Boon or Bane

That gooey delight,

Brown and delicious, a mouthwatering sight,

For sore eyes, 

The dark ones claim to make you wise,

Grab some after lunch and dinner,

And perhaps for all the meals in-between, and try not to feel like a sinner,

Dark, milky, white or stuffed generously with nuts,

Your heart will go nuts,

For chocolates,

Both big and small, round and squared, everyone's favourite,

Find me a person who hates chocolates,

Perhaps their skins would be flawless,

But their hearts would be shrunken and empty,

Their minds painfully heavy,

For what is life without chocolates,

Meaningless, pointless and tasteless.

Skinny Man

A colleague at work,

With his funky shirts,

Always border lining between formals and informals,

While his shirts are cool, what's paranormal,

Is his weight,

He shows me his nonexistent belly and says, "mate",

Ate a triple cheese burger last night,

And I fume, this isn't right,

I just drank water last night,

And look at my belly, that's far from light,

While he's ageing in reverse,

My love handles get worse,

In his defence, he works out even in his sleep,

While I'm sleepwalking in my colony and dodging the occasional Jeep,

One day I'll get skinny,

Until then, I'll try not to be whiny. 

Next Life Dreams

It's good to be ambitious, 

No need to be judicious,

When dreaming a little dream,

But what if I told you all my dreams ran out of steam,

I always wanted to be an actress,

Dance around a few trees, earn a couple of crores, but my eating and figure were both disastrous,

Next, I wanted to work in Pizza Hut,

Just to gobble down half a dozen pizzas and stuff my gut,

I genuinely wanted to join the army,

But was fiercely dissuaded by mommy,

I wanted to be a journalist,

But my salary could hardly cover all the samosas I gobbled in chutney mixed with chillies and mint,

I wanted to be a sexy mermaid,

Once again, I got played,

Why be half fish and half woman,

Just to be deep fried and eaten by man,

I wanted to be a space cowboy,

But the job is apparently for a boy,

Dream a little dream,

Make sure they don't run out of steam.

That Time Of The Month

That time of the month,

When you're body writhes in pain and you just want to be blunt,

Don't touch, don't talk and don't expect the moon,

We'll be back to our normal selves soon,

But for the next five days,

Just allow us to be in our haze,

Everything hurts,

There's a volcano in our tummies, so excuse us if we're curt,

You can throw chocolates our way,

And run away,

We'd appreciate the sweet treats,

And munch on them as our aching bodies squeak,

That time of the month,

That wretched time of the month,

Where tornadoes, typhoons and storms,

Feel far better than the swarm,

Like attack,

That makes us feel like useless sacks.

Weekdays and Weekends

How fast do the weekends fly,

It makes me want to cry,

I enjoy the emptiness of the brain,

And the lack of strain,

Weekdays fly by too,

But with a lot of hullabaloo,

There are deadlines to meet,

And some tasks on repeat,

Monday hits you hard on the face,

And suddenly you're forced to speeden your pace,

Forgotten are the afternoon naps,

Instead you brace yourself for some solid raps, 

You find yourself counting the days down for the weekend,

That glorious end,

To a busy week,

In the interim, try not to shriek,

Chocolates exist only to relieve stress,

So pop on them vigorously, to clear the mind's mess. 

Yellow Laddus

Laddus or leddo, as mallus call them,

Each time I crave it, my mind goes mmmm,

Memories of ammumma deep frying the boondis,

Inside a huge cauldron of ghee, that comforting fragrance I miss,

Along with the sight of ammumma meticulously rolling them inside her chubby fingers,

The taste lingers,

In the back of my mouth even today,

As I order away,

On Zomato, for that delicious box of childhood,

I know deep down, it won't be as good,

As ammumma's laddus,

Or leddos,

As she called them.

Dear Bridget

Dear Bridget,

I have a little midget,

Minus my Mr Darcy,

In fact, I've forgotten my Darcy,

The world is filled with Cleavers now,

Who charm you and make you go wow,

But before you get to the main course or dessert,

They've told you to divert,

They were just looking for starters,

So let's not be martyrs,

We move along,

And force ourselves to sing a happy song,

Of course when friends banter about their happy homes,

I disappear like Sherlock Holmes,

"You won't die alone", they reassure,

I chuckle and retort, "How can you be sure?",

It's a lonely world Bridget,

But at least I have my midget.

Happiness is Hardwork

No one is truly happy,

And always sappy,

No one's life is perfect,

Look close and you'll find the spots that are wrecked,

You can cry over it,

Or choose to pull yourself out of that pit,

Happiness is hard work,

Choosing to do the inner work,

Takes effort and courage,

Give yourself a solid nudge,

To snap out of that toxic rut,

Believe your gut,

And have faith that good things are yet to come,

Until that time, strum or drum,

A happy tune,

And stay immune,

To negative thoughts.

