The Happy Ending

There are stories. Millions of them. Many of which end in “and they lived happily ever after”. The happy endings. Such are the stories people liked. And such were the stories of his movies. His acting skills were applauded by everyone. Our best actor of the year. Requests for interviews flooded him and he was humble enough to oblige them. But to act off screen wasn't as simple as it was on screen. That one question he dreaded, that one question he avoided haunted him in every interview. He smiled outwardly in reply while his insides churned and burned. At the age of 35, the world doesn't seem to be happy with just his acting skills or dance moves. They wanted to see him married. Because that is what a society wants. A tall, rich and hansome guy married. They didn't care if he was uncomfortable with the question. All they wanted was an answer. “When?” and “With whom?” Rumours were spreading that our hero might as well be a gay.

On a cloudy evening, he sat sipping toddy in his farm house, far from the lime light where he could cast away his smiling mask. He sat amidst the mangrove trees where the cool breeze caressed his face and blew his silky hair off his forehead. He sat there sipping toddy with blurred vision of his teary eyes believing that nature could heal his pain. When he thought he had finally found peace, the koyal sang. The melody of its voice stung his heart and his wound bled, his pain rose. With the song, came the rain. It came down as fast and heavy as her memory attached to it. For him the rains not only brought the scent of damp soil but also the memory of their first rain together, their first kiss. The memory of the water dripping from her hair onto her marble skin. They had played like two innocent children, splashing water onto each other. They giggled like they had drunk, danced like mad. They hugged each other because that was the best to do in a rain. It was ecstasy. What more did he want but her by his side for the rest of his life? But alas! The dark clouds thundered in warning scaring his lady love. The thunderbolt of his superior caste hit him and his love for her. His lady love was kidnapped and threatened. Because that is what a royal lineage demands. A rule breaker to be punished, an intruder to be bullied. All he could do was pray for her safety. He promised not to taint his family with his love. Because that was the only way to ensure her safety. He did not fight for her because it wasn't a scene of his movie. Such were the rules of the society. His forefathers were the kings who ruled the land. He couldn't insult the royal lineage. But he realized this a little too late. She left him and with her took away a piece of his heart. His heart still bled from this wound.

Today, she was taken away by someone else. Someone who was not as superior as him in caste. Someone who was not as rich as him. Someone who was not as tall and handsome as him. But someone whom she felt safe with. Someone who was manly enough to take care of her and her needs. What else could pain him more than seeing his girl happy in someone else's arms? Almost half a decade later, he couldn't get over it. Her memories haunted him. He regretted for not fighting for her, for not protecting her. But regrets couldn't undo the done. He lay there under a mango tree while the koyal quenched its thirst, while the peacock found its dancing mate, while the toddy in the pot stood diluted with rain. He lay there sprawled, craving for her presence, starving for love.

Today nature had stung him like never before. He decided to take it without protest. He lay there drenched. His blood shot eyes, red with the incessant downpour of tears that refused to stop their duet with the rain. Finally, she came as his eyelids got heavier, as his head lolled drowsier. He knew that nature might betray him but his toddy couldn't. She came as dry as dust. She came for him, to shower her love. To tell him that she loved him like the good old days. She came behind his shut eyelids where they didn't taint family's reputation, where they weren't born of any caste, where there was nothing but love. He drifted into his world of dreams, into his happy ending.

DREAMS

We all have dreams, one silent wish and a hope to see that wish fulfilled. But with time we realize that our silent wish was lost unheard, our dream remains a dream and our hope, the tiny ray of hope goes bleaker and meeker until it becomes non existent. We are told not to lose hope at any point in life. But it is better said than done. Who could know it better than Chunnu and Munnu. No. These are not their names. These are their pet names. We don't bother about their original names, which their village itself has long forgotten.

Chunnu was 10 years old and Munnu, his elder brother was 12 years old. Their dad owned agricultural land like all others in the village. But unlike other boys, they were rich. Rich with the treasures of their own kind. Treasures that gave competition to the magpies. They had many shells of different shapes, size and colors. They had their broken teeth buried in the ground waiting to turn into gold some day. They had peacock feathers hidden in their yellowing books which were omens for good wealth. Most important of all, they had shiny wrappers of sweet delicacies gifted by their uncle from abroad. They spent their time piling up their treasures and boasting about them to their friends. They didn't care if their clothes had a patch sewn to cover the tear. They didn't care if their clothes were ragged and rough due to excessive usage. Neither did they bother if their clothes shrunk with time, refusing to grow with them. Carrying their tattered and torn school bags they went to the Zilla Parishad School in the morning and in the evenings, they whiled away their time under or on top of the Neem tree in their farm, watching peacocks eat corn from their land. Their mother toiled during the day, watering the crops, filling water from the well, feeding the bulls, negotiating with the field hands for plucking and sorting out the grains. During nights, she cooked and tended to her family, when not beaten out of shape by her drunk husband. Chunnu and Munnu helped their mother at the farm to compensate for their father's absence at work. They accepted their life with its shortcomings and were happy because they believed they were rich. Their lack of proper clothes, their worn out shoes, torn socks, yellowed books did not dampen their spirits because it was the same with every other student at the Zilla Parishad School.

