Appuppan And You

Appuppan, the first man I ever fell in love with,

Appuppans are meant to pamper and molly coddle, these were urban legends and myths,

Because, my appuppan, threw whiskey on my face,

And never gave me space,

When it came to eating,

He was always treating, 

My siblings and I, with medu vadas, Kerala porottas and beef fry,

The fact that you never had a chance to meet him, always made me cry,

He was the man who taught me how to love,

Which is why, I probably fell in love,

With you, I saw bits and pieces of him in you,

You also brought me food to drive away my blues, 

For every medu vada appuppan fed me,

You got me hot chocolate, gaajar halwa, brownies and every imaginable cookie/pastry in the world, it filled me with immense pride and glee,

That I had the made right choice after all, by choosing you,

You knew that food was the glue,

By which you can mend fights,

Piping hot chole bhature, was my absolute right,

After every fight,

I hugged you tight,

Only after gobbling down, that deep fried maida laden bread,

And all would be right with the world again, until, we dropped the next warhead,

Appuppan, would have loved you,

Simply for being you,

You both loved well made beef and had a taste for all things fine,

I hope you’ve both met each other, on cloud nine, 

I want you to swap stories with each other,

Until we finally meet one another. 

Life Trained Already

My voice of reason,

During any given season,

Your technique of driving me to do better,

Was by bullying, which you thought, would make me a go-getter,

But my reasons for going to work,

Was to get away from a husbandless house, one that made me go berserk, 

The loneliness killed me,

But my love for you, propelled me,

To keep hanging around,

For the weekend, was always just round,  

The corner,

We would quickly transform into party animals from corporate earners,

Come the weekend, we barely saw the insides of our house,

We treated those four walls, as a boring boarding house,

Monday, would hit us all too soon,

Once again, I would be left alone like a cookie-less buffoon,

Why didn’t you just quit?

Each time you announced a promotion or appraisal, I was worried out of my wits,

For I knew, you would stay out of the house even longer,

Forcing me to become bolder and stronger,

To tackle hurdles, both big and small, 

You hated watching me bawl,

And forced me to “figure it out”,

You’ve already life-trained me, to lead without doubt,

The realisation is slowly sinking in,

Each time I encounter a little win. 

Poopieless Me

The third wheel, in the midst of happy couples,

Never awkward, but feeling strange, to be a part of their personal conversations and chuckles,

Suddenly all alone,

After 14 years of being prone,

To your anger, mood swings, temperamental behaviour, sweetness, loving and sensitivity,

Now my head is filled with rot, like a decayed cavity,

Remember Arnold Swarzenegger as Mr Freeze,

He preserved his wife’s dead body in a case and watched her hair fluttering, in the watery breeze,

I wish I preserved your body too,

Perhaps, I could have revived you,

In the future, with the help of medical science, 

Curse me for forming an alliance,

With your “well wishers”, the crematorium workers and the pandit,

Who advised me to bid you goodbye, like a noisy, senseless trumpet,

I gave in, without much thought,

And now, I’m filled with after thoughts,

About how, I could have snatched you away from death,

And tried to give you back your breaths,

Doesn’t matter, if you came back alive as a different person,

Me trying, wouldn’t have made things worsen,

From what it is today,

How could I just stand by helplessly, watching your body turn from brown to grey,

Shame on me,

Forgive me,

I’ll be a better wife,

In your next life,

I’ll do everything humanely possible,

To make the impossible, possible,

Love you,

Infinitely more than pongal, chole bhature and my loud, pink Puma walking shoe.  

35

I’m still a month younger than you today,

I still have only one hair, that has turned grey,

Unlike yours, which had an equal distribution of white, black and grey,

I don’t feel like celebrating my day,

It doesn’t feel special or happy,

Without you or your ideas, on how we should celebrate, which always sounded cool and wacky, 

Toit for my 34th, hot chocolate for my 29th, Singapore for my 30th,

Wonder what you would have planned for my 40th,

To ensure, I don’t become naughty at forty,

Your biggest, horror and fear, that I’ll run away with a random, long haired, shorty,

You ran away poopie,

I know you didn’t want to, I’m working towards fulfilling some of your dreams, filled with hard work and beauty,

