Thank you!

 I have a reader! For my blog. And I am ecstatic!!!

When I revived my blog and decided to start writing again, having an audience was never in the cards. A decade ago, every post of mine had interaction. Friends and strangers leaving comments. Emails. Heck, even a marriage proposal (which obviously I declined!).

But despite the contents, back then, I basked in the glory. Knowing that my writing was read and appreciated. Because being a writer was all that I had ever wanted to be. Publishing my own book (has to be a best seller!!) has been the biggest dream of my life (that still keeps eluding me).  

But now, when I finally jumped back here, with renewed enthusiasm, unlike my previous years, I did not make any public postings or invite audiences to my blog. I kept it on the low. Possibly because of my fear of judgment, as most people in my social life now don't know about my prior life. 

But an anonymous email yesterday, checking in after my last two posts - Thank you!

Per my head and heart mutually agreed policy, I will not reply to anonymous emails. But I take the opportunity to post here. Thank you for telling me that my posts are being read and loved. Thank you for taking the time to make sure I am okay. 

I guess I am not really okay, in the true sense of it. But I am as okay as okay can be. Some days, I crave the romance of a miserable life. And on some days, I live the whimsical life of an eccentric author. Most days, I try to be worldly sane. Or remind myself that I have to be just sane.

But thank you! 

There is nothing that makes an author as vain as knowing that there is an audience. Maybe this will inspire me to put up some happier posts.

And next time you are here, please do post comments. I love the interaction.

Directed Protection

 "If you get what you want, that's God's direction. If you do not get what you want, that's God's protection."

Life around me is going as usual. Every other day. And I participate in it. Because I don't know any other way to live. But the storm inside me rages every day. I am worried that one day it will be beyond my control. Until then, life will go on as usual. Birthday parties, festivals, friends and families, school, movies, work, celebrations, schedules, routines.

 I hope I don't break today. I hope I live to see tomorrow. 

I hope others live to see tomorrows and dayafters.

 I pray. More than I have ever prayed. 

Pray that this makes sense. If not to me, at least to the ones who are in it. This senselessness.

Letters of Love

 It breaks me. It kills me from the inside. Everything that is happening in the world outside. 

I am so helpless, I cannot even express my pain, fear, or despair in any form or manner. 

No social media venting - lest it impairs my alien status and cause any future disruptions (selfish, I know)

No honest-to-goodness open conversations because I can never know who is in favor and who is not.

People can be two-faced. Feel one thing inside, but be a silent manipulator so they can know what your true feelings are.

I can put up with most things. I am strong. I have made myself stronger. But senseless loss of life, especially those that have just started - this I cannot bear.

Many, many years ago, in a similar world, I felt so helpless and desperately searched for ways to help. 

Money - I did not have, to save any lives. 

Words - I had plenty. Words that could bring love and a new ray of hope, and that - I was very happy to share and spread. 

Exactly what I did. Through an extensive network, I wrote and got letters delivered. To children who had no choice in the life they were being made to live. Lives torn apart by war and destruction. Living in rubble. Waiting for what felt like eternity, for something to satisfy their hunger.

Not just letters but tiny gifts of hope. The tiniest squishy heart with the words 'HOPE' written on it. A keychain with a little umbrella that said 'You are protected'. A tiny notepad with words of motivation and inspiration. These gifts made their way to the destination through different dedicated volunteers who braved all adversities and made sure they stayed committed to the cause - Bringing some hope and love to those who suffer in silence, for choices they did not make, for reasons they do not know. 

Every time I wrote a letter, my directions were clear. Give this to a child. Old enough to read. They need to know that there was someone in the world out there who cared dearly for them. That there was someone who did not want them to live life this way. Someone who wants to let them know that one day, it will all be okay. The pain will end. The destruction will cease. Memories can be made. Laughs can be shared. Tears can be stopped. Food can be plentiful. Cold will not be intolerable. Clothes can be fresh. Skin can be clean. Wounds can be healed. Blood will not be seen. Sirens can be fun. Alarms can mean a new start, not just another end. Home will feel like home again. Love will prevail.

And in return, I always got a picture. Of the recipient holding my letter and gift. With the biggest smile on their face. The smile was maybe for the camera. Or the smile could have been for my letter. Or the gift. Or just the fact that this was something out of the ordinary they were used. But nevertheless, a smile. 

For years, I held on to those pictures and smiles. Never the same. Always someone new. Someone different. 

But one day, I decided to let them all go. Because it killed me not knowing what happened to them after that smile. Did they make it? I made promises I could not keep. I had prayed desperately for all the promises I had made. Did god hear me? Did my little recipients get to live my promise? 

I never knew, and one day I stopped wanting to know. Not because I didn't want to. Because I had no way to. They didn't have an address. The letters I wrote, and the gifts I gave, were randomly delivered by volunteers at refugee camps that kept popping up all over the war-torn regions. The volunteers moved on. They never revisited the same camp. And the refugees moved on. They shifted camps too. 

Those little boys and girls had been a very important part of my life for years, even though I was part of theirs only for the tiniest bit of a day. A day that possibly would have been erased by many, many days of war and attacks since. 

I didn't want those days back again. And yet here we are. Again. 

I cry for those little children every single day. But that's all I am capable of doing now. Cannot pick up the pen to write those letters again. Because this time, I am not strong enough for that. I am weak. 

This is unfair - to all those lives that could have been. Should have been. 