One day Chitra, their cousin from the city came searching for them in their farm as the lazy lads were swinging their legs sitting on a branch of their Neem tree. Chitra's dad Veman and Chunnu, Munnnu's dad Vijay were brothers whose land lay beside each other without proper demarcation. But their trained and experienced eyes knew where each one’s land ended and where the other's began. Veman and Vijay had one interest in common. Liqour. Cheap Liqour. They boozed together everyday. But the only difference was that unlike Vijay, Veman didn't thrash his wife as she was settled in the city.

Veman was intoxicated by his distant cousin Sindhu when young. He married her when she was 16 and he was 23. She was an enthusiastic girl and was bright at studies. With Veman's encouragement, she completed her graduation post marriage, much to the dismay of her in laws. Veman would toil hard at the farm and would fix dinner for his aged parents and pregnant wife who was intent on completing her graduation. They had Chitra and Veman tended to his daughter while Sindhu busied herself with studies. The couple was happy with each other and their baby. Nothing could possibly go wrong between them with a husband as caring and supportive as Veman. But Alas! Veman's world collapsed when Sindhu got a job. He was proud of his wife for getting the job she deserved. But he was in a fix. He couldn't accompany her to the city as to what decent job could an uneducated man get in a city? Moreover, farming was his only area of expertise and he wanted to stick to it. Veman's parents insisted Sindhu to stay in village. But Veman left the decision to Sindhu. So Sindhu went and also took their daughter with her to provide her with better education at a better school than their village could provide. Chitra missed her father. Her father, who had taken care of her like a mother when her mother was busy with her brains. It broke her heart to leave him every time after her monthly visits. Veman was beyond grief to see the two most precious ladies of his life leave him. His parents died lamenting at their son's bitter fate.

During the toughest phase of Veman's life, Vijay came to his rescue. He showed him light. He made his brother realize how grave a mistake it was to educate his wife when he himself was uneducated. But what was done was done and they couldn't reverse it, but it could be numbed.  Though for a while. He introduced Veman to liquor, the pacifier of all griefs. He taught Veman that heaven could be sought with this 10 rupees bottle. In the beginning Veman would puke after every swig. But eventually, his body accepted the cheap liquor as his mind accepted his fate.

Chitra was happy today as she was on her monthly visit. She was 12 years now and loved her dad as always but couldn't stay longer with him in his village as the city was more comfortable. She wore her new dress. A floral blue gown that swept the floor as she haughtily approached the tree where her cousins were perched. “I have a good news.” she yelled. The boys jumped down crushing the dried leaves under their feet, causing the dust to rise. Chitra crinkled her nose at the raising smoke of dust.

“What is it?” they asked in unison.

“Uncle Vinod…” She paused for the words to take effect on them.

Uncle Vinod worked in Dubai. They didn't know what he did there but he brought them goodies wrapped in shiny papers. Which meant they could grow richer much to the envy of their friends. They were liberal enough to share the candies and chocolates with their friends. But the precious wrappers were kept with them. They gave an ear to ear grin on hearing his name.

“Thats not even the news.” said Chitra.

“Okay. Tell us what it is. We don't have time. We have to feed the bulls. Better be quick.” barked Chunnu angry at Chitra for acting smart.

“It is uncle Vinod's son's birthday next week. He is turning one and uncle Vinod is throwing a party at the city. All of you will come to city for the party.” she said happily because she could be the boss at the city. Her cousins' didn't know what a mall was. They haven't been on an escalator or an elevator. City was her realm and she could avenge them for making fun of her inefficiency at climbing trees, for her fear of feeding the bulls and for everything else she was uncomfortable with at their village.

Chunnu and Munnu didn't seem to be excited about the birthday party until their uncle came the next day to invite the relatives in person. He was loved by the villagers for his humility. Vinod was Vijay and Veman's brother in law. He was married to their sister, Radha almost a decade ago and was blessed with a baby boy after a long wait. The couple rejoiced and decided to throw a party on the occasion of his first birthday, as was the custom amongst the rich. They flew to India and stayed at the city to host the party, as their village wasn't comfortable enough for their baby. Vinod went to the village with invitations. He not only brought the sweet delicacies wrapped in shiny papers for his magpies but also brought new pair of clothes to wear for the occasion. He not only arranged a bus for the villagers to commute to the city but also bought them new clothes to wear. The villagers were happy to see how rich Vinod had become over the years and were happier to see how liberal he was with giveaways and gifts whenever he visited them.

