Put Together

 How I detest that phrase - Put together! 

Of the many nicknames I had decades ago, my favorite was 'Scent'. I was called 'scent'. Referred to in conversations as 'scent'. And I liked it. Because it was a non-negotiable part of me - smell good every second of every day. I splurged recklessly on luxury perfumes (My weakness then and now). But those were also the days, I never stepped out of the room without kohl lining my eyes, hair brushed till it was shining, and clothes so neatly ironed and starched.

Fast forward years later, dealing with a third-time postpartum body and an absolutely blank mind, I suck at being 'Put together'. I run errands in my pajamas and would rather spend the 5 minutes before stepping out praying that I run into absolutely no one I know! I love the harsh winters for that reason; cover-ups are easy. 

Hate pool season

Hate having to run into school for voluntary sessions

Hate cookie season, where social interactions are mandatory

If it is not a car drop-off or pick-up, I am not thrilled about doing it

Parties and social obligations cripple my mind and body both! - I despair before each event, crying about how nothing I own fits me or looks good on me. 

For someone who spent hours in every store and street in Bangalore, shopping till I dropped dead, I cannot even bring myself to shop online nowadays. It gives me no joy. On the contrary, it sends me into dejection.

I loved heels (still do). I have walked hours on end in the most absolutely painful stilettos and carried them with much grace and charm. I cannot even bring myself to get out of my fuzzy, woozy flat slipper now. Not that, I don't love my heels anymore. My mind chooses to discourage me. It decides to lecture me on the crippling back pain that I might endure if I embark on the adventurous stilettos journey.

It is not just about what I wear or how I look, it is also about who I was Vs who I have become. I used to fold my neatly ironed clothes and organize them by color. Now I am relieved if I can pull one clean outfit straight out of the dryer. 

Personal belongings were never strewn about. There was a place for everything - Keys, pens, books (Oh! tons of them), cosmetics. Watches are arranged neatly in clear boxes, so I have all my options laid out. Now, I hop over strewn magnatiles and Lego bricks. Or broken pieces of cars and trucks. Or hunt for the stench coming from the laundry from two days ago, which one of my kids decided to hide under the couch because she was too lazy to get up and put it away. 

There is no meal planning. There is just 'stuffing your mouth with whatever you can get your hands on before you dash out'.

My day starts at 4AM every single day and ends at 11PM (if I am lucky!). My favorite and honestly, the only time of the day I really put myself into - my gym session from 5AM to 6AM. If I am not in the gym at that time, it is probably because I am dead.

And yet, I am never 'Put together' in the real sense. I am just 'survival' disguised as a parent. 

Would I trade any of this craziness for anything in this world - Absolutely not. I take my role as a parent so very seriously that sometimes I scare myself to see who I have become. But I do hope that one day, at least one of my three offspring can look me in the eye and tell me that I was good at this. Despite not looking good or smelling good, while killing myself to be the best mom around! I think I know who that's going to be, but I still have hope for the other two as well.. Only time will tell..!

Signed,

A tired mom!

Front Row Seats

 "Never give someone the privilege of the front row seats to your life, unless you know they are here to cheer for you."

Hiatus much? Safely so. Boy! It feels good to be back. Ah no... I have several drafts on my page that I couldn't complete. I certainly hope this one sees the light of day. But it sure feels surreal to be here typing out the random ramblings coming out of my head. It's like.. I don't recognize this person anymore..

The last time I wrote a post here, I frantically searched Google for synonyms and acronyms to make my writing look more polished. And today, almost a decade later, all I have to do is prompt ChatGPT to summarize my life/day based on all the questions I have been throwing at it. And it does a phenomenal job, too. I feel small in comparison.

Which also reminds me, the last time I was here, I was a broken piece of a human being. 

Long story short. I gave in to marriage (arranged marriage!) even when I was too terrified to. And I birthed the three most amazing tiny humans in the one decade that I allowed myself to trust. 

I spent my teenage years living in the shadows. 

I spent my twenties chasing after the wrong things and misplaced priorities. Honestly, the second half of my twenties was mostly blackout periods, rebellion (so much rebellion!), and self-loathing. The only thing I missed was carrying out the Goth look and getting my face tattooed. 

My thirties were entirely about self-reflection, rediscovery, and learning to trust again. 

Well, now, finally in my early forties, I gladly say - 'I do not give a flying f*ck!'