Insomnia

The brain has not shut up since 4.30AM,

On weekdays it's asleep till 4.30P.M,

Gulmohar Malare has been playing in my head,

However hard I try to rest in bed,

It's been a mishmash of craving poha and wanting to tell Prasanth,

No bro, dupattas cannot be tied around any man,

When women themselves find it annoying,

It's scratchy around the neck, and was meant only for destroying,

I've burnt all three of mine,

Archaic, it's design,

And pointless it's existence,

I have been consistent in my resistance,

Of not wearing dupattas,

Now tell me what is Gulmohar Malare,

And most importantly where have I heard this annoying song,

I find it strange that I'm singing along,

Get out of my head you funny song,

You're in the wrong,

Find another brain to haunt,

For I just want,

To catch up on my beauty sleep,

Find some other brain to creep,

Zzzzzzzzzz.

Bread Halwa

Is there anything more decadent than bread halwa,

In the world of halwas,

No, no and no,

Come to think of it, even Shahi tukda is fabulous you know,

Bread, sugar, milk, ghee and butter,

What's not to love, you instantly feel less bitter,

The world is a happier place again,

Suddenly your inner strength regains,

Some sugar and carbs,

Is all it takes to make your heart soar like the birds,

If you've seen babies on sugar high,

You haven't seen me fly,

With a little bit of sugar in my system,

My entire being glistens,

Sugar, my darling sugar,

I wish you weren't such a nasty bugger,

All my meals would have started and ended with you,

Now I find myself sneaking a chocolate or two,

Whenever the brain is fried,

And I instantly dream of ghee fried,

Crushed, crumbled and crispy,

Bread based desserts, that I'm sure I'll gobble way beyond fifty.

A Meaty Feast

Food makes me delirious,

The mood instantly becomes less serious,

The chatter becomes more garbled,

Just like all the mish-mash of food that was gobbled,

Prawn 65, kola urundai, mutton stew,

Bread halwa, chicken curry and copious amounts of rice that will make you want to stay,

Each meat had a distinct flavour,

A crispy crunch, a gooey slurp, a soothing sip, each bite a decadent favour,

To the eager mind,

More than the body, that's screaming, "you're mad!",

"Stop stuffing me up",

Unless you want to go straight up,

But live, I must,

For there's still so much more delicate meat in the world that cannot be missed,

Eat, I will,

And then sleep well,

For that's the natural order of things,

Eat, sleep, repeat, food is one of my favourite things,

The easiest way into my heart,

Is through food, pure art,

On a plate, 

You can be early or late,

But feed me,

And I just may,

Become your friend for life.

The Eternal Flux

A woman's weight is always in flux,

Green tea is consumed in copious cups,

But the mum-tum,

Refuses to budge, suddenly the double chin begins to hum,

Just when you thought you'd gotten rid of all that flab,

Thanks to a fever that happened five minutes ago, the gap,

Between your jean button and the button hole,

Begins to increase, weren't you a pole,

Just five minutes ago, along with that wretched fever,

It made you a believer,

Of looking 20 in your forties,

Then you realise, your body fat wants to be naughty,

It wants to take you for a ride,

You'll have to eat your main course as a side,

And drink water instead of food, whenever you're hungry,

I miss the good old days of wearing dungarees,

And closely resembling a round boy,

Such a killjoy,

Being a woman, you're expected to multitask,

And constantly keep track,

Of the weighing scale,

Scrutize every detail,

Look impossibly skinny,

Be pleasant like Minnie,

The mouse of course,

And show no remorse.

Cheesecakes

Blueberry, strawberry, caramel or plain,

One bite into this delicious cloud and you'll discover thunderclouds and a burst of rain,

Flooding your palate,

You're left with nothing but awe for the talent,

Who baked that subtle indulgence,

To cheesecakes I pledge my allegiance,

Today and everyday,

Until the day,

I crave some gaajar halwa,

I should probably stop the excess sugar intake, somebody call a,

Pharmacy and get me a weighing scale,

The mum-tum is slowly resembling that of a whale,

Up and down it goes,

Hopefully everything I wear just flows,

With the food baby, 

I give birth to after every meal, quite proudly and bravely,

Back to cheesecakes now,

Eat them now or later, but eat them anyhow,

And tell me you absolutely love it,

At a later date, we can find ways to get fit,

But for now, eat that cheesecake,

It's the best cake,

In the whole entire world.

A Loveless Generation

We live in a generation of ghosters,

And boasters,

Wealth and material possessions

Are given importance over real connections,

Pretend to be Julia Roberts today, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her,

And the chap will run a mile and turn back never,

Songs are trending on heartbreaks and breakups,

Relationships are full of complications,

Gone are the days, when piping hot gaajar halwa and decadent hot chocolate did the trick,

We live in a generation that wants something quick,

Blink and you miss,

It fizzles out faster than a snake's hiss,

I'll probably die alone,

Or find a nice cozy nook, where I'll finally belong,

It's all up in the air,

In the meantime, I'll make peace with my well-chopped hair. 