Chunnu and Munnu were jubilant. Not for the shiny wrappers this time but for the clothes they got. They had never worn such fine clothes all their lives. Like all other villagers, their mother bought them clothes from a merchant who sold clothes on his bicycle with overstuffed bags. He sold sarees, shirts, pants and frocks for various age groups. New clothes from this man on the cycle were no objects of excitement or joy as they were not as fine in making as the ones given by uncle Vinod. They lost their new look after first wash. Moreover, the boys of the entire village wore similar clothes as they were all bought from the same man. The clothes given by uncle Vinod were different. White shirts with black pants and straps that went around their shoulders. Two similar pairs of different size for the magpies. What was magical about the dress was that the straps were detachable. They carefully folded and placed their clothes in their respective boxes. They couldn't wait for their baby cousin's birthday.

Chitra too was excited about her baby cousin's birthday. But for a different reason. She had gone to many birthday parties in the city but rarely attended a function with her dad. All the functions of her relatives were held at the village because all her relatives hailed from there. On very few occasions when her monthly visits coincided with the functions at the village, she attended them with her dad. But her dad had never seen a party at a hotel in the city. He never saw the theme based decorations and the myriads of balloons floating in the air with curly ribbons hanging down. She bought a new red frock with frills that stood like an umbrella from her waist to knees. She had told her dad on her previous vist that he ought to wear a red shirt for the party and that her mom would also wear same color saree for the party. By now Chitra knew that she couldn't show her cousins the elevator, escalator, malls or the tall buildings as they would come for a couple of hours and confine their stay to the hotel where the party was being held.

Finally, on the much awaited day's most awaited party, Chitra and Sindhu waited for Veman outside the hotel. Sindhu wore a red shimmery saree with matching lipstick, bangles and sandals. She was the most polished lady of the village. She loved her husband for all he had done to protect her interests post marriage and baby. Both the ladies of Veman were fidgety until the bus from village arrived. As Veman got down the bus, Chitra ran into his arms. Veman came in a red shirt as promised and was clean shaved. Though he did not drink when with his wife or daughter, Sindhu knew about his drinking problem. His bodily changes made it obvious. She insisted Veman to live with them in the city as she was earning enough for all of them. But Veman preferred his village over the city. It was his comfort zone. Sindhu went up to her husband and led him inside. Chitra was too occupied to ask for her cousins.

Earlier that day, Chunnu and Munnu woke up before dawn. They got dressed for the occasion and combed their hair making a clean partition at the left. They couldn't wait to flaunt their clothes at the party. They were excited about being filmed in their new clothes, dreaming about posing for photographs at the party. They were too excited to have their breakfast. Their mother, a tanned, thin, slender yet tough woman was happy to see her children dressed up like princes. To her, they looked like movie stars by the country side. She wore the saree given by Vinod. A green crepe saree with thin silver border. She couldn't see her sons starving until the party and was chasing them in an attempt to shove some food into their mouths, when they heard him arrive. He saw the three of them, all decked up in new clothes in a festive mood. His eyes showed he was drunk. He slapped her and she fell down with a thud, her ear bleeding. He kicked her in the ribs. “You wore this saree? Accepting gifts from other man! You think he is a man. Do you? You whore!” he yelled as he raised his leg to kick her. Chunnu dashed at him and caught his foot making Vijay to stagger and fall.

“Don't hit her.” commanded Munnu. Vijay got up and smacked his sons on the back of their heads.

“These clothes have made you heros. Eh? I am the head of the family. Bow to me. BOW TO ME!” he yelled, the words slurring from his drunken mouth. Chunnu and Munnu were seething with rage. Their dad hit their mother very often. But how could he hit her today? How could he spoil this special day? He pulled them by their shirts as they began to run away from him. “What rags have you chosen to wear? Clothes that are not given by your dad?” His tugging at their clothes and their resistance to move closer to him, caused their shirts to tear. PRRRRRR..... And a bomb exploded in their hearts, shattering their dream. The dream of trotting to the city in their fine clothes. The dream of looking rich and polished at a party in the city. The dream of being filmed and photographed. What followed next was not registered by them. The blows they got, the cuts she bled from were none of their concerns now.

The bus came and left and with it left their last ray of hope. Chunnu and Munnu lay on either side of their mom with their heads buried in her lap as they wept. The slender yet tough woman sobbed, not for her aching ribs or bleeding ears, but for her weeping darlings whose clothes were torn, hair was pulled and cheeks were puffed. They wept until their tears were exhausted and remained as silent and still as a stone, gazing into nothingness where their dream lay shattered refusing to mend, finally accepting the fact that they were not as rich as they had thought and neither as lucky as the family in red that was rejoicing its reunion at the party.

Reasons for heart attack

Top 10 reasons for heart attacks: (Purely based on my research)


Reason 1: You are playing with your son and all of a sudden he vanishes. Doesn't respond when called. You panic until you pass out to find him squat onto the kitchen platform playing with all possible lethal weapons.

Reason 2: You have taken your son to the shop on a fine day when all of a sudden he darts out onto the road, heading into the speeding vehicles.

Reason 3: Your son is playing with the mouse (The laptop's) and decides not only to wrap it around his neck but also tighten it. (I wish he could strangle me instead and spare me the scare)

Reason 4: Your son is trying to climb the wall on 2nd floor. (The one without grill)

Reason 5: Your son is hanging from the curtain whose curtain rod is just bidding its own time before its fall.