Stuck in the hard work phase now,

Just to make you go “wow”,

From your heavenly abode,

How is heaven by the way, is it filled with clouds and all your favourite beers, make sure to load,

Our house in heaven, with chocolates and super hero curios, 

Forget toys, I want Riaan to live to a ripe old age, so he would be furious,

If you treat him like a child,

At an age when he would have a grandchild,

Or two, 

He still misses you and doesn’t have a clue,

About why and where you’ve gone,

His questions about you, become more persistent mid-way through his yawns,

He asks me why I’m wearing your t-shirts and wedding band,

On my hand,

I don’t think he understands,

It’s my birthday today, all he wants is to somehow land,

A big blue, car shaped cake,

So that he can mutilate, cut and break,

The non existent life, out of that edible thing,

Until someone manages to swing,

The knife out of his hand,

All his wishes and most importantly yours, were always my command,

We haven’t finished 99 years together, as per our poopie contract,

God didn’t even give you time to react,

When he snatched you away at 35 years and one month,

You won’t get to see Riaan’s children when they are a month,

Or even one year old,

It’s alright, hold your beer bottle high and await my Baileys filled cheers, that moment would be pure gold,

We’ll have a Mr and Mrs Poopie reunion in heaven,

Right after I pack off Riaan with someone responsible, at twenty seven,

The same age, we got married,

That is, unless I get buried,

Knee deep, in ammumma duties,

And get the chance, to sniff some grandchild booties,

That would be so bittersweet and nice,

Then I can finally reach you in bliss and peace. 

Visitation Dreams

You look happy,

Definitely, less snappy,

Relieved even,

Rolling a dice on a board game, that appeared uneven,

The last I saw you that content,

Was when you had spent,

All your free time with the boys,

Along with your musical toys,

Death has truly freed you,

From this burden called life, I can sense you throwing clues,

At me, all the time,

You prevented me, from hearing my favourite Rasmus song this morning, because you always found them childish and without rhyme,

You are making your son quote sentences at me,

That you threw on me in life, just to prove, that he is your little bee,

I’m lapping them all up, with a broad smile,

I hope my immediate exciting plan, has filled you with bile,

At times, I want you to rest in peace,

At other times, I wonder why God abruptly pulled out the lease on your life,

What kind of a person is God?

If he can still plod,

In peace, after committing this sin,

Your death is not a win,

For anyone,

Least of all, your innocent son,

Did we not have him for so long,

Because, God was trying to ring cautionary dongs,

Trying to tell us,

That our life would be far from superfluous,

So think long and hard,

Before making decisions that are beyond our reach and avante-garde.

Strength

Strength, is not some magic potion that one suddenly acquires,

It is not a raging fire,

 

That suddenly spreads and combusts,

It most definitely is not a wind gust,

 

Which fleetingly comes and goes either,

No, strength is in choosing a man and standing by him relentlessly, without a breather,

 

Strength is in having the ability to feed my child,

With my husband’s dead body styled,

 

Under bed sheets, that we as a family of three, slept on,

Until the crack of dawn,

                        

 

Strength is in crying and screaming it all out,

Without a shred of doubt,

 

That I’ve lost the most important man of my life,

The one who made me a wife,

 

Strength, is in knowing that the child and I are all alone,

Husbandless and fatherless, our broken hearts and scars can never be sewn,

 

So, don’t preach about strength,

To my 3 year old child or me at foolish length,

 

For, we’ve lived in a fatherless and husbandless house,

Long enough, without any grouse,

 

When the man was alive, we hardly saw his face,

With him dead, we most certainly know how to stand tall and fight the rat race,

 

We are made of unbreakable stones,

My son and I, we know very well how to ignite fires and put them out, perhaps better than the Flintstones. 

