Four Days To Go

As our eight wedding anniversary looms closer and closer,

My breaths become shorter and raspier, I feel a sense of discomposure,

Four days later,

You may or may not have done anything spectacular,

However, the feeling that we’ve sailed through eight years of stormy seas,

Without too much of a wheeze,

Would have been reason enough,

To celebrate with some chicken puff,

That massive, flaky one from Poetry, overloaded,

And stuffed to the brim with spicy chicken filling, that just explodes,

In the mouth, with every greedy bite,

Next, we would’ve walked down the streets of Hiranandani in delight,

After that calorie laden meal,

With a lot of gusto and zeal,

“Let’s wash it down with ice cream?”, I would suggest,

“Sure poopie. Nature’s Basket?”, you would have pressed,

Windows down and staring at the world passing by,

Car cozily parked next to Hiranandani garden, finishing our ice creams by the sly,

A long afternoon siesta would follow,

That is unless, your son decided to wallow,

In self pity and hysterical sobs,

For he never wanted to come home, our only jobs,

Are to keep him entertained,

Doesn’t matter if we feel drained,

From our outing of gluttony,

He would be utterly,

Cranky and sleepy,

Which explains, why he would be so weepy,

Hopefully, the next anniversary would be more calm,

With no baby meltdowns or need for headache balms. 

Not Okay

I’m not okay,

I haven’t been okay,

Since my husband dropped dead on 6th December,

What I do remember is that Austin Powers in Gold member, 

Was a movie he watched, one too many times,

All the signs,

Constantly hit me on the head,

That this is one partnership I will dread,

And I did, each time he cracked a potty joke,

Or got home an odd bloke,

His taste in music and food,

Caused many a feud,

I wonder what we saw in each other,

That we had the strength to overcome, one hurdle after another,

Just to be together,

We weren’t birds of the same feather, 

Far from it,

I had a Scooty permit,

While he was a practical, no nonsense four wheel driver,

The Scooty made me a broken arm survivor,

The accident promptly got him home then,

And that’s when,

The questions began to be raised,

My parents were far from amazed,

With his unruly, long curly hair,

Oddly shaped goatee and body structure, similar to a teddy bear,

“No, no and no”,

“He is an average Joe”,

“We’ll find someone far more suitable for you”,

I didn’t have a clue,

About our next move,

Your side of the family sang the same groove,

So did God grant us a life divorce?

And throw us on a different course?

To reinforce the fact,

That the odds were always stacked,

Against us and not for us,

I got ready to come to Bombay Hospital on 6th December, to make a fuss,

And rake a storm with you,

I was glad that you had a fall, the fact that you were working too hard would finally get through,

To that thick skull,

That life without you was so dull,

So please, spend some more time at home,

How am I supposed to step out for work, if you perennially roam?

The last thing I expected was to see you lying dead,

With only your gorgeous head,

Sticking out of that sheet,

It couldn’t be, you would never treat,

Me like that,

It couldn’t be you lying flat,

On a stretcher, in an impersonal corner,

While our son constantly murmured,

“Take me home, mumma”

Nuts N Spices

The most interesting grocery shop in Chennai, 

The equivalent to Mumbai’s Nature Basket, that can quickly make a shopper’s wallet run dry,

The baby picked up Pringles, I had a staring contest with Raw Pressery, Valencia Orange juice,

Next, my eyes fell upon 4700 BC Himalayan Salted Caramel Popcorn and Kimchi noodles of all varieties, mass produced, 

Racks filled with Veeba Sriracha Chilli Garlic sauce didn’t help,

Baba’s big blue car sped past us, making me instantly yelp,

You are everywhere, 

In the very air,

That I breathe, 

The anger in me that boils over and seethes, 

Is pointless,

In the face of a future, that looks bleak and useless,

How am I supposed to live,

Or feel alive,

With you just gone,

I thought I always had you, to count on,

Forever, 

But my heart feels severed, 

Or maybe, I don’t have a heart anymore,

Conversations with people are such a chore,

But your son keeps yapping all day,

Constantly showing me the way,

To lead the rest of my life,

One that doesn’t involve being a wife,

He snaps me out of my reverie, 

Forces me to switch off my random access memory,

Memories filled with you,

No point, letting him see that I’ve turned cuckoo,

He has his own share of sadness,

To deal with, he must overcome and rise out of the darkness.