Reason 6: Your son brings his toys and towels to shove into the flames of your stove.

Reason 7: Your husband is yelling at you for leaving the gas on and you see the little one smile accepting his mischief.

Reason 8: Your son breaks a glass and commands you to stay put and volunteers to clean it up.

Reason 9: Your son is standing on his bicycle to unlock the refrigerator. And worse, sometimes is left hanging from the refrigerator until rescued.

Reason 10: You are on the ladder doing your cleaning and sorting when he not only climbs behind you but also shakes you furiously. (Tell me what would you hold on to in such case, the ladder or your son or your faith in God)

The doctor asked me the other day if I had any anxiety issues. Damn it! When my pulse couldn't be normal in the safe haven of a hospital, I can't imagine how wild it could get in the vicinity of my son. The only solution that comes to my mind is hostel. No. Not for him but me. (i dont think any hostel would keep him)

P.S. Reason 11: when someone asks me "When is the second one coming?"

Ice Cream Works, Kondapur

My husband had always been thinking of opening a food outlet of some sort or the other. I let him postpone his thought and dream because I was scared of the risk involved and majorly because I felt he wasn't mature enough to handle it. I hadn't seen him take up anything seriously in life. For me he was a man in his thirties with his brain and heart frozen as adolescent.  But man! how wrong I was! since the plan was finalized for the ice cream franchise, I saw a complete transformation in him. I never saw him work so patiently and hard. I was skeptical till today about his friends' and his ability to deal with business of any kind. But I am happy that I was wrong. Finally his dream has a location. And its Ice Cream Works, Kondapur. They had opened it on Nov 12th, 2017

I had never written a review in my life. But I am writing one for my husband and his friends. This is for the ice cream shop that changed the careless and carefree midnight biryani eaters into more matured beings. Now that my husband's dream has a physical location, let me write something about it. 

I have never been an ice cream lover. Not that I dont eat ice creams but I dont have any unusual cravings for them. And when my husband told me about their Calcutta Meetha Paan flavored ice cream, I laughed at him. I remember the paan ice cream I ate long back at "The Great Kebab Factory", the one that I left unfinished. But this one at Ice Cream Works was awesome. I tasted a few flavors. Will try to list them but not sure that i will get the names right. 

New York Walnut fudge - (My favorite so far)

Calcutta Meetha Paan - (High on public demand)

Seetaphal Rabdi

Madagascar (something close to this name. dont remember the complete name. But was good)

Pink Guava

Imli with Chilli

Moti Choor laddu

Ate one Hazel nut flavor but dont remember the name

I liked the ones I ate. Imli with Chilli was average because I dont like Imli (Tamarind). But I think the tamarind lovers will like it. There are around 40 different flavors of ice cream. They seemed different from the regular flavors to me. May be because we have our money invested on them. But then, I asked the customers if they liked them and their expressions said it all before their words could. Besides ice cream, they have Sundaes, Waffles and Ice Cream Shakes which I haven't tasted. But so far we have got good reviews from the customers and we find few of them have already revisited with their friends. There are plans to tie up with Swiggy for home delivery.

You can find us on zomato. And please do visit the parlor and drop a review on zomato.

There! I did my part to encourage and applaud the good work done by my husband. Its your turn now. Please spread the word.

The Tastiest Omelette

My son had always been a fussy eater. Like always, I was struggling to make him eat today. After watching him spit reasonable amounts of rice, I asked him if he wanted omelette. For which he readily agreed. But leaving him alone in the living room while I was busy in the kitchen would be catastrophic. So my smart brain, gave me a smarter idea. I asked my son if he would make the omelette. He readily agreed. Man! the enthusiasm in his face is worth millions (to me.. That is). 

He broke the egg with my help and mixed a little salt and pepper. He beat the egg without spilling, while I was unnecessarily fidgeting. Some part of me, somewhere inside was telling me that he would drop the bowl and its contents. Not that we didn't have more eggs at home, but we didn't have any room freshener at home. But then, my son behaved like a gentleman this time. So I lifted him and helped him pour the contents onto the pan. I flipped the omelette myself and shifted the final product to the plate. 

I asked my son, "Who made the omelette?" He replied, "Mom." 

I asked him, "Who broke the egg?" "Me" he replied. 

"Who beat it?" "Me" he answered.

"Who poured it onto the pan?" "Me." By now, he had realized what I was trying to convey and gave me an ear to ear grin. I love to see my son smile. But love it more when he smiles for the right reason. I might not be the best mom. I sometimes break down and talk to so many mommys for help. My son is stubborn and indisciplined in many regards. But moments like these are the rays of hope trickling down the dark clouds of confusion. My fussy eater ate the omelette without complaint and when I asked if it was tasty, he said "Yes." with a radiant face. The omelette didn't have any special ingredient but the fact that it was a fruit of his effort made it tasty for him. 

