Rest Is for the Dead: Own Your Quirks and Live out Loud

You can never be too much for the right person or the right set of people. Take this from someone who is "too much" all the time. I am often told I am like an Energizer Bunny on steroids—but no, sugar is the real key to my happiness. That, plus sugar-free ice cream and the occasional tiramisu, cheesecake, gajar ka halwa, and moong dal halwa.

Be too much at all times. Talk, laugh, and put forth your point of view respectfully. Just be too much! Being sober and calm is for when you are dead—which, practically speaking, is right around the corner.

Be remembered for everything that you are. Honestly, you don’t even have to try that hard. Be kind, listen intently, and answer with empathy. It is really not that difficult.

Definitely avoid gossipmongers and people with no ambition. My hobbies have hobbies, and my job has another job; stay super busy and occupied at all times. Once again, rest is for the dead. You are not dead yet.

If my life had a soundtrack, it would be loud, warm, in-your-face, genuine, and all heart. Any fear I ever had died the day my husband did. I am a completely different person now. I have the wisdom of Chandra from Lokah, the strength of Selene from Underworld, and the political incorrectness of Deadpool.

Mind you, I was always this person. It just got heightened by the confidence of raising a child single-handedly—with the support of my very able backup squad, of course—alongside juggling my professional responsibilities.

Be unapologetic, own all your quirks, and head into the world with utter confidence. You don’t have to fake it till you make it. You have already made it. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you are good to go for the rest of your life.

Over-Enthusiastic Cutlet: A 39-and-a-Half-Year-Old’s Guide to Lifting and Defeat

I experienced lifting fatigue today. I've been going crazy with weights for the past couple of weeks and decided to push myself up a notch on Tuesday. My "old lady bones" protested—and how! Shoulder blade pain, neck pain, back pain, and parts of my body that ideally shouldn't hurt began to ache.

This is what happens when you are over-enthusiastic in life. If enthusiasm were a cutlet, I'd be a giant one, deep-fried many times over. The lesson I learned over the past three days: never take your body for granted.

You can push yourself only up to a point. Beyond that point, remember you're not Hercules, He-Man, or whichever hulky "He's" exist in the world (ooh, Hulk! I just remembered him because I wrote "hulky"). 

As I was saying: breathe, marvel at what you can do, but pushing on a day when you've already pushed yourself is probably not the greatest idea. Today, I didn't even look at my higher weights. I just stuck to the humble 2 kilos in both hands and accepted both the pain and the defeat.

At the end of my workout, my trainer lectured me for 15 solid minutes on the evils of eating Rajaram's Butter Murukku every evening to satiate my soul. I looked at her the way Skeletor would look at Evil-Lyn. She was my Evil-Lyn in that moment, and this Skeletor wasn't laughing—no, I was huffing and panting instead.

At 39 and a half years old, a mother to a 7 and a half year old, and definitely perimenopausal, perhaps I shouldn't behave like a 21-year-old when it comes to my workouts. To quote Barnabas Collins—the 200-year-old vampire played by Johnny Depp in Dark Shadows: "You must put those birthing hips to good use at once... lest your womb shrivel up and die." And, "She has the most fertile birthing hips I have ever laid eyes upon."

So yes, my hips have been put to use, and my womb is probably shrivelled up and dead.

Keeping all these very accurate facts in mind, it's time to behave less like all the aforementioned "He's" and start acting like a very, very tired "she."

And that brings an end to my bodily rants. Over-enthusiastic cutlet, out!

Ho-Ho-Ho and Dry Eyes Go

Eyes so scratchy and dry,

Even my tears can't undo this, if I cry,

In my head, I am sixteen,

But my eyes say I am closer to sixty,

"It is perfectly normal,"

Said my ophthalmologist, with an explanation so phenomenal,

So I am going to take it,

As a life well-lived, almost a super-hit,

I say "almost" because I am not sixty yet,

I still have a couple of decades in me, I bet,

Staring at screens during work and play,

Has finally led to this day,

It is okay, it is alright,

I don't see this as a plight,

Eye drops are the way we go,

And we continue to sing, "Ho-ho-ho!"

Eyes so scratchy and dry,

Even my tears can't undo this, if I cry. 

In a Fragile World, Choose Friendship (And a Good Mid-Week Read!)

There is a lot to learn from childhood friendships, and my biggest living example is my son and his best friend, Agu. Whatever the season, whichever the class, and irrespective of teacher changes or the addition of new friends, Riaan has never let Agu slip away. Their love for one another is unconditional. They stand up for each other, fight for and against each other, love each other, and are deeply loyal to their friendship. Not one bad word can be uttered in front of Riaan about Agu, or in front of Agu about Riaan. There is no room for parents to scold either of these children in front of the other without being called "evil" and "bad."

