The Fear Of Driving

I got my four wheeler driving license on 30th November 2009. I have a two wheeler license as well, but that's another story, for another day. The common thread between both my licenses have been my patient mother. She took me to the driving school, stood in the heat watching me drive with instructors, took me back to the hot non air conditioned government RTO to collect my license. And, she constantly reminded me of how i rammed into her leg, during my two wheeler license test because I was so nervous.

So after my mother acquired lots of grey hair and one nearly amputated foot, I finally got both my licenses. (I'm talking about 2009 when one license wasn't valid for both two and four wheeler vehicles). I remember that hot sunny day, like it happened yesterday. I had to take half a day off from my working day. I was working with Amazon then. I wore a white, flowery chiffon salwar kameez with dupatta that didn't help with the blistering hot weather. By the time the whole affair of getting my license ended, I was a sticky, sweaty, sun-tanned mess. I rushed back to office and to my workstation with my newly minted driving license.

Flash forward to a year or two later, when I had finished my post graduation with Stella Maris College and had picked up a job with Hanmer MSL, my father made me drive everyday to office. I would stop the car at a bus-stand opposite office and daddy would drive the car back home. 

And today, despite the best efforts of my parents, I'm sad to report, I'm still a shaky driver. My BP hits the car's roof each time a biker or an autorickshaw tries to overtake me. My incessantly nattering toddler doesn't help ease my mind's stress. The hubby encourages the tot's behaviour and ignores me fully. His explanation is, "Our lives are your responsibility now. So you can either kill us or take us home alive. No pressure!"

I'm determined now to master this beast. I will not allow my fear to overcome me. I will drive confidently, even if it means that I may have to forgo with the last bit of my thinning postpartum hair. 

The Movie Hall Experience

I've been a lover of the big screen for as long as I can remember. One movie a week was a necessity ever since I started my undergraduation. My friends were subject to it, my parents and now my husband. But ever since we became parents, this exercise seemed like a distant dream. The pandemic didn't help either. 

Today however, we decided to step out for a movie after what seemed like an eternity! We left the toddler behind with my ever-helpful in-laws. Our departure from home depended on the toddler's eating schedule, so we didn't pre-book a movie. We drove to R City Mall, Ghatkopar (the closest mall from our house) as fast as we could, rushed to Inox and booked ourselves two tickets for Marvel's newly released movie "Eternals".

I'm a big Marvel and DC fan, but I had no idea Marvel had released a new movie. The biggest advantage of the pandemic was that, the movie industry had to release everything on streaming platforms (which I lapped up eagerly for the past 2.5 years). To save time (we're toddler parents, so time is everything. Leaving a toddler at home is a ticking time bomb, that's just waiting to explode!) I told my husband to book tickets while I select snacks. He looked at me with amused eyes and said through his mask, "Poopie, you've forgotten how it's like to watch movies in the theatre haven't you? Who is going to allow you inside without the tickets?"

Fast forward to three hours inside the movie hall; my mind was blown away with the storyline and visual effects of Eternals while my husband grunted a few times, staring at his phone impatiently. "When will this end?", he kept muttering under his breath. The minute the movie ended, we rushed to the food court, gobbled down two burgers and proceeded towards the car.

Not a spectacular day, I agree. But a completely out of the world experience for us as we had no screechy toddler to deal with. Just two messy burgers, a Tandoori chai and an imaginative, nicely shot movie. I reminisced about Tony Stark, Captain America and Black Widow for there was plenty of mention of Thanos and the Avengers throughout the film. 

I reminded the husband about the tears I shed when Tony Stark died and how I hated our son to grow up in a world without the Iron Man. He quickly told me to grow up. I said I will not for there is no shame in shedding tears for superheros.

Do watch movies in the big screen. It really is something! Take it from a tired toddler mom and a movie enthusiast. 

The Death Of A Friend

9th July 2021 left us all with a gaping hole in our heart and lives. Akshay Deodhar. My husband's friend and bandmate from Hellwind. When I first met him in 2014, I perceived him to be just another random bachelor friend of my husband's. We met occasionally. His smile and endless chatter bewildered me. It seemed humanly impossible for one person to be so happy and so chatty. 

Things took a turn in 2018, when I was seven months pregnant and home alone. We had shifted to Powai and Akshay lived five minutes away. I developed a complication and dialed Akshay's number without giving it too much thought. Listening to the sound of my voice, he reached home in a jiffy. He rushed me to the emergency ward of the hospital and stayed with me the entire day, until my husband reached Bombay. 

Akshay soon became a household fixture after this incident. We became very close. We had "kitty party" like lunch sessions, where we bitched about people and cracked lame jokes. He was the first friend to hold my newborn baby. He was subject to all my post partum whining. (Poor thing!) 

He was a breath of fresh air and much needed respite in the middle of soiled diapers and endless feeds. Although, he didn't get half of what we were going through as a couple with a newborn baby, he was always around for a patient hearing and some words of wisdom.

Before he left for his M.B.A course in Scotland, he met us, gave us the warmest hug and said "Do you think, I'd leave without saying goodbye?". Who knew that would be the last time, we would ever meet him.

His death has left us in complete and utter shock. We think of him every time, a friend gets married or we have get-togethers. I even dreamt of him last night, where he told me with that giggly look "Come find me Gayu, I'm right here. Come talk to me." 

We miss you Akshay, today and everyday. We know you'll be waiting for us up there and perhaps even watching over us, when shit hits the ceiling. You were my confidante, Riaan's godfather and our extended family in Bombay. 

Appuppan

2nd February 2004 changed all our lives forever. One minute I was in school and the next I was attending my grandfather's funeral. His death came as a shock to us, as he was so active. He was still going for his morning walks, driving his car and shopping for groceries. His last meal was a biryani at a cousin's wedding, which he thoroughly enjoyed and then the chest pain began. I wasn't physically present for his final moments and that's something which will crush me forever.

He was more of a friend than a grandfather. If he had any grandfatherly instincts, he showed very little of it. He got viciously bullied by his grandkids and he bullied back with full fervour. He slept all day and stayed awake at night, like an owl. But his eyes would pop open, the minute he heard the Baywatch theme on TV, however sleep deprived he was. 

He had his weekly quota of scotch or whiskey along with salty fried peanuts, which he hid very meticulously from me. But I always found his stash hidden deep beneath his clothes. On one particular Sunday, he discovered an empty jar of peanuts and instead of scolding me, he threw his glass of liquor on my face. I was shocked at first, then I viciously pulled his neatly gelled hair in rebuttal. 

Before ammumma could lay out the table for lunch, appuppan and I would step out and eat a Kalavara burger, Sharjah shake or medu vada from the road. She would be furious as we didn't have an appetite for lunch. 

We had a mild water shortage problem, as our house was built atop the hills, Dhalavakunnu hill to be exact. So Appuppan's idea of conserving water, was to pee in the bushes. There was one particular tree that faced the brunt of his ideology and it died in no time. His explanation was that he was providing it with nutritious ammonia filled fertilizer. 

