The Flawed Genius

A flawed genius is what you are,

You left many a scar,

You got so caught up in the hysteria of ascending the ladder,

That you made yourself madder,

From the carefree college boy,

Who was filled with so much joy,

Where did that boy go,

The one who just wanted to go with the flow,

As the mother of your child,

I worry your son will be just as wild,

But hopefully, just the right amount,

To make his life count,

The maniacy you displayed at work,

Hand in hand with questionable corporate sharks,

Made you lose your soul, 

Your body merely followed you, into that black hole,

I always told you, you weren't indispensable,

But you weren't sensible,

To hear me out,

Instead, you filled my head with self doubt,

Questioned my decisions,

And made no provisions,

To change the way you lived,

Living out of suitcases and 7 star properties, 5 days a week, was no way to live,

You deprived yourself of a well balanced life,

Trying to fulfill corporate goals that costed you, your invaluable life. 

Where's Baba?

"Where's Baba?"

Asked our little bubba,

"With God", 

I replied, nice and loud,

"I want to see him, mumma",

"Take me to him mumma",

He persisted,

So, we walked to the balcony, unassisted,

I pointed to the brightest star,

"There's your Baba, living like a Czar",

Our Bubba chuckled, "That's funny",

He said, digging his little nose for gold and honey,

"What's he doing there?"

"Watching you intently and singing a little prayer",

"Take me to him mumma",

"I want to be with him mumma",

He persisted,

The silent tears I resisted,

Began to flow with a massive gush,

Until my mother caught hold of me and said "Hush!",

Your son hasn't forgotten you,

His heart is still stuck with you, 

I don't know how to pacify him,

I certainly don't give in to his every whim,

He may grow up hating or loving me,

Doesn't matter, I'll always be his mother bee.

Bye-bye BMW

We test drove SUVs for four months,

You finally reached a decision in the last month,

I see Arjun Kanungo driving one now,

His fans (excluding me) are going wow,

No BMW X1 for me,

A BMW bike is what fills my heart with glee,

You hated my Scooty riding days,

Your description of my riding skills were far from praise,

Just to spite you,

I'll get back on two sturdy wheels and paint the town blue,

There's nothing you can do,

Not even sit moodily with your hot caffeine brew,

Still so angry with you,

For getting swept up in your self- 

made, suffocating stew,

Think long and hard about your toddler and wife,

Whose lives you've successfully managed to stab with a painful knife.

Love and War

All's fair in love and war,

Our lovestory from start to finish, was filled with blood and gore,

We fought the whole world,

Just to build our dreamworld,

Life was hard,

But we deflected every shard,

We won every battle hand in hand,

Sadly, we lost the war against God and watched helplessly as he played his nasty underhand, 

I wake up every morning, expecting your videocall,

Then I realise we can only talk now, when God gives me a call,

Are you waiting for me,

Or excercising your poor flirting skills with heaven's every last bird and bee,

I want you to be a one-woman man, even in death,

Don't assume your loyalty to me is finished with your last breath,

I'm watching your every move, as humanly possible,

Coming up there and giving you a whack is far from impossible,

So be good,

Don't tempt me to come there with a hard piece of wood,

Now don't crack dirty jokes over the word "wood",

Not everyone understands that you hardly left your boyhood,

My poopie and baby number one,

You will always be my one and only one,

Love you,

Until my mortal eyes close and my lips turn blue.

Strength

Where am I supposed to find it from,

When I feel so numb,

My husband was my strength,

Although we were always on different wavelengths,

He was my Banyan tree and my shade,

A cosy little cocoon we had made,

Away from prying eyes,

Where we shared all our lows and highs,

It was always us against the world,

Until God decided to snatch you to the netherworld,

If there is a God, I hate him,

I won't be singing him any more hymns,

It wasn't your time,

Someone, somewhere has to pay the price for this crime,

I miss you, today and everyday,

More so on Fridays,

Life has lost all meaning,

I'm tired of hearing hollow words disguised as "well meaning". 

Moving On

Was I just a trophy wife,

Or did you consider me a huge part of your life,

How am I supposed to move on,

With you abruptly gone,

Am I supposed to continue living,

And keep forgiving,

All the wrong decisions you took,

With your misguided outlook,

Each day without you feels hollow,

This bitter reality of my life, am I expected to just swallow,

Should I continue loving you or hating you,

For what you've put me through,

Now I know how Pepper Potts felt when Iron Man died,

Too many expensive gadgets to clean and keep aside,

Do you realise at least now,

The slyness of people and how they made you senselessly plough,

My cautionary words seemed empty to you then,

I pray in the next life, you won't repeat it all over again,

I'm angry, so so angry,

With this meaningless half life, you've bestowed upon me so blankly. 

Riaan Is Three

Our bundle is three,

Are you far away or buzzing around like a bee,

Will you kiss him today,

And join in his play,

He hasn't asked about you offlate,

Perhaps he has resigned to his fate,

I took him to the beach today,

To kickstart his birthday,

He was ecstatic,

And viciously attacked his favourite sandy brown gold, like a fanatic,

He has convinced us that he is three months old,

And can no longer be controlled,

Opinionated, adamant and an absolute rebel,

No squabble ends well,

It's always his way or none,

He truly is your son,

That both excites and scares me,

Because I don't want him to flee,

From the realities of life and live inside a hazy little cloud,

He must live a well rounded life and that I will din into him, nice and loud,

He will excercise everyday,

Come back home early to his family,

Not be a people pleaser,

Instead be a smart little, well deserving seizer,

He can do and be anything,

As long as he does it all, with a playful ring,

Nothing and noone is more important than his life,

This he will learn from me for now and later his wife,

Now quickly wish him a happy third birthday,

Bless him, guide him and fill his life with abundant joy, today and everyday.

Why You?