No, really, I mean it. I have always been an introvert. Happiest in my own company. A book, my drink, and a nice place to curl up, that's literally all I need. I hate small talk. I get drained in social gatherings. My tolerance for dealing with overbearing personalities has been zero or less. So, my social circle is still very, very small. But when you have three extrovert kids, I guess that is all the socializing that introvert parents can handle!

But the one aspect, I still miss - My random ramblings here. My love for the unknown and the mysterious. A decade ago, I would have rambled on about the passionate love (or lack of) and the overwhelming emotions I was bubbling with. But today, my conversations in my head are about which class the kids need to be scheduled for or which one needs a doctor appointment or when was the last time I did the laundry.. well you get my drift.

So it is no surprise to me that when my oldest saw a decade-old picture of me, She was genuinely surprised and said - That's you? You looked so pretty - Whatever happened to you since that picture was taken?'. Not my best parenting moment - but my answer to her was - 'Well, I got married, got pregnant and here I am, three kids later'. Understandably, it offended her, because hey! nobody wants to be told you are the reason someone looks unattractive..so I had to jump into damage control.. that's been going on for three days now.. Kids.. I tell you..they may forgive but they never forget!

At this point, I highly contemplated sharing my blog with her. So she gets to see her mom before she was a 'mom'. At the risk of sounding very vain, I had quite the fan following back then. I was an introvert then and now, but if I had dared to respond to some of the proposals I got back then, I would have dated some really famous names lol! But no, me being me, stayed in my shell and allowed myself to believe that I wasn't as beautiful as they claimed me to be. Dang it! I would kill to go back to that day and knock some sense into my younger self! If only, someone had warned me what getting older feels like, I would have enjoyed being young and reckless. Maybe even loved it!

Anyways, I need to make myself get back on here and rant. Cause I miss it. And sometimes, the chaos in my head, only my blog can handle. Maybe, even vent about the butterflies in my stomach.

Diamonds are not forever

'I love gifts' - I told him 

'I don't'. He replied curtly. 

'I love diamonds and I would love to have a pendant'. - I continued, pretending I didn't hear his reply. 

I knew I couldn't help the twinkle in my eyes. My birthday was around the corner.

 

'I don't buy gifts'. He avoided looking at me.

The sinking feeling in my heart made my world go standstill. I crumpled the payment receipts I had in my hands. She probably was worth all the diamonds he had gifted. Period. 

Faith reinstated

Sometimes, the best and the most beautiful things come to you only after God decides to let you have them. The journey has been long and tedious, but the glow at the end of the tunnel is heart warming! Looking forward to embrace it!

To the best, yet more to come my way - A heart felt welcome. Couldn't be more thankful! Touch wood ! 

To the worst that has been - Good bye. Never to return. Thank you for the lessons learned.

Welcome back God.. I knew you would show up..eventually! 

From light to darkness

Every time it turned dark, you pointed to the sky and told me there was a star for each thing you loved about me. Wasn't long before I realized that she was still the sun in your life. 

Kiss away my tears

Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.

- Sarah Kay

If you choose to be my reason

'Forever' is a wonderful word. I am beginning to see the beauty of it.
But the skeptic in me still prefers to dwell only on 'Today' and 'Tomorrow', for now.
Maybe you can help me redefine my Todays and Tomorrows.
Maybe you are the reason 'Forever' makes me smile.
Maybe.. just maybe.. you are my Forever...
I fear calling you that, cause you probably don't feel the beauty I do.
The beauty of my Yesterdays, Todays and Tomorrows all merged into that one wonderful word whose meaning has eluded me till now...
Maybe you will feel it one day too.
But until then, I shall dwell only on Today and Tomorrow.
And make you my reason for every one of them.

In sickness and in health....For better or worse

'So who exactly is a neu.. mmmm...niro...oh..olo..guest'? - the little 5 year old next to me, questions.

'The who'? - I ask back.

This conversation between Adi and I was from the waiting room at a hospital nearby. I was there with my parents for my dad's Orthopedic check up. Adi arrived with his mom and a huge cast on his right hand. The room was packed with patients from every walk of life and of every age group. Before long, Adi and I got over the introductions and soon got ourselves deeply engaged in conversation. It had already been over a 2 hour long wait and from the looks of it, certainly going to go on for at-least another 2 more hours, if not more. For the likes of us who arrived early to get the initial token numbers, sitting that long on an empty stomach was torturous enough. I couldn't even begin to comprehend how much worser it would be for the tiny 5 year old with the cast on his hand. He was waiting eagerly for his appointment so that he could finally be rid of that heavy addition on his hand and be free for his adventures. To make the wait more bearable, his mom and I decided to keep him occupied so that his anticipation remains under control. As part of that plan, I engaged him in conversation. Something I really love to do. Especially if the age group is less than 5!

