Rose Pais

October is a month of pomp and glory! To be more precise, it is the month I was born. For the last 18 years, ever since I started earning that is, I ensure, this month and I are celebrated. People have different ways to celebrate their birthdays, as for me, this is the opportunity I take from the entire year to thank the people who matter to me, and to access where I stand in terms of personal growth and take key decisions in life.

For this to happen, it is important to take break from the mundane, hence every year, I ensure to take 10 days off from work. To completely detox my mind and body and just to celebrate the fact that I was born.

This year is a little special. I turned 39! For millions out there, they do not look at this from my perspective. For me, this year will be special, because whether I get past this year alive or not, it is the last 30’s of my life.  Age is just a number, indeed, but it is also a number that you will never live again. Have you taken time out to celebrate the number you have reached in your life? If you think it sounds weird then you do not love yourself enough to appreciate the air you breathe, the day you live and the people you love. Strictly my opinion alone.

Like every year for the last 18 years, I give myself a lot of credit in October. I do things that make me happy, I meet people that have stood by me and helped make my life worth living, I travel, I eat, I buy myself a gift with my own money, I write my journal to appreciate my journey in the last one year and last but not the least, I remind myself, how important I am and jot down goals to achieve for the next one year.

After diligently applying for leave, I ensured every single day is well spent. I never work on my birthday; it is a policy I follow strictly.

Mother. 1st day I dedicated my day for my mother. We would not be around if not for them. I spent time buying her the things she wanted, helped her learn how to take a video on her phone and how to place orders for groceries. She is a quick learner and now her phone memory is already filled with lots of videos! 

Child. 2nd day to 4th day I took off on my planned vacation. During this vacation I took time to think and reevaluate my personal goals. Spent lot of time with my child and we both shared a lot of secrets. We understood each other better and fell in love a little more. I ensure I go to the beach every year without fail and unwind. I spent 4 days doing nothing. Just watched the ocean for hours, ate a lot and played a lot with my kid.

Me. 5th day was my birthday. It felt like a normal day except the fact that the whole day goes in saying “thank you”. I had nothing planned hence I was wondering what I should do for myself. Every year I gift myself a little something with some money saved. Suddenly it clicked that I have always been wanting a fancy body massage. I immediately booked a Swedish massage and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Had some delicious home cooked meal made by mum, later went out with my friends for dinner and then slept like a baby. A day well spent and spent happily without expecting anyone to make it happy for me. I made myself happy in small little ways.  On this day, many people texted me with some very special heart-warming messages which also was the highlight of my day.

Home. 6th day I spent time rearranging my home, and decluttering. Everyone and everything need a little detox. I gave away stuff I didn’t need anymore and rearranged my wardrobe. By end of it, I realized I have enough clothes that I do not need to shop for the next 2 years. Not sure if I should be happy about this or sad.

Sleep. 7th and 8th day I did nothing but sleep. I woke up, ate food, slept again for hours. I was exhausted and needed to catch up on lots of sleep before the practical life reopened again. Sleep is so important to me I felt so good to put my sleep time on my planner. Dedicating time to nothing but lazing around my cozy bed and sleep which on usual days I can only dream off while staring at the windows of my work desk, awakened me and made me feel active. Although I will miss sleeping again.

Friends. Next couple of days I spent time meeting people who I have not met for long. It felt so rejuvenating catching up and laughing about the silliest jokes ever. Friends are my pillars of strength and the reason why I sail through life. I do not have many, but the ones I have are my pills of happiness. Non-judgemental, non-toxic, pure happy pills. It is so important to be surrounded by people who will elevate your spirits. I am blessed to have them.

During the 12-day break, while I had my moments alone, I started thinking about how I was a year ago, what were my pain areas and how have I grown past that. I took time to thank God for every moment where he gave me strength to pull past through the saddest of days.

As I enter 39, I realize I am a little stronger than I was, happier than I could ever be, a few kgs extra because of the holiday eating and a little extra grateful for everything I have and achieved. I also understood myself as a person even better. I am in love with myself and proud of who I am.

I promised myself that I would live everyday of 39th year to my fullest and promise that if I reach 40, I will treat myself to a better gift, a bigger cake, longer vacation, and more happiness without expecting anyone else to do it for me.

I am writing this blog, as silly as it may sound to some of you, to help you understand that you are not to take yourself for granted. You are beautiful, you are important and while you work hard everyday to keep others happy, take time off to celebrate YOU.

October, or any month you are born, is a special month. While the trees unwind too by shedding their unwanted leaves and revamp with new colours, I urge you to reconsider shedding your past life and growing a new one designed by you, for you.

Let it go!

It has been 7 years since the journey of single parenthood began. Since then, until today, I have heard many people writing to me, telling me, how I have inspired them to do the impossible. It warms my heart to know my journey is inspiring if not easy. This blog post is an honest one, something I have been meaning to write for quite some time but did not find the inspiration until now. I thought it is time to let everyone who are going through a similar journey that it is going to be OK.

Giving strength to someone when I am crumbling myself has been my core skill off late. It makes me happy and proud.

I recollect on my journey so far and realize it has not been easy. No one promised it would, I knew it is going to be tough, painful, and lonely. Yet, when I took the decision, I felt right, relieved and renewed as a person.