Life is full of changes, but having that one person to hold onto for the rest of your life is everything. There are massive lessons of loyalty, friendship, and love that we can learn from these boys. I hope their friendship never ends, and that they grow up to talk about future heartbreaks, marriages, jobs, and everything in between. I hope they always remain each other's safe space and sounding board. In a world filled with uncertainty and fragility, choose to be like Agu and Riaan.

On that note, my new book, "The Story of One Single Mom and Her Backup Squad," features a poem about Riaan and Agasthya's four-year-long friendship. Do pick it up and read it if you are a parent, a boy mom, or if you just want a mid-week laugh!

The links to purchase my book for Indian and international readers are below:

Amazon India: https://amzn.in/d/075flTXm

Amazon US: https://a.co/d/0bVbTKVs

Amazon UK: https://amzn.eu/d/0c38jlyf

Notion Press: https://notionpress.com/in/read/the-story-of-one-single-mom-and-her-backup-squad

Flipkart: https://www.flipkart.com/story-one-single-mom-her-backupsquad/p/itm748b32e22b9fb

Keeping Arkham at Bay: The High Stakes of Emotional Regulation

It is so important to be emotionally regulated at all times. The demons inside your head must remain only in your head. Contain them and make them battle it out with each other until they see sense, so that you do not blurt out utter rubbish to friends and family.

It is amazing how much mental clarity I have now, after spewing hormonal period rage at everyone for a week. It was not one of my finest moments, and even chocolate did not help. It was pain-induced anger—anger that showed its face because I lost control of my body. But that was my emotionally dysregulated moment for the month, and I have no excuses. I was like the little green devil from the Onida TV advertisement, only more red than green because I was snappy and far less cheerful than that little demon.

Emotional regulation is the only way you can move forward in peace with society at large. That garish thought of dumping someone inside a lava-filled mountain should only remain within the confines of your brain. Ideally, all your thoughts should remain inside your brain, unless you want to be thrown into Arkham Asylum like the Joker. And remember, there may be no sexy Harley Quinn to fall in love with you while treating you. No, those lovely things only happen in the movies. On that note, I wish I could recreate that "falling into the vat" scene straight into the Joker's hands. Sigh! I digress.

Going back to emotional regulation now: be regulated, boys and girls, at all times. It is the sane and mature thing to do. Take this advice from someone who has mostly remained insane and done only nutty things in life, such as eating five boxes of Cadbury's Nutties in one sitting. 

Okay, let me stop clowning around now. Stay emotionally regulated. Stat!

My Drama, But Worse

Tiny tongues worse than blades,

Then the adage rings true: call a spade a spade.

It's your tongue,

Placed in your little one, who swings verbal cow-dung.

A temper worse than yours,

Ready to slam doors.

You've created a mini-you,

And you understand him through and through.

Your drama, but worse,

Your overthinking, but in tumbling verse.

What have you created?

This was the bean for whom you waited,

Almost an eternity for,

But now he just wants to stare at you and roar.

Tiny tongues worse than blades,

Then the adage rings true: call a spade a spade.

Out of Office (In My Mind)

It's Monday morning,

Not sure about you, but my brain is hemorrhaging.

New tasks, fresh targets,

My mind is already on a different orbit.

Week one will definitely be crazy,

There is absolutely no time to be lazy.

Although my mind is already in Bali,

All set for a sunny beach rally,

Sipping on tropical Mai Thais,

Underneath those clear blue skies.

Ready to snore loudly and sleep,

While my brain at present still weeps.

Yes, that's a dream for another day,

Working for a future that leads that way.

But for now, it's still Monday morning,

Not sure about you, but my brain is hemorrhaging.

The Tiramisu Philosophy: Finding Peace in a World of Expectations

Releasing the weight of expectations and simply accepting things as they are—starting with people, food, and situations—can save you a lot of heartburn. Simply live in the moment. If it is meant to be, it will be; otherwise, allow it to fade away like a beautiful memory. Once again, this is applicable to people, food, and situations.

It took me exactly three years, give or take, for this wisdom to dawn on me. I realized that self-peace and contentment from the inside are the only things that can propel you forward every day.

Be the jiggly, comforting Tiramisu that you are, with the occasional crunchy ladyfinger. The right audience will subscribe to your crazy brain juice and stay. The rest will automatically filter themselves out, for Tiramisu is not for everyone—especially not for weight watchers and people with diabetes. 

You are a well-appreciated bowl or jar of Tiramisu to some people. Stick to those people and, as always, do not chase. Remain steady and calm, and top your bowl with an occasional flash of espresso.

Tiramisu, out! 