Never Ending Absence

Mumbai, the city of dreams,

It always made you beam,

You never wanted to leave,

For it made you achieve,

Everything that you had your heart set on,

You transformed from an awkward, overprotected little duckling to a graceful swan,

You became a man,

Formed your own clan,

Filled people’s lives with hopes, ambitions and drive,

You helped them thrive,

Always pointing them towards the right direction,

However busy you were, you always made the time, to hold their hands, with a lot of affection,

I wish you devoted half that time,

With your son at bedtime,

Your time, that’s all we ever wanted,

Instead, you made us feel unwanted,

You always chose your work over us,

And made so much fuss,

Trying to convince me, 

That everything you did and achieved, you did because of and for me,

I wish I was a terrible homemaker and mother,

Then maybe, you would have prioritised your family, more than any other,

Pressing task, client meeting, unnecessary ego massaging,

And finally, people pleasing whereby sabotaging,

Your every chance to have a peaceful life,

You may have found peace in the afterlife,

But what use is that,

When the child and I feel splat,

In the face of your never ending absence.

Potty Emergency

There was a potty emergency this morning,

Your son gave out a screechy warning,

That there was poop in his bum,

So he threw me out of my own room, his beloved mum,

Next, he wanted to clean his mess,

By removing his nightdress,

Only in granny’s room,

Post bum washing, the pink towel that was meant to wipe his moist bum was met with gloom,

He screamed the whole building down,

And got rid of his frown,

Only when he saw his stark white bath towel,

Then he lowered his growls,

And dried his bum,

Without being glum,

I pictured you then,

Still in your sleepy zen,

Annoyed on being woken up,

With an unceremonious baby blow up,

“Please! Let me sleep”,

“I need my sleep”,

The baby would place his freshly washed bum on your face,

In response, to your need for space,

“Let’s go to Starbucks”, would be your next move,

My initial reaction would be to disapprove,

And then give in,

To your unreasonable whim,

In hindsight, those early morning breakfast buffets,

And coffee dates, were the best start to our otherwise monotonous days.

So Much To Do

There’s still so much left to do,

Your Valentine’s Day gift from me is due,

I’ve looked at a couple of options, 

And made a few deductions,

On what you might like to have this year,

It has to be something that will make you grin from ear to ear,

You will flash it on Instagram,

After taking a good shot from your mobile cam,

I remember the very first Valentine’s Day gift you begged me to send you,

So that you could show it off in full view,

To your friends at work,

I’m sure it was met with a smirk,

I always advised you to be discreet and not broadcast our story,

In full glory,

To all and sundry,

But you did, quite bluntly and in every country,

That you visited,

You showed everyone our pictures and the story of how we met,

I learnt from your most recent juniors at work too,

That you always felt blue,

On Monday mornings, away from Riaan and me,

We missed you too, especially your little bee,

He asked about you everyday, from Monday to Friday,

Didn’t help, that every house he visited, had fathers present. Still, I told him that you were on the way,

With a massive Hamley’s toy,

He was never mamma’s boy,

He was always your boy, Baba’s boy,

He was more excited to meet you, than receiving an expensive toy,

The toy was just a bonus,

Your fatherly responsibility towards him, was not an onus,

It was your sacred privilege, 

One that you can never envision,

How in peace and rested can you really be,

Knowing that your little bee,

Pines for you every waking second of every day,

Along with me, your wife, who waited eagerly for you to reach home on Friday,

We still unconditionally love you,

But loving you, makes us feel so void, empty and blue. 