Grief

Grief is like a boulder lodged inside your chest,

It doesn't let you rest,

Sleep is a forgotten friend,

The nights just don't seem to end,

You find yourself walking around in the dark corners of the house,

Hoping to speak to your dead spouse,

Or whoever close to you just departed,

Death is a finality, something that truly rips you apart,

You find yourself walking like the living dead,

And living inside your head,

Unable to truly snap out of that trauma,

Everything you speak sounds like drama,

But one day, you get out of bed,

And you realise, every last teardrop has been shed,

The pain never dries up,

But you rise up,

And decide to go back into the world of the living,

You soon begin forgiving,

Your dead spouse and God,

And decide to give life a nod,

You're different, a little more fearless,

Far from cheerless,

You've fixed the broken pieces,

And decided to do exactly what the heart pleases.

Mutton Biriyani

The decadent Mutton biriyani from Cresent,

Has a burst of flavours that are pleasant,

Sure, you feel gassy and bloated, the next day,

But there's no way,

It will break your heart,

Other than a couple of smelly farts,

Biriyani doesn't leave you on read or ghost you,

Instead, it drives away all your blues,

Therefore Biriyani > People,

Choose Biriyani today and everyday, avoid being one among the sheeple,

As for the broken heart,

There is none, forget it exists and continue creating art,

Erase, delete, forget, let go,

For change is the only way you grow. 

37

37 today,

A year older than yesterday,

Woke up with a twisted and strained back,

I could almost feel my bones crack,

There's no escaping old age,

So might as well turn that page,

Of pretending to be young and fun,

Perhaps I'm not quite done,

But the aches and pains,

And the inflamed veins,

Remind me to slow down,

Gone are the days of being the class clown,

Say that to my mouth though,

And you will know,

It's hard for me to shut up,

So 37 only for the body, the mind is still a pup,

Curious, loud and annoying,

Happily destroying,

Peace in a room,

I specialise is shooing away gloom and doom,

Perhaps I should stop bragging,

And choose to start dragging,

My broken back to the cosy confines of my bed,

Where I shall finally rest my 37 year old head. 

Vada

The humble golden delight,

That instantly makes the world feel right,

Deep fried or dunked in curd,

Don't pluck on it like a bird,

Gorge, gorge and gorge,

Like Peppa's little brother George,

Snort it, sniff it, polish it,

But make sure you finish it,

In the dozens,

Don't think about the repercussions,

Enjoy it while it lasts,

The crispy, crunchy rapid blasts,

Exploding in your brain and mouth,

It's best made in the South,

With sambaar and chutney or curd and boondi,

Spice up your afternoon tea,

Or every single meal,

Munch on it with zeal,

I'm all out of words,

Go grab that Vada now, before the night sky gets more blurred

Happy and Sad

Some days are happy, some sad,

But there are zero days that are bad,

Sadness is like a dark cloud burst in your brain,

But why cry in vain,

When you can have a Shree Mithai, paneer-aloo sandwich,

And allow all that anguish,

To just leave your body,

Like it was nobody,

No point being sad,

Just be glad,

That food exists,

Eat, eat and eat if the sadness persists,

Tomorrow is another day,

Bad things ultimately go away,

Patience and time,

Much like subtle, yet aromatic thyme,

Heals all bumps and bruises,

So simply refuse,

To feel sad,

There is much food to be had. 

Mischief Maker

 

Once upon a time,

There lived a little girl who loved to rhyme,

She scribbled notes for her granny,

And destroyed pearl necklaces that belonged to her nanny,

She ate too much,

And spoke too much,

She wasn't too naughty,

Perhaps a wee bit haughty,

For the longest time, she had no sense of being a little lady,

She wore boxer shorts and fell off her bicycle like crazy,

A bump and a bruise,

A lady bug and some mud, all came to her use,

Alas, one day, puberty caught up,

And momma told her to sit up,

No more torn boxers and behaving like a boy,

No more plastic guns for toys,

Behave, behave, behave,

Ultimately, she had to cave,

But under all the sparkly eyeliners,

There still lives that crazy little girl, who loves burgers and milkshake diners,

She continues to eat too much,

And talk too much,

The world can align,

For she ain't falling in line!

Life And Death

 I've seen both at close quarters,

And I'm happy to report,

Neither has made me bitter,

Or made me a quitter,

The empath in me became stronger,

And colours suddenly appeared brighter,

Picture Daredevil, with the heightened senses,

I no longer have the patience for pretenses,

In widowhood was born,

A version of me that didn't want to mourn,

My mind has erased all the trauma,

I have undergone,

A full cleanse,

Almost telling me, that my current existence,

Is how life has always been,

And I can't seem to remember any other spin,

I'm told I'm a fighter,

And that I bounced out of this brighter,

Someone called me a light,

That dispelled the night,

Someone even called me a museum piece and claimed I made her laugh,

I'll own this last one, wholeheartedly on my behalf.

Morning Cuddles

Morning Cuddles with my "son"shine has become an unspoken golden ritual in our household ever since my boy was zero years old.

I'm an obsessed mother by the way. Can't get enough of my son. And I'm already planning his wedding - either on a beach or on a mountain. Did I mention he's 4.5 years old?

Every decision I take involves my child. Be it moving away from Bombay when his young father passed away, stepping out to work full-time and re-building our life from scratch. The last bit couldn't have been done without the support of my parents. 

