Being a toddler mom

I feel it's unfair that - 

After working so hard on your meal,

You throw them away like it doesn't matter. 

You get angry when I peel the banana

You get frustrated 'cause you couldn't unlock the door on your own and then when I offered to help, you got a little more upset! 

You refuse to wear your jacket even though it's freezing cold outside 

You don't want to brush your teeth 

You demand that I hold your book and food at the same time 

You don't let me listen to my favorite songs anymore

You have taken up all my personal space

But then - 

The other day, you replaced an entire song lyrics with the word "potato" and made me laugh so hard that I had tears in my eyes.

And then, you wrap your teeny tiny arms around me and say, "huggyyyy" 

So, let's just call it even?

Are you OK, my friend?

I’m writing a blog post after a really long time and this was my inspiration. It was a scene from one of the episodes of Modern Love, an Amazon prime series.

*spoiler alert*

Episode 3: Take me as I am, Whoever I am, is about a young woman named Lexi(Anne Hathaway) struggling with bipolar disorder. After going through a lot, she finally opens up to her friend/colleague Sylvia about how she is feeling and that scene just teared me up. It is one of the most emotional scenes that I’ve seen recently either in a series or a movie. 

LEXI: You’re the first person I’ve ever told about this.
SYLVIA: How does it feel telling me?
LEXI(sobbing): Like.. like an elephant’s taken one of its feet off my chest.
SYLVIA: I’m so glad you’ve told me.. It explains so much. If anything, not knowing made it a little difficult to connect with you fully, the way I would have wanted.
LEXI(tearfully): So..you want to get a drink sometime? You want to go to the movies? You want to see people?
SYLVIA: All of the above. You are the most fun I’ve ever been around. I’m not letting that go.
LEXI: Thank you.. thank you (holds Sylvia’s hands)
SYLVIA: Thank YOU! 
The scene ends with Lexi’s voice over: “It’s amazing..what trusting one true friend in your life can do”

This episode really made me realize the importance of talking about mental health and depression with our friends. It’s one of the most over-looked topics in our conversations (even with our close friends) in spite of it being the most important.

Often times, we ask our friends how they are doing, but never know how they are really, mentally, emotionally. I don’t know why, maybe because physical illness is more obvious to the eye or maybe because of social stigma. But mostly because some of us are really scared to open up, for the fear of being judged, being ignored, being laughed at or being discriminated.

On the other hand, some of us honestly are clueless on how to react in case someone opens up to us. Why are they telling me this? What am I supposed to do?  We immediately take up the role of a savior and start dishing out solutions after solutions. “You should do meditation”, “You should probably start working out more”, “You should have followed a more healthier diet plan”, “You should stop drinking” , “It’s because you are so sensitive” , “Just ignore it” , “You should go out more often”, we say. Try to do this or that, make yourself this or that, we say.

No, the person opening up is not looking for solutions. He/She is not stupid to NOT know any of these solutions. They know it, but they cannot do it. It’s hard. That’s what depression feels like. If they could gather the strength to do it, they wouldn’t be depressed in the first place. What they need really is a lending ear to listen to them without being judged. To truly, genuinely care for them, tell them things like, “I’m here for you”, “I will help you get through this”, “You can tell me anything”, “Let’s get lunch together” or anything as simple as that. Just to be there for them. Just.be.there. Even if we cannot say anything, just holding hands or hugging them would make so much of a difference to them.

Why is it that even though we have many friends (including the 1000s on Facebook), it’s so hard to talk to each other about our mental health? We have been conditioned in such a way that it is something that is very private or something that should be overcome on our own however hard it is. The thing is, it need not be. Being depressed is not easy. Everyone is going through some form of mental stress or another. We shouldn’t be carrying all the burden on our own. We should be able to talk to each other about this with an open mind. Because, IT IS OK!

“The 2008 Mental Health Parity and Addiction equity Act” in the USA requires all health insurance plans to treat mental health and addiction on the same grounds as other physical illnesses. (The way insurance companies twist this is another problem altogether - see more on that here on Patriot Act). In India, it was only in 2017 that the government made it mandatory for the insurance companies to cover mental health. (source) With costs of insurance deductibles and therapy sessions going sky high, we can get by with a little help from each other.