With a bleeding heart and tearful eyes, all I can say is - I love you. My little children of war. 

A war that never should have been. Nowhere in this world.

I pray for you. Everyday. 

Mind my Mind

 My mind is an overwhelming place to be. It runs as if I am having 100 conversations with 100 other versions of me. And all on very different topics. At the same time. All the time. It never shuts up. 

Is that how it is for all of you? Or am I just the chosen one?

Maybe because I have so many conversations in my head, I can barely make myself have a decent conversation in the real world. Because all my neurons are busy handling my 100 selves, I suck at conversations with others. 

Most often, I look at my 3 offspring and wonder if they inherited this? Unlikely, because they are adept at having perfectly good conversations in the outside world. And they seem quite at ease when they are on their own. Me, on the other hand, if you see me not doing anything, I am either shaking my head at a preposterous suggestion one version of me recommended to the other version inside my head, or laughing away at something hilarious that a part of me just exclaimed inside my head. I am not really ever still, even when I am supposed to be still. Confused much?

It's been a few days now that one neuron in my head has convinced the 99 other versions inside me that I need to get a Private Pilot Certificate. Apparently, that was the outcome of an argument two of them had inside my head while I was trying to understand my sudden onset of the fear of flying. I was not even a party to this discussion - I was only thrown the decision - 'Get the Certificate'.That is all that is hung in my head. I even signed up. $150 for an initial assessment. Get to experience the process and understand the course requirements. Now what in the world am I going to do with a Private Pilot Certificate, god only knows! All I know is I am short of a non-refundable $150 and that at some point within the next 12 months, I have to drag my lazy ass into the said pilot training school and get this assessment done with. And if I like it, then proceed to complete my 50 hours of training and everything else needed to actually get certified. 

On top of this, I am already in the midst of the last decision they threw my way - Getting my PhD (Hopefully I complete it this year!). As if working full-time, being a mom to three little humans, and managing a household weren't enough!!!

Like I said, my mind is not my best friend. It likes to put me in situations and then have the rest of me figure out some way to get out of it. I thought I got better with age. Turns out I just wasn't blogging enough. Getting back on here has been a great change for me. At least it is giving me a chance to vent some of these things out. 

Ah! My favorite place to be!! - Not my Mind, my Blog!

Shouldn't the past be the next generation guidelines for a future?

Have you ever contemplated what it would be like to run into an ex? Not just an ex-flame or ex-crush or even an ex-love, but an ex-spouse? Someone you have spent years with and now suddenly is just another stranger in the world? I have. Many times, I have replayed multiple scenarios of how that would transpire.

There are two sides to this story. My husband's side and mine. 

When we were first introduced (or as we call it in Kerala - Pennukaanal), I wanted to lay out all my cards to him about my past, present, and what I hope for the future. So essentially, my first ever text to him was - 'Here is my blog link. Read through every single post in here and only then decide if you even want to consider taking this forward.' I spent a whole night dreading the worst. I was fully prepared for an incoming text in the morning that would pretty much sum up that he is not interested in a future with a loony who has been cribbing about the past for three years after it was over. But I was in for a surprise because this was his response - 'Read through some posts. Good English. You need to pay attention to the punctuation marks and grammar in some places. But apart from that, your command over the language is good'.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I replied to him again - Is that it? Is that all you have to comment? 

He was affirmative. And to be honest, it's been 10.5 years to that day. That person has not ventured into my blog since that day! 

But I was not someone to leave it at that. On our very first ever lunch date, I kept bringing up discussions on the past. He was kind enough to entertain, patient enough to answer, and thoughtful enough to not probe. But in the end, I made it clear to him - We ended badly, and that person is probably the last person I want to ever run into again.

I expected a similar response from him about his life. But he was calm. He took his time, smiled, and gave me a response that took me by surprise - 'We ended very amicably. You might even say that we are still friends.' As appalled as I was by the preposterous statement then, I played it cool. I mean, how in the world could you still be friends with an ex-spouse? I couldn't even begin to comprehend that. Maybe my world was still way too inhibitive at that time. Or my life's experience hadn't been kind enough to teach me some important lessons. Hence, with the little wisdom I had in me then, I secretly wished that if we did get married, I hoped he would change his mind about being friends with an ex. I was just too arrogant to say it out loud. And like mine, I hoped to never run into his person ever.

So it was probably at that very moment that fate decided to save a moment to taunt me, or teach me a valuable lesson. Because soon after that day, we got married, and in less than 4 months, we were at the hospital for the very first scan of our first offspring. The waiting room was crowded, and the two of us sat there in much anticipation and excitement. Out of the blue, we heard someone calling my husband. He turned around, and I could see so many emotions cross his face at the same time - Recognition, worry, anxiety, familiarity. The recognition and familiarity were for the person calling out his name. The worry and anxiety were about what my reaction to this would be. 

You would have guessed by now who was calling. I was bracing myself and playing many scenarios in my head on how my reaction should be. She was approaching us, with the biggest smile on her face, the tiniest bundle of a baby in her arms, and a gentleman of a husband by her side. Even before I could decide and settle on any reaction, she was by our side, exclaiming in all excitement and introducing herself and her family to us. Heck! forget about having my husband still be friends with her.. I would have loved to be friends with her!!! She was genuinely eluding such a friendly air about her that whatever doubts I had about their relation just evaporated into thin air. We spoke a lot. We shared names and dates. Their baby's and ours (coming soon). She joked. We laughed. Her husband joined in. For anyone looking at us from the outside, we might as well have been friends who ran into each other after years. 

