My Favourite sunset

While there may be many shades to everything (including fifty shades of grey apparently), some preferences are pretty binary. You’re either or. You either like tea or like coffee. Either mountains or beaches. Either like cats or dogs. Either summer or winter (Unless you’re from Chennai, then you choose from Burning Summer vs. Very warm winter). Either you like Chinese or do not (silent ode to the husband – who does not like Chinese!). You’re either a sunrise person or a sunset person. I’m a sunset person. No shame admitting that sometimes waking up very early to see the morning sun doesn’t look even half as exciting as watching it go down. Sometimes its cloudy, rainy and foggy impairing visibility and then you’re just sitting on that cliff, blood pressure rising, reminding yourself that you could just be sitting snuggled in bed with a blanket, but here you are! 😐

But, sunsets.

Sunsets are beautiful – Warm, all encompassing, gradual and teasing but that grand close like the crescendo to a song and then, everything goes quiet for a few seconds. If you’re watching the sunset at a beach, even better. The waves are still lapping up against the shore, still dancing away with those last few rays of the sun, but you know its gone. I’ve seen some utterly beautiful sunsets – In the mountains at Ladakh, in the forests of Kabini and Bandipur, on the shores of pristine blue waters in Maldives, on a houseboat in the backwaters of Kerala, from the top of the world (Okay, obervation decks on the 147^th floor which do feel like the top of the world) and a million more memorable places. But, there’s one I cannot ever forget.

It must’ve been the 18^th of December, 1998. Mom, Dad and me had reached Cochin after a very long drive from Bangalore. We were staying at the Taj, Ernakulam which is smack on Marine Drive, the promenade by the ocean and in addition to its various perks, also offered sunset cruises on one of those Ya ya mayyayya (Inserting loyal Goan reference) type of boats. It was just the three of us and one foreigner on the boat. We were to cruise around for about an hour and see the sunset and return. Dad had recently snagged a handycam, he decided he’d take more videos than photos. Which was sad to me at the time – there was little that came close to the thrill of sending the film for print and then inserting the squeaky fresh photographs in those old fashioned albums. Nevertheless, I think he got almost 45-50 minutes of film of the cruise. As the sun went down, the boat stopped for a bit to allow us to really soak this in. The boat bobbed up and down on the waves, like a toy duck in a bathtub. We all ran to one side of the boat and the tourist took a picture or two and sat down to watch the sun go down. They’re surprisingly and generally less excited about photos and videos – unless they’e Chinese; then you’re truly doomed! Dad though filmed the whole thing – The sun turning into an orange ball of fire from the otherwise bright yellow, how it really started looking like a big sphere as it neared the waves, how it went down a little bit (resembling the ones in the bad drawings I used to make) and the aftermath. The orange and purple skies, the glistening waves, he got everything on tape. And of course a lot of our funny background conversation. Me saying Papa, I’m hungry. Mum telling him about the houseboats in Kumarakom and how they serve Pakodas and Chai (Sigh, us Indians!) on the cruise, him getting a bit fed up saying Tum dono chup baitho. Mum and I are in the frame often, but he never is. Yet his voice over is happy – it tells you without him saying as much, how much he wanted to take this vacation and how this cruise is still fun for him.

Eight days later, our lives changed forever and he left us. Among the rubble and recovered items from our crash, was this handycam. It had precisely two scratches, but tapes intact and worked just fine. Many weeks later when we were home from the hospital and discovered the AV cables and how to hook this up to the television, Mum & I watched this video several times over, the sun setting, us crying over food, him admonishing us. It remains my favorite sunset till date, because it is the last sunset I saw with him, the one true lover of sunsets I knew (He would time our drive on Agumbe Ghat, because we could reach the sunset point just in time to see the sun go down, while Mum would worry about covering the rest of the Ghat in darkness afterward!). Its my last memory of being a carefree and happy child, watching the sunset in amazement, no trace of sorrow or pain, not 1% (Well, if you exclude my then worries of having forgotten my favourite pen at home, what would I write with on this holiday!). 20 years on, I still remember how the boat bobbed, how he looked, how we went back after the cruise and bought chocolates from the Christmas pop up shop at the hotel. 20 years on, I still close my eyes and the memory of this sunset brings me warmth, a smile, a tear, a fond recollection of my happiest times all at once.