Riaan

Riaan, my reason to live,

The fuel to my drive,

If it weren’t for his little eyes and face,

That blinked cluelessly, at your motionless body, like it was from outer space,

I would have joined you,

In a heartbeat, for it felt like the right thing to do,

I felt the Earth splitting open under my feet,

When I saw you wrapped under that white hospital sheet,

Why didn’t God take me,

Couldn’t he see,

That all my breaths, were linked to yours,

We fought so many battles together, but lost this nasty war,

Against God,

Your green office shirt had been clawed,

And roughly unbuttoned, 

CPR marks had cut,

Your gorgeous bare-chest,

The same chest, that was my life therapist,

You had to be awkwardly folded up and carried, by a number of people through our apartment lift,

I still wished,

That it was me, instead of you,

I didn’t like seeing your beautiful face, covered by a hospital sheet, I still didn’t have a clue,

Why or what was happening to us,

I was forced to fuss,

Over the bed sheet, that had to be placed under you,

And one over you,

What a horrible night! The next day was worse,

The urge to traverse,

To you, was still strong,

All my breaths, felt out of place and wrong,

I made Riaan touch your face, feet and tummy, one last time,

Before you were made to climb,

In an airy crematorium van,

Nothing was going as per our plan,

You said you’d love me, until one of us dies,

Did you see me swatting flies,

Off your face,

As all your acquaintances paced,

Around you and me,

Watching our happy family of three,

Being rubbed with ghee and then going up in flames,

I was still hoping all this was a bad game,

Of Monopoly or Uno, gone wrong,

How can I belong,

To this world,

When you’ve gone to the afterworld,

I am coming,

As soon as I witness Riaan becoming,

A responsible father and husband,

I want him to get accustomed,

To leading a well balanced life,

He will exercise, work, study, play and marry a beautiful wife,

One who understands his heart,

Together, they will chart,

Their journey of life,

Without interference and unnecessary strife,

From external factors,

We had too many of those venoms in our life, excellent posers and actors,

Who feigned fake concern,

While in reality, all they wanted was for you to churn,

Money and more money,

Just so that their lives could turn, into pure honey,

I can’t stand those people anymore,

Talking to them, even for ten seconds, is a chore,

I am coming,

And this time, you will take over the plumbing,

Along with all the other household chores,

This time, we won’t have to fight battles or win wars,

I will forever be yours,

And you will be mine, for all the unending years,

We will experience together, in our beautiful afterlife.

Appuppan And You

Appuppan, the first man I ever fell in love with,

Appuppans are meant to pamper and molly coddle, these were urban legends and myths,

Because, my appuppan, threw whiskey on my face,

And never gave me space,

When it came to eating,

He was always treating, 

My siblings and I, with medu vadas, Kerala porottas and beef fry,

The fact that you never had a chance to meet him, always made me cry,

He was the man who taught me how to love,

Which is why, I probably fell in love,

With you, I saw bits and pieces of him in you,

You also brought me food to drive away my blues, 

For every medu vada appuppan fed me,

You got me hot chocolate, gaajar halwa, brownies and every imaginable cookie/pastry in the world, it filled me with immense pride and glee,

That I had the made right choice after all, by choosing you,

You knew that food was the glue,

By which you can mend fights,

Piping hot chole bhature, was my absolute right,

After every fight,

I hugged you tight,

Only after gobbling down, that deep fried maida laden bread,

And all would be right with the world again, until, we dropped the next warhead,

Appuppan, would have loved you,

Simply for being you,

You both loved well made beef and had a taste for all things fine,

I hope you’ve both met each other, on cloud nine, 

I want you to swap stories with each other,

Until we finally meet one another. 

Life Trained Already

My voice of reason,

During any given season,

Your technique of driving me to do better,

Was by bullying, which you thought, would make me a go-getter,

But my reasons for going to work,

Was to get away from a husbandless house, one that made me go berserk, 

The loneliness killed me,

But my love for you, propelled me,

To keep hanging around,

For the weekend, was always just round,  

The corner,

We would quickly transform into party animals from corporate earners,

Come the weekend, we barely saw the insides of our house,

We treated those four walls, as a boring boarding house,

Monday, would hit us all too soon,

Once again, I would be left alone like a cookie-less buffoon,

Why didn’t you just quit?

Each time you announced a promotion or appraisal, I was worried out of my wits,

For I knew, you would stay out of the house even longer,

Forcing me to become bolder and stronger,

To tackle hurdles, both big and small, 

You hated watching me bawl,

And forced me to “figure it out”,

You’ve already life-trained me, to lead without doubt,

The realisation is slowly sinking in,

Each time I encounter a little win. 

