Gloomy Skies

Dark the skies,

As gloomy as my sad sighs,

As we head into your favourite part of the year,

I remember you grinning from ear to ear,

As we stepped into a Pujo Pandel,

Your excitement I couldn't handle,

You would have turned 39 this year,

Yet another year,

That I've grown older without you,

Funny how the years just flew,

The emptiness inside me, growing larger everyday,

As I operate with a broken heart day by day,

Almost 4 years since you've been gone,

I'll always wonder what went wrong,

Perhaps my love for you wasn't enough,

Why else would you have chosen a life this tough,

As I live with the weight of your decisions in life and long after your death,

I realise the one thing I should be grateful for is all my breaths,

I hope you have some regrets now,

And realise that some of your life choices were far from wow.

Matcha

Matcha was had, and it wasn't bad,

It made us happy and not sad,

As the boba pearls burst inside my mouth,

I gobbled it down like a being who was greedy and uncouth,

Little flavour bombs of custard,

My brain was flustered,

What was this heaven,

That was taking me right upto midheaven,

The boba bits and I,

Looked eye to eye,

In my tummy you will reside,

So glad I had this before I could die,

Ecstatic that I didn't stop Devyani from placing an order,

Suddenly my mind files opened up in disorder,

Memories of my dead husband slurping down boba pearls flashed past me,

It's crazy how that man never lets me be,

Even on a Friday evening when I was trying to let my hair down,

With my girlfriend, with whom I'd paint the town,

Red, blue, green and every other nonsensical drunk colour,

And that's exactly what we did, until we were far from sober. 

3AM Thoughts

Similar to PCOD pain,

That comes in waves, 3AM thoughts, can never give you any gains,

For the PCOD, pop a dolo,

For the 3AM thoughts, decode it solo,

Acting on those rabid thoughts,

Will only make you feel at fault,

So drop it all,

Lest you fall,

Just like Humpty Dumpty, who also had a great fall,

It's natural to feel appalled,

To have such thoughts,

As long as you have the ability to connect the dots,

And decide to be a mature adult, yet another day,

You're not best friends with shades of grey,

So let it fade away,

Oh look, it's a bright new day,

The sun's out,

Time to get get our bums out,

Shoo and scram, dark thoughts,

It's time for me to soak up some Vitamin D, beautiful yellow and blistering hot. 

Pancakes

Made luscious pancakes at seven,

My house suddenly smelt like heaven,

The baby ate half,

I ate the rest and felt like a calf,

More like a balloon,

After licking up chocolate sauce in galloons,

No wonder my weight is stuck,

And my mind goes on a rut,

Why can't I resist desserts,

Those sugary little flirts,

One bite in and you're all in,

More, more, more, until you feel like a human garbage bin.

Fond Memories of Being Mrs Poopie

Some of the cutest things that I own - a pink strapped Minnie Mouse watch from Disney Land, most of my cartoon character t-shirts, a woollen beanie cap with ears, a pair of Staccato boots, a white Teddy bear printed handbag and so much more, have all been gifted to me by my late husband.

So when I'm questioned and sometimes wonder, why it is that I'm still single after 3.9 years, it's simply because I've experienced whole-hearted, undiluted, you could even say "shiddat wala pyaar" from my dearest poopie.

Those are very large shoes to fill, for whoever wants to "hit this situation up", as a cool Gen-zite might term it. And this time, there's two of us, similar to a "buy 1, get 1 free" offer you might pick up from Reliance Smart Bazaar.

That's two smart talking mouths for the price of one and two diverse set of mood ranges to handle. So God bless, who ever wants to take ownership of this task.

That being said, we're also lovely human beings, once you peel off all those layers. My dead husband is testament to that. I think he enjoyed the close to 13 years with me and close to 3 with our son. 

While I can't promise, we've unburdened ourselves of the trauma his sudden death caused, we're slowly and steadily getting there. 

In the meantime, we power ourselves with plenty of laughter, crazy little boy games like being swung upside down from my shoulders and deep fried food. The deep fried food is very important by the way, everything else is fluff. 

Palada Payasam

As I sipped on Starbucks' version of filter coffee,

Just to drown out the guilt of some oversweetened dessert that tasted toffee,

My brain warned me,

Sleep tonight would be far from glee,

As our cab rolled close to home,

And I witnessed a lot of aunties and uncles roam,

Around the colony temple,

Sipping on what looked like delicious payasam, my lips trembled,

Greedily watching them take sip after sip,

My mind instantly flipped the regret switch,

Palada payasam right about now,

Would have hit all the right spots and how,

Oh how I miss palada sometimes,

The pangs hit me at the most unexpected times.

Item Girl Dreams

It was somewhere in the middle of watching Malaika Arora shaking her gorgeous midriff and entire body in general, on top of a train in Chaiya Chaiya, that the item girl dreams began to form in my head.

When Dil Se released in 1998, I was a fat 11 year old tom-boy, running around in silk shorts and a cycle in hand. The concept of unrequited love and marriage was slowly beginning to take some shape and form in my hormone untouched brain.

That maniacal love which Aman (Shahrukh Khan) was displaying for the mysterious terrorist (Manisha Koirala), somehow made sense to me. Love had to be toxic, hence concluded my 11 year old brain.

But forget that sob love story, back to sexy Malaika Arora and her hardly anything outfit, I had to be that woman on a train, I thought as I munched through my second bag of potato chips along with red wine (the alcohol was perks of being an army kid, there was always rivers of liquor flowing in all our households for as long as I can remember.)

I'm 38 now, fully sober, with zero alcohol in my system and as I watch Chaiya Chaiya right now, the drive to dance atop a moving train shaking my almost shapely midriff, is very very strong.

I think it's safe to say, being an item girl is a dying desire of mine. I must fulfill it before I go upstairs permanently, or else my soul will not rest in peace.

I've never been more sure of anything in my life. This dream comes a close second, after wanting to be a mother.

Dream gods and casting directors, are you listening? 

