Why My 7-Year-Old’s Hard Bargains Mean I’m Doing Something Right

I think the greatest disservice we can do while raising the current generation of kids is to micromanage them. They are, in fact, not mini-mes—however nice that may sound while captioning Instagram photos. They are themselves. 

To have a child who raises their voice back at you and gives you utter hell at home starting from 6:00 AM is a child who is fiercely independent. Congratulations to you; this means you have not suffocated your child with your archaic thought processes.

Let’s accept for a moment that our thought processes are archaic. We didn’t grow up with Peppa Pig, Cocomelon, and Minecraft to keep us company after school. So no, we, in fact, do not understand their brains as much as we want to believe we do. 

Don’t want to play badminton after two months of coaching? That’s fine. Don’t want to learn swimming officially but just want to splash around inside the pool? Perfectly alright. Want to make exactly ten friends with one best friend who hasn’t changed since L.K.G.? Wonderful. Struggling with languages and still think you’re a boss? Um, that’s where I draw the line. But I’m learning to let go of his limited language knowledge.

We cannot cling onto our children as an extension of our identities or lives. We have to let them fly and fall, make their own decisions, make mistakes, correct them, and so on. 

Empty nest syndrome is anyway going to hit all of us hard the moment they leave our houses for academic or career aspirations, so why make it harder on ourselves by clinging onto them? 

In the words of my 75-year-old father, “We always knew you’d fly away with your wings, girl,” he says with arms flapping on both sides. Easy for him to say considering his grandson visits him every weekend and I live less than a kilometer away from him.

But forget us; this next generation is bolder, stronger, sharper, more opinionated, and has stronger personalities. Let’s just watch them fly with pride in our eyes. I’m proud of my seven-year-old, even if my pooja room is currently his very messy toy corner, even if he doesn't sleep in his own room yet, and all the more because he stares me down like we’re in a courtroom and hard-bargains on his weekend outings and toy purchases. 

Now, this kid needs to be a lawyer. But, I’ll let him decide, of course. I’m choosing not to be a helicopter parent today or any day.

What kind of parenting style are you following?

Zero Bandwidth for Fake Energy

Perhaps I'm perimenopausal, as my nighttime sleep is absolutely light. Or maybe it's the fact that I've lived half my life on Earth, assuming I live until 80. The point is, my tolerance for bullshit is so low now that I can actually feel multiple veins snapping in various parts of my body (I like to call this the Hulk phenomenon) when I have to put up with fake conversations, fake smiles, and basically just about anything fake.

My patience levels are at an all-time low. I'm busier than ever, just like any hassled millennial parent, and I simply don't have the emotional bandwidth for garbage. So, if you don't have a kind word to say, you can either choose to recycle yourself or maintain silence and keep a mile away from me.

Close friends and family, of course, know how to get their message across in a diplomatic manner without mincing words. I hear them, I see them, and I choose to agree or disagree with their point of view. 

The energy and time we invest in people at this juncture in our lives are so important. I want to surround myself only with those who uplift and inspire. I don't have the patience for petty gossip or talk about large world problems that do not concern me or my child.

It is strange how I have such epiphanies during 3 AM sleepless nights like this. But it's a good epiphany to have, I think.

Oh No! It's Monday

Oh no! It's Monday,

The day that flies the fastest has to be Sunday,

What makes this particular morning worse,

Is a radiating shoulder blade pain, like an excruciating curse,

I just want to sleep,

Go back into my slumber, nice and deep,

Why do the weekends fly?

In my bed, I want to lie,

Sleeping all day and night,

With no work in sight,

Perhaps I should,

For another two hours, I really should,

I'll wake up less crabby,

And hopefully feel far from shabby.

No Nanoships and Definitely No Walking Tsunamis

With the advent of dating apps and sex being indulged in by all and sundry like we're back in the Stone Age, the sanctity of marriage and relationships has been reduced to a very large, well-fed horse taking a gigantic dump and saying, "Aaah! When's my next feed?"

So I give up on trying to explain my stance. I give up on talking about the beautiful marriage and relationship I had with a gorgeous man who really leveled up the playing field for all men in general.

When friends and family ask why I'm still single after 5 years, I look no further than my dearest poopie. Imagine, a grown 21-year-old let me call him poopie until the day he died. He called me poopie right back. There was so much love, we made a mini-version of him, who looks like him, sounds like him, and is probably more him than me.

So when people ask, "Are you over your husband?", my answer is a resounding no. How can I be over a man who shaped my early adulthood, who made me a wife, a mother, and now a widow? No, sir. That's one man I can never forget or get over.

"You're never going to get married again," said my late husband's best friend, quite bluntly to my face two nights ago, and I immediately retorted, "What rubbish! Of course I will! Just not with the walking tsunamis and Hurricane Katrinas I'm meeting now."