To my aunt, my Taru, my truly Maa jaisi Maasi

Despite being the only child, I sort of lucked out while growing up - I had three parents, my mum, dad and my aunt. 20 years ago, I lost my dad. Exactly a month ago, I lost my aunt. We’re taught from childhood that Maasis are special because they’re like your mother – they’re truly Maa (Jai)Si, but this one was really extra special. She never insisted on being called Maasi or Aunt (Huge step up for the times we grew up in), she let me name her what I wanted (Taru) because Tara Aunty was too long and everyone called her that. Taru was going to be our special thing.

She left us a month ago and though one knows death is inevitable for everyone, the shock still remains. She was 81, unwell at times on and off but one of the healthiest adults I ever knew. She did Yoga and went on her morning walks till the very end; She could sit on the floor for Pujas and havans longer than most of us could; She had the stamina to take an auto in summer heat and go all the way to buy sweets for us for Holi from the Sindhi sweet shop several kilometers away. And, she was the kindest, most giving, most considerate person I ever knew. The world is poorer without her, we are poorer without her. Diwali is coming up, I must accept that I will not get that phone call from her wishing me and Vivek a Happy Diwali right in the middle of the Muhurat. She always remembered us. Everytime I met her, there was always a brown bag with candies I ate as a child which she saw and bought for me, some sweetmeat that you just don’t get this side of town or something she had cooked for me; or in the summer, Alphonso mangoes. She always brought me something everytime she saw me – though these meetings were fewer and farther in the last few years, each one is cherished and today very missed.

I spent years and years dealing with the loss of my father, in good ways and sometimes pretty destructive ways. At times I wrote several letters when I felt absolutely lonely and helpless and really wished he were alive so I could talk to him. The younger me would tell herself that if you’re writing, someone’s going to have to read it. Maybe your thoughts will reach him if you put them down on paper.

Today, I will tell myself the same thing to send my thoughts to my aunt – There’s just so many things I want to tell you, Taru.

Firstly, I miss you and I love you very much. It is very hard knowing that you’re not in this world, in this city anymore. The night you left us, I still went ahead and left town for several days, because you were the biggest advocate I ever knew for normalcy. You were the one that always taught me life goes on no matter what. But I can not stop thinking about you – I don’t look at my speed dial without a moment’s pause any more – I see your name but I can’t delete it. I can not believe you’re not a call away anymore.

After papa left, many relatives’ weekly visits and phone calls soon became monthly and went back to being yearly. We went back to being Mumma, you and me for birthdays, for bringing home the new puppy, for any celebration – like my school graduation even. I still remember you’d wear the nicest Saree and put those jasmine flowers in your hair. I know these moments were special to you as well. This year, you’re not going to be there for Mom’s birthday or next year for mine. Till this year even, you gave me a pen because you know I can never have enough of stationery. You used to still buy those cards from Archies and make sure to pick up the ones that were made for nieces and mine used to have to always have a little girl – you’d tell me how cute she looked. I cannot believe I have had the last of those cards. Two weeks before you left us forever, the three of us met, ate icecream and you told me excitedly what to do in Vienna and what to bring back for you. You told me fondly about my Naana and told me I should go to Japan because he loved it and you always wanted to see that country. I hope you did many many things your heart wished for before you left, Taru.

My biggest regret for the rest of my life will remain that I did not see you on your birthday this year – Intuition is a terrible thing sometimes and though I couldn’t make it because of a very bad work day, I knew something was very off. I called and wished you over the phone and I cried my heart out in the office phone booth as we spoke and I told you I want to come but I’m unable to. You choked up a bit too but you said you’d treat me later and you know I’m busy but know that I love you. I hope you knew when you left, I really do love you very much. And, can you come back to keep your word, one last meal with me?

