Riaan The Menace

Riaan the menace, 

A lethal animal, deadlier than the original blonde-headed menace,

He can destroy spotlessly clean houses in seconds,

He is a toy-destroying, savage weapon,

A killer of peaceful minds,

A powerful gust of neverending wind,

That can't stop,

Won't stop,

You can cry, scream and shout,

He will still continue shamelessly, on his path of destruction, without a second of doubt,

Dennis had Mr Wilson,

Riaan has multiple Wilsons,

To pick and choose from,

Who are both overjoyed and frightened, when he comes sticking out his tongue,

His naughty face,

Never out of place,

Moments before something breaks,

And everyone shakes,

Their dismayed heads,

Swearing to be faster next time, instead of being at loggerheads,

With the master menace,

Our only and only, Riaan the menace.

Our Boys

Who knew, our peaceful house,

Would be turned into a mad playhouse,

By two lollypop eating munchkins,

Who've turned the entire house into their unruly, toy dungeon,

There's no reasoning with the two,

They can fight back, until their faces turn blue,

If I have to be honest, I adored the big one,

So much, that I manifested one just like him and created a little bun,

But when I popped him out of my tum-tum, I realised, "Whoops! What have I done?",

Babies are fun,

From afar,

When the little devil is yours and demands for a million toy cars,

You better be loaded,

For, having a baby means being eternally goaded,

By a tiny being,

Who will slowly and steadily have you agreeing,

To every unreasonable whim,

Let me assure you though, your happiness quotient will be overflowing from the brim,

Your house will always be a mess,

But without them, your life will be full of stress. 

Lava Cakes

The curious case of the decadent, lava cakes,

That Mohan uncle and I, desperately attempted to grill and bake,

Our efforts were in vain,

For the cakes did not moisten, despite turning up the griller's heat, over and over again,

So, cold lave cakes we ate,

With hard centers of freezing cold, gooey chocolate, which we did not hate,

The experience was interesting,

Our taste buds were left tingling,

"What are your intentions for the six lava cakes uncle?", I asked,

He replied, "I'll relish them and have a blast",

I hoped beyond hope, he would offer me a few,

But he greedily amassed them all, leaving me feeling blue,

Now I'm back to reality,

Jealously envisioning uncle's chocolate stuffed glee,

So many lava cakes for one man,

Does not sound like an ideal plan,

I miss those lava cakes,

Just like thirsty animals miss large lakes. 

My Beloved Aniyan Maamen

Aniyan Maamen, was not really our Maamen, he was our appuppan. The naughtiest of our appuppans infact. When we got married, he was very interested to interact with all our mothers-in-law. His sense of humour was wicked. There was never a dull moment with him around.

He told my late husband, that I was the naughtiest child in the family and that I must be handled with care. 

Ani Maamen passed away today. Like one of my kunjammas mentioned this evening, it's almost like Ani maaman waited for all of us to come visit him one last time, before he breathed his last.

Aravindakshan from Nallumukku with his distinct personality, his generous hospitality and his large, kind heart, will be missed everyday. 

Ani maaman's people skills were fantastic. He had a knack and a flair to deal with difficult situations and people, with utter ease. Bashed a car without a driving license, and drove on the wrong side of the road? Ani maamen will sort it out for you. Roadside romeos troubling you on their bikes, post college? Ani maamen to the rescue. Have a wedding hall to decorate overnight? Not a problem, with Ani maamen by your side. 

Yet another chapter of my childhood just closed today. My Ammumma's Aniyan has finally reached her in heavenly abode. May their sibling fights continue in uninterrupted bliss. 

You may be out of sight, but never out of mind. Our children will be regaled with your stories everyday, Ani maama. If any of them, have even half your sense of humour, we will know that we have raised them right. 

Happy Birthday Daddy!

Happy Birthday to the world's best dad,

You hate seeing me or anyone else sad,

We are exactly alike,

Our personality, our likes and our counterstrikes,

We can both talk a mile a minute,

But I hate to break it to you daddykins, no one finds our yapping cute,

Except maybe my son,

And your grandson,

Who can beat us both hollow, when it comes to nattering,

I'm sorry your prim and proper household is such a mess, with toddler toys and endless clattering, 

You've had to step into the role of grandad,

And dad,

All over again,

And let me tell you, you're doing a fabulous job at both, with utter dignity, grace, a little goofiness and zero complaints,

We are lucky to have you,

You've never let go, especially when things got murky, dark, messy and blue. 