Why did God take you,

When you still had so much to work through,

Out of all the nasty people in the world,

Why did he grab YOU to the netherworld,

Rapists, drug addicts, wife beaters, mafia dons,

You were merely a corporate pawn,

Who danced to their every tune,

You ruthlessly abused your mind, body and soul, ever ready to swoon,

To empty promises and ego massages,

Your head was inflated with barrages,

Of admiration and compliments,

God-complex was what you developed as a complement,

Your son and I didn't want an unstoppable God at home,

Or someone who perennially wanted to roam,

We wanted you and only you,

Not your guitars, your houses or the money you grew,

I fell in love with a stinky, unshaven college kid,

Your son simply wanted a father to play daredevil games with, which I tried my best to forbid,

Your bank balance and your fancy degrees,

Didn't make your son or me go weak in the knees, 

All we ever wanted was your time,

We were least interested in watching you maniacally climb,

Through a corporate machinery,

That made you so unkind and unseemly,

You snapped at everyone,

Including your almost 3 year old son,

For that I'll never forgive you,

You got so caught up in your own self-made selfish brew,

I'm not so large hearted,

To move on quickly from the crude manner in which you parted.

One Horrible Month

One horrible month since you've been gone,

I don't feel like waking up at dawn,

An existence without you,

Feels like an unending, painful flu,

If I had to relive my life with you,

Even if i knew,

That you'd go so soon,

I would still dance to your every tune,

I'd wait for the weekends,

Bide time with friends,

Pretend not to care when the door unlocked on Friday,

When in reality, my heart would be soaring in happiness glancing at my bae,

Riaan and I lived for the weekends,

You were better than the best of our baby and adult friends,

You were superdad and the love of my life,

I don't know about Riaan, but you would wholeheartedly agree, I was the ultimate superwife, 

Happy wife equals happy life,

And you made me so happy, even when your words cut sharper than a knife, 

We love you, forever more,

More than you'll ever know. 

Did I Love You Enough

We've had a million Tom and Jerry fights,

Because we had every right,

Through every "I hate you",

Was an intense "I love you",

We knew right from the start,

That we were burrowed deep inside each other's hearts,

Doesn't matter if you're dead or alive,

I will forever strive,

To keep your legacy shining bright,

I will fight the stormiest of seas and ride the toughest of flights,

Just to soar high, 

So that we can meet eye to eye,

This I promise with all my heart,

I will work smart,

Until I have to work no more,

Then I can join you in peace and take a blissful forever snore. 

Is Riaan You?

Riaan has got into an International school in Chennai, just like you wanted. His interview went very well. He spoke endlessly about himself and I spoke endlessly about you. You would've been happy to hear about the student teacher ratio, their ideas on feeding toddlers and how to potty train. I loved the school's principal. Can't wait to see him settle down nicely into that environment. 

Ever since you passed away, I've been noticing an uncanny resemblance between you and Riaan. He has become as sensitive as you overnight. Whenever he sees me howling uncontrollably, he holds my hand and says, "Don't worry maamaa. I'm here for you". He showers me with "I love you", very often. He massages my hands and face gently and says, "Don't be sad. Don't be angry. Be calm"

Whenever he sees me walking around aimlessly he tugs at my legs and says, "Come quick! Let me shut you inside this room, otherwise Baba will take you to the office, then you will also get lost" and "I won't let you go maamaa, don't leave me alone. I'll miss you".

You said you wanted to toughen him up and that I was not strict enough with him. You felt his life was filled with rainbows and cotton candies. Not anymore pupu, not anymore. His life has a void now. One that can never be filled. Not even by me. I am maamaa, not baba. 

Baba was the love of his life and mine. You've broken our happy family unit. All we ever wanted was your time and attention. We wanted you to play with us and listen to us. You did as best as you could. It just wasn't enough. We want more of you. So much more. 

I slept with your jacket last night. The one you wore for that last meeting. I smelt you all night long. But you didn't come in my dreams. Why? How dare you decide not to talk to me anymore? I'll give you two more nights. If you don't talk to me, I'll come find you. And if I come, there will be no going back. I know you're not that selfish. Think about Riaan, you don't want that for him. So talk to me, that's all you need to do. Talk. 

I hated the fact that Riaan resembles only you. In which world is it possible, that I carried him for 9 painful months, birthed him and he looks only like you! I was so angry each time someone made that remark. But today, I'm so glad he looks like you. He has your hair, forehead, eyebrows, eyelashes, ears and lips. Most likely, your brains and heart too. I'll forever be indebted to you for this gift of motherhood. I will see you through our little boy now. My only reason to live and smile. 

He has become naughtier and naughtier by the day. He has destroyed his grandmother's living room. Half her curios are broken. His grandfather has reached his wits end. He has been attacking his desktop computer, keyboard and mouse like nobody's business. My parents are most likely having second thoughts about letting me and your chimpanzee of a son into their house. 

Miss you pupu. Wonder why God didn't take me instead. Just counting the days until I can be with you again and have a roaring argument with you, about why you left so abruptly. Love you forever, with every last fibre of my being. Keep a box of brownies or a bowl of piping hot Gajar Halwa handy, you'll need it. 

The Power Of Chocolate

Chocolate has played a very important role in our romance. I'm convinced, without chocolate I may not have fallen so madly in love with poopie. Right from our first week of being together as a couple, poopie began showering me with chocolates. He bought me junk jewellery and chocolate dough balls. I knew in a heart-beat this was the man for me. Carbs oozing with chocolate and artificial plastic earrings. What more could a girl want?

He wouldn't dare enter the house on Friday nights without pastries and chocolates from Starbucks or the airport. It was his way of saying, "I love you". On one of those Friday nights he crazily offered to take me to Lower Parel, to eat a Double Chocolate Chip cookie from Sweetish House Mafia. So there we were, two tired work-ravaged souls (him more ravaged than me, of course), who jumped into their little red car and drove all the way from Kandivali to Lower Parel. All for the love of chocolate. 

Yet another Saturday morning found him offering to take me to Chocolateria San Churro. So off we went, from Kandivali to Juhu and then Juhu to Bandra. The Juhu outlet didn't have thick dark chocolate, only the milky one. So naturally, we had to go to the Bandra outlet. 

To make up for missing the birth of his son, he purchased tons of chocolate cookies, chocolate lollipops and chocolate tarts. Before he said, "Hi", he placed that big cardboard box of goodies on my lap. Before I could scream, "WHERE THE HELL WHERE YOU!?", a chocolate cookie was stuffed down my throat. Then he held his child with moist eyes and kissed him in peace.

