Vulnerability is Cool

Let's take a moment to appreciate that scene in Lokah, where Neeli/Chandra bids adieu to Sunny. This badass, undefeatable, invincible immortal being hugging a puny, fragile human with tears forming in both her eyes, as she watches him walk away.

What this teaches us is that being human is an excellent choice, even if you're superhuman. Crying and being vulnerable are the best human emotions. Sometimes we cry tears of sadness, sometimes it's out of joy and at other times it's out of sheer frustration.

But I'd choose crying over bottling all that emotion up and bursting like a pressure cooker. If you have deep rooted anger issues, it simply means that you've bottled up your feelings for far too long.

All that pain needs a place to go. If you hold it in, it will come to bitch slap you, in the most unexpected of places and times. Therefore to avoid being a pressure cooker human being, it's crucial to let it all out.

Crying works best for me. At times screaming too. Life is hard. Let's accept this reality for one second. You weren't born to eat, work and die. You were born to enjoy your time on earth and do things that make you truly happy.

Unfortunately we have bills to pay and in my case a child to raise, hence we give in to the monotony of a 9-6 and get on with it.

But somewhere in that process, it's important to take time out to feel all your feelings. Close to 4 years since my husband passed away and I've let myself feel all those feelings. This is a shit situation and I've made the best of it, thanks to an army backing me up every step of the way.

Going back to that powerful scene now, let's takeaway from it that even a superhuman needed to feel human and craved love during all her centuries of being alive.

Love is the oil to every human wheel. We need to be well oiled at all times. And there's no shame in admitting that you need someone to hold your hands through it all. 

Kudos to the makers of Lokah to have made an all heart, subtle, yet powerful vampire movie. It was much, much needed. 

Empower Yourself

Empower yourself, mind, body and soul,

So that you feel whole,

Empower yourself, so that you have the courage,

To walk away from a barrage,

That is disrespectful,

Have the courage to move on from people and situations that are uneventful,

Empower yourself, so that you recognise those who value you,

Just as you are, truer than true,

Speak your truth, loud and proud,

Empower yourself, so that you're comfortable without a crowd,

Empower yourself, just for you,

So that you can chew,

Bitter pills, when it's strewn,

Empower yourself, so that you can recognise goons,

They come in all shapes and forms,

Empower yourself, so that you can withstand the swarm,

Walk away and never look back,

That's life's ultimate hack,

Empower yourself, mind, body and soul,

So that you feel whole.

The Monsoons

I always wish for these last four months, to go away,

Wet and muddy, each step taken we have to be wary,

A slip of the leg and a fall on the bum,

We don't want broken bones, everytime we hum,

Umbrellas and rains,

Such a pain, with only gloom to gain,

I prefer the angry months of April and May,

When the gorgeous heat comes out to play,

Lots of swimming,

A whole lot of winning,

I'm a Chennai girl through and through,

The rain just makes me feel blue.

Moving Forward

Life is a series of moving forward,

Forgetting every bitter experience without glancing backward,

The brightest sun,

Of my life has always been my son,

Every leap of faith ever taken was and is for him,

For him, I put aside all my sorrows and look less grim,

The best part of me,

Has always been my little bee,

He's pulled me out of my sorrow,

And made me feel less hollow,

So leave behind every bitter experience,

Allow time to cause it's disappearance,

Chin up and ownwards we march.

10 Minute Homework

A potato had to be made,

40 minutes before school, our minds completely slayed,

No chart paper, no stick,

The path to complete this project seemed full of hazardous tricks,

Slowly the solution appeared inside my mommy brain,

The materials slowly began to rain,

All around us,

An icecream stick, to help us sort this fuss,

A gift bag, 

Would make the perfect chart, and we're back on track,

Crayons on paper,

Along with Riaan's imagination and mild labour,

Concluded our 10 minute homework,

The morning havoc,

Turned to calm,

In an embrace we held each other, happy to have diffused yet another bomb,

All in a day's work,

Until the next homework begins to lurk.

