My Magician

It's been an empty decade and a half,

Without your infectious laugh.

No one to eat medu vadas with,

Or drink Sharjah shakes with.

All the ugly fights we fought, 

And the dirty jokes you taught.

Each dreadful morning to school, you were by my side,

To wipe my tears and to give me a ride. 

Your obsession with Hercule Poirot and Baywatch, were unmatched, 

I tried my best to stay detached.

You are my home,

I latch onto every memory of yours, like a honeybee to it's comb.  

(Writer's Note : This poem is about my grandfather, who died when I was a teenager. He made my world alright, without a magic wand or spells. He was always ahead of his time and had a broad-mindedness, which often shocked people of his generation. Needless to say, he was extremely popular and really close with his grandkids.)

Rohan and Grandpa

Rohan was a vivacious 5 year old, born into the Mehta household. Mr and Mrs Mehta were busy image consultants who ran their own boutique P.R agency. They loved Rohan very much and made it a point to spend every free minute with him. The Mehtas lived in a palatial ancestral bungalow. The house and the couple were picture perfect. The Mehtas were very popular among friends and colleagues. Their families took great pride in their achievements, both personal and professional.

Rohan spent all his spare time, post school with his nanny, Kamla. Although he loved Kamla and enjoyed their little games together, he really missed his mommy and daddy. He waited anxiously to be tucked into bed every night by mommy. She would narrate an elaborate fairy tale every night with dramatic theatrics. She would even use puppets to narrate stories, on the nights that she was not very tired. 

Every night, after mommy would finish her bed-time story, grandfather would take over. He was funnier than mom. Every morning, Rohan would attempt to narrate grandfather's fairy tales to his parents, but they were always too busy, rushing to work.

On one particular Sunday, a determined little Rohan, sat his mother down and began narrating one of grandfather's stories. It was about a big red submarine. Halfway through the story, mumma began tearing up.

"Why are you crying Mumma?", enquired a surprised Rohan.

"Who told you this story bacha?", asked Mumma.

"Grandpa", replied Rohan.

His mother quickly rushed inside her room and brought out an old family album. She hurriedly turned the pages of the album, until she found what she was looking for.

"Do you recognize Grandpa, from any of these photographs?", she asked Rohan

"Yes. There he is", pointed an excited Rohan, on the face of a handsome looking middle-aged gentleman. 

The photograph was a faded black and white one, of a cheery looking man in a smartly cut navy blue suit from the early 60s. Grandpa had died 10 years before Rohan was born. The house and the bedroom Rohan slept in belonged to Grandpa. 

(Image Source : https://www.pinterest.com/explore/bedtime-stories/)

The Apple Faced Girl

The apple faced girl, was the youngest born, into a happy Malayalee family. Her father was an army officer, who got transferred into non-family stations very often. Non-family stations mean those locations in India which have the highest terrorist activity. Officers were not allowed to bring families to these places as they would naturally become the soft target for terrorists. The apple faced girl, her elder brother and her mother made several trips to their hometown in Trivandrum, each time the father was stationed in these non-family locations.

On one of those trips back home, the apple faced girl made acquaintance with her grandmother's elder brother. He was an unmarried, bubbly old man who loved children. He pampered the little girl silly and forbade her mother to tonsure her hair. 

"Mole, please don't cut her hair. She will lose all her cuteness", he would plead to the child's mother.

The little girl spent most of her time playing and fighting with her grandfather. Everyday by about 7 in the evening, the grandfather would become very tired of chasing her around. So he would give the baby back to her mother and focus his energies on watching the evening news on DD Malayalam. The little girl hated the news and the annoying jingle that preluded the news. She knew she would lose her grandfather's attention, the minute she heard the jingle on the television screen. Every evening she would dance in front of the television screen and try to imitate the jingle, just to get her grandfather's attention. 

One morning, the little girl woke up earlier than usual. She ran to sit on her plastic mobile potty. Just as she began doing her morning chore, she noticed that her grandfather was sitting cheerily on his favorite chair, gazing at her lovingly. She immediately pushed herself and her potty closer to him and began mimicking the DD jingle.

Mid-way through her song, her mother called out to her, "What are you doing baby? Who are you singing to?"

"I'm singing to Baapappa, amma. Tell him to play with me, I don't want him to watch the news", replied the little girl.

The mother froze upon hearing the child's words because her grandfather had died at 3am that morning. The entire family had rushed to the hospital leaving only the little girl and the mother behind.

THE END

Author's Note : The apple faced girl was me. I have no recollection of this grandfather or of this incident, because I was only 1 or 2 years old at the time. This story has been passed down to me by my mother and now from me to you. This only re-affirms my faith that the love of a grandfather has no bounds. They will always watch over you, like guardian angels.