I think my husband knew what my next move was going to be. So he swooped in, ended the impromptu rendezvous, and had our little gathering disperse pretty quickly. I was annoyed. I told him I was just about to get her number so we could stay in touch. And he laughed. He said he guessed that, and that's exactly why he got me out soon. In hindsight, maybe that was a wise decision. But at that moment, I was sad. Because I would have really loved to know her more.

And then for many days after, I kept wondering how this situation would have played out if roles were reversed. I decided it was best left unexplored. Because there was no way I could see that with a happy ending. 

Why is this suddenly featuring in my blog now? After all these years? Because my husband and I are unable to reach a mutual consensus on revealing our past to our children. 

While I feel we should proactively bring this topic up and share it with our oldest two (they will soon be at the age where they will naturally feel curious about the big emotions they feel and begin to feel new, unfamiliar emotions), my husband is vehemently against this. He argues that our past has nothing to do with their future. That is, if and when they ever ask us, only then do they need to know. I just cannot concur with that. I have always felt that if my upbringing involved open, free, and respectful discussions about topics of love, relationships (failed/successful), consent, sex, and self-respect, I probably could have avoided a lot of the drama I endured. I want to set myself as an example for my children and show them that it is okay to lose. That, it is okay to feel pain. That, it is okay to be elated. That, it is okay to feel completely lost. Just know your anchors and hold on tight. I want to be that anchor. For them. Forever. And I want him to be the example too. I know we will still be having all these conversations with them, but I want to add the personal element to it. He doesn't.

We are still debating this. I truly want to have an open talk with my kids about my failures. And soon. Maybe I will bring this argument up again in a year!  

As for the meeting part, I probably will be good at running into an ex now. Because they are truly a part of who I am today. I will also gladly meet his again and maybe even forge a friendship this time! 

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 cherished 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. Now, I cannot even bring myself to get out of my fuzzy, woozy flat slipper. 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.

Half a lifetime

Years later, when I am stuck with dementia and Alzheimer's and everything else that is in trend in that era, I figured I would need something to remind me of the life that has been. If not of everyday, atleast the ones which matter. Thus inspired, I embark on making a note of the lessons learned in my half (presumably) of a lifetime so far. The good, the bad and the ugly.

- It always takes the wrong person to inspire you to do the right thing.
- It is but, natural to think that as you age, your thoughts and actions are smarter. But never forget that your parents have aged and gotten smarter too. They never stop making sense of the situation. Atleast not less than you. Ever.
- When somebody has been heartless enough to hurt or break you more than you can endure, do not hesitate to cut them out from your life for good. Wish them well, but never forget. It may take years to forgive too, but do not let them be around to hurt you the same a second time. Sometimes people do not hesitate to repeat the same mistake over and over even when they say they understand you. Everybody is selfish enough to ignore your pain over their gains. Maybe you will be too.
- There isn't anybody without shortcomings or helplessness in their lives in most situations. But when somebody cannot be honest with you about it, do not assume your presence makes a difference. It will not even be missed even long after you are gone.
- Blood is not thicker than water. Random people at different phases of my life have literally saved me and helped me become who I am now. And not all of them are related by blood. Vice versa too.
- It is never an offense to love or to dream of a life together. But never make promises you cannot honor. Or even actions that reek of unspoken promises. Lot is at stake. Hearts are precious to everyone. Especially when it's your own.
- Make money. Plenty of it or atleast enough to own the ground beneath your feet. Because people come and leave your life for want of it or lack of it. The only thing that kept me going all along was a career affording me my individuality and an opinion. Every woman needs a financial security to keep her dreams alive.
- Children, babies, music and pets are the best remedy to any problem. They can do away any scar, no matter how deep it runs.
- Sometimes the best ever feeling is to be hugged so hard you beg to breathe. Or to wake up next to a warm little baby sleeping in the cradle of your arms. Or a smile from your parents. Or a wonderful spread of your favorite things to eat. A happy stomach is a happy heart too.
- Every time you fall down, take your own time to get back on your feet again. Because once you are up, you should never fall down again for the same reason. Once is a mistake, twice is stupidity.
- Always embrace solitude. If you don't find happiness on being on your own, you cannot expect somebody else to find happiness in you.
- It is perfectly fine to lie and stare at the ceiling for hours because you cannot convince your body that to get up will not hurt anymore. It is equally fine to think that making your morning coffee is the biggest achievement of your day.
- Relationships are meant to be made or broken. But you are not.
- Never give up on your dreams.
- Always muster enough courage to apologize to people you have hurt. Never leave anyone with unanswered questions or incomplete phases. Karma is a b***h indeed.
- Never assume responsibility for somebody else's lack of character.
- Love is always action. Everything else is just words.
- You are never perfect. But to the right person, you will always be the perfectly imperfect better half.
- Expect nobody to always reciprocate your feelings for them. Teach yourself to respect their freedom of expression too. But hate yourself if you let them take advantage of your words or actions.
- It is always possible for somebody who meant the life to you to suddenly just become a stranger who knows everything about you.
- Never wait for clarifications or explanations from people who refuse to acknowledge their part in it. Be gracious enough to save them the trouble and walk out.

- The biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman's love with no intention of loving her. Forget your heart and follow your head when it advises you.