A person suffering from depression or any mental illness might not look like it. He/She might be your coworker smiling at you very normally every morning. It is not obvious. Our world is filled with Lexis and Sylvias. The problem is we don’t meet. Let us try to reach out more, talk more with our friends and ask them once in a while, “Are you ok, my friend?” and just THAT could transform their lives forever.

The Sound of Fallingwater

Visiting The Fallingwater house for the first time to me, was similar to when I visited the TajMahal for the first time. Both these buildings, iconic in their own ways have had a special place in my mind for a long time. It's the build-up experience prior to actually seeing the building , that was very similar and exciting in both cases.

I visited TajMahal in 2009 for the first time - the classic picturesque frame of the tomb, with its reflection in water. As an Indian, one has literally lived with this image since birth - in books, movies, etc. But once you're actually in the grounds, the experience is a whole new feeling. You don't see the actual building until you walk past the series of fort walls , and finally the entrance archway slowly reveals the beauty. It's the moment when years of built-up imagination and reality meet each other. 

The build-up for Fallingwater begins at the very beginning of your architectural journey. The anticipation intensified over the years and after almost 13 years, I was lucky to visit the house. 

The tour began at the visitor center and I could already hear the gushing water hitting the rocks somewhere in the vicinity. It was a short hike in the densely wooded Bear Run nature reserve towards the house. When I got my first sight on the building, I was slightly disappointed as I was not greeted with THE iconic image. I later realised that, like TajMahal, the wow moment was reserved for the last!

After years of lectures, posts and reading material on the Fallingwater about organic architecture, the classic and bold cantilevers, building in harmony with nature, etc- I tried my best to experience the house sans the architectural jargon in my mind and just enjoy the moment for what it was. I have to say it was a truly gratifying experience. 

I feel the astounding genius of Wright is that he managed to create a space, that bowed down to nature, opened out to it in all possible ways, co-existed with it and YET - he managed to conceive an eternal image for his creation. When I was inside the house, I still connected to the outdoors - the rustling leaves of the maple trees, the sound of insects and birds and most of all, the water. Wright has just created a medium to appreciate the setting even more. 

When I finally laid my eyes on the iconic image towards the end of the tour, I couldn't help but smile. Smile and admire the genius of Wright in naming this house very aptly - The Fallingwater. How can something be so invisible, yet stand out? So humble, yet so proud? I would probably never know - I bow down to the genius mind of you, Mr.Wright! 

If at all you get the chance to visit this house, I'd suggest you remove all architectural terms from your mind - stop looking for window details, masonry joints, joinery details, etc - All you have to do is listen. 

Bomb cyclones to Banana breads

Did I ever tell you the story of how the bomb cyclone in the east coast helped me bake banana bread? Confused? Let me explain. 

So I was sitting on my couch on a very cold winter afternoon, wondering when the temperature would rise above 0° C. I took my phone to check the weather predictions for the next few days - and voila , it lead me to banana bread. 

[Something I realized about "Googling" or "looking up stuff" on the internet - It is kind of similar to your train of thought, but, you're not exactly thinking.]

Anyway, the weather predictions got me reading about the bomb cyclone in the east coast and the winter pattern for the year, which in turn lead me to a suggested post which was titled, " 7 skin care tips for winter". 

[This is a very catchy title these days. People don't just open any link. Believe me , they're lazy like that. If it's called "skin care tips", they'd just skip it. But if you numbered it , say, 7 or 9 - they open it, like it & share it. What's with the number anyway?! It's not even a whole number like 10 or 20. Somehow an "odd" number of tips makes it authentic or believable! Just try typing a random odd number along with the word "tips" and you'd be amazed by the search suggestions in Google. I tried "23 tips" and I found stuff like " 23 tips.... to save iPhone battery, for parents taking selfies, on how to deal with an insecure boyfriend, for drinking more water...etc " Ok, who on earth needs 23 tips to drink water?!] 