Image Source : https://www.shutterstock.com/search/cartoon+grandpa

Jacobinte Swargarajyam

Jacobinte Swargarajyam has two Mallu favorites which would naturally make it a blockbuster hit - Nivin Pauly and Dubai. After Bangalore Days, this is another Malayalam movie that made me stop and smell the roses. It is a movie that every Malayalee can relate to. A story of a happy Christian family settled in Dubai. All is well until the global recession hits and the head of the household, Mr Jacob Zachariah gets cheated by a Pakistani colleague. Overnight, the business tycoon has to flee the country leaving his wife and four children behind. 

What follows is threats from Mr Jacob's investors and a never-ending struggle to make ends meet by the eldest son, Jerry and Mrs Sherly, wife of Mr Jacob. Being the eldest, Jerry always tailed his father for his various business dealings. However, when his father bids hims a tearful adieu and hands over the responsibility of the family to him, Jerry crumbles.

He seeks refuge in his father's close confidante and friend, Philip Ichayan. He breaks down in front of him and says he has no idea how to overcome the financial mess his father had created. Ichayan drives him on the streets outside his home and points out to a cafeteria in the corner of the street, run by a man named Sherif. He narrates the story of how Sherif started the cafeteria by falling on the feet of many money lenders, how his family had to sleep inside a house without a roof and the many hardships he had to endure to become a successful restaurateur both in Dubai and Kochi. 

Ichyan further went on to add that to learn the formula of success, one doesn't have to travel the whole world. You merely need to take a stroll on the streets of Dubai to look at the face of every hardworking Malayalee who does back breaking labour in the scorching sun. He went on to say that there is a popular joke among people, that you will find a Malayalee in the most obscure corners of the globe, starting with the moon, the sea and deserted mountains. This is true, Ichyan tells Jerry, because only a Malayalee has the guts to set up shop in the most strangest of places and transform it into a business empire. 

I felt a strange sense of pride in being a Malayalee after watching this scene. I took a moment to think about all my mallu bretheren in Dubai and elsewhere. I also thanked the lord for giving me this carefree life. I could only empathize with what the Zachariah family and innumerable families like theirs had to undergo during the recession.

Jacobinte Swargarajyam is an absolute gem and I pray that if it gets re-made into Hindi, it manages to capture the essence of the movie - the hardships faced and overcome by a God-fearing, close knit malayalee Christian family in Dubai. 

The Dinner Date

Mayrah was the prettiest girl in her batch. She was also the brightest. The first to get campus placed, into Google that too. She was in her final year of M.S. Computer Science at Stanford University. The class pet of all her professors and the heartthrob of many of her male classmates. Yohan was one among them. He had also gotten into Google a month after Mayrah received her appointment letter. 

Yohan, the only other Indian student from Mayrah's batch who had all eyes for Mayrah. He was very shy. The popular kids in their batch called him a nerd. He was always found in libraries, knee deep in books. He was a quite a looker though. An Indian Clark Kent. Tall, dark, thick wavy hair and bespectacled. 

"C'mon Yohan, just ask her out man. What do you have to lose?", asked Brian, Yohan's closest friend and classmate.

"I can't", replied Yohan.

"And, why not?", relented Brian.

"Because she is too pretty and might already have a boyfriend", replied Yohan.

"How do you know that? Have you ever spoken to her? Does she even know of your existence?", persisted Brian.

"Well.. no", replied Yohan lamely.

"Then ask her out! This Sunday, at Graduation", encouraged Brian.

A week later, the most important day of their lives dawned on the final year students of M.S. Computer Science - graduation day. It was a proud moment for the students, their parents and all their professors. Yohan's mother had flown in from Mumbai and Mayrah's entire family starting with her parents, two sisters and brothers in law had arrived from Delhi.

It was a beautiful ceremony, one that would be remembered by the students for years to come. As Mayrah walked towards her proud family with her degree in hand, Brian gave Yohan a sharp nudge on his back, to remind him to go and speak with her. He excused himself from the conversation he was having with his mother and walked nervously towards Mayrah.

Just as she sat down with her parents, a nervous Yohan sauntered towards her. 

"Mayrah?", squeaked Yohan.

"Oh hello Yohan" replied a surprised Mayrah. "Maa, dad, this is my classmate Yohan. He has also been placed into Google along with me"

Yohan's heart skipped a beat as he realized that Mayrah knew his name. 

"Acha acha! Excellent beta. I'm sure your parents are very proud of you", said Mayrah's dad

"Thank you uncle", said Yohan with a nervous handshake.