- Do your bit to give back to the society you live in. There are people with real issues, issues bigger than just broken hearts and failed relationships.
- Make your life a journey. Have a companion who complements the journey. It is better to be single than being with the wrong person.
- Age graciously, with maturity. Appreciate the finer things in life.
- Always have a hobby to make you forget the monotony of daily life.
- Learn to fall in love with the beauty of your own smile and laughter.

The shortcut truth

So many men think that women need money, car and gifts.

But the right woman wants a man's time, effort, passion, honesty, loyalty and smile. 

Life can just be so much easier and better. And happier!

There is no better friend than a sister.......

Sister - The best friend god gifts us even before we have a chance to ask for one.

That is how you came into my life. Without my asking.
And that is how you made all the difference in my life.

I don't have memories of you teaching me to ride a bicycle or having pillow fights.
I don't remember us making plans for a lazy weekend afternoon or discussing what clothes to exchange.
You didn't teach me to make my hair or do my makeup.
We never discussed our favorite authors or heroes.
Mom didn't teach us her secret recipes.
We didn't share fancy stilettos or branded jeans.
You didn't teach me how to paint my nails in bright colors.
We didn't hold dreamcatchers over the beds or enjoy ice-creams at midnight.

You weren't around for any of that.

But you were there when I got my life smashed the first time around. You held me while I let the tears flow uncontrollably. You gave me the strength to get back on my feet and move on. To let the past behind me and to look forward to a future. You made me believe that there are still good people out there in the world - Good people who can see and understand pain. Good people who are not out to take a broken person and break her more.

But most importantly you taught me to believe in myself. To know that no matter what happened, it is not a reflection of my personality or character.

You made me strong to say what I believe and do what I say. You inspired me to have a roof over my head and the ground beneath my feet. You made me believe that there is always light at the end of the tunnel. That my dreams will get wings again.

You with your fancy musings - 'Experiences are the best lessons you can gift yourself. Learn and move on. If you don't find the right person, at least you will have figured out who is wrong for you'.

And now I come to you - Broken for the second time. Can you heal me again? My dear sister - Say you can heal me again. Just this one last time. Once more.

Because I stand in front of you with your worst fear. Unlike the first time, I don't hate just the world now. I hate myself now. I hate myself for letting my guard down. For letting trust take over me. Over my better sense which should have prevailed. For having been a fool again. A fool to just be tread over. A fool to be silenced again.

You with your fancy musings again - 'Once was a mistake. Twice is stupidity'.

You refused to let go of my hand. Again. But this time you did it with an uncertainty which scared me even more. You didn't shell out any optimism. You merely listened. You didn't even shed a tear. And I couldn't stop mine.

For all the things I don't remember, I do remember how you always cried with me even when I tried to be brave.

To not see you do that now breaks my heart more. Have I failed you more than you fathomed?

Your still cold hands in my palms drains every ounce of my life out of me. Who is going to heal me now?

My need to be held overwhelms me. One last time. By you. To have you tell me that I will tide over this too. And maybe we can finally get around to getting these men out of our lives and start over our childhood again. To make all those memories we didn't have.

But you just lay there. Draped from neck to toe in the color you detested much. White.
I know you are not liking it there. This I know about you.

God didn't ask me before sending you to me. And now, he didn't ask me before taking you away from me either - When I needed you the most.

I cannot wait to see you again. On the other side. Soon.

A triple shot latte

' Tall, triple shot, decaf, non fat please'

This is a far cry from the lost girl who stood to order a coffee in the wee hours at a busy airport. Four years ago.

Four years that not only taught me how to order my perfect coffee, but presented me with many more valuable lessons in life. Lessons I wouldn't have even read about had I not mustered the courage to pack my bags and leave the familiar for the unknown. A step I dreaded much then, but cannot stop swelling with pride each time I think of now.

That is how it features to be an entry in my blog. Long due. And definitely a long post. :-)

I am not a traveller or a tourist. And so, a travelogue is not something I was ever prepared to write.

For someone whose world did not extend beyond the four walls of my parents home till I graduated, I was very apprehensive when I had to finally move out to establish a career. But I always had the consolation of knowing that there were still familiar faces around. The sights were not too different, the food was only a tad less spicier, the people's dialect didn't leave me racking my brains to figure most of what I heard to my imagination. I was never ever truly alone. But when my work life offered me a glimpse of the 'other side of the planet', I braved the move, against much trepidation. And that is how I realized what being alone and 'on my own' actually means. Surviving on your own is a feat unachieved, unless you do it. I am not a veteran on it, but I am certainly not the same lost soul now.

Filing for taxes in 3 different countries in the same year? - I can be your new consultant.

Need help changing your tyres - I am quite the expert now. Been stranded on freeways and motorways after flats and accidents. Right from fixing up your flat tyre

Chasing a rogue down the street for breaking into your car and stealing two of your brand new expensive sunglasses and plenty of spare change - I haven't got the glasses back, but I certainly learnt to never ever keep anything in the car anymore! And the run of my life too.

Drive a moving truck and assemble/take apart your IKEA furniture - I am definitely the veteran

Stranded home because of a hurricane? No gas, no water and no food? - I can be your life hacker. After braving Hurricane Sandy, stranded with a power outage for a week. Nobody was around to warn me of the oncoming hurricane or to stock the food! I was awoken one fine morning to the shrill siren and just figured out I have to survive a hurricane!