Gloomy Skies

Dark the skies,

As gloomy as my sad sighs,

As we head into your favourite part of the year,

I remember you grinning from ear to ear,

As we stepped into a Pujo Pandel,

Your excitement I couldn't handle,

You would have turned 39 this year,

Yet another year,

That I've grown older without you,

Funny how the years just flew,

The emptiness inside me, growing larger everyday,

As I operate with a broken heart day by day,

Almost 4 years since you've been gone,

I'll always wonder what went wrong,

Perhaps my love for you wasn't enough,

Why else would you have chosen a life this tough,

As I live with the weight of your decisions in life and long after your death,

I realise the one thing I should be grateful for is all my breaths,

I hope you have some regrets now,

And realise that some of your life choices were far from wow.

Matcha

Matcha was had, and it wasn't bad,

It made us happy and not sad,

As the boba pearls burst inside my mouth,

I gobbled it down like a being who was greedy and uncouth,

Little flavour bombs of custard,

My brain was flustered,

What was this heaven,

That was taking me right upto midheaven,

The boba bits and I,

Looked eye to eye,

In my tummy you will reside,

So glad I had this before I could die,

Ecstatic that I didn't stop Devyani from placing an order,

Suddenly my mind files opened up in disorder,

Memories of my dead husband slurping down boba pearls flashed past me,

It's crazy how that man never lets me be,

Even on a Friday evening when I was trying to let my hair down,

With my girlfriend, with whom I'd paint the town,

Red, blue, green and every other nonsensical drunk colour,

And that's exactly what we did, until we were far from sober. 

3AM Thoughts

Similar to PCOD pain,

That comes in waves, 3AM thoughts, can never give you any gains,

For the PCOD, pop a dolo,

For the 3AM thoughts, decode it solo,

Acting on those rabid thoughts,

Will only make you feel at fault,

So drop it all,

Lest you fall,

Just like Humpty Dumpty, who also had a great fall,

It's natural to feel appalled,

To have such thoughts,

As long as you have the ability to connect the dots,

And decide to be a mature adult, yet another day,

You're not best friends with shades of grey,

So let it fade away,

Oh look, it's a bright new day,

The sun's out,

Time to get get our bums out,

Shoo and scram, dark thoughts,

It's time for me to soak up some Vitamin D, beautiful yellow and blistering hot. 

Pancakes

Made luscious pancakes at seven,

My house suddenly smelt like heaven,

The baby ate half,

I ate the rest and felt like a calf,

More like a balloon,

After licking up chocolate sauce in galloons,

No wonder my weight is stuck,

And my mind goes on a rut,

Why can't I resist desserts,

Those sugary little flirts,

One bite in and you're all in,

More, more, more, until you feel like a human garbage bin.

Fond Memories of Being Mrs Poopie

Some of the cutest things that I own - a pink strapped Minnie Mouse watch from Disney Land, most of my cartoon character t-shirts, a woollen beanie cap with ears, a pair of Staccato boots, a white Teddy bear printed handbag and so much more, have all been gifted to me by my late husband.

So when I'm questioned and sometimes wonder, why it is that I'm still single after 3.9 years, it's simply because I've experienced whole-hearted, undiluted, you could even say "shiddat wala pyaar" from my dearest poopie.

Those are very large shoes to fill, for whoever wants to "hit this situation up", as a cool Gen-zite might term it. And this time, there's two of us, similar to a "buy 1, get 1 free" offer you might pick up from Reliance Smart Bazaar.

That's two smart talking mouths for the price of one and two diverse set of mood ranges to handle. So God bless, who ever wants to take ownership of this task.

That being said, we're also lovely human beings, once you peel off all those layers. My dead husband is testament to that. I think he enjoyed the close to 13 years with me and close to 3 with our son. 

While I can't promise, we've unburdened ourselves of the trauma his sudden death caused, we're slowly and steadily getting there. 

In the meantime, we power ourselves with plenty of laughter, crazy little boy games like being swung upside down from my shoulders and deep fried food. The deep fried food is very important by the way, everything else is fluff. 

Palada Payasam

As I sipped on Starbucks' version of filter coffee,

Just to drown out the guilt of some oversweetened dessert that tasted toffee,

My brain warned me,

Sleep tonight would be far from glee,

As our cab rolled close to home,

And I witnessed a lot of aunties and uncles roam,

Around the colony temple,

Sipping on what looked like delicious payasam, my lips trembled,

Greedily watching them take sip after sip,

My mind instantly flipped the regret switch,

Palada payasam right about now,

Would have hit all the right spots and how,

Oh how I miss palada sometimes,

The pangs hit me at the most unexpected times.

