Shanti Ayyah

Shanti Ayyah has been a part of our household, for 18 beautiful years. She has seen me go to school and college. She has seen me go through my rebellious teen years. She has seen me failing maths, time and time again. She has seen me binge eat Pizzas. She has seen me at my fattest and my thinnest. She has seen me bringing my first pay cheque home. She has seen me leaving home to get married. She has seen me turn into a new mom and she has been my shoulder to cry on when I became a widow.

Shanti Ayyah is family. I can't imagine my life without her chicken and prawn gravies, her brinji rice and saadams, her chutneys and her fish fry. 

Shanti Ayyah is no ordinary person. She is an emotion, a firehouse of talent and a soother of jittery nerves. She is convinced I was meant to be born as a man and is very particular that I don't slack off work. 

Her first question to me, even before she can enter the threshold of our house is, "Don't you have office today?" and looks at me very suspiciously until I sit down in front of my laptop. Being a hard working person herself, she doesn't like slackers. 

I don't need to look at anyone else for strength, when it comes to being a single mom. Shanti Ayyah totally aced it, with 3 kids, whom she single handedly raised. And all 3 of them, are hugely successful individuals professionally. 

I have never underestimated our beloved, soft spoken cook for a single minute in my life. I've listened to Shanti Ayyah's advice on work, health and motherhood over even my own mother's. 

She has taken my side over arguments I've had with my parents. She has fed me ghee laiden rice until I could eat no more - particularly when I was pregnant and when my heart broke into smithereens over the death of my husband.

She has loved me, unconditionally and has gone out of her way to try and heal me. She may not be tied to me by blood, but she is family. 

I love her. We all do. Shanti Ayyah is the best thing that happened to us 18 years ago. We will be shattered the day she quits cooking for us. A life without her delectable home-cooked meals would be beyond miserable. 

My Favourite Eating Haunts in Chennai

Chennai, the city I grew up in. Madras, the city my mother grew up in. We squabble a lot, just like any mother-daughter duo. But the one thing we agree upon, is the exquisite array of food in Namma Chennai. Whether it's Continental, Thai, North Indian, Traditional South Indian, Chinese, Pan-Asian or just plain Chaat, you get it all, at it’s authentic best, right here, in my favourite city, our adopted home, Chennai.

Some of our favourite haunts in the last few decades of living in Chennai are;

Sangeetha

Masala dosas doused in ghee, filter coffee that you could just bite into, Punjabi Kofta that you can’t get enough of, flavoursome Gobi Manchurian and voluminous portions of thali, this is one restaurant you can’t afford to miss eating at, if you ever visit Chennai.

Benjarong

Authentic Thai food, straight from the heartlands of Thailand. I took this restaurant for granted, until I actually honeymooned in Thailand with my late husband. The Thai Chicken curry, the glass noodles and the Pad Thai taste exactly like the local Thai cuisine eaten by residents on any of the islands in Thailand.

Shree Mithai/Gangotree

Paapdi chaat, paani puri, samosa chaat, cheese balls - if you are in the mood for trashy, deep fried, comfort food, look no further than Shree Mithai and Gangotree. I spent 90% of my post graduate years in Gangotree as opposed to sitting inside a classroom of Stella Maris college. 

Tangerine 

Cheesy penne pasta, with corn, mushroom and chicken cubes has been my staple in this steak and sizzler joint, for the last twenty years. Death by chocolate seals the deal. 

Cascade/Liu's

Head to Cascade if you are in the mood for Indian Chinese food, with an interesting twist. Liu's is the place to be, if you are a fan of Tangra chinese. 

Cakewalk

Chennai's answer to Theobroma's, at half the price. Brownies, pastries and mousses to die for. A chocolate lover's haven!

Punjabi Nation

Let me be honest here, the Butter Chicken is a far cry from what you'd get at Pind Balluchi or Punjabi Nation (Delhi), but the fluffy rumali rotis, the creamy palak paneer, the moist Tandoori chicken and the decadent Afghani chicken, will leave you wanting for more. Dhaba Express was THE restaurant for Punjabi food fifteen years ago, but I shudder to enter the premises now. 

I'm so glad to be back home. Back to my Chennai. The land of warm filter coffee, warmer weather and warmest people. I am never leaving!

Single Mother

It's crazy how we're supposed to just live,

After the death of a loved one, we are expected to thrive,

And pretend everything is fine,

While all that was once ours and mine,

Has vanished, without a trace,

There are moments I feel out of place,

Like an alien, from outer space,

Until I catch a glance of my son's mischevious face,

He is my reason,

To live and thrive, every season,

I can't fail him, not now, not ever,

He is clever,

He understands my melancholy,

And catches my every folly,

The night I saw my husband's motionless body,

Was also the night I realised, I am somebody,

Somebody beyond just a wife,

I am responsible for an innocent life,

This is who I am now,

A single mother, who refuses to cow down to death, I will not allow,

The absence of a father,

To ever be a bother.

Old Habits Die Hard

It's hard to get Rajarshi Bhattacharya out of my system. It's hard to forgot and "move on" from a habit of 14 years. I've ranted and raved, picked up a job after a five year sabbatical, sent my toddler to school and relocated back to my childhood home. 

Yet, he haunts me. He is the first thought in my head along with the sun's rays and the last thought at night just before sleep takes over. It's difficult to forget, it's difficult to move on. 

There are days of acceptance, there are days of anger and there are days of frustration,  wondering why this horrible thing had to  happen to my child and me. What wrong have we done to deserve this fate?

Memories of us going on long drives and eating out extensively come flooding in my mind, like it happened yesterday. Who knows if there is a soul? Who knows if that soul has any attachment to us anymore?

The days of quiet acceptance are the best. I am 35 years old. That's not even half a life lived. Yet, I've seen and experienced my world crumbling. So, the best thing to do is breathe and be greatful for the people still alive and trying to make a difference.

My late husband will always be a part of my life. But, it's time for the fairy tale to end. There is no life after death. There are no ghosts. There are no souls. Everything was just a fragment of my imagination.. perhaps.

It's time to "move on", whatever that means. Here's to another chapter, one where I'm not Mrs Rajarshi Bhattacharya anymore.