When we went to Disneyland in Hong Kong, he didn't bother asking me what I wanted. He ordered a piping hot mug of hot chocolate with chocolate mickey ears for me and a black coffee for him. 

Whenever we had roaring fights at home, he would personally step out of home and pick up a box of Theobroma brownies, or have it home delivered. 

Whenever we went to Starbucks he encouraged me to drink their hot chocolate or stick to plain black coffee, but I always ended up trying their terrible tasting seasonal drinks by falling for their fancy marketing gimmicks. And then poopie, would shake his head in disappointment and mutter, "Why doesn't she ever listen to me"

Molten lava cake from Chili's, sizzling brownie from Cafe Coffee Day and the massive chocolatey dessert from Hard Rock Cafe; if there is a restaurant in Bombay with a gigantic chocolate dessert, poopie and I have demolished it.

He did love me, that carefree college kid, who turned into a work obsessed demon towards the end. He did, in his own, twisted way. Music, work, toddler, wife. Perhaps, this was the order in which he loved.

My Dearest Poopie

I'll love you till the end,

Even now when our lives have taken a bend,

Picturing your gorgeous face and dirty jokes,

Make me choke,

I should have died years ago on my Scooty,

Then I wouldn't have lived this impossible love story filled with unbridled beauty, 

Two 21 year olds,

From vastly different households,

Our union met with a lot of hesitation,

But we had already jumped to the next station,

In our heads we were already married,

So best to keep unwarranted comments buried,

Our life together was far from rosy,

But we tried our best to make each other feel cosy,

We braved many a storm,

And kept finding our way back into each other's arms which were always warm,

We only knew how to love,

Everything and everyone else we successfully managed to nudge away and shove,

You were mine and I was yours,

The rest of the world we blurred.

How I'm Doing

How do you think I am doing? A 34 year old newly turned widow. My whole world turned upside down with one strange phone call. The life I knew for 14 golden years, wiped out in seconds. 

No handsome husband to fight with and then make-up. A son without a father. An entire life we envisioned together, gone. Just like that, all with one phone call.

November 6th, poopie's birthday, December 6th, the day he died, January 8th, Riaan's birthday, January 31st my birthday, February 9th, our wedding anniversary and 13th July, our poopieversary. These dates and months are going to hit me like boulders falling off a cliff, till the day I die. It will stick out like a sore thumb.

Riju asked me if I felt peaceful. I told him if the Joker were real, I would be it. Bloodied cut lips drawn into a forced smile and having the ability to blow up an entire building or town with no remorse. I have nothing left to lose anymore. Might as well cause a sizeable amount of destruction.

Will I ever heal? Will I ever be happy? And not just forced happy, for the sake of my child? Now I really am dark_angel_8731 (my yahoo ID that poopie made fun of). Guess what pupu, the joke's on you, because you've filled my head with darkness. My heart has turned to stone. I probably don't have a soul anymore and my brain has turned into dynamite, just waiting to explode. 

Well done! All that is on you. Still resting and feeling peaceful, wherever you are? Snap out of it, NOW. 

Riaan

Riaan, our little bun,

Whose face shines brighter than the sun,

Half you, half me,

Our precious little third pea,

We waited for five excruciating years,

Walked straight through hellfire and overcame our fears,

God tested us,

And after much fuss,

He finally came into our lives,

We were so overjoyed, we kept giving each other high-fives,

Today, I look at his adamant little face,

And quickly realise, I can never take your place,

But try I must,

For you have thrust,

The biggest challenge of my life,

One that cuts sharper than a knife,

You have wounded his soul and mine,

Still, our lives are entwined,

You belong to us and only us,

My poopie and Riaan's baba, there is still so much left to discuss,

If it weren't for our baby,

I would have joined you maybe,

One tempting cut to the wrist,

With my hands balled into a tight fist,

But I won't, not until he is eighteen,

He is still a bean,

Our darling little bean,

Who has turned just a wee bit mean,

Can't blame him,

For you are missing, you who satisfied his every little whim. 

Beach Therapy

I've been listening to The Weekend, Poets of the Fall, Steel Panther and The Lonely Island just to keep you close. Every song weighs down heavily on my mind. It reminds me of the specific conversations and the activities we were upto as we heard each one. You compartmentalized your music, just like your life. Chill music, weekend music, drive music, slow jazz, inspirational music and work music. I'm doing the same. I've compartmentalized my life and music into, pre-poopie and post-poopie. 

Strangely, it doesn't give me any solace. Only more pain and heartache over the beautiful memories and life we shared together, one that I can never have ever again. So, I went to the beach this morning, on a whim. Drove the car straight to the water with the baby and parents in toe. The lashing waves calmed me down instantly. The baby began throwing mud all over himself and his grandfather in no time. He dug his palms into the sand, drenched himself with it, shoved some into his mouth and continued flinging it around, like he had discovered brown gold.

You would have chuckled, watching his antics. Better yet, you would've joined him. Then, I drove to Saravana Bhavan. We drank your favourite filter coffee and walloped some delicious ghee laden pongal, masala dosha and puri masala. Remember Pongal, my favourite South Indian breakfast. Therefore, your favourite. Because, happy wife means happy life. Your philosophy not mine.

The night lamp and hallway light have been flickering on and off furiously ever since I came home. Is that you? I've been getting concerned messages and calls from your friends and mine. Two of your colleagues from work (those two kids you adored) have been going on and on about how much they looked upto you, the stories you narrated to them about Riaan and me, our life together and so on. It felt good, talking to them. Yesterday of all days, I needed that reassurance from the universe that you did in fact put the baby and me ahead of yourself, in your own warped way.

I told Ritesh I want to join MMA classes, but nothing is open at the moment (because Chennai). He told me to converse with an autorickshaw driver in my broken Tamil, I'd have a live MMA workout instantly. I agreed with him wholeheartedly. We spoke about other important things as well, but this part of our conversation was my main takeaway. 

Coming back to this morning's beach therapy session; our last visit to Juhu beach made you a beach convert as well. More of Besant Nagar beach for the baby and me. It doesn't take away all the pain, but it makes us forget, at least momentarily. 