"May I speak with you for a minute?", asked Yohan addressing Mayrah

"Sure", she replied

"In private...", said Yohan his cheeks flushing

"Oh", she replied

After a few more minutes of pleasantries exchanged with Mayrah's parents, Yohan finally managed to get a moment alone with Mayrah.

"Mayrah..", said Yohan, clearing his throat nervously

"The thing is..", he continued

"What is it Yohan? Is everything alright?", asked Mayrah.

"You know Mayrah, I've been thinking.. We've never spoken to each in the past 2 years that we've been classmates and now we've gotten into the same company. We're going to a see lot more of each other.. So, I was thinking.. er.." Yohan left the sentence dangling and went back to clearing his throat.

".. that we should get to know each other a little better?", replied Mayrah with a shy look in her eyes.

"Right", said Yohan.

"You know Yohan, I've been wanting to ask you out ever since you bumped into me at the library corridor and almost gave me a foot dislocation thanks to your stack of books", said Mayrah

"Whaat?!", replied a stunned Yohan. "So why didn't you?", he asked.

"I didn't want to appear too forward and you never gave me the impression that you were interested in anything other than books" chuckled Mayrah

"So 8pm tomorrow at Pizza Bay?" continued Mayrah

"Perfect. I'll see you there" replied a blushing Yohan

Yohan donned his best pair of trousers and shirt the next day for his date with Mayrah. He spent an extra half hour in front of the mirror, grooming himself. He even squirted on his most expensive Giorgio Armani perfume which he usually reserved only for job interviews.

As he approached the restaurant, he caught sight of Mayrah. She was a vision in red. His face automatically light up with a slow smile. Just as he was about to cross the road he realized that it would be nice to pick her a small trinket to celebrate their first date. So he rushed into a local jewellery store right opposite the restaurant that sold tribal jewellery. He picked up a butterfly shaped ring, got it gift wrapped and began crossing the road, his eyes lost on Mayrah's beauty.

Just as he was nearing the restaurant, he felt something ramming into him very hard. He heard the sound of an ambulance and people chattering around him. He even saw a teary eyed Mayrah through his half opened eyes.

10 years later..

Yohan stood outside the restaurant he and Mayrah had picked for their first date. He watched Mayrah lovingly from the glass windows and just as he was about to enter the restaurant he saw another man sitting opposite Mayrah. They were engrossed in deep conversation. He suddenly noticed a baby on a pram sitting between Mayrah and the man. Mayrah was feeding the child.

Puzzled, Yohan walked inside the restaurant and just as he began to approach Mayrah, an elderly gentleman blocked his path.

"Hey you! This is my restaurant and I don't like sharing it with anybody", said the gentleman.
"Okay. I just came to talk to an old friend of mine", said Yohan pointing to Mayrah.
The old man chuckled, "They can't hear you my friend"
"Eh?", replied Yohan. "Of course they can. Please move out of my way sir"
"Young man, they can't hear you because you and me don't belong in their world. We're dead son!", said the man
"I'm sorry sir, I really don't have time for this. I need to speak to my friend", replied an annoyed Yohan.

He walked past the old man and approached Mayrah's table. "Hi Mayrah!", said Yohan with a forced smile.
Mayrah looked up at Yohan and caught her breath.
"What is it honey? You look a little lost", said the man who was seated on Mayrah's table.
"Nothing, I just got a whiff of an old perfume which a friend of mine used to love wearing", said Mayrah with a sad look on her face.
"Must be somebody in the restaurant", said the man
"Perhaps", replied Mayrah and resumed feeding the baby.

(Image source : http://foter.com/explore/glass-night-table) 

Laila

Laila was just like any other vivacious 5 year old. Loud, naughty and the apple of her parents eyes. Born to Mr and Mrs Malhotra after 10 years of their marriage, she was very precious to them. So they spoilt her rotten. "Princess of Lakeview" was the title Laila gave herself. Lakeview, was the name of the sprawling mansion she and her parents lived in.

Spread across 10 acres of land, the house looked right out of a fairy tale. With pretty fountains and elaborate chandeliers strategically placed in various cozy nooks of the house, Lakeview was an architectural wonder. It also helped,that Mrs Malhotra was a keen lover of collecting artifacts, from all their international holidays and was a renowned interior designer.

Mr Malhotra owned a chain of resorts and motels globally and was called as "The Motel King" by competitors and business partners. He was a ruthless shark at work who left no stone unturned to get what he wanted. At home though, he was a loving father and caring husband. The needs of his family always took precedence and Laila had Mr Malhotra wrapped around her podgy little fingers.