I took a decision to let go what is not mine, to let go what does not value me as a person, to let go what cannot be repaired, which is completely broken. This gave me peace. It made me think, I wish I had done this earlier.

Knowing when it is right.

One day you are going to feel numb, and wonder, is this all worth it. You have given your 100%, you gave your all, yet you do not find happiness and the burden in the heart does not lift. You have just one life, do not wonder what the world will think about you, wonder what you are going to think about yourself. If your decision is going to lead to peace and happiness for both sides, then you know it is time to move on. One must have the maturity to accept the fact that, one’s true calling always need not be necessarily to be in a relationship, a family. You can fly solo as well.  

Once you take this decision, remember, there is no turning back.

Do not think you cannot do without them. Remind yourself that there was a time you didn’t know them, and you were doing just fine.

Safe circle

If you have a child involved or any dependency involved from the relationship you are in, it is important to note that one must have a safe circle or in other words, a circle of friends whom you can trust your child with. Whom you count on to be there when you are at your lowest point. It is important to find a set of people who do not judge you.

There are days when you do not have the strength in you to raise a small child, you want to sulk and cry. Some days you have no strength to even pray. You beg for the lord to take this pain away. During those days, you need someone to hold you, remind you that everything is going to fall in place. Your safe circle is called such so that you need not fear the safety of your child and yourself with them.

The right decision for your child

If you have an offspring from the relationship that you were in, remember, being a spouse and being a parent are 2 different things. I see so many times in family courts where one parent refuses the other parent to meet their children or fight for them like they are a piece of meat.

Already it is difficult on them to accept that their parents are separating. Do not make it worse by being stubborn.

What you are to each other as a spouse is different from what you are as a parent. One must not steal the right of parenthood. Amicably speak and come up with decisions that will help you co-parent the child and raise a child with mental happiness.

For the child it is very important to see their parents happy if not together.

Conquer the loneliness & pain!

There is absolutely no shortcut to this. I wish there was, but one must take the long road and realize, you are enough. you love yourself and you are worth it. You may find a companion again, but loving oneself and realizing that being alone is not actually a bad thing, it is a reminder that you need to take care of yourself too. Focus on what you lost and gain it back. The mental health, the job, your passions and one day you will reach a stage where you look in the mirror and feel nothing but proud of how far you have come as a person. To reach this stage, it takes time. As I said, I wish there was a shortcut, but this involves a lot of pain, silent tears, depression, food disorders and health issues. It is very important to remember to pick yourself up, dust it off and move one step ahead every day and not sulk in the lonely feeling for long.

Acceptance

Last but not the least, acceptance and the most important point. Accept who you are and what has happened to you. Yes, what happened is not fair, but there are worst things that could have gone wrong.

Train yourself to accept what cannot be changed. Do not beg and hold on to something when the universe is taking its natural course to make your life better. To experience the better days, you must suffer the pain, shed the tears, and heal.

People will talk, but as days pass you will be their inspiration and they would secretly wish they have the courage to do what you did.

This post is not a tour guide to divorce, or break up from any relationship, mind you, it is a reminder to be brave through all odds, and whatever happens, happens for good. I am hoping what I am going to share will strengthen you in your journey ahead and help you walk with your head held high. The rewards of that one brave step to freedom are truly worth it.

LET IT GO! It is time.

It was the year 2009, Niki was all set to be engaged to this person who is irrelevant in this story. The invitations were out, and the family were expecting relatives to stay back at their place. Considering the budget constraints, the relatives decided to stay one night and leave soon after the ceremony. This would mean less cost and not imposing a lot of trouble on the bride’s family.

Niki is a sweet girl; She worked hard and saved up 10 years just for her big day. it was her favourite month. October, her engagement celebration would be clubbed along with her birthday and Diwali all on the same day, she was thrilled and over the moon.

On the day of the ceremony, Niki woke up very early for a change since there was make up to be done. She found her green jute purse lying on her table and she decided to keep it aside safely because the house was full and there was a lot of money and cards in it. Almost everything she owned was green. Her favourite colour, so much that her toothbrush, the paint on her wardrobe, the paint of her room, purse, handbags, and her engagement dress. All green.  

The ceremony went well. All the relatives were so caring, and gaga over her appearance. Some never left her room, they were constantly hovering over her looks, what we wore, and questions about the future while she dressed. She wished for some privacy but being kind was her thing.

All were so tired post the function that her father forced the relatives to stay the night and leave the next morning. Everyone tiredly obliged. Next morning, it was the usual chaos at home. Everyone packing, the kitchen is hustling with steam and something hot cooking, the bathrooms are full. It was a 2-bedroom house, with 1 toilet and over 30 people housed all at once! It was chaotic but fun, there was laughter and talks about the ceremony. Niki felt very happy, to see the support of her aunts and uncles. Her cousins served her with fresh family gossip and her mother was in the kitchen cooking her favourite breakfast. Niki was delighted to see a house full of happy people, since she grew up with only 2 people in her house. Her father, mother, and her. Silently she wished for the party to never end.

Niki was in her room looking for her purse since she had to pay off the decorators. At first her movement were calm, she moved every bag around, opened every drawer. The momentum increased with a little stress in her tone of speech. Moments later, she could not think straight and finally panicked and screamed.

