Mom shaming is a thing with two horns and a tail

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Ever since I became a Mom I have been judged for my choices. Not that the judging hasn't happened earlier, but I kept my mouth firmly shut rather than explain my choices out loud to people who thought it was fine to poke their noses in my personal stuff and had no idea what the term boundaries meant. Now I do realize that Mom shaming is a thing. Yeah, mothers are judged for their choices. All the time.

Going back to work so soon after the baby is born? How could you be so cruel?

Oh, you are a stay-at-home Mom? Don't you feel bad for not earning an income than slog around all day in your pajamas watching your kids? Is this really the kind of example you want to be setting your kids?

Bottle feeding? Why would you do that! Formula is the devil's food. No loving mother should subject her kids to anything that comes from other than her own breast. 

Still breast feeding? When do you plan to stop? Is it really necessary to take out your breast as soon as your child cries? Why don't you try pacifying him/her?

I mean, really? Don't even get me started on the questions that have come my way. I can go on forever. How a mother brings up her kids is her own choice! There is no need to be nosy or overtly curious. If she chose to be a mom, then she most certainly knows what her baby wants or needs. And she definitely needs no judging from others in addition to the mammoth task of bringing up her children.

I thought the questions would stop once the babies turn into toddlers. But hell no, if anything they seemed to have gotten more and more personal and even outright rage as to how dare I allow my kid to throw a tantrum in public! 

We all have our own ways of parenting. What works for me may not work for someone else. Just like each kid is unique in his or her own way, there is no one size fits all formula that work. There is no right or wrong way. In my case, I let my kids get it out before I can actually get them to calm down. My method of parenting is trial and error. I make mistakes. I watch, I learn, I grow. And if that makes me a bad mom, so be it.

But the sad thing is that a lot of the judging comes from other women who are most often mothers themselves. We all know that underneath the polished facade, there is a mother who's waiting to crack. Who binges on chocolate when her kids are asleep and let's face it, who feels guilty for yelling at her kids while at home. But if you have it all under control, if your kids are tiny angels, good for you. That person is unfortunately not me. 

There is no such thing as a perfect mother! One who feeds her kids organic food, never loses her temper when the said kids refuse to eat it and still has not a hair out of place and never, ever loses her cool. The day you can show me a perfect mother is the day I can show you an unicorn, trust me on this. We all have our good days and not so good days when we exist on cups of coffee and couple of hours of sleep, if you're lucky, that is. 

Instead of judging, how about trying to understand what the other mothers may or may not be going through? She may be having a child who's not like yours or she may be struggling with her own issues or maybe she's just having a bad day. You don't have to help but at least keep your opinions to yourself instead of going over and offer unsolicited advice when not asked. Because, if she wants help, she will ask. Until then, quit with the mom shaming. Please. 

Thankful Thursday #1

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Dear You,

I'm a firm believer that we meet people for a reason. Sometimes, quite simply they are lessons. Other times, if you are lucky enough, you find companions for life. You are one such person for me. We started out as friends and now you are so much more. 

I'm not going to bore you with the details, but I'm grateful for the patience you have shown me over the years. For not telling me I told you so, for resisting that urge when I went ahead and made my own mistakes. For listening to me rant for hours, crying and tearing my hair out in the process. Mostly, I'm thankful that you are just there for me. 

You have made me see what I have missed, focusing too much on the grays and not enough on the colors. Making me realize that there are very few things that a long bath and a good sleep won't fix. For your unending optimism and positivity that shines through in your words, for the amazing person you are, thank you! I'm not going to tag you here and turn this into another cheesy post. You know who you are :)

All my love, 

Truth or Truth?

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Lies. More and more of it. Like a deck made of cards. Hiding the truth. Always. Do we lie to protect ourselves and the ones we love? Or is it because it's easier than telling the truth? The truth that you know is going to hurt? 

The drafts folder of your inbox, however, tells a different story. Unsent mail overflowing. The ones that refrained you from hitting that send button. Is it because some people simply do not deserve to know your truth? But there it nestles, among spam mail and meaningless correspondence. All that you have told but not been heard. 

You don't hit the send button. Not yet, a voice whispers in your head. But nor do you have the heart to delete it. Someday, maybe. Nobody said that speaking the truth would be easy. It's got to be done, all the same. Even if it means standing alone. 

Colors of Sunset

As a little girl, my favorite kind of sunset were the orange ones. A golden globe of sun sinking into the blue sea. 

When I grew up and stepped into my teens, I loved the pink tinted ones. It was the color of my blushing cheeks, he said. 

