Almost Five

 

Bathing an almost five year old on a working day is an utter test of patience. The filled up water in the bucket goes down the drain, pee-pee is done everywhere except inside the potty and toothpaste is always inside the sink and never on the toothbrush.

Step into my house before 8am on any given day and you'll find a hyper-active human chimp and a frazzled, sleep-deprived mother with uncombed hair and shades of either black or pink facepack on her face (in an attempt to look ten years younger, all in vain of course)

So basically even before school and office begins for the day, World War III, IV and V have been lived out and fought. The winner is always the chimp, with a poor, soaking wet and always late mother in some corner of the bathroom, cleaning out the debris of the morning bath. 

Breakfast is another story altogether. Less than half the meal goes inside his tummy and the remaining is thrown generously on the floor. "Ants don't exist mommy", explains the brat with a devilish twinkle in his eye and he continues with his antics, "Hoooiiyyya! There goes the cheese! One bite for me, one bite for the floor", "I'm so clever aren't I mommy", he grins.

A call goes to the doting grandmother on the days I work from home to complain about the apple of her eye. She just chuckles as I rant and rave and replies coolly, "So much fun! And he's just a child." 

Winner of hearts, that little devil. PTA meetings fly by with his teachers insisting, "Riaan is an angel. Such a pleasure to interact with."

Alright, I give up. Angel outside, devil inside, just like that Onida advertisement of the early 90s. Neighbours envy and owners pride. Although I don't own this chimpanzee, merely birthed him and I'm not proud of the mass destruction of my beautifully decorated house.

One day, he'll grow up. But when will that one day come, I wonder. Pray for me dear reader and pray for the souls of all tormented parents all over the world. More than world peace, I want peace inside my house. Too much to ask for? 

Two Years of Widowhood

 

Two years, since my world came crashing down in front of my eyes. Two years, since I forced re-start and started from scratch. Two years, since I've felt this deep void all around and inside me that I just can't get rid off or shake away. 

Captain America asked the Hulk how he manages to control his anger in one of the Avenger's series and he replies, "That's my secret Cap. I'm always angry". I'm Hulk in the real world, I'm always sad and that's my secret. 

Being sad is a strength and crying is the heart's way of releasing all the weakness inside you. So cry, cry and cry until there are no more tears left to shed. 

Keep all that sadness stuffed inside you in a lonely forgotten corner and it will burst like a pressure cooker or in my case, a hospitalization of three days thanks to breathlessness. That was my near death experience and I was scared sick for my child. I didn't want him to lose another parent. 

There are moments I still feel like that woman who was told in a filthy hospital in Bombay that "Raj is no more" and I fell to the floor, bawling. There are moments I still feel like that woman who was swatting away flies from her young husband's motionless body just before she pushed him into the fire. 

13 years with one man is no joke! His death broke me. And I'm still broken. There are parts of me that are gone forever. His death killed me too. 

But I strongly believe, he's my handsome, guardian angel in heaven and is watching over me forever. As cliched as it sounds, I think he's rooting for me and our son. He wants me to excel and has passed on his super agressive, competitive nature to me. 

A part of me will always be in love with that sweet, dimpled 21 year old boy I met in Bombay. Rest in peace poopie. I think I've got this (on most days). On other days, I have my bottle of Bailey's.