Going back to the conversation. In response to my question, Adi points out straight ahead to the door in front of us. Beside it, in big letters, was the name board for the consulting neurologist in the hospital.

'Oh! Neurologist you mean?' - I question him back.

'Yes. Yes. That one. What does he check'? - He is excited.

'Do you know the nervous system?' - I wasn't sure how else to begin to explain a neurologist to a 5 year old.

'No.' - He replies. 'I don't know. But next time, I will break my nervous system and not my hand'. He looks triumphant.

Both his mom and I and pretty much everybody around us, turn to give him a look.

'But why Adi mone?' - His mom joins in now.

'Because there is no rush to see that doctor. We can come and go soon amma. We won't have to wait this long right.'

And that is how the little 5 year old managed to break the ice in the tightly packed waiting room, giving us all a hearty laugh. Taking the cue, adi's mom takes the little one down to the canteen to get him something to eat. My parents find likeminded acquaintances nearby, to share the woes of today's hospital management systems and the frequency of hospital visits given the increasing age number.

Once again bored and badly in need of stretching my legs, I walk up to the window, well aware that I was bidding goodbye to the chair I held on to so dearly for the past couple of hours. Anyways, in a room filled with mostly 50+ aged orthopedic patients, I figured it was selfish of me to hang on to a chair for so long. Preparing myself for the longer standing ordeal in front of me, I was just about to check if my mobile could come to my rescue, when I noticed her walking towards me. Not walking actually. Limping. Literally taking baby steps. What I covered in the fraction of a second, she took minutes to walk. I wasn't sure if I could extend a hand to help her walk faster, maybe. But she seemed determined to cover it on her own. So instead of extending a helping hand, I decided to keep an eye on her till she reached where she intended to finally go. She didn't look much older than me. Except for her gait, which made her look like somebody in the late seventies.

'Hi'. She smiles. In my determination to keep an eye on her,  I forgot that I was actually staring quite unabashedly at her while she was walking. Maybe that's what prompted her to smile at me when she came near.

'I am sorry. I didn't mean to stare'. I apologize to her.

'Oh no. You are fine. If at all anybody has to apologize for staring, it's my husband sitting back there trying to save my seat for me. If he had his way, he would have walked with me till here, but I insisted he save the seat instead. I cannot stand for long anyways. Just stood up for a stretch.' - She explains.

I look at her husband. He didn't seem much older than me either. But the pained look on his face gave him shadows that aged him much beyond his actual age. He was still intently looking at her. Ready to be at her side at the tiniest hint of discomfort in her. And she turns back to give him a smile. He relaxed a little.

'I made him write me a vow at our wedding you know. The for better or worse kinds. You know.., in sickness and health and all that blah blah.' she continues. 'But we didn't know that the trial would come so early in our life. Anyways, so far he's sticking to his words you know. I think he really meant it when he said that, even though he just flicked the words from the internet'. And her face lit up with the brightest laugh in that hospital room ever.

'Well. You are damn lucky then.' - It was my turn to smile at her now.

'I am.' Her face turned grave again. 'I used to fight with him that he never told me I love you's often enough. But now, I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world'. Her eyes on the verge of tearing up now, she hastily mumbles about feeling tired and wanting to sit down and turns back. In a jiffy, he is by her side, escorting her back to the chair. I watch the husband wife duo make their way back to the chair. Once settled, she gives me the faintest hint of a smile and turns her attention to the mobile in her hand.

It was quite amazing, how, in that sea of people in the room, I, a random stranger, was suddenly the one to know something so deep in another.

Maybe we need to start writing vows at our weddings too. Not the cheesy I love you or To the moon and back kinds. But real ones. Real ones that we remember when life throws a curveball at us. Real ones that make us feel glad about having that hand to hold on to or that shoulder to lean in to.

And maybe I really do need to stop writing about meeting random people and their lives !

The green.....errrr thumb !