 I have seen them all, or rather most of it - Jumped with glee at the first sight of snow atop Mt.Pilatus in Switzerland, held on for dear life in the steepest cable car ride from down there, nearly froze to death in Lucerne, indulged (with no regret) in the waffles at Belgium, felt my heart shatter to bits at seeing only a cluster of trees at the Black forest in Germany (I was expecting to literally see a fairytale land made wholly of the black forest cake!),  stood enchanted by the palaces in Vienna and Heidelberg.

For a person who cannot ever make it on time even for a doctor's appointment, I was amazed at myself for the amount of detailed planning and organizing I managed to do in my first ever international travel.

I survived it all. And I even survived enough to have a blog post on it!

Maya

Maya - An illusion. That which makes you believe that the nonexistent exists. That which gives a reason to dream. A chance to feel happy. Liberated. To open up. To share.

She was maya - the enchanted and the enchanting. She believed the illusion could lead her from the ugly to the beautiful. And she believed and believed. Blindly. Until the ugly turned uglier. And uglier.

The beautiful was never there. It was never promised. It was just a ruse to lead the blind. And maya, the blind, followed. Led on by the illusion.

... Until
Maya was no longer an illusion. Maya was the devastating truth. And devastated.
Maya was not selfless. Maya was the selfish. Unquestioned and unanswered.
Maya was the failure.
Maya was never an illusion. Maya was never meant to be.
Only Maya hadn't known it.
Maya was truth denied. Maya was conscience hidden.
Maya was a facade.

Maya was just a name. Not even a face.
Maya was just a body. Not even a heart.

*Photo courtesy - Google.

Disappeared only to reappear

Apparently disclaimers are not doing their job these days! Every so often when my writings are held against me in my real life, I go tired of iterating and re-iterating that I am not jotting my everyday life in here.

No I am not the love struck paris kind of girl who walked hand in hand with someone. Nor am I the girl in the blue shirt waiting for the arrival of someone from across the oceans. Yes, I am the one who wakes up to sonic memories and so much more. No, I do not go on dates and fuss on the food. Yes, I celebrated my 30th birthday all alone. No, I did not have a young widow as a neighbor growing up and the nonexistent friend did not inspire me. No, I do not have a 4 year old son Aditya.

I just happened to have a hard-to-give-up love for writing and an odd enough crazy imagination to go with it. What I lack is the hard-to-attain 'I don't care' attitude to throw a deaf ear to all these baseless accusations I get my way because of what I write here. Especially when it plays a major role in wrecking lives, when I am evaluated based on my musings here. When people assume they know the real me because of what is here. When even words spoken faithfully are weighed against typed phrases in my blog. When I am denied a life because my blog speaks a different story. Because a woman who voices so openly cannot make a good home or be a good role model? And not to mention a lot more...

Anita Nair is my current author craze. I have read and re-read all her books. My favorite remains 'Mistress'. But each time I read the book, I don't see Ms. Anita Nair in the words. I see only Radha. And Shyam. And Chris. And Koman. I don't judge the author or her personal life based on the stories she writes. They are just mere people she gave birth to. And I have the ability to distinguish between the two. Her real life and her life of words.

Admitted, a blog isn't as sensational as a book. But authors are no different, whether they publish a book or a blog. We share a hard to resist passion for words. So next time you feel the urge to judge a book by it's covers or an author by their words, DON'T. For all you know, they might just be your ordinary-next-door-struggling-to-cope-everyday person.

It is a tough fight to not give up on the one thing you love so much in life and yet, to face the music which ruins everything else in your life because of it. 

Au Revoir

The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said and never explained.

Snow ring

She adorned the perfect white.
Crystal clear and white.
With millions of sparkling diamonds
carelessly flung all across.
She glistened brilliantly in the sun
Like nothing could shine brighter.
She shone brightly even at night.
The moon shone off her, too perfectly.

I watched her for days together.
Envied her for all the beauty.
But envied her mostly for the brilliance.
And when I thought she was looking no longer
I stole a handful of the shining gems
and wore them on my finger.

It felt cold.
Freezing in-fact.
But I finally got my diamond ring.

Take a step; By my side

For every step I take towards you
You take two away from me.
Every step I get closer to you
You go further from me.

If a game is what we are
Why am I always the pawn?
If 2 sides of a coin we are
Why am I the furthest one?

For all the things that we had been
For all the times that we should have seen
For all the plans that we should have made
For all the promises that we should have kept

For all the talks that we should have had
For every bit of you and every bit of me
For I see you today
I see you tomorrow

For ever then
For ever now
For when we were
For when we are

Awareness

Your perception of me is a reflection of you; my reaction to you is an awareness of me.

Addicted to life

My favorite lines from a recent addiction.

Think of all the roads

Think of all their crossings.

Taking steps is easy

Standing still is hard.

Remember all their faces

Remember all their voices.

Every thing is different

Second time around.

                                - Regina Spektor

Couldn't help pondering over the truth in these lines. I have always been amazed at how most of the songs or music we listen to can easily be related to a certain phase of our life (Most often - The present!). Is it just an uncanny coincidence or an irrational association with those brain cells working overtime? Either case, I am not interested in the logic in this phenomena, rather I choose to feel consoled in knowing that somebody else at some point of time went through the same phase and had better words to describe it. 

Indeed, two is company !

Happy anniversary !