Laila was a cute mixture of both parents. She had Mr Malhotra's thick curly hair, her mother's expressive eyes and a sweet chubbiness. No one could resist pulling Laila's cheeks if they met her. 

Today, was Laila's birthday, Mr and Mrs Malhotra surprised her at midnight with her favorite pink Barbie doll cake along with a promise to take her to Disney world. Her Mickey Mouse travel bags had been packed neatly by her mother.

"Laila baby, go brush your teeth and change out of your night clothes", said her mother.

"Okay mumma", replied an excited Laila.

Laila rushed to the bathroom, stood on her tiny stool under the wash basin to reach out for her tooth brush. As always, she ate some of the toothpaste first and then began brushing her teeth with her Chhota Bheem brush. Next, she opened her almirah and began to rummage for her favorite Winnie the Pooh jumpsuit, which she wore on all her travels with mummy and daddy.

After 5 unsuccessful minutes of trying to find the suit, the called out to her mother.

"Mummmaaaaaa", Laila called out to her mother. "Maaaaammaaaaaaa", she continued screaming.

She walked out of the room in a huff to search for her mother. She walked into her parents bedroom to find the lights off. She walked into the study room, lights were off there as well. She walked inside all the rooms inside the bungalow to find that the lights were strangely off in all the rooms.

Puzzled, she went into the drawing room and began turning the lights on and off. This was a habit of Laila's everytime she was distressed. "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa", she cried once again.

Meanwhile, a small group of men and women had gathered outside the mansion's majestic gates.

"This plot of land is perfect to start an ayurvedic spa. Look at all those beautiful fountains in the midst of that greenery", said a young man who was part of the group.

"Arrey, saab! This mansion is haunted", said an old man who overheard the young man speaking.

"Hahaha! Who believes in all that nonsense in today's day and age uncle-ji", replied the young man.

"Legend has it saabji, that a very rich couple used to live here 15 years ago. They died in a tragic car accident somewhere near the airport road. Ever since then, the lights in one part of the house flicker on and off. On some days, you can even hear the muffled voices of a small child."

Inside the mansion, poor little Laila, continued calling out to her mother in the hope that she would help her find her favorite Winnie the Pooh jumpsuit.

(Image Source : http://www.clker.com/clipart-smiling-short-brown-hair-girl.html)

The Last Goodbye

It was a breezy morning in Ooty. Sunaina had finished reading her second newspaper for the day whilst sipping on a warm cup of tea from the expensive bone china cutlery which she and Varun had received on their wedding day. Mr Varun Sud was the love of Sunaina's life. The duo were high school sweet hearts. They didn't really need to convince their parents why they must get married. Both sets of families were happy watching their kids grow closer over the years. 

Sunaina was the only child of Mr and Mrs Parulekar, steel tycoons for generations. And Varun was the youngest son born to newly turned millionaire, Mr Yash Sud, CEO and owner of Sud Telecommunications. The cliched norm "money only marries into money" stood true in Sunaina and Varun's case.

Sunaina steered clear of the family business and chose to be a happy home-maker, while Varun started up on his own and created his own niche in the telecommunications field. Father and son could not join hands in business, egos got in the way, which soon led to Varun walking out of Sud Telecommunications. The move proved fruitful to Varun because within a short span of 7 years, he was entitled "Exciting New CEO of the Decade" by Forbes, NDTV and Wall Street Journal. 

Coming back to Sunaina and her cup of tea, she was busy ticking of a mental 'to-do' list for Varun's surprise party. He was on his routine business tour and would return to their Ooty home within the week. Sunaina decided to invite some of hers and Varun's friends over for lunch to discuss about the theme, decor and food preferences for the party.

By 1pm, Sunaina's sprawling Ooty villa was buzzing with activity, laughter and the delicious aroma of Sunaina's signature croissants and brownies. 

"Sunaina, your brownies are to die for. Please make another batch for me to take home", said Natasha, her best friend from school.
"Sure, I'll just be a minute", said Sunaina as she walked into her airy kitchen.

The kitchen was Sunaina's favorite part of the house. It overlooked their beautiful garden and had state of the art cooking equipment used only by Michelin starred chefs. Sunaina quickly whisked up some brownie batter, poured it into a baking tray and placed it inside her oven. 

She poured herself a glass of red wine and stared out the window, while waiting patiently for her brownies to bake. Just as she heard the "Ping" of her oven informing her of the cooked brownies, she noticed her handsome husband, walking towards her from their garden. Puzzled and delighted to see him home 3 days early, she gestured to him to come inside the house. 

She quickly rushed out of the kitchen, informed all their friends that Varun was home and warned them not to mention anything about the surprise party she was planning for him. She eagerly rushed out the front door to greet him and found that he was missing.