When we had the occasional house guest, he wouldn't budge from his rocking chair. He left the socializing to his wife. Perhaps, I take after him, because even I hesitate to talk to strangers. His driving skills were far from extraordinary. He drove his car, like it was an autorickshaw, recklessly and without concern for pedestrians and other cars on the road. On one of these escapades, he scraped the car against a relative's vehicle, that was parked outside their house. My sister and I yelped from the backseat, but appuppan assured us that no one had noticed what we did. 

We drove back home with utter confidence, only to discover the aforementioned relative's car parked in our driveway. The rest as they say is history. Fireworks blew all night, as my grandmother gave him a shelling of a lifetime. We almost got away with our crime, unfortunately ours was the only car in Trivandrum which had a distinct maroon paint, towards the bottom. The paint scraped off on the relative's car, which blew our cover. 

17 years have passed, since he passed away, but these memories are still so fresh in my mind. I'll always be Captain P Thyagarajan's granddaughter first and then come all the other relationships in my life. I feel so heartbroken that my husband, my son and even my sibling's spouses and children, didn't have a chance to ever meet him. He was one of a kind. A diamond in the rough. I can't wait to meet him in the afterlife. 

Riaan Is Two

My newborn baby is not so new anymore. Infact, he is not referred to as baby anymore. He is a toddler. An adamant, highly opinionated and dominating one at that. He decides his mode of transport for his evening walks, he decides the shoes to go along with his attire, he decides his night suit and has a scream so loud, it would put the thunder Gods to shame. 

I'm slowly adapting to this new personality. In a battle of parents v/s toddler, the toddler always wins, so best to give in and best to sit out their tantrums. It is hard, VERY hard, to have someone scream at your face 24*7 simply because his Peppa Pig t-shirt has gone for wash, or the stool to climb over the sink to play with water is missing. You either stay calm or lose your cool. 

Last weekend, the husband and I got all dolled up to hit a hip new restaurant in town, when little sir, decided he wanted to wash his toy cars in the sink for one hour. Each time we dragged him outside the bathroom, he cried until his entire body became red. We sat through that tantrum patiently.

Privacy is an even bigger issue now, as he can open doors. Just when you're about to let a big one drop in the potty, he comes barging in and says, "Move! Clean bum, now!" and hands me the health faucet. I have a habit of watching soaps and thriller movies on my mobile phone, while on the pot. In the midst of one of those scary scenes, a small figure silently crept inside the bathroom, stood in front of me and whispered, "Mumma, chuechue" and peed on my legs. I almost had a heart attack. I was convinced my bathroom is haunted by a little boy ghost. The warm liquid on my toes, the eerie whisper, it was straight out of a Stephen King novel. 

Taking him down to the park on his cycle has become an ordeal, as he moves the handle around like a crazy drunk. The "parental control" handle is a joke, as we keep bumping into walls and people. The pram is a forgotten antique now. God bless the souls of people, who want to take a leisurely walk with him. He almost plies the fingers out of your hand as he walks confidently in whichever direction he pleases. More often than not, he wants to walk on the main road, in the middle of heavy traffic, because hey, see-saws and swings are so 18 months old! He's a rebel two year old, without a cause. Get with it or fall behind. 

Muddy puddles are another fascination, thanks to dear old Peppa Pig. He jumps in them, sits on them, pushes his cycles around in them and if nothing else, he vigorously washes his hands inside them. I'll need a lot of wine and coffee, to survive this year and perhaps the next, the way things are going. 

A Series Of Unfortunate Events

In the past week, our life has eerily resembled Lemony Snicket's, A Series Of Unfortunate Events. It all began on Saturday evening, when we decided to go on a short drive with our baby monkey. When we stepped out, it was raining torrentially with very low visibility. Still, we decided to be Khatron Ke Khiladi for the baby's sake as he loved these short drives.

For the first half an hour, it was smooth sailing. Out of the blue, the husband rammed the car violently into a divider, as he was trying to swerve away from a cement mixer. Our hearts were in our throats as we were a little distance away from home and getting technical help at that hour, in the middle of a downpour would be close to impossible. 

He stepped out of the car to examine the damage. The bonnet had dislodged itself and was jammed inside one of the wheels. He drove very slowly and we somehow managed to reach home. Unfortunately, the baby's head got a little wet in the rain, as we stepped out of the car and into our apartment complex's lobby. We didn't think much of it at the time, as the priority was to wash his hands and change his clothes ASAP, as we might've potentially exposed him to Coronavirus. 

The next morning, he woke up with a fever of 101° F. We quickly administered Calpol drops, but his health deteriorated through the day. Our mind raced to the worst possible scenarios. We blamed ourselves and our domestic help, who may have given him Covid. When he woke up with the same fever the following morning as well, we decided to change his medication to something stronger (Ibugesic Plus) by looking at his doctor's prescriptions. His condition improved instantly. Our moods however were still on edge and we had the worst possible war of words. 

Three harrowing events within 48 hours. Call it a stroke of bad luck or if you are a believer of old wives' tales, somebody's evil eye. As we had stepped out on Saturday evening for our drive, I sensed at least 20 pairs of prying eyes on us (residents of our apartment), watching us curiously as we stepped into our car with our baby. I could see the shock in their eyes, seeing us dressed up so nicely, like we were ready to go for a party. In reality, we just wanted to breathe some fresh air and give our baby some respite from the four walls of our home. 

It's so quick to pass judgements on people, without knowing their life's realities. Evil eye or not, it's rude to gawk at people. When will we Indians ever learn this? We've had a hard 48 hours. Hoping for a quick turn of happy events now. *fingers crossed* 

(Image Source : https://www.123rf.com/photo_71203031_stock-vector-bad-luck-rubber-stamp-grunge-design-with-dust-scratches-effects-can-be-easily-removed-for-a-clean-cr.html)

Baba's Boy

My baby is clearly a "Baba's boy". While I do the heavy lifting of changing soiled diapers, cooking, feeding, bathing and napping,  Baba gets all the loving. Baba is a tall, dark and handsome mysterious, stranger who flits around the house, at all odd hours. He just cannot get enough of Baba or in his words, "Baaaaaabaaaaaaaaaa". If we were on the sinking Titanic and the crew told my son to choose between both parents, he would choose his father in a heartbeat and leave me to die, like the frost bitten Jack. 

Initially, this bothered me a lot. I wondered why the fetus I grew so lovingly in my womb, for nine painful months, didn't want anything to do with me. When I ask him to kiss me, he kisses his Baba. When I ask him whether he wants to sleep, he pulls his Baba's t-shirt down and clings on to him like a Koala bear, when I ask him if he wants to eat, he screams for Baba some more. 

Clearly Baba is the fun one and I'm the "naggy Nancy". Not my words, Baba's of course. Baba in the meantime, is just loving the attention and says things like, "Both my babies, can't get enough of me", "It's hard to resist my charms" and "Come for some McLoving" and more cringey one liners. The only time I've seen Baba's enthusiasm fade a little, is when baby leaves a big fat poo-poo in his diaper. Then he looks at the baby like a radioactive missile, which will explode upon touching. 