Poopieless Me

The third wheel, in the midst of happy couples,

Never awkward, but feeling strange, to be a part of their personal conversations and chuckles,

Suddenly all alone,

After 14 years of being prone,

To your anger, mood swings, temperamental behaviour, sweetness, loving and sensitivity,

Now my head is filled with rot, like a decayed cavity,

Remember Arnold Swarzenegger as Mr Freeze,

He preserved his wife’s dead body in a case and watched her hair fluttering, in the watery breeze,

I wish I preserved your body too,

Perhaps, I could have revived you,

In the future, with the help of medical science, 

Curse me for forming an alliance,

With your “well wishers”, the crematorium workers and the pandit,

Who advised me to bid you goodbye, like a noisy, senseless trumpet,

I gave in, without much thought,

And now, I’m filled with after thoughts,

About how, I could have snatched you away from death,

And tried to give you back your breaths,

Doesn’t matter, if you came back alive as a different person,

Me trying, wouldn’t have made things worsen,

From what it is today,

How could I just stand by helplessly, watching your body turn from brown to grey,

Shame on me,

Forgive me,

I’ll be a better wife,

In your next life,

I’ll do everything humanely possible,

To make the impossible, possible,

Love you,

Infinitely more than pongal, chole bhature and my loud, pink Puma walking shoe.  

35

I’m still a month younger than you today,

I still have only one hair, that has turned grey,

Unlike yours, which had an equal distribution of white, black and grey,

I don’t feel like celebrating my day,

It doesn’t feel special or happy,

Without you or your ideas, on how we should celebrate, which always sounded cool and wacky, 

Toit for my 34th, hot chocolate for my 29th, Singapore for my 30th,

Wonder what you would have planned for my 40th,

To ensure, I don’t become naughty at forty,

Your biggest, horror and fear, that I’ll run away with a random, long haired, shorty,

You ran away poopie,

I know you didn’t want to, I’m working towards fulfilling some of your dreams, filled with hard work and beauty,

Stuck in the hard work phase now,

Just to make you go “wow”,

From your heavenly abode,

How is heaven by the way, is it filled with clouds and all your favourite beers, make sure to load,

Our house in heaven, with chocolates and super hero curios, 

Forget toys, I want Riaan to live to a ripe old age, so he would be furious,

If you treat him like a child,

At an age when he would have a grandchild,

Or two, 

He still misses you and doesn’t have a clue,

About why and where you’ve gone,

His questions about you, become more persistent mid-way through his yawns,

He asks me why I’m wearing your t-shirts and wedding band,

On my hand,

I don’t think he understands,

It’s my birthday today, all he wants is to somehow land,

A big blue, car shaped cake,

So that he can mutilate, cut and break,

The non existent life, out of that edible thing,

Until someone manages to swing,

The knife out of his hand,

All his wishes and most importantly yours, were always my command,

We haven’t finished 99 years together, as per our poopie contract,

God didn’t even give you time to react,

When he snatched you away at 35 years and one month,

You won’t get to see Riaan’s children when they are a month,

Or even one year old,

It’s alright, hold your beer bottle high and await my Baileys filled cheers, that moment would be pure gold,

We’ll have a Mr and Mrs Poopie reunion in heaven,

Right after I pack off Riaan with someone responsible, at twenty seven,

The same age, we got married,

That is, unless I get buried,

Knee deep, in ammumma duties,

And get the chance, to sniff some grandchild booties,

That would be so bittersweet and nice,

Then I can finally reach you in bliss and peace. 

Visitation Dreams

You look happy,

Definitely, less snappy,

Relieved even,

Rolling a dice on a board game, that appeared uneven,

The last I saw you that content,

Was when you had spent,

All your free time with the boys,

Along with your musical toys,

Death has truly freed you,

From this burden called life, I can sense you throwing clues,

At me, all the time,

You prevented me, from hearing my favourite Rasmus song this morning, because you always found them childish and without rhyme,

You are making your son quote sentences at me,

That you threw on me in life, just to prove, that he is your little bee,

I’m lapping them all up, with a broad smile,

I hope my immediate exciting plan, has filled you with bile,

At times, I want you to rest in peace,

At other times, I wonder why God abruptly pulled out the lease on your life,

What kind of a person is God?

