Palada Payasam

As I sipped on Starbucks' version of filter coffee,

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

My brain warned me,

Sleep tonight would be far from glee,

As our cab rolled close to home,

And I witnessed a lot of aunties and uncles roam,

Around the colony temple,

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

Greedily watching them take sip after sip,

My mind instantly flipped the regret switch,

Palada payasam right about now,

Would have hit all the right spots and how,

Oh how I miss palada sometimes,

The pangs hit me at the most unexpected times.

Item Girl Dreams

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream gods and casting directors, are you listening? 

A Prolonged Fever

The fever is really fevering today,

It started on a Wednesday,

And hasn't said goodbye yet,

I'm suddenly missing being ammumma's pet,

She would have had Gold Spot ready,

As my head felt heavy,

Two sips of Gold Spot,

Would have hit the right spot,

Fevers are the worst,

It makes you feel cursed,

Both the mind and body are scrambled,

The mouth will probably join in and ramble,

So so sick,

I feel like a pile of useless bricks.

Jumping Riaan

Being crashed on fifty times a day,

In various ways,

With sound effects in toe,

For each "barrel roll",

Starting with wham, crash and boom,

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

Terrorizing peaceful evenings,

And slow, lazy afternoons,

His toothless naughty chuckle,

Has my already broken back in a buckle,

Just another day of being Riaan's mom,

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

Meltdown Fridays

It began with a 5am rain,

Followed by a whole lot of pain,

Hysterical sobs, announcing that school is hard,

And in general that the soul is charred,

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

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

Hands dramatically folded,

Along with his legs nicely moulded,

I gave in quite quickly to his request,

Putting his mind to rest,

School is hard, I agreed,

Sometimes in life, we need the opposite of speed,

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

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

Let them be,

Happy and free. 

Letting Go

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anxiety

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Accountability

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

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

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

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

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

Honouring the Dead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meltdown Sundays

"No" to Nutties at the crack of dawn,

Had my peaceful morning torn,

The next screech was for sharpening pencils,

Never underestimate the will,

Of a 6 year old,

Who has made up his mind to completely fold,

Mouth so wide open, you can see his tonsils,

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

The decibel levels well before 8am,

Will make you want to scram,

Too heavy to pick up and console,

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

A generation that takes us for granted,

With YouTube ideas already firmly planted,

You crack a joke about his kitchen mischief,

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

A quick bounce out of the lap,

And he bursts into hysterical laughs,

I breathe a sigh of relief,

As his mood turns a new leaf,

Tears give way to smiles,

And I realise we have so many more miles,

Of tears and laughter left.

The Friday Exhaustion

The Friday exhaustion is real,

Somewhere in the middle of a ranting call, I heard myself squeal,

And completely broke down over the loss of my husband,

The grief shook me, I assumed I was already accustomed,

Who knew, a tiring week,

Would make me feel so weak,

I was drained,

And relieved,

For letting out a hysterical sob,

I could feel the violent throb,

Inside my brain and heart,

Those feelings never rest,

It hits you waves,

And clogs your breathing and airwaves,

Perhaps I should rest,

But this elephant sized memory that I have, makes me feel both cursed and blessed,

The Friday exhaustion is real,

And it's only human to let out an occasional squeal. 

Whoopsie Wednesdays

Got bitten by an ant this morning,

Accidentally broke a glass bottle without warning,

The brain's a ball of mush today,

Just the same as yesterday 

I struggle to put one word in front of the other,

My edits, a failed attempt to smother,

The key message, 

Splat in the middle of every tumbling paragraph, like a stubborn carriage,

Perhaps I am done,

I stop typing so maniacally, my fingers exhausted from being a rabid gun,

I munch on a giant Toblerone bar,

Trying to erase invisible scars,

A shitty day can always be turned around,

Simply by looking around,

Exhausting Wednesdays,

In our heads we dramatically convert them to doomsdays.

Drunk Awakenings

As I down one sugary glass of alcohol after another,

The face of my late love begins to appear, without too much of a bother,

I truly believe,

Alcohol has the ability to weave,

Reality with fiction,

I suddenly begin to natter without restriction,

Let me correct, natter more,

Perhaps I become a bore,

In my most drunk state,

I feel great,

On top of the world even,

While the floor beneath my feet feels uneven,

I cannot be trusted with alcohol,

My body gets into a slow crawl,

My brain's contents further enhanced,

I become entranced,

With everything and nothing,

I find myself constantly chuckling,

High my spirits,

Along with the alcoholic spirits,

Cheers!

Brothers

This bonding of brothers,

Is like no other,

They scream and fight,

With all their might,

When it's time to bid adieu,

Their hearts turn blue,

Sobbings eyes and hysterical chests,

Their minds are far from rest,

The love they have for one another,

Is like no other,

All you can do is stand by and watch,

Witnessing their love for one another go up every year by a notch,

How wonderful that they have one another,

This beautiful bond of brothers,

Bonded by blood,

Our family's three little studs.

The Juggle is Real

I'm not sure what is worse, being a single parent during Parent Teacher Meetings and Annual Day functions or knowing that even if my husband was alive, he wouldn't have taken an interest in attending any of these school do's.

For the most part, I don't feel the pinch of taking on the burden of a dead husband. This is all thanks to my supportive family, who try their best to show up for all these events along with me.

So while I witness full families in all their grandeur, for such programs, I'm still thankful for my mother or an occasional generous friend, who takes the burden off me for collecting uniforms, school books and attending school events with me.

It's hard, having to be two people at the same time, at two different places. I have to completely let go of work, while I'm trying to fulfill my motherly duties and I have to completely forgo my child, while I'm focusing at work.