The Ones That Got Left Behind

I'm oscillating between anger and sadness, with the stunt that you've pulled. None of the people that you held in the highest regard have reached out to me. Not one single person. Your work-wife looked dishonest and unconvincing. He told me to consider him a big brother. I almost told him to F!%k O#f but held my tongue. I already have two big brothers and a sister who can make chutney out of him.

You died for those traitors. I hate you for that. You never prioritized your health, your family time and your precious sleep. I saw you sleeping your hardest on 6th December '21. I only wish you slept like that when you were still alive. How many more movies we could've caught on the big screen. The new Spiderman movie released, just after you died. 

Riaan asked about you this morning. "Why has Baba not taken his big suitcase with him?" I replied saying, "He has left it for you my darling". He giggled and said, "Oh! Okay!"

Watched a stupid Malayalam movie yesterday, called "Kurup". It had too many scenes of Bombay and reminded me instantly of our life there. Your motionless body, lying in an impersonal corner of Bombay Hospital kept flashing in my head like an alarm. I quickly ran inside my room, switched off the lights and howled  as quietly as I could. The baby kept circling around me. Luckily, the lights were off so he didn't see my tear streamed, blotchy face. I don't want to burden him with my sadness. He has his own to deal with it. 

I read him a storybook last night about a family visiting a Zoo and he immediately asked about you. He thinks you've gone to the office poopie. I didn't bother correcting him. Let him wait for you. I know you won't let him down. You will visit your son. I know it in my heart.

Since gyms are shut in Chennai (now stop your sadistical chuckling, Chennai is not a village!) I've started evening and morning walks in our colony. It's not the same as walking in Raheja Vihar, but it will have to do. Home food is excellent and I'll bloat like a balloon before I know it. 

Have you met everyone up there yet? My grandparents? Nitin? Akshay? Your grandparents? How is everyone? Do you have drinks in heaven too? The logo of all your favourite beer brands bring a pang to my heart now. I might just start drinking beer now even though it tastes like horse piss. I saw multiple BMWs drive past me yesterday evening during my walk. I'm still not convinced as to why you had your heart so set on buying one.

New plan; I'm buying a BMW bike. I'm a bike rider remember? You're the car lover. I know you hated me driving my Scooty Pep. But you can no longer control my decisions. So BMW bike it is. I'll go on off-roads with fellow bikers and might even have a freak accident. Who knows? 

I have a child to raise, I know. You've happily dumped the biggest responsibility of our lives, on my shoulders and gone. So, I've taken it on, just like fixing the bathroom flush, changing a bulb, finding a dusting maid, finding a tenant for our Kandivali flat, getting Riaan admitted to a good school and so on. Then the bike accident can happen.

Our baby will be three years old on the 8th. I've taken over the cake design as usual. We're not calling anyone home this year though or decorating the house. We are in mourning after all. I still haven't prayed. Unable to find the strength in me to allow you to rest in peace. Don't rest in peace. You haven't done anything peaceful, in life or in death. I'm torn between intensely hating you and missing you terribly. My mind keeps replaying every conversation we ever had, from 13th July 2008 to 6th December 2021.

Why didn't you come home earlier? Why didn't you sleep earlier? Why did you miss my delivery and seven months of my pregnancy? What can be more important than being a father? Why did you travel so much? Why did you dress up so badly? Why didn't you ever comb your hair? Why didn't you wash your hands more frequently? Your chubby fingers always stank. What I wouldn't do now to have one last whiff of that nasty smell. 

You've murdered me along with you. I saw a Lenovo Thinkpad at the airport baggage check-in counter and I thought I'd die then and there. Going to the airport and sitting on a flight back to my parental home took everything out of me. I'm never leaving Chennai. I never want to see Bombay in my life. I don't want to board another aircraft or see an airport ever again. 

You wait for me wherever you are. I want you to regret all the decisions you ever took in your life, that excluded the baby and me. We were important. And you didn't give us that importance. I want you to repent, wherever you are. If I cry for 2 hours everyday, I want you to cry for 20. Keep crying until I meet you. Cry until you have no tears left inside you. They say you're a higher soul now and are in a different place. I don't care what you are. You just wait and cry. That's your only job now.

Stay Strong

Quite sick of hearing this little tit-bit,

Ever since God forced you and I to split,

Have you lost your 35 year old spouse?

Felt suffocated in your own house?

Did your better half go for an important meeting?

And leave the client's office with a heart that stopped beating?

Have you pushed your soulmate into the fire?

And felt tempted to jump into the pyre?

Have you rubbed ghee on his entire body?

In a crematorium that looked utterly shabby?

Have you smelt the ashes of the love of your life?

Listen long and hard when I tell you this, I AM A WIFE! 

My strength was my husband,

I'm barely able to stand, 

So please, I BEG YOU, stop telling me to be strong,

It sounds like a very badly composed song!

The Homecoming

I'm home. Or am I? I entered the house I grew up in with mixed feelings. I always wanted to come back to Chennai to pursue my career. The work life balance in this city is better. Or at least it was, eight years ago. I would be able to raise my child and head back to work. But how could I convince you? You, a Chennai hater and climate change expert, with your heart set on the world. 

I prayed hard to every God I know to just come back home with you and the child. God, granted my wish, but in such a twisted way. When I entered the bedroom I lived in pre-marriage, my eyes fell on our wedding photo. I instantly burst into tears. Every inch of that room reminded me of the girl who dated you and was waiting to get married to you. 

All the other rooms in the house have our wedding photo as well. I entered the kitchen and saw the same model of the coffee machine you used in our first house at Kandivali. I saw a wedding invitation lying on the dining table. I hadn't exercised because there is no gym near our house. First strike against Chennai. You would've made fun of the city in a heartbeat. 

I've been a fire breathing dragon all morning because of that one change in routine. You would've told me to calm down. But there is no you anymore. Just two anxious parents, in their late 60s and early 70s wondering what to do. 

So first things first, I'll join the gym tommorow morning and take the baby to the beach today. He hasn't asked about you yet. He asked about Vasavi aunty and his house. So I video-called Vasavi and told him this is his house. He shook his little head vehemently and said, "No. This is ammumma and Ajja's house". I replied saying, "I'll make a house, for you, me and Baba. Will you live with me there?" 