Most days, we find a way to peacefully co-exist with one another under the same roof. But some days, I'm really pained by both my boys. One morning for instance, I woke up with sound of persistent snoring by the big one and the little one, had head butted me out of my pillow and was blissfully occupying my side of the bed. Annoyed with this unreasonable behaviour at 4am, I stormed out of the bedroom and lay down in the guest room. Ironically, I couldn't sleep there, as I bitterly missed both my Chetans (Chhota aur Bada). Then I waited patiently for them to wake up, so that I could prepare a delicious home cooked meal for them.

Yesterday afternoon is another instance when the little one, refused to leave his Baba's side and take his afternoon nap. So I let him be and tried to sleep on my own. But as usual, I couldn't and found my way back into their room. I was pleasantly surprised to find them both in deep sleep. One lying on top of the other. The sight just melted my heart. 

The dynamic of a married couple changes with the arrival of that little third wheel. There is no longer a hormonal induced crazy romance, a gradual slowing down of things happen. Our idea of romance now is sitting together as a family and playing monkey games with our little chimp. 

Parenting In A Pandemic

The Covid induced lockdown has been the hardest on children. Especially, the smaller ones like my son. He is always high on energy and gets easily bored with his toys. To capture his attention for more than five minutes, with a book or a puzzle is an achievement. Pre-lockdown, he went on hour long walks and occasional play dates, with my neighbour's baby daughter. 

Our apartment, has one case of corona per week, two wings were sealed overnight and my neighbours have vanished into thin air. Everyone's doors are sealed shut, like Borosil's food jars. Forget conversations, they don't even let air enter their houses. Four days ago though, I met them all standing at their doorways. We conversed for over an hour. I could sense the fear and hysteria, in their voices. The mood seeped into my mind as well. 

We have slowly started going on short drives in the car and I take my baby for hour long walks in his pram. The mild exercise tires him out a little, whereby making him a tad bit easier to handle. The change of scenery does a world of good for his psyche. Staring at my face and the four walls of the house all day, can get boring.

Last weekend, the husband suggested we step into Starbucks. I was a little taken aback by the suggestion, considering we had our baby in toe. He persisted, stating that the store was not very crowded. So I stepped out of the car, with the little tyke and my worst nightmare came true. A couple standing in line behind us, didn't follow the rules of social distancing, clearly demarcated by the store. I tugged at my husband's arm and pointed to the offending couple. He didn't say anything at first. But when he noticed that they were edging dangerously close to us, he turned around and told them politely to follow the rules of the store. 

Two days ago, a young girl approached me with a toddler in toe. They wanted to say hello to my son as they had observed him walking with me. I mumbled a quick hello and went my way. I'm sure the little girl and the toddler did not have Coronavirus. But the protective mom instincts in me (and WHO guidelines), told me to retreat. The only way to beat this virus, is to assume that everyone has it. 

It's been a hard year. Social distancing has made us emotionally distant as well. I love conversing with fellow mums and enjoy watching my baby play with other children. But now, I run, like my tail is on fire. The paranoia of our helpless little children potentially catching the virus, has us all on our guards. Praying for the world to heal and for normalcy to return to ours lives, most importantly the lives of our children, who have so much ahead of them. No virus should stand in the way of their dreams. 

(Image Source : https://www.ucdavis.edu/news/survey-topic-parenting-pandemic/) 

Selling Broken Dreams

Almost seven years since I’ve left home and relocated to an alien city, which I’m forced to call home. Mumbai is not too bad, except for when the monsoon season hits or if you commute by trains. Bless your soul, if you belong to the latter category. The memories of being pushed and shoved mercilessly, along with having things stolen are too fresh in my mind. 

The next issue I have with this city, is the lack of authentic South Indian food. No, idli sambar and dosa alone do not compromise South Indian food. That’s like saying Punjabis eat only Butter Chicken and Shahi Paneer all day.

My quest to find authentic Malayalee food, began the minute I settled into my new home and life. I’ve stumbled across a myriad of Mumbai’s version of South Indian food. I’ve gone to hole in the wall places, high end restaurants and even road side shacks, but none could satiate my craving. 

I finally came across an Instagram profile of a chef, who put up stories faster than I could change my baby’s soiled diapers. He seemed legitimate. He claimed to be from Kerala and had items on the menu such as Amma’s Karimeen and Ammumma’s Ada Payasam. The images to go along with these dishes looked mouth watering as well. I was sold. I convinced my non Malayalee husband (who hates most Indian food, including that of his hometown) and we ordered food from this restaurant not once, not twice, but thrice!

There was nothing authentic about the food, it was far from being Malayalee food. It gave us bad stomachs and it costed a bomb. Triple whammy! I was gutted, to say the very least. To that chef selling broken dreams on a plate, may you also get diarrhoea like we did. And may you also have your culinary heart broken, the way you broke mine. 

Your knowledge of regional cuisine may be spot on, but your handling of each delicate ingredient is absolute rubbish. This entire episode has taught me one very important lesson. Time to turn to every Malayalee's favourite family channel, Asianet and watch some good old fashioned cooking shows. 

The legacy of people live on in their food. Time to create my own. Onwards and upwards! Or in this case, kitchenward. 

(Image Source : https://images.app.goo.gl/mRtNQAh3tWyLWncr5) 

Don't Grow Up So Soon

My baby turns 20 months old in two days. And as I say that out loud, whoever hears it, responds with, "Oh, almost two". That stops me in my tracks and I find myself examining my once little baby, who is growing up too soon. For 20 months straight, he couldn't sleep at night, without stuffing his face against mine. But, for the past two nights he has become an overconfident Keanu Reeves, pulling Matrix-like moves in his sleep. I find an arm or a leg on my face. If I try to cuddle him, he violently shoves me away and goes back to his corner.  

I reminisced about the time, when he would sleep under a mosquito net triple his size and a clean cotton sheet exclusively meant for him. He would lie there, still as a snail, with very gentle body movements, staring at the strange new world around him, with unfocused, gawky eyes. Overnight, he has developed a distinct personality. He says "no" at the drop of a hat and a more emphatic "no", with the waving of the hands. 

I know you'll soon bring home a girl whom you want to marry, go to college, get a job and have an independent life away from us, your parents. But for now, please slow down. Don't grow up so soon. Please be our little baby, who babbles all day and gets excited, at the prospect of going on drives and strolls in the pram. 

As you tumbled between us today, rubbing your pee filled diaper on our faces and head butting us occassionally, your father and I unanimously agreed that having you was the best decision of our lives. The violent games that lead to bloodshed (only for us of course, you seem absolutely fine!), the extreme hyper activeness, the sleep and food rebellion, can be extremely painful to handle, especially on days when we are tired. But overall, you have us neatly wrapped around your smelly little pinkie. In other words, you get away with cold blooded murder, all day, everyday simply because we are suckers for your baby gurgles and incomprehensible babble. 

I can't believe you are almost two. It feels like we brought you home from the hospital, just yesterday. We want to smell the top of your oily little head just a little longer. We want to squish you senselessly, just a little longer. We want to be the centre of your universe, just a little longer. Please slow down. Don't grow up so soon. 

