A Miniature Mass Hero is Born

My not-so-tiny baby decided to be a mass entertainer yesterday, following in the footsteps of Thala, Thalapathy, and Thalaivar. It started just as he was walking out of the door for school, right after creating his usual havoc at home. I looked at him and said, "Take your naughtiness elsewhere. You have no idea how nasty I was as a child."

To this, he turned around, scrunched up his eyebrows, and looked like a cross between the Chucky doll and the evil kid from The Omen and instantly replied, "I know, Maamaa. I can tell by your face that you were much more evil than me as a child." Before I could catch my breath and process his words, he ran down the stairs like an evil baby ghost, humming a strange tune. 

The next set of incidents happened at the eye hospital. I had to visit yesterday evening because I have been having difficulty reading lately, along with a splitting migraine. This was where my child really upped his game. From the nurses and the doctor to the fish swimming in the tank, he had everyone in his pocket with his constant chatter. All I could hear was the loud chuckling of various women across age groups, with my child right at the centre of it all.

Occasionally, he would walk over to kiss me and pet me on the head as if I were his pet hamster or puppy. He would whisper, "Are you okay, Maamaa? Do your dilated eyes hurt?"

Of course, the sweetness vanished when he called me "an old 50-year-old hag" while I tried on various frames. I was trying to place an order for my very first pair of prescription glasses. Cue the sound of my heart breaking so loudly that it could cause either a nationwide earthquake or a tsunami.

After 39 years and 5 months, I was finally going to wear glasses. Sigh! My body is slowly and steadily giving up on me. To wash this tragic feeling down, I made my mother buy me Sambar Vada and filter coffee at Vishranthi in Besant Nagar.

I felt much better as I ate my food. However, I felt even better finishing my son's poori and aloo with coconut chutney. Slurp! Thank God for good food—the instant saviour of life's various disappointments.

Beyond Porotta and Chicken Fry: A Culinary Journey Back to my Ammumma’s Kitchen

As a Malayalee settled in Chennai for close to three decades, I constantly miss the food from my late grandmother's kitchen. I long for the mild, coconut milk-infused fish gravies, the appams, porottas, pappadams, puttu, kadala curry, and parippu. I searched long and hard for authentic Malayalee food in Chennai, and Kappa Chakka Kandhari finally answered all my cravings.

One bite of their appam with fish moilee, and I was transported right back to my ammumma's house in Trivandrum. I felt like a fat five-year-old child again, greedily gulping down food at her dining table morning, noon, and night. It almost felt as though Ammumma were sitting right there, watching me eat with her serene smile. There were definitely tears of joy in my eyes, but I was too busy feeding both myself and my child to wipe them away.

The restaurant offers unique starters, main courses, and desserts, such as the Jackfruit Cutlet, Kandhari ice cream, and fried Pathiri. I was educated on the sheer variety of our cuisine right there at the table by both our enthusiastic, chatty waitress and my mother. I had no idea Malayalee food was so vast. There is a whole world outside of Kerala porotta and Naadan Chicken Fry, and I am only too happy to keep exploring it.

By the time we ended our meal with our ice cream desserts, the friendly waitress brought our bill. I greedily asked her to pack two portions of palada payasam. She chuckled and quickly obliged, updating our bill with the added items.

I went home with a nostalgia-filled heart and a very happy tummy. After a beautiful afternoon siesta, I woke up and drank 450ml of the palada payasam. I did give 50ml to my mum, though. Of course I share food—I'm not an animal!

If you are a Malayalee like me searching for an authentic, home-cooked meal, do head to Kappa Chakka Kandhari in Bangalore or Chennai. You will not be disappointed.

Juggling Act: Why Filling My Own Cup Makes Me a Better Mother

I was having a conversation with my mum yesterday morning about why she chose to stop writing. She writes beautifully—much better than me—and her articles have been published now and then in Army magazines. "So why didn't you pursue this hobby, Ma?" I asked. To which she replied with a shrug. She chose not to be a doctor to grow her family, and she chose not to continue her teaching career because it was hard for her to settle down in one city, all thanks to Daddy's Army career.