I'd like to believe I'm a good mother, because I was raised by one herself. Infact she was more self sacrificing and more dutiful. I'm merely going with the flow of juggling work, raising my child and trying to have a semblance of a social life. 

It's not hard. It's what every 36 year old must strive to do, without hitting an early mid-life crisis. 

Coming back to our morning cuddles, I need it more than him. I breathe him in and thank God everyday, for blessing me with such a beautiful child. He loves me unconditionally (for the time being). I'll miss this devotion in just another 4-5 years. They grow up too soon. 

My mother gives me dire warnings everyday to seperate work from home. "Don't take out work frustrations at home. Keep your office inside your office. At home you're a mother and a daughter. Please behave like one" She's right as always.

It's hard, striking a work-life balance. It's a myth really. There's only work and life is lived on the weekends. This is the reality, without white washing it. Take it or leave it!

Our children keep us sane - most of the time. For the remaining time, let's rein in our tempers and try not to unleash our entire personalities into the world. It's too much for the person sitting opposite you, unless it's your best friend or a close colleague, who can give you a beating and keep you in check.

To all the women in my life - my mother, my bosses and all my lady colleagues - thank you and you're awesome! 

A Fluey Weekend

 

A Dolo induced weekend,

Is how my time is being spent,

Eat, sleep and repeat,

I can barely stand on my two feet,

A complete loss of control over the body,

I feel rather shoddy,

I wake up in a sweat,

And momentarily forget,

Whether I'm supposed to wake up,

Or grab another hot cup,

Of fluids and tablets,

Or go back into my bunny hole filled with imaginary rabbits,

I hardly feel like Alice,

My home feels far from a palace,

With the absence of my little pest,

He is the best,

But his presence would hardly give me any rest,

So I'm stuck inside a lonely fluey weekend,

I pray it soon comes to an end,

And I reach a triumphant bend,

One where my silly flu comes to an end.

Almost Five

 

Bathing an almost five year old on a working day is an utter test of patience. The filled up water in the bucket goes down the drain, pee-pee is done everywhere except inside the potty and toothpaste is always inside the sink and never on the toothbrush.

Step into my house before 8am on any given day and you'll find a hyper-active human chimp and a frazzled, sleep-deprived mother with uncombed hair and shades of either black or pink facepack on her face (in an attempt to look ten years younger, all in vain of course)

So basically even before school and office begins for the day, World War III, IV and V have been lived out and fought. The winner is always the chimp, with a poor, soaking wet and always late mother in some corner of the bathroom, cleaning out the debris of the morning bath. 

Breakfast is another story altogether. Less than half the meal goes inside his tummy and the remaining is thrown generously on the floor. "Ants don't exist mommy", explains the brat with a devilish twinkle in his eye and he continues with his antics, "Hoooiiyyya! There goes the cheese! One bite for me, one bite for the floor", "I'm so clever aren't I mommy", he grins.

A call goes to the doting grandmother on the days I work from home to complain about the apple of her eye. She just chuckles as I rant and rave and replies coolly, "So much fun! And he's just a child." 

Winner of hearts, that little devil. PTA meetings fly by with his teachers insisting, "Riaan is an angel. Such a pleasure to interact with."

Alright, I give up. Angel outside, devil inside, just like that Onida advertisement of the early 90s. Neighbours envy and owners pride. Although I don't own this chimpanzee, merely birthed him and I'm not proud of the mass destruction of my beautifully decorated house.

One day, he'll grow up. But when will that one day come, I wonder. Pray for me dear reader and pray for the souls of all tormented parents all over the world. More than world peace, I want peace inside my house. Too much to ask for? 

Two Years of Widowhood

 

Two years, since my world came crashing down in front of my eyes. Two years, since I forced re-start and started from scratch. Two years, since I've felt this deep void all around and inside me that I just can't get rid off or shake away. 

Captain America asked the Hulk how he manages to control his anger in one of the Avenger's series and he replies, "That's my secret Cap. I'm always angry". I'm Hulk in the real world, I'm always sad and that's my secret. 

Being sad is a strength and crying is the heart's way of releasing all the weakness inside you. So cry, cry and cry until there are no more tears left to shed. 

Keep all that sadness stuffed inside you in a lonely forgotten corner and it will burst like a pressure cooker or in my case, a hospitalization of three days thanks to breathlessness. That was my near death experience and I was scared sick for my child. I didn't want him to lose another parent. 

There are moments I still feel like that woman who was told in a filthy hospital in Bombay that "Raj is no more" and I fell to the floor, bawling. There are moments I still feel like that woman who was swatting away flies from her young husband's motionless body just before she pushed him into the fire. 

13 years with one man is no joke! His death broke me. And I'm still broken. There are parts of me that are gone forever. His death killed me too. 

But I strongly believe, he's my handsome, guardian angel in heaven and is watching over me forever. As cliched as it sounds, I think he's rooting for me and our son. He wants me to excel and has passed on his super agressive, competitive nature to me. 

A part of me will always be in love with that sweet, dimpled 21 year old boy I met in Bombay. Rest in peace poopie. I think I've got this (on most days). On other days, I have my bottle of Bailey's. 