"Varun!", Sunaina cried out.

"Varun, come inside, where are you?", she said.

She walked towards the garden where she had found him and still couldn't spot him. Confused, Sunaina went back inside.

"Where is he?", asked Natasha.

"I just saw him standing outside on the garden. Must have gone to pick up his bags or something. Let's wait for him to come back.", replied Sunaina.

She went back into the kitchen, pulled out the freshly baked brownie batch from her oven and began cutting them into perfect rectangular slices. Just as she was about to plate them, she noticed Varun standing outside her kitchen window again. She gestured that she would box his ears if he didn't walk inside their house that very instant.

Varun chuckled at her gesture and didn't make any attempt to move from his spot. Just as she was about to open her window to grab him, Natasha walked in.

"Sunaina, you need help with those brownies?", asked Natasha.

"Look at this Varun! He is behaving like a baby. He is just standing out there and refusing to come inside." said Sunaina.

"Varun? Where is he?", asked Natasha.

"Right here man", said Sunaina pointing outside the kitchen window.

"Babe, there is no one outside", said Natasha with concern on her face.

Just as Sunaina began to reply, Natasha's husband Dev walked into the room, with tears streaming down his face. 

"What is it Dev?", asked Natasha

"Its.. it's.. it's Varun, his flight...", said Dev, leaving the sentence hanging. 

Sunaina clenched her fists and turned her gaze back to Varun. She looked closely at the clothes he was wearing and recalled that he was wearing the same Dolce and Gabbana steel grey suit on the day he boarded his flight from Coimbatore. 

As the tears began to well up in her eyes, Varun's smiling face and body began to disappear like a magical fog into the misty mountains of Ooty. 

(Image Source : http://all-free-download.com/free-vector/couple-cartoon-images.html) 

My Reality Check

Everyone has their own version of reality checks every now and then. Mine happened late last night, when I stepped into my Mumbai home, after a glorious 4 weeks of pampering by my parents in Chennai.

My colorful cushions were strewn all over the house, except on the sofa. There was a thick layer of fine dust on every piece of furniture. The bedsheets hadn't been changed ever since I left and the icing on the cake, my toiletries were chewed on vigorously by tiny teeth. On close inspection small blobs of poop were also discovered.

We now have a new member in our household, Jerry. Oh no, not the cute brown thing Tom chases around like a maniac on the telly, a big fat ugly Gujju-Marathi rat (I live in Kandivali, hence the rat-community/caste deduction).

I didn't know whom to be more upset with - the Gujju/Marathi Jerry or the Tom cat husband I am married to.

(Image Source : http://www.clipartguide.com/_pages/0511-1008-0522-4309.html)

The Magical World Of Hamleys

The earliest and best memories of childhood have always been associated with toys. Each doll brings with it a happy flash back. Apart from parents, dolls were the only people whom I have cuddled, kissed and shared secrets with. My bed and my arms, always had a couple dozen dolls at any given point in time.

I have fifteen dolls in total. Seven barbie dolls, five kelly dolls, one mid-sized baby doll, one rag doll, one standing doll (which was taller than me until i was five). And then there are the stuffed toys, two teddy bears, one mickey mouse, one tortoise, one pink bunny, one Nemo, one electric white mouse, one barking and tail-wagging doggie and a few dozen others which I can't remember.

Why am I rambling on and on about toys you ask. Well, the husband and I had nothing sensible to do last night so we mall-hopped. While we debated about whether to eat or watch a movie, I saw happy water bubbles coming out of a colourful "Alice-in-Wonderlandish" place aka Hamleys.

We looked at each other, smiled and walked in wordlessly. Before we knew it, I was hugging stuffed toys and drooling at the never-ending rows of Barbie dolls, rag dolls and baby dolls. A single tear drop rolled off my eye because I realized I could never buy one or play with one ever again. My heart broke accepting the reality of adulthood. 

How I wish I could be a child again. What I would'nt give to sniff the top of my baby-doll's golden yellow head and put her to sleep. 

My Culinary Adventures

Thus begins a new chapter in my life - cooking. I had made meticulous cooking notes 3 years ago, just before getting married by spending hours in the kitchen with my ayyah back home in Chennai, only to use it for exactly one week post marriage. 

Work kept me far far away from the kitchen and my local Maharashtrian bai made some tasty vegetarian fare. Each time the husband suggested a dish of his choice, I got worried and shied away from it, partly due to the lack of time and partly because I was just not confident enough.