The happy relatives took offense when she asked if anyone saw her purse. They suddenly decided to end the giggle party and start packing and leave. Within an hour, the house that was roaring with laughter and noise, became silent with only Niki and her mother crying in one corner of her room.  They searched and searched but in vain. After about a week, Niki confirmed that one of the relatives had done it, but she could not figure out whom.

The relatives were so offended with Niki questioning them, they never spoke to her again. They decided to stay in a hotel the next time they visited which was for the wedding. Some ignored her totally and did not even wish her on her big day. This was the same set of people who were in her room who could not get enough of her just few months ago.

Niki had to buy a new purse, apply for new cards, she had some memories stacked up in the purse which would miss forever. She cried thinking she would never see her cute little blue pebble which picked up from a beach when she first went to Goa. That pebble was part of her life and purse for years for no apparent reason. It was just cute and blue. She missed it, although while it was in her purse, she hardly noticed it in there. She sat and wondered what else was in the purse and what else did she lose apart from the money, cards, blue pebble, and some passport size photographs.

3 years passed. With time, Niki forgot all about the purse, with time the relatives were back to normal and with time, Niki learned to be more careful with things. Her parents found a new place to live and wanted to move. Niki was there to help them pack. She was in her room, packing all her beloved stuff which she could not take to her in-law’s house. She opened her green wardrobe, which now holds some plastic covers and junk which fall under the “we may use this” category.

She opened her drawer to see if she left out any jewellery in there. It was empty. While she put her hand deep inside the drawer to check the corners, she felt a small opening. She quickly took back her hand, like she had touched something dangerous. She was afraid to explore it again with her bare hands. She brought a torch and her mom to look. It was a small safe inside a safe and she saw something from a distance, and it suddenly struck her where she hid her purse before the ceremony to keep it safe from theft.

Embarrassment gushed down her face, and her mother gave her a look of disgust, because one among the relative Niki blamed was her mother’s cousin too! Niki was very happy to have her green purse back and everything in it. She remained silent and did not inform anyone that the lost was found.

The next big function was around in the family and the relatives were around. Uncle asked “Niki, any idea who took your purse?”

Niki and her mom exchanged glances and she shrugged her shoulders and said “No”.

This blog post is part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla

I was adamant to be better than her. Trust me I was, until the day I prepared Pongal.

I was never a good cook, like most of us reading this. You are a good cook? Oh! Ok! Never mind. I am not one although my mom had the ability to cook for a crowd of hundred with outstanding taste and quantity, I on the other dumb struck route, completely contradictory to her traits had the ability to ruin even the simplest dish or beverage for that matter. I could make the food non-existent in the dish by completely burning it to its ashes. Sometimes, I could make a sweet dish salty, a spicy one sweet and on most occasions, on tasting what I prepared, my mother’s face would look blank. Those eyes said it all “My dear, I would appreciate it if you did not enter the kitchen”.

I got married.

Living with in-laws was Ok, not great but just fine, because it was no better than living with parents. The constant nagging and the comparison to other’s daughter in laws was a daily soap at their house.

Everything was tolerant until the day he said, “Why can’t you cook like my mom?” which soon followed by another voice at the end of the hallway “May be her mother has not taught her how to”. Not true, Mummy wanted me to learn, but eventually she thought saving the house from fire was more important. Like all wives out there, I wanted to prove to him, that I was better than his mother in all ways including cooking. I tried, and tried, until one day his mother begged me to stop. The family had not tasted good food for days.

We relocated.

Now was my chance to prove myself to him I thought. He looked nervous when I told him I would do everything to make him happy. Sadly, he lived to eat good food, he earned to eat and be merry, until the day he married me. Now he preferred TV more than food and we had a maid to fulfil my husband’s need to eat.

I became resentful.

I could not tolerate my husband praising the maid for her fine art of cooking. It all looked very easy. Just cut the vegetables, add a powder which is already ready, pour some water, put some Dal if required, salt to taste, and close the cooker. Watch it till it whistles 3 or 4 times and then turn it off and serve hot. I do the exact same things she does. Just that, I either forget something is on the stove, or I forget turn on the stove, and worst scenario was when I went shopping with the milk on the stove. When everything turned out to be just fine, he tasted it, and then he posed the exact same look my mother used to when she tasted what I cooked.

After a lot of practice my maid helped me realize, I was not adamant to learn the art of cooking, I already had it in me, I was adamant to be better than his mom and that is what led to fatal destructions even after years of practice. She was sweet unlike his mother; she helped me learn to concentrate while cooking.

She also taught me how to cook a decent dish and how to handle a disaster. She spent days helping me understand no one can be better than a Man’s mother. The Men live to Savor the dish cooked by the sweet palms of their Mothers. I huffed and turned my face. I said, NO, I can make him happy with my cooking too. All I needed was more practice.

3 years passed.

It was Valentine’s Day. I was exhausted on all the gifts in the market. Everything was said and done, all gifts were either costly or already given on various occasions than one. After a lot of thought, I remembered what his mother once slipped in between a conversation, “To make him really happy, I prepare Pongal”. That information right now was gold.

She had explained the entire process to me and I had written it down somewhere. The word “Make him really happy” was stuck in my head and this time I decided come what may, I will prepare it, but it would be tastier than hers. All I had to do was add more ghee, add more salt and add more of everything, and since it is Valentine’s, I just had to prepare it with love. I could not find the piece of paper. I may have left it back at his mother’s I thought. I did not want to call her up to ask her the recipe; I just did not want that at all. She would think, I am still of no good for her son. Which is of course true in terms of cooking, but not yet, I am working on it. And that day was my one last chance.