I remember posting about his love for his kitchen set last year. But he came over it in a couple of months. I am sure after few more trials his enthusiasm for self made food would also die. But for now, I choose to cherish this moment. I realize its not the quantity of time we spend with our kid that matters but the quality of time we spend with them does.

Who am I?

I have always been on an identity crisis. I am a mother, daughter, sister, wife, daughter in law, a working professional. But I am yet to identify the true me. I don't know my destiny. Not sure if I am on the path that would lead me to any destination. Yet to figure out my aim in life. But then there is an identity crisis of the other sort that bugs me every now and then.

A couple of days ago I was asked if I was a Reddy. Many ask me if I am a Brahmin. I was also asked if I belonged to Telangana or Andhra. The very last week I was asked if I was a Choudhary. These are not the type of questions for which I have direct answers. I was born in Andhra Pradesh but did not live there. I was brought up at Telangana but wasn't born here. I can't associate myself to any one of the two states because I believe I belong to both the states. If truth be spoken, I am an Indian citizen and belong to India.

To talk about my caste, I am proud of my parents under whose upbringing, I never had to bother about my caste. It was not until my engineering that I got to know my caste. In a country like India where the caste hierarchy is strictly followed, I know very few people have the previlege of marrying out of caste. And I am one of them. I can neither relate myself to the caste I was born in nor to the caste I am married into. If truth be told, and facts be spoken, one's caste was based on one's occupation in ancient India. The rules of caste system were broken and the social hierarchy was infiltrated when people started venturing into various fields of work other than their family occupation. Technically speaking, my grandfather came out of his caste when he quit farming and took up a job. We have been rule breakers since long. So lets stop pretending and accept the fact. I am a software professional and so is my husband. According to me we are of the same caste. But no one would buy this logic. So be it. I don't want to fight or argue to prove my point. I am not offended when someone questions me about my caste. But I feel sorry for the present state of our nation. We say we are a developing nation and are yet stuck entertaining the age old demon of caste system. We are happily bound with the shackles of our caste and call us a free country. I can't marvel enough at our double standards.

Let us all build an identity of our own. But lets stop tagging ourselves with a caste. I think the world will be a better place to live in with a little less discrimination.

To school

It always felt good to go to school after the summer vacations. A new academic year, a fresh beginning, the smell of new books, new uniforms, new shoes, new bag. But this time its my son who would go to school. Yes. He is big enough to go to school now. After much contemplation, we finalized the school that fits our requirement. We went to his school and it was awesome. In fact all pre-schools are awesome. The walls are painted with cartoons, all class rooms are filled with colorful toys. There is a play area with slides, rockers, ride-ons and the list goes on. Basically I love the ambience of play school.

As we were speaking about the fee structure and transport facilities with the head mistress of the school, PHAATTT. My son broke one of their sturdy, unbreakable toys. I was scared the school would reject to admit him. But since my son did not exhibit any of his other feats, the headmistress didn't seem to mind. So, the single salaried us, paid the fees which is more than the consolidated fees for 4 years of my engineering studies. Yeah. I know its hard to digest. Bravo us! The single salaried us, who paid the fees. It enlightened my soul so much that I decided to kick start phase 2 of my career. Because we have to educate my son for the next 2 decades in the least. Sigh!

I am pretty much excited to see his school bag, books and uniform. Oh! his books. They are so cool. They have colorful pictures everywhere. Just the feel of owning them is heavenly. I quickly covered and labeled them as per the instructions given by the school. My husband doesn't understand why I am so excited about anything that has to do with my son's school. And that is one more item on his list of "non decipherable qualities of my wife".

Few of my relatives, are astonished and question me as to why am I sending him to nursery at the tender age of 2 and a half. Man! For all you know I should be sending him to the army school for the riot he is. Besides, I want him to play with kids of his age, make friends and learn to share toys rather than bullying me and his dad. I am dying to see his teacher after the class tomorrow. I feel so sorry for her. But since we have already paid the fees, I don't think the school authorities have the right to reject him now.

I can't wait to send him to school. Because, I can finally take the blame off me and blame the school for my son's mischief and lack of discipline. 

Amarendra Baahubali and Devasena

Baahubali 1- The beginning shows Devasena bound with chains, staying loyal to her husband, not giving in to Bhallaladeva's power. One would think, who would do such a thing in present times. Now, when the rate of intolerence in a relationship is high and when marriages are breaking apart at lightening speed for no big reasons, which gorgeous princess would stay loyal to her dead husband and why?

I get the answer in the conclusion. i.e. Baahubali 2. Baahubali 2 shows us the love story of Devasena and Amarendra Baahubali. Devasena is portrayed as a bold and brave princess, someone who wouldn't compromise her self respect for anything in the world. Amarendra falls for her. Not just for her beauty but also for her bravery and her pride. The pride that comes from doing what is right. The pride that comes from being just.

