The Loneliest Generation: Degrees, Careers, Vacations and an Aching Void

I think we're the loneliest generation of all the generations that came before us. Let me tell you why.

We have the degrees, the careers and every material asset in the world to make our lives comfortable. We can afford yearly family vacations, tick off our bucket lists and pretty much provide ourselves with everything we need. And yet, we're lonely, empty, hollow and, more often than not, just sad.

I speak only for the singles in the house now when I say there's no shame in admitting that we really miss having a partner to share our already full, busy, exhausting yet occasionally satisfying lives with.

Having grown up watching *Beauty and the Beast* 25 times over and every rom-com imaginable under the sun, meeting emotionally unavailable people came as a rather rude shock to me.

On the surface, they look and sound just like you and me, perhaps. Completely sorted. So sorted that you start opening up to them about everything and nothing. But ask for something real and boom! Watch them vanish faster than Batman having a conversation with Inspector Gordon.

The sad news is that there's no way to determine whether these people are emotionally unavailable after a conversation or two. Weeks, sometimes months, pass by during which you assume you've met someone special and that this is going somewhere. But no. That's only happening in your head.

I think the physical ghosting that my very much alive husband did in death was probably less painful than spending precious hours, weeks and months on someone emotionally unavailable.

In other news, does manifestation work? Because, at this point, I'm certainly looking for a miracle. Every other logical action I've taken towards filling this void doesn't seem to be working.

Why I Would Marry Rocky Randhawa in a Heartbeat

I would marry Rocky Randhawa in a heartbeat. Let me tell you why.

1. He's ridiculously funny (unknowingly, of course) and will keep you giggling endlessly.

2. He will make you a gigantic ghee-laden laddoo for your birthday, stick a candle on it instead of a cake and make the whole occasion feel like the most romantic birthday ever.

3. He will turn up in his flashy red Ferrari, looking like he has driven straight out of a Bollywood fantasy, and make an entrance you won't forget. And when it's your birthday, he'll take you to an antique shop, play an old Mohammed Rafi number on an LP record and serenade you like it's the 1960s.

4. He will love you with all his heart and agree to a three-month arrangement of living as a guest in your parents' home, while you do the same in his. Not just talk about compromise, but actually show up and make an effort.

5. He will propose to you, Bollywood style, and give you the warmest, tightest hugs. Because sometimes, all a girl really wants is someone who isn't afraid to be ridiculously romantic.

Yes, Bollywood, Hollywood and practically every rom-com in the world have ruined 90s girls. Here we are, endlessly swiping left and right, hoping to find a little bit of cinematic magic in this rather uncinematic dating circus.

Unfortunately, Rocky Randhawa only exists in the movies.

Sigh!

All the Cheese and Chocolate in the World Can't Undo Death

As my husband in heaven turns 40 tomorrow, I'm filled with a sadness as deep and well-rounded as the chicken and cheese mixture inside Theobroma's chicken quiche.

And it's a sadness I've lived with for the past five years. I've discovered that all the overwork, cheese and chocolate in the world can't undo death. And that's okay.

The loneliness is so profound that if you dropped a coin into a well filled with croaking frogs, you could hear it clattering all the way down. I am both the well and the coin in this instance.

Time has taught me to understand what my grief triggers are, and I've learnt to simply allow myself to cry it out.

As important dates like this come along, I'm reminded of a man who once loved me deeply and knew me like the back of his hand.

Until we meet again, my dearest Poopie.

My Child Is Ageing in Reverse. I Am Ageing at Double Speed.

Of late, I wonder whether I'm raising an almost 8-year-old or a toddler all over again. The clinging is at its peak. Suddenly, my child cannot bathe without me hovering around like a very unwilling voyeur. The hugs are tighter, more frequent and completely out of the blue.

This morning, I had to spit my coffee back into my mug because he was screaming his head off for a hug. My mornings of late seem to have far too many hours.

By the time I log in to work, my brain is already half-fried, and I can honestly devote only 50% of my intellect to what I'm doing.

I'm so exhausted that even sleep doesn't seem to be working anymore. My child, meanwhile, seems to be ageing in reverse. The clinging is at its peak, the wall-climbing is at Mount Everest peak, and the screams are getting louder – so loud that my senior citizen neighbours must be waking up well before their alarm clocks.

Motherhood: Where Your Biggest Critics Live at Home

Do you know the easiest way to lose your confidence? Make a child. He will ensure you are body-shamed every living second of your life.

"Wow, Mama! Nice round tummy! Jiggly hands also!"

Next, he meets his grandmother after three days, knowing fully well that she's been away for a wedding and has indulged in a little good food.

"Egg, you look like a plum pudding now. What have you been eating?"

We talk about body shaming and how fat is beautiful, but the tiny enemies at home (aka children) waste no time rubbing in the extra flab that may or may not even be visible.

Is he doing this simply because he knows weight is a sensitive topic? Hold up, future daughter-in-law! Give me a couple more years to set him right and educate him about not body-shaming people.

