Baba is sick, sans an illness

Baba is sick without an illness. It's called old age. It is shattering to fathom what he must be going through. His brain, over 9 decades old has stopped making sense of things, living— non-living. His memory is wiped out, he’s started hallucinating, he chats with imaginary people, is it because we weren’t there to talk to him? It breaks me. When we tell people, he’s suffering, he’s sick, almost everybody says, yeah must be old-age, very indifferently as if it's okay to suffer if you’re old and weak and fragile. It hurts me, but I know it's not their fault. When I was growing up, he had hundreds of stories to tell us, one can imagine he was born in 1922, he’s seen everything,  he lived in the era that we studied in history! We would sit around him and he’d tell us his college stories, of India’s struggle for freedom, of uniting one India post Independence, of his office days under the British empire, of how he raised his five sons, sans any money but loads of values, one could see his eyes glitter when he used to talk about the bygone era. But now, he remembers nothing.  He doesn’t remember my name. He doesn’t remember what year is it, he doesn’t remember anything that he’s experienced in the past 95 years, they say, it's the old age. Indeed, it is, but imagine the suffering. He was living with memories all his life and what does he have now? Is it okay to suffer if you’re old? I feel helpless, like never before. It sucks. Why not me? Why him? Why can’t I change places? What do I do to make him happy? He has swollen foot but doctors say, they cannot treat it, because it's apparently natural, its old age. It's something to do with the kidneys, they say. Why can’t we help him? The other day, a very independent 95-year-old man shat his pants, and cried of embarrassment, what do we say to comfort him? How? It breaks me in the most unimaginable way. It’s like saying a thousand goodbyes together. Yes, human body is fragile, world is unfair, shit happens, but this is soul crushing. May we have the strength and wisdom to make him feel loved and special while we can. He is a major part of who we all are. He is the root to the tree touching skies, he has nourished us, all his life selflessly, he is the reason we all exist, of who we are and what we’ve all become. May we gather the strength and patience to hold him and not let him fall because old or not, nobody deserves this. 

Shaadi ka laddu

Not much has changed post marriage, only everything .One year, 3 months and 11 days into marriage I now know what the fuss was all about. All the jokes, all the shaadi ka ladoo metaphors, all the hype, I don’t shy away from concluding, at the risk of concluding too soon, that marriage sucks. It makes one bat shit crazy. Its hell lotta work and no, I was not and am not a fan. There! I blurt it out. Its outta my system. I love him, I love him but marriage sucks. I might sound like Mark Antony but I really mean it. I’ve read and thought about the box metaphor where it is proposed that, marriage is a box wherein you mustn’t look forward to take away things but put in it together to help your marriage grow and sustain and bla bla. The more I think about it, the more it drives me to insanity. But ab pachtai hot kya jab chidiya chug gayi khet? Which is why I’ve decided to not cry over things and begin to accept shit as it is, served cold, salty or bland—Eat it!

I’ve quit my job back in Bangalore and relocated to his hometown—I was told I’m crazy for doing this and that this will turn to be a nightmare etcetera but some things are neither right or wrong and you must do it for your soul, I don’t regret my decision one bit but this is the most difficult phase of my life, hands down, his hometown,  the steel city of Orissa, encircled by rivers and pretty hills. I wake up every day to the chirping of birds and a sight of a gulmohar tree blossoming red flowers. But not everything is pretty, for the uninitiated, I do not know the language, Odiya, which is a blessing in disguise of sorts. On the first day, I was asked to wear a saree with silver toe-rings, anklet, red bangles, mahroon sindoor and a ghunghat, I suddenly felt like my teen self, the girl who cried when she was first hit by the monstrous menstrual cycle, mostly out of embarrassment and not being able to comprehend what the fuck was going on. This time, I felt a similar discomfort, a feeling of disconnecting from my own self. It was like putting on a garb and woosh, in a split second I was someone I didn’t know. “Its just the clothes, don’t make it a bid deal” I told myself repeatedly after weeping in his arms for hours. Of course, he had no clue why it was such a big deal for me. Apart from hating the hideous clothes, which wasn’t that big a deal, honestly, being told what to do and wear was what hit me the most. I’ve always hated being told what to do, wear, eat, not proud of it, but that’s how I’m wired. That’s how I function, I know no other way. I am was convinced that in this quagmire of subservience, I’ll lose myself in the most dramatic way ever. I wake up depressed most of the days, having the hardest time just to survive one more day. When I manage to survive a day, its like crawling up a pitch dark hole, only to lay flat on the surface staring at the clear blue skies, thanking the lord that you didn’t die. I hope I make it till the end. 