Love has never been trivial for me. The greatest ambition in my life as an 8-year-old was to get married and have lots of babies. "I want a beach wedding," I'd tell my grandfather, and he'd reply, "But the crows will eat all the pappadam from the sadya, that may not work, mole."

"Okay, appuppa. What about a mountain wedding then?" I'd persist. "I'll be too old then, Gayu, to climb up and see you get married," he'd reply. "Don't worry about all that, appuppa, I'll get a helicopter just to bring you to the top," I'd insist.

Needless to say, I've byhearted every cheesy Hollywood romcom dialogue by heart, starting with Julia Roberts' one-liner in Notting Hill: "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her." And, "Never lie, steal, cheat, or drink. But if you must lie, lie in the arms of the one you love. If you must steal, steal away from bad company. If you must cheat, cheat death. And if you must drink, drink in the moments that take your breath away," from Hitch. Or, "Take it with you so you'll always have a way to look back... and remember me," from the Beauty and the Beast.

My brain is mush. Tiramisu mixed with chocolate mousse, to be exact. I loved intensely at 21 and that's the only way I know how to love. I'm either all in or not at all. There are absolutely no shades of grey for me when it comes to love.

I understand how important it is to have a loving, supportive partner and how to nurture that relationship over time. So no, I don't do nanoships, situationships, breadcrumbing, ghosting, or benching.

I'm a modern-day Belle looking for my beast, and until I find him, I'm happy to remain single because I'd rather explore the world alone and eat all my meals alone than spend my time trying to fix a 'beast' who refuses to grow up. Also, I already have a mini-beast at home who needs raising. So my hands are quite full. 

My Soulmate Gynaecologist

It's so important to have a good gynaecologist by your side, whatever stage of life you're in. I've been blessed with some great gynaecologists over the years who made my pregnancy and motherhood experience as smooth as possible.

Fast forward to five years ago, my PCOD was worse than ever. Every cycle made me nauseous, more weepy, and left me in unbearable pain. That's when I stumbled upon my present gynaecologist. 

She looked my mum straight in the face and said, "Yes, you're a very supportive family and you've stood by this girl through this very difficult time, but none of you are her husband. Never forget that. She's just lost someone who was a very vital part of her life. So, this pain she's experiencing is nothing but the trauma in her head."

I think for me, in that one moment, I knew that Dr Narassa Narayani was my soulmate gynaecologist. She was empathetic, empowering, encouraging, and no-nonsense all at the same time.

The conversations we have had range from PCOD problems to parenting, to all my hair colours over the years, and what kind of man I should marry if I ever choose to get married again.

With Dr Narassa, the conversation about my ailment lasts for exactly two minutes. The remaining consultation time feels like I'm in a coffee shop, meeting an old friend after years.

She's warm, friendly, and super fun to talk to. I've never met a bad gynaecologist in my life, to be honest. They just understand women on such a deep level; even our partners (in the past and going forward) could never understand us the way they do.

I'm blessed to have Dr Narassa in my life. Find yourself a good gynaecologist if you haven't already. Otherwise, I highly recommend Dr Narassa for any and every issue you may be facing. 

My Make or Break Point

Everyone's life has a make-or-break point. You can choose either to be defined by that moment and remain there forever, or to move forward bravely, learning valuable lessons from the past.

I reached this point five years ago when my world collapsed. I could do nothing about it except stand and watch helplessly. In that moment, though, despite the grief, the anger, the sadness, and the sense of betrayal that I felt, I only saw my toddler's sweet, round face. 

I knew my job was to protect him from every evil in the world. I'm grateful for the fact that he was only two when his father passed, so he'll hopefully never remember me as that broken widow who woke up screaming from vivid nightmares every other day and night, or who broke down at the sight of a plate of food. 

I was half in the world of the living and mostly in the world of the dead. I wondered why God had kept me alive and what my purpose was. The pain was unbearable, both physically and mentally.

I was a shell of a person for a very long time. Nothing I did made sense. The skies looked different. I couldn't understand how people were just continuing to live, doing mundane things like eating out, working out, or bragging about a promotion. Everything seemed meaningless.

Four months into that insanity, I decided to pick up the pieces of my life and contribute my tiny skills to the world. I remember that job interview very well with a very senior HR leader, alongside my good friend and colleague of over a decade.

"Why do you want to work, Gayatri?" he asked.

I don't remember my reply in that moment. I just knew I had to get out of the house and do something with my mind and body. Months later, I thanked her for helping me land that opportunity. But, being the wonderful woman she is, she assured me that I was in that organisation because of my skills and knowledge. I don't believe her to this day, quite honestly. I know I got that job only because of her.

Over the years, my grief has taken various forms. Five years later, I can safely say I'm still heartbroken but never defeated; still cut up, but never losing hope in good people and miracles; still feeling a sense of betrayal, but trying my best to be cautious moving forward.