That generation has sacrificed and sacrificed. She lets my son and me watch TV the minute we are in her house, and she lets me eat the last scoop of chocolate ice cream, even though she is fond of it. I wonder how they did it, because I can't even share a cookie with my son. I get three cookies—two for him and one for me—each time I place a Zomato order. Our food fights turn ugly when he pokes his spoon and face into my share of food. My mother, on the other hand, magnanimously doles out all the food on her plate. He promptly butters her up and says, "This is why I love my Egg more than you, Mum. She always shares her food with me. She's not selfish like you," he says, with food smeared all over his face and chest.

I'm okay with being selfish, because in that selfishness, I find happiness. And a happy mother leads to a happy child. I will never stop pursuing my hobbies, career, and anything else that catches my fancy just because I have a child. I believe that a child who sees his mother or father going out into the world and living out their dreams will hopefully do the same.

Make no mistake when I say this: I have no disrespect for that entire generation of self-sacrificing women, and perhaps there are still some left in my generation. But I will never suffocate myself and stop being who I am simply because I have the responsibilities of being a mother. I am capable of juggling both and will continue to do so. If that means I sleep in a little late over the weekends while my son spends time with his grandparents, so be it. A well-rested mother can deliver a happy weekend to her child. To juggle our passions along with the responsibilities of parenthood is the only way a family can truly be a satisfied and happy unit.

Sunday Vibes: High Energy, Low Sleep, and Blueberry Cheesecake

You know you're an old, perimenopausal hag when you wake up on a Sunday morning by 1:45 AM and can't go back to sleep. This happened because I napped in the afternoon and I'm over-excited about my morning swim. Also, in general, I have zero chill in life.

Why take drugs when you can have me as your friend? My brain is always buzzing, and I'll get you high on my thoughts too. You're welcome! All friendships across ages, genders, and communities are welcome—as long as you are a kind person who feeds me blueberry cheesecake now and then. Thank you.

My perimenopausal brain is hard at work, and I'm just going to own it. Zero cribbing today because it's Sunday! I get to sniff my son's armpits all day and have his toy cars run all over my face and hair. What joy! 

Onwards and upwards to my sleep-deprived Sunday. What kind of Sunday are you having today? Want to catch up for black coffee followed by a huge slice of cheesecake?

Suriya’s Epic Return: The Ultimate Masala Entertainer

A beautiful masala movie directed by RJ Balaji, starring the one and only Suriya. He was every college-going girl's heartthrob at one point. My earliest memory of Suriya is in Kaakha Kaakha, where he plays a daring policeman. 

I remember watching that movie at Mayajaal late at night with my brother and mom. As we munched on bread omelettes outside the IIT Madras campus at midnight, all I could think about was Suriya. 

Years later, I saw him at my college, standing in an atrium with thousands of teenage girls looking at him and screaming their guts out. I was the loudest teenage girl in that group!

What a wholesome mass entertainer with Suriya at the helm after ages. I absolutely loved it. It made me want to dance, travel to Madurai to learn the history of local deities, and it made me want to become a lawyer all over again. 

I highly recommend this movie to Suriya fans—you will not be disappointed.

Bombay Nights, Midnight Parties, and the Friend I Didn't Know I Needed

There was an outpouring of love this morning from all quarters after I posted and blogged about my late husband. I received so many "How are you?" messages that I felt absolutely touched. The world is indeed full of kind and wonderful people.

One among them who reached out was Tasneem, my colleague from Adfactors Bombay back in 2016. She was the sweetest thing—small, petite, and with the most generous heart. In fact, I once had an entire litre of Sheer Khurma, all thanks to her. She was also my neighbour in Kandivali, and we shared a cab on most days.

For whatever reason—consider it the immaturity of a brash 30-something, or perhaps I was just a much meaner person then—I just couldn’t get along very well with Tasneem. Clearly, I was the toxic one in that friendship. Yet, Tasneem kept in touch with me over the years. Every time she reaches out, I feel like that young 30-something all over again, living in Bombay and attending house parties until 3 AM. Living in Bombay and partying with my Adfactors colleagues until the wee hours of the morning was clearly the highlight of my youth and the best time of my life.

Each one of us in that gang was unique in our own way. We all had smart-talking mouths, were street-savvy, and were figuring out the Bombay media landscape for our roster of clients.