What a fighter she was!

“You look so pretty after marriage!”, she said holding my hand with a gleam in her eyes. I managed a smile, fighting myself to hold back the tears. “How are you badimummy?” I asked, I knew how she was. Fighting to live everyday, with the strength I’ve only read in legends. What else heroes are made of? And here I was feeling so weak and vulnerable, I wanted to cry my heart out, only I couldn’t. I’ve never felt so naked about my emotions ever.  There were so many thoughts slapping my head that I was almost going insane. How could life be so unfair? How can she smile with so much pain? How.Why. Of course, there are and will be no answers to such questions. She was still holding my hand, moaning with incredible pain, that one can only imagine. “How is S? He’s a really nice guy”, she smiled, I couldn’t hold a conversation and hated myself for acting so childish. Act Normal, Nikita. Hold back the tears, she doesn’t wanna see them! I would remind myself, frustrated. Often, I’d excuse myself with a fake phone call. It was so much harder than I thought, that maddening thick silence engulfing us all. Outside in the waiting room, I wept profusely, people saw, they turned back and saw but I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t care. I couldn’t masquerade strength, I could see myself all over the place, crying like a baby, even in front of my lil sister when I should’ve been there for her. I couldn’t, I was breaking in the most ugly way one can imagine. Some patients were in the corridors, walking, some were in the well lit waiting room and seeing somebody weep like that was probably the last thing a cancer patient wants to see, I failed.Miserably. I went back to her room, we were all trying desperately to strike a normal conversation, cracking silly jokes, pretending to laugh, “Shivi you remember that hindi language essay that you wrote in class 2?”, bhaiya asked Shivi. “It was genius”. She smiled and in a fit uttered, “bhaiya stop it, it wasn’t that bad”. Everybody laughed. Badimummy laughed too, it was a pretty sight. “You guys must be hungry, order food, P”, she asked her son and soon the rice and the noodles arrived. We couldn’t eat, how could we? She hadn’t eaten in 30 days. “You’re not eating, please take some more” she told mom. Amidst so much pain, she could think about all this, I could not believe. How can someone be like that? I was unlearning everything I’ve known about life in these 25 years. You need to shred every strand of your existence to understand death and how much nothing else matters. How everything falls flat in the face of death. I hadn’t seen death from so close and she was living it with so much positivity and courage. We all know death is an inevitable end, but I wasn’t prepared for it. Who is? That day I learnt how much it means to give and to smile and what strength does for us.  When we were leaving, she said, “I’ll soon come to Delhi” but sadly, she never will.  We lost her a week after I relocated to Orissa. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep for days thinking I hate this place  and this is what quitting job is doing to me. I couldn’t write. Until today when I wrote this. I’ll never forget what she taught me in her silence. May her soul rest in peace and inspire us all till the end of our days. 

Hitched!

Ssup Ladies and Gentlemen,

If by any chance, you've missed my embarrassing wedding photos on our very own facebook, chances of which happening is lesser than finding life on Pluto (Side Note: Please go and like them, this is JUST the reason I got married for) and if you've recently spotted a girl woman wearing the shinniest pair of red bangles with shirts and trousers. Yes, that's probably me. People say, women get hotter after marriage, I don't know what I did wrong. And for those who've been asking, one month into the marriage, life hasn't changed much, except people have started calling me aunty, I care about padosi ke bete ke bowels movements more, by the way and oh, yes! I've got a husband too.So, yes new set of people, new set of questions, good news kab hai? Don't even try asking me that, it is not funny. I'd poke a needle in your eye, worse I'd sit you down to watch Amrita Rao's dialogues in slow motion in your favorite, Vivah, the movie. So yes, social acceptance and all that jazz. Again, I care about Chintu's bowel movements, more. Fun fact though, there are still parts of our nation, where kids in school are prohibited to talk to a child of opposite gender and when they are to marry, they're sent off to a mysterious dark tunnel just because the gates look shiny. No, I'm not saying anything.Anyway, this post isn't about my life or yours, it's a work of philanthropy, my bit towards humanity. How those 3 days were the longest 100 years of my life, why you must choose for a court marriage instead, I tried though, good luck!