A Prolonged Fever

The fever is really fevering today,

It started on a Wednesday,

And hasn't said goodbye yet,

I'm suddenly missing being ammumma's pet,

She would have had Gold Spot ready,

As my head felt heavy,

Two sips of Gold Spot,

Would have hit the right spot,

Fevers are the worst,

It makes you feel cursed,

Both the mind and body are scrambled,

The mouth will probably join in and ramble,

So so sick,

I feel like a pile of useless bricks.

Jumping Riaan

Being crashed on fifty times a day,

In various ways,

With sound effects in toe,

For each "barrel roll",

Starting with wham, crash and boom,

Calling himself "Trash IRL", he's a little goon,

Terrorizing peaceful evenings,

And slow, lazy afternoons,

His toothless naughty chuckle,

Has my already broken back in a buckle,

Just another day of being Riaan's mom,

With my baby monkey around, I hardly get any time to feel forlorn.

Meltdown Fridays

It began with a 5am rain,

Followed by a whole lot of pain,

Hysterical sobs, announcing that school is hard,

And in general that the soul is charred,

Just kidding, I doubt a 6 year old understands what a soul is,

His tears in the meantime, continued to brim and fizz,

Hands dramatically folded,

Along with his legs nicely moulded,

I gave in quite quickly to his request,

Putting his mind to rest,

School is hard, I agreed,

Sometimes in life, we need the opposite of speed,

If slow Friday's are what your 6 year old desires,

Just give in and don't put his or her heart on a pyre,

Let them be,

Happy and free. 

Letting Go

Love is the art of letting go. And no one has explained this better to us than Doctor Stephen Strange. He watched Christine getting married in the multiverse, he proclaimed his undying love for her in another.

And that is love. To let go over and over again. Because you can't force someone to feel the same for you.

Whenever you do think of them, think of them with love and light and wish them the best. There's no point in forcing, chasing or begging someone for their time and attention.

Love simply is. It's either there or it isn't. It's as simple as that. So cry over that "almost-person", drown yourself with an entire bottle of Bailey's, talk about him or her until kingdom come with all your best friends, but ultimately let go.

For only if you let go, do you allow your heart and lives' doors to be flung open again to be filled with the right person.

I lived a Shakespearen sonnet with my late husband. To lose someone you're still in love with it and thrive after that person's long gone, now that's a love story for the books as well.

Let go my friend, let go. It's the only happy conclusion for you and whoever it is, that you are fantasizing about. 

Anxiety

Recently someone described me as, "A person who'll go into war and win that battle. However you're petrified of the rats in your own house and really lose your shit!" That was the first time I laughed during the course of those tense 24 hours.

Anxiety and negative self-talk have been my best friends for as long as I can remember. I'm never fully convinced when good things happen to me. I either sabotage it in my own head or worst case, sabotage it for the people around me.

Luckily, the folks closest to me, understand this screw loose situation in my head and look past it. Unfortunately, those who are trying to get to know me, either abandon ship and run or they stick around and we remain good friends.

My anxiety has gotten worse over the years and some days I feel extremely low. The human brain is complex and I haven't been able to figure out mine yet.

In the meantime, icecream and butter chicken help, along with 45 minute swims. Mental health, drumbeaten enough and more by the Gen Zees are something we must seriously consider improving.

Zero mental health equals a poor quality of living. The human brain, can either be your best friend or worst enemy. We're all either stuck inside the cages we create or we're free like carefree pigeons, pooping all over people's heads. 

Let's choose to be the pigeon. Happy and poopy. 

Accountability

In a world full of asslicking charmers, who keep showering you with praises, choose to listen to Hulk instead. They're honest, blunt, direct, in your face and hit you with truth bombs that completely blow you away. 

Accountability, both in the personal and professional front is surprisingly missing. Perhaps, it's the system that has moulded people this way or ridiculous apps that have destroyed the sanctity of relationships. There's not one single factor, but multiple of them, that have left people with no spine.

Instead of ghosting someone, choose to have that difficult 15 minute conversation with them. Instead of showering someone with praises mindlessly and then running away from their lives so blatantly, tell them what they did to piss you off.

Let's face it, we're all spoilt little brats, masquerading as adults in broad daylight. Our childhood was filled with adults and siblings, who gave in to most of our desires. 

As adults, perhaps we have the same unrealistic expectations from people we meet. Therefore, meeting Hulk once in a while is a breath of fresh air. I have immense respect for these kind, yet angry souls. God bless them and let there be more of them in this fake-nice world. 

Honouring the Dead

Let's face it, in India we have an age old tradition of honouring the dead. We talk about them, we hang photographs of them at home, we perform pooja's annually and we even get tattoos dedicated to them.

My two pence in keeping up with this ritual for my late husband is by visiting Starbucks at least 2-3 times a month. He was a regular Starbucks customer. The outlets he visited knew his drink by heart and would have it ready, even before he reached the counter.

Family weekends were also spent in Starbucks. I'd order the drink of the week, advertised in shiny posters right outside and inside the outlet, which would taste terrible. And he'd end up making fun of me for buying it.

3 years and 8 months since he's been gone and Starbucks gives me so much peace each time I visit. A part of me hopes to bump into him and another just breathes in the aroma of the coffee and snacks being churned out around me.

I took our son to Starbucks yesterday evening and I felt the cycle being complete. He no longer remembers his father, but he vaguely remembers Starbucks from all our visits in Bombay.

As I took a picture of him and me sitting together, inside Starbucks, I almost shed a tear. I think his father would have been proud to know, that he's successfully converted a Starbucks hater into a lover.

While the Americano still doesn't sit well inside my tummy, the ambience and the savoury snacks are something I look forward to soaking in, at least once a week.

I saw a formally dressed man, working furiously on his laptop last evening inside Starbucks and it instantly reminded me of my workaholic, late husband. 

It's funny how the dead never leave you, even if they have in reality. 