I apologised to Tasneem this morning when she messaged me, saying, "I’m so proud of you, Gayatri." If that right there is not true love, I really don’t know what is. I am blessed to have such wonderful friends and colleagues in my life, with Tasneem, of course, being one of them. Thank you, Tasneem, for always reaching out and always saying something wonderfully nice to me. I love you.

Three Feet in Time: An 18th Poopieversary Note

It was 3:45 AM when I distinctly had a vision of my late husband. He was dressed all in black with a pensive look on his face, holding his guitar and creating a new composition while standing in the music room of our sprawling 3BHK house in Powai. It was almost like he was telling me telepathically, “Slow down, Poopie. Your right knee is creaky—look after that. Don’t go crazy juggling Riaan’s after-school activities and work. Take a chill pill.”

Had he been alive, I’m pretty sure he would have just said, “I don’t know. Just figure it out, Poopie.” But perhaps dead Poopie is a saint now? Or is it just in my head?

My knee does creak by the way. It started last Sunday right in the middle of watching He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. As I was texting someone last evening, I’m an "old lady pants" now—who doesn’t actually wear pants because it’s too hot in Chennai.

Coming back to my late husband: today is 12th June 2026. We met exactly 18 years ago in the summer of 2008. No wonder I’m dreaming of him. The dead never leave us, do they? They’re tricky that way. We’re always one foot in the future, one in the present, and one in the past. We are three people all at the same time. By "we," I mean people who are experiencing loss and have more or less navigated the grief-monster with our fair share of cuts and bruises—both visible and invisible to the world.

I guess I’ve moved some figurative mountains since my husband passed, and I’ve lost track of how many because time is a blur to me. There are the daily deliverables of work and school. There is the constant life crisis of whether my child will be a homeless bum by 25 or if he’ll figure his shit out and get it together in school (he’s only in second standard by the way, so someone can whack me now; I’ll accept it). Then, there is the larger life crisis of what I’ll do once he goes to college. Should I get a superbike and ride all over the world, or should I invest in a very fancy old age home with a swimming pool and a badminton court so that I can continue being a small potato at home?

The questions are infinite, and the answers will only come slowly and steadily with the passage of time.

For now, yes, Poopie, I still remember you. You don’t have to look pensive and pass on telepathic messages to me. On that note, your back was already creaky five years ago, so my creaky knee is quite justified at almost 40, thank you very much. Shove some melody inside your son’s brains as well. The musical genius in him has still not awakened, and I’m tone-deaf, as you well know.

Happy 18th Poopieversary, my dearest Poopie. Riaan and I love and miss you. Well, I definitely do. For Riaan, you are sadly just a figment of his imagination, but he’s getting to know you with time.

Of Muses, Music, and Unfulfilled Desires

Music and food are my core memories. There are certain songs that instantly remind my son and me of his late father. John Legend's "All of Me" is one of them. He would play this song on repeat, chuckle, and say, "Did you know he was a management consultant too, just like me? He quit very early, though, to become a musician. I want to follow in his footsteps, Poopie."

In hindsight, I wish he had. He might still be alive today. If he had, I could have worn tiny bikinis and danced around in front of him while he made romantic, best-selling music videos. I digress, though; those are just my fantasies.

My late husband's original compositions were far from romantic, and they definitely gave me palpitations on stressful days. In fact, he composed a track for me titled "Poopie Monster." I have no idea where he saved it on his devices, so it is lost forever. I was someone's musical muse. What a pity it is that I don't even remember the melody anymore.

My late husband's life is a classic example of unfulfilled desires. We take for granted the time we have on Earth, pushing our deepest wishes to another day. But that day may never come. That is why it is so important to grab that superbike, be loud and screechy, and just be your authentic self—today and every day.

I definitely don't want to die young, nor do I want to die without living out all my deep, dark desires. I want to start by swimming in a pool filled with gooey chocolate sauce, drinking it now and then between laps. Can Willy Wonka hear me now?

So, go be a musician, drown yourself in a pool of chocolate, or do whatever it is that you truly want to do. Life is unpredictable. Absolutely nothing is in our control except for right now. Live in the moment—vicariously, fully, and wholeheartedly.