The immediate support system you have in the form of family, friends, and colleagues during such dark phases in life is so important. Each person has pushed me out of my grief and encouraged me to excel without looking back. I wouldn't be the person I am today if it weren't for such wonderful people in my life. You know who you are.

Did I Miss My Calling?

I saw System yesterday, a powerful, woman-centric movie about the battle between good and evil. The movie shows in detail the lives of two women from different strata of society, struggling in their own ways—one professionally and the other personally. 

What attracted me to it were the lead actors themselves: Jyothika and Sonakshi Sinha. Both women outdid themselves and did a fantastic job on-screen, as always. What really stood out for me was Sonakshi Sinha's role as a lawyer.

Throughout the movie, my late grandmother's words kept echoing in my head. "Make this girl a lawyer. She talks too much," was the direct and almost constant advice she would shower my mother with.

Funnily, in my last organisation, our entire team was introduced on a video call to the new CBO. When he asked each of us about our personal and professional journeys, I mentioned my grandmother's words: "My grandmother wanted me to be a lawyer. But there's too much studying in that field, so I chose the next best thing that would keep me talking and connected to people 24/7—corporate communications." 

He chuckled along with the rest of my team, who already had to bear with my overwhelming barrage of chatter.

Coming back to the movie, all the court scenes and cases that Sonali won on-screen gave me goosebumps. Did I, in fact, miss a great career opportunity? Should I have been a lawyer instead of a communications professional? 

Perhaps that is for another life. Or maybe I can pursue it as a side hustle. Time will tell. As for now, my child is my side hustle, and that hustle really hassles me! 

Cheers to lawyers everywhere! You make talking sound cool, and you make the world realise how important talking is. Keep doing what you're doing, and fight the good fight like Sonali Sinha in System and Matt Murdock, aka Daredevil.

The Chatbot Parent

The greatest dilemma of every working parent, regardless of gender, is not spending enough time with our children. Mine needs constant reassurance on an hourly and daily basis. "Maaamaa, do you love me?" "Maaamaaa, do you hate me?" I answer at lightning speed like an AI-generated chatbot.

Post-bath-time, soaking-wet hugs? Immediately accepted. Smelly early-morning baby breath along with "Lie down right now!" Immediately accepted. Post-school mindless screen time for half an hour along with body-crushing slam-hugs? Accepted. 

And that’s all we can do as working parents.

There’s no point feeling guilty. When they grow up, they’ll have to fend for their families too, and then they’ll realize why maaamaa or daddy had to stay glued to their laptops. 

Do I feel the guilt of prioritizing work more than juggling school homework on working days? Yes. Do I feel the guilt of not having longer playtime and cycling time on working days? Yes. But that does not mean I’ll stop doing whatever I’m doing which brings food to our table.

So when I hear the occasional, "Ufff maaamaa, you’re always working" or "You love your laptop more than me," I don’t even blink or bother to respond. I’m doing the best that I can, just like any other hassled working parent. 

So let’s not feel the guilt or the shame of prioritizing a bright future for our children and opening doors for them—doors which they will have the opportunities to open if they choose to when they’re 18+.

On that note, it’s Friday. Let’s hope to quickly shut down and run into the weekend, with and without our kids. Peace!

The Friday Exhaustion is Real

The Friday exhaustion is real,

Your mind and body just want to heal,

There's a soul-level tiredness,

That's clearly visible on your face,

And your generally aggressive Gen-Z trainer, finally showers you with some kindness,

There's giggling and smirking, of course,

But she takes pity on you because your voice is hoarse,

"What is hurting, ma'am?" she asks,

"Inside, outside, and every part of me that has a side," I honestly unmask,

Between grunts and semi-sobs,

She semi-successfully completes her job,

To make more chutney of my tired soul,

Into a fine little paste, similar to colourful eye-kohl,

Is her mission for the hour,

By the top of the hour,

I've had enough, and so has she,

I'm ready to collapse on the bed, while she flees.

Kudos to energetic Gen-Z trainers,

Who manage to drive away our work blues and act as unhappiness drainers,

Off to work I go now,

Just 9 hours to go before I bid this week ciao.

Baby Detox

Two months away from my little bun,

Who hates it when I call him a bun,

What a wonderful baby detox I've had,

Life minus the hustle of school is not so bad,

I've missed his sweaty cuddles,

Along with his 100-odd questions that have my brain in a muddle,

My house is quieter,

Much more neater,

I've been hyper-productive at work,

Not really wanting to take a break,

The silence is both peaceful and deafening,

June is soon beckoning,

And my baby monster will be back to create havoc.