I've forgotten how everything in this house works, me, a 34 year old newly turned widow. How can I expect a 3 year old to quickly adapt and acclimatize? It will take time, for the two of us and my parents.

The fact that I'm no longer a child had to be dinned in quite rudely this morning. I apologized and told them the Cooam river had flooded my head and to forgive me in advance for any future bad behaviour. Do you remember the Cooam river poopie? That's what you've done to my brain. Congratulations! 

If you're having any second thoughts about  coming back from the dead, now would be the time to do it. I doubt you're at peace. For selfish reasons, I don't want you to be. Just come back already and I promise I'll stop nagging you about your lifestyle, your lack of sleep and your taste in music. 

Goodbye Mumbai

Ritesh and Rupa took me to our childhood favourite haunt - Laxmi. The auto ride from home till the restaurant had my heart soar up in earnest hope. I was sure you would be waiting for us there, cup of tea in one hand and Misal Pav in the other.

We ordered your favourite dishes, Misal Pav and Dahi Papdi chat. I discovered yet again, that our tastes in food were vastly different. I hated both dishes. The sugary, ginger chai made up for the terrible tasting food.

We spoke about you for one hour endlessly. By 10pm I told them we had to wrap up, because daddy would be worried sick. I will always be a school girl in pigtails for him! The fact that I have a son, ran a house for 8 years and lived away from them independently is something he conveniently forgets. 

So we rushed back home, to find daddy pacing in the dark, staring at the clock. Rupa giggled. I requested dad to go to bed, but he stayed put until we all said goodbye.

I'll miss our friends poopie, yours and mine. But this city brings a pain to my chest. It gave you to me 14 years ago and then took you away, just as easily. Every road reminds me of you. I have to get away. 

What hurts more than your death is the life you didn't get to live, but so badly wanted to. You wanted to mould your son into a fine young man. You wanted to buy a BMW this year. You were going to take a week off for our eighth wedding anniversary. You wanted to take me and Riaan to Europe. 

I'll try my best to fulfill these last wishes of yours. Will you help me? I'm no longer that typical clingy Indian mom by the way, I've decided to let Riaan marry whoever he wants. 

I've had a barrage of condolence messages and phone calls from people I barely know, they are indulging me with stories of how you touched their lives. I find myself consoling them and vice-versa. 

I smelt your shampoo for an hour today and wrote notes on the foggy bathroom mirror. You will answer my questions, I know. 

I miss you. So does Riaan. He has promised to come with me on long drives, shopping trips and superhero movie marathons. Wonder how long that will last! One pretty girl and I'm out. 

We visited Zora one last time today and Mano flung Zora and Riaan up in the air like dumbbells. They were thrilled, especially Riaan. He lived for moments like that with you on the weekends. It was very obvious from his actions, that he loved you more than me. His little heart is broken poopie. I havent been successful in fixing it just yet. 

I've always told you I can't raise this child alone. Remember that now, more than ever. You hold his hand, whenever he needs you. Because he needs you, more than me. 

Are You Home Yet?

The fathers cracked open a bottle of whiskey last night and were high as kites. Surya came to visit and they were ecstatic to regale the youngster with stories of war and government policies. Occasionally, they forced him to eat a paratha, which he refused politely at first, then with a powerful NO. 

Your death has forced my family to fly in from Dubai, Chennai and Trivandrum. Our sweet neighbours from D block (Vaishali, Sony and Rita aunty) have finally visited our new apartment. My building friends have dropped in too. I'm confused. Isn't death supposed to be a period of mourning. Why does it seem like a celebration all of a sudden? Why do I feel like you'll suddenly unlock the front door, grab both fathers by the shoulders and say, "Daddy, Baba, pour me a peg too!"

The baby and I, have always had an active social life during the week just to bide time. I would introduce you to the husband of the newest mommy friend I had made and you would either grunt looking at the gentleman or make polite conversation. Your mood solely depended on your workload during the week. This week feels just like that. Something tells me, you'll be back home for the weekend any minute now. 

I somehow cannot forget the image of you lying motionlessly in a corner of Bombay Hospital. How easily you breathed your last without a forewarning. Your blue lips and closed eyes will forever haunt me. Your green office shirt had been roughly pulled off your chest for the CPR procedure. 

What were your thoughts in your final moments? Your boss said you wanted to come home. I want you home too poopie. This house suddenly has too many empty spaces. It scares and suffocates me. I can't stand it anymore. 

The boys have begun work on your album. I made Kiron share our pictures from '08, our first month together as a couple. It opened a floodgate of memories. Now I'll only have these glamorous pictures of you. You will forever remain young. You always convinced me that you were the better looking between the two of us. I agree. I'll age and look wrinkly.  You on the other hand, will forever be a dimply young lad with the sweetest face in the world. 

Didn't matter if you put on or lost weight, shaved or didn't, you always looked radiant. Your thick eyebrows, beautifully curled lashes and massive toothy smile were more than enough to light up any room you walked into. 

Riaan asked about you today as well, "Why has baba gone without his suitcase?", "Will baba come back?" and "I want baba in every room - my bedroom, your bedroom and the living room". I blinked in response. How am I supposed to play the role of baba and mumma now? 

Tomorrow I will stuff eight years of my married life and three years of motherhood into cardboard boxes. I'm running away from this beautiful house that you made for us, so that I don't have to look at aeroplanes landing from the baby's bedroom window anymore. I instinctively look at my phone to receive a one word message from you, "Landed". And the next second you would call, "Almost home. What chocolates can I buy for you from the airport? Ill pick up a toy for Riaan as well. Is he awake?" 

All these memories and more, will haunt me, till the day I breathe my last. Waiting for God to shine me up to you. You died a natural death. If I must find my way back to you, I must die a natural death too. I just hope it happens quickly. 

The 15th Day

15 days since you've been gone, where have you reached? Are you still with me inside the house or soaring in the skies like a free bird? I felt a boulder inside my heart last night and the tears were never ending. I think you've gone. Will you come back? Can you still see me? Are you happy or sad?

Is there a God? Do you regret not praying with me everyday inside our little home temple? I've stopped praying by the way. I'm still coming to terms with the massive challenge you've left behind for me. Today I'll clean your guitars, amplifiers and wires. I'll store them away in the loft. Riaan can have them when he is ready. 