The Tricky Business Of Motherhood

The pressures put on a new mother's shoulders, are immense. You are expected to juggle work, household chores and the grinding routine of a newborn baby, all at once. It's only natural that most of us succumb to Post Partum Depression. 95% of new mothers, are hit with PPD the minute a baby is born. Your mind and body are a hot mess, literally and figuratively.

My baby was one week preterm and underweight. Double whammy! Therefore, he demanded feeds by the hour. I was so disoriented, Batman would have given me his cape in a jiffy. I was conflicted whether to be the sprightly, businesslike Bruce Wayne of the day or the dark, brooding caped vigilante of the night, the Dark Knight. The hero, my newborn deserved, but not the one he needed right now. Wrong! My baby needed a 24*7 Mother Dairy milk farm.

My pediatrician was an impatient Heath Ledger (from the Dark Knight), who kept telling me, "Let's put a smile on that face". The decision to exclusively breastfeed, exclusively formula feed or be a combination feeding mother is purely a personal choice. But no, everyone including my neighbour's dog, was interested to know how much milk I made, to feed my hungry child.  

Next, the identity crisis hits. Who am I now? Just a mother? A woman with one pearly white strand of hair, post delivery? Still a wife? Just two seconds ago, I had an enviable social life, where I partied till 2 am in the morning, had a fairly decent job and could eat anything I wanted. But now, I had a tiny human who clung on to me for dear life. His very existence depended on me. (No pressure!)

His hysterical sobs, would leave a bad chemical reaction in my brain. I would immediately get a throbbing migraine and try my best to soothe him (shut him up ASAP, if I have to be brutally honest). Looking back at those first six months, it was not too bad. I was just being a drama queen as usual, I realize. Because, right now, is when I need backup. And by backup, I mean call the fire department and the police station, the baby is on the move. I repeat, the baby is on the move! And he is a house on fire. Anything he touches, breaks. Anywhere, he climbs, he falls. Hell, try carrying him on your shoulder and he will bite you so hard, it will put Romeo and Juliet's hickey marks to shame.

Truth be told, I love being a mom. My maternal instincts kicked into place when I was 4 years old. I had a room full of little dollies whom I dearly loved. I never slept without them at night. I have a real life doll now. Just as cute, but with a stubborn personality. You either give in to him or end up playing Tom and Jerry games all day. 

Best to give in, for everybody's peace of mind. And best to listen to your own gut instinct, because no one knows your child, like you do. There is a reason why God chose YOU to become the mother of your child. So the next time your well meaning neighbour says, "Oh, why does your child look so skinny?", or a pleasant relative says, "Oh 9pm is too late to make a baby sleep", just ignore with a massive I-G-N-O-R-E.

Onam

Onam, my most favourite festival. Ona Sadya, the best meal in the world. I have fond memories of thulping down mountains of red rice with freshly fried pappadums, parippu, avial, erissery and pachadi. The payasams deserve another banana leaf altogether - paal, ada pradhaman and parippu pradhaman. 

Typically, a fully vegetarian meal, to celebrate the arrival of the mythical King Mahabali. However, the shameless food obsessed family that we are, we always had chunky pieces of fried chicken or fish to go along with the meal.

I've lived away from home for a very long time now. But the happy memories of Onam are still fresh in my mind, like it all happened yesterday. The sadya overdose, the long afternoon nap that followed and visiting close friends and family, all while wearing our brand new Ona Kodis, were an integral part of our celebrations.

With the onset of social media though, the pressure to eat a fantastic Ona Sadya (whichever part of the globe you are in) is intense. Year by year, I see a lot of non-Malayalees, thulping down our traditional sadya. And each year, I attempt to lay my hands on one, to relive my childhood and fail miserably. This year, I had zoned in on a restaurant we had visited four years ago, pre-booked our Ona Sadya and they pulled a Harry Houdini on us. 

The husband was fuming, I was heartbroken and we ended up eating a home cooked meal. The restaurant owner got back to me by 6pm, with a sob story of why they couldn't deliver our meal. I gave her a patient hearing and then told her politely about how she had ruined this special day for me and that she had lost me as a customer forever. 

The heart wants what it wants though. So, I looked up Swiggy and ordered an Ona Sadya from a reputed  luxury hotel in the city. The packaging was impressive, the food however was absolutely dismal. I miss celebrating Onam at home. The week is not over yet though, I will examine Swiggy in detail, like a thesis paper.  

(Image Source : https://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/food-wine/the-back-burner-how-to-serve-onam-sadhya-6576148/) 

Tough Love

What a crazy day of mothering I've had! It started with my drama queen son banging his head on my face and throwing it back hysterically, simply because I did not give him his bottle of water. Finally I relented, as I could not take the emotional blackmailing anymore. The very next second, he turned it upside down and rubbed the nipple all over the balcony floor, whereby flooding our once dry balcony. And before I could react to that, he was swimming inside the little puddle he had created like a starfish. 

Once I cleaned up that mess, I took him to another balcony in our house. He played there for a little while and then I decided to take him down for a walk. The thirty minute exercise did him a world of good, as he came back home a little sober and sleepy.

I quickly gave him his lunch and took him to bed, for his afternoon siesta. As I walked around our bed to draw the curtains in our room, champion climbed up the headboard and did a dolphin dive. The distance between our bed and the curtains, can be covered in less than five seconds. In this time, sir had done the deed.

It then took me one hour of pacifying, to make him fall asleep. I had to take him to our living room, turn on Alexa with Cocomelon nursery rhymes blaring in full force and rock him atop me. In that semi sleepy state, I quietly lay him down on our bed. But, he quickly sprang open his eyes and clambered back on me, like a komodo dragon. 

So there I was, lying crushed under my 10.7 kilo child, sleepy and tired. I wondered when the day would end. By evening, I was too tired to go for my evening run. So, the husband decided to take us for a short drive. The little devil was pleased with the sights and sounds outside the car. He bounced on my lap excitedly and tugged on his father's face, from the backseat.

We reached home by 8pm. I quickly whipped up a meal for him and sat down with him to offer it to him. Three bites and ten "NO"s with the emphatic waving of the hands later, my husband decided to chip in. We distracted him with my jewellery. But before we could finish the meal, he threw up on our bed and my precious collection of junk jewellery, which I had been collecting ever since I was a little girl.

Exhausted and ready to give up, we resorted to Cerelac. It was 10pm when he finally fell asleep and we heaved a sigh of relief watching his calm breathing. What a day! What an afternoon! And what a night! When exactly does all this get better?! 

The Nostalgia Of Malayalee Cuisine

Almost a month, since my grandmother passed away. I keep seeing her face in flashes, just before I fall asleep. Along with the regret of not being able to spend enough time with her, in the last couple of years, I also regret not sitting down with her to take down some of her signature recipes. 

When I think about my childhood in Kerala, the first thing that comes to my mind is the food. Kappa and Meen Curry, Kothu Porotta, Pappadam, Naadan Kozhi Varutharachathu,  Puttu, Naadan Beef Fry and so on. No Malayalee household is complete without one or two of these dishes on the dining table. I remember being greeted into my grandmother's house with a mountain of rice and spicy red fish curry with Pappadam. 