If he can still plod,

In peace, after committing this sin,

Your death is not a win,

For anyone,

Least of all, your innocent son,

Did we not have him for so long,

Because, God was trying to ring cautionary dongs,

Trying to tell us,

That our life would be far from superfluous,

So think long and hard,

Before making decisions that are beyond our reach and avante-garde.

Strength

Strength, is not some magic potion that one suddenly acquires,

It is not a raging fire,

 

That suddenly spreads and combusts,

It most definitely is not a wind gust,

 

Which fleetingly comes and goes either,

No, strength is in choosing a man and standing by him relentlessly, without a breather,

 

Strength is in having the ability to feed my child,

With my husband’s dead body styled,

 

Under bed sheets, that we as a family of three, slept on,

Until the crack of dawn,

                        

 

Strength is in crying and screaming it all out,

Without a shred of doubt,

 

That I’ve lost the most important man of my life,

The one who made me a wife,

 

Strength, is in knowing that the child and I are all alone,

Husbandless and fatherless, our broken hearts and scars can never be sewn,

 

So, don’t preach about strength,

To my 3 year old child or me at foolish length,

 

For, we’ve lived in a fatherless and husbandless house,

Long enough, without any grouse,

 

When the man was alive, we hardly saw his face,

With him dead, we most certainly know how to stand tall and fight the rat race,

 

We are made of unbreakable stones,

My son and I, we know very well how to ignite fires and put them out, perhaps better than the Flintstones. 

First Things First

You worked for yourself,

Keeping the baby and me, on a delicate breakable glass shelf,

Let’s get that straight,

I never fell for your unconvincing bait,

Along with your foolish arguments of how selflessly you travelled,

So that the baby and I, could be dazzled,

With your expensive gifts of chocolates, toys and finally an empty, luxurious house,

Let me remind you, I wasn’t a puppet of a spouse,

I’ve worked hard too,

I’ve happily juggled being a lonely wife and later a lonely mother, without ever questioning you,

On the days you sounded extra pig-headed,

I reminded you, of my days of being employed in a corporate house and being wedded,

To you, successfully juggling my responsibilities of being a wife and an employee,

So, quit annoying me,

If you were a partner, I gave up the chance of being an account director,

Only because, you chose to be a silent spectator, 

In our journey of parenthood,

You didn’t allow me to enjoy my motherhood,

For the first one year,

You chewed my brains and my ears,

Whining about how I loved the baby, more than you,

Let me tell you,

Yes, I did love him, more than you,

For that tender, first year, because he didn’t get that affection from you,

His very own father, his primary maker,

So shame on you, for persistently reminding me that you were the bread winner, 

For the five years, I chose to be a mother,

You didn’t bother,

Bonding with your infant,

Instead, you chose to side with your contingent,

Of toxic “well wishers”, who advised you,

To sit on your high and mighty pedestal and continue your brew,

Of work and music, for the woman must fend for the child,

Never the man, for he must run wild,

And live out all his dreams,

Especially now, so that they can beam,

And take control over his life,

Especially his child and wife,

You happily agreed, like a brainless buffoon,

Dancing to their every tune,

Well congratulations to you and to them, on your death,

My only prayer for them, is to have laboured and painful breaths.

Unforgivable Decisions

Some of the decisions you took, 

Without taking a second look,

At your wife and son,

Killed more effectively, than bullets in a loaded gun,

The fact that your heart and mind were so set on people pleasing,

And that you easily gave in, to their emotional squeezing,

Is so obvious,

For my child and I, were never the audience,

Whenever you took big, life decisions,

I knew what was going on and continued to make provisions,

For those toxic blunders,

If only, you had a brain of your own, our life would have been filled with wonders,

Instead of this anomaly today,

In the form of your unexpected death, that got in the way,

I cannot forget or forgive you,

For turning my life into a zoo,

The child will be fine,

I’ll raise him to have a spine,

But what about me?

Have you ever stopped to think about me?