First Things First

You worked for yourself,

Keeping the baby and me, on a delicate breakable glass shelf,

Let’s get that straight,

I never fell for your unconvincing bait,

Along with your foolish arguments of how selflessly you travelled,

So that the baby and I, could be dazzled,

With your expensive gifts of chocolates, toys and finally an empty, luxurious house,

Let me remind you, I wasn’t a puppet of a spouse,

I’ve worked hard too,

I’ve happily juggled being a lonely wife and later a lonely mother, without ever questioning you,

On the days you sounded extra pig-headed,

I reminded you, of my days of being employed in a corporate house and being wedded,

To you, successfully juggling my responsibilities of being a wife and an employee,

So, quit annoying me,

If you were a partner, I gave up the chance of being an account director,

Only because, you chose to be a silent spectator, 

In our journey of parenthood,

You didn’t allow me to enjoy my motherhood,

For the first one year,

You chewed my brains and my ears,

Whining about how I loved the baby, more than you,

Let me tell you,

Yes, I did love him, more than you,

For that tender, first year, because he didn’t get that affection from you,

His very own father, his primary maker,

So shame on you, for persistently reminding me that you were the bread winner, 

For the five years, I chose to be a mother,

You didn’t bother,

Bonding with your infant,

Instead, you chose to side with your contingent,

Of toxic “well wishers”, who advised you,

To sit on your high and mighty pedestal and continue your brew,

Of work and music, for the woman must fend for the child,

Never the man, for he must run wild,

And live out all his dreams,

Especially now, so that they can beam,

And take control over his life,

Especially his child and wife,

You happily agreed, like a brainless buffoon,

Dancing to their every tune,

Well congratulations to you and to them, on your death,

My only prayer for them, is to have laboured and painful breaths.

Unforgivable Decisions

Some of the decisions you took, 

Without taking a second look,

At your wife and son,

Killed more effectively, than bullets in a loaded gun,

The fact that your heart and mind were so set on people pleasing,

And that you easily gave in, to their emotional squeezing,

Is so obvious,

For my child and I, were never the audience,

Whenever you took big, life decisions,

I knew what was going on and continued to make provisions,

For those toxic blunders,

If only, you had a brain of your own, our life would have been filled with wonders,

Instead of this anomaly today,

In the form of your unexpected death, that got in the way,

I cannot forget or forgive you,

For turning my life into a zoo,

The child will be fine,

I’ll raise him to have a spine,

But what about me?

Have you ever stopped to think about me?

I never wanted to live in a house alone,

Or deliver our child while you happily roamed,

If being a husband didn’t cut it for you,

Didn’t that innocent life, give you a clue,

That it’s time to father up,

As opposed to running around like a clueless pup,

Who wagged his tail, like a brainless cub,

You were never a hands-on father, so I dropped all my expectations of you bathing our child in a tub,

You made tall claims of missing us and our forever house,

But your words and actions were so different, it would drive any sane person into a madhouse,

So let me lay it down straight for you,

You tried to be a good husband and father, but it just wasn’t enough, I never raked the issue,

Simply because, I had learnt to live with an absentee husband,

As for your child, he will get accustomed,

To a fatherless life,

At least now, stop to think about that innocent life,

Who had to suffer the consequences of your decisions, that were far from wise,

He will be better than you, he will rise,

Strong and tall,

With a clear mind of his own, having the strength to hit every curveball,

Out of his way,

He will not get swayed, he will stand tall and stay,

To look at his problems, straight in the eye,

Most importantly, he will not get manipulated by selfish people who are slimy and sly. 

Grief

I thought I experienced it, when my grandfather died,

Next, when my grandmother died,

I felt huge chunks of my childhood,

Just leaving forever, that was until your death hit me, well into my adulthood,

The person who made me experience motherhood,

And womanhood,

All at once,

With your dignified presence and abrupt absence, 

Madness, tragedy, loss, broken spirit,

These words sound so useless, when I hear it,

What actually happened when you died,

Was that I cried,

So hard,

That my very core got scarred,

Your soul escaped not just your body,

But mine too, your significant somebody,

So, once again I urge “well wishers”, please don’t advice me to stay strong,

Your significant others are alive, therefore your notion of grief and strength are warped and stupidly wrong. 