As I was genuinely reading about the skin care tips for winter, I came across the benefits of Aloe Vera gel. I wondered if I should get a small indoor plant. I looked up the prize and started looking for pots too. It then struck me that we neither have a balcony nor a window sill to place a planter box. Now this leads to me a whole new world of  'n' number of trains of thoughts, a.k.a links, a.k.a. Amazon.com. I browsed for planters which could be stuck to the window. 

[Once you're logged into Amazon, it's like the whole world is watching you. There is no escape. It is like the snake that tempts you with an apple, or an Apple watch, in this case. They know what you like and what you've bought. They even know the things that you secretly wish you bought. Damn it, they even know what you are going to like in the future! ] 

My browsing history in Amazon suggested me to buy the 8" loaf pan that I've been eyeing for a long time. I ended up buying one in Walmart months ago. Still it made me wonder if the one in Amazon was cheaper/better. I was considering for a moment to buy another one- which made me realize that I haven't baked a single loaf of bread since I bought the pan. This lead to guilt, which lead to determination and resolution and this ultimately lead me to Martha Stewart's Banana bread recipe.

Did you see what happened there? Bomb Cyclone > Winter > Skin care> Aloe vera > Planter > Amazon > Loaf pan > Banana bread! Tada! You can link anything to anyone for that matter. Eg: 21 best movies on Netflix right now (not 20, 21) > Series > Orange is the new black > Orange > Donald Trump! Tada! 

On a serious note, I really miss exploring my mind with endless thoughts - having real conversations with friends jumping from one random topic to another. These browsing sessions are limiting the expanse of our imagination. My train of thought didn't lead me from bomb cyclone to banana bread - I was literally pulled into the train and shoved out of the compartment, into a station that I wasn't prepared to get down! I followed the links, not my thoughts.

We don't talk anymore. It has been reduced to mere posts, comments, reactions and emoticons. Posts about ourselves, our photographs, our accomplishments, our opinions on every other issue in the world - we can't seem to stop talking about ourselves on social media. Are we becoming more and more self absorbed? 

Imagine how absurd the kind of  things we post on social media would sound, if we were to do so in real life? Imagine shouting from your roof top to 500 people about how you just had hot chocolate and how you're "feeling amazed" or try talking to your friend in broken phrases like #sunset #beach #drive. It sounds hilarious and crazy. But that's exactly what we're doing. I think it's time we took a step back and shift the spotlight away from us. Try a social media detox. Talk to a friend if you haven't in a long time. Don't write or text. Call. Hear their voice. Have real fun conversations about dreams, books, music, movies, travel, science, technology, anything. 

If you're my friend and haven't heard my voice in more than two months, say hi, I'll call you or you call me and I will tell you how to bake banana bread.

“That my friends, is magic”

They say magic isn’t real. I know differently. I still remember sitting in awe with my brother watching the famous magician of our town, Chinna mantravati. He was named so because he was short, and well, he was a magician. Every year Appa would take us to his show and make us sit only in the fourth or fifth row. We were too scared to sit in the front as I was somehow sure that he would pick me as the volunteer and make me disappear forever. My brother and I were terrified whenever he said, “Any volunteers?”. We would crouch and lower our heads as much as possible.

Chinna mantravati’s most famous magic trick was him walking on knives. He always saved it for the last. The entire crowd would wait with bated breath for that exact moment. He usually took around two minutes to complete his walk, back and forth. And for that entire time, there was pin drop silence. He would get down from the row of knives and with his bowed head, would finish the show by saying, “That my friends, is magic”.  I remember sitting still with my mouth wide open when he said that at the end of each show.

My brother imitated Chinna mantravati at home and made me believe for a long time that he knew magic as well. He would lock me in the spooky, dark little store room of our house with just candlelight and made things disappear. He took small rubber bands, pens, key chains, spoons, old toys and made them disappear. I never asked him why I had to close my eyes every time he performed the trick, though. I was only six years old.

But, I’m not talking about walking on knives or making spoons disappear. I’m talking about the other kind of magic. The kind of magic that, you don’t get to see, but feel. Like the time in my university hostel, when Jan and I would wake up every day at the exact time screaming at each other – “That’s unbelievable!!” We were researching telepathy and synchronicity then. We were sure we felt something.