I had a particularly tiring day of mothering yesterday, with the child being a crank as usual during meal times and to top it I decided to go for an hour long run. So I came back home dead beat and none of the food at home could satiate my hunger. I quickly looked up Swiggy, zoned in on a newly opened Malayalee restaurant called Theeram and placed an order for Appam, Kozhi Varutharachathu and Chicken Dosa (?), only in Bombay will you find these golden gems. We don't eat Dosas stuffed with chicken, perhaps on the side, yes. But never inside. And nope, we don't eat Chinese Dosa, Manchurian Dosa or Cheese Dosa. In fact, they don't exist!

Anyway, coming back very quickly to the topic in hand; Malayalee cuisine. There really is no better food on the planet. Period! But, I've cheated on it for the past two decades or so. Although, the mind craves for it and it brings back a flood of memories, the body is not too kind to accept it anymore. The spice and grease (especially in the restaurant made Malayalee food) is a bit too much.

Still, Appam and Stew is my go to meal on particularly gloomy mornings. Kerala Porotta with a generous side of prawn, fish or chicken curry is all I need for a sound sleep at night. I have been on a quest to find my piece of home, each time we explore the menu of a new restaurant. The further away from home, that I am, the pull to go back, becomes stronger and stronger.

The last time I ate an Ada Payasam must have been in the early 2000s, for one of my sibling's weddings. Ever since, I have been dreaming a sweet little dream of laying my hands on it again. It hasn't been fulfilled till now.

Malayalee food is so much more than a hunger saviour. It's an emotion. The bits of coconut cut into neat little rectangular pieces inside the meat gravy, the smell of freshly fried Pappadam in coconut oil and the aroma of Kadala Curry is enough to bring a tear to my eye.

Kerala is so much more than it's backwaters and beaches. The unique food of the region is what makes it stand out from the rest of the country. I think I might make some Pazham Pozhis today just for old times sake. 

(Image Source : https://food.ndtv.com/opinions/10-things-you-must-eat-in-kerala-695529) 

The Lonely Journey of Motherhood

Nineteen months, since I've become a mother and each month brings with it new challenges. I feel like I'm inside a video game for life, where I've crossed Level 1 so far. My baby is Super Mario, my husband and I are player 1 and player 2. His tantrums get worse by the day and his cuteness increases. So we tend to overlook his hideous behaviour of shouting, beating, scratching and biting.

We are fried at the end of the day and look like we passed through an electric fence. By we, I mean my husband and I. The baby is just fine. He gets louder and faster with each passing day. Only couples with babies (especially two babies, God bless their soul), understand the tragedy we are in. Grandparents empathize upto a point, they are always on the baby's side. Grandparents are like biased Sherlock Holmes, they've already solved the case for you. It's not the baby's fault, it's yours. Okay then. 

Close friends make suggestions like, "You have to find "me time" and train him to play on his own." Very well meaning, I know, but let's have that conversation once you have a baby of your own, my dear. Until then, hold my hand as I chug through this phase or don't. I'll understand, either way.

There are not enough online parenting articles and recipes in the world, to raise a child. You're never ready and it's always going to be hard. So let's save all that literature, for another day. Also, each child is different. What works for one, will not work for another. 

90% of my day goes in cooking and feeding. I have not met a fussier baby, when it comes to food. And I'm in utter shock. I wonder how, my own flesh and blood, could be so violently opposed to eating, when I myself am a big foodie. I just need to smell hot bhatoores to eat like a pig. "These are your brother's genes, he was also a very difficult eater", says my mother reassuringly, as another piece of ghee fried paratha comes flying to my face. 

Let's not even get started on diapers. The minute I let him diaper-free to air his bum, he poops an entire load. Until then, no poop. Not even a whiff! As for his sleep, it's all over the place. However late in the day, I put him to bed, he will wake up by 5.45am sharp and if we're very lucky, on some rare days, 6.30am. He wakes me up with a slap on the face or a whack with my mobile phone. 

We'll need coffee, lots of dark chocolate and on really crazy days, some red wine, to get through this. Nobody told us, it would be this hard, when we signed up to become parents. We were expert arm chair advisors and loved playing with other people's children, BEFORE we became parents. Now we look at other parents and give them an all knowing smile, indicating, "We know. Let's just hang in there." 

Make no mistake, we love this baby very much. We yearned for him and struggled to have him. We cannot imagine our lives, without him. But on some days, we wish we lived on an island far far away from him. His naughtiness cannot be described in words. You have to experience it, first hand to understand. He would put a monkey, living inside the deep jungles of the Amazon rainforest to shame. That's how maddening his antics are. 

Our house looks like a war zone, with toys and books strewn everywhere. The food he eats, is plastered on all our furniture. He has recently started self-feeding, now that's another level of mess, which takes hours to clean. 

Fellow parents, we got this. Let's give each other a mental high-five and get on with our action packed days. 

The Maddening Mumbai Monsoon

The Mumbai rains are back. So are the memes and the hilarious whatsapp forwards. This time I got one from my brother in Dubai, which compared the rains to Adlabs Imagicaa's water rides. I laughed for a good two minutes and then replied to him saying, "Same story, different year." Each year, the rains are more torrential than the previous and the water logging is more tragic than the sinking of the Titanic. 

For the past two years, I've been missing out on this circus, thanks to my son. I've taken a temporary work sabbatical and am enjoying the madness from afar. But being a Mumbaikar, it's hard to miss the rains completely. Just as I step out of my house for a quick jog, looking at the clear skies, it rains. I come back home looking like a washed out whale, I get yet another shelling from my husband and my son looks on in wonder at the sight of me.

On one of these "clear sky" occasions, I stepped out of home, with the overconfidence that I look absolutely stunning. Like I never gave birth to a child. Almost diva-like. And as I walked down my locality with these dreamy thoughts in my mind, I suddenly heard, "O aunty! O aunty! Aunty-ji!". I walked on thinking, no no, it can't be me. The child must surely be calling someone else aunty ji. Afterall, I was wearing such a flattering, age reducing top. But no, horror of horrors, he looked straight at me and yelled once again "Time kya hua, aunty?".  I jerked to a halt, almost threw a stone at him and mumbled "4.15pm". 

I quickly overcame my depression, by hopping into the local kirana store. I picked up two Amul dark chocolate bars, (because no sane, weight reducing, 33 year old, round person should eat full fat chocolate) and decided to head home. Just as I stepped out of the shop, it rained. And what a torrential downpour it was! As I stood there, like a helpless frog in a storm, all I could think of was, whether to eat the chocolate right that instant or wait till i reached home. 

I gave it a nice deep thought and then decided to save it for home, as I was going to be welcomed with more shelling and "I told you so" anyway. As I reached home and saw my husband's annoyed face, I quickly handed over both chocolate bars and reassured him, that I was walking as fast as I could. However, being the loving wife that I am, I could not come home empty handed, to my sensitive husband, who baby-sat our child, for one whole hour because I wanted to exercise. 

He smiled angelically and pointed to our son, who was now dripping in mango. There was mango everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean even under the sofa cushions. Listen to me very carefully when I say this, never and I repeat NEVER, allow a man to feed your child. Half the food is wasted and everybody has a field day, except poor mommy who went through the toil of preparing the meal.