Meltdown Sundays

"No" to Nutties at the crack of dawn,

Had my peaceful morning torn,

The next screech was for sharpening pencils,

Never underestimate the will,

Of a 6 year old,

Who has made up his mind to completely fold,

Mouth so wide open, you can see his tonsils,

Big fat tears that stick to his fluffy cheeks and sparkle,

The decibel levels well before 8am,

Will make you want to scram,

Too heavy to pick up and console,

You end up with an awkward shove on the lap, as he continues to howl,

A generation that takes us for granted,

With YouTube ideas already firmly planted,

You crack a joke about his kitchen mischief,

And how the water drenched him like a fountain, which abruptly ends his grief,

A quick bounce out of the lap,

And he bursts into hysterical laughs,

I breathe a sigh of relief,

As his mood turns a new leaf,

Tears give way to smiles,

And I realise we have so many more miles,

Of tears and laughter left.

The Friday Exhaustion

The Friday exhaustion is real,

Somewhere in the middle of a ranting call, I heard myself squeal,

And completely broke down over the loss of my husband,

The grief shook me, I assumed I was already accustomed,

Who knew, a tiring week,

Would make me feel so weak,

I was drained,

And relieved,

For letting out a hysterical sob,

I could feel the violent throb,

Inside my brain and heart,

Those feelings never rest,

It hits you waves,

And clogs your breathing and airwaves,

Perhaps I should rest,

But this elephant sized memory that I have, makes me feel both cursed and blessed,

The Friday exhaustion is real,

And it's only human to let out an occasional squeal. 

Whoopsie Wednesdays

Got bitten by an ant this morning,

Accidentally broke a glass bottle without warning,

The brain's a ball of mush today,

Just the same as yesterday 

I struggle to put one word in front of the other,

My edits, a failed attempt to smother,

The key message, 

Splat in the middle of every tumbling paragraph, like a stubborn carriage,

Perhaps I am done,

I stop typing so maniacally, my fingers exhausted from being a rabid gun,

I munch on a giant Toblerone bar,

Trying to erase invisible scars,

A shitty day can always be turned around,

Simply by looking around,

Exhausting Wednesdays,

In our heads we dramatically convert them to doomsdays.

Drunk Awakenings

As I down one sugary glass of alcohol after another,

The face of my late love begins to appear, without too much of a bother,

I truly believe,

Alcohol has the ability to weave,

Reality with fiction,

I suddenly begin to natter without restriction,

Let me correct, natter more,

Perhaps I become a bore,

In my most drunk state,

I feel great,

On top of the world even,

While the floor beneath my feet feels uneven,

I cannot be trusted with alcohol,

My body gets into a slow crawl,

My brain's contents further enhanced,

I become entranced,

With everything and nothing,

I find myself constantly chuckling,

High my spirits,

Along with the alcoholic spirits,

Cheers!

Brothers

This bonding of brothers,

Is like no other,

They scream and fight,

With all their might,

When it's time to bid adieu,

Their hearts turn blue,

Sobbings eyes and hysterical chests,

Their minds are far from rest,

The love they have for one another,

Is like no other,

All you can do is stand by and watch,

Witnessing their love for one another go up every year by a notch,

How wonderful that they have one another,

This beautiful bond of brothers,

Bonded by blood,

Our family's three little studs.

The Juggle is Real

I'm not sure what is worse, being a single parent during Parent Teacher Meetings and Annual Day functions or knowing that even if my husband was alive, he wouldn't have taken an interest in attending any of these school do's.

For the most part, I don't feel the pinch of taking on the burden of a dead husband. This is all thanks to my supportive family, who try their best to show up for all these events along with me.

So while I witness full families in all their grandeur, for such programs, I'm still thankful for my mother or an occasional generous friend, who takes the burden off me for collecting uniforms, school books and attending school events with me.

It's hard, having to be two people at the same time, at two different places. I have to completely let go of work, while I'm trying to fulfill my motherly duties and I have to completely forgo my child, while I'm focusing at work.

My brain works on overdrive on most days, trying to make sure nothing slips off the list. Project submissions at work, buying gifts for birthday parties, shutting between tuition classes and work calls, the list is neverending and exhausting.

It's ironic how we're expected to build careers and raise our children at the same time. Every generation and the ones before us have done it and I look back at each one of them in awe.

The burnout is real, which is why I take to oversweetened cocktails and liquor shots every once in a while. To everyone going through this juggle, let's survive and thrive. Cheers! 

The Youngest and The Loudest

Growing up with three much older siblings, I was almost always left out from kiddie games, conversations and even card games well into my 20s. It hurt, the negligence and the neglect. But I'm just being dramatic now.

The plus side of being the youngest, was always being showered with gadgets, chocolates and clothes, much before it hit Indian shores. 

I grew up loud and attention seeking, partly because I was always left out and partly because I'm probably a little bit of a drama queen. But which woman isn't?

I spent a glorious 4 days off with my cousins in Trivandrum last week and came to realise, these men and women, along with their spouses know how to pamper me shitless.

My sweet older sister who knows absolutely nothing about superheroes, discovered a superhero store in Lulu Mall, Trivandrum. She proceeded to wake me up in the middle of my afternoon slumber and video called me to show me all the bobble heads around her. Our conversation went like this, "Gayu, do you like this little warrior lady?" 

"I already have Wonder Woman, show me someone else", I replied. "What about this masked man with an A?", she persisted. "I don't want Captain America. Do they have Spiderman hanging upside down?" I enquired. And our conversation went on like this for about a solid 5 minutes, until I zoned in on a handsome Deadpool figurine.

The next morning I was all set to catch my flight back to Chennai. I dressed up my 6 year old in a Transformers tshirt which my brother had picked up for him.

"Thanks for the wonderful Transformers tee for Riaan Swaroop chetta", I told my brother. "You're welcome. I remembered that he had Transformer toys at home", he replied. "Those toys are mine", I answered with a Cheshire cat grin.