Mom Guilt

Two missed calls from my son's pre-school,

Seconds before my presentation. Life is cruel,

I thought, then it got worse,

"Riaan is crying", said his teacher, my mind instantly decided to traverse,

"He is missing you", she continued,

I wanted to flee from my workshop and quickly discontinue,

The two and a half day event,

"Distract yourself and make the presentation, quickly put your mind out of torment",

Guided my boss,

The moment, I wrapped up my part, I called my baby, who sounded far from cross,

He was happy and content,

He was in no mood to vent,

While he can talk a mile a minute, my boy doesn't open up and speak his mind,

A disturbing trait, that leaves me feeling helpless and blind,

Time, something his late father never gave him,

I'm slowly creeping down the same path and it leaves me feeling grim,

I pray, he has a happy childhood,

One where he always feels understood,

That's all I want for my baby boy,

An abundance of joy.

Center Stage

The stage, my favourite place to be. Being the center of attention and trying hard to be the life of the party, are two obsessive behaviours, I can't seem to let go of. "Well behaved women, seldom make history", said Pulitzer Prize winning historian Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. I don't agree 100% to this quote, I agree 1000%

It took me a decade of being a communications professional, to make me realise I love people. No scratch that, I'm infatuated with people. Big crowds, excite me. Not only do I love interacting with strangers and dissecting their personal and professional history, I also want to champion their voice, drag them into the limelight and give them the recognition they rightfully deserve.

Thank God and my mother, for pushing me into P.R and Corporate Communications! Growing up, I was the youngest on both sides of the family. So family gatherings automatically meant I sang in front of large audiences, got molly-coddled beyond recognition and was throughouly pampered by all the adults and the children of the family. 

I was a hideously behaved little baby, who then grew up into a hideously behaved teenager and a woman. I'm loud, I'm rebellious, I'm stubborn and I'm opinionated. I'd like to thank my parents, grandparents, my siblings and my sister in law today, for just letting me be. 

Had these individuals not fostered an environment where I could just speak my heart out, I wouldn't have had the confidence to rebel at work. And rebelling at work is a great thing! You're recognised for your madness and for never sticking to the rule book. 

I get into roaring arguments with my bosses. Luckily, I've always worked with great ones, who give in to me 50% of the time, as they understand there is no changing me. I'm a rebel without a cause and always will be. 

Everyone has a calling and a place in life. A rejection somewhere is an acceptance elsewhere. "So stay sharp and stay focused", as my big brother always says. 

Naughty Baba

"Show me naughty Baba videos", said my tot,

I'm proud of him, for processing his loss, instead of letting these thoughts rot,

I pray, he always opens up to me,

Even when he's not such a little bee,

His mind has aged rapidly, in the last ten months,

He has decided to confront,

The truth of our life,

Instead of letting it cut into him, like a razor sharp knife,

He will fight this,

He will reminisce,

All the happy moments with his father,

As always, I won't allow his absence to ever be a bother,

My boy's got this,

Because, he has chosen to stay away from the comfort of lies and ignorant bliss. 

Celebrating You

"Our boys had a peculiar taste in music. So each time you hear their favourite bands playing on the radio, you know they are around. It's a sign from them", said a fellow widow ten months ago. I didn't internalize it so much then, until it happened to me - multiple times.

Last week on my way back home from work, my Tamil-music loving driver, kept tuning the radio and stumbled upon "The Weekend - Blinding Lights". It played for a good 50 seconds, until he finally changed it. I was stunned. 

The same track played today at Soy Soi, one of my late husband's favourite Chennai restaurants. The last time I went there I was five months pregnant with my very much alive husband. Going there today, was bittersweet for many reasons. I told Riaan this was his second visit to the restaurant. We ordered all his father's favourite dishes - Chicken Bao, Pad Thai and Nasi Goreng.

The minute we exited the restaurant, a Blue Ignis parked in front of us. The same car, which he drove for five years. It was almost like he was standing alongside us, in the blistering heat. I could hear his playful laughter, ringing inside my ears.

Another time, while walking through my office lobby, my colleague and I were deeply embroiled in a conversation about our respective husband's; the lights inside the elevator blinked menacingly. She just looked at me, smiled and said, "Yes, it's him". We exited the elevator, walked between buildings, came back to the lift lobby, still in conversation about our husband's and the lift doors automatically opened. They are not automatic doors. You need to call for them with a foot pedal. My colleague, just smiled at me, once again and said, "This is probably his way of saying sorry, for giving you a hard time by dying. This is his way of making upto you."

But my experiences are not unique. Anyone who is a widow, like me, who lost their partners abruptly, have had these experiences. It's their way of telling us, they're okay and they're watching over us. I'll take it. Today and everyday. 

I can't even begin to put in words, how much I miss him. There is a physical ache inside my heart that is permanently incurable. This feeling of emptiness will never leave me. All the professional achievements in the world and all the fanciest clothes, from the biggest brands, won't be able to fill this hollowness inside me.

I am learning how to live in the sunshine of your life, instead of the dark shadow of your death. The thing is, my foolish heart, is hoping beyond hope, to bump into you, in every corner of every room. Every cell in my body, refuses to belive that you are no more. I'm in denial and will be for a very long time. 

