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.

Riaan's Mumma

There is no greater feeling that being a parent. You will be entertained and tormented 24*7. There is no "me-time" or free time, once you have a little devil to tend to. And they are, the spawn of the devil himself, let no one tell you otherwise! 

Let me also tell you though, in the chaos, the screaming and the mess, you will find yourself falling more and more in love with your child. It's almost feels like you waited for this tiny person your whole life. How did you even exist without him for so long?

I was very clear I wanted a son, until I had a son. Now i look at little girls, their fluffy little dresses and long to be a girl-mom. The maternal instinct in me, has always been very high. 

I was more excited to become a mom, than the day I got married or got a promotion or a pay hike. You could say, the day, I became a mom, was the most defining moment of my life. Nothing gave me greater joy, if you can ignore the initial few months of perennial nursing, filled with no sleep and post-partum depression. 

New born maamaas and babies are both grouchy and cranky. Thread with caution! Never visit a new born when you're sick, don't kiss them on the face and don't hang around their house for endless hours. Both individuals need sleep or food or Netflix! So just let them be. Visiting a new born is only exciting for you, never for the infant or the mother. 

As cliched as it may sound, with the birth of a child, a mother is born too. Babies don't come with user manuals or remote controls, so you learn on the job. And it's the best job in the world. 

Your mornings and nights are incomplete without their cuddles and "I love yous". The excruciating pain of child-birth is all worth it, as you watch them grow into the intelligent, entertaining beings that they are. 

I'm blessed to be born as Riaan's Mumma. I pray we keep finding our way back to each other, in this birth and the next. 

22 Lessons 2022 Taught Me

1. You are alone and no one can fix that, except you

2. No one really understands what you're going through, except you

3. Having a child is not a consolation prize next to a dead husband

4. However, being a parent is the greatest gift 

5. Your memories never really fade, instead they play on an endless loop, like background music waiting for the volume to be cranked up or down

6. You end up having to bear the weight of your dead spouse's decisions, alone, for the rest of your life

7. Even with an army of well-wishers and loving family by your side, you're alone, because no one can replace your young husband

8. You really want to give one last whack on your late husband's head, because what was he thinking really?

9. Did I really know this person of 14 years?

10. Was it all just a dream?

11. Can I ever find happiness again?

12. Just like life, death is messy and complicated too

13. You can't forgive or forget 

14. Coming back to my parental home was the best and the worst thing that happened to me. Best, because my child is surrounded by so much love and an overdose of pampering. Worst, because I've become an oversized infant all over again. 

15. Work is great, but long weekends are even greater

16. There is no such thing as work-life balance. There is only maddening, bone-crushing, never-ending work. 

17. Everything reminds me of my late husband - starting with the morning fog to the crickets chirping in the night

18. It sucks that he can never see his child growing up

19. Once the romance fades, there's a pile of household chores, office-work and baby-work. If you're a partner who doesn't contribute in easing this load, then there's a problem

20. I no longer believe in the magic of love, because it got me widowed 

21. Forgiving my dead husband is not in the cards anytime soon

22. I can never be at peace with his untimely death 

Prolonged Grief

Hospitals along with it's the forgotten corners with empty stretchers strategically placed there, will always remind me of my husband's motionless body. For a split second, I thought it was all a cruel joke. He hardly looked like a corpse. 

His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted. I shook him violently, forcing him to wake up. But he paid no heed. That moment changed everything. The sinking feeling of being completely alone for the rest of my life, hit me like a boulder falling off a cliff and crushing everything under its impact. 

Prolonged Grief; a state of still being in utter shock and disbelief over having your world ripped in two. You're basically an empty Easter egg without the chocolatey goodies inside. You have nothing to give to the world, except darkness. You're Wednesday Addams with a better sense of dressing. 

Prolonged Grief; it takes your breath away, when you least expect it. You find it staring back at you when you catch a band doing sound-check in a mall and when someone at work says, "Close your eyes and be grateful for just being alive" and my brain immediately retorts, "But why should I, a widow with a toddler to fend for, be grateful? My life is hard. I see fairy tales all around me and larger than life weddings, while my partner of 14 years just dropped dead. So no, I'm not grateful"

I have the best parents in the world. They have rooted for me every step of the way. But even with them by my corner, I feel shattered. I never want to be let down by another human being ever again. I've cello-taped all the pieces of my heart to never experience that pain again. 

