The Year of the Septum Ring and Other Unfortunate Decisions

2026 — the year I tried my hand at a WHOLE bunch of things, including a fake septum piercing inspired by Chandra from "Lokah". And let me tell you, it failed spectacularly because every time I bent down to eat, the damn ring would fall inside my food. And that was that. Oh, and it was itchy.

In the battle between looking like a sexy wannabe vampire and eating food, I obviously chose food. Priorities, people. Priorities.

Other than my fashion bloopers, I also flung my heart wide open to the whole world, on all fronts. And apparently, I'm a bundle of joy. What a joy to know that! But let me reassure you, at this point, there is no joy. There is only a bundle. Two, in fact — my child and me.

2026 has been a year of greater acceptance and more overwork than any other year I've known. And now, my bones are officially broken. I'm not even kidding. I wake up like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame most mornings. Doesn't help that my child thinks I'm Vikram to his Betaal, because all he wants to do is jump on me from every possible angle — off the bed, midway through climbing a doorframe, from below the waist... the permutations and combinations are endless.

At this point, I've decided to be a small potato for the rest of the year and simply vegetate through these endless months of pouring rain. No adventures, no experiments, no pretending to be a vampire. Just me, my food, and a whole lot of doing absolutely nothing.

Tell me, how has 2026 been for you? What were your happiest and saddest moments? The highs, the lows, the unexpected plot twists — tell me everything in the comments below. 

My Face Has Officially Joined The Conjuring Universe

I absolutely hate, loathe and despise the monsoons in Chennai. Some days, I can barely walk, I have to abandon swimming completely, and my entire face starts attacking me from the inside with its never-ending flow of mucus. It's a complete nightmare! Worse than a scene from "The Conjuring" series.

My face becomes my very own Valak, scaring the bejesus out of me.

Take this morning, for example. I worked for an hour and then spent the next two holding my head because it felt like there was a gigantic, mouldy rock lodged inside my skull. All thanks to the never-ending flow of mucus, resembling lava bubbling away inside an ancient mountain. There were stars dancing around my eyes, too, and I couldn't figure out what was happening. Had my BP shot up? Was I hungry? Did I need to get my eyes checked again?

Ugh! Disgusting! The weather and the insides of my face. Both deserve to be reported to the authorities.

I'd like this weather to officially resign from planet Earth. Alternatively, I might have to resign my sanity. At this point, both options seem equally reasonable.

I've never drunk so much hot water in my entire life, and steam inhalations don't seem to be doing a thing. I'm avoiding tablets at all costs, and ooh, suddenly I'm wondering whether I should drink more lime juice. Would that help, I wonder?

Or perhaps I should just find a priest, a very powerful exorcist and a one-way ticket out of Chennai until the monsoons decide to get their act together.

All That Exercise for All That Eating

Honestly, considering the amount of food I eat, it's no wonder my personal trainer quit on me. One intense hour of weight training later (in fact, right in the middle of the workout), I'm dreaming of ghee-doused pongal topped with big, fat cashew nuts. Ooh, pongal, my dear old friend, whom I haven't eaten in countless months!

No. Instead, I did breath-stopping floor exercises this morning and then ran to the café inside my colony and stuffed my face with toasted carbs, buttery carbs and a laughable amount of protein.

Yes, I can never stop working out for the rest of my life. This is confirmed. I probably have an eating disorder as well — this is also confirmed, because I go through phases of starvation followed by mountains of food. So much food that it would put a sumo wrestler to shame.

It's a struggle all around: my love of food on one side and the heart-attack-inducing floor and strength-training workouts on the other.

I'll probably go for an evening walk today and hopefully not stumble into the Sri Krishna Sweets inside my colony to wash down all that exercise with some more food. Can't make any promises, though!

We Will Work for Food (And the Occasional Chocolate Cookie)

What happens when a rebellious child is forced to conform to rules from the 1800s? She whines, because she loves her food at the end of the day. And no money means no food.

In the words of my 8-year-old, when I asked him if I could sit at home and stare at his pretty little face all day long, he replied without missing a beat, “That would be lovely, Mum. But we'd surely die of hungervation, not starvation.”

Food is very important in my household. Food of all varieties, mind you — nutritious, junk, fibrous, sugary, cheesy and the mundane.

So, I think my son and I have our priorities right, which is: “We will work for food.”

This juicy, decadent, chocolatey goodness pictured here is what is keeping me from falling asleep today. What's to like about working days, honestly? Dressing up? Battling the rain? The traffic? No, no and no.

It's sugar in all its varieties — sugar-free, full-sugar, milky and decadent chocolate. Or, in other words, filter coffee with no sugar, accompanied by a dark chocolate cookie.

And that's a wrap on gloomy Wednesdays. I saved mine with a cookie. What are you planning to do?

A Mother’s Love, a Pile of Food, and a Midlife Crisis

Mothers, am I right?

Two kilos plus from all the kunafa chocolate stuffing, and she says, “You look lovely.” Turning 40 in exactly three months, and she says, “You’re still 39.”

Happy, sad, depressed, suicidally depressed — whatever the mood, mine just sits in front of me with a pile of food and listens to me rant.

And of late, I’ve become a big pile of whine. It’s not pretty. There’s a problem with everything, and I’m probably in the middle of a midlife crisis, a mental breakdown, or both.

But I’m done. I want to shut down from everything and take one nice, long nap. I want to wake up and do absolutely nothing all day, except swim, eat, sleep, and repeat.

There’s a soul-level exhaustion that even an entire bar of kunafa chocolate isn’t able to get rid of.