You’ve been a part of many of my firsts – You bought me my first writing desk and chair when I was 7. I can never forget how precious it was to me and how heartbroken I was to give it up many years later and only because I outgrew it. You bought me that hobby loom in high school and then we learnt crochet together two summers. You gave me my first Mills & Boons, which I ended up never returning to you – I know I still have it. You gave me my first Walkman as a birthday gift and I treasured it and cellotaped it when it cracked even, to continue using it even till I even went off to college. You used to buy me Mac Fast’s pizzas, way before Dominos and Pizza Hut came in. You took me for a re-run of Lion King and Parent Trap, even to this really bad cookery class where the teacher burned her hand – We laughed about it the last time we met too. You always were with me, even for rubbish like that when you knew you weren’t going to enjoy it.

I told you this one story very recently too – but there is so much I’m grateful to you for that there’s nothing I have done or could have done in my life to come close to matching your generosity and thoughtfulness. There was a time when a watch that Papa gave me had broken – after 6 years of (mis)use, it went in for repairs and I remember vividly, Timex called and said it was ready and the bill was Rs.700. At the time, Mom or I didn’t have the money to pay for this, it was just something we could not have afforded at the time even in the coming months. I remember with a very heavy heart telling myself that maybe it was time up for the watch, though I was ridiculously attached to it because of Papa. I told you over the phone during our very normal daily conversation that this had happened and I was going to let it go and not collect it. You went to the store yourself, paid for it and gave it to me the next time you saw me. I still have it – I will never forget how much you cared about me, about these little things. It wasn’t a Rs.700 you would want to throw over watch repairs either I know, but you did. 

I had 12 years with dad, with memories which are vivid even today. I have 32 years of memories of you – I don’t know how to go on knowing I’m never going to see you again. You’re probably the first person I saw when I was born, I’m sure you were there in the hospital. You’re the first person I’d look for in all family functions because I knew you’d come early and be helping with the preparations and seeing you was always comforting especially when there were many occasions I felt I didn’t fit in. You loved me irrespective of how terrible I looked or how poorly I dressed, or my buck teeth, or how clingy I was to you. A few years ago, we fought, you stopped talking to me for a few months even – but you came back. We both knew that embargos and wars wouldn’t work with us both. We loved each other too much for that.

The world will remember you as this spiritual and religious person – I will remember you as the first person who taught me it was okay to be different. It was okay not to stick to social norms, not to wear jewelry to show off, to have fewer but meaningful conversations rather than fleeting hellos and careless how are yous every day; not to mention that you truly lived every moral and every aspirational quote that some shallow people share on family groups ten times a day. You taught me that one can live alone and be okay – A man or a group of people cannot define a person. I will remember you as the greatest balance between spirituality, tradition and modernity. You knew your Arijit Singh from your Amit Trivedi with the same oomph you knew Chinmayananda from Tejomayananda. You knew that Ravi Shastri was bad for cricket and that Rahane shouldn’t have been dropped from the test squad as deftly as you knew that Virat was marrying Anushka.

Days after Papa passed away, someone in my hospital room pretty insensitively asked what would I do if something had happened to Mom also in the accident. You immediately matter of factly said I’d have lived with you. That’s what you were for me, Taru. You were my home if I had no where to go, my family if I were ever to lose all I had, you would never just be my aunt or a guardian, you were really another parent. One that mostly didn’t care for my faults and flaws – By the way, with you gone I’ve also lost an entire cheering squad.  

And I mourn you and miss you like I do my father even today. I know you’re up there, sitting with him maybe looking down at us – and hopefully you’re telling each other that I turned out okay. I know you both loved me to the moon and back, I just hope you always look at me with pride and happiness as I look up at you with an empty heart and teary eyes. I miss you more than I can say, though we didn’t talk everyday – knowing that I never will see you or hear from you is a truth I have to accept, though I’m just figuring out how to do that.