I never wanted to live in a house alone,

Or deliver our child while you happily roamed,

If being a husband didn’t cut it for you,

Didn’t that innocent life, give you a clue,

That it’s time to father up,

As opposed to running around like a clueless pup,

Who wagged his tail, like a brainless cub,

You were never a hands-on father, so I dropped all my expectations of you bathing our child in a tub,

You made tall claims of missing us and our forever house,

But your words and actions were so different, it would drive any sane person into a madhouse,

So let me lay it down straight for you,

You tried to be a good husband and father, but it just wasn’t enough, I never raked the issue,

Simply because, I had learnt to live with an absentee husband,

As for your child, he will get accustomed,

To a fatherless life,

At least now, stop to think about that innocent life,

Who had to suffer the consequences of your decisions, that were far from wise,

He will be better than you, he will rise,

Strong and tall,

With a clear mind of his own, having the strength to hit every curveball,

Out of his way,

He will not get swayed, he will stand tall and stay,

To look at his problems, straight in the eye,

Most importantly, he will not get manipulated by selfish people who are slimy and sly. 

Grief

I thought I experienced it, when my grandfather died,

Next, when my grandmother died,

I felt huge chunks of my childhood,

Just leaving forever, that was until your death hit me, well into my adulthood,

The person who made me experience motherhood,

And womanhood,

All at once,

With your dignified presence and abrupt absence, 

Madness, tragedy, loss, broken spirit,

These words sound so useless, when I hear it,

What actually happened when you died,

Was that I cried,

So hard,

That my very core got scarred,

Your soul escaped not just your body,

But mine too, your significant somebody,

So, once again I urge “well wishers”, please don’t advice me to stay strong,

Your significant others are alive, therefore your notion of grief and strength are warped and stupidly wrong. 

Golden Words

Lead the rest of your life, with your head held high,

Walk with dignity and aim for the sky,

Doesn’t matter how your life was until now,

Bid that life, goodbye and ciao, 

You’re not going back,

We always have your back,

Your husband was a decent man,

We loved him dearly, but God had this wretched plan,

There’s nothing you can do,

So don’t stick your head into the sand and endlessly brew, 

A senseless plan for revenge or fill your head with suffocating thoughts,

Nothing is going to bring him back, he made decisions like he was drawing lots,

So just let him and his decisions slide,

It no longer effects you or your child, yes, he tried,

With all his might, he did,

So keep your angry third eyelid,

Permanently closed,

Become hard nosed,

For your child and you,

That’s all you can do,

Don’t worry about us,

Please don’t fuss,

When we request you to somehow move on,

We know you will love your husband forever, but he is gone,

Today, only you and your child remain,

So transform your pain,

Into your sharpest weapon,

Take this from an old man and woman, who really had to step in,

Time and time again,

When all life gave us was pain and more pain. 

No Defence

What happens when a man dies,

Is that people start spewing lies,

About him and their non-existent relationship with him,

As long as he was alive, I had to tolerate these fabricated stories, filled with fantasy and silly whims,

With him dead,

I want these people to shed,

Their bloated ego and superiority,

They must understand at least now, that his feelings for them were in the minority,

A man who couldn’t even place his baby and wife first,

And took on music and work responsibilities, headfirst,

Was most certainly not a family man,

So please, dump your imaginary ideas of him, into the thrash can,

Music, work, toddler, wife,

From a haircut to a doctor’s appointment, to finding a tenant for our old flat, to walking from our rented house to the new one, until my feet bled, I ran his entire life,

He worked in peace, knowing that his house and baby were in the safest hands,

MY HANDS!

Don’t ever undermine my contribution to his life,

Always remember, I was his legally chosen partner and wife,

With him dead, 

Consider me dead,

You made our lives a living hell,

If you have any self respect or dignity left, you will never come ringing my bell.