• Rituals: If you're born in a hindu household and marrying the traditional way (I'd not take the liberty to talk about other religions) sire, you'd be royally fucked.The unflagging pursuit of conducting rituals that are a pain in the ass for everybody. There'll be 10,000 rituals that'll add no value to your life, or your marriage, that's no fun, not for you, not for your family, not for the priest! And makes no sense whatsoever, Honey Singh's songs make more sense, but but but, you have to do it! Why? Because that's how its done, everybody does it! Why? Because god. I rest my case. Fun Fact: I heard mantra and shlokas in my sleep for good 5 days after the wedding, I would wake up sweating, would anxiously look around for the brown shit powder that we inflict upon the havan-kund, that's when he'd break my trance and say, it's over, with a dramatic pause. The saddest part? I'm not even kidding. I wish I was.

• Haldi Ceremony: Yes, the one you've watched in the movies. Deepika Padukone in yellow, designer lehenga, pink, can I call it choli?  But, stop flattering yourself. You are not Padukone, the bride is oiled and greased (and made to feel ugly on her wedding day) and made to  sit through pointless sessions of pooja which finishes just a second before her physical and emotional break-down. What timing! But I'm not cribbing, so much fun! You can't wait to get married, right? :)

• Photographer: This guy, manages to single-handedly suck whatever life is left in you. He'll ask you to semi make out with your guy in front of 300 guests and be okay with it. Are you okay with it? I was fucking not. And if you happen to be the bride, god save you. You'd be asked to hold a bouquet of flowers, hold it with both your hands and place them near your cheek and bend your head towards it, uh-no, not just any angle! The perfect angle that he prescribes, and all this to make a complete fucking fool of yourself. I can't think of anything else under the sun that's more lame. Can you?

• So-Much-Attention: I'm sure if I'd have won the Nobel prize for inventing flying cars, nobody would've given so much fuck. But no, marriage is larger than life! It was embarrassing to get so much attention for just a wedding, I mean, have I written a book? Won a prize? achieved anything? No.  I'm just spending my parents' hard-earned money, in one single night. Was I proud of it? NO. I felt like a mini Shah Rukh Khan.Well, but the ways of the world. 

• Kuch toh log kahenge: Now that we were getting married, every Ram, Shyam, Ghanshyam, paanwaala, chaiwaala assumed its their birth right to talk about our relationship. Everybody around, either had an advice or an opinion. I know life will change in multiple ways, a new set of people would be introduced, our equation would change, our fates would be intertwined and the decisions, good, bad, ugly, would affect both of us. Shit will change. But does that mean you get the right to talk about it? No. Kindly shove your valuable words of wisdom in your asses. Thank you.

P.S. Jokes apart thanks for coming to the wedding with last year's diwali's left over casserole sets wrapped primly with the shiniest piece of wrapping paper, they've truly touched our hearts and changed our lives :)

Friends with benefits

"I love you too." he said looking like a wall, straight, emotionless. He said it like it was a daily chore that he had to get over with. She immersed deeper in his arms. "Can you please stay tonight?" She pleaded. She hated to sound that way, desperate, weak, needy but there was little that she could help. She was impulsive, she was always ready to be burnt, ready to say the dangerous things, out loud, without a thought or the fear of being judged. She'd easily give in to the moment. "No. Please don't expect anything from me. You don't get it, do you?"  "I'm Sorry.", she said ashamed and embarrassed, cursing herself for having asked for something like that. "Whatever", he turned away from her. Being with him was an emotional roller coaster ride for her, like running madly in a tunnel reaching the darkest of corners and open spaces with lights, slapped between extremes, "Don't stay then, leave." she said trying to collect whatever was left of her self respect. "Come here baby, I snap easily. Sorry." he eased out and looked a little human than before, he embraced her in his arms and that one moment for her extended till eternity, unbroken. This was a pause that she never wanted to break. The way his fingers ran through her hair and his touch on her bare chest made her feel alive than anything else in the world did. She'd transcend space and time, when in his arms. Just then, in the mid of the night, his phone rang. He instantly rose and dressed himself. "No, please stay a little longer." again, she cursed herself for saying it out loud in open with such desperation. "I have to. My wife just delivered a baby.You can stay here tonight, I've made the payment." He left leaving five grands on the bed, closing the door behind him.

