goodnight, everyone! What bliss it is to enjoy heavy afternoon siestas after indulgent seafood meals.

Burp, snore, splash, repeat!