I  was never the big dreamer. The perpetual dreamer – Yes. But never the big dreamer. My expectations in life had always been minimalistic and to be honest, very realistic too. All I had ever wanted was to settle down with a man who would be kind and understanding, capable of keeping a conversation going and put up with my nonsensical outbursts when I try to show off my apparent knowledge. Have a family, throw in a couple of kids and a dog, good food, an overseas vacation once a year, some ‘Me’ time for my reading and writing - My life was set. That is all I had wanted all along. How unachievable is that?

My first year of being technically single, after almost 10 years of being in a single focus, committed relationship – Not at all liberating! In fact, it was the most strenuous and difficult year I have had to endure in my lifetime till date. It was like I had forgotten how to live with myself.

I hit every low point in the curve. Terrible emotional instability, ready to let tears flow at the drop of a hat, regular and too frequent outbursts of anger, learning to un -memorize days, dates and phone numbers, the usual drama of deleting and revising people on my social profiles, trying to be the sane and composed professional at work, oscillating faster than a pendulum in most decision making ventures, being extremely unsocial and cutting out from everyone and everything only to feel the need to be highly social the very next day and expect to be accepted as nothing was amiss just until a day ago, coping with repeated rejections repeatedly, trying to overcome the absurdity of being sure that the next person who comes along will be the key to my happiness that has been eluding me all this while, trying to figure out how best to make use of weekends and holidays. As if none of this was enough, coping with the social stigma of not just being someone recently single, but someone who is ‘divorced’. There is a world of difference there. Trust me. 

And oh, not to forget the big decision of deciding if there really has to be the next ‘ONE’ or can I just save me the trouble, skip that phase, go ahead with my adoption/IVF plans for the next phase (My maternal instincts just overtook my girlfriend/wife phase).

The worst outcome of being recently single is how you feel the constant need to be a silent reviewer of every other couple around you. To assess their chemistry, the little nuances that make them the adorable couple in public, their irrational arguments which make you feel like you probably did a mistake in letting go of what you had.

I was worse than a train wreck. Still am.

My horoscope predicted that this would be the year I will be a pragmatic and do a complete makeover of my life. I just didn’t expect that makeover to be mirror shattering!

Happy anniversary to me! 

The beginning of an end

The endings have always been my favorite part.

It gives hope that there will be a new beginning. 

A new beginning with a different ending.

To Hate, With Love.

This was not my favorite city in the world. I had always been a 'Paris' kind of girl. Terribly in love with romance. And the cold. A quaint cafe, my book, his smile and a cup of coffee. This would have made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

So when I set foot in the best city of the world, I was determined to hate it with all my heart. Every single thing about it. The rush. The rains. The bridges. The lights. The confusing maps. And most of all, him.

I hated the way his face lit up when he saw the city.
I hated that he held my hands when we crossed the roads.
I hated that he looked at me while I admired the love locks on the bridge.
I hated how he refused to sit anywhere else on the train. That he sat only next to me.
I hated that we walked around for hours to find the perfect food.
I hated how good the food tasted, with him.
I hated the way he smiled when he turned down a ride on the horse carriage.
'She will love you more for this', the owner insisted.
I think he knew better.
I hated that he took pictures to send her.
I hated that he still came back to me.
I hated how happy that made me.

I think I just fell in love with hate.

Not pink enough

I am a social introvert. For all the 'blah-ing' that I do on my blog here, in my real life, I paint a picture quite in contrast. So if and when I embark to make a conversation with anyone, it truly means that the person on the other side is worth risking the effort.

Hence, out of the blue, I decided to ping him. Just like that. No agenda. 

'Hey !' - My favorite conversation starter word. Has to go in with the exclamation mark. Shows my enthusiasm in striking up the conversation.

I wasn't expecting a quick response. When my mobile beeped with a reply in seconds, my heart literally leapt into my throat.

The smile was involuntary.

Crisp but sweet. His message. 'I am glad you pinged. Been missing you.'

A 'Really?' was all I could manage to text back.

'Yeah. Can't wait to meet you. Pick you up in 20 minutes. Dinner and a drive by the beach.'

My legs had gotten wings.20 minutes is not enough time to look pretty. I simply had to do my best. The shirt was ironed. Blue. His favorite.Mine too. And the pink lipstick. He always complained my lips weren't pink enough. 

I smiled at myself in the mirror. I don't know what he complained about. They were pink. And smiling from end to end. 

I knew he couldn't make the journey of 22 hours in just 20 minutes.

I hope she was ready when he got there. I hope he got to take her on the dinner and the drive. I hope her lips were pink enough.

Heads or Tails

When faced with two choices, simply toss a coin. It works not because it settles the question for you, but because in that brief moment when the coin is in the air, you suddenly know what you are hoping for.

20's something Vs 30's me

'Deeps, You are like a second hand 1100 Nokia handset now. I mean, maybe some people might prefer it for, you know, reasons like you remind them of a past they enjoyed being in, but 99% of the crowd prefers the new generation cloud phones with all the frills and fancy attachments. Even if you try an upgrade now, say by working out and losing all that fat you gained by your emotional binge, it's definitely not going to make you into an iPhone5. Face it, your options and choices are very limited and I say you just head for the first recycle center you see and just be content with it. Don't aim for true love or happiness anymore. Leave that to the iPhones and galaxy tabs'

I usually never quote any conversations in my blog, but this one particular conversation is being used here word by word because I couldn't get over the absurdity in it. The context being, a well meaning friend advising me on giving marriage a second shot. I must admit, I have to give it to her for the well constructed analogy. But the actual content of the conversation left me numb for a long time and then just gave me a reason to write up another blog post, back to back!