Item Girl Dreams

It was somewhere in the middle of watching Malaika Arora shaking her gorgeous midriff and entire body in general, on top of a train in Chaiya Chaiya, that the item girl dreams began to form in my head.

When Dil Se released in 1998, I was a fat 11 year old tom-boy, running around in silk shorts and a cycle in hand. The concept of unrequited love and marriage was slowly beginning to take some shape and form in my hormone untouched brain.

That maniacal love which Aman (Shahrukh Khan) was displaying for the mysterious terrorist (Manisha Koirala), somehow made sense to me. Love had to be toxic, hence concluded my 11 year old brain.

But forget that sob love story, back to sexy Malaika Arora and her hardly anything outfit, I had to be that woman on a train, I thought as I munched through my second bag of potato chips along with red wine (the alcohol was perks of being an army kid, there was always rivers of liquor flowing in all our households for as long as I can remember.)

I'm 38 now, fully sober, with zero alcohol in my system and as I watch Chaiya Chaiya right now, the drive to dance atop a moving train shaking my almost shapely midriff, is very very strong.

I think it's safe to say, being an item girl is a dying desire of mine. I must fulfill it before I go upstairs permanently, or else my soul will not rest in peace.

I've never been more sure of anything in my life. This dream comes a close second, after wanting to be a mother.

Dream gods and casting directors, are you listening? 

A Prolonged Fever

The fever is really fevering today,

It started on a Wednesday,

And hasn't said goodbye yet,

I'm suddenly missing being ammumma's pet,

She would have had Gold Spot ready,

As my head felt heavy,

Two sips of Gold Spot,

Would have hit the right spot,

Fevers are the worst,

It makes you feel cursed,

Both the mind and body are scrambled,

The mouth will probably join in and ramble,

So so sick,

I feel like a pile of useless bricks.

Jumping Riaan

Being crashed on fifty times a day,

In various ways,

With sound effects in toe,

For each "barrel roll",

Starting with wham, crash and boom,

Calling himself "Trash IRL", he's a little goon,

Terrorizing peaceful evenings,

And slow, lazy afternoons,

His toothless naughty chuckle,

Has my already broken back in a buckle,

Just another day of being Riaan's mom,

With my baby monkey around, I hardly get any time to feel forlorn.

Meltdown Fridays

It began with a 5am rain,

Followed by a whole lot of pain,

Hysterical sobs, announcing that school is hard,

And in general that the soul is charred,

Just kidding, I doubt a 6 year old understands what a soul is,

His tears in the meantime, continued to brim and fizz,

Hands dramatically folded,

Along with his legs nicely moulded,

I gave in quite quickly to his request,

Putting his mind to rest,

School is hard, I agreed,

Sometimes in life, we need the opposite of speed,

If slow Friday's are what your 6 year old desires,

Just give in and don't put his or her heart on a pyre,

Let them be,

Happy and free. 

Letting Go

Love is the art of letting go. And no one has explained this better to us than Doctor Stephen Strange. He watched Christine getting married in the multiverse, he proclaimed his undying love for her in another.

And that is love. To let go over and over again. Because you can't force someone to feel the same for you.

Whenever you do think of them, think of them with love and light and wish them the best. There's no point in forcing, chasing or begging someone for their time and attention.

Love simply is. It's either there or it isn't. It's as simple as that. So cry over that "almost-person", drown yourself with an entire bottle of Bailey's, talk about him or her until kingdom come with all your best friends, but ultimately let go.

For only if you let go, do you allow your heart and lives' doors to be flung open again to be filled with the right person.

I lived a Shakespearen sonnet with my late husband. To lose someone you're still in love with it and thrive after that person's long gone, now that's a love story for the books as well.

Let go my friend, let go. It's the only happy conclusion for you and whoever it is, that you are fantasizing about. 

Anxiety

Recently someone described me as, "A person who'll go into war and win that battle. However you're petrified of the rats in your own house and really lose your shit!" That was the first time I laughed during the course of those tense 24 hours.