Summer Sore Throats

Summer sore throats are different from winter sore throats,

The summer ones don't make us bleat like goats,

In the battle of the scorching sun vs. our tonsils,

We're left feeling like fossils,

But as I always say, it's mind over matter,

Let's dust this silly ailment away like it does not matter,

A couple of salt water gargles,

An ayurvedic goli or two, we can easily overcome this minor hurdle,

It's so important to have our vocal cords intact,

I feel very sad when I momentarily lose my voice and that's a fact,

To be in the pink of health,

Is the greatest wealth,

Let's gift ourselves well-functioning body parts,

So that we don't sound and look like big fat farts.

How I Stole My Late Husband’s Best Friend

I met Madhatter aka Ritesh Nagpal for dinner last night at Southern Spices. He let me order whatever I wanted for the table and enjoyed it. Green flag number one. A man who lets you decide and doesn't complain. 

Funnily, Madhatter was never my friend. He was my late husband's school classmate from DPS RK Puram, the most notorious school in all of India when I was growing up. I suppose you could say these men were bad boys of their time, which is why I married my late husband after all. He was a good boy, pretending to be a bad boy. I simply loved the appeal and couldn't resist. 

Anyway, I just had to steal Madhatter from my husband and convert him into my friend. But Ritesh being Ritesh, never took a stand and chose to be a cat on the fence, because he is in reality a cat lover and also a very diplomatic well-raised mostly politically correct (except with me, because he calls me fatso every opportunity he gets) gentleman. 

I've known Ritesh for as long as I've known my late husband - a total of 18 years to be exact. We met on the same day, in the same house, in the same city. 

I've seen Ritesh get married, becoming a father, raise a family and slowly and steadily growing into a very competent marketing leader. 

When my family broke, Ritesh and his family never left my side. The weekly calls, the monthly calls, the birthday presents and the once a year meet-ups never came to a fullstop.

He's a rock solid friend to have because he tells you things as they are, very bluntly and to your face. From financial advice to very hesitant love-life advice, this man is a pandora's box of exploding knowledge.

There are two kinds of 40 year olds in this world - the sane and the insane. Ritesh acknowledges both sides in me and tries his best to give me the most objective advice, until he gets really scandalised and says, "I don't want to know Gayatri. Please stop talking. Don't take advantage of my silence." 

Ritesh, I'm so happy to have you as a friend and confidant. Cheers to another two more decades and beyond of friendship together. 

Happy 49 Years of Marriage

For every child, his or her parents are always considered to be the two most special people on earth. Mine are extra special though because at the ages of 70 and 75 they've never made me feel the brunt of being a single mother.

They quietly took on much more than parental duties and decided to raise my little devil of a child while I decided to build my career, heal my grief and throw myself into my 10,000 plus hobbies.

When people ask how I was able to quickly get back on my feet with a 2 year old boy in tow, I look no further than my parents.

They told me to wipe my tears and keep moving forward. They've always just let me be and allowed me to make decisions without suffocating me, whether it was choosing my life partner or settling down into a particular field of work.

It's their 49th wedding anniversary today and I sincerely hope my son doesn't lock either of them up in the bathroom or steal ten-rupee notes from their wallets. 

To my parents, who never once made me feel like a defeated widow and who tolerate their little villain of a grandson, happy 49th wedding anniversary amma and daddy. 

Riaan and I are grateful to have you. May you both live for 100 years. 

The Strange Workings Of A Woman's Brain

Women can be each other's best friends or worst enemies and the reasons range from hilarious to petty and more petty. There is an undercurrent of stress at all times. And 95% of the time it's just not needed.

I wonder how creatures who are such nurturers and bringers of life, can also hold massive grudges for decades. Best friend from college didn't invite you to her wedding? Friendship over. Picked up a bigger fridge magnet than your mother-in-law during a family vacation? Marital discord. Gave your immediate boss a shelling because she was getting on your case and didn't really understand the business because she had just joined? Appraisal cut and no bonus for that year.

This list is endless. And it's heartbreaking, emotionally draining and just a waste of time. Imagine if all that hatred women have for one another could be put into something more productive? 

Why do we waste our brain cells squabbling, gossiping and comparing? Each woman is on her journey and no one is doing anything wrong - whether it is building her career, raising her child or caring for aging parents. Each one is on her unique mission and does things her way, because no one understands her child, her parents and her boss at work, like she does. So why compare? Why take notes? 

Let's strive to be uniquely different as we are. Let's not pick petty fights, let's definitely not compare for our own sakes and especially not our impressionable little children and let's spread happiness.

A woman's happiness is critical for society and her family to flourish. She can either be the giver of life and the nurturer that she's meant to be or she can destroy and spread hatred. The choice is purely hers.

Let's spread smiles ladies. Each time a negative thought pops into my head, I stuff my face with a bowl of moong dal halwa or a decadent Biscoff cheesecake. Choose your poision - whether it be a food item or a drink and throw that negativity away.

We're all so talented in our own ways, let's do something useful with those skills and contribute to our communities at large. 