On Shivagami's orders Amarendra takes Devasena to his kingdom but not before promising to uphold her self respect and to shield from insults of any form. And he stands true to his promise. Doesn't he?When he tells his mom that she has erred by promising his brother, Devasena's hand for marriage without Devasena's consent? It doesn't stop there. When Shivagami orders for Devasena's imprisonment, our tall, muscular and handsome hero stands by his lady love protecting her. Thats what a true man does. Protect his lady love from the ills of his own family. That is what we all want. Just the words, "You are wrong" to be uttered when they are wrong. The words "She is right." to be uttered when we are right. Not just pointing out fingers at us for every God damn reasons. Now again, most of the men would stand by their lady love against all odds BEFORE MARRIAGE. Because he yet has to officially own her. Because there is still a risk of losing her. Because there is still the insecurity of someone better proclaiming her.

The best part I liked in the movie is the scene when the pregnant Devasena is brought to trial in the court for chopping some pervert's fingers. She stands tall in front of the king and Shivagami. She never falters for a second because she knew she hadn't commited any crime. Then comes our tall, mascular and handsome hero who stands by his wife. Wow. Amarendra Baahubali not just supports his girl friend but also his wife. Bravo Amarendra Baahubali! Thats such a unique feat - Standing by your wife. That is what all of want. A husband to stand by his wife when she wasn't wrong. A husband who would protect his wife's self respect and not call it her ego. And yes for someone like Amarendra Baahubali, we would stay loyal until our graves.

I was never a movie buff but I knew that Rajamouli is a great director who never gave a single flop to the industry so far. I was awed by his movie "Eega". But I never gave a heck to Rajamouli as a person. For me, he was yet another director like all others. The graphics shown in the movie are great and the experiment done with the movie itself was a bold move by the director as we all agree. But just for portraying the characters of Devasena and Amarendra Baahubali, I bow to him. I think we all have a lesson to learn here instead of cribbing for a better climax fight or talking about the upcoming Mahabharata project (which may as well be rumours).

My tryst with painting

Painting was one of my hobbies when in school. I had used acrylic, poster and water colors. I never used oil paints until was gifted a set by my brother. Well, I was never a pro at painting but had good instincts at the strokes I delivered with my brush. I never pursued my interests later and never took out the time to get myself trained at the said art.

Many years later, my brother gifted me set of paint brushes and oil paints. Voila! I was so very happy and couldn't thank him enough. But on second thoughts, I believe it was so cruel of him to think that I could use those costly paints without feeling guilty of wasting them on my long forgotten art of painting. But nevertheless, I decided to put them to use one day. To bring out the hidden talent in me(which is still hidden). And sat down to paint the below painting.

But I realised that I neither had a color palette to mix the colors nor any thinner to use with the paints.

My brilliant brain gave me the idea and I used a plate for a palette and the asian paints thinner which gave the strongest stench. I patiently gave the strokes for the sunrise trying to avoid the stench in the background and was quite happy with the effect. But would have been happier if I hadn't smudged the already colored portion again and again forcing myself to redo the painting again and again, thereby wasting the colors again and again. And my paper now looked many times thicker than its usual self.

Now when I washed my brushes, I realised I couldn't wash them with water. So I made a failed attempt at washing them with the thinner. And as a final attempt to clean my brushes, I wiped them with a cloth. This is what attempting to paint after a decade taught me. Painting is a lot more messier than crayons or color pencils. Paints don't color just paper or canvas. They can also color your flooring, clothes and hands. Its impossible to paint without unintentional smudgings. Now you know why my sun has a black spot. No. Its not the ozone depleted spot. I am yet to figure out how to wash my brushes they are still stiff hinting the need of proper washing. Nail paint remover? Do you think I should give it a try?

P.S. My painting still carries the stench of my thinner. 

The side effect

He saw her from the other end of the room. Her hair mangled and messy, jumping her non patterned jumps, dancing without rhythm, singing without tune and giggling unusually loud. He let out a sigh. He knew that she couldn't be normal again. Never again. He could never get his wife back like the good old days.

Life changes after marriage. It was true and his life did change post marriage.It was a welcome change. But now, five years down the line he was on the verge of losing his wife. His heart ached to see her like this. He was tired of her insane behavior. He just hoped she could get back to her normal self. But he knew that it was impossible now. What she was facing now is a side effect which could not be undone.

She came running towards him and paused to take a breath. Her insanely happy eyes smiled at him. "Care for some dinner?"  she asked. He nodded in reply, not taking his eyes off her, noticing the wiry strands of hairs sticking on her sweaty forehead and back of her neck. "Momma! No. No." cried her son clinging to her leg and said "Jump. Jump and Sing" Untangling him from her leg, she went to the kitchen, sending a flying kiss in his direction and assuring to return in two minutes. Not bothering to wipe the sweat of her brow, she let it trickle down onto her shirt while serving dinner to her husband.

Not eating together was yet another side effect of parenthood he thought. He silently ate his dinner while the momma and sonny duo continued their JUMP JUMP and SING SING game. He sighed silently and thanked his stars that in this mad mad world, he atleast got his food on time. It was the only sign that he was not yet forgotten. And then came his son running towards him and landed face down onto his dinner. "Yet another side effect" he sighed.