Mentally, I tried to remember, the ingredients to it. It was yellow in colour, so it is understood turmeric powder was required, salt of course and the black peppers. Rice, I guess and yes curry leaves and some mustard. Not sure about the onions, but it is ok. No one dies if they don’t eat one. Not one fraction of a second did my dumb head think, I could have asked my mother for a recipe and no one would know. I was adamant and that had done the job. A perfectly great Pongal which was completely burnt at the bottom because I was watching the Valentines special on channel V. TV is important, mind you, but why is that something is always burning while I am watching it?

Anyway, my maid had thought me a disaster recovery technique. I removed the rice that was un-burnt and moved it to a clean new dish. Switch on the exhaust fan to undo the stink and portray an innocent look like, nothing happened. Over the years I have learnt at such situations one must not panic. With Mc D’s and KFC’s just around the corner, why worry. I would have loved pizza instead of taking all this pain I thought, but no, I wanted to be better than her for once I wanted to. And I haven’t lost yet. I still had the un-burnt Pongal.

He came home with a bunch of flowers, and I was very happy. He had no clue the maid was not in that night. He was happy everything would turn out to be just fine. And so was I. Until I told him the Maid wasn’t in that night.

The ambiance of romance died down instantly, yet he was calm. With Mc D’s and KFC’s just around the corner, why worry he said! I said “Ah, Ah, Ahhh…. Not so soon Honey!!! Guess what, I cooked your favourite dish”.

He looked dazed as I held his hand to bring back the romance that non-existent in the atmosphere. He was resistant to surge forward, with a lot of coaxing; I convinced him that I am much better than I was when he married me. Because it was the Lovers Day he smiled and said “you were always the best darling” with a grin that was forced.

Any other day the dialogue would have been “Are you sure? No one can be better than my mom you know”.

I noticed him glance at the kitchen. I am sure he was checking if it is still standing. Everything was fine, and by the time he came home the exhaust had refreshed the stink. We kissed and hugged, and the ambience was perfect. I heard his stomach growl. He had a hard day at work and all he hoped for at that moment was food. I could not get the picture of his mother out of head though I tried, because deep within I knew I was bad at this, and I will continue the legacy until death. If not for TV it would have been perfect, I wondered, and hoped and prayed he does not realize it was burnt. I was immensely happy when he picked up a spoon to taste it. I was happy he dared to do the task, and was worried, he might discover.

He asked me lovingly if I had tasted it first. How could I forget? A cook never forgets. But who said I was a cook. I am an ordinary wife with ordinary dreams who prepared an ordinary dish to make her husband happy. I instantly posed an eye blinking innocent look and asked, “Err…No I did not, and why what happened?” (As if I did not know what happened. I love such moments)

“Nothing happened, but something is wrong with this. It is not like the way my mother prepares. Did you mean to prepare Pongal or something else sweetheart?”

Tears were on the edge. If he had spoken more than that, it would just flow for sure. I controlled my tears and hoped so much he was joking. He wanted to tease me for a while and then hug me and say, “It’s perfect, ALAS you have done it”. But that was not the case here. Something kept telling me that I have failed again. I picked up the spoon as he kept staring at the dish with a disastrous look on his face. I tasted it.

“You are right, something is wrong. I am unable to figure out what?”

“Are you sure you put everything in it? Where is that paper in which you wrote down the recipe from Mom?” “I lost it while shifting, but I remember the ingredients well. But this time I put more of everything. More pepper, more rice, more salt and more Love” My voice lowered for every word, and I threw myself in his arms and began to cry. For a minute there I sounded like an 8-year-old child.

He consoled me and said with a broad smile “Hey relax, I know what is missing” I lifted my head and wiped my nose and asked, “You do?”

Wiping my tears he said “Yes, it needs onions!!! See, there are no onions in there!” “I knew it; I knew I had to put onions. I am so sorry I forgot. I just wanted to be the best you know” I continued with tears which would not stop. Deep down I was sinking with thoughts of failure.

He had not sat down a minute from work. He put on my apron that had the words “Master Chef” printed on it and began chopping onions. He fried the onions and put it in the Pongal and we ate. Throughout I knew something else was missing. He spoke while eating “Oh!! There something else is missing”. My heart had stopped beating at this point. I wanted to throw the entire dish, forget what I had been through, accept the fact that his mother is the best and run to KFC.

“I don’t want to know. Can we please go to KFC? I promise I will never cook again”.

“It is missing your smile”. He said it so instantly and landed a tight kiss on my lips, I did not have time to cry or smile or even think for that matter.

“I don’t remember your mom putting a smile in the Pongal Mister Romance” I said after the romantic

ordeal. “That is why her Pongal never tasted as great as yours”.

It was the most romantic Valentine’s Day of my life. When the husband tells you that you are better than his mom, nothing compares to this kind of joy, this kind of elevated feeling. For a moment I felt I was flying along with my kitchen and all the vegetables. I really felt I was the best cook in the world.

The next day, I decided to make more food with smiles. I bought a notebook especially for the recipes and the first recipe I wrote down was “Pongal” with my name below it so that those who read it know it is my own recipe. At the last point I wrote do not forget your smile.