I have always envied people who can sing, dance or paint. After pestering my parents, they did attempt to get me trained in all these arts in my school days. Needless to say, I was quickly back at square one. The closest I have come to rendering my music talent is by lip syncing at group songs during annual day celebrations at school! Dance certainly fared much better, leading upto professional training in the Kathak dance form, but the usual stigma of being an adult and juggling a career led to it being eventually still remain just a dream and incomplete. As for painting, that's ventured only upto the extent of liberally using the paint for the teeniest bit of art on my forehead I like to call my version of the 'Bindi'.

Why is this suddenly featuring in my blog? - Cause the agenda in my long career break, also included  mastering a new talent I have never tried or tested before. After much contemplation, I zeroed in on the supposedly easy 'Gardening'. It runs in the family and I proudly realized that everybody closely associated with me had what is lovingly called the 'Green-est thumb'. Thus inspired, I too embarked on this journey. 

Now, three months into this venture and with the depressing realization that not only do I not have the green thumb, I have inherited the dreadful 'Brown thumb' from some unfortunate ancestor nobody seems to have a clue of. My six year old nephew fared better at sprouting grams as part of his school project than I did with trying to get my simple creeper grow out of the soil ! As is habit, I decided to do what I can do best about gardening - Write on it. And here we go.

It all began when a visit to my grandaunt's house in Kannur had me witness her harvest bumper yields of organic home-tended greens. Her tiny stretch of garden included space for spinach, okra, ginger (My favorite kind - The mango ginger), tomatoes, chillies, papaya, snake gourd and many others which I am unable to name, but tasted like heaven when cooked. What peaked my interest more was the fact that all this was entirely organic (Yeah exactly ! I had my eureka moment too). Since she was the closest accessible expert in this topic, I earnestly questioned her on the do's and don't's, ambitious to be the new name in organic veggies in the neighborhood. I even dreamt of the day when I would be supplying the harvest for free to all my neighbors and bask in the glory of my noble deed!

For starters, I was given a root of ginger by my mentor as it didn't really require much tending. It was the season of monsoon here and the monsoon rains are torrential in Kannur !I managed to dig up a small patch for my gardening venture and plant the ginger root. Content that the monsoon was doing it's job of enriching the greenery in my patch, I relaxed. Maybe a bit too much relaxation. Cause by the end of four weeks and plenty of travels later, when I set out to inspect my patch and search for the new leaves from my ginger plant, I was horror stricken to realize that a gazillion plants had taken up the spot in my patch, so much so that I couldn't even identify where the root had been planted. In vain, I dug up pretty much the entire patch with no trace of the root! For a minute there, I was hopeful that my mom had actually used my first harvest. The look on my mother's face when I questioned her about it was answer enough for me. 

Once back at home base and with the imposed restrictions of being in a tiny apartment with the tiniest bit of balcony space, I resorted to planting the sacred Tulsi and the easily multiplying money plant (Let me be honest here -The prospect of getting money, even in the name of a flower less plant, while jobless, certainly seemed all the more appealing then!). With the added knowledge from the vast wide web, I also decided to be an enthusiastic conversationalist with my plants. Every morning, I eagerly rushed to the balcony and very vocally requested them to not let me down this time. A new leaf, the tiniest hint of life in them, that's all I asked for. I discussed the fluctuating gas prices with them. I enlightened them on the plight of the Syrian refugees, the current governance in our country, my take on the extravagant onam celebrations in the city. I even read out inspirational quotes from the numerous Facebook updates in my news feed. Other than the fact that my neighbors didn't have to bother reading the newspaper in the morning (All thanks to my live feed on the balcony), my plants decided to die out on me and turn the nastiest brown anybody could ever lay their eyes on !

Dejected, I was contemplating starting one more round of the venture, this time purchasing the soil and manure, when my parents unanimously declared that they would find some means to have me arrested for my multiple attempts at murdering harmless lives (Read - plants). I consented and reluctantly gave away all (but one) pots to the security guard who keeps watch downstairs. One pot, still with the decayed remains of the Tulsi, I handed over to my mom and challenged her to fare better.

I resist going to the kitchen these days - My mom safely kept the pot in the window corner on the counter there and it's a thing of beauty to look at, especially with the first rays of the sun streaming in and washing the leaves giving it the greenest glow ever.

Maybe this is a wrong time to convince my folks to get me a dog or a cat or atleast a fish bowl !