She did get me thinking though. Am I really that low in the desirable market now? I do know that on this side of the 30's, the choice of available single men who are not commitment phobes or rapists or murderers or mamma's boy is drastically low. And to be honest, if a man was past 30 and still single, I would have my doubts about him too, obviously! And if he turns out to be a decent one for that matter and maybe even ready to commit, that would only exponentially increase my suspicions about him. I wouldn't think of it as a stroke of my good luck. I would only be more focused on trying to understand why any other woman hadn't gotten to him before!

So I guess on the other side of the 30's, there is no concept of true love or romance. It is all about trying to make best of what is available and fervently hope that the one you land up is not going to rape, kill or abscond with your savings ! Whats scarier is the fact that this apparently appears to be the mutual consensus.

That's not a pretty picture for the future, especially for a die-hard romantic like me. I mean, I still expect to be swooned away magically by 'The one', because hey, I just got myself freed from the wrong one so that I am ready when he gets along. And if I am going to have to ask him questions on terms like 'Have you ever been convicted of rape or murder' instead of 'Will you get me flowers and hold my hands when we walk', I think I am in for some serious trouble !! I am still waiting for my dream proposal. And this time, I wanted to make sure that it's the guy who is going to propose me !

I guess the 20's something iPhones certainly have their lives in a better place. And I wasted that entire decade of my life figuring out how I can do everything wrong so that I screw up my 30's,40's and 50's. Brilliant planning I say !

God ! Just don't let me be taken to a recycle center.

And my dear friends - this is precisely the reason why I never answer your phone calls or reply to your emails. Because if this is the kind of inspirational jabber you think will help me back on my feet, I guess you just don't know me well enough.

Sonic memories

Today, I woke up to the sound of the shrill whistle of the pressure cooker. For that brief moment, I was transported 7000 miles across the oceans and continents. Back home. To my mother's kitchen. Our weekend routine breakfast. Puttu-Kadala (Traditional kerala dish). The first whistle of the pressure cooker is the sign that she is readying the 'Kadala' for it's first stage of preparation. It was like a well rehearsed dance. Still lying cozy in my bed, I would continue making a mental note of her routine. The sound of her getting the grater out of the shelf, the coconut being broken in half, she saves the tender sweet water for me after taking one sip from the glass, the sound of the coconut being grated, the smell of the curry leaves and spices and coconut being roasted, the blender and the grand finale, sound of her setting up the 'Puttu' steamer. This was my cue to get out of bed. Perfect timing to freshen up and be in the kitchen exactly in time for the first batch of the steaming hot puttu-kadala and my favourite, the sweet coconut water.

So today morning, on hearing the shrill whistle, I dragged my lazy self out of bed and walked sleepy eyed into my kitchen half expecting to see my mother's smiling face there with the hot breakfast ready. The kitchen was empty, much like my life.

Turns out, I just have new Indian neighbors.

But to me, it was amazing, how that one single sound bought back such fond memories. Which filled my heart with love and missing. Also a teeny weeny bit of guilt. Because every single trip home, I always swore I would surprise my mother by waking up early and taking up the role of making breakfast for the family. Never happened. Despite being 30, when I get home, I miraculously turn worse than a 3 year old !

So that got me thinking - Sonic memories. I am sure it's not just me. We all have memories associated with most sounds in our daily life. Some sweet, some harsh, some bitter and some purely mind numbing.

Like the time the radio plays a song. Every time, even today, when this particular song comes up, my heart skips a beat and my hand automatically reaches for my mobile - Overwhelmingly numb.

Or the time the Jennifer Lopez song comes up, it reminds me of the time the super cute guy from my gym hit on me :-). This song had been my inspiration to do a crazy work out regime that particular day and said cute guy congratulates me for the attempt and even goes on to compliment my tattoo - Seventh heaven !

Case rests that I never wound up meeting the afore mentioned cutie after that, but it's been my inspiration to hit the gym atleast 3 days a week because you know, sometimes you never know - Inspired!

Speaking of ring tones, my personal favorite- The classic Nokia ring tone. To this day, there is only one person my heart fondly remembers every single time I hear it - My father. For over the last 16 years, ever since he has started using a mobile phone, despite upgrading the device to still-no-frills handsets, he has vehemently refused to change the ring tone to anything else - Deep love and gratitude for the one man in my life who has never left my side or let me down from the time I took my first breath.

Commercial flight's take off announcement - This fills me with panic and grips my heart with such fierce fear that I literally break out into a sweat frenzy. And no, it is not because I have the fear of flying. On the contrary, I used to love it.It all started when I was making my first trip back home to file my divorce. From the moment I boarded the flight and the engines revved into life, my first instinct was to get out of my seat, make a dash for the door and run for life. I didn't want to make the much dreaded journey, just to get there and end my life. What lay at the other side of the journey filled me with dread. I was, after all, putting an end to my life, going to make an ass of myself in front of family, friends and the general public, sign up for a life of being scorned, rebuked and disdained upon and in all probability end up being alone for the rest of my life. To be that weird old hag who lives with her 5 dogs and 20 cats.

So much so that, each time I board a flight now, I have to convince myself that there is going to be no courtroom drama at the other end, no counselors making you feel like a cheapskate, no confusing paper work to be signed, no looks of disapproval or animosity and most importantly no one with a name board reading 'Loser - You are such a failure'. Because when you are thirty and divorced and happen to be of the 'Woman' species, this is exactly what you are. A pathetic failure.