I choose to be the bringer of peace, decadent desserts and the occasional oversweet cocktail. Who are you choosing to be today? 

My First Friends

I saw an instagram reel this morning about how the oldest relationship you will have is with your siblings. My relationship with my siblings has been hot and cold over the years. 8 years and 4 years apart in age, I couldn't exactly bond with them as a child.

There were "older children" games and "girly gossip sessions", that I wasn't privy to. An entire room of children would empty out after dropping their toys, the minute I entered. Perhaps I harassed them. I'm told I was a biter and one cousin still recalls the stories with a traumatised look on her face.

I don't recall any of it though. I wonder how I could have ever bitten anyone. I'm so peace loving, especially when I'm well fed and definitely over the weekends.

Our house had a large compound filled with dogs and my cousin's occassional stray-finds consisting of one-eyed ducks, stray baby puppies, multiple fish tanks and a squirrel from Chennai. The animals got more love and attention than me.

I recall one dog walking up to my brother Arjun's room searching for him, and my sister Sowmia, munching on jackfruit chips straight out of a glass bottle with one hand and her other hand stuffed inside an obese little Dachshund's mouth. 

Both my brothers - Swaroop and Arjun would spend their holidays obsessively cleaning the fish tank. It was a whole affair. One boy would bring the green garden hose from one end of the house's compound, while the other boy would quickly throw the hose in, after removing the excess water out. Lo and behold, the empty garden hose would now be transformed into a little pumping device, that would empty out all the tank's smelly, fishy water.

Sometimes the dogs would die and I'd watch the three of them, making large graveyards around the compound to bury their little bodies inside and stand around the freshly made grave sobbing hysterically. I could feel their hearts breaking and felt sorry seeing them that way, as I empathetically munched on golden fried medu vadas or mutta puffs.

On occassion, the three of them would regale me with stories of how I looked like or behaved when I was a baby. My sister Sowmia still calls me "her little doll" and my brother Arjun apparently called me "nice baby" and asked for his toy car upon meeting me for the first time.

Out of the three, I remember my brother Swaroop pampering me the most, but as an 8 year old, perhaps he needed his space too, so he'd promise to come back and play with me but would remain in his room for hours drawing and painting. The maids would ask, "Who are you waiting for Gayu?" and I'd reply in all earnesty, "Swaroop chettan."

These three definitely shaped my childhood along with mutta puffs and kothu porotta. They push me to do better as a person. The advice is unending on all fronts - personally and professionally.

Most times, I'm grateful for the advice because I actively seek them out for it. On other occassions, I quietly stuff earbuds into both my ears and smile at them with a big nod, so they think I'm listening.

My love for my siblings is greater than 10 plates of kappa with meen curry and stronger than a kattan. I'm proud of the adults they've become today and the beautiful, warm families they've all built for themselves individually. 

Not Your Average Business Networking Event

I attended an all woman's business networking event yesterday which positioned itself as "not a networking event." At the end of those three hours, that's exactly what I felt. My stomach was mildly satiated with some tasty sundal, cookies and juice, but my brain was racing with ideas.

We hardly spoke about work. Instead, we spoke about all the challenges women have faced over centuries at home, in offices and practically everywhere she has tried to achieve something.

The room was filled with entrepreneurs, freelancers, working professionals and mothers. The energy in the room was indescribable. For those three hours, we became allies and felt deeply connected to one another.

The conversations we had were both heartbreaking and enlightening. Women really do face the brunt of the world everywhere and no one can deny this fact.

Societies have been built brick by brick with the quiet hardwork of women. Sometimes she gets acknowledged for it. On most occasions, she does not.

But that doesn't stop her from working hard. She always puts everyone else above her and keeps working hard for their betterment. 

In those three hours, I couldn't be more proud to be a woman. There's an inbuilt strength that we're born with, that helps us keep moving forward every single day.

To many more "non-networking events" and many more plates of tasty sundal. Thank you Gehena and Vaishnavi for putting together The Shakthi Circle and for giving working women a voice and a genuine platform to just vent, exchange thoughts and just be her true self. 

Why Mothers Excel At Work

I finally caught Devil Wears Prada 2 in theatres last night and it felt like I was coming home to old friends. I was in my second year of undergraduation when I saw the first movie with my classmates. 

From then to now, the underlying emotion of the movie, of women wanting to make a difference in the world remains the same. As a 19 year old I wanted to make it big in the corporate world just like Andy Sachs and strike out on my own if I couldn't fit into the Miranda Priestly mould.

And as a grown adult, as I watch these working mothers on screen, still striving for excellence and regretting not spending enough time with their children, that struck a chord with me too.

There's a reason why working mothers excel at work. It's because we know the cost of staying away from shaping an impressionable life and not being able to really get involved in their routine.

So that cost better come at a good price. We better justify that time away from the little souls we've brought into this world. That's the reason why most working mothers just put their heads down and work to excel. There's a hunger in her belly that never gets satiated unless she's perfected her craft and is at the top of her game.