Riaan asks about you everyday. "Where's baba gone?", he questions. I try my best to explain to him that you are with God, but he comes back to "Where's baba gone?". Do you regret leaving your almost 3 year old behind? I'll design his third birthday cake as "Baba's big blue car".

I've been hearing the words, "Stay strong and be brave", quite a bit in the past 15 days. I'm sick of it. You were my strength. People will come and go, but you and I were forever. Remember? Now I have no one to share that forever with. I hate happy couples, especially couples with babies. Old married couples in their 80s and 90s make me cry. 

Will you always be 35? When I die and go to heaven or hell, will I see you as a 35 year old? You told me, you will wake up next to me, even when I'm old. You promised me several more decades of mad fun, randomness and poopieversaries. I can never go to Bangalore again. Or live in Bombay. Or go to Delhi. Each city has a beautiful memory of you that breaks my soul. 

Our son just woke up, he said you carried him last night. You've definitely left the house. I can feel it. Time appears to be vast, black and never-ending. No one to take me to the mall, to the movies, to restaurants, to the beach or to friend's houses. I can go alone, yes. But it just won't be the same without you. Nothing is the same without you.

I can never go to Starbucks, eat a McDonalds burger, go to Clearing House, Indigo Deli or look at a musician without crying. Why did you leave? I know I'm supposed to pray for your soul to go in peace. But how can I pray for peace, when I'm far from peaceful?

Did we meet as kids, so you'd leave me so quickly? You've left behind a jacket that still smells of you. Your toiletries have your scent. Your gold wedding ring, has become so sharp around the edges, that it pokes me. These material reminders of you comfort me, but only momentarily. I need you. I miss our fights, your laughter, our movie watching marathons in bed, our spontaneous drives that always led to you saying, "We need to plan these things better. Now I don't want to go back home so quickly". 

The weekends have no meaning anymore. I have nothing to look forward to on Friday nights. No one to pull the sheets off me and tickle me until I wake up. No one to wake up our sleeping baby at midnight. I'm so sorry I paid a little more attention to him when he was born. I know you hated it. If I could re-live 2019 all over again, I would have dumped the baby on someone else's head and spent every free minute with you. To hell with his night feeds, sleep schedule and diaper changes. 

I have and always will love you, more than him. He is a part of you, so am I. You created him, you created us. There is nothing without you. Riaan and I are broken. We have no one to mend the broken pieces. You've orphaned us. 

Are you really at peace? Do you have even a shred of regret inside you? Why did you prioritise that murderous job so much? What has it given you? What has it given us? Riaan will never be a management consultant. None of the kids from the next generation will. I'll make sure of it. 

Shame on them for not honouring you, even in death. God is watching everything. They will reap the karma of their actions soon. They have families too. They have the curse of a wounded young widow, following them like a shadow forever. I thank ammumma for teaching me every powerful Mantra in the world. I know what to do spiritually. 

You promised me you would have "the chat" with Riaan, when he reaches puberty. I shudder to think about his teen years now, he has your genes and mine! Double whammy! Yikes! But his mind is yours, for that I am thankful. 

I can't say rest in peace, how can I? You've left so much on my shoulders. I need you, every step of the way. Please stay, if possible. I'll talk to God. 

Being Mrs Poopie

Rajarshi Bhattacharyya, to the outside world was an ace guitarist of some of the most popular underground metal bands in the country. He was a Partner at BCG for the climate change vertical. Some called him a mentor, some a creative juggernaut, some a force to reckon with and so on. But to me, he was always poopie. We met as clueless 21 year olds, who had no vision or mission for the future. The only thing we were sure of was each other. 

We had an impossible love story that transcended geographical, cultural and emotional barriers. We were poles apart as individuals. He had a deadly focus on anything he touched, while I drifted along like a butterfly. I didn't get along with half his friends, didn't like the music he played or listened to, didn't like his taste in food and didn't agree with his spendthrift ways. 

At times he dominated the relationship and at times I did. But eventually, the man always had his way. The house decor, the big spending decisions and how the child should be raised, he merely consulted me in such matters, for ultimately he would take the call. 

We dated for 6 years and were married for almost 8. He promised me 99 anniversaries together. He lied. Or maybe he meant it, now I'll never know, for he literally "dropped dead" doing what he loved the most - his job. I begged him to quit and consider leading a less stressful lifestyle. But he never listened. He missed seven months of my pregnancy due to his international travels and missed my delivery. I reigned down on him like a wounded dragon and he experienced a woman's wrath firsthand. But there was still no stopping that shameless, ambitious, headstrong, driven man. 

I quickly realised when our son was born, that I had two babies to take care of. My baby husband and my baby son. He may have been a maverick to the world, but at home, I couldn't differentiate between the two. The competition between them got hilariously ugly. The conversations between them were, "I came first, therefore your mumma belongs to me", "I will sleep on Mumma tummy, you sleep elsewhere", "Go away Riaan", "Be quiet", "Pinch your cheeks" and so on. 

The silly games they played, shocked, appalled and amused me. They would both watch my face intently as they swung from one daredevil stunt to the other. "I'm so glad, we have a little boy. He is so tough and can be flung around in any direction", he would say and throw the baby around like a pair of dumbbells. 

He was a perennial fence sitter. He would express a desire to buy something for the house or himself and would take a year to finally purchase it. House and baby related matters, were strictly not to be discussed with him on the weekends. He didn't like it. "Figure it out", was his life advice to me, each time I went to him with a problem - personal, professional or house related. 

I love my grandfather and brothers so much, that I ended up marrying someone just like them. Especially my grandfather. Poopie and he had the same qualities - quiet, humble, passionate, dedicated, hardworking, hugely successful, minded their own business, didn't like gossiping and had hearts of gold. I performed his 11th day puja yesterday and the Pandit-ji told me that I prayed with all my heart and that I pronounced difficult Bengali mantras better than even a Bengali speaking person would. Then he re-assured my mum-in-law that poopie's soul has attained Moksha, that there would be no re-birth for him. I wasn't surprised upon hearing this. That's exactly how my appuppan took his last journey as a soul as well.