No Closure

You weren’t sick,

You trained your brain to work really quick,

You weren’t old,

Far from it, you were young, quietly aggressive and super bold, 

You got a little nervous before critical client presentations,

But you maintained excellent relations,

With all your professional stakeholders,

A little too excellent, for they were the ones who held your shoulders, 

During your final fall,

Just before, I received that surreal phone call,

I was confident even then,

That you would rise up again,

From perhaps a minor surgery or nervous breakdown,

The last thing I expected was to see you lying down,

With your eyes permanently closed,

Looking motionlessly composed,

So how can I ever have closure,

Or maintain composure,

When you never said goodbye,

Your son couldn’t even look you in the eye,

 

Or accept that you’re dead,

He just thinks that you’ve just fled,

Into the stars without him,

Silly little baba, with his unreasonable whims,

I don’t bother correcting him,

Instead, I promise to take him for a swim,

And hold his hand and reassure him,

That I’m never leaving him, 

Not until he buys a wife from the wedding shop,

His words, not mine, so I’m teaching him to use a mop,

So that he can be an equal partner in marriage,

As opposed to being someone, whose brain is always on an egotistical carriage.

A Self Obsessed Generation

A self obsessed generation of people, are what we are,

The accurate term to describe this behaviour, is bizarre,

You and I, were no different,

We were always so caught up and indifferent,

Deeply embroiled in our own lives,

Not pausing to take a break, unless it was for an overpriced holiday to Maldives,

Our over the top vacations, our work promotions and our personal achievements,

We would celebrate, like it was our own individual accomplishments,

Except when it came to our crafts,

Then we would behave like two very stuck up tarts,

Never open to criticism or feedback,

Even when we sounded like foolish quacks,

Because, our egos were sky high,

We just couldn’t meet eye to eye,

On certain things,

I never wanted to clip your wings,

Clearly! Just look at the life you lead,

Always multitasking, between your musical and professional travels, like you didn’t have a wife and son whose heart bled,

In your absence, 

We were very good at pretence,

Your son and I,

We never questioned why,

You never chose us over your music or work,

We understood, those were the areas where your heart mostly lurked,

You needed those aspects in your life,

To lead a happy life,

With us and away from us,

So we gave in to your whims, without much fuss,

We stood by you and your joys,

Quietly and without much noise,

But your death, has made me re-calculate those decisions, 

Should I have been more clingy and given you less provisions,

To lead your parallel lives,

Away from us, your primary life, where you could have strived,

To bond a little more with your son and me,

Your prodigy in the making and forever queen bee. 

An Overgrown Baby

A 35 year old baby, was what you were,

Our life together was a happy blur,

If your baby son ate Epigamia Greek yoghurt,

You had to eat the very same flavour of curd, like an adamant squirt, 

The days aloo bhaja was made at home,

Your son and you, raided the fried bowl, like two greedy gnomes, 

If you accidentally brought your iPad in front of him,

You had to give in, to his unreasonable Cocomelon whims,

You were forced to forget your powerpoint presentations,

To build a close relation,

With baby sharks, baby John, Leo the Truck and Peppa Pig,

You had to throw out thoughts of oil drilling rigs,

And focus on your boy,

Who was more than willing to be, your human toy,

Alas, that three year old, will never get a chance, to see you growing old,

You called me your poopie bird and human teddy bear, you said you’ll wake up next to me, even when I’m wrinkly and old,

Did you lie?

If there was truth in your words, you wouldn’t be a dead guy,

A mere photograph on the walls,

Along with the occasional visitation dream calls,  

That won’t do,

I need all of you,

Your crazy laughter, your short temper, your unwashed fingers, 

The smell of your perfume that lingers,

Long after you left for work,

I want you to lurk,

Prominently in every aspect of my life,

Quickly replace this pain, that feels like a stabbing knife,

By coming back and leading a full life,

Give me the chance to be your ripe, old wife,

Let’s age gracefully together,

And continue to storm every weather, 

Like we have until now,

Let’s sit together and witness, our son’s independent achievements and go “wow”,

Isn’t that what you want?

Instead of being a soul, that merely haunts?

Nair Crematorium

Nair crematorium, this is how I saved the number of the crematorium manager/owner, 

Where we took you, to free you, from the burden of being a land owner, 

But was it a burden really?