She's not being competitive or aggressive, she's simply fiercely safeguarding her future along with her children's futures who would ultimately reap from the benefits of her hardwork.

She can never have it all and the guilt of trying to make both worlds work in harmony with one another always makes her fall flat on her feet. On the day of a PTA, there will definitely be a meeting with the new V.P who has taken over the team. 

On the day a teacher has asked you to come see her post school hours, is also the day your team and you are working hard to overcome a major org-wide escalation. 

On all those days, I come back home sobbing and all the chocolate cookies in the world don't heal my soul. 

The struggle for work life balance is real and the struggle to perform both parental and professional duties have made me lose so much of my hair, that it doesn't look nice even if I colour it cherry purple.

So Miranda Priestly's cold, "That's all" is perfectly justified because she really doesn't have the time to listen to co-workers and assistants rant endlessly about their problems. Just get your shit together and make it work - both at home and in the office.

To the mothers who simply cannot have it all - I see you, I feel you and I am you. Tommorow is another day. We've got this ladies!

One and Done

For the longest time, I fantasized about having an army of children - an entire cricket team in fact. And my life would be spent in the kitchen cooking multiple meals for them morning, noon and night along with snacks between meals. That fantasy got stronger right after childbirth and my late husband looked petrified each time I mentioned this desire of mine.

"Please find another husband.", "One is enough." and he'd quickly run out of the room. Five years later, that secret desire of mine still burns strong. Each time I take my son for his shot or a fever-induced medical checkup, I drool at the newborns in the hospital and can actually feel my ovaries crying. 

Then I ask my one and only, "Riaan, do you want another brother or sister?", he turns around with a defiant look on his little face and replies, "I already have many brothers and sisters who visit me twice a year. Thank you very much." 

That officially shuts down my salivating and I make peace with my little devil, who has irrevocably changed my life for the better. I hug him a little harder as I wipe the wet boogey off his nose and smell the top of his sweaty little head.

I suppose my mission in this lifetime is to make a gentleman out of just one little monkey. Maybe I'll have my army of animals in the next.

Sigh! 

The Reluctant Pant Wearer

A dear friend of mine and my late husband's whispered in my ears a few days after he passed away, "You've always worn the pants in this relationship, so just continue doing that now. You'll be fine." I know he meant it with pure intentions because as a couple we were very fond of him and he cared deeply about us too.

In that moment, I didn't have a response, I just felt empty and sad that I was truly all alone in the world. Looking back at that moment minus the widow-lenses, it's harrowing to see societal expectations out of a man and a woman post marriage. She has to be the bread winner, the family glue and the caretaker of the house and all it's residents. The man on the other hand, just has to be the bread winner and crack a few jokes now and then.

How is this fair? How is a woman expected to juggle work, children, aging parents and household chores without losing her cool? If this is what makes a woman, "wear the pants in the relationship", that's a very skewed and unfair perspective of women.

Does helping with the baby and household chores make a man, less of a man. Didn't both individuals decide to build that life together? Then why does the responsibility only fall on one person's shoulders? 

So no, I never wanted to wear the pants in that relationship and I don't want to wear it going forward either. I'm officially throwing away those pants, because I've always been a skirt and dress girl.

Boo to patriarchy and cheers to equality! 

My Corporate Family

When corporates tell you "we are one big happy family", as you stuff down the Mutton Biryani during the team-outing you get once a year, you believe it because the biryani tastes so good. Those mutton pieces buried inside the rice are soft and juicy, you can die and go straight upto heaven after that one meal and your soul would never come back down to earth as a ghost, because you're so satiated.

But no, for me across organisations, I truly have found family from one company to the next. I'd like to talk about one special team now whom I worked with immediately after my husband's loss. My crazy levels were on an extra high, even without the biryani. I was all love and hate and happiness and sadness all at the same time. Picture me as a newly born vampire, who had just been bitten and the world looked and smelt different. I was Chandra and Bella and Selene rolled into one. 

This team got my crazy from the word "go". They smiled and nodded along with me, with an occassional dose of kicking whenever I sounded extra loony. 

2 years and 8 months flew by in jet speed. I was so sad to leave them behind, to quit them and move onto bigger assignments. I felt guilty and sad about this huge looming void that could never be filled.

The first team I worked with right after a loss, I'll never forget them and I'll always be grateful to them for just understanding who I was as a person, who I still am infact. 

One glance at my face and they'd know if I was gloomy or happy. They never once reigned me in. They just let me be. I could be loud and noisy and take a 100 pictures around them. Such sports! How can I ever forget this team?

I miss you like biryani without raita, like chocolate sundae without extra sauce and nuts, like bun maska without maska and like a sky without a rainbow. You are my rainbow - yesterday, today and everyday.