He chuckled for a good 2 minutes and promised to buy me a Batman figurine which he had seen in the Chennai airport.

My siblings and their spouses have a special place in my heart. They've seen me in my diapers, they've seen me getting my first job, they've seen me falling in love, they've witnessed me breaking down completely 3.7 years ago and through it all they have stood by me with chocolates and toys, always handy.

What a blessing to have so many siblings and now their spouses, whom I get to call my own. What a pleasure it is to be the youngest born. 

Post Swim Blues

A mighty fall has been had,

On my butt I fell after a glorious swim, it was bad,

I felt on top of the world,

Until I found myself hurled, 

A slip of the feet,

Jute hotel slippers on wet concrete, it was quite a feat,

To have been a graceful swan one minute,

And a waddling injured duck the next, all under a minute,

I held my bum in pain,

With my left palm, which also felt sprained,

As I crawled back to my room,

I felt a sense of gloom,

I bumped into my tiny human,

Who was flanked on both side by my parents, like crewmen,

I cribbed about my mighty fall,

To them all,

Hopefully the rest of the day will be uneventful,

I'm ready to devour the scrumptious local cuisine in huge mouthfulls.

Love In A Single Frame

Love in a single frame,

All my favourite food in big fat portions, despite the pouring rain,

Thatukada chicken, naadan chilli chicken, palada payasam and mutta puffs, all under one roof,

This is proof,

That food is love and love is food,

An instant brightener of moods,

A quick trip down memory lane,

The days when life felt more sane,

No responsibilities,

A childhood filled with endless possibilities,

All revolving around games and food,

Life was simple and good,

We relive those simple days,

Through various ways,

Gobbling down food we grew up on,

Until one of us stifles a yawn,

Is one of those ways,

I can't wait for tommorow's rays,

To continue gobbling down to my heart's content.

Stranger Things

There were very few things in life poopie (my late husband) and I agree upon. Stranger Things was one of them. We had divorce inducing fights over who watched one more episode of the series alone, sneakily at night, disregarding the other.

Our taste in music, food, clothes, hobbies and lifestyle were vastly different. Yet, we were madly in love with each other.

Everytime a new season of Stranger Things drops, my heart skips a melancholic beat. I realise the vaccum in my life, left behind by my manchild husband. I suddenly have no one to argue with anymore on Stranger Things.

A world without you, even after 3 years and 7 months seems surreal. What a pity, you never got to see the Hawkins kids grow up and get into more adventures. What a pity, we can no longer binge watch the series together in complete silence. 

I'll miss you as I watch the final season this year. And I'll always wonder why this had to happen to us. 

Mothers and Tanning

Indian mothers are obsessed with their daughters tanning. Mine didn't show obvious biases except whenever it came to my career choices. "Mom I want to join the army", was met with "Shee! They'll make you cut your hair like a boy and you will do rigorous drills under the sun all day. Don't you like your hair and skin?"

"Mom, I should have continued being a journalist like Lois Lane and I may have met Superman", to which she replies, "And stand under the sun on fields all day to get one comment? Think again!"

Scorching summers, the sun and Indian mothers do not go hand in hand. I almost feel like crying and laughing when I recall these conversations today. How on earth can someone's career choices be dependent on heat?

Fifteen years in corporate communications and one child later, do I have life regrets? Yep. Just like anyone else. Therefore, the one thing that I do proudly now is to take a glorious dip under the 4pm sun in Gymkhana Club's heavily chlorinated pool.

I step out looking like an overbaked potato, nicely tanned and shriveled up. And that's my answer to tanning in the sun. Tan however much you want to, because the sun was created for you and me.

Too late to switch careers now, but it's never too late to sun-bathe and look like a juicy, burnt ripe watemelon. 

I have no solutions though, for the brain frying we endure during the weekdays. Sigh! 

Happy 70th

Wishing my mum a milestone birthday,

It's your special day,

All of 70 years old,

Your heart is filled with pure gold,

And your speech filled with wise cracks,

However much I rack,

The insides of my brain,

It certainly does not rain,

The wisdom which you disguise under sarcasm,

You've always kept me humble and advised me without words to tame my ego dragon,

Happy 70th mum,

You've seen me glum,

And you've seen me merry,

But your presence always make things feel less scary,

Enjoy your day,

Today and everyday,

We love you, 

As much as your chicken stew.

The Power of Icecream

I don't think my generation really understands depression or how to process it. We dealt with all our life problems by eating tons of icecream, deep fried food and crying. And I'm a certified whinebag. I'll mope and mope for months on end, until a good friend catches hold of me and shakes me up. After the shaking ends, I'll go back to moping.

And that's how I cope with uncomfortable life situations. Moping and crying are important to get all that negativity out of your system. Call me naive, call me too chatty, call me annoying and in your face, but the fact of the matter is, if I like you, I will share my sugar free icecream with you, forever.

Luckily, forever doesn't scare some of the best people in my life. They know I'm stuck with them and they're stuck with me. But not everyone can be chocolate sundae on a Monday (I'm chocolate sundae, of course) and I'm slowly and painfully wrapping my head around this reality.

They say by 40, you reach a balance in life, you're clear about your life goals. Perhaps I am clear. I've certainly hit a sweet spot in many aspects of my life. But the everyday juggle between work, baby and home gets to me. Me and ten billion other working parents I'm sure, so I'm not whining about that now.

May we find the strength to make peace with people and things we do not understand. May we have the power to let go of things we cannot control and most importantly, I really hope that sugar free icecream is infact sugarfree. 

Happy Monday!

My Tattoos

My tattoos are an extension of my soul. I get one every year around October partly because there's always a long weekend in October and partly because it's the beginning of Durga Puja, my late husband's favourite Bengali festival.

So the tattoos are in remembrance of a life I have shed away and an expression of my deepest desires. Not everyone understands it and I don't expect anyone to. Call it madness, call it impulsiveness or simply call it the desire to live knowing that there may not be a tomorrow again.