When the Grief is Griefing and the Gaajar Halwa Rules

I’ve been feeling particularly griefy this weekend, and I can’t really pinpoint why. It’s a constant, nagging feeling in the back of my brain, asking me, "Hello, is it me you’re looking for?" And I’m replying with Adele’s, "Never mind, I’ll find someone like you. I wish nothing but the best for you, too. Don’t forget me, I beg. I remember you said, 'Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead. Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.'"

As one part of my irrational, emotional brain deals with the other griefy bits, the rational side pops out and says, "Girl, that ain’t you. Your husband is dead. You don’t have an ex who dumped you in cinematic movie style. Stop being dramatic now. Go stuff your face with sugar NOW!"

As always, I obeyed the rational side with utter discipline. I bought myself a 250-gram pack of Gaajar Halwa from Shree Mithai and pretended to share it with Mom. After I inhaled my share of the Gaajar Halwa, I stared so much at Mom’s bowl that she finally gave up. So, I ate her share and mine, and then knocked off to sleep in a Gaajar Halwa-induced, comatose state.

I woke up abruptly, still feeling tired, but decided to finish watching Project Hail Mary with my chimp. He was more impatient this time around and kept fidgeting next to me, walking away, and asking ten more questions along with his usual 10,000. We managed to finish the movie somehow, but my face looked like I'd been hit by a tsunami.

Yep, this weekend the grief is griefing, and I have no idea why. So, I’m just going to hold my broken heart and watch it self-combust until the point it says, "Yes, I’m done now. Let’s go back to the land of the living, shall we?"

A Cinematic Space Odyssey with Heart

Ryan Gosling is a man who simply refuses to age, and he takes on stellar scripts one after the other—Project Hail Mary being no different. His onscreen hesitancy to go into space, his deep bond with the alien he names "Rocky," and finally, the pure joy on his face as he became a teacher on Rocky’s home planet were all powerfully felt.

What made the movie even more special was my seven-year-old keenly following scene after scene, asking questions and fully engaging with the story. His sharp mind instantly reminded me of his late father's, and I shed a tear or two of pride.

People can be completely unpredictable, not just onscreen, but in real life too. Always expect the unexpected and, most importantly, expect nothing from anyone—even if they promise you the moon. The hurt might momentarily leave you feeling messed up, but there is usually some unforeseen reason it didn't work out. Years later, when you look back on a connection that failed, you will likely thank the universe that it didn't.

Therefore, much like Ryan Gosling’s character, Dr. Grace, let's fight the good fight and try to save the world without getting overly attached or expecting too much from people. It is the only way to stay sane and keep moving forward.

Image source - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_Hail_Mary_%28film%29

Inside the Pressure Cooker: A Story of Grief, Overwork, and Sambar Vegetables

Grief and overwork go hand in hand. I say this with utter confidence because that is exactly how I have been living my life for the past five years. The notion of slowing down and trying to achieve a work-life balance is a joke to me; there is only work, and life just drags along parallel to it.

My first true jolt came in the summer of 2023—or was it 2024? I fail to remember now. I was hospitalised for severe breathlessness. The problem is that I have always loved my work. Across different organisations, I have poured so much of myself into my career that I have had nothing left to pour into myself or anyone else.As I lay on that hospital bed, looking at the petrified face of my four-year-old son, reality hit me. I realised I needed to prioritise him over any other passion or interest, starting with my career. Looking into his scared little eyes, I swore to myself that I would slow down.

Fast forward to right now: I do not think I actually have slowed down. While I have not been hospitalised for breathlessness again, my PCOD is completely out of control. My quarterly scans and blood tests happen like clockwork. Of course, it is all stress-induced.

My son’s life is equally stressful. At just seven years old, he faces monthly tests and daily homework. Our household has become a pressure cooker of daily, monthly, and yearly ambitions. He and I are like a medley of sambar vegetables—carrots, potatoes, onions, brinjal, and drumsticks—bubbling furiously next to each other inside the pot. We have not found our calming idli or dosa yet (pun fully intended, wink wink).

Because of this, I sadly feel like I have failed as a mother. My son has grown up watching a high-cortisol mother, and he has mirrored that exact trait. At this point, I am ready to try anything with him to blow off some steam and completely forget about work.

Our options are down to three choices:

A)Drowning ourselves in a swimming pool overflowing with hot chocolate (How many years have I thrown this wish out into the world? Do you even exist, Mr. Willy Wonka?).

B)Going to meditation classes (Cue the sniggering; two absolute chatterboxes going to meditation? Good luck to us and the rest of the class).

C)Enrolling in Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) to punch the life out of a punching bag, or whatever it is they do there.

And that is my story of overcoming grief—truth be told, I probably never did.