Anxiety and negative self-talk have been my best friends for as long as I can remember. I'm never fully convinced when good things happen to me. I either sabotage it in my own head or worst case, sabotage it for the people around me.

Luckily, the folks closest to me, understand this screw loose situation in my head and look past it. Unfortunately, those who are trying to get to know me, either abandon ship and run or they stick around and we remain good friends.

My anxiety has gotten worse over the years and some days I feel extremely low. The human brain is complex and I haven't been able to figure out mine yet.

In the meantime, icecream and butter chicken help, along with 45 minute swims. Mental health, drumbeaten enough and more by the Gen Zees are something we must seriously consider improving.

Zero mental health equals a poor quality of living. The human brain, can either be your best friend or worst enemy. We're all either stuck inside the cages we create or we're free like carefree pigeons, pooping all over people's heads. 

Let's choose to be the pigeon. Happy and poopy. 

Accountability

In a world full of asslicking charmers, who keep showering you with praises, choose to listen to Hulk instead. They're honest, blunt, direct, in your face and hit you with truth bombs that completely blow you away. 

Accountability, both in the personal and professional front is surprisingly missing. Perhaps, it's the system that has moulded people this way or ridiculous apps that have destroyed the sanctity of relationships. There's not one single factor, but multiple of them, that have left people with no spine.

Instead of ghosting someone, choose to have that difficult 15 minute conversation with them. Instead of showering someone with praises mindlessly and then running away from their lives so blatantly, tell them what they did to piss you off.

Let's face it, we're all spoilt little brats, masquerading as adults in broad daylight. Our childhood was filled with adults and siblings, who gave in to most of our desires. 

As adults, perhaps we have the same unrealistic expectations from people we meet. Therefore, meeting Hulk once in a while is a breath of fresh air. I have immense respect for these kind, yet angry souls. God bless them and let there be more of them in this fake-nice world. 

Honouring the Dead

Let's face it, in India we have an age old tradition of honouring the dead. We talk about them, we hang photographs of them at home, we perform pooja's annually and we even get tattoos dedicated to them.

My two pence in keeping up with this ritual for my late husband is by visiting Starbucks at least 2-3 times a month. He was a regular Starbucks customer. The outlets he visited knew his drink by heart and would have it ready, even before he reached the counter.

Family weekends were also spent in Starbucks. I'd order the drink of the week, advertised in shiny posters right outside and inside the outlet, which would taste terrible. And he'd end up making fun of me for buying it.

3 years and 8 months since he's been gone and Starbucks gives me so much peace each time I visit. A part of me hopes to bump into him and another just breathes in the aroma of the coffee and snacks being churned out around me.

I took our son to Starbucks yesterday evening and I felt the cycle being complete. He no longer remembers his father, but he vaguely remembers Starbucks from all our visits in Bombay.

As I took a picture of him and me sitting together, inside Starbucks, I almost shed a tear. I think his father would have been proud to know, that he's successfully converted a Starbucks hater into a lover.

While the Americano still doesn't sit well inside my tummy, the ambience and the savoury snacks are something I look forward to soaking in, at least once a week.

I saw a formally dressed man, working furiously on his laptop last evening inside Starbucks and it instantly reminded me of my workaholic, late husband. 

It's funny how the dead never leave you, even if they have in reality. 

Meltdown Sundays

"No" to Nutties at the crack of dawn,

Had my peaceful morning torn,

The next screech was for sharpening pencils,

Never underestimate the will,

Of a 6 year old,

Who has made up his mind to completely fold,

Mouth so wide open, you can see his tonsils,

Big fat tears that stick to his fluffy cheeks and sparkle,

The decibel levels well before 8am,

Will make you want to scram,

Too heavy to pick up and console,

You end up with an awkward shove on the lap, as he continues to howl,

A generation that takes us for granted,

With YouTube ideas already firmly planted,

You crack a joke about his kitchen mischief,

And how the water drenched him like a fountain, which abruptly ends his grief,

A quick bounce out of the lap,

And he bursts into hysterical laughs,

I breathe a sigh of relief,

As his mood turns a new leaf,

Tears give way to smiles,

And I realise we have so many more miles,

Of tears and laughter left.