I have the sweetest tatoo artist, Rinchen who I visit annually at Iruzemi studio. He's quick to respond with "yes" to all my questions. "Have I lost weight this year?", "Can I get a giant Tinkerball above my ankle?", "How about a huge anchor?" 

He asks me a few questions back too, "How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" And I respond cockily, "Not as much as childbirth. Please continue inking."

It does hurt, and I sleep hard on the days I get a tattoo. That's a lot of trauma for the skin, which the brain tries to mellow down. Each tatoo takes 4-5 hours to complete.

I'm ready with my design for this year, and I can't wait for October. I highly recommend tattoos for anyone who wants to express themselves through skin, anyone who is undergoing a personality or life shift. It truly is therauptic and it's a work of art that you can be proud of, for the rest of your life.

So go get inked today!

Sugar Mummies and Daddies

A close friend and colleague of mine, had a serious debate with me about marrying a Sheikh and being his third or fourth wife. "At least I can sit inside my private jet and cry in peace", was her reasoning. Fair enough!

I countered that with, "But Shina, what about our brains? Don't we need intellectual stimulation? And do you think these dudes will look after our children and keep our houses neat and clean? Absolutely not! Everything will fall flat on our heads, at the end of the day."

To which she said, "But Gayatri, we can be on a yacht in the middle of the ocean flaunting our bikini bods." To which I countered, "That means we have to loose another 10 kilos. Not at all happening macha!"

On a serious note through, relationships no longer have the sanctity it once did when we were 20 year olds. Long term relationships, a serious commitment and ultimately marriage makes people want to run.

The last 3.5 years have been the loneliest of my life and also the busiest. I may be single and leading a chaotic life, but there is peace that comes with not choosing to be with the wrong partner.

A lonely marriage and a toxic relationship is much worse than being single. So I count my blessings everyday despite the lack of a hot and sexy guitarist husband (God bless his soul) that I didn't "settle down quickly" with just anyone.

As a young widow with a child, I'm showered with all sorts of advice everyday, all coming from places of love and concern of course. But I'm not in any rush to meet Mr Perfect #2, let him take his own sweet time to come. 

Until then, baby menace and I have many scores to settle with each other. Our hands are full, so are our hearts and lives. We're not alone, despite the absense of aforementioned hot and sexy late husband. 

Marrying that Sheikh maybe a good idea though, if he is willing to share household chores with me and deal with my son's mood swings. Otherwise, I'm not interested in being anyone's option number 2, 3 or 4. 

World War 3

The most heated arguments, 

And genuine compliments,

I receive in a day,

From my little minion, in his unique way,

The fights are earth shattering,

And the love is equally staggering,

How a 6 year old can be this opionated,

His ideas far from dated,

Is beyond me,

He fills me with equal parts of gloom and glee,

Our house is a nuclear bomb,

Always ticking and ready to explode, our war of words, will make you reach out for Tiger Balm,

It's pointless and silly,

We definitely sound like two hill-billies,

Tommorow is another day,

And I'm sure he'll yet again, have his way. 

Pediatricians

There are many perks to being a little person. Attention, time and toys being some of them. I also envy little people because they have the best doctors in the world - pediatricians. These men and women have a fantastic sense of humour. They're kind, gentle, funny and occasionally give away chocolates.

What a blessed life indeed! I wish I was a child all over again. I don't remember pediatricians being this sweet when I was growing up. An injection straight on the bum or an enema being popped up where the sun don't shine, is what I remember from all my hospital visits as a child.

I had severe bronchial asthama as a 3 year old and vaguely remember being hospitalised. The doctor was someone everyone feared. My chattering with all my co-patients would come to an abrupt halt, the minute the doctor entered the ward.

Perhaps children are still scared of doctors and hospitals. I know my little villain is, because he vomits the minute he sees a hospital, forget entering one. But then there are times, when he has his moments under the sun and wrangles a giant slab of Cadbury's Dairy Milk from his sweet doctor, simply because he flashed his milk teeth and his one dimple.  That one knows he's pretty and makes full advantage of his charm. Sly little bugger! 

Hospitals are places that evoke feelings of calm and panic. It all depends on your doctor and your attitude on beating whatever mild or deadly disease you currently harbour. 

I can't wait for our next vaccination shot and the possibility of receiving a giant slab of chocolate.  

Stress Free Weekends

You know those Sunday mornings when you wake up with a cloudy head and a feeling that you've eaten an entire hippopotamus in one go and you're still digesting it? Or that Monday morning heart attack in the middle of your chest, caused by gas, because you overate a beautiful Sunday lunch? Now, that's what I call a relaxed weekend.

The feeling of doing absolutely nothing, but eating, drinking and sleeping. What bliss! I miss my weekend already. The Monday through Friday drill sucks the very soul out of my body and what's left of me is this machine who robotically finishes one task after the other. There's simply no time to think, breathe, eat or sleep. Work and baby duties consume me, and this would be an understatement.

There are moments I ask my mother, "Do you think I should retire by 50?" And we both chuckle, because I'm a workaholic and life without work would be miserable. My brain would become a cobwebbed dungeon without this crazy routine.

So, sugary alcoholic drinks in fancy glasses and lipsmacking food aesthetically placed on a table, is what I look forward to. It gives meaning to my life. It makes the entire week's brain frying suddenly worth it. 

Let's not forget shopping, that rabid impulsive disease where most women tend to hoard pretty little dresses and tops and jewellery and make-up. Sigh! What a beautiful life indeed.

As we kickstart yet another brain frying week, let's not forget that simple life pleasures aka food, alcohol and clothes are just 5 days away. So we've got this. We will conquer this week, even if it tries to kill us. 

In the words of those funny gundas in the newly released Malayalam movie "Bad Boyz", "Jai Bhavani!". 