No Fairy Tale Endings In Real Life

 

Death changes you. When one person dies, another is re-born.. the bereaved. There's another version that emerges that surprises even them. 

Let me just talk about myself. It was in that exact moment when I was saw my 35 year old husband's dead body lying in an impersonal corner of a dirty hospital, that something snapped inside me.

My first instinct was to shake the life out of him and scream, "Wake up, wake up", until I realised, he couldn't. He hardly looked dead to me. Not in that moment and not even the next day, when I rubbed ghee all over him and pushed him into the fire. He looked alive. So alive. His skin was shining, his face was radiant.. only his hands felt stiff and risen thanks to the rigour mortis that had kicked in.

I was hardly alive in those early months. I was dangerously flirting with the land of the dead. I couldn't let go of the love of my life whom I had met at 21, married at 27 and started a family with at 32. 

He was a good man, who was obsessed with his job. He died on the job. Infact, he was still clothed in his formal green chequered office shirt and grey pants, when I found him on the hospital stretcher.

I knew then, I had to die riding a bike or doing something much cooler than being a corporate slave! I will go out with a bang, whenever that happens, after I witness my only son married off with 100 fat babies. 

Until then, I'm here, I'm loud and I don't cry. Nah, just kidding, I howl! To think, that I had to turn into the sole bread-winner of my family is surreal. I always thought I'd have a fairy tale love story. I've read every single Mills and Boons novel in the world since I was ten years old. I've watched Beauty and the Beast 25 times as a four year old. My only ambition in life since I was 12, was to have a beach wedding, with the waves lapping on my wedding dress as I kissed the man of my dreams on the sea shore.

In real life, my late husband hated the beach and I don't see any prince charmings coming to rescue me. I am my own prince charming and my own knight in shining armour. 

There are no happy endings and there are no real love stories anywhere. My generation wants a good time over real commitment and runs away when you drop the "M" word.

So be it. I'm off to find the perfect BMW race-bike, perfect the art of riding and crash it once my son is old enough and doesn't need me anymore, so that he can light up a very stylish biker's dead body. 

Image source - https://images.app.goo.gl/bPnFYPwDD4YZ55i27

Memories

 

Memories from another day,

Fills my mind with disarray,

I question the laughter,

And everything that happened after,

Was any of it real,

The long drives behind the wheel,

The jokes that made you squeal,

Now I have to deal,

With a broken heart,

But i won't fall apart,

Instead, I'll create some art,

And force restart,

Why cry over you,

While you've already passed through,

Long ago and quite happily,

Almost like there's no heart inside your cavity.

Scattered Thoughts

 

It's been a while since I opened up my heart and just wrote. It's raining right now in Chennai and I figured, if the skies can open up and let it all out, it's time I did the same.. with my words.

Last year was all about survival and overcoming a terrible loss. This year i dedicate to living and to opening up my heart to new experiences.

I pray everyday. I visit the local temple once a month, every month and I accept people just as they are. Breathe in peace and breathe out anxiety.

The worst that had to happen, did. And I've made my peace with it. Raising a toddler, a street away from my parents is not too bad. Making my own meals every morning, is not too bad either.

Feelings are like water, you have to let it flow, or else you'll end up in the hospital, with a broken lung or two (I'm speaking just for myself of course).

I'm not sure if I'm still a grieving widow. Probably not. But I am scared, most of the time. I wonder if everyone I care about will just disappear or die abruptly. 

While my toddler has developed an extreme seperation anxiety, i have trust issues. I keep wondering what a person's true intent is. 

And I know not everyone is the same and not every situation is the same, nevertheless, my defence reflexes have gone up. I'm always ready for the worst case scenario and I'm always ready to eject myself out of a situation, however good or bad things are.

I'm trying, I'm really trying to let my guards down. I'm trying my best to be patient. Some days are filled with self doubt and anxiety and the others are filled with hope and a tiny voice in my head that says, "Just live, there's no better time than the present to throw yourself into raising a child and building a beautiful home" 

A Dummies Survival Guide to Abrupt Spousal Death

Picture this : One morning your young husband gives you a hug and a kiss and sets off to work. It was a big day for him. He had a pitch presentation. He somehow had to bag the client. A couple of hours later, in the middle of your evening walk, his boss calls you and tells you he's no more.

The young husband was mine. It was my life that was turned upside down one year and eight months ago. And during the course of this time, my toddler and I have experienced kindness from complete strangers and close family of course. 

Best friends vanished, the husband is lying in a powdery state in some obscure tank in Maharashtra, which i sprinkled. Sprinkled would be an understatement actually. I physically clawed out, every last bit of him from a clay pot and threw him in the water. I almost swam in the water myself, until my big brother held me back and told me to let go. 

I did all the last rites on his motionless, rigour mortis body. I saw the love of my life, go up in flames in front of my eyes. I was shattered beyond belief. And hysterical. I was barely living. My emotions were all over the place. I could barely be a human being, let alone be a mother.

I was stuck, between the land of the living and the land of the dead. One didn't want me yet and the other didn't interest me anymore. 