Now I have so many stars in the sky, watching down upon me, I know. But this pain in my heart, will it ever go? Each time my son or I reach a milestone in life, will poopie experience it? When the baby and I are in pain, will he feel it? Does he still love us? Does he regret leaving us so suddenly? Does he wish to come back? So many unanswered questions. 

Float Among The Clouds

Single mom. Young widow. 30-something dying of a cardiac arrest. These were alien concepts to me until four days ago. I was mid-way through my evening walk on 6th December, when I received a startling phone call from my husband's boss. He told me that my poopie had collapsed midway through the presentation and that I must rush to Bombay Hospital immediately. He told me it would take a bit of time and advised me to keep the child at home.

I rushed home, informed my in-laws about what happened and jumped into an Uber. I was all set to spend the night with him and dressed accordingly. My mother in law was in tears and my father in law was breathless. But I was at peace and was sure that he was just plugged up with wires lying in the emergency ward. I was all set to give him a whack on the head and a pinch on the bum, telling him to stop working like a machine, at least now. 

We hardly had a married life. I met him on the weekends. He was flying to another city on Monday and that's how our life was for eight years. We long distanced before marriage and even after that. It always pinched me. But I tried my best to look beyond that. I cribbed to all and sundry about how I was left to fend for myself on the weekdays. But come the weekend, my poopie would be home with his signature brand of mischief. Those sparkly eyes and naughty smile was a forewarning that he was about to do something nasty. The child and I were his eternal targets. 

I digress. Coming back to that fateful day, we reached the hospital and ran to the emergency ward. Someone caught hold of me and said, "Gayatri, sit down". It was poopie's boss and colleague. I vehemently shook my head and said, "Just tell me. What's going on?". He replied with, "Rajarshi is no more". I lost balance and howled on the floor holding his shoe. My mother in law, looked at him and said, "You killed him". I didn't argue. I was glad she said it. I screamed at them to take me to him. They took me to a corridor and there he was, my beautiful beautiful poopie, covered under a white sheet, eyes closed, blue lips. I hugged him tight, he still felt like my telly tubby man, the one I had hugged all night long just a few hours ago. I cradled his head in my arms, kissed him and told him to wake up. But he didn't respond.

My world had ended. There is no God. How can there be? Why did he take my perfect perfect poopie? We had a son to raise, a life to live. I took my mother in law and son to see him. My son didn't understand much, or maybe he did, afterall he has the brains of his father. He frowned and looked away. The formalities took forever to end and we finally brought him back home. 

I didn't sleep on the first night. I slept next to the icebox he was placed in. The following day went by in a whirl of activities. I kissed his cold face repeatedly and wiped the liquids flowing out of his nose. The crematorium had too many flies, so I swatted them vigorously off his face. I rubbed ghee on his hair, face, chest, hands and feet. His hands especially I rubbed a little more, because I knew that would be the last time I would ever hold hands with him. I also wanted to lessen the unnatural stiffness on his hands.

I pushed him towards the fire along with the crematorium workers, prayed for his soul and watched him go up in flames. Two days later, I collected his ashes, inhaled it deeply and flowed it away into the Banganga Tank. That was that. 

My poopie who filled my life with laughter, madness, dirty jokes and immense joy, was dust. He was finally asleep after years and years of slogging like a machine. He didn't love his job, he inhaled it. Climate change, hydrogen, green energy and natural gas were his life. On weekends he brought books from Amazon on the topic and watched videos on Youtube. Our romantic drives were filled with conversations on climate change and him clicking pictures of piped gas and green vehicles. His passion killed him.

Riaan, our son, will never forget his father. I will make sure of it. He will be raised exactly how his father wanted him to be raised. I only live now to continue his legacy. I will keep the professional, personal and musical beacon flying high. Mrs Rajarshi Bhattacharyya's work is just beginning. A full life to lead keeping all his goals in mind. But after that, I will find him and never let go. 

If there is another life, I want to be born again only as Mrs Rajarshi Bhattacharyya. I'm conflicted between letting your soul go now or hanging on to you. But as always, you will decide. You lived life on your terms. And I will respect that even in death.

Riaan and I will love you forever. 

The Escapades of Ducky, The One Eyed Duck

My grandfather, aunt, cousins and sibling have been animal lovers, for as long as I can remember. We had a tortoise, a rabbit, some hens, dogs of course and then came the icing on the cake. My cousin, added a one eyed duck and a squirrel to this mix. Her lifelong dream was to become a veterinarian. 

Summer holidays, were always spent together in our grandparents house. On one of those holidays, she was accompanied by this screechy, one eyed duck. It was constantly attacked by our pet dogs. We always knew the exact location of the duck thanks to the dogs' desperate and relentless barking. They simply, couldn't stand the duck! 

Her parents finally had to intervene. They advised her to give the duck away to a nice homely farm, where she would be looked after well. She agreed reluctantly. So when the summer holidays came to an end, Ducky exited our household without much ado. A few days later however, we heard from the farm owner that Ducky had been murdered by a bunch of stray dogs. Her parents and our grandparents shuddered upon hearing this ghastly news. More than the Duck being murdered, their concern was how to keep this information hidden from the original Duck owner, aka my cousin.

I was the first person they caught and warned to keep mum, for nothing stayed in my stomach or mouth for too long. It was already overflowing with so much bakery food. I agreed reluctantly. I met my cousin a few months later and kept grinning like a Cheshire cat. Now how and when do I explode this bomb, I wondered devilishly.

The opportune moment came all too soon. All the adults were busy shopping for clothes. I caught hold of her and uttered only three words. "Ducky, your ducky", and I shook my head vigorously, feigning fake sadness. She immediately burst into a loud, blood-curdling howl and the waterworks began. The adults came running. One look at my face and they knew what had conspired. 

I don't know why, but even now as I recall this incident, all I can do is smile wholeheartedly. Ducks are good on the plate. Roast duck, Japanese duck, duck fry, duck curry, so many ways to eat the creature. How can you possibly think of petting one? Would you pet your pepperoni pizza or your lamb burger? Serious answers only, please. 