Dynamic Duo

A moment of appreciation for my mother today,

Who walked with me from shop to shop, without much of a sway,

An expensive bright red dress I had burnt,

The brunt of it which she unfortunately earned,

I suddenly tasked her to help me fix it,

And she took up the job, her determined face, unwilling to quit,

Multiple tailors and shop-owners we met,

Two of them directed us to another shop without a fret,

They admitted that the task at job was grave, near impossible even,

Perhaps this other shop they were suggesting, would make our worries break even,

And lo and behold, we found a beautiful patch work,

Upon reaching home, mum quickly put dad to work,

Both were busy ironing the patch work onto my bright red dress,

From raising a child, to helping me fix a dress my life in general has no stress,

All thanks to my dynamic duo, mom and dad,

With them around, life can never be too bad.

Crazy Busy Days

A crazy busy day has been had,

An escalation which we're yet to tide

Never have I felt my brain so fried,

By noon all my intelligence felt dried,

So I slept, so hard that I drooled all over my pillow,

I woke up feeling mellow,

Just in time for my little menace,

To get back from school, ready to push all my buttons,

I told him about my day,

I could see his little heart sway,

He takes my work problems seriously,

For about a second, and then continues to destroy my sanity evenly,

Digging deeper into my insecurities,

Reassuring me that we'd be homeless soon, our life soon fading into obscurity,

I shoo him out of the bathroom and stuff food down his throat,

Back to my laptop, to stay afloat,

What a mad day has been had,

Tommorow will probably be equally bad,

Sugar free icecreams and coffee will be had,

By the arrival of the weekend, we will all feel glad.

Sleep When The Baby Sleeps

The most absurd piece of advice given to new mothers is, "Sleep when the baby sleeps." How is this even possible? How can an infant's sleep schedule be matched with a grown adult woman's?

But now, since I've graduated to being a 6 year old mum, I have new advice to share. "Power nap when your school going menace is not around." And trust me, this nap does a world of wonder for your mood.

 

The insistent squabbling with your child, dips. I'm not saying the silly fights end, but they definitely reduce. You can finally attempt to being the adult in charge, as opposed to being the tired human in charge of the house, office work and tiny human duties. 

My weekdays are an absolute blur, one activity merges into another and when I hit the sack by 8.30pm, I sleep hard. There's no waking me up even if a Tsunami hits me on the face, drags me down to the ocean floor and drowns me. 

My son is equally irritable and on edge. He's tired, he's hungry and he hates school - the list is just endless. 

This phase of our lives is perfectly described by Dulqer Salmaan in Bangalore Days, "Pressure cooker alle njan... kurachu neram vechirikkanam, sheriyaavum!" which translates to "I'm not a pressure cooker... Give me some time, and everything will be fine! 

For now we're stuck in this rat race, little menace and I. So breathing in and breathing out is all that we can do, as we helplessly witness our lives speed by us in a lightening flash, dare I say, faster than Flash's supersonic run. 

Priorities

The cheeky monkey was home for two days,

And thankfully let me work, in his own chaotic ways,

At some point, 

He walked upto me and asked, "Is your work over?", his googly eyes, staring at me at gunpoint,

"No sweetie, I get distracted occassionally", I mumbled, fingers swiping swiftly over my mobile,

"Omg mumma! Stop wasting time and continue making money", his blood almost at a boil,

That kid has his priorities straight, I chuckled,

"You need to work very hard mumma," he grumbled,

From one screen addict to another,

I continued to plunder,

All the nonsensical content on social media,

And decided, yes now I am wittier,

Let me take my child's advice, 

Get back to work and pretend to be wise.

Meh Mondays

Woke up feeling like an ancient relic as usual,

The lower back was wrecking havoc, like a raging bull,

Top that with a sick baby,

The perfect recipe for a Monday that looked absolutely crazy,

As I began knocking off all the morning tasks one by one,

The sick child decided to bring out all the contents of his tummy, like a splash under the sun,

Sigh, the joys of being a mother,

Shouldn't have given him so much milk today, I realised my blunder,

Half my mind's at work today,

And the other half is in disarray, 

Watching my sick child,

Go wilder than wild,

More hyper than ever, along with a fever,

Is the best description of my currently sick, eager beaver,

Meh Mondays in full blast,

Here's hoping it does not last.

Window Shopping

For a change, I didn't shop like an animal for clothes this weekend. Instead, I walked into Westside, breathed in all the freshly laid out clothes, touched all the fabrics and sighed, all is not lost in the world afterall.

The Westside in Adyar is still the best in the city. I've worn Westside kurtis since college and own the entire women's formal section ever since I first started working 15 years ago.

Super important to look sharp at work or anywhere else for that matter, because when you feel good on the outside, you're confidence automatically glows from the inside. 

Throw on some lovely junk jewellery (once again from Westside's junk jewellery section) and you're good to go.

Their variety of shoes are quite mind boggling as well. There's the blingy kind for loud folks like me, sneakers for casual footwear lovers and flip-flops and sandals of every imaginable variety.

They've recently launched a line of in-house perfumes and even have a home decor section. It truly is a one-stop-shop for the entire family, for yourself, for gifting and so much more.

Coming back to the topic I intended to write about in the first place i.e window shopping and why it's important for women. Window shopping is an exercise for the soul, it just makes you feel happy to be born a woman when you see the variety of pretty clothes and jewellery that have been made exclusively for you.

So whether you're a shopaholic or a window shopper, both are extremely stress busting and I can't think of a better way to spend your weekend. 

My Not So Tiny Human

I woke up this morning thanks to the constant wriggling of my not so tiny human. I turned around to see that his eyes were wide open and he had this beatific smile on his face.

I chuckled, despite the ache of my creaky lower back. How I function with that half broken thing everyday is still a mystery to me. "You almost look 6 months old again," I told him.

As I struggled to get out of bed, he screeched, "Lie down maamaa, lie down next to me." An everyday dialogue between the two of us that meanders on like a stuck tape record. "No Riaan, I have to get your tiffins packed and go for a walk. Then I'll have to get breakfast ready and pack you off to school."