SAHM me

FYI - SAHM stands for Stay At Home Mom. Its been a quarter since it became my identity. I quickly jot down the changes I see in my life.

In the beginning, I was pretty scared and started looking for some crazy work from home jobs. But quickly enough discarded the thought. I found that as a working mother I was multi tasking my head off and now I find it difficult to concentrate on single task at a time. So I planned to meditate a bit daily. Which is obviously not going as per plan. But eventually I got used to single tasking or lets say not multi tasking. 

We are facing small problems like managing finances with single salary and by end of every month we have pulled it safe so far. There is one major problem I am facing due to lack of office laptop. Because the MS office subscription on my personal laptop has expired. And if you find any typo or grammatical errors on my blog then its Microsoft to be blamed. Because, how the hell can they not give me unlimited access to MS Word after purchasing a Windows 10 laptop? 

Talking of advantages, I am leading my life at a much much slower pace when compared to the past 8  years. On few days I don't get to see my dark circles. I have a tidier and better organized home than before. The best of all is getting to see my child grow every second right in front of my eyes. Even better than the previous one is that I get to watch more movies with  my husband. And I bet he can't ask for anything more. Okay, here's a better one, he gets freshly cooked food served hot, thrice a day.

Life has been such a roller coaster ride so far. Thanks to my husband for being there and supporting my decision of quitting the rat race that I was part of. Few of my relatives who were not happy with me working and leaving my baby with his grandparents, are now pitying me and asking why I quit? Many of my friends told me that it was a very bold decision to quit my career and now I understand why they called it "BOLD". Its one such experience which is hard to forget. Kudos to my son who keeps me going. And thanks to my husband because if I don't thank him very often from now on, there is a risk of cutting my pocket money. :P

Kitchen set

I bought a kitchen set for my son much to the dismay of my neighbor who is a mother of a 3 yr old girl. This is the one which comes with stove, burners, oven, chimney hub, tap and sink, frying pans, cups and saucers and cutlery. Yes. Its that exhaustive. And my neighbor couldn't get the logic behind me getting it for my son when her daughter doesn't have such exhaustive set of the so called girlie toy. My husband laughed when I got the pink color kitchen set. Few thought I was wasting money buying such irrelavant toys for my son. But it was an immediate hit with him. As soon as I assembled it, he gave me a cup of tea from his set and washed his hands and face from the tap provided at the sink. Needless to say, I was on cloud nine.

I don't know if I qualify being called a "Breaking the stereotypes" mom. But, I saw that my son almost, always mimicked me when he saw me cook. His favorite play toys were my frying pans and cookers. He has a bat and ball. In fact lots of balls of various sizes and colors. But the fancy he takes for my kitchen utensils is nowhere in comparison to them. So I got him this toy set, respecting his interests. I bought it hoping to put an end to the clinging and clanging noises he made with my steel utensils. The neighbors were complaining you know. They thought it was my way of venting out on my husband. OUTRAGEOUS.

Few of my acquaintances laughed at it (The kitchen set I mean. Not the venting out part). Few were of the opinion that he would become a famous chef in future. Few said that I was lucky and in few years I would have a helping hand at kitchen. And here is what I think. I will be happy if my son learns to cook because thats one basic need of life. Every person with the ability to cook doesn't have to be a chef. About the helping hand part, I must agree that I am looking forward to it. To make my point clearer, let me summarize my thoughts. "I got the kitchen set for my son because I would love him to pursue his interests. And to teach him that there is no such thing called a boy's job or a girl's job. Times have changed and its all a matter of our choices."

On a very recent update, he has taken fancy for my compact and lipstick. Do you think I should give them to him and let him paint himself? No... No...Don't go away. Believe me, I promise to listen to you this time. 

Dearest moon! Smile please, say cheese

She looked at the candle lit group that seemed to be silently praying with closed eyes and bowed heads. It was very unlikely for the prayers of the silent crowd with agitated minds to reach God. To help the Soul rest in peace. The soul of the victim. The soul of the one molested. Probably not one but many who were molested the very same day in her country. But this one was brutal enough to catch the media’s eye. She sighed looking away from the window as the bus whizzed past the gathering.

She closed her own eyes and prayed. Or rather wanted to pray. But was confused as to what and whom to pray for? Pray for all those innocent women or girls or worse the infants who are subject to molestation? Should she ask for justice? Should she pray to regain their innocence or undo the “feeling dirty” feel of their mind? She opened her eyes and gave away the praying part.

She saw the bus conductor unnecessarily rub a co-passenger’s breast as he waltz through the crowd. No medical tests could prove the conductor’s deed. It was not serious enough to be reported. Yet, she knew it would leave the “feeling dirty” feel on that co-passenger. She knew that “weird in the gut feeling”. The “Churning the stomach yet tongue-tied” feeling.

She knew that the candle lit group would go home and in sometime or days would forget the molested-beaten up-dead girl. The group that consisted of men and women, boys and girls. Few from the crowd would get back to their ogling and unnecessary rubbings and snide remarkings. Because that was no remarkable offence. According to them it was on lines with acknowledging the beauty of Taj-Mahal. 