Each time I heard an oil splutter caused by an onion or a mustard seed, I ran away. I stood 1 km away from the kadai every time I was forced to enter the kitchen. In the past week though, things have changed. Post my morning walk each day, I rush to the kitchen and look forward to creating 1-2 exciting dishes.  

On the first day, I referred to my cooking notes. From the second day, I started relying on my instincts and the results were not too bad. The husband lapped up each dish in a matter of seconds, and even told me to participate in Masterchef Australia because I have a "natural flair for cooking". That was enough motivation to keep at it.

I love my mornings in the kitchen and look forward to each day of whipping up one exotic dish. My days are now consumed with what to eat for lunch the next day. Tomorrow I will make Butter Garlic Prawns and day after I shall attempt a Red Thai Curry Chicken.  

The Six Pieces of My Heart

I walked into Adfactors PR for the sole purpose of having the brand stamped over my resume. It was my 3rd agency in 4 years and my 5th year as a working woman. I was focused, I wanted to be the best employee Adfactors had ever seen and I snuck very tightly back into my shell, to achieve this goal.

But fate had other plans for me. I met six individuals who would forever change my life. When I first met them, I was indifferent and did'nt want to make any personal bonds, I had always made the clear divide in my head that work friends are merely professional colleagues and best friends are strictly from schools and colleges.

This gang of six though brought magic into my life. I was opening up to them as much as I would to my mother. I found my brothers, genuine friends and soul mates in them. I am not going to joke around about all of you anymore by writing a funny poem.

Here it is, my intense suffocating love for all of you tightly packed into mutltiple tumbling paragraphs :

Briteny, the girl who I had heard plenty of stories about and didn't trust with a barge pole. We got into an ugly cat fight in my first week of work. Once the screaming subsided, the guilt began to set in that I had ripped apart a complete stranger without giving her a chance. She soon became my agony aunt, my support system and an extension of my body. The conversations we had were bizarre to the people who heard us talk, but we understood each other like the waves knew it had to go back and forth on a seashore. She understood my unpredictable nature, my impulsiveness, my terrible short temper and my strange mood swings. She brought a calmness to my storm and tamed me into becoming a more care-free and bindaas person.

Abhishek Ji, I have always been fascinated by your views on the world. It is so vastly different from the thinking of my generation and yet we have everything in common with you. I call you "Ji", because of my utmost love and respect for you. You are a complete teddy bear inside and out. Your heart is pure gold and you would never bring malice to anyone's lives.

Bahaar, my protective instincts are always up around you. I will kill anyone who ever hurts you. I hate to see you being taken advantage of by anyone. You are a very brave girl and I am so proud of you for always speaking your mind so fearlessly. I have learnt the maximum Marathi-Hindi gaalis from you. Never change, not one cell in your body. You are perfect, like a flawless diamond that glitters fiercely in the dark.

Gaurav, yet another person of whom I had heard horror stories of. I was petrified of you and thought of you to be a complete monster. But you turned out to be the most logical, kind and mature older brother a girl could ever have. The praises you have showered on me and the incredible career opportunities you throw my way is mind-boggling. No one does that for anyone in today's cut throat world of business. You have become the voice of reason in my head each time I stumble upon a road-block.

Tasneem, I am sorry to have slapped and pinched you so hard that day in the canteen, but it was only because I love you so much that I can't ever hear you teasing me. I know, I'm a spoilt sport. Your kindness and ever enthusiastic spirit to be an active part of every conversation and activity we indulge in is heart-warming. Your Buddha-like exterior and neutral thought process is a refreshing change and very unlike any girl I know. There is the average girl who is always fighting an internal war in her head and then there's you - composed, cool and relaxed all day, everyday.

Shaveer, your moohfat jibes and complete honesty is an absolute entertainment for everyone around you. No one can win a war of words with you, you will always have a hilarious comeback for every sticky situation. You have the ability to stop wars and bloodshed with a simple pun! You bring undiluted joy into people's lives, like a huge jar of Nutella. 

I have left 6 equal pieces of my heart with all of you. There will always be a hole in my heart which can only be filled by you. I really hope and pray from the bottom of my heart that our friendship remains as strong as it is today. I want us to be in each other's lives forever. I want to grow old with you and maybe even get our children married to each other just so that we are forced to be in each other's lives. 

My Extended Madhouse Family

Briteny, the havoc mistress with her big head of curls,

Bahaar, the bold and beautiful one with her heart of pearls,

Abhishek Ji, our entertaining Narad-muni with a burgeoning bag of jibes and jokes,

And how can I forget Mr Shaveer, our polite penguin who is ever-ready to burst Abhishek Ji’s bag with a prompt poke!