They say time heals, they lied. They say, the memories fade, they lied again. The reality is, I'll always be the person whose presence makes all the lights in the room, go off. I'll always feel sad and carry the burden of my husband's absence. And that's okay. 

Life is not a bed roses. It is infact hard, horrible, abrupt and bone crushingly final just like death. 

Forward

A little over a year, since Riaan and I found ourselves in this new reality. My young husband's death, was equivalent to the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the months that followed, my toddler and I faced terrible side effects - physically and mentally. 

The debris in both our minds, will probably take years to clear. But we're moving forward, with immense help from immediate family and well-wishers. 

In times of crisis, it becomes crystal clear who your real friends are and were all along. Expect nothing from anybody. No one can help you, unless you want to help yourself. 

The choice to overcome any hurdle and create a reasonably driven life, is in your hands. While I've always loved working, becoming a mother and having someone to call my own, gave me greater purpose. 

I push through hard days at work, for my son. I stopped wallowing in self-pity after abruptly becoming a widow, for my son. Everything I do, is for my son.

So that's what I'm going to do for the rest of my life - be a mother. I'm not "brave" or "strong", I'm just a mother, doing right by her child. I've left behind the anger stage of my grief, for my son. He doesn't like it when my voice is raised and when I sound aggressive.

If there is a God who can orphan my child of his father, I'm sure he will give us something else to cling on to. Right now we're clinging on to each other. Me, a little more than him. 

Forward, that's how we must lead the rest of our lives. With or without, a father and a husband.

365 Days Of Grief

Close to a year, since I became a widow, had to double up as two parents, transformed into the Hulk; learnt to keep that rage in check (a little) and found my way back into the world of the living.

I died too, on December 6th at 4.30pm. And I continued to die multiple deaths on the days and weeks that followed. During those initial days, my baby kept asking me, why his Baba didn't take his suitcase with him, when he went to God. And then I caught him hugging that suitcase to sleep one night.

The more my son asks me why his father left without saying goodbye, the more I want to live, for him. One parent has irreversibly broken his heart. Psychologists claim children without fathers are aimless, anxious, insecure, clingy and troublesome. 

So I better be alive for his rebellious teen years, his know-it-all 20s and his back-breaking 30s. I'm not going anywhere! Infact, I'm going to hold him to his promise of making 10,000 babies - 5000 cars and 5000 tiny humans (his words, not mine).

My 2.11 year old shook me out of my lunacy/grief/depression. His scared little face and podgy fingers vigorously wiping away my tears, cemented my heart. Going forward, all my decisions will be cold, calculated and self-preserving. 

Grief is like an annoying pigeon, that poops on you, on a bright Monday morning. It comes in the form of management consultants who sit behind you all day at work, who closely resemble your late husband. Same clothes, same banter and the same sleep deprived, tired looking faces.

Then there's the short, slightly podgy, black T-shirt donning chap at the mall, who eerily resembles your late husband. Infact, my child ran behind this fellow, screaming, "Baba! Baba!"

I'm subject to, "Bring Baba back" and "Baba is my favorite" everyday. His baby-brain has wiped away memories of his father's motionless body. He doesn't understand the concept of death, which makes his grief so much more painful than mine. 

In the middle of a screechy, stompy 20 minute, toddler meltdown, he admits, "I'm sad that Baba is gone. He should have stayed with us forever" 

Grief, it multiplies when friends leave your side and when you're told to "quickly move on" and "forget". But grief also irreversibly changes you, a newer, more confident version of you emerges, because you have nothing to lose anymore. So might as well break a leg and unleash your madness into the world.

In the words of Rajnikanth, "En vazhi, thani vazhi"

The Physical Pain Of Bereavement

The pain of bereavement is not restricted to just the insides of your head. It travels all over your body. You feel it in the pit of your stomach, you feel the heaviness in your chest and you feel it on your lower back. It's like carrying a ton of bricks that you never wanted to hold in the first place.

Therefore therapy doesn't work. I realised this very quickly, two months into my grief to be precise. I had to bid goodbye to my very sweet lady therapist after eight weeks. Talking about it, wasn't helping. It was doing the exact opposite!

An illness I thought I had gotten rid off, came back to me with full force. That's grief. When you try and suppress it with forced laughter and piles of work, it comes back to haunt you as a painful disease. My colleague and work mentor, Shina warned me about this from the moment she saw me. I'm a living testament of her warning, "The pain needs a place to go. If you don't release it, it will eventually sit inside you and kill you".

