Smoke without Fire

7th December '16

So much simmering inside,
So much.
Why doesn’t it boil over?
Someone turn the heat on. Please!

I’m not done.
Still am a bit tight.
But this urge to spill over, before I’m done?
This urge,
So much.

Let the fire be drowned.
Let it sizzle.
When the smoke rises up
It’ll become a cloud and come down as rain.
It’ll rain,
So much.

September "we turn 7 months" Updates


Kanishk is cranky. Seems like a fourth tooth is on the way. He had fallen in love with fans. He looks at them and smiles. His favourite song is 'wheels of the bus'. If you don't sing that he won't eat.

Naina is the background music through all. She sings to herself while she eats, changes and sleeps. She can play peekaboo through the day. Also, she loves books. Sorry she loves to eat books. She also eats faces, and chaddar and anything that moves and doesn't move.

Rumi is always on the prowl for food. Rumi is always hoping for food. Rumi is always begging for more food. She likes a little belly rub to go with it once in a while too.

Mommy is going crazy. Cooking and Burning and Burning and Cooking, with cook down. She burnt khichdi. Tried to make chilla with sattu thinking it's besan. She is also trying very hard to turn babies into readoholics. In fact that has turned her into a book-shopaholic. 40 kids' books plus one freebie book just got delivered. 🙈

Daddy as usual... Missing in Action. Actually not. He holds the fort in the morning and at night.

I have issues

7th July 2016

I have issues

I really do.

I think about the past and use it as a reflection tool, a bit too passionately than I should.

Just the other day I visited my hard-drive (repository of life stuff) and I started seeing old photographs. Old photographs of me (yes. I’m quite a narcissist).

I looked at myself and was jealous.

As I looked at the pictures, I felt myself go to the moment and I felt the past as a now with emotions, thoughts, feelings and more. It was like I knew why I was smiling in this picture, what stupid thing the person next to me said, who was the recipient of my affection, why I had my elbow out and more.

I realized, I just don’t feel all that much anymore.
I looked at myself and was jealous.

My joys, my sorrows don’t come from that pit anymore.  If it does, the pit is not deep anymore.  And just like that I started mourning the ability to feel extreme emotions.

Ironically, still, most people view me as an ‘extreme’ person.

Reflection time.

I saw myself.

A spirited person
Rain seeped into me
Pain pierced into me and bled me hollow

I laughed from my gut
Couldn’t stop my mirth
And giggled till my stomach hurt

But now? Where was the person in that picture?

Somehow, somewhere I stopped being true to myself. Bit by bit. I started conforming. I started looking for approval. And the funny thing about this ‘need for approval’ is. You can never get it. No matter what you do. No matter who you become. There will always be something more or something less. Always.

I stray again to spring 2008. I’d learnt a lesson then. I forgot.

That spring, I’d lost oodles of weight after a few months of eating nutritious diet and regular gyming. Was engaged to be married to my long time boyfriend. Was flaunting a new super stylish wardrobe. Was oozing self-confidence after 2 decades.

Finally I got the approving glances from the world. The SHREEJA who never fit in anywhere just fit right everywhere. I was walking different. Taking different. Was on the surface happy.

Just like that, I walked into a room and passed a full mirror in a corridor somewhere. I saw a passing reflection. I didn’t recognize myself. Moreover I hated the face of the girl I saw in the mirror.  I was in a state of shock. Was this me?

I sat down. I needed time to digest this information. This reality. And I cried. I cried and cried and cried for hours. That was the moment where the whole world approved of me. That was the moment when I finally ‘fit in’. But I couldn’t be with myself. I’d lost myself in the process.

I cried myself to sleep. The tears dried. And I when I woke up, it was me again. I promised myself I won’t lose myself to the world again.

I’ve forgotten that ancient promise, already.  I’ve trod on myself again.

The way my Dad fusses over me

19th June 2016

Well someone recently said a statement, which had a few words in it like “The way your dad fusses over you…” – and I interrupted them right then and there and diverted the topic to other avenues. I didn’t want to defend my dad’s behavior or want someone judging him. I didn’t expect anyone to understand it. I can’t expect anyone else to even feel 1% of the love my dad feels for me. Nor anyone can.

I just delivered 2 babies, together, 4 months ago. Before delivery and after delivery I was fortunate to live some days with dad and mom together, after marriage (8 long years) and then some few days with dad, after mom left for the long ashram stint. And you know what, it felt wonderful to be cared for (for a change).

Papa probably never realized as I continued being my old rotten self with him, as usual (I have a problem expressing love to people especially very close to me). But every time he asked me what I wanted, what I desired and went to places to get stuff, just for me – it welled me up. If he even got a hint that there was this one thing I liked, he made sure the stock was never over in the house. Eg. I had to have protein powder in milk that tasted really bad and he made sure that there were strawberries in the fridge always to help me love the milk.  Simple things like that. Who does that for anyone, nowadays? Certainly no one had done that for me in a long long time.

Sometimes and maybe nearly always as a woman in this country, especially after marriage you’re expected to be the primary caregiver. To elders and youngsters alike. You learn through a series of experiences that small little delights of life that you savoured you’ll need to provide for yourself or give up cause no one will go out of the way for you. No one will. Even if you ask for it, mostly you’ll hear it’s out of their way. So why ask for it? – Do I sound cynical?

It’ll be extremely rare if someone is even considerate enough to look at you from the perspective of a living being, who could need love, understanding and pampering too. And when a someone sees, just their empathy will be enough. As they’ll understand you from a look of ‘being there’ themselves and maybe disburse a few sentences of advice to deal with the world, very precious sentences, sometimes.

No one will put you before himself. No one will invest their life’s savings to give you security. No one will sacrifice his own joys for yours. No one will save the best for you. No one will do things outside his comfort zone to give relief to the tired you. No one will try do without important things for himself to indulge in luxuries for you. No one will be there, really be there in a way of standing there beside you and holding you when you’re going weak. Except Papa.

Thank you Papa for making tea in my house for my guests when I had too much too handle (I know you’ve never done that for anyone before). Thank you Papa for the strawberries, the protein rossogolas, the wheat crakers and other little things you got for me to eat, when I was allowed very few things.  Thank you Papa for coming to Gurgaon in my last few pregnancy days so that there’s someone to drive me to the hospital, if need be. Thank you Papa for leaving your work and running to hold my babies when they cried, every single time. Thank you Papa for thinking about me. Thank you Papa for doing everything you can to make me happy. Thank you Papa for finding happiness in my happiness. Thank you, Papa for things I never thanked you for or ever will.

I love you and thank my stars for showing me this kinda love in my lifetime.

And I respect you all the more, cause despite all you’ve done for me you’ve never told me, “See, this is what I’ve done for you”. You’ve never expected a ‘Thank You’. You’ve never expected anything in fact.

Nor have I ever done anything.

I will probably never even show you this post. I'm that bad. 

In a moment of peace

12th June 2016

One is sleeping
            oblivious to the world
            hands spread out, palms open
            receiving the knowledge of the ancient masters
            understanding the world
            in deep meditation
            in sleep meditation
            digesting the day, today.
Two looked here
            smiled at me
and then looked away
she’s listen to music
Indian classical ragas
having a conversation with the ustads
aa aa aa aaa aaaa…
was that an alap?
Three put her paw on the pad
            she’s asking me,  “what are you doing?
            what could be more important than looking into my pretty pretty eyes?”
            the vain one
she knows
            she’s the prettiest beagle in town
            the lively one with the wagging tail
            she knows

            Mumma loves Best!