Always and forever,

Your niece,
Pooja

But they had it all...

The last week saw two celebrity suicides - not one, two. And who! Two extremely popular, successful, accomplished people, revered in their own fields. Kate Spade, the woman who launched the line of bags which every woman had to own one of at least. Anthony Bourdain who gave wanderlusting new meaning - who inspired people to travel and discover local gems that the world has to offer. They had money, love, respect and adulation from even people who did not know them well enough. Yet, in an empty hotel room, in different parts of the world, few days apart, they both hung themselves to death. But,they had everything. That's what the news articles say - They had everything, then why?

It shook me to imagine what they must've felt - when they tied that belt/scarf to end it. What must've been going on in their minds in those last few moments. How irrelevant and inconsequential everything they had earned or achieved must've been. And how an emptiness and a meaningless blankness must've taken over. But, could someone have stopped them? Could someone have changed the music and cheered them up that day? They had people they loved - one phone call, one conversation, could it have helped?

But, they didn't reach out. It is so scary - because whether or not you can call it depression, we all have moments of abject pain and sorrow, where sometimes nothing matters. That's where bad decisions of slitting wrists, running away from home and giving up on life come along. I know I've had many a moment like that while growing up, I still have them sometimes when nothing seems to matter. These are the bad moments when you feel unloved, but also incapable of loving. Where you feel alone, but are unable to reach out to someone. Where you're sinking, but you don't have the drive to grab a hook. But it always passed, someone or the other knowingly or unknowingly staged a rescue. Friends made normal but helpful conversations, forced ice-cream outings (when that was all we could afford as students!), just sat and partook in that hour long stare at the tree in college if that's what it was going to take for this to pass.

It is possible there's many of us who don't reach out even today - We wouldn't even know that someone is hurting to a point of destruction unless it hits us in the face. Because we're busy sorting out our own lives. And because we don't believe it can happen to someone we know. Forget Kate Spade and Anthony, think about the people you know. That friend who works 9-5, complains of the traffic, gulps down 6 cups of coffee with you at the pantry and makes office jokes, who watches some netflix before turning in, who goes on vacation every few months and lives an enviable life on social media. We cannot process that this person could be sad about anything - forget, have suicidal thoughts or be mentally disturbed. If they cry, we may pass it off as an outburst or a vent, nothing else. Who realizes that the afterthought lingers on in their minds for days at end. And it only gets worse. People very conveniently say "This movie is depressing". "I feel depressed today". "The environment here is so depressing". Maybe they mean it, but people use that word so loosely nowadays, you cannot tell the difference anymore if something is truly depressing or merely and temporarily upsetting.

Every bad conversation, every heartless exchange, every family drama, every hypocritical or deprecating comment, takes a toll. And some have been battling demons since we were teenagers. Think about the pile-up! The media sometimes makes it worse - Sensationalizing suicide glorifies it sometimes, rather than discourage it. Imagine someone with a bottle of sleeping pills reading these articles, it will push them over the edge. Did Kate Spade's news push Bourdain over the edge, we'll never know. 

Everyone's not strong enough to always bounce back and always find the silver lining. And I suppose the only thing we can do is be around for someone who's having trouble bouncing back. We can take note of the disturbing signs and if nothing, just be there. Remind that loved one or even colleague you care about that they're stronger and bigger than this. They are valued and precious in the current moment. All these whatsapp forwards and quotations are not going to help, getting up and giving them a hug is what will. I do try my best, because I know people who've done it for me and who still do it - I will listen. I will listen better, more carefully, to what is said and unsaid by the people I love. Because if celebrity deaths shock us this much, be rest assured that a loved one giving up is going to rip us apart. And if you don't know what to do or it seems out of control, call for help, reach out to a helpline. The last thing you want to live with is regretting not making that phone call earlier. 