Coming back very quickly to the rains now, I've piled on 2 kilos of weight by eating whey protein bars very enthusiastically and waiting for my gym to re-open. I continue playing hide and seek with the rains. The rain Gods decide to open their faucet, only and only when I want to go for a walk. Otherwise, it's always a bright and sunny day. 

Mumbai rains, I don't love you. Never have and never will. Please go away with the same speed at which you came. Thanking you in advance, yours forever, not a fan.  

(Image Source : https://www.ndtv.com/india-news/mumbai-rains-colaba-records-heaviest-single-day-rain-in-august-in-46-years-2274977)

Arjun Kanungo

Arjun Kanungo, a successful non Bollywood singer. He has an impressive line-up of hit singles to his name, starting with Fursat, Ek Dafaa, Woh Baarishein, Aaya Na Tu and Gallan Tipsiyaan. His voice is best suited for songs on heartbreak and loss of a loved one. His party numbers are groovy and will make you hit the replay button, over and over again. 

Predominantly an underground Hindi musician, Kanungo has a few movies under his belt, such as Go Goa Gone, The Sky is Pink and Remo. The internet describes him as a "Youtube sensation", but I think he deserves a much bigger label.  

He reminds me of an Indian Enrique Iglesias. Similar to the King of Latin Pop, Kanungo almost always has one sultry babe featuring predominantly in his videos. His collaborative numbers such as Aaya Na Tu with Momina Mustehsan, La La La with Neha Kakkar and Tum Na Ho with  Prakriti Kakar also have a nice ring to it. 

Whatever be your mood, Kanungo will cheer you up in an instant. He sings with a lot of passion and soul. His voice truly moves you. Can't wait to see him live in concert. 

The Toil Of Quarantine

I don't know about the rest of you, I really missed my domestic help during the lockdown. I truly understood their value, while washing heavy kitchen utensils in the sink, while sweeping and mopping the floors and scraping grime off my bathroom tiles. My back pain worsened and it officially sunk in, that I'm an old creaky maid, with stiff bones. 

I wrote imaginary love letters in their name and waited to garland them back with roses, upon their return. Domestic help, what would we do without them? Huge respect to the people living in countries abroad, without househelp. I don't know how you do it. Both my body and soul broke into smithereens, doing housework everyday. 

Luckily for me, my in-laws were around to help during those wretched four months. Still, on some evenings my mother in law and I would just look at each other blankly and say, "Let's sleep immediately". That's how tired we were. While she cooked, I cleaned. While she played with the baby, I made his meals. On the days I couldn't mop the house, she would step in. 

On weekends, we played games together as a family and ordered restaurant food. From being social butterflies, who met people, did elaborate workouts and went out often, just for fun, we were forcibly stuck at home because of Covid-19. If the disease could be shot in the face, with a gun, my in-laws and I would have done it in a jiffy. 

The only silver lining, to this forced self quarantine was that we bonded as a family, we ate some great home cooked meals together, thanks to my mother in law and we invented games to play together as a family.

The day our maids came back, we were over the moon. We tried to play it cool, in front of them (like every self respecting Indian family), but were delighted to have them back. I had to force myself to stop cleaning heavy utensils in the sink and mop the house, as it had become a rigid habit for four months.  

Sending out prayers to the world to heal soon. I hope we never have to face these dark days again. Go away Corona, we are so tired of you. Leave us in peace.

Image Source : https://www.wilx.com/content/news/Hundreds-of-Michgian-residents-being-home-quaratined-for-possible-Coronavirus-568146151.html

My Pre-Birth Story

They say it takes a village, to raise a child. My village came in place by my seventh month of pregnancy. It started with my ever helpful in-laws, relocating us to a new house, closer to the hospital. A week after they left, I experienced a complication. I tried hailing an Uber, but to no avail. My husband was out of town, thanks to his travelling job. My cook had just left for the day. And I didn't know my neighbours too well, as I had just shifted to our new apartment.

My pregnancy brain scrambled around a bit and I suddenly remembered my husband's friend Akshay, who lived a kilometre away from our house. I quickly dialed his number and panted into the phone, "Something's wrong with this baby". He replied with a "Wait right there. I'm coming in two minutes". I wobbled into the lift and walked outside the lobby to find Akshay running out of his car. He grabbed my hand and helped me get inside the passenger seat of his car. I don't remember the conversation we had, for the five minute car journey towards the hospital. He looked scared, yet nodded along vigorously to my incomprehensible babble. 

I was rushed to the emergency room of the hospital. As I lay down in a room full of strangers, all I could think about was having Theobroma's cheesy chicken quiche. I quickly called Akshay from the waiting room. His face still looked panic-stricken, but he covered his anxiety well with a goofy grin. He said, "Don't worry, I'm here if you need me". I replied with, "Can we go to Theobroma, after all this is over?". He looked dumbstruck, but replied with "Sure. Let's speak to your doctor first". 

Turned out I couldn't eat that quiche afterall, because I was hospitalized for the next four days. My husband took the first flight out to Bombay and reached the city late in the night. During the day, I had my old friend Vidhi and Akshay taking turns to baby-sit me in the hospital.

Everyone has an elaborate birth story to share with you.  What to take to the hospital on the delivery day, what to expect during the delivery, whether to take the epidural or not and so on and so forth. But this is my pre-birth story. There was so much drama around my pregnancy, Ekta Kapoor would be put to shame. 

Akshay is my family, so is Vidhi. I wouldn't have got through that horrific day, without both of them. Thank you for being Riaan's Godmother and father. You saved his life and mine. I know you don't expect anything from me. But, I'll never forget your kindness and I promise I'll always be there for you.  

Ammumma

Can't believe I live in a world without you,
It's a reality I wish wasn't true,

Thank you for holding on for us kids, for so long,
You were so strong,

Your hugs were like warm fluffy clouds,
That took away all our mind's shrouds,

You were my home,
I always found my way back to you, wherever I may roam,

I'll miss your oil massages,
And subtle barrages,

You were the prettiest woman in the world,
For whom we all twirled,

You were a daughter, a sister, a wife and a mother,
Most importantly, you were the best grandmother,

A part of me has died along with you,
I was not ready to bid adieu,

There is a constant throbbing pain in my chest,
That refuses to take rest.

Goodbye My Sweet Ammumma

I was four years old, when I was diagnosed with acute bronchial asthma. Frequent trips to the hospital with needles shoved up all over my body, soon became a part of my life. Sleeping on the hospital bed especially at night was painful because my arm had to be raised with tubes running down them. Daytime was better. I ran around the hospital beds and made friends with the nurses. But everytime the strict doctor uncle came on rounds, I had to go back to bed. This was my life. A week at La Martiniere School for Girls, Calcutta and one week in the hospital. I hated school more than the hospital though.

The doctor advised my parents to send me away to a less polluted city. The Calcutta air didn't want to become friends with my lungs. So I was booted off to Trivandrum, to stay with my grandparents. It was a tough decision for my parents, but one they had to make, as my father was in the Army and transferred to a new city once every two years. My brother went to eight schools in seven cities. Needless to say, he was the more extroverted one growing up. 