Golden Words

Lead the rest of your life, with your head held high,

Walk with dignity and aim for the sky,

Doesn’t matter how your life was until now,

Bid that life, goodbye and ciao, 

You’re not going back,

We always have your back,

Your husband was a decent man,

We loved him dearly, but God had this wretched plan,

There’s nothing you can do,

So don’t stick your head into the sand and endlessly brew, 

A senseless plan for revenge or fill your head with suffocating thoughts,

Nothing is going to bring him back, he made decisions like he was drawing lots,

So just let him and his decisions slide,

It no longer effects you or your child, yes, he tried,

With all his might, he did,

So keep your angry third eyelid,

Permanently closed,

Become hard nosed,

For your child and you,

That’s all you can do,

Don’t worry about us,

Please don’t fuss,

When we request you to somehow move on,

We know you will love your husband forever, but he is gone,

Today, only you and your child remain,

So transform your pain,

Into your sharpest weapon,

Take this from an old man and woman, who really had to step in,

Time and time again,

When all life gave us was pain and more pain. 

No Defence

What happens when a man dies,

Is that people start spewing lies,

About him and their non-existent relationship with him,

As long as he was alive, I had to tolerate these fabricated stories, filled with fantasy and silly whims,

With him dead,

I want these people to shed,

Their bloated ego and superiority,

They must understand at least now, that his feelings for them were in the minority,

A man who couldn’t even place his baby and wife first,

And took on music and work responsibilities, headfirst,

Was most certainly not a family man,

So please, dump your imaginary ideas of him, into the thrash can,

Music, work, toddler, wife,

From a haircut to a doctor’s appointment, to finding a tenant for our old flat, to walking from our rented house to the new one, until my feet bled, I ran his entire life,

He worked in peace, knowing that his house and baby were in the safest hands,

MY HANDS!

Don’t ever undermine my contribution to his life,

Always remember, I was his legally chosen partner and wife,

With him dead, 

Consider me dead,

You made our lives a living hell,

If you have any self respect or dignity left, you will never come ringing my bell.

No Closure

You weren’t sick,

You trained your brain to work really quick,

You weren’t old,

Far from it, you were young, quietly aggressive and super bold, 

You got a little nervous before critical client presentations,

But you maintained excellent relations,

With all your professional stakeholders,

A little too excellent, for they were the ones who held your shoulders, 

During your final fall,

Just before, I received that surreal phone call,

I was confident even then,

That you would rise up again,

From perhaps a minor surgery or nervous breakdown,

The last thing I expected was to see you lying down,

With your eyes permanently closed,

Looking motionlessly composed,

So how can I ever have closure,

Or maintain composure,

When you never said goodbye,

Your son couldn’t even look you in the eye,

 

Or accept that you’re dead,

He just thinks that you’ve just fled,

Into the stars without him,

Silly little baba, with his unreasonable whims,

I don’t bother correcting him,

Instead, I promise to take him for a swim,

And hold his hand and reassure him,

That I’m never leaving him, 

Not until he buys a wife from the wedding shop,

His words, not mine, so I’m teaching him to use a mop,

So that he can be an equal partner in marriage,

As opposed to being someone, whose brain is always on an egotistical carriage.

A Self Obsessed Generation

A self obsessed generation of people, are what we are,

The accurate term to describe this behaviour, is bizarre,

You and I, were no different,

We were always so caught up and indifferent,

Deeply embroiled in our own lives,

Not pausing to take a break, unless it was for an overpriced holiday to Maldives,

Our over the top vacations, our work promotions and our personal achievements,

We would celebrate, like it was our own individual accomplishments,

Except when it came to our crafts,

Then we would behave like two very stuck up tarts,

Never open to criticism or feedback,

Even when we sounded like foolish quacks,

Because, our egos were sky high,

We just couldn’t meet eye to eye,

On certain things,

I never wanted to clip your wings,

Clearly! Just look at the life you lead,

Always multitasking, between your musical and professional travels, like you didn’t have a wife and son whose heart bled,

In your absence, 

We were very good at pretence,

Your son and I,

We never questioned why,

You never chose us over your music or work,

We understood, those were the areas where your heart mostly lurked,

You needed those aspects in your life,

To lead a happy life,

With us and away from us,

So we gave in to your whims, without much fuss,

We stood by you and your joys,

Quietly and without much noise,

But your death, has made me re-calculate those decisions, 

Should I have been more clingy and given you less provisions,

To lead your parallel lives,

Away from us, your primary life, where you could have strived,

To bond a little more with your son and me,

Your prodigy in the making and forever queen bee. 