Because what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger...

Its constantly amazing, how some people go on and on about all the things that go wrong in their life, how people do not love them, how they are not valued - when they've been guilty of exactly doing the same things in the past! In their movie, where they're the damsels in distress and the protagonists who can do no wrong, who float on magic clouds and ooze joy where they move, there's a villain. Err, in someone else's movie, you're the villain! It’s a strange face of human nature, we have the memory of an elephant for all the bad that has happened to us, but the memory of a goldfish for the ill we've done unto others.

Our moral science lessons in school, our movies and mainstream media and even the bible (come on!) teach us "Do unto others, what you would have done unto yourself". Yet, we sow nails in others' pathways and expect a carpet of roses for ourselves. We forget that at some point, we had the opportunity to make someone happier, make their lives a little bit easier - we didn't take it. We created misunderstandings, because it amused us. We  found flaws with them, because they didn't fit our definition of 'beautiful' or 'normal' or 'fun'. We immediately adjudged them to be inferior, because they had different priorities, they were wired differently. They weren't cross wired, they just weren't like you. They weren't bad, mind you.

This is often contributed by the environment we grow up in. Indian families are perhaps the most loving to their own, but to others - they're the quickest to criticize, quickest to resist change and the slowest to accept differences. When kids from such households grow up, they start meddling in others' lives, giving them a false sense of maturity and adulthood. No, sir. That is called poking your nose where it doesn't belong and handing out advise nobody asked you for. Now, God forbid someone else meddles in their lives, all hell breaks loose. Family committee meetings are convened, friends support groups are recruited, a rescue force is commissioned.

If only, the oppressed could remember how they were the oppressors at a point. Some of us don't have the luxury of family meetings and rescue missions - We're pretty much by ourselves and have been overwhelmed with your insensitivity at times! Yet, you steal our rainbows, but cry yourself a river when you hit a road bump.

But, thank you. Yes, you made us stronger - Yes, we discovered the power of being alone, but not lonely. Maybe that came at the expense of a whole bunch of tears, more than a few pounds, maybe a bottle of vodka, maybe a cocktail of drugs or even lifelong high heart rates. But, we're more evolved than you'll ever be. We'll have more heart than you publicly claim to possess. Today, we'll wish our stolen rainbows brighten up your house, our stolen laughter rings in your ears, our stolen dreams keep you awake at night.

"But, I wasn't so bad ever", you'll say. I agree. No, you were worse.

Kanmi nomi zo shiru... Only sweet Heaven knows!

When a show came about in a corner of the world known as Japan, about a man who changes jobs so he can eat desserts and write about it - I still found out as it launched, though I wasn't on Netflix at the time but I guess it speaks volumes about the kind of pages I follow on social media! The premise kind of hit home hard because it was almost like someone was living my dream onscreen. There's been several occasions and my colleagues would vouch for it, when I've lamented how I'd rather be eating and writing about eating than working excels on profit margins about companies making couplings or airplane parts! So, even though it was in Japanese and I'm not the biggest fan of Foreign language television or cinema because one has to pay real good attention to the subtitles, I figured I was going to watch this show. Torrents failed me (can we please sign a petition to bring back the real Kickasstorrents!), online streaming sites failed me, Hotstar didn't comprehend what I was searching for even! Finally, when I got myself around to be part of my band of friends and also Netflix dacoits using free trials very effectively, it was the first show I watched. So, here's my honest and impressed piece about Kantaro, the sweet tooth salaryman.

  

A 20 odd minutes each episode, a twelve episode season is what we have so far. The protagonist Ametani Kantaro is this smart, professional mid-twenties employee who quits his previous job because it allowed him to only have sweets over the weekend and he wanted to be able to do this all week through. Hence, he finds himself a job as a salesman for a book publishing house in Tokyo. He must make sales visits selling new offerings to book stores across the city and he manages to finish his visits like a ninja, much sooner than others while keeping some time aside to visit a different sweet shop every visit. Later, he blogs about it under the name Sweets Knight. While the premise is fictitious, the sweet shops are real and apparently so are the delicious desserts he eats. So, we go along with him on this journey as each episode is dedicated to one special dish.

