One Needs a Truck Load of Patience to Deal With a Mother

Since time immemorial, it is a known fact that once we women become mothers, and more so mothers of adults, we get irrational by the moment. The same is the case with my mum, as well. It gets challenging to converse with her because she refuses to see sense.

We have arguments daily, which mainly revolve around her telling me that she isn’t happy living with my husband and me. Her idea of living a happy life is for me to divorce my husband, and live with her ever after – which is impossible. I feel like I have already given so much of my life to her that now I don’t want to waste my time or breath on anyone else but me.

I don’t get it. My husband and I have done so much for her, we are both bending over backwards for her, but her satisfaction remains at a -2. Every day she walks up to me and tells me I am not concerned about her anymore (which is downright stupid and she knows that. I think she secretly says it to piss me off), she is upset because I don’t shop for her every day (that’s what I used to do, but I reduced the daily shopping to weekly shopping due to the COVID scene. I wonder why she doesn’t get the seriousness of the situation.). Her anger scale hits a 100 when I support my husband (which she despises because she tells me every day what an incompetent husband he is – which he isn’t – and wants me to leave him and go take a house where both she and I can live “happily ever after”).

I want to put an end to this daily mental stress, but I can’t. I can’t, because:
-1 I don’t have the guts to fight back with her
-2 She will threaten to kill herself – which she has attempted several times
-3 She will walk out of the house in the middle of the night, and I have to hunt for her

I am beginning to feel extremely dissatisfied and demotivated with all these scenes that are happening at home. The sad part is that this will be a continuous cycle, and there’s no end to it.

#when the going gets tough, the tough get going (except, looks like I won’t go anywhere, except walk right into my mom’s trap)

Professor Sridhar- Part 1

Yes, I fell in love with another professor in the same college where I fell in love with Vinod ‘Sir’ (Sridhar story happened way before Vinod’s).

There were times when I used to be late to college. One such time, I was under the impression that there was no session because the concerned lecturer was on leave. But when I walked into the class, I saw a really smart-looking man taking a lecture. He saw me at the entrance of the door and asked me to come in. For no reason at all, I was super shy.

His class was excellent. It was interactive, humorous, and engaging. We then had an ‘interview’ session with him (it was supposed to be a faux interview, where he was Yediyurapa and us – the class – were the interviewers). Whatever question I asked him, he refused to answer, and I was soon losing my patience. He noticed my impatience and quickly told me, “Hey, don’t take offence, this is all part of the act.” I gave him a wide grin.

Then came his next session. I was late as usual, but as I was hurrying in, he said, “Aww, I was missing you. Glad you could make it.” I think that was the first time I blushed so much in my entire life. That’s when it all began – the undying love. I was keen to keep in touch with him. Every time we had our computer class, I would log into Gmail, and start chatting with him on Gtalk.

By his next session, we had all taken him for granted, we weren’t listening to him, and he lost his cool. He gathered his stuff and walked out of the class. We were all shocked. I think of the lot, I felt the guiltiest. As soon as I had access to a computer, I pinged him and apologized. He asked me not to worry about it, and then we soon started sharing personal stories. He told me he was a divorcee. His wife was pregnant, and she did not intend to let him see the child. He was sad; I was worried.

Soon I became his confidante, and we spoke every day. Post-grad was coming to an end, and it was time for me to go to Mumbai for my internship. The day before I was supposed to leave, he gave me a call and said he was coming home to meet me. I was flustered. I panicked. I thought I’d had to invite him over to my home, but when he reached, he asked me to meet him at the end. I was ecstatic. We spoke for a few seconds, and then he gifted me some magazines and a bunch of chocolates. He told me that was how I could while away time during my train journey. He also handed me the train schedule and told me I could track the stops through that. I asked him if he’d like to come home, but he declined my offer. We said our goodbyes, and he left.

I still remember that feeling with which I walked back into the building and my home. All I was thinking about was what a gentleman he was. He was courteous, thoughtful, and generous. Little did I know that rascal (I say ‘rascal’ in a pleasant friendly manner) knew precisely what he was doing and was well aware that he had successfully planted his plan in my mind.

#men will be men

And Then Sushant Singh Rajput Killed Himself.

I still can’t come to terms with the fact that he is no more. Its been almost three weeks, and all I can say is, “Why?” It is ridiculous when people say he was murdered. I am sure he wasn’t. What assures me is the fact that this was a premeditated suicide. As per my understanding, he had already planned to end his life. How do I assume this? Because three days before he passed away, he cleared everyone’s dues and informed everyone that he wouldn’t be working with them anymore since he didn’t have any money left. Does that not prove that he was already ready to get away from the world?