You chose to own two houses, freely,

You would have taken one look at that crematorium,

And said, “What a middle class place, to burn my corium”,

I agree, it shouldn’t have been you,

Your face still had the freshness of dew,

Your heart still so pure, even when it lost all it’s beats,

I’m sure you hated my choice of bedsheets,

To wrap you in, for your final journey,

But I was too engrossed staring at the gurney,

Which held you up, 

I wanted you to wake up,

Any minute now, before the fire consumed you,

Even while I rubbed cheap ghee on you,

But you stayed motionless,

Leaving me emotionless,

I hate my hands, the ones that untied the thread from your toes,

And pushed you close,

Into the raging fire,

All set to make you a pyre,

I can’t stand my fingers, the ones that dug out your grey ashes,

As our entire life, flooded inside my head in flashes,

It shouldn’t have been you,

Whose lips turned blue,

Your only crime being over-work and people pleasing,

What a high price you paid, for all that unnatural emotional squeezing,

I have nothing to say to those people,

Who kept you on an imaginary steeple,

Your untimely death is their punishment,

If they have any shame or conscience, they will lead the rest of their miserable lives, in self-punishment. 

Delhi Boy

You were such a Delhi Boy,

Only Paneer, Aloo Gobi and Chole brought you undiluted joy,

You claimed you didn’t like Butter chicken,

But knew the difference between Mumbai and Delhi’s version of the signature chicken,

You were a lover of Badshah,

And could easily draw,

Parallels between him and you,

You heard all his songs, both old and new,

Aditya Prateek Singh Sisodia, Raghu and Rajiv sir, MTV Roadies and Splitsvilla, 

Raghu and Rajiv sir’s Skulls and roses, Varun Thakur’s Shaitaan Haveli, these were the shows that captured your imagination like no other,

I found you in splits,

Like nothing is amiss,

In your hectic life,

All would be well, with you watching these shows, with your disinterested wife,

I agree, Shaitaan Haveli was hilariously funny,

Some Badshah songs, sounded like honey,

I repeat, you were a Delhi boy, through and through,

Raj Kachori, was your favourite chaat, you had to eat it, to drive away all your blues,

I loved the Delhi boy in you,

The one who wanted to wear the most expensive shoes,

I’m glad you bought that Tumi bag,

The one that has a prominent, personalised “RB” tag,

I’ll take it to work everyday, stuffing in my cheap laptop,

Not everyone can afford an Apple laptop,

I’ll guard it with my life,

Until, God pulls the plug off my lease, called life. 

Poopie

“Why did you call Raj poopie?”, asked many,

“He called me poopie too”, I replied to all twenty,

“Oh, so you were both poopie?”, persisted my brother,

“Yes, cheepee, peepee, pupu, cheem cheem, poopie”, I answered, ignoring the bewildered look on the face of my mother,

My parents, poor things,

Having to discover, such odd things,

Yet, not having the urge to clip my wings,

For they know, I have committed no sins,

I was just a hopeless fool in love,

Who has now turned into a mourning dove,

I remember that night distinctly, when poopie came off stage, to give me a sweaty hug,

It was a Workshop show, at Hard Rock Cafe and I felt snug as a bug,

A bandmate he adored, screamed out loud, “Awww poopie!”,

I instantly felt my heart melting and began to feel like “his” poopie,

We were poopies, then and there,

A mad, clueless pair. 

Aeroplanes

The sound of an aeroplane whizzing by, 

Instantly makes my heart soar high,

Until reality dawns on me,

And I realise, God forcibly made you flee,

From your gorgeous, Sponge-Bob shaped frame,

You harboured some shame,

For the kilos you piled on,

But I always reassured and convinced you, that you looked as graceful as a swan,

Didn’t matter if you put on or lost weight,

Your face had a radiance, on any given date,

Except on the days you had to wake up early,

To catch a flight, then you looked undoubtedly surly,

You knew airports inside out,

You had to have your tall glass of Americano at Starbucks, lest you have a blackout,

You bumped into celebrities, some known and some unknown,

You regaled me with stories about them, over the phone,

Until I would see you in person, on Friday nights,

I would keep trying to guess and sight,

The aeroplane in which you landed,

You’d leave a one word message, “Landed”,

And call just as fast,

To let me know that you passed,

Mountains of chocolates and toys,

And picked just the right ones, for your wife and baby boy,

I dread looking at aeroplanes now,

For, none of them have you in them anymore,

I want to fly straight up to you,

Leaving behind this corrupt, greedy zoo.