He's literally in heaven! Here he's devouring a Kakigori or a dessert of saved ice with freshly scooped melons and melon syrup!

The construct of each episode is quite planned as well (Heck, it’s a Japanese series!), starting with a brief of how he lands up in that district or part of town and oh, the serendipity - the area is famous for XYZ dessert. This is followed by a mini crisis of how to make time for the place, followed by his grand entry into the store, a description of the ambiance along with a brief history of the restaurant, how he orders for the special or signature dish, watches it being made while literally foodgasming as he describes the cooking process. Finally he digs in, devouring his dessert wholesomely, generally ordering for more of the same and then blogging about it immediately after he leaves the store. He finally ends up entering his office like a star who's over-done his job of the day. No one in the office questions him because he meets his targets and slowly becomes salesman of the month, even. Except, well Dobashi. A lady who loves sweets as much and follows Sweets Knight and starts seeing a correlation with a new post to the same location where Kantaro has visited. She spends time figuring how to whistleblow so she can report him playing hooky on the job, purely because she doesn’t believe one can be so perfect. She tries to honey trap him by telling him about a store via a comment she posts as Sweets Princess, then waits for him there. She tries to share some exquisite handmade desserts lying to him that they are from a supermarket - waiting for Kantaro san to explode in her face. But, Kantaro is always one step ahead - always composed, icy exterior and does not crack even though from inside he's a bundle of nerves figuring how close he was to getting busted! I must not forget to mention - in each episode there is 4-5 minute scene where other characters become the dish or generally Kantaro's head becomes the dish and there is a dreamy conversation about life at large. I ended up skipping this mindless part most of the times because I was mainly in a hurry to get to the next episode and discover what beauty is being shot.

The Fruit Parfait <3 <3

The season takes you through some delicious Japanese sweets, that being in India I have had almost NO exposure to, but can still find some familiarity with the ingredients. For instance, the first episode talks about a dessert called Shiratama Anmitsu - which ends up being made of ingredients such as red beans (humble Rajma?), Agar Agar (China grass!), Rice flour dumplings (Modaks?) topped off with a bunch of fruits. It’s a sort of a fruit trifle (I won't say Parfait, because there's a whole episode dedicated to that!).

The chocolate mousse dessert

This bar of perfectly made bean to bar chocolate! 

 The detailed description of the dish, its ingredients, how it tasted always made me drool and I decided to only watch while eating a meal, so I can't end up craving for something and skipping what I'm supposed to eat. Hell, that backfired in the next episode where he was eating shaved ice and I was shoving down Kundroo and roti! But, I'm saying that it the series is less alien than I imagined and slowly grows onto you. By episode 8, it doesn't shock you when a red bean sauce is served with a matcha icecream! 

The Savarin that Kantaro
devours at Cafe Recherche

Also some of the desserts he tries are Western but you realize have a huge popularity in Japan as well - Remember the parfait, then there's eclairs, the Italian Caramel pudding, the French Savarin and then there is ONE WHOLE EPISODE dedicated to Chocolate! Heaven, basically - in Kantaro's words "Sweets Heaven!"

 

Nevertheless, BIG shout-out to the camera work and photography which painstakingly and sometimes in real Slo-mo shoots fruits being scooped or this blast of a soft gelatinous ball of sweet jelly and makes you almost dive into that kitchen and can almost taste the juiciness. I've watched a whole bunch of food shows, no one has shot food better than in Kantaro. Even the pictures he puts up on his blog after the visits, puts an instagram influencer's page to shame. There's utter beauty in each shot that contains food and this has 100% won my heart!