The morning routine is a killer for both of us. His unending speeches I put a full stop to as I move around like a quick robot from one end of the house to the other, setting things in motion to kick-start the day.

As I began my morning walk though, my mind meandered back to my little boy's smiling face and googly eyes. I suppose this is what they call those glimmers in the day, those tiny pockets of happiness, which we're supposed to recall and be grateful for.

For the timebeing, we're stuck in this endless loop of working days and weekend relief, but in the grand scheme of things, I suppose these black holes of time that just slip away, without us even realising it, is what we'll recall when we have no teeth, more white hair and would slowly begin to resemble wise old tortoises. 

Grief and Healing

There's no one-size-fits-all solution to healing grief. When people ask me, how I've overcome this disastrous tragedy, I answer honestly, I never did.

The earth split in two beneath my feet and I just wanted to be a part of the spirit world for the longest time. I wondered why I lived, while the love of my life had to pass away.

Ours was a fairytale romance, with a nightmarish ending. I didn't see that coming. I've changed irrevocably as a person.

I take nothing for granted. I'm even more vocal about my feelings, and the fire in my belly just grew larger to survive and thrive. 

That being said, I've become very suspicious about happiness. I keep wondering whether it's short lived and I'm always ready with my long winding goodbye speeches.

While death is painful and downright shitty, it also teaches you that your heart is as large as your stomach, an endless pit of love.

Therefore, all is not lost. Love guided me once and it continues to do so. To quote from my favourite love story, The Beauty and the Beast, "Love doesn't have to be perfect, it just needs to be true."

School Mornings

Households with school going kids inside them, look like war zones every working morning. Everyone runs on a tight schedule - the adults and children, both. 

Sleep time at 8.30pm, wake-up at 5.45am, 3 tiffin boxes to be packed before 6.30am, a quick workout to be squeezed in before 7.10am (which includes fruit shopping for the week) and a quick dash back home to get the tiny human stuffed with breakfast and bathed for school.

While the tiny human looks shiny and happy, the adult would closely resemble a wheezy, sweaty, stinky potato that badly needs a boil and a couple of pressure cooker whistles to get all set for the day.

That's one day already rolled into a day that hasn't even begun yet. Once the tiny human leaves, the adult proceeds to start living, but not before he/she has had a good plop on the bed for 10 solid minutes at least. 

Time to login to work and talk like an adult human being for a couple of hours, until aforementioned tiny human being comes back from school. More cranky now, less shiny and more smelly.

Round #4 of eating begins, getting down to school homework and bathing (all this while the adult still juggles residual work that is left for the day).

Slowly and steadily the day ends, dinner is eaten and everyone is ready for bedtime again. And the cycle repeats until one or both of them die.

Sigh! I'm tired just writing all this down. Happy first day of school, after summer vacation, to every hassled or non hassled parent in the world. 

Tea Time Snacks

Snacks in mallu households are serious business. I've grown up watching my grandparents eat bowlfulls of chips and mixture first and then sipping on their sugary teas.

Tea time snacks are a meal all by itself. As one grandmother brings freshly baked puffs, samosas and burgers from the local bakery, the other is busy laying out the table with home made chips - jackfruit, banana and tapioca to be precise.

Plum cakes, jalebis and nankattais were a given. If you ask me how we ate like pigs and didn't get diabetes soon after, it's because we played like animals after eating like animals.

So all those calories would be burnt at a higher speed when you compare it with the thulping speed. Which is why even now my fingers automatically order puffs and bondas every alternate day and I'm happy to stuff my face with some deep fried goodness by evening. 

I wish the calorie burning though was still as fast as when I was a child. Puffs are just baked afterall and bondas are technically a vegetable that is batter fried with some dough, is how I pacify myself now, after sniffing down something unhealthy. 

The heart is happy, because the stomach is so full that I can't move. And food coma is the best coma to be in, for mental and physical wellbeing. 

Periods

A full body storm,

That makes women lose all their shape and form,

Those last 2 kilos,

Back with a blow,

Chocolates you never wanted to touch,

Suddenly become your body's crutch,

To grin like the madhatter on the outside,

While a tsunami is blowing inside,

That's periods in a couple of lines,

We must carry along like those happy-looking, white-pant donning girls, without a whine,

Mutilating an entire cheesecake,

Would temporarily stop the ache,

So that's exactly what we do,

Our mouths are open, 

Our tummies become oceans,

Let's not even talk about emotions,

Are we happy, are we sad,

The hunger pangs and the pain, drive us quite mad,

Be gone periods,

Just shoo, scram and split. 

Humid, Sticky Heat

Is it just me,

Or does this humidity,

Make you really want to eat,

I've had meal after meal on repeat,

And my hunger has still not subsided,

Instead my brain is prompting me to grab another side,

Of main course and dessert,

Yet my hunger pangs come back in spurts,

This murderous hunger,

Has made me plunder,

Zomato and Swiggy mart, thrice already,

And I'm ready,

For dinner number two,

My stomach has no clue,

Whether I'm stuffing her with lunch or dinner,

Either way, today she feels like a winner.

Item Girl

The idea hit me when I saw Katrina gyrating to "Sheela ki Jawaani",

I wish that was me,

My brain sighed,

I could make my body glide,

And jiggle like that,

I even had a chat,

With a movie bro I knew,

Do you think it's a dignified thing to do,

He asked, of course I replied,

My shaking bum will be seen worldwide,

Name, fame and immortality on screen,

I certainly want to become an item queen,

With each passing day though,

My lower back breaks a little more and my movements become slow,

I must fulfil this desire of mine, before I die,

Lest I come back to haunt every movie set which catches my ghostly eye. 

4AM Thoughs

My 4AM thoughts are crazy,

They're wild and far from hazy,

My brain shoots out spontaneous instructions,

It's a full abduction,

Of my sanity,

Let's not do this to humanity,

The sensible part of me reasons,

Luckily, my brain decides to squeeze in,

A couple of more hours of sleep,

I wake up to find I infact did not send out heart emojis to all and sundry, like a creep,

Thankgod, there is a God,

My 4AM wake-ups are equivalent to drunk texting, how my brain functions, sometimes has me also awed,

Never make decisions at 4AM,

Or even 2AM,

Go to sleep, wake up wiser,

And thank your brain a million times, for being a sensible advisor.