One day his mother visited.

I told her how I prepared Pongal and she smiled sarcastically. It looked like she said, "yeah Right!!!". She asked me lovingly what all you put. The woman is a sweetheart. I began to wonder why I am even competing!

I ran quickly and got my book. I wanted her to see the “More Love” and the “More Smile” ingredients. which she would not put. Clearly had you known me, you would have thought an 8-year-old behaves better.

Anyway, I was ecstatic and was waiting to see the jealousy on her face. I mean she is his mother. She had him first. She loved him first. Again, it is me we are talking about.

Husband was at work, and he had taken the risk of letting us be alone together to bond and here I was already working towards destroying it.

Page 1

“My Pongal Recipe”

Ingredients

» More Rice

» 1 tsp jeera

» 1 Onion

» 1 tsp peppercorns

» 1/2 tsp pepper powdered fresh

» More Cashew nuts broken

» More grated Coconut

» 1 table spoon of Turmeric powder

» Salt to taste

» More Ghee

» More Love and of course do not forget to smile

I was watching her eyes and was waiting for her reaction towards the end. She looked up without any expression of surprise, but had the element of sarcasm in her talk and asked “Where is Dal mentioned?

You did not add Dal???? Moong Dal??? Do you know what it is?? And no one puts Onions in Pongal”.

I have no words to explain how stupid I felt, how dumb I was standing in front of that woman that day who knew everything about ingredients. She was a perfectionist. She was the actual Master Chef. I gave her my apron and decided to humble down and learn decent cooking from her. We bonded the minute I humbled myself.

She smiled at me for the first time and said so lovingly “it is Ok; I did not know cooking either. His Mother taught me how to. But no matter how hard I try, he keeps complaining, it is just not as

good as hers”.

Today I cook decent food and I am a mother too. But I know, no matter how many years pass, no one can compete with “his” Mother.

My husband who is equally as bad as I was at cooking, did not want to hurt my feelings. Seeing the effort, I put in and the love I had, made up his own special missing ingredient at that moment.

Although nothing can be incomparable to a mother, but he put his mother down for me. I fell in love with that Man all over again.

Hey readers!!

Hope you liked the story. It is not mine, but it is someone’s for sure. While writing this I remembered a song Mummy used to sing to me when I was small

“You can always give some love, to people passing by. Even with a kiss or hug or even just a smile” 

Please spread your smiles and DO NOT TRY THE ABOVE RECIPE at home!!!

I was 9 years old when I wrote my first blog titled “The first time I ate a samosa”. It was for a competition in school, and we were asked to submit our entries.

I was so proud of what I wrote, so much that I kept reading my own many times. I do that now too and I appreciate my own writing and I am my own critic as well.  

The writing was about 2 pages long. It had description about the Samosa, the taste, the texture, my family and about me closing my eyes and looking up to the sky for the very first bite. Before submitting it to the school, I thought I should let my mom know. I showed it to her.

My blogs have always been around Humor genre. I tend to hide the actual painful experience of the situation behind humor. It works! I smile at my own situation. I laugh at my own jokes. This little writing was behind a sad story, which I somehow managed to convert it into a funny experience.

We were poor. Not poor as in being homeless poor, but poor like, we need to save money for your marriage so there is no money to buy a Samosa kind of poor. Fair point, considering that in 16 years we were to have around 10 lakhs worth of money from not eating Samosa’s. It was a good excuse to deny me money for the food stall event in school. This was back in the 1990’s where having a junk food stall at your school was a big thing. It was first of its kind for a 4th grader like me.

The menu was not out yet, but the instructions given was to bring money to eat from the various stalls that are open. The proceeds of which would go to charity. Come to think of it, most of such events, the proceeds go to charity. Don’t we have enough money by now to eliminate poverty? Just asking… for a friend.

Anyhow, after many days of begging my mother to give me 50 rupees, which involved a lot of lectures about how to save money, why attending the charity event was not important and about “You are 9 now, it is time you show some maturity”, I finally had the money to eat the bare minimum. I finally was able to walk into the gates of my school with a sense of “ok! I now possess in my bag a huge amount of FIFTY RUPEES, and no one will know I am poor”, kind of feeling. I do not know the actual word for that feeling. State syllabus, synonyms did not help either.

We all know how much worth that money was in those days. If you do not know, I am sorry you were born too late. No, seriously, I am feeling sorry for you.

For most of us kids born in the 70’s or 80’s, the joy of finding a 5 paise coin on a muddy road while walking back from school and running to a yellow fritters or gooseberry vendor, eating that before we reach home and clearing evidence of salt and chilly powder from our hands and lips was equivalent to your current joy of having 1M followers or views. Maybe more joy because that was real joy.

Yes dearies, 5 paise was a thing.

The event began. I ate my first ever samosa. It was tasty, maybe because I have never had one before. I admired its shape, it’s texture and relished every bite until I licked my fingers clean. I did not have more money to buy another, because there were few more stalls to visit.

Many months later I would be writing a small comprehension as it was called those days, about my experience of eating a Samosa and now to think of it, who knew many years later, I would be writing a blog about the blog I wrote about that day! Sorry if you must read that again, I am confused myself.  