I would have assumed that anything associated with marriage would fill me dread and panic, but oddly enough, the sounds of marriage itself or any memory associated with it actually fills me up with fond nostalgia. Because no matter how the journey ended, the beginning was beautiful. The day of my marriage is still a very fond memory in my mind. Not to sound vain, but I was a beautiful bride. Dressed up in all glory. Everything had been perfect. I hadn't stopped smiling even for a second.The day was every bit how I had wanted it to be. I know I can never go there again, ever. Even if I do get married again, I know I will never be as beautiful or innocent as the 27 year old bride I had been.

And that is precisely the reason why, when my mother asked me what to do with the wedding album, I told her to save it up someplace safe. Because in-spite of everything that had gone wrong in the marriage, I still want to someday see the visual proof of the day I had been completely oblivious in a fool's paradise. Everything else from that journey has been burned and turned to ashes. Only this was to remain.

So folks, this is the story of how a single shrill whistle of a pressure cooker in the morning turned my day into a day of reminiscence. There are plenty more memories I can think of to associate memories I cherish and refrain from too, but I think this post has done what it was intended to do - Get me out of my head and into my blog. Maybe I should tip my new neighbors something generous, so that they make this a weekend routine.

I liked waking up in the morning, today.

It's been there all along...

I hear and I forget.
I see and I remember.
I do and I understand.
                         - Confucius

So that clearly explains why I am hell bent on making mistakes over and over again ! Finally, a theory to support my spontaneous outbursts. And to think I had been stuck like a hamster in a wheel going round and round in my head over my actions. Which reminds me - I should get a hamster. Maybe. Or a dog. Oh sigh ! Here we go again !

To be or not

My biggest regret in life  – that I had a near perfect childhood. That my parents were the perfect examples of a stable marriage. That they ensured I never mixed in with the wrong crowd. That I was always protected. That I never met a thug or got spoken to harshly.

All the people in my life were reviewed and filtered. I got to meet only the good ones. The bad ones were kicked out even before I got a chance to know of their existence. I was taught to trust people. To give them chances.  To not hurt anyone. Even if they hurt you over and over. I was taught never to panic. Because it was assured to me that everything will be eventually taken care of. That there is a place to go back no matter how bad things get. A place where I am not judged, scorned or insulted. That I never had to witness a fight in my life ever before. That everything was rosy and a bed of roses. 

I was taught to be always optimistic. That there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. But in my case, most often, that light was usually the headlight of an approaching train and I was stranded in the tunnel with no way out! This was a truth I never realized until much later in my life. Until then, the fool in me breezed along enjoying the shrill whistle of the speeding train, feeling the thunderous vibrations of the tracks and being happy that I was getting closer to the light, oblivious of the impending doom.

Probably this is how I turned out to be naive. I like to call it naive. Others might call it stupid or foolhardy.

 I really do wish I did tread a few thorns on my way when I was younger and stronger to deal with it. Not now. Not when I am thirty and everyone in my league is eons ahead of me when it comes to grabbing life by it’s collar and kicking it where it hurts! I am stranded even now, struggling to find where this evasive so-called collar of life is so that I can give it a piece of my mind too, before my time is up.

I wish I was from a broken home trained to be street smart from a very young age. Trained to call out on people’s lies and shrewdness the minute I laid eyes on them. Capable of using abusive language. Able to actually type out the phrase ‘kick his balls’ without having to backspace it a hundred times.  Give s**t to people when they lash it out to me. Be able to never trust anyone, ever. To be a cynic. To not want to have a smile on my face even when the world around me is crashing down. To not worry about hurting others. To speak my mind out without a care for the listener.

I wish I could put the blame on someone. But it’s really not fair of me to put my parents in the hot seat and tell them that I am a lost cause because they were perfect. That I am a failure when it comes to living on my own cause they taught me to believe only in the good. Because they ensured I grow up to be a better person. 

I am my own enemy.

Tribute to a nation's hero

I didn't know him. I had never met him. But I knew his wife. Long before she became his wife. When she was a bubbly teenager. And then years went by. We reconnected on facebook. I saw her transition from the radiant graduate to a blushing bride to a proud mother and now to be the brave wife of a nation's hero.

Major Mukund Varadarajan(Age 31) - 22 Rajputana Regiment Indian Army. Killed during an encounter with terrorists in Shopian, kashmir on April 25, 2014. Survived by wife and three year old daughter.

Nothing in recent times has moved me as much as watching this video of father daughter duo sharing a brief singing session. 

At a time when parents are rushing to buy iPad's and iPhone's for kids,filling their little heads with poems on little stars that twinkle overhead, on princesses locked away in high towers, on prince charmings riding away in shining armor, here is a father teaching his little girl something she will treasure for the rest of her life. 

It moves me that the little one will have no or little memory of the amazing person that her father was. That all she will remember of this brave man is what little stories such videos and photographs tell her. That she will regret not getting a chance to show him what an important part he has played in making her who she is.

And to think I was selfish enough to hope to be a single mother. 

The world needs more sons, fathers and husbands like these. Why does fate have to deprive the lucky ones?

Fear I have not, fear I have not,
Even if the entire sky breaks,
And falls on my head
Even if they judge me as the worst,
Fear I have not, fear I have not.

Post by Major Mukund Varadarajan.