Butter Chicken

Kerala porotta and butter chicken,

Is sure to make your heart weaken,

Sickness or good health,

There is no greater wealth,

Than drowning yourself in luscious butter chicken,

I feel my pulse quicken,

My mood brighten,

The knots in my heart loosen up and lighten,

There's no problem in the world that butter chicken can't solve,

I find my body pain dissolve,

Come fever, ill health,

Or even if you're in the pink of health,

Butter chicken is your friend for life,

Dont believe me, have a bite and experience the euphoric feeling of being alive,

Butter chicken, thank you for being born,

A couple of bites of you and I no longer feel forlorn. 

Embracing Widowhood

I was 34 with a 2 year old in toe, when my husband decided to pop off at work. Now, I had two options - cry about it until kingdom come or get my shit together and figure this out. I chose option #2 obviously, because I hate crying. 

In this three year period, I suddenly became the poster girl for death. All and sundry began to reach out to me over young dead people falling flat. I counselled them and then found myself taking a dig at my Bailey's.

Have I been able to shut down the darkness in my head, after three years? Nope. That was my husband and my life that went up in smoke. The darkness lives on, and I am the darkness. Picture a chatty, annoying Batman who asks too many questions. I am chatty Batman. Hello! Nice to meet you. 

To everyone experiencing death right now, there's no easy way to figure this out. Plunge yourself in the pain. Cry it out, eat it out, scream it out, break it out. There's no one size fits all, when it comes to curing grief. And there's no curing grief by the way. You'll always be grieving.

Your dead loved ones, will sneak up into your brain, when you least expect it. I cope with Bailey's - multiple flavours - Espresso, Caramel, Bailey's original and then there's low fat, sugar free icecream too. But nothing beats my Bailey's. 

I'm sane, most of the time. But when I'm not, I allow myself to just be. I let my cuckoo self out and allow her to cry and scream. Single parenting along with widowhood, is like taking a walk in the park - the Jurassic Park. My child roars louder than a T-Rex. 

But it's all good, I'm as happy as I can possibly be given the circumstances. Life is filled with decadent ada-pradhaman and play dates. I have a wonderful family and lovely girlfriends. What more could I possibly ask for?

Changes

As I stand on the threshold to another change,

The darkness in my head decides to take centerstage,

All alone again,

Just about to step into a brand new terrain,

You're not here, yet again,

As I stand to lose or gain, 

Anxiety and sadness fill my heart,

Perhaps I should drown myself in art,

Or eat an icecream,

To quickly dry up my tear-stream,

You're not listening anyway,

To the thoughts I mumble out everyday,

Another path, another adventure,

This life without you is definitely not a curse,

But the journey is bittersweet,

For I know we'll take a long time to meet,

My work has just begun,

Now is not the time to come undone,

Wish me luck and sprinkle some magic from up above,

My one true love. 

My Dearest Poopie

It was in that scene of Marcus dying,

I began crying,

The exact moment was when Captain Howard hugged Marcus in heaven and whispered, "It's not your time,"

That I burst into hysterical fits, 

No one hugged you and told you the same,

Instead you went straight up and nothing has ever been the same, 

I can still hear your laughter ringing in my ears,

And can smell your freshly brewed Espresso after all these years,

There's a vast ocean of emptiness,

An unerasable heaviness,

You're everywhere,

Yet nowhere,

As Marcus stuck out his naked bum,

And held onto his best chum,

I laughed and cried,

Knowing how much you would've loved watching the latest Bad Boys movie with me, 

My soulmate in heaven,

I'll find you in another life, afterall there are seven. 

My Little Boy

My little boy, is an adamant one,

He has a fever of 101,

Yet, he wants to go to his play gym,

I have to give in to his every whim,

The word NO,

Makes him throw his head back and roar,

He screams, he cries and he stomps his feet,

Along with racing his baby heart beat,

Short tempered and full of drama,

Everyone around him mutters, "Rama-Rama"

With a mind of his own,

He's on a league of his own,

A rebel without a cause,

His naughtiness has no pause,

I put up a fight,

With all my might,

I'm determined to convert this monkey,

Into a gentleman and not a toy hoarding junkie,

Wish me luck,

And the strength to make many more bucks,

I'll need both to raise my boy wonder,

There's a lot to ponder,

Our work has just begun,

But we'll do it together, as a team of one.

Three

Three years since you've been physically gone,

Your memories still live on,

I miss our late night drives,

Those are chapters from our life, which I've mentally archived,

You knew me, like the back of your hand,

For most of our fights, you took a stand,

Gaajar halwa or Theobroma brownies,

Instantly took away my frownies,

I'm eyeing a Minnie Mouse ring watch now,

Which I know you would've picked up for me, had you been alive,

I miss you quietly and loudly,

I mourn you proudly,

Happy to have met you,

Blessed to have been married to you, 

I'm mostly okay,

 I've mastered how to push the pain away. 