Gaurav, the wise one whose knowledge we all wished we had,

Tasneem, you are not too bad

My Obsession with Beauty and the Beast

Woke up this morning and the first thing I did was watch this new trailer of the Beauty and the Beast movie. Of course, my heart began to race faster than the fastest race horse and my mind began to wander.

What is this craze I've had for this story ever since I was 3? 27 years later nothing has changed. I still feel the same way about the movie and all the characters, especially the Beast.

Then it hit me. It's probably the fact that the Beast is a really twisted bad boy. And of course, thanks to the 10,000 gazillion rom-coms that us girls have been subject to growing up, our minds have been drilled into believing that we will all fall in love with bad boys. Bad boys, who change because of us. Bad boys, who suddenly reform their entire lives just to be with us.

Someone once told me (read : evil relative) that life is not a movie. Real life is not reel life. To that person I continue to show my middle finger. Life IS a movie. We write our scripts, we pen our action, drama and romance.

I love you Beast, always have, always will.

Nutella Waffles

I had the happiest one month of bed rest and medical leave all thanks to the humble waffle. Hot, aromatic, crisp and oh so sweet, I hereby dedicate the following poem to the golden brown savory :

Many a gloomy evening, you brightened up,
The Nutella oozing between each golden layer made my heart giddyup,

Each gooey crispy bite made me forget my problems,
I didn't care about the calorie goblins,

Can Nutella waffles bring world peace?
Can wars be put to a cease?

The answer is an astounding yes!
So put on your finest dress,

And head straight to your nearest waffle maker,
To gobble down those little golden monkeys like a clueless baker

(Image Source : http://www.pinkdaisyincucina.com/2012_11_01_archive.html)

Bones, Here Today Gone Tomorrow

Do you know what happens to a person when their bones break? They become living zombies. Alongside losing their bones, they lose their sanity, their peace of mind, their confidence, their independence, their personality and their smiles.

I would know, I am an expert in broken bones. 

2012 - dislocated shoulder - lost my independence to zip around my cute bike

2014 - knuckle and wrist fracture - had to stop lifting dumbbells, whereby lessening my chances of losing my shapeless sausage arms 

2015 - acute lower back pain, suspected slip disc - had to let go of my favorite 5-day a week gym routine

2016 - hairline fracture on the right foot - have to stop running immediately (my last favorite exercise which i clung onto desperately to stay in shape) 

I've never felt so down in the dumps, I'm slipping into that dark whirlpool of self pity, misery and depression. 

The City of Nightmares

Today was just not my day travel wise. Post work, I got onto the wrong bus, the wrong train and the wrong station. But being the oversmart wise-alec I am, I figured "this is an adventure, I will step onto the next train home, if that's the last thing I do". The squashing/pushing/pulling/high pitched abusive Andheri station aunties didn't play party to my plan.

Two attempts of jumping onto the Borivali local were thwarted back on my face, by said aunties. By the time, the Virar local came, I gave up. I quietly walked out of the station, in an attempt to find an auto. But I did'nt know where the heck I was because Andheri station is a bloody maze! I got out of the first exit I found and walked for god knows how long till I saw the main road. I desperately tried to hail down an autorickshaw for the next 20 minutes.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I just wanted to burst into tears and yell "Screw you Mumbai!". I felt as lost as the 21 year old me who came here 8 years ago and fell of a local. 2.5 years in this city and I just want to leave. I have lost my hair, my peace of my mind and my sanity. 

The nightmarish Mumbai monsoons

It's raining cats and dogs in Mumbai. As always, the whole city has gone kaput. Trains are getting diverted, the roads are traffucked more than usual and everyone is catching a bad, never ending viral infection. I was tucked deep inside the darkest corners of my blanket and pillows for over a week. Finally back to work and my throat is still going kitch kitch. 

I wonder why folks romanticize the rains so much on social media platforms. The first drops of the rain and people take walks in the rain and begin instagramming foggy car windows. Why?! The rains cause nothing but trouble.

Here's what happens to normal people like me who travel for over 4 hours to work everyday :

• Cars splash water all over pedestrians and don't give a damn
• When trains pull up on stations it brings with it a mighty splash of dirty rain water that sprays all over people standing on platforms
• Toilets in offices stink more than usual
• Roads get more potholes 
• Share auto-wallahs begin to charge double the fare

If you still love the rains, you're clearly in some dream world. Snap out of it! And pray that this wretched season passes by quickly. 

(Image Source : https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bombay_flooded_street.jpg)

The eternal weight loss struggle

I'm back to being a nice round 60 kilos from a compact 55. It all began 7 months ago when I picked up this new job in Lower Parel. I was suddenly working 12 hours a day from a comfortable 9. I couldn't gym anymore because of my acute lower back issues, my love for food continued to escalate.