In the meantime, strength-training Gods, I pray to you to make me look like the female version of He-Man.

Monday: 1, Mumma: 0

I had the most unproductive day at work today, and my poor child, who had a rain holiday from school, had to listen to me whining about it all day long. His googly eyes sank deeper and deeper into his face each time he saw a high AI % on the AI detection tool I use.

"It's not your fault, Mumma. It's the tool," he convinced me at the end of the evening. He also gave me plenty of life advice on why I should take a chill pill when it comes to work. Sigh!

I hope I'm not scarring my child's brain with professional trauma. And now I realise why he talks to me like a century-old man without a flowing white beard and with a nice, shiny, hairless head.

Today has officially been the most useless Monday of my life. Was it because I was useless, or was it the tool? I honestly can't say, but I certainly feel pretty useless.

Here's hoping for a better Tuesday.

The Fringe Is Staying. My Eyes Have Other Plans.

I've had a fringe for so long that I've honestly forgotten how long it's been. The first 10–15 years were probably fun. This year, though, it has become painful to maintain because my screen time has substantially increased – on all fronts – and I'm now wearing reading glasses. All that hair falling into my eyes and getting caught against my reading glasses is making them burn.

But I'm too scared to get rid of it because I'll probably look like a cross between a plucked chicken and a very haggard, tired mum of one (that's a true-life horror story right there). So, no on-screen comparisons are required to describe how I'll look.

Also, will I even recognise the person staring back at me from the mirror if I get rid of this two-decade-plus-long extension of my face?

So many unanswered questions, and I'm just not ready to answer them yet.

Oh yes, and adult acne! I have a feeling the fringe is probably contributing to that too. Even then, I'm not ready to part with this bit of my personality.

Tell me, what's one thing about yourself that you're just not ready to part with yet? Drop a comment below and let me know.

Off Carbs, On Sugar and Other Sunday Realities

My Sundays are incomplete without stuffing my face with a solid piece of sugar. Like I always tell one and all, I'm off carbs but very much on sugar, which is the secret behind my potato-self, despite the donkey-load of weight training and cardio that I do.

The whole of Chennai seemed to be inside Phoenix Mall today, especially Punjab Grill and Nasi and Mee. I was craving some Litchi Ki Tehri, but the queue outside Punjab Grill looked worse than a ladies' local train in Bombay. Hard pass!

Next, we tried Ibaco, which looked like every public transport bus in Chennai, with passengers standing haphazardly and rushing to get to places. And the horror of horrors, there was just one server inside the parlour, who was both billing and serving. God bless her soul!

So, the Mini and I decided to settle down at our usual favourite overpriced coffee spot, Starbucks. After pounding down approximately 500 grams of sugar, we were both satisfied.

The Mini kept rubbing my belly today, insisting that it felt like jelly. I was mentally planking in my head already as I single-handedly gobbled down a medium-sized New York cheesecake.

Such a pity that the weekend is coming to a close. Even more pitiful is the fact that I couldn't get my hands on any Litchi Ki Tehri. Luckily, weekends happen every once in five days!

On that note, I'm off to indulge in a quick weekend siesta with some serious sugar dreams.

Good night!

Grief, Old Facebook Memories and the Widow I Never Planned to Be

Grief creeps up on you when you least expect it. Sometimes, on a busy Thursday evening, it comes in the form of an old Facebook memory, and suddenly, you're right back where you started.

I'm once again that angry, shocked, utterly let-down 34-year-old widow who had to grow up overnight and learn to become two people.

My late husband and I decided, together, to bring a baby into this world. And what a joy he is to raise, tantrums and all! But five years later, I'm still disappointed in my career-driven, work-obsessed husband, who chose his laptop over his child. It's a disappointment that death hasn't erased, and perhaps that's something people don't talk about enough. You can grieve someone, miss them and still be angry with them.

I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I get to raise Riaan, watch him grow and witness the fine young man he's turning out to be. I'm glad I get to be there for the little things, the big things, the tantrums, the laughter and everything in between.

The last five years have been the most brutally chaotic and exhausting years of my life. I've had to figure out motherhood, work, grief and an entirely new version of myself, often all at once. And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Perhaps I'm still learning to balance work and life, but I've learnt this much: life, and the tiny human I brought into this world, will always take precedence over a paycheck. No job, no deadline and no career milestone will ever matter more than being present for the people I love.

And yet, all it took was one old Facebook album, a decade old, to turn me back into that heartbroken 34-year-old who had no idea how she was going to put her life back together.

With this piece written, I'm reminded once again that healing isn't linear. We learn to live with the pain, let it wash over us, and somehow find the strength to carry on. Again and again and again. Until, perhaps, one day, the memories stop hurting quite so much, and we find a little peace.

Perhaps I'm still waiting for that day.

Until then, I have my Riaan, a life that's still very much mine to live, and a body that hasn't gone to heaven yet.