My most favourite team in all these years. Team design and communications. A match made in corporate heaven. 

Team Iron Man

I recently met someone, let's just call him douchebag for now. He told me, "you think too much of yourself and you're Wonder woman." I replied "I don't think I'm Wonder woman, Gal Gadot has already played the part and my ass is not so tight, so no you've got the wrong girl bro."

As for the "thinking too much of myself" part, that bit is entirely true. I've experienced things only senior citizens have in this lifetime and I've survived it with dark humour, sugar free icecream, poetry and good cinema across regional and international languages. So yes, without a doubt, I do "think too much of myself".

Quite frankly, if you don't think too much of yourself, no one else is going to. Trust in your personal brand to deliver to the world at large and your immediate family. Dim out the white noise in your head and from "well-wishers" and blindly believe in your abilities.

"You've got this, you shall overcome, yet again, this is jujubee" (in the words of Rajni), are the words I've permanently copy-pasted in my head. 

I can smell toxic masculinity and feminity, from a mile away because I've been raised by a family of super achievers, who've been humble all their life and have showered me with a suffocating amount of love even when I try to push them away.

So disrespect, unnecessary screaming and forcing down your point of view inside my throat, will certainly not work with me and it most certainly doesn't sit well with my son. If I'm opinionated, he's worse. If I ask 100 questions, he asks 200. If you think I'm stubborn and pig-headed, I wonder what you'd think about my son.

As a package deal, we're loud and in your face, but very warm, genuine and hospitable. Perhaps this very tiny chapter in my life has made me realise that there's only space for kind people in my world. 

If you want to be Doctor Doom, please do that elsewhere, I am and always will be team Iron Man. 

Peace! ☮️

Never Settle

Why shrink your big feelings,

For someone who treats you like an orange peel,

Why shrink your lively personality,

For someone whose moods swing from irritability to more irritability,

Remember who you are,

Slightly bizzare, but definitely a star,

Weird without a doubt, but all heart,

Now if the person opposite you can't look at you like a piece of art,

It's probably best it crashed and burnt,

Yet another lesson has been learnt,

Time to turn the page on this chapter,

And continue being a multifaceted adaptor,

Onto the next we zoom,

There's no place for gloom and doom.

The Cost of Having a Point of View

I met my childhood friend last week in Ooty and was cribbing to him about how tired I am in general with juggling work and mommy duties. He looked me straight in the face, in the middle of my picturesque tea garden overlooking balcony and said, "This is why women marry into rich families or want to become a trophy wife. Go become a trophy wife now." I blinked at him for exactly two seconds and burst into hysterical laughter. He joined me in the laughter and then we continued sipping on our black coffees to keep ourselves warm from the Ooty chill. 

That conversation made me wonder, why are women called "gold diggers", and "sluts" and "whores" while men do exactly the same thing. They want to marry rich too, they want to explore the opposite sex in abundance too and are called "fuckboys" in such a jovial way. And the worst one liner I've heard in my life "Men will be men." What does this even mean? Then women will also be women. 

Why has society posed such double standards for both sexes indulging in the same behaviour? A woman working late hours and sacrifing her weekends for her career is a "bad mother" and not a "good homemaker." However, a man indulging in the same career building activities are termed as "providers", "good husband's, father's and sons". I don't get it, I just don't get it. 

I'm too tired to keep wondering why a colleague of mine who was hired a year after me, at my same designation at a reputed Indian PR agency was given a much higher salary than mine. There was no difference in the work he was doing with mine. 

He was a "Yes man" at work when it came to our boss and clients, while I kept pointing out alternative ways to run a campaign or garner media coverage.

If the cost of having a strong point of view, is the package we earn, that's too high a cost to pay. I'm unwilling to settle for less at this stage of my life and career. 

Here's hoping the next generation of women have a much better time personally and professionally. As for me, I'm just going with the flow and sipping on hot chocolate each time I'm triggered.

Peace! ✌️

Bollywood's Version of Musicians

I've lost count of the number of Bollywood movies that have portrayed musicians as angst ridden and wanting to sacrifice their passion for family, for the woman they love and are drunk all the time, with major bad boy problems.

Where are these men? I've never met them. Or perhaps, my late husband had it easy. He didn't have to be angst ridden or self-sacrificing. All he had to do was ask, "Will you be my girlfriend, if I share my zinger burger and KFC bucket with you?" 

I was sold. I knew then this was the man I'd marry. Prior to the KFC deal, he got me a dozen chocolate donut balls and perhaps will I ate, he schemed. 

Satisfy my hunger and it's easy to slip into my life and into my good books. I've made peace with the worst of enemies and bosses, over a good hearty meal. All is immediately forgotten! Of course, you have to be a slightly nice person too and then we're in business.

Coming back to the angst ridden musician boyfriend now, I scratch my head each time I watch any of those over-the-top, exaggerated, melodramatic Bollywood movies. What a nightmare to have a man or even a friend like that in your life.