Periods.

Its that time of the month again. When I blossom like a flower and my femininity flows out of my body like a mad roaring river, I love it. Every bit. They ask us not to enter the temple, because it's a holy place, not to

enter the kitchen, not to worship because lets face it, GOD, the imaginary friend, the stone statue, the hit-me bear must be respected and I'm dirty. I'm so overwhelmed with humility and warmth, I feel so respected. I love

periods! Hey, did I forget to mention the cramps? Oh, they're are just.beautiful. Your body hurts everywhere, parts that you didn't even know existed! I feel so alive. The pain. Back, legs, abdomen, upper abdomen,

lower abdomen, chest, you name it! So why all this happens? Every month uterus assumes, I'd let a guy put it in and have his sperm fertilize with the egg and make babies! Wow! Every fucking month, did you hear me?  EVERY FUCKING MONTH! Who does that? At this rate even Gandhari wouldn't have produced  babies. Anyway, so anticipating an arrival of the jerk's sperm (Universal truth: All men are jerks. Out of context? Fuck off) it thickens the uterus wall to cushion the fertilization, but of course when it doesn't happen, it breaks the hell loose, sheds the fucking cushion and there it is! in front of your eyes, like a crime scene. Blood, everywhere.

EVERYWHERE. And the best part? Its coming out of you! gushing out at the rate of thousand litres per second. And it's so adorable.Its on the bed sheet, its on the skirt, on the pants, on the floor, its in the universe. It's like a cosmic joke on you. Yes, on you.  And you're supposed to act all normal about it. Like nothing happened, oh does it hurt? It's okay. Its normal.  It'll happen next month too, and the month after and the month after until one day when an accident happens and you forget to use the condom or the fucking pill or you're hit by lightening and decide on having a kid or that font size 5 disclaimer on the condom box decides to fuck your life, that day, THAT day, it stops and then begins a new episode in a woman's body. A tale of blood and gore. Don't even get me started. All this to give birth to a child. A kid! A kid who grows up to be an asshole and spends all this time trying to impress a dumber kid. And after years when the torture finally ends and you look at your kid and back to all the years of pain, every month, it'll be all lame. The freaking dots will not connect. Your life would stop making sense. Not that it ever did. That day, woman, buy a bat and pick up a random man from the street and beat the fuck out of him and don't ask why. Women are after all illogical, unreasonable, irrational, think about every man who ever said that to you and there it is! your happily ever after!

P.S. I'm not PMSing

We could use some life. No?

So, like most of of the minions, I have a job, I do stuff that I'm told to do that most often than not, makes no sense to me, adds no value to my existence, doesn't even justify anything, its probably discarded off at the end of the day, yet I do it, in return of money.No honor, no pride, ghanta skill, for money.Simple. The usual format everywhere, I reckon. I fail to understand though, how 7 billion people of the entire world, are completely okay with it. Do you not want to scream the life outta you? 10 hours a day in a cubicle. How is it okay with you? I bow to thee. Immense respect. I, however, cannot, just cannot sit in an office and be told to do something that I dont give a shit about. I'd rather watch Deepak Tijori's movies or talk about how my life changes at the prospect of having a north indian-south indian debate with you, or how much I care about what Arvind Kejriwal is up to or what an incredible asset Gandhi has been to India or Tusshar Kapoor's prolific acting in no movie at all. You get the point. Peanuts. I donno about you, but I get peanuts in return of selling my soul, squeezing the life out of me, and that is made to sound like a fair deal. Did you ever notice? I'm sure you'd have.  I graduated with a farce idea of independence, of freedom and here I am, fettered by money. I kill my soul to earn money, money to be happy. See the circular logic? I see it in my dreams. And whoever said, slavery is abolished must be really wasted. I slave my way into life every single god damned day. I could pull it off by being drunk all the time, but I'm getting old and I have a social responsibility of talking big and doing nothing and pal, that ain't happening being drunk. So next time, you get a life, even for like a millionth of a second, invite me. Please?