It was during my stint with the local NGO, that I experienced one such incident. I was given the task of collecting clothes and distributing it to certain old age homes and orphanages. I always gave them away to the manager of the organisation, and so, I never was in direct contact with those children or elderly. It was the Christmas Eve of 2004 and one of our friends suggested that we buy new clothes for Christmas and give away to the homeless people on the road. We dressed up as Santa and drove around the city in the middle of the night placing new clothes near the homeless people on the roads and platforms. They were mostly asleep except for one little girl who asked us, “Do you have food, as well? Amma slept without eating you know” It hit me then that clothes were fine, only if the stomach was filled. We gave her some money and the next day we distributed as much food packets as we could. It was a beautiful Christmas. One of the best in many years – until the next day.

The day after Christmas, somewhere in an island in Indonesia, originated an earthquake, that brought the worst to the lives of many. Tsunami had struck our city. There was confusion and panic everywhere. Nobody knew what a tsunami was, until then. People were talking about waves going as high as 100ft. It all sounded very terrifying. We gathered at our office and worked out plans to help as many people as we could. The damage was still not very evident but we knew that whatever happened was along the beach and we needed to get there immediately with supplies. I was in charge of collecting and delivering food. I had a hard time arranging transportation and by the time I collected food packets from various centres and managed to reach the beach front, it was almost late afternoon.

The beach front was completely flooded dotted with overturned vehicles and uprooted trees. Bodies were still being washed to the shore by waves. It was a scene we had never imagined we would witness in our lives. Everything was damaged and broken. Things and lives. The atmosphere was filled with an eerie silence. It was as though people had lost the will to talk.

There were make shift rehabilitation spaces, filled with people who had lost everything but their lives. We started distributing food packets to the people ignoring the horror that was in front of us. As I was giving away the food packets, I noticed a little girl sitting alone. I knew her, as she was wearing the dress we had bought for Christmas. She had lost her family to the sea. I went and sat next to her. I was searching for words to tell her but just ended up saying, “Hey”

“So, you brought me food today? I haven’t eaten anything you know”, she said without looking at me. There was blankness in her eyes. She looked so different than she did a day before. I gave her the food and sat next to her quietly until she finished eating. She sat staring blankly again. What could I possibly say to make her feel better? “It’s all right. You’ll be fine” or “Don’t worry, it’s all for the best” or “Be brave, you’ll get through this”?  I couldn’t say any of those, as I knew it wasn’t all right and she wasn’t going to be fine and, she would probably not understand any of this, as she was just a kid.

“Hey look! Do you see these pink and green rubber bands?”, I told her removing the rubber bands that held the food packets intact.  She looked at me for the first time and replied, “Yeah. What about them?”. “Well. I can make them disappear”, I said. “No, you cannot!”, she said with disbelief.  “Oh, I can. Go on. Close your eyes and when you open them, they’ll be gone”, I spoke in that hypnotizing magician tone that my brother used when I was this little girl’s age. I demonstrated that silly trick exactly like my brother. When she opened her eyes, she shrieked with excitement, “It’s gone!”. She looked at me, her eyes glittering with amusement, not blank anymore, and her mouth wide open.

At that moment, I realised something. It was not walking on knives or making spoons disappear. It was those pair of glittering eyes filled with excitement, despite it being one of the most disastrous days in the history of the world. “How did you do it?!”, she squeaked again. I looked at her ecstatic face and smiled, as a little voice inside my head said with pride, “That my friends, is magic!”

The Black Box

The blonde looked pretty good for a dead girl. I stood there in shock staring at the still and lifeless body. This was a familiar route and for the first time I have stopped my car for such a situation. There were no cars around. A million thoughts rushed through my head. Should I call the police? Should I touch her? Should I check her purse? Should I check her car? I should call the police- that is exactly what any good samaritan who stop their car on a crime scene would do, I thought. The bullet mark on her head was very disturbing. I decided to check her car first.