Anyhow, going back to my 1st submission to my mother. If you remember, I handed over the writing to my mother? Today as I recollect, that was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Because my blog journey ended even before it began. Wondering why? You see, not everyone has the maturity to handle humor. My mother took offence of my remarks about poverty. I remember writing about how she refused to give me any money and about how I cursed my stars for being born in a poor family. She took so much offense that she shredded that paper right there in front of my eyes and the submission never went to the school.

With that ended my writing dream, until 14 years later I rekindled my passion for writing and swore I will never do 1st submissions to mom again.

Irony of this entire story is later part of my blogging life, my mother happened to be my best critic, and best marketing agent. She would mass forward my writings to all her friends and talk to them with pride about it. Funny. Poor woman does not remember ripping apart my Samosa paper, but it is fine. I forgive her. I would not have won anyways. Apparently, I was the only one who had not tasted a Samosa before so my writing would not make headlines.

29 years later, today, I remembered my writing, and I took to my laptop to write.

The reason I am writing this today, is because of a huge discovery that has made me so elevated with joy, speechless and so much to say at the same time.

While I was clearing my son’s bag of lead powder, shredded sheets of paper and dirt, I discovered few papers stashed away in a book.

I opened them to read and there were around 5 to 6 pages of some writing. The topics are: 

-          The second Bruce Lee

-          The Glitch games.

-          The football boys

-          And few more untitled writings which I am yet to read.

He is 9. 

Thanks for reading. 

She stood on a stage surrounded by a thin black sheet of glass. There were many people sitting outside watching her whereas she could see none. She held the mike stand so tight so that she does not fall. The sweat tinkled down from her chest to the navel, making her fear visible on her clothes.

“Why do I have to do this” she thought to herself. Is it necessary to come out? She trembled as the memories gushed into her brain, her lips dry and her throat swallowing the shame, the fear of the aftermath. Would she be able to withstand the blame? Why can’t secrets be taken to the grave? It is ok to have wings and not fly. It is ok to be sad, hopeless and disturbed, yet deny.

She prayed for this trauma to stop. She begged for her thoughts to go. It only made her numb ever more with pain. A deep secret within her stayed on, although she tried to let go, but in vain.

A very long ago, when she was little, she knew of many people who were not so little. They were family and few friends of the parents. They were good people, who helped, shared and cared. She ran, she jumped, she played with them. She sat on their laps and listened to stories. She was carried and caressed and fed. She would rest with them on the bed, woke up with them and visited places. Day’s and night passed by with these people by her side. She was a happy child, who could deny. Her life was perfect, until one day, something had happened at night she recalled, her life had changed from there on in every single way.

Whom could she blame? Should she even blame? Unaware of what it even meant. Her parents were careless and free not aware of the tragedy that had happened to their bumble bee. She does not know. She demands to know, yet she rather remains silent. For couple of weeks she bore the pain of the wound dug in her body secretly, which later turned to be a scar in her heart. She ran, she jumped, she played with glee. But then she would slow down and remember what had been done to her. “Was it ok? Maybe yes, I am overthinking. Why would anyone want to harm a small child?” She consoled herself.

She ached to tell somebody. She wanted to understand. She looked around for answers but everyone and everything seemed normal, yet her heart pumped in doubt.

She turned towards her Mother. She opened her mouth to reveal. Her Mother was on the phone, congratulating and sharing the joy of the new of wedding bells ringing. “I guess what happened isn’t bad at all! Maybe I am over reacting. Why would anyone do things like that with a child?” She turned back and sat down for homework. It was Math. Born intelligent! She didn’t know what that meant anymore. She could not solve problems; she could not read. She didn’t concentrate at school or have real friends. Her parents didn’t understand her, they constantly compared.

One day she grew tall enough to reach the mirror. She stood there smiling at herself. “I am pretty, I am good, my eyes define; the pain that has been following since I was a child, yet no one shall see, for no one knows, the secret shall go with me, wherever I go. No person shall hear my soul screaming within, no Man shall know the wound that has set in; My hair is so long. My nose looks so naughty, what lies do they hide? My lips feel tender and my arms have grown strong. My skin feels soft and fine. What is this? Its growing big, this must be the breasts, which means I am growing, and I am finally 9”

Her Mother caught her in the act, beat her black and blue. She covered the mirror with sheets of paper and said, “You must not touch you”!!!

She sunk deep and accepted defeat. If I must not touch me, then was it ok that he touched me? “

Days passed by and became years. She finally realized what it meant and shed many tears. She could not contain her hormones were restless. She blew it out of proportion, but no one could care less.

Her Mother yelled “Why didn’t you tell me when it happened? Who was it? Do we know them?”

What could she say other than “Leave it, it doesn’t matter”; But still she wanted to come out, but it was not easy. For these not so little people who did wrong, were old now with families of their own.

It would shatter every soul, every smile. It would break their ground and they would deny. Would her parents believe; “after all you were just a kid”. What would you know if it was wrong or right? what justice would it service now, 30 years later!

She cried herself to sleep. Her wounds healed by scars remained. She met good men, but the trust would never regain.

She went to sleep that night, dreaming of her Mother. Yelling and screaming asking her to come out and point out those who did that to her. She stood there on the stage not knowing who was on the other side. One by one she spilled out the names and fell to the ground when she was done.

She woke up screaming, all sweaty and scared. She knew it then, it was just a dream, this is going with her to the grave.