I want to sleep for 48 hours straight. Wake up, and go back to sleep again.

Enough is enough! I’m done.

The Almost-40 Crisis: Where Are My Superpowers?

Almost 40, and I feel like I'm still searching for my sword of power and my He-Man transformation moment.

To begin with, my mind and body seem to be giving up on me. Sinus attacks once every two weeks, sad, mopey thoughts almost every day, until I stuff my face with something deep-fried or sugar-coated.

I'm on a mini-vacation in Dubai with my brother and his family, and I'm in the middle of a bad sinus attack that started yesterday. That's more than 24 hours wasted in the middle of a tiny, five-day holiday.

Time and health truly wait for none. They're like the pooping pigeons and the occasional head-scratching crows you encounter in the middle of your morning walk.

But you wipe it off, or duck and keep walking.

I think my New Year's resolution is to stop being such a cribby cribber and actually take action with the two seconds of time I have left at the end of every maniacal day to do something for myself.

As always, keep thulping sugar in moderation and keep moving forward, with or without sinus attacks mixed with sad, mopey thoughts.

The Airport Is Quiet. My Child Didn't Get the Memo.

There is an odd kind of stillness in the air when it comes to early-morning flights. The occasional announcement asking a passenger to report to the boarding gate is pretty much the only thing breaking the silence. That, and mothers travelling alone with their children, providing live updates of their every move to the family back home. At full volume, obviously. Because why should the rest of us miss out on the itinerary?

And then there's my child. A 4-foot-2-inch human who believes that silence is a crime and has taken it upon himself to comment on every crying baby within a 50-metre radius. Each baby gets a review, a reaction and, occasionally, a running commentary. I am just waiting for him to start handing out ratings.

Meanwhile, the other passengers are sitting there with expressions ranging from mild anxiety to existential dread, silently wondering whether their flight will board on time, whether they have all their belongings and whether they should have just stayed in bed.

And me? I'm trying my best not to eat my lipstick while my stomach stages a full-blown protest over the lack of food. The early-morning caffeine and two dates clearly didn't cut it.

Early-morning airports are dead still. Except for the crying babies, the occasional loudspeaker announcement, mothers on phone calls, my child hosting his own podcast and my stomach threatening to join the conversation.

Peace and quiet? Clearly, I booked the wrong flight.

PCOD That Refuses to Rest

PCOD that refuses to rest,

The two injections I was jabbed with clearly did their best.

Painkillers I refuse to ingest,

Even when I feel short of breath.

A gynaecologist who refuses to put me under the knife,

For she feels my body will undergo more strife.

I wonder why October every year is bad,

With painful PCOD cramps that leave me sad.

I have no idea how to live with this constant pain,

That rules my mind and body, again and again.

PCOD that refuses to rest,

The two injections I was jabbed with clearly did their best.

(Image sourced from https://www.sakraworldhospital.com/blogs/pcod/315)

Larger Than Life, Smaller Than My Teenage Heart Could Handle

So, before — waaaay before — I turned my attention to bad-boy metal guitarists and bikers, my teenage brain and heart did multiple flip-flops over some very, very good boys: "The Backstreet Boys!" And I think most of us are mums now to one or two little villains of our own. 

How do I explain to my child that I once had a Hotmail ID called gayatrilovesnicky@hotmail.com and actually wanted to have Nick Carter's babies? No. I think I'll take that little piece of information to the grave. Some secrets are best kept buried. 

But even now, when I listen to any of the old Backstreet Boys hits, starting with "I Want It That Way", "Everybody", "As Long as You Love Me", "Shape of My Heart" and "Larger Than Life", I'm transported straight back to being that impressionable, infatuated teenager.

And oh, what pretty faces all five of them had! Nick Carter, Brian Littrell, AJ McLean, Howie Dorough and Kevin Richardson. Clearly, they were getting much better haircuts than I was. 

Pretty, pretty, preeeetty! So pretty! Pretty enough to make a teenage girl's heart melt completely inside her chest. 

Oh my God! I'm not even going to lie. I might still be infatuated, decades later, and now with a child of my own.

Once a Backstreet Boys girl, always a Backstreet Boys girl.  Some things never change. 

Image courtesy: https://www.eonline.com/photos/21933/the-90s-when-the-backstreet-boys-were-boys

Dear Monday, Meet My Chandrakala

PCOD cramps for days? Not a very satisfactory day at work? Child using you as his punching bag? Chandrakala to the rescue!

What's Chandrakala, you ask? It's a decadent, ghee-fried, juicy, moon-shaped blob stuffed with sweet khoya and soaked in sugar syrup.

One bite, and you're transported straight from Gloomy Land to Ecstatically Peaceful Land. Peace? I find it in comfort food. And when it comes to comfort food, Chandrakala is right up there on my list.

I started my evening with a strong, sugar-free filter coffee at the local café inside my colony, meandered into Sri Krishna Sweets, and accidentally picked up two big, fat, juicy Chandrakalas. I then proceeded to even more accidentally devour them faster than a hungry lion attacking its innocent prey.

The highlight of my day was Chandrakala, and I've come to realise that most of my life's problems can be solved with sugar. Sugar to the rescue, all day, every day!

Moving with ease into Tuesday now, because the worst of Monday — morning, noon and night — is finally coming to a close.

Image source - https://srikrishnasweets.com/products/chandrakala?srsltid=AU7gw4X1OX5WjF0_6MdxOAnEN2c9sFK6l3mVxWYWjgY8OaNdc8aOA2BX