An Overgrown Baby

A 35 year old baby, was what you were,

Our life together was a happy blur,

If your baby son ate Epigamia Greek yoghurt,

You had to eat the very same flavour of curd, like an adamant squirt, 

The days aloo bhaja was made at home,

Your son and you, raided the fried bowl, like two greedy gnomes, 

If you accidentally brought your iPad in front of him,

You had to give in, to his unreasonable Cocomelon whims,

You were forced to forget your powerpoint presentations,

To build a close relation,

With baby sharks, baby John, Leo the Truck and Peppa Pig,

You had to throw out thoughts of oil drilling rigs,

And focus on your boy,

Who was more than willing to be, your human toy,

Alas, that three year old, will never get a chance, to see you growing old,

You called me your poopie bird and human teddy bear, you said you’ll wake up next to me, even when I’m wrinkly and old,

Did you lie?

If there was truth in your words, you wouldn’t be a dead guy,

A mere photograph on the walls,

Along with the occasional visitation dream calls,  

That won’t do,

I need all of you,

Your crazy laughter, your short temper, your unwashed fingers, 

The smell of your perfume that lingers,

Long after you left for work,

I want you to lurk,

Prominently in every aspect of my life,

Quickly replace this pain, that feels like a stabbing knife,

By coming back and leading a full life,

Give me the chance to be your ripe, old wife,

Let’s age gracefully together,

And continue to storm every weather, 

Like we have until now,

Let’s sit together and witness, our son’s independent achievements and go “wow”,

Isn’t that what you want?

Instead of being a soul, that merely haunts?

Nair Crematorium

Nair crematorium, this is how I saved the number of the crematorium manager/owner, 

Where we took you, to free you, from the burden of being a land owner, 

But was it a burden really?

You chose to own two houses, freely,

You would have taken one look at that crematorium,

And said, “What a middle class place, to burn my corium”,

I agree, it shouldn’t have been you,

Your face still had the freshness of dew,

Your heart still so pure, even when it lost all it’s beats,

I’m sure you hated my choice of bedsheets,

To wrap you in, for your final journey,

But I was too engrossed staring at the gurney,

Which held you up, 

I wanted you to wake up,

Any minute now, before the fire consumed you,

Even while I rubbed cheap ghee on you,

But you stayed motionless,

Leaving me emotionless,

I hate my hands, the ones that untied the thread from your toes,

And pushed you close,

Into the raging fire,

All set to make you a pyre,

I can’t stand my fingers, the ones that dug out your grey ashes,

As our entire life, flooded inside my head in flashes,

It shouldn’t have been you,

Whose lips turned blue,

Your only crime being over-work and people pleasing,

What a high price you paid, for all that unnatural emotional squeezing,

I have nothing to say to those people,

Who kept you on an imaginary steeple,

Your untimely death is their punishment,

If they have any shame or conscience, they will lead the rest of their miserable lives, in self-punishment. 

Delhi Boy

You were such a Delhi Boy,

Only Paneer, Aloo Gobi and Chole brought you undiluted joy,

You claimed you didn’t like Butter chicken,

But knew the difference between Mumbai and Delhi’s version of the signature chicken,

You were a lover of Badshah,

And could easily draw,

Parallels between him and you,

You heard all his songs, both old and new,

Aditya Prateek Singh Sisodia, Raghu and Rajiv sir, MTV Roadies and Splitsvilla, 

Raghu and Rajiv sir’s Skulls and roses, Varun Thakur’s Shaitaan Haveli, these were the shows that captured your imagination like no other,

I found you in splits,

Like nothing is amiss,

In your hectic life,

All would be well, with you watching these shows, with your disinterested wife,

I agree, Shaitaan Haveli was hilariously funny,

Some Badshah songs, sounded like honey,

I repeat, you were a Delhi boy, through and through,

Raj Kachori, was your favourite chaat, you had to eat it, to drive away all your blues,

I loved the Delhi boy in you,

The one who wanted to wear the most expensive shoes,

I’m glad you bought that Tumi bag,

The one that has a prominent, personalised “RB” tag,

I’ll take it to work everyday, stuffing in my cheap laptop,

Not everyone can afford an Apple laptop,

I’ll guard it with my life,

Until, God pulls the plug off my lease, called life. 