Just as I was about to open the door, I heard a cell phone ring. My heart started racing. How would I inform her death? I have never done that before in my life. Telling their loved one that they have lost someone dear to them – it must be the hardest thing to do in the world. I reached to her purse hurriedly, as I averted my sight from her bloody face. I took the phone hoping it would not display the name “Mom” or “Dad”. To my relief, it was a private number. 

I waited for the person on the other end to speak. “Is it done?”, said a very calm and deep male voice. I waited for a few more seconds. “I said- is it done? Did you give it?”. The voice was still calm but it was getting more aggressive. It sent shivers down my spine and I immediately muttered, “um..there is a problem”. There was a pause and I could hear sudden movements on the other end.

“Who is this? What’s going on?”, he was getting worried. “Uh.. Sir ,look I was just passing by this road and found this female dead on the road. She has been shot.. SHOT! On the .. on the head.. I have stopped my car.. I don’t know what to do? Do you know her? Can you come here right now?”, as I paused to catch my breath, I realised how horrifying the situation was.

There was no reply on the other side for a while. I could heard the caller talking with another man. I couldn’t make out what they were talking exactly, as everything sounded muffled. The tone, however, suggested disbelief and anger. “Can you look if there is a black box inside her car?”, the caller came back on. Something was wrong. He did not ask if I saw her getting shot or if she was really dead or anything concerning her. He did not sound concerned at all. Black box?! Something was very very wrong.

I didn’t want to give him the impression that I was becoming suspicious. I ran towards her car and started looking for the box. There was no sign of any box on the seat, in the trunk or on the dashboard. “Did you find it?”, the caller was getting impatient. “I’m still looking”, I was getting annoyed with his tone now. I gave up searching and in one final attempt, reached under the front seat and my fingers finally met the box. I pulled it out. It was a black box, more like a shoe box and quite heavy. I was hesitant to open the box. “What happened? Did you find it?!”, the caller screamed right into my ears. “No. I looked everywhere. There is no box.” I did not know why I said that.

“What?! Are you sure? Did you look everywhere? What about the trunk?”

“Yes I checked everywhere, there is no box”, I lied as I stood staring at the box in my hand.

“DAMMIT! They took it.. they took the box from her. I told you we should’ve been more careful. You knew how important it was. I should’ve gone with the box myself. Now look.. I..” The call got disconnected as the caller continued shouting at the other man.

I had to think and act fast. I took the box to my car and started driving away from the dead body. I stamped my foot hard on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. What did I just do? I felt the adrenaline rush within me. Why am I enjoying this? I looked at the rear-view mirror to check if there was anyone following me, and I noticed something weird about my reflection - there was a smile across my face. There is a dead girl who I just abandoned and now I’m almost a criminal running away with a black box, and here I am, smiling! The thought that nobody knows about this and the fact that I managed to cheat the guy on the phone gave me a thrill. I drove for miles outside the city thinking about what could be inside the black box. Drugs? Diamonds? Stacks of cash? Or maybe even highly confidential government or military files. Whatever it was, it was definitely something very important. It was either going to make me rich or powerful or powerful and rich. I chuckled at the thought. I was surprised at my behaviour. Maybe this was going to change my life forever.

After driving for more than three hours, I pulled over my car and checked into a small motel. I had the odd sensation of being followed.  I locked myself in and made sure I secured all the windows. I took a hot shower to soothe my tired body and finally fell on the bed. I stared at the black box on the table. Not yet. Not when I’m this tired and confused. I fought the urge to call the police and don’t remember when I slept.

It was a sunny morning. I got up with excitement and immediately pounced towards the box. I was clearer now and felt like somehow, I earned this. This was it. This was the moment that is going to change my life. My fingers were shaking as I started opening the box. I carefully removed the lid and placed it aside. Inside the box, in a neatly stacked fashion, I found clay bricks.

Miles away in another motel, a woman sank to her couch smoking her final cigarette. She switched on the TV and started packing her bag. She brushed her blonde hair away from her face as she placed the gold biscuits in her bag. She puffed her cigarette as the news reporter on the TV continued: “… And in other local news – the Police are looking for the miscreants responsible for staging a fake murder scene on the highways last night”

Silence speaks

Considering everything that had happened, the last person I expected to see when I walked into the room was her father. The flash lights from the camera made the room appear as if it was amidst a thunderstorm. Her father stood in front of the press teary eyed. 
 