(Image Source : https://montreal.ctvnews.ca/duck-duck-poop-driven-by-tik-tok-trend-spca-sees-surge-in-abandoned-and-messy-ducklings-1.5521702) 

Being a Public Relations Professional

My mother's dream for me was to become a doctor, my grandmother told me to become a lawyer and my sports teacher was convinced I would become the next Badminton sensation with the right training. I nodded along to everyone's suggestions as I had no fixed ambition or goal in mind. I was simply an innocent people pleaser. But through it all I always knew that I loved people. I loved forming friendships and I fell madly in love with whoever I met. According to Google, this obsessive nature of friendship means I'm a deeply lonely person. Perhaps, I am.

When school ended, I still had no idea what I wanted to do. So I enrolled myself for a B.sc Electronic Media course, which was a mish-mash of all the forms of media available. Did I want to be a journalist? Did I want to be a news anchor? I was still confused. So I dabbled a little with print media, didn't like that, packed my bags and went back home. Next, I enrolled myself for a Masters in Public Relations, the course was easy and mundane. 

The first job I picked up after finished my Masters course was a dealbreaker. I loved my bosses, my colleagues, the work environment and my clients. I finally found my ocean to swim in. I was a happy little fish. I loved my job despite it's myriad challenges.

The good days were really great and the bad, absolutely lousy. And i miss it. I wonder when I'll be able to get back to it with a hyper toddler at home. Do I want to get back to it? The work hours with my last agency were erratic. They expected me to work endlessly, like I had no one waiting for me to get back home. 

Do I get back into P.R or a purely content writing role or should I dabble in teaching? I'm at a crossroads. One thing I know for sure is that whatever I do, it must involve an interesting set of people. Colleagues make everything livelier. Without them, what is the point of going to work? 

(Image Source : https://digitaluncovered.com/best-public-relations-agencies-in-india/) 

 

Mumbai's Kaamwali Bais; Boon or Bane?

It was during the Covid lockdown that the whole of India began to really respect their domestic help. We realized the amount of work they do, quietly and tirelessly in our houses, to keep it spotlessly clean. The kaamwali bais in Mumbai however are a different breed all together. They have the confidence of a lion in an urban jungle. The prey they hunt is you and me. With so many high rises built in a 1 km radius, it is but natural that they have a sense of pride and high self-esteem.

No house in Mumbai can function without the help of bais. Two and three per household is the norm. One for cooking, one for cleaning, one for dusting or looking after the kids/aged parents. The requirements are aplenty. High-rises are always surrounded by a thriving community of slum dwellers. The two worlds co-exist peacefully, for they depend on each other. 

The bais I've dealt with have been hardworking, kind, sly, lazy, nosy, neat, punctual, late, greedy and so on. I just had a tussle with my newest hired help, a dusting maid. She is always late, more interested in gossip than her actual work and is constantly asking for favours. We got into a war of words today, as her work has become shoddier and shoddier by the day. She has a justification for everything and has a tailor-made answer, for every question thrown her way.

At the end of that useless battle, I felt like a pig in muddy water. She is not going to change, I realized. She might quit before I fire her, only to be employed in two other houses. The way my bais talk to me, has me wondering whether I've hired them or they have hired me.

The longer they stay with you, the more they take you for granted. The power is always in their hands, because we can't live without them. Well, we can, but with a lot of backache, knee pain and sore-throat as we are not used to cleaning our toilets or sweeping our floors. 

I am grateful to my existing domestic help, who cook and clean for me. I never take them for granted and almost always give in to their demands, even if it is unreasonable. So yes, I am personally responsible for their reckless attitudes and over-confidence. I try my best to maintain a good relationship with them. And, I sort out all their personal issues as much as I can. 

(Image Source : https://www.shutterstock.com/image-vector/indian-housemaid-kamwali-bai-cartoon-character-1434258044) 

Mumbai, No Man's Land or The City of Dreams?

Eights years since I've lived in Bombay. There are days when I'm madly in love with this city and then there are days, when I just want to run away to a remote island and never return. Is this really my home? Or a city I'm merely transiting through? Only time will tell, I suppose. 

Work friendships are just that - bonds you form at work. Not with everyone of course. You do remain friends with 2-3 good souls who genuinely want to form a bond with you, beyond work hours. My first job in the city, was with a dream boss, Mary Oommen. The work environment was a cozy little cocoon, that she had built to help us succeed. She had personally handpicked us, we were Mary's angels (like Charlie's angels of course, only we didn't have to save the world). 

She was our work-mom. She pushed all the right buttons and threw us outside our comfort zones. Mary was the first non-family member, who called to congratulate me on the birth of my son. She gave me subtle parenting tips and told me in plain words to quickly get back to work for the sake of my sanity. She still calls me once a year, to check up on me and keeps throwing job offers my way, to get me out of the house!  

The next organization I joined was where I truly experienced the harsh world of corporate politics, Mumbai's corporate politics, mind you. I cried in the office and I cried at home, everyday without fail. The travel time to work, didn't help either. One hour in the morning and four hours in the evening. Looking back, I wonder if it was even worth it, going through all that travel sickness and dealing with a toxic work environment. My colleagues however, made my time worthwhile. I had multiple shoulders to cry on, at least.

Fast forward to five years, I'm deep in the throes of motherhood, raising an unreasonable toddler whose only answer to every question is "No" and "Don't talk". I'm laughing my way through this phase as well, for I know he will soon grow up and go to school. I pray hard to every God I know, every night, for schools to reopen quickly.

Through each of these experiences, I have seen firsthand, the resilience of people and faced their wrath/cut-throat behaviour. I have also seen their friendly and approachable nature. A city is made up of its people. And this city has a mixed bag of folks. Sometimes they disappoint you, with their cold behaviour and sometimes they overwhelm you with their kindness. 

The past five years, have given me a lot of time to form friendships in my immediate neighbourhood. I've had the chance to interact with toddler moms, moms of twins, moms of teenagers. And the conversations have always been refreshing. I look forward to playdates everyday. A day without a playdate, is a day wasted. 

So coming back to the question in my mind, is this my city, now that I've lived here for close to a decade? Can I call myself a Mumbaikar, even if my heart is still in Chennai? Let me just leave it to time, to unravel these answers. All I can do is sit back and watch.