By the age of 17, by the commencement of her youth, she knew that it was not her age or body to be blamed. She knew it was not the fault of the 9 yards cloth or 6 inches skirt. She knew it was not her or her co-passenger or the molested-beaten-dead girl’s fault. What she didn’t understand was, “Why don’t the grey haired politicians understand this?” She got down the bus and shut her mind to the oglings, whistlings and snide comments from someone dying to see the moon smile at him. 

Yet another marriage in family

She lay on the bed tossing and rolling unable to fall asleep. Her aunt's tear filled eyes kept flashing in her mind. She knew that her mother had also gone through the same during her marriage. She felt sorry for her cousin because she knew history was to repeat itself.

Marriages are made in heaven they say. May be thats true. Because in most parts of India, the true spirit of marriage is lost and forgotten. In both urban and rural India, the brides side is forced to shell out money in the name of marriages where as the grooms side do nothing but expect and expect and expect from the bride and her parents. In most of the marriages, may it be love or arranged, may they be educated or uneducated, this situation is unavoidable. The situation might not be as grave as stated in all cases but there is always this thing called expectation living deep down their heart.

She knew that this expectation turns the relationship between the families sour. This for sure affects the newly wed couple by stealing away the peace, trust and good will for each other. She flinched thinking of her newly wed days. How the mere thought of her marriage had become a taboo for her. It robbed her of her carefree days, her childish and innocent self. It broke her and mutated her into this more mature and practical being with a bitter heart. "Mutation. Yes. Thats what happens after marriage." She thought. Her husband was not spared from suffering either. He had fought his own battle. Battle of finding a balance between his family and his wife. But in due process he ended up losing his peace of mind and hope. Hope of a "Happily ever after" life.

She understood why the youth was now trending with live in relationships. Because they feared commitment. And it was a wise decision she thought. To love, it takes just two like minded people. But to marry, it needs 2 families, caste, money, social status. She could not help but feel sorry for her cousin who was to be married. She could not help but think of her aunt who was grieving at the prospect of marrying her daughter out of caste. It was again another marriage happening between 2 incompatible families. All she could do was pray to God to spare the young couple the heat of their elders which comes in the name of marriage. She turned to her son sleeping beside her. Patted him gently on his head and pledged not to put him through what his parents have undergone. She prayed to remain as sane as possible to not impose the mindset of the their generation onto the younger one.

Fingers crossed

Happy birthday Abhiram

WHEELS ON THE BUS GO ROUND AND ROUND. I don't deny this fact. But why am I forced to listen to it on an infinite loop? Why? Oh yeah! Because its apparently my son's new favorite. And what else, the tiny tiger has turned 2 this week. Happy 2nd birthday to the momma in me. And yes happy birthday to my son as well. 

The past 2 years have been quite something to me. It feels like just yesterday that he was born. Yet it feels like he has been with me since times unknown. The last 2 years have just whizzed past me in fast forward. Yet I can't deny that I enjoyed each and every moment watching him grow. At the age of 2, he is as naughty as Calvin. Serves me right for having read the Calvin and Hobbes collection while the Tyke was within me.

The past 2 years have been quite adventurous, action packed, emotional and equally confusing and frustrating. I have realized that I have become a character and viewer of a suspense thriller daily soap. He is so spontaneous, stubborn and unpredictable. (just like his dad in case you are wondering.) The rate at which he tugs at my hair, I am sure to go bald in another couple of years.

As of today, he can crawl, run, sprint, jump, hop, sneak and hide.  He can enact "Twinkle Twinkle little star.", "Chal mere ghode chal chal chal." and partly "Wheels on the bus" and "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands." He sings sometimes (not in perfect rhythm and with no coherent words). His favorite toy is his kitchen set, that I gifted him in haste so as to have my kitchen for myself. But though he loves his miniature kitchen, he still holds a great fancy for my kitchen and everything in it. He is smart enough to kill the cockroaches he lays his eyes upon. 

His vocabulary is not as much as that of a 2 year old. But as a mom, it still sounds cute to me. Here is the Abhiram language translator. This is mostly for my future references and others might as well ignore it.

Bhi - Abhi (his name)
Pooi - Spoon
Pooi - Puvvu (Flower in telugu)
Thakyu - Thank you
Bye - Bye
Amma - Amma
Daddy - Daayi
Mama - Mama
Thata - Thata
Nani - Nani
Ammamma - Mammamma
Tu - Shoe
Ju - Juice
Ty - Aunty
Ka- Akka
Kaki - Kaki
Kukka - Kukka
Bi - Billi
Kai - Kaallu
Nuu - No
Puu - Po
Go - Ball
Bugga - Bug
Bugga - Glucon D
Duddu - Guddu
Duddu - Laddu

This is not an exhaustive set of words from his dictionary. But are the most commonly used words.

I know, I know how boring it could be for others to read this blog. But I had to write it for him.