This is the camera work you see to explain how juicy that jelly was! 

 
At 20 minutes per episode, its highly addictive if you're an incorrigible foodie like me. Its one of those shows you can easily binge watch and walk away smiling and not mind-fucked where you're trying to figure what the hell just happened. 

Slightly creepy - Kantaro eating an eclair in front
of his mom, who he's managed to put to bed!

Yes, the ending was a slight let down for me (No spoilers here) but I await the next season because we need  more such offbeat, somewhat creepy at times (the episode where he's eating sweets while his mother is sleeping like a deranged psychopath!), but warm and endearing shows about the things we love. Till then, as I dream about desserts, the next one I have is something "Only sweet heaven knows!".

Kanmi nomi zo shiru! 

Also visit this link if you're interested in a list of the stores he visits and are heading to Tokyo some time soon. I also read about a Kantaro food tour - and I can't wait to visit the city and take it someday!

 

Till death do us apart..

Nowadays there are whatsapp forwards going around about everything – its almost as if all the world’s love lessons and moral science teachings are left to pass on only through whatsapp. All those “Love your daughter”, “A mother is special because…”, blah blah forwards – effectively we’re running our very own versions of Hum saath saath hain on social media (great timing on this reference by the way! *blogger pats self on back*). When it comes to spouses though, there’s just ruthless memes and jokes – either mocking the female partner’s low IQ, or the male’s propensity to drink, or both’s to ignore a child and become phone addicts. Has no one ever wondered to share anything about how important one’s spouse is to one’s life? It is amazing, how the one relationship which we try to pick for ourselves, the one person who we will see for the longest period in our lives, is relegated to the comedy genre in media.

Yes, accept it. In likelihood, you will see your spouse for the longest time in your life (assuming they don’t get fed up of you) – Longer than you’ll probably see your children, longer than you’ll see your parents maybe, longer than you’ll see any friend even. Plus, you’ll see them first thing in the morning, last thing at night.

Spouses are important in more ways than one – Besides the whole fact that they provide you with love and togetherness, they are around for more than you realize. They see you at your worst – literal worst. I mean they can be the ones who can live with you even if you’ve grown an upper lip worthy of competing with Shikhar Dhawan. And vice versa, you live with them if they’ve not shaved in days and celebrate No-shave November even in June; if they grow beer bellies, or lose hair. Spouses are around for the after-show; after all the lights go off and the make-up comes off. They’re around for the real deal and they stay. They don’t have an exit pass or a pack-up time. Besides dealing with replusive physical appearances sometimes, they also deal with you when you’re most vulnerable. They’re around to see that despite the fact that you may be this corporate gladiator, fighting board room wars, cutting winning deals, getting everything broken fixed, you might be scared of thunder; or a lizard. They deal with your squeals when you spot that ugly creature crawling on the wall in front of you; But they also deal with your insecurities when you pour your heart out about how work is getting to you. Sometimes, they even let you use them as a punching bag when you need to vent and be a completely selfish alligator.

They’re with you when you get that dreaded phone call that tells you someone in the family passed away. They hold you, sit with you and let you cry till it is time to get up and go to the funeral. And they come with you. They don’t get to say No, or distance themselves from a tragedy. Your sorrow is their sorrow. They hang around for all the tears, pain and heartbreak – always.

They act as great priests hearing out your confessions if you did something wrong and making you feel ridiculously guilty about it – but then in the bargain making sure you fix it and do the right thing. I think my morality tree has grown manifold like a successful Farmville piece of land might, thanks to the mister.        

Its not just these really large and mighty things that they’re around for. They do the little things as well – basically the whole deal. Whether it is bringing thermometer at 2 am to check why you’re warm, or whether it is finishing off that really bad piece of apple pie the host forced on to your plate at the party, or whether it is meeting your friends on your birthday when they’d much rather just chill. They’re around for all things good and bad. It is despicable that all we choose to share when we talk about spouses is about them forgetting anniversaries, or becoming fat, or showing the wives throw money on clothes and jewelry while the men are getting drunk. We need to stop the hypocrisy and misrepresentation – not all parents are perfect, not all children are perfect and God’s gifts and not all married relationships are irreparable and imperfect. They deserve much more than memes and laughs.