But then there’s been reports that state he was murdered. And then I tend to wonder. Was he? People say this with conviction because of the rope mark on his neck, and the confounding fact that only three fingerprints were found on the rope- that of his little finger, thumb, and index finger. This is weird. It is impossible to hang oneself with only those three fingers. Some of his friends had come to his flat the night before he died. Did his friends help him commit suicide? Did he beg and plead them to help him end his life?

My heart goes out to Ankita Lokhande. She was the only person who loved him with all her might, unconditionally and selflessly. I was all about how they were happy together and how Rhea must have caused his death. I mean, I have seen Rhea from her Teen Diva days, and I know she is a nasty little girl. When Jia Khan’s mother said that Rhea was selfish and probably led Sushant to his death, I agreed with her. But we have to take a step back and try to understand what the poor girl must be going through – even though she could be a Mother Gothel.

She was interrogated for 9 hours! A case has been filed against her in the Bihar court, and she probably doesn’t have many people she can converse with, right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets suicidal; then everyone will blame the next target – Mahesh Bhatt.

Maybe sometimes things are exactly what it looks like. Perhaps Sushant was indeed going round the bend, and he couldn’t take it in anymore. I mean, he heard voices, and I can only imagine what Rhea went through when she was watching a movie with Sushant, and Sushant told her that Anurag Kashyap was out to kill him. There’s always more than what meets the eye, and we all have to be unbiased. None of us know what’s happening in someone else’s life.

What can I say? I miss Sushant dearly. While most of us didn’t know him personally, we all feel the pain because we all loved him so much. and I still wonder, “Why?”

#Sushant Singh Rajput – The Real Actor.

Life is Good

Life is never fair. There are always ups and downs. Those waves of discontent, dissatisfaction, and whining are there, of course. COVID is a disaster. Is the world coming to an end? I don’t think so. The world will go on for a few more centuries; it’s going to bring on more obstacles, diseases, cures, success, and whatnot.

But are we happy now? I always live in the present. My family always tells me to think about my future and plan stuff. But I can’t. So to answer my previous question, are we happy now? I am.

I know these are tough times out there! But it’s annoying when people around say that they do not like the lockdown, when they say they are going crazy sitting at home, or when they say let’s meet for a drink.
Do people not get two aspects of this whole situation?

1- COVID is wrecking hell and has a mighty great time on its rollercoaster that’s crashing into everyone’s lives.

2- Staying at home is the easiest thing around. WFM has become accessible to all, so I don’t understand what the problem is. We are all kind of on a paid vacation, even if we are working at home.

So why can’t people understand the seriousness of the situation? Because we have other dumb people forwarding messages that say we shouldn’t be scared of the virus becasue so many of them have come and gone.

COVID is out to get out, so what do you do? Stay at home, eat well, get fat (it’s perfectly fine to get fat), be happy, play games with your family, stay safe when buying groceries, put on two masks, carry your sanitizer, when you get home, drop your clothes and take a bath, wash every piece of clothing you wore out, and voila! We will all be safe.

That’s all it takes. To stay at home.

#sudden feels

“I Will Fuck You, You Bitch,” he said.

My mum and I are great fans of buffet breakfasts. Considering that from June 8, 2020, restaurants had the green signal to open, I was curious if the buffets would begin. So I called up the restaurant we regularly visit to check with the guy who took the call about the same. He was an inefficient, incompetent receptionist who wasn’t doing an excellent job of sorting out my queries.

The conversation soon turned sour, and we both got abusive. I would have let it go, had he not told me, “You come to the hotel, and I will fuck you, you bitch.” I bantered on with him. I abused him back, and when my husband couldn’t take in the conversation any longer, he snatched the phone from me and spoke to the guy. But the hotel guy hung up on my husband. I was livid.

I didn’t say much after that. I told myself that I should just let the incident go. But I woke up this morning and thought to myself, “Why?” Why should I let someone like that escape? I called up the hotel and demanded to speak to the manager/authoritative leaders. The manager called me back. I told him of my ordeal. As soon as I was done, I also told him I was coming over with the police and the lawyer to sort that out face to face. He requested me not to do so and said that he would investigate the matter and get back to me in 2 hours.

He called me back in less than 2 hours and told me that he had fired the concerned employee and also said to me that as compensation, he would give me three buffet breakfasts complimentary. This pissed me off. I told him I didn’t need his free meals. Hypothetically, even if we were happy that we were getting meals on the house, I was upset that he thought three meals could undo the damage.

It’s shocking how people think that they are sorting out an issue, but instead aggravate it further.

#me too?

Ice Ice Baby

The good thing to look forward to during the summers is the chilled (iced) drinks. I like my drinks cold. American cold. So when I want to have a glass of juice, I first freeze the juice till its almost getting slushy, and then I go ahead and add on about 6-8 cubes of ice. I know. Really cold.