The dead never leave us. They reach out to us in different ways and it was interesting to experience all the different forms of communication, my late husband pulled on me. It made me more hysterical. There's a reason why the dead, must remain in the land of the dead.

Trying to reach out to dead loved ones is not recommended. Live, because you're alive and there's a reason for that. 

Coming back to the title of my blog, the steps you must take to overcome spousal death are; Step 1 : Do whatever you want. Step 2 : Continue doing whatever you want. Step 3 : Follow steps 1 and 2. 

A close friend from France called me and said, "You are poopie now. You'll always have him inside you". It sounded like rubbish to me then, but she was absolutely right. 

The man has left his vocabulary behind with the choicest of abuses, he has left behind his taste in food, his outlook in life and perhaps other personality traits that I'm not even aware of. 

13 years and a baby, with one human being is a very long time. He was a good man and I'll try my best to remember him with love and respect.

Swaroop Chettan

I'm a widow, a single mom and an obsessive communications professional for the whole world. But for Swaroop chettan, I'll always be a five year old. I could see the pain in his eyes as I described my illogical love for work, the rituals i did over my husband's dead body and his murderous company and how they easily washed their hands off him, the minute he died.

I've loved this man, ever since I was a baby. He would make me sit on the steps of his three storey house and run away from me, because I would cling onto him for dear life, all day, everyday. And no child likes a cling on baby sister.

When his sister got married, I wanted to play a game of cards and he looked me straight in the face and said, "But this game is only for grown-ups. Kindly sit back and observe. You are not welcome." I was 23 years old at the time. 

When his wife met me in Calcutta nine years ago, along with their first born child, she told my late husband, "I always thought Gayatri was a seven year old, the way Swaroop described her. Then i saw Gayatri in-person and realised she's a fully grown adult woman." Then she laughed along with my late husband, who happily confirmed, "Yes. She's till a child in an adult's body."

I'm not sure whether I like being infantilized or I hate it. I'm conflicted. I have a 4.5 year old now, who I gave birth to, yet my siblings don't take me seriously. I'll always be "Gayu" and "Gaayti" for them. 

Ever since I was a teenager I've handed Swaroop chettan a big invisible basket, which I've been filling up with scandalous secret after secret, and I've told him to shut up about it. I'm not sure if I've given him BP and pressure over the years, with my antics. But i know he always has my back.

He has passed on his obsessive love for superheros to me and I have passed it onto my son. If there's a funny bone in me and if I'm even slightly cool as a person, it's all thanks to Swaroop chettan and Arjun chettan.

I love these boys obsessively. They've been my first loves, after appuppan and achan of course and Ive always sought their characterics in my life partner. Solid, reliable and always standing up for their partners. (Now I don't want to speak to their partners to confirm all this - they might beat me with slippers or just smile and nod)

Brothers, what can you do without them really? I'm blessed to have these two. 

Crash And Burn

14 months, since I stepped out into the workforce fulltime and decided to drown my sorrows with work. I wanted to fill the gaping hole left behind by my late husband with unending work. And i loved my work, every bit of it. So much so, that I didn't take a single day off in 14 months.

My parents took me to Ooty for two weeks and I worked throughout the stay. Work became an addiction. I was checking emails at 6am and 11pm. I wanted to be the absolute best at what I did.

Then came a rainy Monday morning, where I found myself coughing endlessly. I ignored it and kept working, until my body decided to shut down. Suddenly my head began to hurt, my shoulders began to feel limp and I felt nauseous. I rushed home and just lay in bed for the rest of the day.

I took some antibiotics, prescribed by a local doctor in our colony. I turned on my laptop the next day and began my 9am-6pm work day as usual.

Sometime between shooting out an email and strategizing the social media calender for the upcoming week, i began to feel breathless and felt a distinct catch in the middle of my chest - like a heart attack. I ignored it for about an hour, until my face started getting blue.

My father rushed me to the hospital, where the duty doctor gave me a nice shelling and quickly got me admitted into the hospital. The next 2.5 days were spent with drips, heavy medication and multiple injections.

I'm back home now, still wobbly and drowsy. I'm not sure what happened. Was it work stress? Was it the change in weather? Was it the fact that I hadn't taken a single day off in 14 months?

I'll never know. All i know is, health is everything. Prioritise it today, before it's too late. After blaming my late husband so much for working and overworking, and not spending time at home with the child and me, I realised, I've horrifyingly turned exactly into him.

I've taken a week off to recoup and to just take a breather. That's one entire week off, after 14 months of endless work. 

Also, hot chocolate, i need some hot chocolate now. The thick, decadent Moddy's (Ooty) and San Churro's (Bombay) kind. 

My Morning Coffee

My first sip of morning coffee, made by me, for me every single morning, especially over the weekends is my way of saying, "I love me". Before the madness of the day begins and before my maniacal toddler screeches his way out of bed, with his 10,000 unreasonable demands, this is my time. 

A moment to gather my thoughts, a moment to go through all my tasks for the day and a moment to forget and forgive all those who've rubbed me on the wrong side. My morning coffee makes me patient, kind and a complete joy to talk to.