It didn't help that my office complex (Kamala mills) had some of the best restaurants in the city. It also didn't help that after each draining client meeting there were amazing bread pakodawalas and puran poli maushis right outside the client's doorstep. And the icing on the cake, I've met an amazing bunch of men and women at work, who also have a deep love for food and love going out or ordering in.

Slowly and steadily the flab began to show, that mad love for food began to overtake the logical side of my brain and here I am looking like a little hippo.. again.

I decided to take charge of my life and I've begun running again - that lost sport which I was too scared to indulge in because of the back pain. 4 days down and I feel creaky like a rusty Godrej almirah, the back is killing me and the knees feel wobbly. But I feel lighter, in control and less guilty about popping that one extra piece of chocolate just before hitting the sack.

There are some people who can eat a kilo of food per meal and look like an anorexic rod and then there's me, I just sniff food (okay, I'm lying, I eat like a grunting caged pig), and bloat like a puffer-fish.

Let the games begin. Food v/s Me. Here's to looking fit and fabulous again!

(Image Source : https://www.pinterest.com/bariljohnny/weight-loss-cartoons/)

Grandmothers

Grandmothers are those fairy God mothers, who have been planted on earth just to keep us out of harm's way. Remember the last major bike accident, that scary auto ride in the middle of the night and all those testing situations when you thought, "Oh shit, I'm screwed"? How do you think you've gotten out of all those tricky numbers without so much as batting an eyelid? Grandmothers!

Mine is tucked away in Trivandrum, praying endlessly for all my whims and fancies to come true. New jobs, promotions, appraisals - all sorted with one whiney phone call to the grandmother.

Grandmothers are those cute fluffy beings who worry endlessly about you and wait tirelessly for that one phone-call every week. Some of their concerns are borderline hilarious, "You work 12 hours a day?! Quit immediately.", "Your plate only has 5 pieces of chicken, 3 pieces of fish and 4 mutton cutlets. You've become such a poor eater!" But that's the thing about grandmothers, they make you question your decisions and give you a whole different perspective, a perspective from a different time and age. Her innocence and purity of heart is a refreshing change from the corrupt, mind-gaming playing, money-driven generation I'm more used to tackling everyday.   

From being petrified of lizards to developing a fine taste for food, from teaching me kick-ass hair styles (fountain ponies were totally in, in the 90s) to making me understand the importance of finishing my home-work before all the fun and games, you've been a wonderful grandmother Ammu. 

I think it's safe to say that the siblings and I would not have been half the people we are, if it weren't for the solid foundation you laid for us. You've pampered us yet been firm, you've held us back from tricky situations and have given us the courage to spread our wings. You've said no and you've said yes. Most importantly, you've taught us to be kind human beings, to help those in need and to give selflessly without thinking about how it will benefit us. 

Musicians

Musicians, that fascinating breed which managed to hold my attention for the longest time. I aspired to be one. I even learnt how to play the guitar just so that I could form a band and get my funk on! Unfortunately, my guitar sir abandoned me after a mere month, made excuses for not showing up and eventually cut my calls.

Being the 'never say never' person I am, I kept at it and began attending numerous underground metal gigs in Chennai at "Unwind Center". "Unwind Center" was a dark, dingy hole in the wall performance venue for the most obnoxious teenage boys from a myriad of random metal bands, along with their 10,000 million anorexic groupies. I tried hard to fit in by wearing black clothes, dark make-up and scary looking junk jewellery. Unfortunately, my roundness (I was 65 kilos back then) gave me away. 

A few years later I met a bunch of "humour metal band" boys who were super talented, humble, down to the earth and the exact opposite of being obnoxious. I found their behaviour rather puzzling. Were'nt they in a band? Where were their groupies? They introduced me to a world of underground metal in Mumbai. These folks looked scary with their gloom and doom metal acts on stage, but were extremely sweet and so approachable offstage!

These "humor metal band" boys opened my eyes to the world of music. They underwent hours of practice (jams, in their language) to perfect every act they pulled off on stage. They spent precious man-hours writing songs, recording them, making them into a full length album and finally selling them to a handful of "fans". 

For the longest time I was proud to be known as their friend. I tagged along with them everywhere. And now that I'm married to the guitarist of the above mentioned band, I see the turmoil in his soul for not being able to really pursue his musical dreams. 

It's time that this country recognized talent and actually paid that talent, HARD CASH. And I don't just speak for the music fraternity, I speak for all artists - painters, writers, poets. We demand recognition! Give it to us today or your future generation are going to be a bunch of unappreciative, artistically illiterate idiots.