But the downside of it is making ice again. I find it to be a wee bit, not-so-interesting a task. I mean, I love the result of having loads of ice ready at my disposal, but I don’t find the will in me to fill the ice trays. It’s a very stressful situation, I feel.

First, filling the tray – now I don’t have the patience to pour water slowly. So, I dump water into it every single time, and obviously, most of the water flows away, and despite pouring two glasses of water in, only half the cubes are full.

Second, carrying the tray to the freezer. When I said earlier that I couldn’t pour water slowly, it’s because I am always trying to multi-task. So again, I can’t amble to the freezer. Then in my haste, the water still flows off the tray, and the whole procedure continues for another round.

Now I know that the easier way is to get it right the first time, but nah ah. It doesn’t happen. But then again, we got to do what we got to do, right? Else how else will I get my super iced drinks at my disposal? How would I get to feel pain, a numbing sensation, and teeth sensitivity all at once, eh?

#If there is a problem, yo someone solve it.

John Denver and Other Oldie Songs

I was very little when my mom sang ‘Strawberries, Cherries, and an Angel’s Kiss in Spring.’ It seemed like that was the only English song she knew and, in turn, the only one we knew. Then came the days of singing Doris Day’s ‘Que Sera Sera,’ post which came another memorable song sung by a teacher in my 10th grade ‘Don’t Cry, Joni.’ I fell in love with the latter. I didn’t feel as bad when Joni cried at the age of 15 as I felt bad when Jimmy went back to her 15 years later. My eyes brim with tears when he says that his tears fell like rain at day. Aw!

I actually sang that song to my good friend Rijo in degree college. He took me out for a meal, and I remembered this song. I asked him if I could sing it for him, and he replied in the affirmative. After I finished singing the last stanza of the song, he was agitated. He was so upset that Joni married John, and he said quite seriously, “This is why, if we intend on leaving town for a while, we gotta shoot all our best friends and then leave.”

But there was something about John Denver’s Annie’s Song. Through my late school years, I used to hear mom sing this song on and off. Mum actually forgot the name of the song, so she always started with ‘You fill up my senses..’ After a while, I began to wonder if that song actually existed, because it seemed like a far off memory for my mother. So I wasn’t sure until I heard it on the radio one fine day. Mom and I had just left Kerala (ran away from there to start a fresh life in Bangalore), and we were wandering the streets of Kamannahalli when we decided to get a drink of water in the famous supermarket ‘Nilgiris.’ As I waited for mum to come back with the bottle of water, a lady on the radio sang the song, and I flipped. The ‘radio lady’ said she would like to sing Annie’s Song for her listeners, and that’s where I found out the name.

I was ecstatic. I was almost jumping up and down, and I couldn’t wait for mum to get back. When she came over and handed the water to me, she saw me all revved up and asked what was up. I told her the name of the song, and she gave me a bright smile. She was like, “Oh, yeeeeeahhh!” I was so happy. I felt like I was that lone warrior who won the battle and came back alive. Weird, I know.

It’s funny how songs can just transcend you from the present to the past in an instant, just like how some aromas, fragrances, and odours take us to a different place in time.

#You fill up my senses, come fill me again ❤ ❤

11th Grade

When I completed 10th grade, my brother infused a lot of excitement in me about the great advent of the unforgettable college days. I honestly didn’t care much back then, because, for me, the college was just 5-odd years of studies. It didn’t make that big a difference. I had another problem – clothing. I didn’t have much, and I was embarrassed. Nevertheless, the college years began.

And it was awesome.

I know this may sound weird, but I feel like the weather through 11th grade was terrific. It was always pleasant and gay. It felt surreal. It smelled of freedom because that year was one of the best. We were the first ARTS batch in the college. Since there were very few of us, we were given a small room on the college’s terrace. But we loved it. It was almost like we were studying out in the open. The trees around made sure that every time we stepped out of the room for a break onto the terrace, we were welcomed with cool breeze even through the hot summers.

The best part of it all was that we had only four hours of classes—morning from 7.30 to 11.30. But I told my mum that the classes ended at 3.30 pm. So I had a whole 4 hours of fun every day before I got home. Our break time was 9.30. It was a short break time – just about 15 minutes. During the break, we would all try to run down five floors to the basement, ordering vegetable-grilled sandwiches and choco pies.

The run-down used to be funny. We would push, nudge, and try to meander through the immense crowd to ensure that we return to class on time. Often, the group was so thick that we were moved from floor to floor, just floating in the thrust of the crowd. Our feet would honestly not even be on the floor; we would be moved around like invisible angels carrying us from floor to floor.

I had taken up History, Economics, Political Science, and Sociology as the four arts subjects. And man, I did well in them all. I also made some excellent friends. We had such good times that I wish I could go back to those days and stay there in limbo.