But now, the ones that I crave the most are the bright yellow ones with a splash of fiery red. It reminds me of your smile, the kind that melts my insides, oozing warmth into my heart that I inevitably end up comparing to the molten chocolate lava cake I had. The kind that always reminds me of home. 

If I could capture your love into a single frame, this would be it, in all the myriad colors of sunset times infinity, bursting into my life, painting the vivid hues onto my skin. Sometimes, I wish you would see yourself through my eyes, just to know how very special you are to me. And someday, we shall watch the colors of sunset blend in, together. 

P.S. Overwhelmed with the love you all have showered on me on my last post. Thank you! Means the world to me :)

Reunited

It starts with a kiss, the kind that takes your breath away. The deliciousness of the surprise, the taste of your lover's lips. Peppermint and spice. 

It's been far too long. I want to cry out but I don't. It dies inside my throat and I concentrate on relishing the little time that we have. 

So much to say, so much to catch up on.  Never before have we been parted so long. My first love, my savior. Welcome back, Words. I have missed you so. More than I can say, more than you will ever know...

P.S. Howdy? I missed you all! 

Hiraeth

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How are you?

Your message blinks on my mobile screen. How am I? That has been a question that I have been asking myself of late. Couple of years back, you wouldn't have felt the need to ask me that, you would know how I was just by looking into my eyes. You would have been by my side and not on the other side of my screen.

After all, we are were best friends. You know of all the times Hagrid made me cry, you grumbled when you had to tag along with me on my book shopping sprees. I was the first one you dissected your favorite movies with. 'Blue is the warmest color' kept us awake talking about relationships and love for hours. 

Butterscotch was your flavor, chocolate was mine. You always knew how rainy days made me write bad, sappy poems. But life as we know it, changes. You got married, moved across oceans and countries to start a new life while I stayed behind. Our friendship was uncomplicated, untainted by love. 

Today, your display picture shows you kissing your new born daughter. She is cute, your little one. I can see that she will grow up to be like you. And in another, I see you looking at her fondly, that look that was reserved only for me. It now belongs to someone else. 

The day you left, you took a part of me with you. Inside my chest is a scooped out hollow where you used to be. I have been seeing someone for the past few months, but I know that he will leave soon when he sees the blankness behind my eyes. Some things and people can never be replaced. Drifting apart was only natural. Was it your fault or mine? Or why don't we take the easier route and blame it on destiny? 

You will never know about the dark nights I spent battling my demons, that rainy nights scare the hell out of me now and that writing love poems is a thing of the past, just like you. I may never get to hear from you about those sleepless nights and the joy of that first smile. Likes on your vacation pictures, a comment once in a while on my status updates, that's what we have turned out to be. 

I'm fine, I reply. And you?

The writer who couldn't write

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Words. They run around on the inside of her skull. Random. Haphazard. The moment she tries to string them together in a pearl necklace of a sentence, they scatter all around. Silently. Some run under her bed, some go into hiding behind her bookshelves. She knows there is no use going hunting, they were stubborn. Much like her. They would reveal themselves only if they felt like it. 

The cursor blinks on the blank screen. She feels claustrophobic, her hands grow clammy, slick with sweat. She shuts down her laptop and tries to drown herself in her books, in the faint hope of finding some form of inspiration. But again, they escape her, the words going above her head. 

Is this the writer's curse, she wonders, that when the muse disappears, along with some memories, her words would betray her as well and leave with him too? Or was it her punishment for loving too much too soon? For now, the only option that she has in order to make a semblance of her life is to go back to where it all started. To go back home...

Rendezvous

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Her hair is shoulder length, she wears a backless lemon-yellow dress. He's dressed a little more formally, in a full sleeved shirt. Are they on a first date? But the way he cuddles up to her, gently caressing her already smooth hair, kissing the strands, tells me otherwise. 

He clicks her picture on his phone, finding a reason to scoot over closer to her to show it to her. Are they colleagues ? Having a fling? My mind rules out the possibility that they are married. 

I wonder what the future has in store for them both. Will he be the one to do the dumping later on? Will she be the broken one nursing a broken heart or vice versa? Will there be ego clashes and betrayals in the near future? Or will they perhaps have their happily ever after? 

And the hopeless romantic in me wins, over the realist. For once.  

The Perfect Anniversary

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She wore her wedding saree, red embellished with intricate golden thread work. Her thick hair was freshly washed and shampooed, she had let it open, the water from them dripping onto her naked shoulders; each drop kissing her flawless skin. The delectable butter chicken, his favorite, simmered on the stove; tonight had to be perfect. She dabbed a few drops of Dior Midnight Poison on her neck, the fragrance enveloping her like a cocoon. 