Now she has an offspring, she knows for sure, no evil could touch her bumble bee no more. She protects it like an angel who has a halo and a sword.

Touch my little body and you will see the devil’s wrath. This is not your toy to play with or break it when your done. It is the temple of my soul pure and tidy. If you do not treat it right, you are not worthy.

She sits in our hallway with one paw on the other and looks around at us hurrying with our busy lives racing against time with a look on her face that says “People, is my breakfast ready or do I have to whine?” Irrespective of the hundred warnings asking her not to use the couch, or the bed, and not to enter the kitchen she would still majestically walk and sit around like it was her grandfather who built the house for us.

We still remember the day when she looked like a white fur ball. One would want to roll her on the floor, rub her softness against your skin, and those eyes and black shiny nose that looked like a black. button on a white sweater. No matter how many slippers were chewed upon, and the in-numerous oases of Pee around the house we would never want to harm that innocent button nose. Everything was forgiven and we all would go “awwwww” with her every yawn, chew and bark.

We had spent a lot of money on her chew toys, yet she found the edges of our dining table legs and the couch more chew-able and tasty. It was a sight in the mornings to see every small little object which went missing the previous night apart from dog food coming out of her exits!!!! For the brat she was one would want to name her a “brat” or “naughty” itself. But she was sweet, at least while she was asleep, I must say, so it was not much of a task to find her a perfect name. For the joy and sweetness, she had filled our lives with, there was nothing more apt than the name “Sugar”. She was filled with naughty energy, jumping around like a lamb, sometimes like a horse, we would wonder or wish to tell her “Sugar, you’re a dog, please behave like one.” She would sit when asked to stand, or run around like she was stung by a honey bee when asked to stay, uncontrollable energy that was so hard for us to confine. At the end of the everyday’s dog party when she would go to sleep our hearts would melt like an ice cream on a hot pan. She looked like an innocent angel and the best dog in the world sent straight to us from heaven. Dad liked her the most when she was asleep.

Sugar had become a part of every moment of our lives. Lives that were then consumed with thoughts about what she was up to; what she would do next and which item in the house would be destroyed for the day. Clicking pictures of her every move and recording videos of her naughtiness was our newfound hobby. There was increased frequency in sibling rivalry when we had to choose who would sugar sleep with the night or who would clean up the pee and the poop she had made. With the latter it led to the worst fights ever. Dad decided one day when she about 3 months old that it is time for sugar to start. going out for a walk and finishing her excretion business outdoors. This made situation even worse. when we had to wake up early in those chilly mornings to take her out before she could do anything at home The idea was to potty train her, and to help her start doing her business outside. We would grumble every morning with this bundle of energy dragging us on the streets to smell every grass, pole, bike Tyre, people, the ass of other dogs and at the end of it all, when we returned home, she would pee right there indoors in the hallway. “Why the hell did we take you out for Sugar??” we would scream, not to mention Mom’s reaction towards all of this, she would look at us, blink and go check her food bowl as if to say “Alright, alright, I shall pee outside tomorrow. Now, is my breakfast going to be late??”

We had to get accustomed to her newfound hobbies. Hobbies that changed almost every other day, from tearing apart clothes, chewing couches, bringing home dead chameleons, chasing innocent squirrels, sticking her wet cold nose in our ears when we were sleeping. When we returned home from school the house looked like it was swept by a hurricane or Sugar had her “War of the Dogs” with other dogs in our hallway. The newspapers would be torn apart, the plastic covers all over the place, wires entangled on her neck, pee, poop and the fur, Good Lord it was a sight which would make my Mom faint and make dad go bonkers and throw Sugar out. It was a task everyday to clean up the mess before Mom and Dad arrived and make Sugar look like she was well behaved.

We eventually gave up on trying to teach her new tricks. We had to come to terms with reality that Sugar was an ordinary dog who lived to eat, destroy our home, pee and poop. Anything more than that, would either be a coincidence of another stunt which looks to be extraordinary or an outstanding accomplishment of a simple task like “Stay” or “Fetch”. For example, when thrown a stick and asked to “Fetch’, Sugar would gladly run and we would stand like proud owners awaiting our beauty’s return with the stick, but instead she would be gone for hours with the stick, happily chewing over it till it is nullified to pieces. A very great accomplishment indeed! If you get a chance, please do watch this movie named “Hachiko”, based on a true-life story of a Japanese dog, who waited for 9 years after his master's death at the same place every day. It would bring tears in your eyes to see the devotion the dog had towards his master, waiting for his master's return from work at the same place year after year until Hachiko himself died. By seeing Sugar, it was clear that if we were not around, she would definitely wait, but not for us, for the food to fall in her bowl.