Srinagar Colony

Three decades of being a resident,

Long enough to watch dad getting involved with the colony president,

He is an active member of the colony happenings,

A cozy, yet mildly happening,

Residential colony, for all ages across,

Everyone's a boss,

In Srinagar Colony,

Opinions are made and decisions are swayed, all inside the colony,

From the colony temple to the juice shop,

To every maid's mop,

Everyone is treated with dignity and respect,

In Srinagar Colony, including snakes, monkeys, cows, goats and dogs,

Every house vastly different from the other,

It's a colony like no other,

Sleepy at times,

Sometimes loud, for no reason or rhyme,

A minister being arrested,

A new idol being erected,

All this is enough and more,

For the colony to instantly wake up and mute their snores,

An amalgamation of old and new,

A walk inside Srinagar colony, will have you feeling anew. 

Home

Home, where the fridge is loaded with your favourite treats,

Right from sambar rice to every imaginable meat,

The kitchen always smells of ghee,

Filling your heart with glee,

One of the parents are always pottering around,

The clanging of snack boxes, a permanent sound,

You sleep your deepest sleeps,

As your parents quietly peep,

You find the strength to solve every problem,

Even if you hit rock bottom,

There's food and drink galore,

To make all your grievances fly away and soar,

By the end of the weekend,

Your mind is well rested, you're ready to blend,

Back into the weekly grind,

And the ready to face the world, that can sometimes be unkind,

But you've got this,

For the next weekend of bliss,

Is not too far away,

And home awaits, ready to melt your blues away.

Bullies

As my little boy gets bullied in school,

I tell him to be cool,

A slap for a slap,

Or a clap for a clap,

While non-violence is the way forward,

If the opponent is violent, there's no stepping backward,

Fight your fight and stand your ground,

I tell him to his little face that is semi-round,

He cries in response,

Saying this isn't what he wants,

So bullied he gets,

While I try not to fret,

I wonder who the parents are,

So that I can give them a slap for a slap, for my child's lifelong scar,

Bullies are horrid,

They have to be caught and reported,

I prefer the path of violence,

While my skinny cherub, prefers non violence,

Sigh!

Your Music

It was in the middle of listening to "The Weeknd,"

That my knees weakened,

"Why not listen to your songs?"

I thought,

I quickly searched for your bands on YouTube,

And began listening to it on loop,

Watching you in your element on stage,

Instantly took me back to a different age,

Your heart and soul, were always inside those concerts,

Watching you headbanging on stage, made my mind hurt,

How much grief I gave you for jamming over the weekends,

I instantly regretted those fights,

Can't stand to go to any concert now,

Because I know, I'll no longer bump into you there anymore. 

Empty

I am a void, a void is me,

There is debris,

That doesn't want to clear,

Instead it grows with every passing year,

My life is full,

Yet I feel a pull,

To everything dead,

My heart is no longer filled with dread,

Just acceptance, of a beautiful past,

And memories that are vast,

Three years since you've been gone,

I wonder if I am still in mourn, 

Perhaps I am, perhaps I'm not,

All I can feel are tight knots,

Inside my mind and chest,

The feeling doesn't go away even after a full night's rest.

Heal

"You've healed", said someone I recently met,

"Nope", I replied without too much of a fret,

I never healed, and that's my secret,

The fact that I've learnt to outwit,

My moody brain,

Is a skill I've learnt over time, I keep my emotions on a tight chain,

I break down so quietly,

No one hears it, the whole affair is done privately,

My pillows absorb my tears,

And the bawling falls on no one's ears,

I'm happy and sad,

Spend a day with me and you'll learn I'm quite mad,

Mad over a life that went by too quickly,

Glad that it happened even if I feel rickety,

Someday I'll be happy,

Until then I'll try not to be snappy,

No promises!

Sleep-Deprived Poopie

A glass of whiskey in hand,

He would tower over my sleeping frame and command,

Undivided attention at midnight,

The calls would begin by twilight,

"What do you want from the airport?",

"Toys for Riaan and food for you?"

As we'd drift into a delicious sleep,

He'd enter the house with a bag full of treats,

On our blue lounger he'd plonk,

With a glass of whiskey and smoke,

Exhausted beyond recognition,

Yet clear on his mission,

Stories of work and people,

He painted a rosy picture, while I sensed evil,

A couple of months later he was no more,

His whiskey bottles are probably in the store. 

Riaan's Eyelashes

A topic of discussion, as endless as his lashes,

"Ooh" and "aah" go the ladies, with mere flashes,

Of my baby boy's lashes,

The volume of clashes,

With the belief that women deserve thick curly lashes,

While boys end up in silly brawls and bike crashes,

"Who did you get such pretty lashes from? Mom or dad?", asked his hairdresser,

At that exact moment, I felt a tightening in my chest,

"His father has long been laid to rest",

Words that never escaped my mouth,

Instead I looked at my beautiful boy and his toothless mouth,

Grinning at me beatifically,

His tiny feet pattering,

At great speed towards me,

We belong to each other, that much I could guarantee,

As he enveloped me in a warm cuddle,

His freshly cut hair, reaching my tummy, we stood there in a quiet huddle,

My baby boy and his lashes,

Has everyone's heart in a tizzy, in mere flashes. 