Conquering the Mid-Week Chaos

There are no more blues by mid-week because you've re-learnt to navigate the chaos from Monday. It's amazing how adaptable the human mind and body are. From eating 1.5 cheesecakes and way too many carbs over the weekend to suddenly shifting gears on Monday, it's an absolute jolt to the system. But it is a jolt we're all used to by now—until next Monday comes along.

The early morning and late-night tantrums paired with office work, sports, and school homework can drag anyone down. But not on a Wednesday. Today, we will not allow tiny humans at home and humans at work to fluster you. Today, you're a master of the routine. You've got this. Every file at work, every morsel of food to be prepared for school, post-school, and bedtime—it is all under control.

The finish line is almost close. The weekend plan is all set. The oil in your hair has all settled in for a beauty bath. The deep dark circles that make you look like the Corpse Bride still remain on your face despite the watermelon eye patches. But hey, you can't win them all.

To more Wonder Wednesdays! May we continue to conquer what's left of the week. As always, for any meltdowns, reach out for Moong dal halwa or sugar-free ice cream. They are extremely unhealthy yet wholesome options for the mind and body.

The Power of Emotional Support Mushrooms

My 7-year-old hugs a smiley-faced mushroom to sleep every night. His eyes and mouth close the moment the mushroom is tucked next to his chest. That stuffed toy has made bedtime so much easier and faster.

Emotional support mushrooms—we all need them, especially as adults. I vent all day and night until kingdom come to a few select human beings every day, and it makes my brain and heart feel so light. 

There is no shame in trying to heal with the help of your emotional support humans. We are social animals, and occasionally, our batteries need recharging. I recharge mine on a daily basis; until all the toxins are out of my engine, I keep whining. The moment that process is complete, I feel ready to get going again.

Emotional support mushrooms—may we all have at least three to five of them in our lives.

Eternia on the Big Screen: A Nostalgic Review of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe

My earliest memories of He-Man and Skeletor trace back to my grandfather’s bedroom during the summers of 1992 onwards. Back then, my Barbie dolls were vigorously attacked and "murdered" by GI Joe soldiers in various camps—on a boat inside a bucket full of water, or in a bunker with bombs and guns. He-Man, Skeletor, and Ram Man would often join the GI crew to mutilate enemy dolls.

I wasn't upset, as I loved mutilating my dolls, too. Annabelle would have run away from me at age five. Beheading my dolls and drawing on heavy makeup until they looked like Heath Ledger's Joker was my one and only job. Watching that chaotic battleground alongside two 12-year-old boys making battle noises was fascinating. I was always conflicted between killing my Barbies alongside the action figures or standing inside the bucket of water with the GI Joe figure on the boat. What tempting options!

Surprisingly, I simply sat and gaped at my brothers as they caused mass destruction, realizing what I'd been missing out on all my life. The destruction I was causing was apparently too tame. There was a whole other world of chaos that I was yet to discover and master.

The first time I saw biceps and biscuits for abs was on He-Man's plastic body. His haircut looked just like my mother's. He looked very interesting and immediately caught my attention. Skeletor looked equally fascinating with his skull for a face. What sorcery was this? Which magical land had I been transformed into?

All my childhood questions were answered in the new He-Man and the Masters of the Universe film. In the first ten seconds of looking at He-Man (Nicholas Galitzine) and his handsome face covered by a blonde bob haircut, I knew exactly why I was fascinated with long-haired men throughout my teenage years. What a gorgeous soundtrack the movie had, and Eternia along with Castle Grayskull looked so familiar to me, like I had grown up watching them all my life.

I can only imagine how emotional the boys who played with He-Man action figures would have been throughout the movie. Even I shed a tear when young Prince Adam saw his parents being dragged away by Skeletor, and I laughed as he explained his childhood to his Hinge date, who ghosted him the minute he finished talking about his home.

I could relate to He-Man in a way that only a girl with two young brothers could. The movie is an absolute must-watch for He-Man lovers and for those who cheered on their He-Man lovers. You'll feel right at home, and you'll laugh and cry along with He-Man and Skeletor. What a funny villain indeed! Watching Skeletor and all his hilarious antics was definitely the icing on the cake of this movie.

I rate He-Man and the Masters of the Universe 5 stars!