My initial few months in Trivandrum  were not rosy. I deeply missed my parents. Most nights I would wake up crying and request my grandmother to turn on a cassette with my favourite nursery rhymes. The minute the first rhyme came on the stereo, I would get more hysterical. My grandparents pampered me endlessly, so that I would miss my parents a little less. Slowly and steadily it worked. My evenings were filled with one new toy a day purchased dutifully by my grandfather's sister. And my grandparents stuffed me silly with icecreams, egg puffs, medu vadas, chicken cutlets and a wide variety of fish.

My grandfather dropped me to school every morning. My fear of schools still hadn't left me. I would cry until i reached my classroom door, holding onto my grandfather's pinkie in one hand and his handkerchief in the other. After i snorted out all my nose bogey into his hankie, I would bid him farewell. My favourite part of the day was when school ended, so that I could bully my grandparents. My grandfather would wait to eat the remnants of my lunchbox and my grandmother would stuff me with mountains of food. 

I called myself the princess of Hemagiri (the name of the house my grandparents lived in) with a self made stainless steel crown. Ammumma was the stricter one, she made sure I did my homework before running off to play. She put me to sleep at night, she got me ready for school. She was my mother for six years, until one day my father got posted to Chennai and my parents decided to take me back with them. I once again felt the earth slipping under my feet. I didn't want to leave my grandparents.

I remember clinging on to my grandmother for dear life, as my parents packed my bags and waited in the car for me. She hugged me back and whispered, "I'll always be with you mole. All children must live with their parents."

From sleeping between my grandparents till I was ten, I was suddenly given a room to myself in Chennai. I felt lost and alone. I would stand outside the balcony of my room at night and whisper "Ammumma, Appuppa", into the starry night.

Summer vacations were always spent in Kerala.  I would stay with both sets of grandparents - paternal and maternal. My grandmother died yesterday. It didn't sink in for about two hours, until I finally saw her lying peacefully in a wooden box, covered in a beautiful white saree with a thick golden border, her wedding saree, my sister confirmed later. 

I stayed up half the night, chatting with my siblings and the other half attending to my restless 18 month old toddler. In the morning, I saw her again and broke down. The happiest chunk of my life has finally come to an end. No one in the world would call me the baby of the family anymore. No one can make appams, ribbon rice and maa laddoos the way ammumma did. And i didn't even bother to take the recipes from her. Stupid, stupid me. 

I'll miss you Ammumma, more than you'll ever know. Say Hi to Appuppan for me. He will take good care of you now. I'm happy that you are in a better place now. I just wish you could have stayed a little longer with us. 

365 Days of Being Amma

 

2019 has flown by in a blur of soiled diapers, baby vomit and the art of learning to say no without saying NO to a chimpanzee of a baby. My entire body hurts by bedtime (which is also a long drawn out process). He is a bundle of exhaustion. Whoever said babies are bundles of joy, clearly had no babies of his/her own. Please spend a day with my son, you nitwit and let's re-write that phrase.

I've lost half my hair, grown one pearly white strand, broken my back, dislocated my left wrist and I live with the constant fear of losing my ear-lobe (thanks to his fascination for earrings). His incessant howling while I'm on the toilet, while I put on my make-up and while I eat my meals, has permanently damaged my brain. He's stuck to me like a small Koala bear 24/7. And while it's nice to be obsessively loved like this, it can get tiring. 

Thankfully, his father arrives dutifully every weekend and all that intense loving goes straight to him. However, that leaves me with two very exhausted babies - my baby son and my baby husband. Suddenly I have two mouths to feed, two little boys whose whims and fancies I have to fulfil and I become mommy squared.

What this year has taught me, is that women are undefeatable. We can multitask like goddesses. We move mountains each day, without even realizing it. The downside of this inhuman ability is that we're dead beat at the end of the day and without 8-9 solid hours of shut eye, we WILL turn into crabby pants. And hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.

I realized on January 8th, at 12.15pm to be exact, that there was a whole new dimension of my heart that was yet to be tapped. It was dormant until he was born. Even before the doctors told me I had given birth to a son, I knew it was a boy. I knew instantly, that I had to protect him with my life. My maternal instincts came out in full force and with each passing day, my love for him only grew stronger and stronger. 

It's a strange feeling being a mom. Even if you're physically unwell, you put the needs of your child first. Even if you can't eat your meal in peace, you ensure that your child has had his fill. That tiny person takes precedence over everything else. I don't love him, I obsess over him. I can tell if he's hungry, sleepy, crabby, pottied or just about to vomit by looking at his face. 

I had no idea, I had a love like this inside of me until he was born. I don't look at him as a different person. I look at him as an extended part of my body, but with a different personality. I can already anticipate him breaking my heart when he starts school, makes cool and exciting friends, goes to college, gets a job, gets married and so on and so forth.

I must learn to let go, but how? Time will tell. Or, I always have a generation of strong women in my family, whom I can look upto and seek advice from. In my head, I've already chosen his bride for him. She must be a good girl who will take care of him. But he will also take care of her. I will raise him to be an equal partner, not a spoilt brat. He will learn how to do household chores. He will cook, clean and have a flourishing career. Too many aspirations already for a one year old child!

Happy birthday in advance my monkey. Your father and I, waited six long years to have you. You've destroyed us physically and we realize we should have had you much sooner, when our bodies were much more agile and flexible. But you've filled our hearts and lives with so much wonder and excitement,  that we forgive you for breaking our bones. So go ahead and break some more. 

Ammamma

Outspoken, vivacious and bold as brass - this is how I remember my ammamma. She could talk a mile a minute on a myriad bunch of topics. The phrase "good things come in small packages" was most likely coined for her. 

She made the best masala dosas, chicken curries and lime juices. Tea time was also a big affair at Ammamma's house. Plum cakes, achappams and kerala laddoos were a tea time staple. Tea was just an excuse to gobble down these delicious finger snacks. 

Bed time was strictly 9pm whether you were sleepy or not. I carried forth this habit right upto the point I became a mother. Now I hardly sleep, thanks to my hyper 7 month old. 

Ammamma was always curious to know how I fared in school and college. She encouraged hardwork and told me very strictly to get a job as soon as I passed out of college. She herself was a working woman. She was a teacher.

While I persistently fought my battle with the bulge throughout my adolescent and adult years and had self-doubts about my appearance, Ammamma would make them vanish in a second. Her eyes would light up, upon seeing me and she would immediately say, "Sundari kutty". 

She may have been strict and no-nonsense with the whole world, but with me she was always warm, kind and gentle. 

I will miss your soft cuddles and endless chatter, Ammamma. I pray that we meet again, in another life, in another form. I'm not saying goodbye, because you will live forever in my heart and mind. 

My Five Month Old Monkey

Happy fifth month birthday, my little cookie. What an exhausting, yet fulfilling ride it has been so far. I wake up sleepy most mornings and go to bed wide awake. I've never been more physically drained my whole life. Yet, my heart is bursting with love. 

Your conversations with the ceiling fan, while I try to put you sleep, your toothless grin, while I attempt to feed you and that innocent smile which you plaster on your face, after 45 minutes of trying to rock you to sleep are maddening, yet impossible to live without.