13th March - My favourite day of the year!

It’s that time of the year again – March 13^th is literally around the corner. The one time of the year my friends see the Birthdayzilla version of me, strutting around the day like I’m walking on a cloud. My mother dresses up in a new dress all excited for dinner herself. The husband hits his head, because this single day is the most challenging for the sober and inexpressive person that he is. I’m doing countdowns from months and weeks running up to this day, but this year is somehow different. Work is crazy, I almost didn’t realize it was a week to go last Tuesday, till one of my besties pointed it out (see how well they’ve paid attention at orientation programme?). I’ve made the smallest deal possible, told everyone to chill and not hassle much this year round. I don’t know what I want for a birthday gift and I don’t know yet when I will get off work. It’s very different but maybe I’m getting old enough to in some years start saying “It’s just another day in the year”.

But this year more than every other – I’ve been reminiscing how birthdays in childhood used to be. May be we should spend time to remember how the past was, so it doesn’t slip by our mind. I’d be devastated if some day I wake up and cannot remember how those favorite days in my childhood were. And birthdays were right up there in the list.

There were always cakes to be cut – which my dad used to take me to Nilgiris to order. The same Mickey Mouse cake was picked which would get delivered by the evening of the birthday. I don’t know how but Dad always managed to come home by the time the cake had to be cut. For a man who came home at 9 and 10 pm every other day, he never let my birthday slip by - He always made it! He’d have taken me to Commercial street one day before if not sooner but make sure I have something new to wear for my birthday, sometimes at the expense of homework not being done! So we’d all dress up and go somewhere for dinner – there’d be times we’d have some of his work friends or some of his pathetic relatives tag along and I’d lose all attention for that outing, but then he’d say bye to everyone and take us for ice-cream to Richie Rich and life would be good again as we slobbered up on that Gadbad icecream.

After he left, the years Mum and I spent birthdays alone were still special – My friends from college used to make a huge deal of my birthday and indulge me during the day, while in the evening we’d cut a cake and my relatives would visit. Dinners were generally the evening snack indulgences with lots of cake and a sugar high making it hard to sleep and those glances at the clock counting down to how much of the birthday is left. Super low key from the years before, but never unfulfilling or unsatisfying.

Birthdays in the MBA days were super special too – The dirty Geeta bakery cake was bought to smash on our face and hair. At  Rs.65 for the ½ kg, it was an amazing hair spa treatment at least! My roommate made the cutest video, sometimes managing to convince Vivek he has a moral duty to contribute as well – I knew they used to fight on the sidelines about this! Dinners were organized, my friends would plan the number of bikes and the whole plan and we’d go indulge as much as possible for that night. I'd pray from a few days before that we don't have visiting faculty classes and there's no assignment due. Heck, there was a Brandmaps team submission due but my team let me off. 

I don’t vividly remember ever getting something as a birthday gift at home – there wasn’t ever a token saying this is for your birthday. Much like today, the people around me love me enough to put up with my demands and spoil me the whole year through, it isn’t even possible to find something to demand shamelessly any more for that specific day.

I have a Mr. who reminds me more than ever of my dad in terms of how he behaves around my favorite day of the year. The last minute Birthday cake orders which I generally go along for, last minute clothes being bought, that shocking early return from work when otherwise he’s moping around about his evening meetings. I grow older, but more loved and more cared for as every year passes. May be it isn't about an obvious celebration any more, but more about knowing that there's people who'll always remember your special day and hearing from everyone on the same day is enough. Its more about chocolate cake than its ever been - its more about getting away with tantrums but knowing everyone's making an effort to make you smile all day through. And you know what, its more than enough.