Therapy bro, therapy! All that anger and breaking guitars will do you no good. It's high time movies start depicting some semblance to the real world. 

Love and sunshine and music is all well and fine. But respect, having a good time and being able to truly be youself is the hallmark of a great friendship and relationship. 

Beasts that can be turned into honourable men don't exist. And there's no need for you to be Belle if you're a woman. Just be your authentic self, and the right crowd will find you.  

Almost 40 Syndrome

Sleep so thin,

It definitely doesn't feel like a win,

Headache so pounding,

Even the second hand on my clock is resounding,

No one warned me that my body would act up,

Even if I don't slip-up,

My work and workout routine,

Make my sleep look like a crime scene,

There's no rest in sight,

However much I toss and turn and fight,

My 8 hour sleep is no where in sight,

My body feels like it's on constant fight or flight,

Off to bed I go,

Before my workday hits me on the face like a rough blow,

Almost 40 is not so bright afterall,

A turtle doing a slow crawl,

Suddenly looks faster than me,

Good night for now, inside my bed I shall burrow and flee.

Raising Gen Alpha

My Gen Alpha villain is wearing me down. Woman down, I repeat, woman down! What started with sweet baby chatter has turned into a full blown World War 3. The war of words are relentless. The pranks are never ending and the dark humour is so dark, I sometimes wonder if I've spawned him with the devil himself.

But just as I wonder if I should sip on another cup of hot chocolate to calm down or be thrown into a mental asylum, he brings his googly-eyed face two centimetres away from mine and cups my face inside his sticky baby hands. 

Before I can process what's really happening he envelops me in a bony little hug and says, "A hug can solve everything." This, after an entire day of screaming me down because I cooked a meal for the family and spoke to my mother for an extra two seconds more. 

Sometimes I wonder whether he's this attention seeking because he's an only child and then I observe other children at the airport older than him, his age and younger, who are much worse behaved than him. Shaking airport installations, dancing around in circles so frantically that the water bottle around their tiny necks, smack into passersby and then there are the flying wonders, who run faster than the Flash, away from their parents and into another galaxy.

This terrible behaviour displayed by other tiny humans, gives me so much hope for the future. I am not alone in my misery and tiny devils exist everywhere.

So the feeling of turning into the maniacal Joker one day mixed with wanting to be a sensible Harley Quinn (while she was still the Joker's therapist of course), is completely normal.

My little chaos is a normal Gen Alpha villain and I'm a sane Millennial who was raised with an occassional beating and way too many mutta puffs along with potloads of over-sweetned Rasna. I'm sure I was a much nicer and very well behaved child. I don't want to verify this very truthful fact with my mother or my late grandparents now.

I haven't passed on this hideously naughty behaviour and this unending chattering mouth to my child. No! These are not my genes. I simply refuse.

Gentle parenting is so wonderful on paper, but it's simply impossible to follow with this hyper-online generation raised by YouTube shots and Minecraft. 

We've got this my fellow Millennial parents. We will survive, no matter what. Here's to drinking more cups of hot chocolate to remain sane. Just another decade more to go and hopefully they'll go to college on another planet, while we sip on cocktails on a remote untraceable island and enjoy an early retirement. 

The Healing Mountain Air

I met a good friend recently who was travelling to the Philippines after an Everest Base Camp trek. He looked flushed and tired after the gruelling challenge and mentioned suddenly about how he'd miss his ex on the beaches of Philippines, as they had done that travel together when they were a couple.

I smiled at him and nodded. Truth be told, the entire world reminds me of my late husband, but it's been 5 years for me and I've learnt to live alone. 

I've created fresh memories in all the places that remind me of him, with someone even better - my son. The chaos and the hysteria he brings into my life makes me forget all the trauma and grief my young husband's abrupt passing brought me.

Picking myself back up and quickly building a life for us came to me like second skin, thanks to the years of hardwork my late husband had displayed. 14 years of being with just one man, probably made me a bit like him, whether I'd like to admit it or not.

He passed on his work ethic and drive to do better in life with his passing. To continue to live a good life he was trying to create for our family, has been my only goal, ever since. 

And here we are, little chaos and I, 5 years later visiting my parent's holiday home in Ooty. When I first came here, I was a wife and now I'm a mother. There are 100 places like this all over the world, which leave me with a sense of peace because I know we're at peace as a family.

We've moved on respectfully, no longer holding onto the past like it's a painful secret to be buried. We once knew a brilliant man and now we're well on our way to continue leading a life of integrity and honesty.

The memories can flash as much as they want in my head, but none of it hurts anymore. So mountains, beaches and expensive brands, no longer trigger me. I am my own person. So much more than just a widow and somebody's wife. 

Onwards and upwards! Here's to creating fresh memories all over the world.