My brain works on overdrive on most days, trying to make sure nothing slips off the list. Project submissions at work, buying gifts for birthday parties, shutting between tuition classes and work calls, the list is neverending and exhausting.

It's ironic how we're expected to build careers and raise our children at the same time. Every generation and the ones before us have done it and I look back at each one of them in awe.

The burnout is real, which is why I take to oversweetened cocktails and liquor shots every once in a while. To everyone going through this juggle, let's survive and thrive. Cheers! 

The Youngest and The Loudest

Growing up with three much older siblings, I was almost always left out from kiddie games, conversations and even card games well into my 20s. It hurt, the negligence and the neglect. But I'm just being dramatic now.

The plus side of being the youngest, was always being showered with gadgets, chocolates and clothes, much before it hit Indian shores. 

I grew up loud and attention seeking, partly because I was always left out and partly because I'm probably a little bit of a drama queen. But which woman isn't?

I spent a glorious 4 days off with my cousins in Trivandrum last week and came to realise, these men and women, along with their spouses know how to pamper me shitless.

My sweet older sister who knows absolutely nothing about superheroes, discovered a superhero store in Lulu Mall, Trivandrum. She proceeded to wake me up in the middle of my afternoon slumber and video called me to show me all the bobble heads around her. Our conversation went like this, "Gayu, do you like this little warrior lady?" 

"I already have Wonder Woman, show me someone else", I replied. "What about this masked man with an A?", she persisted. "I don't want Captain America. Do they have Spiderman hanging upside down?" I enquired. And our conversation went on like this for about a solid 5 minutes, until I zoned in on a handsome Deadpool figurine.

The next morning I was all set to catch my flight back to Chennai. I dressed up my 6 year old in a Transformers tshirt which my brother had picked up for him.

"Thanks for the wonderful Transformers tee for Riaan Swaroop chetta", I told my brother. "You're welcome. I remembered that he had Transformer toys at home", he replied. "Those toys are mine", I answered with a Cheshire cat grin.

He chuckled for a good 2 minutes and promised to buy me a Batman figurine which he had seen in the Chennai airport.

My siblings and their spouses have a special place in my heart. They've seen me in my diapers, they've seen me getting my first job, they've seen me falling in love, they've witnessed me breaking down completely 3.7 years ago and through it all they have stood by me with chocolates and toys, always handy.

What a blessing to have so many siblings and now their spouses, whom I get to call my own. What a pleasure it is to be the youngest born. 

Post Swim Blues

A mighty fall has been had,

On my butt I fell after a glorious swim, it was bad,

I felt on top of the world,

Until I found myself hurled, 

A slip of the feet,

Jute hotel slippers on wet concrete, it was quite a feat,

To have been a graceful swan one minute,

And a waddling injured duck the next, all under a minute,

I held my bum in pain,

With my left palm, which also felt sprained,

As I crawled back to my room,

I felt a sense of gloom,

I bumped into my tiny human,

Who was flanked on both side by my parents, like crewmen,

I cribbed about my mighty fall,

To them all,

Hopefully the rest of the day will be uneventful,

I'm ready to devour the scrumptious local cuisine in huge mouthfulls.

Love In A Single Frame

Love in a single frame,

All my favourite food in big fat portions, despite the pouring rain,

Thatukada chicken, naadan chilli chicken, palada payasam and mutta puffs, all under one roof,

This is proof,

That food is love and love is food,

An instant brightener of moods,

A quick trip down memory lane,

The days when life felt more sane,

No responsibilities,

A childhood filled with endless possibilities,

All revolving around games and food,

Life was simple and good,

We relive those simple days,

Through various ways,

Gobbling down food we grew up on,

Until one of us stifles a yawn,

Is one of those ways,

I can't wait for tommorow's rays,

To continue gobbling down to my heart's content.

Stranger Things

There were very few things in life poopie (my late husband) and I agree upon. Stranger Things was one of them. We had divorce inducing fights over who watched one more episode of the series alone, sneakily at night, disregarding the other.

Our taste in music, food, clothes, hobbies and lifestyle were vastly different. Yet, we were madly in love with each other.

Everytime a new season of Stranger Things drops, my heart skips a melancholic beat. I realise the vaccum in my life, left behind by my manchild husband. I suddenly have no one to argue with anymore on Stranger Things.

A world without you, even after 3 years and 7 months seems surreal. What a pity, you never got to see the Hawkins kids grow up and get into more adventures. What a pity, we can no longer binge watch the series together in complete silence. 

I'll miss you as I watch the final season this year. And I'll always wonder why this had to happen to us. 

Mothers and Tanning

Indian mothers are obsessed with their daughters tanning. Mine didn't show obvious biases except whenever it came to my career choices. "Mom I want to join the army", was met with "Shee! They'll make you cut your hair like a boy and you will do rigorous drills under the sun all day. Don't you like your hair and skin?"

"Mom, I should have continued being a journalist like Lois Lane and I may have met Superman", to which she replies, "And stand under the sun on fields all day to get one comment? Think again!"

Scorching summers, the sun and Indian mothers do not go hand in hand. I almost feel like crying and laughing when I recall these conversations today. How on earth can someone's career choices be dependent on heat?

Fifteen years in corporate communications and one child later, do I have life regrets? Yep. Just like anyone else. Therefore, the one thing that I do proudly now is to take a glorious dip under the 4pm sun in Gymkhana Club's heavily chlorinated pool.

I step out looking like an overbaked potato, nicely tanned and shriveled up. And that's my answer to tanning in the sun. Tan however much you want to, because the sun was created for you and me.

Too late to switch careers now, but it's never too late to sun-bathe and look like a juicy, burnt ripe watemelon. 

I have no solutions though, for the brain frying we endure during the weekdays. Sigh!