Laddoos

Memories of golden fried laddoos,

Float in my head in panels divided by two,

On one panel, I see ammumma,

An image I instantly want to laminate,

On the other panel, I see her fluffy hands,

Vigorously churning the laddoos in ghee as it lands,

Inside the huge hot cauldron,

The laddoos all assembled for her like an edible squadron,

Inside the piping hot ghee,

All her grandkids looking at it in glee,

Waiting to gobble it up,

Like greedy little pups,

I miss those laddoos,

And the maker of those laddoos.

Love

Love, that elusive drug,

Which wraps our hearts in a warm hug,

There's no such thing as too much love,

It's not a feeling that you want to hide away or shove,

Love is a warm mug of hot chocolate,

It makes you less articulate,

You don't explain it,

Just feel it,

And you'll know when it's right, 

Upon first sight,

Lucky are those who've never fallen out of love, 

You've found yourself a precious treasure trove. 

Closure

You wonder why the living act like the dead,

Cold and unfeeling, almost like they have a heart that never bled,

There's nothing you can do,

But let them go,

You're not cold, 

Your heart is warm and your thoughts are old,

You're from a different world,

One that experienced love and watched it gorgeously unfurl,

There's magic in vulnerability,

It gives you stability,

So continue beating that warm heart of yours,

The right ones will gravitate towards your lure. 

Stree 2

"Vicky pleej" and crew are back. They're funnier than ever and this time they get to battle a meaner, bigger and more powerful demon whose past is closely linked to Stree.

The bumbling village idiots manage to vanquish the demon eventually with a little help from all things supernatural and Vicky of course or "Chanderi ka rakshak" as he's fondly referred to by the villagers. 

Love is at the core of both franchises. Mess someone's love life up and they will come back to haunt you and your entire families. 

So live your best life and fulfill all your heart's desires, or watch yourself turn into a bloodthirsty, happiness-sucking ghost with a grotesque-looking charred face. 

Doused with a generous dose of humour and a screechy demon, Stree 2 is an absolute must watch for lovers of horror-comedy.

Lizard Run

As the morning rains, pitter-pattered against my window,

My mind recalled my baby's crazy lizard chase and follow,

He kept at it vigorously with a feather duster,

My brave little 5 year old, with all the courage he could muster,

Witnessing his screechy mom,

He decided to chase the lizard with aplomb, 

"You shouldn't be scared of small animals mumma",

He said, like a baby alpha,

The mini-man of my house,

Engaged in a game of cat and mouse,

With the nasty little lizard, who had buried himself in my cupboard,

Not once did he shudder,

Or back down, from his lizard chase,

But it was a case,

That had no conclusion,

The search goes on for the elusive lizard whose absence fills our minds with confusion,

Is he still in the cupboard or not,

We'll never know, until he's caught,

A moment's applause now for my mighty tot,

For trying hard to chase away the lizard from every spot.

Feel All Your Feelings

I’m a big believer of this simple life mantra. Hold in your grief, trauma and insecurities and it will burst like a volcano all over yourself and others. Therefore, feel all your feelings. Just let it out. When my husband passed away close to three years ago, I didn’t feel all my feelings. Or maybe I did. I recall suppressing a lot of emotions, until one day I exploded and ultimately got hospitalized. That was my wake-up call to finally feel all my feelings.

It might sound absurd and ridiculous, but feeling all your feelings and letting it flow out like hot molten lava is the best thing to do if you want mental stability and peace of mind. Cry, when you want to cry. Scream, when you want to scream. Break things if you must. Channelizing helps to an extent, but ultimately, you’ve got to feel all your feelings.

The universe did you wrong, this should never have happened and you’re sad. So be sad. Cry yourself a river like Justin Timberlake rightly crooned. You’d think that spousal death at 34 with a 2-year-old to fend for is life’s biggest problem. I realized there was so much more ahead of me. I’ve become more hot-headed than ever; I snap faster than a twig and my patience and tolerance levels for stupidity have gone down to absolute zero.

Getting into a Zen-zone and turning into mini-Buddha is my next life goal. But for now, one day and one idiot at a time. Let people have it. The good ones get all my love and affection. The idiots get a solid bashing on their face or on their screens (depends on where they’ve reached out to me).

We’re all great people. God’s unique masterpieces. And no one in the world should make us feel like second best. Speak your mind. Be loud, inappropriate and get out there and do things you truly love. Ultimately everything will fall into place. If not, you’ll still figure it out because human beings are survivors at their very core. We generally pass every single litmus test in the world, statistically speaking.

Look at all the faffing I did up there and you believed it. As I said, speak your mind, even if it’s garbage. Someone’s garbage is another man’s gold.  So, keep being you, keep spewing garbage or gold, depending on who is listening, reading and watching.

Have a great weekend everyone!