When you're awake, I tear my hair out trying to make you sleep. And when you finally close your eyes, I feel completely lost and alone. 

I put you inside your baby-cot last night for the first time, since you were born and I understood the meaning of separation anxiety. It felt so odd to go to sleep, without having your tiny hands and feet, slapping me through the night. When you finally woke up crying in the wee hours of the morning, I  felt relieved and instantly grabbed you and put you firmly back into bed, right next to me. 

Your hysterical screams, petrify everyone. Your father drops you in a heartbeat and your nanny rushes out of the room, like her tail has caught fire. 

Along with you, your mumma and dadda have also become five month old parents. Your dadda is a very patient man indeed. He has to deal with a cranky, sleep deprived mother and a volatile infant. Thank you dadda, for the sweet and salty treats you shower us with, ever so often. Thank you for dragging us out of home, every now and then as well. Bless your soul. 

While I never want you to grow up, for your dadda's sake you must. He wants to have "man to man" conversations with you. You go ahead and do that, but don't forget that I created you. You have my heart, mind and soul. You may look like your father, but you think and feel just like me. You will forever be mummy's baby even at 50. 

That flutter in my heart which I felt on May 20th, 2018 when I found out I was pregnant has turned into a beautiful, podgy little butterfly - you. Mumma and dadda love you immensely. More than each other, more than life and more than anything/anyone in the world. We would do anything for you.  

Just flash that dimply grin at us, be the good little boy that you are and we will forever be your slaves. Love you, our sweet little cookie/chikkie/chunky monkey/baby-pie. 

Mumma

Amma, mumma, meemee, many names one person, Mrs Gita Bhadran. She has been my voice of reason for the past 32 years. My day starts and ends with either a word of praise from her or a proper talking down.  I'm a married woman today, mother to a hyper 4 month old, a daughter-in-law, a home-maker, a naggy employee to all my house-maids, but I'll never stop being my mother's daughter. 

Right from the decor in the house, to what I wear, to what I eat, to the mundane decisions I make everyday such as what type of dustbin to buy for the bedroom, kitchen and for the baby's diapers, are all consciously or unconsciously influenced by her. She is my sounding board, my agony aunt, my best friend and so much more. 

Her signature statement, "When you have a child of your own, you will understand", has come back to haunt me. You truly understand the physical and emotional effort a mother puts in to raise a child, only when you have one of your own. You put aside your exhaustion, your body aches and pains and forget that you haven't slept the whole night, simply to tend to the needs of your child. 

I have always been an open book with my mother. There is nothing that I haven't discussed with her. If I ever attempted to hide something from her as a teenager, she would promptly catch me red-handed and have a frank discussion with me. 

Whenever I felt down and out, felt a bit under-confident or whined to her about something or someone that bothered me, she would say, "You are my daughter. You can take on anything. Be bold. Be strong". I would always snigger internally when she said this, because she has lived with an Army officer for 25 years, meaning she was ready to lose her husband to war or terrorists at any given point in time. 

She would narrate to me incidents of how she had to fight with school principals for admissions, how she had to bathe in a flimsy tent in the middle of the desert, how my brother always fell ill when my father was not around and how she travelled with him to unknown places all across the country. Every 2 years they had to pack up leave, which meant my brother studied in a dozen odd schools. 

Just listening to these stories, brings an ache in my heart for both my mom and my brother. It truly is the lady of the house, who shapes everyone in that household. She took a step back in her career, to allow my dad's career to flourish. She stayed at home to raise my sibling and I. Everything that we are today, is all thanks to her.

If I have any regrets in life, it would be all the times I gave her a hard time, or didn't listen to her or yelled back. All the decisions I have taken without consulting her have all come back to bite me now. 

I love you mumma. I don't need one day in the year to celebrate you. Everyday is mother's day for me. May you live to be a 100!

Goodbye Iron Man

I'm not the biggest fan of Iron Man. Never was. I found him to be too cocky, too arrogant and too flawed. Instead of keeping his identity a secret, he flaunted it to the world with his signature "I am Iron Man" statement, unlike Bruce Wayne or Clark Kent. It's easy to become Iron Man considering your inventor and businessman father left you a legacy, that was raking in plenty of moolah. There was no superhero trait in him. Zilch. Nada. 

But then, as the franchise grew bigger, Tony Stark slowly and steadily began to grow up. Even a non-Iron Man fan like myself, began to respect him. His wicked sense of humour, confidence and witty comebacks have always been a treat to watch. And the final nail in the coffin which brought goosebumps to the mind and body, was his famous "You can take away my house, all my tricks and toys. One thing you can't take away.. I am Iron Man", dialogue which finally got him into the superhero hall of fame. You knew, he was here to stay, no matter what. He was tough and he wouldn't back down. 

He is the funniest Marvel superhero till date. No one can replace him in the humour department. By killing him, Marvel has created a huge void in the hearts of fans worldwide. The physical and emotional pain that one goes through, while watching him die in Endgame is unbearable.

I waited with bated breath, during the end-credits for him to make a dramatic comeback. I hoped against hope, that this was some cruel joke Marvel was playing on us. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. I realized he wasn't kidding when he said, "Everyone wants a happy ending right? But it doesn't always roll that way" 

I will keep his legacy alive, by ensuring that the next generation (starting with my son), know all about him. I'll make sure he watches the franchise in chronological order and I hope to have detailed discussions with him on Iron Man some day. 

He is a flawed role model to look upto, but that is the point, no one is perfect. Our imperfections are what makes us special, which is exactly what Iron-Man taught us. "Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk" and"If we can't accept limitations, then we're no better than the bad guys" 

I can never look at cheese burgers and shawarma rolls again, without shedding a few dozen tears. Come back Iron Man. We miss you. So much.

(Image Source : https://nerdist.com/article/watch-iron-man-armor-up-like-sailor-moon/) 

Happy Two

My baby turns two months old today and I'm celebrating his existence by gobbling down chicken biryani, fudgy brownies, samosas and bolis. What a roller coaster ride it has been so far. I've made my peace with insomnia and keep staring at his little face through the night. When I finally knock off to sleep by 8am, he wakes up promptly with an earth shattering squeal.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of bathing him, fighting with him to put him to sleep and incessantly cleaning up after his little "mishaps".

I vividly remember his dramatic arrival exactly two months ago on this day. I was terrified upon seeing his puny 2.5 kilo frame and wondered how I'd nurse this ematiated, mousey looking thing to health.

The first month was hard. He clung on to me for hours on end and I wondered whether the rest of my life would go by in that fashion. The next month became easier because I got used to his routine. And now, like every Indian-know-it-all-aunty, I can give sermons on how to raise a child.

I know his potty face, his sleep face and his crabby-crab face. I anticipate his poo, vomit and susu showers and have solid reinforcements in place to tackle each demon.

The key is to have a long afternoon nap, a stomach full of great food and a good sense of humour. Everything else will fall into place.

Oh and WhatsApp/Facebook support groups for new mom's help too. On absolutely frazzled days, I take solace in the fact that there are naughtier babies out there.

I'm off to bed now along with my little call centre employee. My day shift begins from 10pm. Good night!