It's fuel for my soul and for my brain. Whoever invented this liquid brown gold, God bless your soul abundantly! You're literally saving lives, one sip at a time, everyday. 

My morning coffee, is my calm before the storm. I really get to enjoy it, especially over the weekends, taking pleasure in the fact that, I don't have a toddler to pack off to school before 8am. My morning coffee over the weekdays is rushed and barely enjoyed. Still, I need it to function and survive.

My next cup of coffee is had at work, post lunch, to stay awake and continue the good fight, of being a communications professional. Without it, I'm a sleepy, grumpy mess.

Coffee is everything. It's my pick me up, my ninja sword and at the very core of my Gayu survival kit.

Oh coffee! You blessed, blessed brown liquid. What would I do without you? 

My Rocks

The rock-solid rocks in my life. Nope, not Dwayne Johnson. My brother and his better half. Not sure what state I would have been in today, if they hadn't stood by me, when I was completely broken.

I was living among the land of the dead from 6th December 2021 and these two just yanked me out of that rabbit hole, with every molecule of energy inside them.

They knew what to say, they knew how to behave and they knew when to shut up, when I sounded delusional. Loosing a partner at 34, happens to one in ten married couples. I was the unfortunate "one" in that statistic.

I can't say that the past 1.5 years have been completely shitty. I figured something out, thanks to my toddler who needed a parent, now more than ever. He had already lost one, i couldn't let him lose the other. 

Rejoining the land of the living was one of the wisest decisions I took since my husband passed away. And i couldn't have done it without the forceful nudging my sibling, his better half and my parents gave me.

The land of the living is fragile and full of egos. I don't take it for granted anymore. If you like something, grab it, with all your might. Your life is finite, you don't really have that much time, as you imagine.

My generation is in the worst-shape, health wise. We're obsessed with promotions and appraisals more than anything else. It is the epicentre of our lives and rightfully so. We have responsibilities and piling expenses. Why should we not chase our careers?

To my fellow widows and widowers; the worst has already happened. So get out there and be your most authentic self. Be fearless, be brave and don't back down. Stick to your beliefs, do whatever you want to do, it's your life. You make the rules. And smile, occassionally. It's a beautiful world filled with action-packed superhero movies, luscious chocolate ice-cream and piping-hot chole bhature. 

Ooty and I - A True Love Story

 

How do you remember a place you've holidayed at recently? Is it the people? Is it the weather? No! It's the legendary food! And Ooty, is legendary when it comes to it's food. Right from chocolates to traditional bakery snacks (not the cheap junky stuff you get in the cities) and fabulous Mutton curries.

If there is a heaven on Earth, this is it. I've discovered my soft spot. Mutta Puffs and me - a sordid love affair, morning, noon and night. I'm announcing my love for this flaky, eggy, decadent delight to the whole world!

Ooty is also famous for Moddy's chocolates. Melt in your mouth and flavoursome, these chocolates are to die for. If i got hit by a truck right now and died, I'd die a very happy woman, because I've attained Nirvana with these gooey delights. There's also Moddy's hot chocolate in three different flavors - Classic, Mocha and Hazelnut.

Then there's that beautiful mountain air that you breathe in and out every moment of everyday - while you're working, walking, bathing, sleeping or pooping. It just hits you with a tinge of Eucalyptus. It's sure to bring a smile to your face.

Next there's the sheer variety of food, catering specifically to tourists - Chinese, Indian, Continental, Italian, Grilled Meats - you can't go wrong with any of them. You're left licking your fingers and ordering more, until you get a tummy upset.

I'm not sure what I've fallen more in love with - the weather, the food or the complete silence around me. I can hear bugs walking on the floor and birds chirping. There's the occasional interesting looking biker chap riding by, who makes quite a roar on his machine. Otherwise, trees and silence surround you 24*7*365.

Ooty - the perfect getaway for remote workers, retired folks and children. 

My Toddler, The Fighter

My 4.5 year old has experienced trauma beyond his years. He was half-orphaned at 2.11 years old by his seemingly active and young father. He doesn't understand the concept of death and initially thought that he's just playing hide and seek with him. 

Today, he accepts that he has no father and no longer waits for him. All he says with a sad acceptance is "Baba was my favourite person. He should have stayed with us forever"

I give my child so little credit for the enormous task he has to undergo and complete everyday, which is healing his little heart and adjusting to this new reality.

Between the two of us, he's the stronger fighter and has responded to trauma so much better than me. While I still wail and cry in moments, my child breathes through it all and looks at me with googly eyes and says, "Don't worry maamaa, I'll take care of you"

The role of caregiver flips in an instant and I wonder who is taking care of whom really. Who is the mother and who is the child? 

My child born out of trauma, has beaten all odds and has grown into a caring, sensitive and inquisitive 4.5 year old. He wins hearts in an instant - be it family friends, close neighbours, his school teachers, his summer camp masters. He has them all in his pocket with his intelligent volley of questions.

I'm so proud to be his maamaa and I hope I never let him down. 