Sigh!! I am back to working on my 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle which has been lying strewn around for years now. Atleast it doesn't take a green thumb to finish a puzzle. So much for going green ... Errr.. growing green !!!!!

Edit note - September 16,2015.

Adding a picture of the now flourishing and back to life Tulsi plant I almost killed. Thanks to my mom's green thumb, it has a new lease of life! 

Lessons from a grandmother

'Are you asleep'  - She asks.
I feign sleep.
She persists. 'Have you slept'?

It's our routine. Mine and hers. Every night. I tell her good night at-least an hour before her favorite soaps in the regional language are done for the night. I love to read and then fall asleep with my headphone still playing my current favorite tracks. I wake up somewhere in the middle of the night to settle for my proper sleep. And she knows this routine of mine, better than anyone else.

Yet, every single night, we replay the same scene.

She with her persistent questions which I know will not stop until I actually give the usual 'Ammaaammmaaa' (Meaning grandmother in the local dialect).
'Yes. I was sleeping. And now you have me wide awake.' - I crib.

And as is habit, she doesn't wait for my response, ever. She begins by telling me about the tormented daughter in law, the beast of a mother in law, the coward of a son, the innocent orphaned girl, the shrewd sister and every other single character in the relentless soaps aired on television night after night. The same spiteful, 'supposedly' heart wrenching story.

I tell her, every time - 'You sure have some great amount of patience to actually look forward to watching this lame excuse for a soap every evening. Sit with me one day and let us watch f.r.i.e.n.d.s. We can at-least have a hearty laugh.'

'Which friends house are we going to' - She questions me back. And I smile. My smile in the dark which only she sees.

'Stop teasing this old lady' - She continues.

'So what's our topic for tonight's midnight discussion'. - I ask her.

This was our game. when the rest of the world goes to bed in preparation for a tomorrow, this granddaughter grandmother duo use the time to reminiscence the past. Sometimes, even way back upto 60 years ago. It hasn't been long since we embarked on this.

Earlier this year, when I finally resolved to put into action, my big move, of the many things I knew was sure to come my way in life, I wasn't prepared for this renewed bonding with my maternal grandmother. Until then, she was grandmother. The grandmother who cooked and cleaned and swept and wept. The grandmother in her pale starched cotton sarees, perpetually loving to be in the kitchen and conjuring up dishes which could summon an army a mile away just by it's aroma. The grandmother who's still only slight grey hair, smells of the home made herbal coconut hair oil. The grandmother who impatiently checks the clock every five minutes past sundown to make sure she doesn't miss the beginning of the long line of soaps in her favorite channel.

So when I had the option to choose one of the two spare bedrooms in the house, I asked her hesitatingly if I may share the room with her. To be honest, the intention was selfish. It is the only room in the house with a direct view of the night sky (Read - the beautiful unpolluted star studded sky and the occasional full moon) from the bed. She was more than happy for the company.

I complained to her after the first night in the room. That she kept talking at length and didn't even let me get a wink of sleep. It was pure frustration on day one. Day four was acceptance and day seven was compassion. Compassion for this new woman I began to see. In a new light.

The woman who transformed from an old slow moving grandmother to the jumping-running volleyball star in her school days, the young blushing bride fighting against all the odds in her new life, the new mother totally unaware of how to handle a baby, the mother who spent all her days and nights toiling to feed and clothe her expanding family, her phase as a mother in law, the delighted grandmother holding her first grandchild, the widowed wife mourning the untimely loss of her pillar of strength and support. The stories never progressed after that chapter in her life. She admits unhesitatingly that she ceased to live from that day on. It's only been mere existence since then. Invariably, most nights she recounts how that one day disrupted and turned her entire world upside down. How since then, she hasn't even had a permanent roof over her head.

As the days passed and the night stories told and retold progressed, I began to realize the depth of the emptiness in her life. How the simple act of recollecting a life gone by is making her feel more of a person. How the only thing she ever really needs in life now is a listening ear. I tease, I probe and sometimes even accuse her in response to her narration. She smiles each time. Her response to everything.

By daylight we are what we are, generations apart with a long era separating her life from mine. And after sundown, we are the same. She, with a past she fondly remembers and a future she dreads. Me, with a past I repent and a future I look forward to. This perhaps, is the magic combination for night long conversations. And yet, I cannot start the charade without the usual drama of cribbing on being rudely awaken from my feigned sleep. By my ammamma.

*Photo courtesy - Google Images.