I can't live for my child, unless I learn to live for myself. "You can't rush the process. After a year, you can't beat yourself up, asking why do I still feel so low?" adviced Mary, another work mentor, I look upto. It will take days, months and years, to feel "normal". This is my "new normal" now.

My husband's death broke my child and me. There's no undoing that damage. My child is always anxious and insecure. He keeps asking his grandparents and me, if I'll disappear at work, like his father. He expects me to not come back from work, just like his father. And he expects, that I will forget him and choose work over him, just like his father. 

I don't know how to fix my child, because I don't know how to fix myself. No team outings, no boozy sessions with colleagues and no amount of holidays can make me forget. My late husband slips into my head, sneakily and without warning. 

I thought of him when I went through an MRI machine last week. I recalled that he went through the same machine, one month before he died. I recalled walking with him and the baby at a local mall in Powai, on a Sunday afternoon, just before knocking off to sleep, two nights ago.

I'm trying my best to uproot these memories from my head, but they always come back to haunt me. These memories don't evoke joy anymore. They remind me of a life I once had and can never experience again.

I've been told to get married from the moment I've sprinkled my late husband's ashes away, into an obscure looking tank in Bombay. "Get married, you're too young", "Get married, for the child's sake", "Get married and you will be happy again" and the icing on the cake, "Did you not check your horoscope before marrying this boy? This tragedy could have been avoided then" The last remark was made by a fellow widow!

I've watched "Beauty and the Beast", more than 40 times as a child and have scoured through every last Mills and Boons novel in Madras Gymkhana Club's library. To call myself, a romantic fool would be the understatement of the decade! My relationship with my late husband was a Bollywood movie. I'll just leave it at that. 

Pain, it's completely physical. I don't know how to fix it, but I will fight it. I will stand up to it and I will push back. In the fight and the war against pain, I will always win. 

I've been cut up and heartbroken ever since my husband passed, but I've never allowed myself to feel depressed. In the first week of his passing I folded my hands across my chest and walked shakily through the hilly roads of Chandivali, wondering, "Who will protect me now?"

Close to 12 months since he died, I realise, "I, me and myself". I'm the only saviour I need, I'm beauty and the beast, I'm Rapunzel and her charming prince. I'm my own knight in shining armour. 

My Big Brother

My big brother,

Is like no other,

Growing up with him was both interesting and scary,

I was always a little wary,

Of all his whims and moods,

He has the most profound taste, when it comes to food,

Zomato and Swiggy have a ball, when he's in town,

He can bring the roof down,

With the everyday festivity of food and drinks,

In two blinks,

We become round, happy souls again,

And our clothes begin to strain,

While all of us lounge around and sleep with the food overdose,

Big B rushes to the gym, looking groggy and morose, 

That's his secret to always looking young and pretty,

While the rest of us remain round as ever, but hopefully witty,

If I have to be honest, I've taken him for granted,

But some of my best ideas, he has planted,

He is awesome, 

Under his guidance, you're sure to blossom,

A word of caution though, the man is full of ammo,

So try to keep up and don't be slow,

Today is his birthday,

So let's all wish him, on his special day.

Ambivalent

The perks of living at home,

Equates to being the emporer of Rome,

I doubt Ceaser, made as many demands,

As Riaan baby, wringing his grandparents' hands,

Such a pleasure living with mummy and daddy,

After bidding adieu to my husband's motionless body,

If this dreadful year, has a silver lining,

It has to be my parents, who encourage me to keep climbing,

No crisis is too large,

All you have to do is fearlessly take charge,

Look at pain in the face,

And command it to vanish without a trace,

All is right with the world,

Despite the father of my child, being in the netherworld,

I'm no longer a ghost,

I'd rather raise a toast,

To all that has passed and is yet to come,

So why be glum,

When you can choose to be ambivalent instead 

The Dynamic Duo

It took me sometime to warm up to the boy,

But now he's my favourite person to annoy,

The woman is a diva,

She's entered my heart and crossed complicated borders, without so much as a visa,

Together they are a force to reckon with,

A dynamic duo, with whom I don't need to politely wordsmith,

We're loud, we're inappropriate,

We scandlize families, that look prim, proper and quite appropriate,

You probably don't want to sit next to us for dinner or lunch,

Or maybe you do, because our words pack quite a punch,

We oscillate between reality and fiction,

We speak without unabashed restriction,

When we unite there is magic in the air,

I even turned my boring black hair,

Electric blue, 

To look brand new,

Sho and Kiron, Kiron and Sho,

My love for them just shows.