“I’m sure the Lord will show us a way and I’m hopeful that she is fine and well. With all your prayers, I’m looking forward to the day she will come back to us”, he was saying to the press. Fine and well. Well, she was - a few days ago, until I cut the steel through her throat. I leaned against the wall in the corner of the room and watched the drama unfold.

She has been reported missing for five days now. #PrayforSara had become a Twitter trend. It’s funny how the social media reacts to sensational news. Their “Sherlockian” guesses crack me up. One such investigative theory was that she was the adopted daughter of the President, and she was forcefully sent to Nepal to avoid the truth from being let out! Why don’t people come up with the simplest guess? Cold blooded murder. Girl stabbed by her lover. That would make a great headline. 

“Do you think Sara is still alive?”, asked one of the reporters. Of course, not. Her blood dripped through my very hands. It flowed down her throat, dripping down her curly brown hair, the beautiful curly hair that I loved, tracing its shape and finally falling on my hands. I still remember the smell of her blood. She should have known. I’m sure she knew. I have been stalking her for over a year. Of course, she must have known. Yet she decided to stalk someone else, instead. That tall, dark and handsome colleague of hers. I was doubtful of him from the very beginning. But - I loved her. Was it really love?

I still remember that warm afternoon, I stalked her and found her sitting at one of my favourite cafes. She was sitting alone with a book, smiling to herself. As her long slender fingers turned the pages over, she gave me a quick glance and I knew for sure that the smile, that came after, was not for the book. That night I dreamt of a life together with her, raising a family, having kids. She was the reason I felt alive every day. 

There was a sudden hustle among the press now. Her father let out a huge cry. Cameras flashed again. Uh-oh, I guess they’ve found the body. It must be in a bad shape by now, under the bridge where I left her. I was afraid of being engulfed with guilt and regret when I stood next to her, five days ago, watching her lifeless body. I’m surprised I wasn’t. How can someone kill a person? Let alone after having loved them? Am I a psychopath? Maybe. But something in me tells that she deserved it. 

I felt she deserved it, when I closed her mouth from behind and slit her throat. I felt she deserved it when I thought about the day her colleague left her home late in the night. How could she? Even after knowing that I’ve been after her for a long time, even after exchanging those smiles and knowing glances, even after “coincidentally” meeting at the same spot for months? She deserved it. 

The crowd was settling down. I decided to move across the room and exit the building. I got to know what I wanted to. Although I didn’t expect to see her father today along with the investigative officers, I was kind of relieved that it finally happened. As I moved across the room, a voice called out to me, “Oh! You’re the last person I expected to see now”. It was her father. My legs froze. I stood still. I felt paralysed. I slowly turned around.

“Um..I didn’t know you knew me, Sir”, I managed to start talking. “They just found Sara”, her father leaned on my shoulders and wept like a child. He composed himself, and wiping away his tears, continued, “Of course, I know you. Sara has told all about you. I hope you have met her few times?”

I panicked. What is he doing? Is this some sort of trick to get the truth out? “Uh.. we might have happened to be in the same place, quite often, Sir. It was the reason why she was very familiar to me and why I even started following this case. It has been very unfortunate. I’m really sorry for your loss”, I tried to sound as genuine as possible. 

“Well, I guess she mustn’t have told you then. You didn’t happen to be in the same place. She was stalking you. For months, actually. She liked you a lot, my son. She has told me about you and even sent pictures of you. I was hoping she would have talked to you. Oh dear. I guess she really liked playing the stalking game with you. Didn’t you really not talk with her, ever?”

“No. We… we… didn’t get to... talk ” 

 eople come up with the most simplest guess? Cold blooded murder. Lover kills r murders woman ftruth from being let out! Why d

I slowly moved away as the reporters surrounded her father. I ran across the hallway and entered the restroom. I put my hands into my coat pocket and took out her blood stained mobile phone swiftly. I switched it on and opened WhatsApp with my shivering hands. And there I found, in her conversation with her father, along with two heart smileys, a picture of myself sipping coffee at my favourite café.