Single Mom

Single mom, it's a badge I wear proudly, because I didn't allow my 35 year old husband's death to define the rest of mine or my son's life. 

My son broke two of his front teeth today and my initial reaction was hysteria, until my 67 year old mother told me to snap out of it and not scare him further.

My ever helpful and wonderful neighbours, Anu aunty and Seetharaman uncle who has rushed me to a hospital a couple of decades ago in a similar state, rushed my son to the nearest clinic today. 

Coming back to that point of being a single mom, am I one really, with family and neighbors like family around? 

A dead body being carried out of an ambulance was the first sight I saw this morning during my walk and as i passed the house, I heard loud wailing. Who understands death better than me? Life as they knew it had forever ended. I understood.

Death, what a convenient thing for the deceased. No work tension, no life tension and definitely no hassles of raising a child.

As i lay next to my 4 year old, with his freshly minced bloodied gums, i realised the purpose of my life. It is to make him proud and those are huge shoes that I'm wearing.

Someday he will grow up and tell the world, "My mother was a young widow and I was a baby when we lost my father, but she did not sit still and allow life to defeat her. She lived for us and I am glad she did"

I suddenly had a flash of myself as a very old lady, standing in front of a large audience narrating the very same story - the story of my life, the one that I kept fighting for.

So what if I don't have a fairy tale happy ending? The ending is upto me to write now and I'll write a great one, along with my toothless baby. 

Madras Gymkhana Club Magic

There's something magical about the Madras Gymkhana Club. Right from their massive swimming pool, to their polite waiters, to their overly sweet cricket drink and their butter toasted chicken sandwiches, nothing has changed in all these years.

When I walk in there, I'm greeted like a long lost daughter who doesn't visit often enough. The waiters ask in surprise, looking at my screechy tot, "Your son?" and I nod with a smile. 

Time really flies. The MGC love has passed on from one generation to the next in my family, starting with my dad, to me and now my 4 year old. He jumps back into the pool like a slippery eel, each time I try to pull him out. 

I drink his leftover Cricket and the crows in the lawn steal his french fries. I'm a child all over again, only this time I've created my own.

If the Gymkhana pool could speak, it would tell you tales of a fat 10 year old girl, an ambitious 21 year old, an almost bride at 27 and a single mom at 36. The pool embraced me like always in her warmth, washing over me and soothing me, melting all the pain away.

The MGC was such a big part of my childhood, I cannot even begin to put in words, the waves of nostalgia I feel each time I walk into those familiar corridors and well moved lawns. 

Change is not the constant of life. Stability is. And the MGC is the epitome of constant and reliable. It's a home away from home. 

I will always root for this 139 year old charming young lady! 

Loss

The finality, the emptiness and the loss of identity that death leaves in it's wake, is something that you can't shirk off or walk away from. I'm suddenly not a wife anymore.

I have zero marriage jokes to crack and no comments to pass when someone talks about their respective partner. "At least they have someone", is the only thought that comes into my head. 

This year of grief, the second year to be exact, is where I grieve the person I used to be. Somewhere between trying to juggle work, baby and this new life sans a husband, I've lost my sense of self.

I'm no longer chatty, I'm no longer confident and I'm always a little sad. There's nothing like a good cry last thing at night. And there's no shame in admitting to this. Crying is the best way to get it out of your system.

Cry for the life you once had and can never have again. Cry for feeling so alone. Cry, for all the moments in the day when something reminded you, of your person in heaven.

Who knows if time heals wounds. Who knows if crying heals anything. All I can say with sureity is, life is fragile.

I said goodbye to my husband as he left for work in the morning and brought back his motionless body at night. He was 35. 

The shock and the disbelief that life as I knew it, had forever ended is something I'll probably never snap out of. So at 34, with a 2 year old in toe, I moved back to my parental home.

We will be okay.. eventually. Today is not that day. 

13 Months

13 months since I stared death in the face, lost my mind, gathered all the broken pieces of my broken heart and patched it up with cello-tape. On most days I'm fine, until I see a dumb cane plant, fancy looking house decor or a band playing in a mall.

"In your healing, lies your child's healing", said someone during my early days of grief. Healing; there's nothing peaceful about it. You oscillate between rage and more rage, and it's completely alright. Its best to let it all out, as opposed to experiencing body pains, hairfall and nausea. 

It's so easy being the deceased. You're suddenly free of all your earthly responsibilities. You can have endless pints of freshly brewed beer and continental food, without putting on any weight. I imagine this is what my late husband is upto.

My child no longer remembers his father's face and I was both surprised and relieved. He has finally made peace with the fact that his father is never coming back and his baby brain has permanently wiped out his father's memories. "We no longer have a husband", he declared this evening, along with "I'll marry you and cars mumma"

There is no point spewing hatred and venom about the dead, because they're dead. It's time for us, the living to just let go. Life, death and everything in-between is not in our hands. So let's make the best, of the very short time we've been given on Earth. 

Let our children remember us with love, friends with laughter and family with fondness and utmost affection. Most importantly, let's spread love and light, to everyone we meet, especially sad souls with traumatic pasts.