Poopie

“Why did you call Raj poopie?”, asked many,

“He called me poopie too”, I replied to all twenty,

“Oh, so you were both poopie?”, persisted my brother,

“Yes, cheepee, peepee, pupu, cheem cheem, poopie”, I answered, ignoring the bewildered look on the face of my mother,

My parents, poor things,

Having to discover, such odd things,

Yet, not having the urge to clip my wings,

For they know, I have committed no sins,

I was just a hopeless fool in love,

Who has now turned into a mourning dove,

I remember that night distinctly, when poopie came off stage, to give me a sweaty hug,

It was a Workshop show, at Hard Rock Cafe and I felt snug as a bug,

A bandmate he adored, screamed out loud, “Awww poopie!”,

I instantly felt my heart melting and began to feel like “his” poopie,

We were poopies, then and there,

A mad, clueless pair. 

Aeroplanes

The sound of an aeroplane whizzing by, 

Instantly makes my heart soar high,

Until reality dawns on me,

And I realise, God forcibly made you flee,

From your gorgeous, Sponge-Bob shaped frame,

You harboured some shame,

For the kilos you piled on,

But I always reassured and convinced you, that you looked as graceful as a swan,

Didn’t matter if you put on or lost weight,

Your face had a radiance, on any given date,

Except on the days you had to wake up early,

To catch a flight, then you looked undoubtedly surly,

You knew airports inside out,

You had to have your tall glass of Americano at Starbucks, lest you have a blackout,

You bumped into celebrities, some known and some unknown,

You regaled me with stories about them, over the phone,

Until I would see you in person, on Friday nights,

I would keep trying to guess and sight,

The aeroplane in which you landed,

You’d leave a one word message, “Landed”,

And call just as fast,

To let me know that you passed,

Mountains of chocolates and toys,

And picked just the right ones, for your wife and baby boy,

I dread looking at aeroplanes now,

For, none of them have you in them anymore,

I want to fly straight up to you,

Leaving behind this corrupt, greedy zoo. 

You’re Everywhere

Stepped out with dad this morning,

For some grocery shopping and temporarily forgot my mourning,

That was until I saw a familiar blue car,

One that looked just like Baba’s big blue car,

Next, my eyes fell on a newly opened Starbucks outlet,

That caught my breath,

You’re everywhere,

In the dawara of lip smacking filter coffee and on a Starbucks chair,

Even in your death,

You won’t allow me to take easy breaths,

Do you think you’re being fair,

Your son has learnt your favourite swear,

He uses the word liberally,

And quite skilfully,              

Much to the horror of his grandparents,

I blame it on you, the naughty parent,

Who taught him the word in the first place,

Bought your favourite chocolate date today, the one that always brought a smile to your face,

Picked up a Haldiram’s Pani Puri set as well,

It always made your heart swell,

I hate to admit it,

Your nasty chaat eating habit, I’m unable to quit,

Wonder what else I’ve picked up from you,

Only time will tell, without further ado.

Your Toiletries

Your toiletries and your wedding band, the last physical remnants of you,

I spray, smell, snort and bathe in them to have one last whiff of you,

Your shower gel, face wash, shampoo and shaving foam,

Are almost over, thanks to your perennial roam,

But I’m clinging on to them for dear life,

Like a good wife,

Waiting for you to come back,

For I know, you will need to pack them away, in your navy blue travel pack,

I smell the collar of your dark blue formal jacket,

Every night, just before hitting the sack, I do it quietly and without much racket,

These private moments between husband and wife,

Give me a few more breaths to my life,

This is my way of keeping you alive,

Until God decides to drive,

Me up to you,

You must be heaven, where else can such a good man like you go, yet to take your Dune shoe,

The one you wore on the day you died,

My birthday gift to you, a month before you died,

Are you still with me?

Was it you, who walked along with me,

On the beach yesterday morning,

And was it you, who turned on Riaan’s cement mixer truck without warning?