#When will someone create a time machine?

Would It Be Fair to Myself If I Started Talking to My Step Sister?

My dad left us when I was in the first grade. No one was sad about it. We all moved on with life. We carried on living the miserable heights-of-OCD-life with my mother. But we never complained. When I hit 6th grade, dad said he wanted to meet us kids. We were delighted. Meeting him was an escape into an ordinary world. We jumped and frolicked around him, until he said, “There’s something that I need to talk to both of you about.” We knew instantly that he probably came bearing some not-so-good news.

We sat in the car, and he said, “I have decided that I will marry aunty Rita.” We were speechless. Numbed. Not because we were hurt, but because we didn’t know how to face mom and tell her of this new development. Rita was a prostitute he hitched up with, 5-odd years earlier. My brother asked him, “Why?” Dad said, “Because I am a man of principles. I got her pregnant, and now I must get married to her.” We never bought that.

After my step sister was born, he tried to get us involved in his life for years. But we wouldn’t because we were mom’s soldiers. Still are. We gave her unconditional love, unwarranted support, and believed every word she uttered – which were accusations of the unjust life given to her. We lapped up every bad thing she said of dad, which was mostly right. But irrespective of it all, we loved dad and still do. Sadly, the one thing he wants from us is something we can’t give him. He’s been asking us to talk to Samantha – my step sister. He asked my brother if he would take care of her when he does pass away. My brother responded in the negative.

I do feel bad for dad. But then I wonder, would it be fair to myself to start talking to her, laughing with her, and sharing girly stuff with her? My mum, brother, and I had a tough time – financially – ever since he left. We barely managed to eat a square meal a day, while he splurged all his money on her. I had just a pair of pants and two shirts when I was in college, while she had a whole wardrobe of clothing. I struggled to get to college from home and vice versa, while she went on trips to foreign lands.

To sum it up, she had everything while we had none. So now, would I be fair to myself if I should forget everything that happened and get pally with her after all these decades? I do love my dad, so would it be fair to give him the one thing that he wants?

#life is always unfair; so do we go with what makes us feel good about ourselves or what makes someone else happy that could eventually make us kind of happy too?

When I Thought I Was In Love #1

The day I became a postgraduate in new media journalism, I decided that I would tell the guy I had a massive crush on, that I was in love with him. He was my ‘movie’ lecturer. Before I go on, that one solid year of new media journalism came with learning the trades of news reading, documentary creation, content creation, and everything related to journalism, which included classes on how to make a movie. That’s how he became my ‘movie’ lecturer.

His name – Vinod.

He was tall, dark, and not handsome. But there was something about him. He was charming in a funny way, and he was scared of me. That’s right. After getting the results of the first test we wrote, I was super upset that he didn’t give me full marks for the brilliant answers I had written. I stormed up to him, and started fighting with him tooth and nail (I’m hyperbolic here), and made sure he gave me a 49/50. Post that, there were times when he would take a movie session, and I would be so engrossed in looking at him, that he would freak out and ask me what’s up with me. He always told me he felt like I was staring at him and plotting his murder. I kind of thought that was funny.

But then the year came to an end, and it was my graduation day. I was hell-bent on making him, my boyfriend. I walked up to him and asked him to join me for lunch. He hesitated but then relented. While we were having dessert, I told him that I had a massive crush on him and inched towards proposing him. He gave me an apologetic smile and said, “I’m married.” What happened post that was a whir of embarrassment. I refused to believe that he was married. He then called out to two of the lecturers in the college and asked them to let me know if he was married or not. They both responded in the affirmative, but I didn’t give in.

I mean, for crying out loud! He didn’t look old at all. I asked him how old he was and he said he was bloody 23!! I was furious. He was obviously lying, and so were the other lecturers. 23 and married, and this was back in 2011…riiiiiight? He attempted to get up and dump his plates, but I didn’t let him. It seemed like he was beginning to get petrified. I tried to make sure he was glued to his seat until I could convince him to go out with me. But that ship didn’t sail. He did manage to convince me that he was not single and that he was married. He showed me his ring, and another lecturer self-invited herself to the conversation and spoke about how he had a love marriage.

I zoned out. It was just like you see in movies (you will hear this line every time I talk about my weird love stories) Everything seemed to be a blur: their voices, faces, and annoying gestures. When I came to in a couple of minutes, I got up and walked away. He was polite enough to follow me and apologized. I graciously accepted his apology, wished him well, and walked away. Away from that college, away from him, and away from the memories I created in my mind of him and me living together.

#Crush No. 4

P.S. The #1 in the title doesn’t indicate that that was the first time I fell in love. It’s just a reference to my first post on the topic of my many crushes. Heeee.