Bondas and Bajjis

Potato bondas and vazhakkai bajjis, can there be anything better in sight,

Am I right or am I right,

Show me one bonda or bajji,

That didn't make you smile,

Copious amounts of coconut chutney,

Slathered on that deep fried goodness, and feelings of mutiny,

All fly out the window,

By evening the mood is mellow,

Work is all wrapped up,

Your body is all warmed up,

It's the perfect time for a crispy delight,

Something light,

Like a bonda or bajji,

I'm kidding about the light part, but just look at that beauty,

How can you resist,

Bondas and bajjis exist,

Only to spread joy,

So don't be coy,

Just attack and enjoy,

Calorie burning tactics, you can later deploy,

Get lost in the world of bajjis and bondas for now,

And don't ask how,

For now, just eat and burp,

And slurp.

Gaajar Halwa

Technically, you can't call Gaajar Halwa dessert,

It's fibre mixed with some ghee, very good for the eyes and heart,

An instant mood uplifter,

The cure for any jitters,

I'm almost always hungry after dinner,

So, Gaajar Halwa came to my rescue today, like a winner,

The golden orange and the scattering of fried cashews,

Quickly drives away all my blues,

My heart and face, both have a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat, 

As I gobble down spoonfuls of gooey, ghee-laden halwa all under 30 seconds flat,

At some point the sugar rush hits my brain,

And I allow that feeling to wash over me like euphoric rain,

Gaajar Halwa, it's the best creation of makind,

This is true love and I'm absolutely head over heels, as good as blind. 

Salads

Salads in the rain,

Will cause you nothing but pain,

I should have just ordered bonda and chicken fingers,

Instead, I decided to curb,

A start of the week indulgence,

I experienced a split-second of reluctance,

And stupidly ordered salad and sugar free cake,

That was it, my sleep was full of breaks,

Until the whole thing was thrown out of my system,

Listen carefully now, as I pass on this wisdom,

When it comes to food,

Eat only what makes you feel good,

Swap salads for deep fried junk,

And you'll sleep like a well meditated monk,

Salads in the rain,

Or any weather for that matter, never again, never again, never again.

Politically Incorrect

"You bloody idiot, do you realise what you just said?"

"Question after question, we don't want from you, please keep your mouth shut", another threat,

I've heard these accusations from colleagues, friends and family,

Like I'm some hillbilly,

Of course I'm not thinking before I talk,

We have a mouth, therefore we must talk,

Has always been my logic,

Talking has been passed onto me by genetics,

If you think I'm a chatter box,

You must meet my late grandmother, my father and my child, then you'll realise calling me a talker, is nothing but a hoax,

"Your heart is on your sleeves",

True, because diplomacy makes me squirm and freeze,

I believe if words are left unsaid,

It will eventually fill you with dread,

So speak, let it all out,

The right ones will anyway stay without a doubt.

Tomboy

I was never a girly girl, growing up,

I preferred my hair tied up,

Playing or creating slush pools,

Drinking them up and feeling cool,

While I had my collection of Barbies 

I felt equally at ease,

Playing with my toy guns,

I remember having multiple chins,

Because i simply loved food,

Overeating, always made me feel good,

In my tiny boxer shorts,

I built sand forts,

Crashed my cycle numerous times,

That poor machine, probably outlived it's lifetime,

Perhaps I'm still a dude in my head,

Because my son calls me "bruh", more than mumma, much to my dread.

40

40 in less than two years,

I'm no longer all ears,

For advice of any sort,

Unless it's someone telling me, how to eat copious amounts of butter chicken and still look hot,

Not sure if it's all the collagen I've been drinking,

Or the magnesium tablets I've been popping, 

But there is a clarity that comes with age,

When you know what works and what doesn't, it's almost like I'm a sage,

I've learnt to accept unpleasantnesses,

Along with pleasantness,

You let go of what you can't hold onto,

With the peace and knowledge that what belongs to you, wouldn't vanish with one little boo,

You're suddenly grateful for family and good friends,

Who catch you at every bend,

They keep you grounded and humble,

My mother for instance, who announced, "Of course you look like a 38 year old mother of one", without so much of a mumble,

I no longer want to look 21 at 40,

I'm happy to look 40 at 40,

Here's to more peace,

And settling into my weak bones with ease. 

Butter Chicken

Felt like a bloated python the whole of yesterday,

And woke up with the delicious aroma of butter chicken under my nails today,

Before you ask, of course I bathed, twice yesterday,

And so far, once today,

Why the smell then you wonder,

Because the saucy gravy, I decided to plunder,

We became one, the butter chicken and I,

For those delicious 5 minutes, we faced each other eye to eye,

There was love in every bite,

I drowned my garlic naan in that decadent gravy, until it was no longer white,

Heck, I couldn't even taste the garlic,

There was only butter chicken in every lick,

What a blissful Sunday afternoon I had,

There's some more of that gravy, yet to be had,

I can't wait for lunch today,

Although I must admit, I'm still full from yesterday.

Americano

Who knew I'd be guzzling down so much Americano,

And gorging on puffs like never before,

Dropping by Starbucks, felt like homecoming,

It almost felt like I was slowly becoming,

Some version of you,

One sip of that bitter brew and all my brain fog just flew,

That really was the best coffee, I'd ever had,

I walked out of there feeling rad,

Bits and pieces of you, still exist all around me,

It was a bittersweet feeling of sadness and glee,

Three years on,

I'm pretty sure I've moved on,

Yet, there are moments like this,

Where I still feel suspended in time,

I wonder what you'd think of me now,

I'm sure you'd ask me how,

I've started drinking so much black coffee.