You were a beautiful soul, inside out. No wonder I fell head over heels in love with you, despite the long shaggy hair and the hideous body odour, thanks to your hostel bathing habits. 

Your son and I miss you. Everyday. 

Chennai, My Beautiful Misunderstood Chennai

Eight years. Eight years is the time it took me to understand what an under-rated gem of a city Chennai is. While Mumbai has ten malls in a 5 km radius, Chennai might have one or zero. While Delhi gorged on McDonald's and Nirulas in the early 90s, Chennai had Buharis and Woodlands. 

There has never been a dearth of talent from this humble city. Indra Nooyi, Sundar Pichai, Shiv Nadar, Mallika Srinivasan, Mani Ratnam, A R Rahman - the list is endless. The problem is, we're quiet, we're humble and we keep our heads down and just keep working hard.

As a decade old PR professional, my only advice to my home city, is to speak up, show off and brag a little bit about our achievements. It's about time, don't you think? 

Chennai, the fourth largest metropolitan city in the country. My darling Chennai, home to Stella Maris College, D.A.V Gopalapuram, M.O.P Vaishnav College, IIT Madras, Asian College of Journalism, Madras Christian College and Madras School of Social Work, which has given birth to some of the finest brains in arts, science and professional streams.

There is nothing we Chennaites can't do, if we set our minds to it. Why is it then, that "outsiders" hate our city so much? Is it the weather? (Delhi is hotter) Is it the people? (Mumbaites are all Salman Khans, with a lot of love to give, but from a distance). 

Is it the food? Nope. I draw a line when it comes to food. Not only do we have the best South Indian restaurants, we have been home to the most authentic Thai, Pan-asian and sizzler restaurants, before I could even step out of my diapers. So let's not even go there.

While residing in lonely Mumbai, for eight dreary years, I got violent anytime an "outsider", made fun of my precious Chennai. How dare they?! Chennai is mine and mine alone. Only I can make fun of my city. They had no right!

Chennai is a big city, with all the feels of a small town. Chennaiites are warm and genuine. The pressures of the corporate world, go hand in hand with raising a toddler. You are appreciated as a woman stepping out to work, with a toddler at home. Corporates in Chennai are big on family values. Something that soulless large organizations in Mumbai can't even begin to fathom or understand. 

There are plenty of opportunities in Chennai for ambitious students and working professionals, for the quiet stay at home folks and even for retired folks (like my restless 71 year old father!) There is something for everyone here. 

Chennai, where the traditional goes hand in hand with the modern. Chennai, the land of kutcheris and discotheques. Chennai, the land of masala dosa and Belgian waffles. Chennai, the land of freshly brewed filter coffee and CCD/Starbucks/Mocha. 

Chennai, my sweet sweet Chennai. I'm so glad to be back home, after so long. You will never hear a goodbye from me again. I promise. 

Grief, Through The Innocent Eyes Of A Toddler

Ten months, since Riaan's baba "disappeared". Maamaa looks "just like baba", when she's dressed up for work and maamaa will "disappear at work too". That's grief response, for a three year old.

Has he forgotten his father? No. Does he remember everyday of his life, that his father went to work in the morning and never came back home. Yes!

Babies don't "get over it" and "move on", when someone as important as their father just stops existing. It's absolutely impossible! I'm subject to "Tell me Baba die story", at least once a day.

"Baba should have stayed with us forever", "Baba will jump down from the stars and his die will disappear" and "When I die, I'll give Baba a pinch on his big fat tummy". My heart breaks all over again, listening to my three year old.

What a pity, he had to experience death at such a tender age. From the moment my gynaecologist placed him into my hands, I knew my boy was nothing short of special. He was a rebel without a cause, even before he was born.

My morning sickness, lasted all through the day and practically for all nine months, of my pregnancy. I survived on potato chips and road side chaat. He was born pre-term, at exactly eight months. My labour was sudden and super-fast, just like his personality. He can't stay still for a minute. He is hyper and natters endlessly through the day. 

There are moments, I catch him holding back his tears, little jaw shaking and tears being suppressed. I encourage him to cry immediately. The age old adage of "Boys don't cry", can be shoved up, where the sun don't shine!

I'm raising a sensitive human being and releasing him into the world, not a macho man, with a machine gun. That guy looks good only on the big screen. No thank you! 

As an expert on all things grief, I tell my equally grieving baby son to "cry it out", each time he misses Baba. Baba is never coming back. But Baba loved him. 

I know in my heart, his 35 year old father, is always watching over him. If that man had any regrets in life, it's leaving behind a child who was only 2.11 years old. That's his unfinished business through the end of time. More than me, he will protect his child. 

As for me, I'll always have mixed feelings about his death. What a sudden, abrupt and strange way to go.