I want to believe it’s you,

My naughty poopie and Riaan’s “bimbi boo boo” 

We love you,

More than the most gooiest, darkest, tastiest, chocolate fondue. 

A Great Husband

You were petrified of swimming pools,

Yet, you happily dove into the deep ocean waters for me to observe a school,

You hated all things Disney and Mickey Mouse,

Still, you took me to Disneyland and shook hands with the legendary Mouse,

I’ve lost track of the number of times you took me to have hot chocolate,

While you drank the restaurant’s terrible tasting black coffee, looking utterly desolate,

To make up for your weekly absence,

Your son and you, indulged in childlike nonsense,

All weekend long,

Until I smacked you both headlong,

You were the best husband and father in the world,

Always remember that, wherever you are, underworld, afterworld or the netherworld,

We lived for you,

And we continue living for you, 

There was never an us, without you,

Riaan and I, love you, through and through,

You will always be his silly baba and my dearest poopie,

In life and in death, so stick around and be snoopy. 

Your Impending Death

Did you have an inkling of your death,

A month, a week, a day or an even an hour before you took your last breath,

I have a feeling you did,

Why else would you take me to the same roads we walked on as kids,

We reminisced about our life together,

We transformed from irresponsible young adults, into mature parents who powered through every weather,

You asked me the most poignant questions,

And I replied with the most ill-timed suggestions,

I just took it for granted, that you will always be around,

Buying a house, buying a car, going on an International holiday, why must I overthink and frown,

About these life changing decisions,

When my husband always had grand visions,

Up his sleeve,

So why did you leave,

Even before fulfilling your BMW dreams,

Your unfulfilled promise to me about taking a week off for our 8th wedding anniversary has my tears flowing down in streams,

Not even a week had passed, since I rubbed ghee on you and pushed you into the fire,

And your “well wishers”, put me through further hellfire, 

Saying, I’ll get re-married and find someone else,

Those who needed an explanation about our sacred love story, deserved only a belt,

But I refuse to stoop down to their level,

Their heads are filled with the devil,

I will always be yours,

Today, tomorrow and into the gloomy unending future years, 

What a chore it is, to live without you,

Can’t wait to settle our son professionally and personally, so that I can quickly find my way back to you,

I no longer belong here,

Each day without you, feels like my heart is being pricked by a spear.  

Your Perpetrators

I saw your perpetrators, clear as day,

I always warned you to stay away,

Your character assessment of people,

Was worse than a sleeping child’s, positioned in fetal, 

Your so called “well-wishers” were merely salivating wolves,

Who used you for your your money, lack of time, peace of mind and knowledge like a pack of hungry werewolves,

Actually, scratch that, even werewolves hunt in packs,

You were such an easy bait, who quickly fell for their traps,

What use was your dual degree, if common sense you so badly lacked,

The odds were always stacked,

Against you and your personal choices,

They didn’t respect you or your myriad voices,

Not once, did you pay heed to my warning,

Thanks to your idiocy, the child and I are relentlessly mourning,

Your senseless death,

I can think of so many other people who should rightfully have no breaths,

Abominations of nature,

Egotistical, useless, brain-dead creatures,

I’m happy I no longer have to feign happiness,

For your sake, to put up appearances, while in reality I could always see through their manipulative craftiness,

You were too innocent and pure,

To see through their suffocating, toxic lure,

In death, God has freed you,

And in some warped way, the baby and me too.  

Starbucks

“She’s picked up her husband’s habit of drinking coffee whenever she steps out”

Announced my mother loudly, without a smidgen of doubt, 

It hit me then,

You’ve imprinted yourself on my thoughts, personality and tastebuds, time and time again, 

Whether I like it or not,

Your personality and mine, are tied together like a stubborn, untieable knot,

Starbucks played an impermeable role in your life,

Your tongue transformed into a thoughtless knife,

Whenever you hadn’t consumed your tall glass of Americano for the day, 

I stayed out of the way,

Not all the time of course,

For you were my eternal source, 

Of sugar and spice and everything nice, just like the Power Puff girls,

You were my grumpy, Power Puff girl,

Riaan and I were your loyal lost boys,

You had us wrapped around your stubby  fingers, with dark chocolate and toys, 

I didn’t have the courage to face a Starbucks logo,

Since you’ve been gone, but 25,000 filter coffees later, I might just walk into one and drink some hot cocoa,

Along with your favourite, creamy spinach and corn pocket,

My foolish heart might soar up like a rocket,

In the hopes of trying to bump into you there,

In your favourite coffee pub chair. 