I don’t even want to talk about the shedding season. It was a nightmare. And Mom has tasted soap a hundred times. Ever tried giving your dog a bath? You will know how soap tastes like then!!! Years passed and Sugar was changing for good. We had to get accustomed to her. She had learnt to go out and pee and poop, she had become more patient with us. She was so fed up with the words “Stay” or “Fetch” that when we used either of it, she would raise her eyebrows and give us a look as if to say, “do it yourself Human”. She was too big for us to carry around; she did not like it either. Sugar found a boyfriend across the street, but Mom did want tiny monsters at home, so Sugar was forbidden from love making. The maximum allowed was sniffing of each other’s butts and touching of nose. We could not imagine a day without her. The front seat of our car was always hers. We had taken her paw prints and framed it and hung it near her bed the first day she entered our home. It lies there to this day. For us Sugar was more than a dog, she was a younger sister, a very naughty sister initially but later grew to be a more mature understanding sister whom we would turn to for comfort. Lying on her tummy was something I would look forward to every evening. We were complete with her around. Dad would make her rehearse her stunts of “Stay” and “fetch” often. She feared dad a lot and she would do it on his command. Mom would spend the whole weekends with her; she would be literally behind Mom the whole evening following her even to the toilet at times. She needed Mom for her baths, food and brushing. She did not let anyone else do the pampering. She needed dad for the long drives in the front seat. She needed us for her walks, snacks and bed time. We sometimes would allow her extra time with her boyfriend; somehow I felt she liked us more for that.

Every day we were welcomed home with the bee stung Sugar. She would run towards us in such force that we would almost fall, toppling things down, sniffing our bags and our crotch. “No Sugar we are not dogs and NO that is not how we say Hello”. We would just sit on the couch for 5 minutes dedicating ourselves for intense sniffing and licking until her excitement died down and then we could go and change and freshen up. This drama repeated with dad’s entry as well. In the last couple of years, the speed of her running has slowed down. 12 years of Sugar filled our lives with a lot of laughter memories and tears as well. I still remember the day we took her for her first vaccination. At home she was like a lion tearing down things, at the vet she screamed so much even the big dogs that came for checkup got scared with her howling. My Mom cried along, and we laughed our lungs out. Though Mom would often spank her for all the disorders she had done at home, she was always Mom’s pet. Mom would serve her food first then attend to us. That’s how I guess she got this feeling that she rules over us and is the princess of our home.

Lately Sugar wakes up late, she cannot walk that fast. She does not stick her head out of the car. She has lost interest in her boyfriend over the years. Our hearts are pounding with fear. She is almost 80 plus in dog years. She is growing old. The vet told us it would be anytime soon. It is hard for any of us to accept the fact especially for Mom. The other day as usual, I was looking at her sitting in her usual paw over paw and giving the “I am a princess” look in the hallway, but the look on her face was not for the food.

It was something else. It was a wiser and mellowed down attitude she portrays. It was as if she was saying “I will miss you Humans in the dog world”. I sat on the floor with her and took her on my lap.

Rubbed her tummy for a while and kissed her. Tears rolled down my eyes just imagining what life is without her. Mom joined us on the floor after a while and we spoke of all the naughty things she had done and all the Melodrama she had made us go through in all these years to the vet, to the grocery store for the walks. Mom still remembers when by mistake she let the dog chain loose in one of her walks and the next minute our princess was racing down the road with twenty other dogs behind her. It was the mating season and my mom thought she would faint. After somehow managing to get hold of Sugar those dogs gave my mother a look she would never forget. They never liked my mom after that day. Mom cried a lot, and I chuckled saying “Mamma she is still here with us relax!!!” I was trying hard to hold back tears myself.

I knew exactly what I had to do. I remembered the first thing we did when we first bought her home 12 years ago. I immediately immersed her paws in blue ink and took her paw prints, took her picture and when dad returned from work, we had a family picture. Her paws have grown bigger from what it was the first time. They were the cutest pinky paws ever. I kissed her paws, rubbed her tummy and just lay there hugging her on the floor. I could feel she knew what was happening. I could feel her say “Thank you”. I wish she could understand how thankful we were for those wonderful years we had. Our growing years were filled with sweetness of our princess, and no amount of food could express how much we loved her. One reason a dog can be such a comfort when you’re feeling blue is that it doesn’t try to find out why. Sugar would come and sniff us when we used to cry after mom’s spanking. At that moment I felt and realized we never knew if Sugar cried at all. Was she really happy with us? She is my best friend. Properly trained a man can be Dog’s best friend. True. There is no one in this world who would greet us with so much Joy day after day in all years of their lives when you return from work or school.

I read somewhere – Everything I need to know I learned from my Dog…When loved ones come home always run to greet them. Never pass up the opportunity to go for a Joyride. Allow the experiences of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy. Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. The reason a dog has so many friends is because they wag their tails instead of their tongues.

Sugar, you will be missed. Before losing you, I would want you to know Sugar that you are the princess of our house, and no one can replace you in this house. We will miss your warmth, your barks, licks, sniffs and your food bowl. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My goal in life is to be as good a person as my dog already thinks I am.  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dear God,

Let me give you a list of just some of the things I must remember to be a good Dog.

 1. I will not eat the cats' food before they eat it or after they throw it up. 2. I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc., just because I like the way they smell. 3. The Litter Box is not a cookie jar. 4. The sofa is not a 'face towel'. 5. The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff. 6. I will not play tug-of-war with Dad's underwear when he's on the toilet. 7. Sticking my nose into someone's crotch is an unacceptable way of saying 'hello'. 8. I don't need to suddenly stand straight up when I'm under the coffee table 9. I must shake the rainwater out of my fur before entering the house - not after. 10. I will not come in from outside and immediately drag my butt across the carpet. 11. I will not sit in the middle of the living room and lick my crotch. 12. The cat is not a 'squeaky toy' so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it's usually not a good thing. P.S. Dear God, When I get to Heaven may I have my testicles back?