Just Stop

Stop with the unsolicited parenting advice,

I’m grieving, not brain dead, so stop bouncing off your suggestions like a dice,

Stop telling me, I need to live for my son,

Like a brainless, bullet-less gun,

I was a wife first,

Before motherhood hit me headfirst,

I had to convince my husband, who was my first baby and life,

That I will always be his wife,

He was in constant competition with his son,

For my attention, time and activities filled with fun,

I know how to take care of my husband, son and myself,

So please keep your suggestions to yourself,

In my happiness lay theirs,

And in their sadness, I had an equal share,

I love my son, but the place my husband had in my life was irreplaceable,

So please, don’t tell me to shove memories of my dead husband to a corner of my brain that is untraceable,

That is ridiculously impossible,

Keep your foolish advices to yourself as far as possible. 

Not In The Mood

My husband’s death,

Took away all my breaths,

Allow me to grieve,

Please say nothing and just leave,

I don’t want to know what’s going in your life,

Because mine has come to a standstill, I’m a widow today, not a wife,

Whatever you say to me, out of sympathy, empathy or pity,

Are far from witty,

Your partners are still alive and kicking,

So please, continue with your personal nitpicking,

I’m not interested to hear about your love stories or babies,

My husband’s death has filled my head with rabies,

So just leave me alone,

To my heartbroken groans,

I’m not alright,

Please leave my child and me to our plight. 

You Never Smelt The Roses

Seven star properties, were a part of your life,

You stayed in them, five days a week, far from your wife,

You never stopped to smell the roses,

You were always knee deep in case work and proposals,

You didn’t enjoy your forever house,

The one you handpicked and decorated, for your son and spouse,

You didn’t use the clubhouse gym,

The one with the view of me, enjoying my swim,

You looked in wonder at our apartment’s massive garden and park,

Whenever you had time off, away from corporate sharks,

You weren’t always this person,

A shrewd, calculative, aggressive businessperson,

You were a lover of music, abstract art, strange science fiction books and gourmet food,

Your hobbies, had the power to elevate your mood,

Why didn’t you spend some quality time,

With those things, that really made your soul chime,

I wish you had opened your recording studio,

And taken it slow,

You were a musician,

A fine one at that, with so many creative ambitions, 

You loved playing live shows and attending concerts,

I enjoyed watching you perform and looked forward to donning my finest skirts,

I took pride in being the lead guitarist’s wife,

The one with whom you spent the chunk of your life,

You played numerous shows, accumulated thousands of fans,

And chose to hold only my hands,

I admit, I fell in love with you, 

Only because music was your primary brew.

You

Did the world really know you, like I did,

I'm being told you were a mentor, an inspiration and a rockstar, but in reality, you had the heart of a kid,

You were my telly tubby man,

Who surely wanted, a longer life span,

You had BMW dreams,

And loved working with smart teams,

If you liked someone or something at work,

You would talk to me endlessly about that person or case, until I went berserk,

Didn't matter what time you came home,

You'd wake me up immediately and get me upto speed with your weekly activities, 

Not everything you did was interesting, I'll admit,

You were essentially a cool nerd and I resisted my urge to split,

Each time you droned on and on, about something I just couldn't comprehend,

Still, I tried my best to lend,

A patient ear and filled the house with all your favourite goodies galore,

With you gone, my life has turned sour,

I've turned into the Mind Flayer from the Upside Down world,

The best place for me is alongside you, in the afterworld,

I'm being told, you'd do anything to come back,

So why aren't you back?

Are you happy with this void you've created in my life?

Your poopie, your best friend and your wife,

That's what you called me,

If you really meant it, you'd hover around me,

Until I reach you,

Right now, that's the least you can do.