She toyed with the tube of lipstick before discarding it on her dressing table. No, mustn't go overboard and anyway he had always hated seeing her with makeup on. Downstairs, the bell rang and with a  final sweeping look in the mirror, she hurried to greet the one for whom she had always made the extra effort to please.

"Happy anniversary, Darling," her husband gave her the perfunctory kiss her on her left cheek as she opened the door. 

Making his way to the bathroom to take a shower, he left his work shirt on the floor. How she hated this habit of his, yet she never made a retort. Tonight must be perfect. Their sixth wedding anniversary. 

As she picked up the creased shirt, she pretended not to notice the lipstick stain on the inside of its collar. The shirt, like him smelled of sweat, a sickly perfume and betrayal. In the back drawer of her cupboard, the vial of deadly poison waited. Tasteless and odorless. This was just the missing ingredient she needed. She didn't want a mess on her hands; she liked things clean and neat. 

Tonight, after all, had to be nothing short of perfect. 

Wanderlust

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Exploring new places. Trying out different cuisines. Meeting new people. The symptoms are stronger than ever before. You, my dear, have gotten a bad case of wanderlust. 

Pack up your suitcases, take your camera and maybe some of those books that have been gathering dust on your bedside table. The notebooks that you have been meaning to write in; pack them too, you will need it. Leave behind those labels and boxes that are stifling you. 

Excess baggage is certainly not permitted. They are best left back. A solo trip, that's what you crave. 

Those shorts that have been bought and stuffed in the back of your cupboard because you never got around to losing that roll of excess fat, pack that too. Nobody is going to judge and certainly not care, this is your trip. Spread your wings and fly. And who knows, maybe, just maybe you may discover who you are. 

Wrong Turn

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Remember those mazes that you loved solving as a child? Where you have to make your way through and find the treasure? You know you have to reach the right place and there is only one way out. Sometimes you take a wrong turn and then you have to go back and erase your steps, in order to take the right one. What if that was not the way it was supposed to go? What if the wrong turn leaves you at the right destination? What if that was where you are meant to be, even though that was not what you had in mind or planned? What then? What then?

More than just another day

You kiss me goodbye before leaving my side. I am only half awake as I turn over and kiss you back sleepily. I hear you sigh one last time with my eyes closed. I turn over and crush my face into your pillow, on your side of our bed. It still smells of you and I snuggle underneath the duvet and it's almost like you never left. 

I can even feel the dent you left behind in the pillow along with a few stray hairs. After what seems like a long time, I finally feel content. I know you will be back. Just like how I know it in my heart that when we had said forever two years back, we had meant it. 

On days like these that you leave early, I miss our breakfasts together. How you would make me scrambled eggs, a bit on the runny side just as I liked while I buttered our toasts. Sometimes even burning them. I am a bad cook, unlike you. You can whip up dishes in a jiffy. And that's what had drawn me into you in the first place. How you paid no heed to the jokes and continued to do what you love. 

We had been reckless, eloping and getting married in secret. The photograph we had taken stands on our bedside table reminds of that night. Me laughing at something you told and you with your hands around me looking at me with an amused expression on your face. Of all the pictures that we have taken, this one remains by so far my favorite. 

A cold wind breaks through the window as I open my eyes. The bedroom curtains fluttering gently. That's strange. I remember locking the windows last night before going to bed. I climb out of bed and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Blood shot eyes staring back at me, disheveled hair. Another night spending tossing and turning. It has been this way since you left. 

There is still a faint whiff of aftershave above the bathroom sink. I refuse to believe what they tell me. How can you be gone when I can still feel your presence? Like today morning. There are days when I don't feel you for days on end. But you come back, you always do. Forever was what we promised. And promises are what you have always kept. I splash cold water on my water and for an instant, I think I see a shadow in the mirror behind me. It's gone before I wipe my face. 

You and me. Smoke and mirrors. Scrambled eggs and badly burnt toasts. Late night rides and long walks home. Messy hair and butterfly kisses. Forever and beyond. 

Red And White

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Tiny slashes across her wrists 

Drop by drop, red against white

Blood on ceramic 

The physical pain now matching her inner turmoil 

A little compassion was all she wanted 

Her cries for help fell on deaf ears 

She was supposed to be immune 

Locking away her emotions like she was expected to 

Her sanity went oozing out 

One, two, three... 

Too much in such a little time

Life was what had happened to her 

In this corner of a dusty bathroom 

People like her had no place in a cruel world 

They were labeled as weaklings

Survival of the fittest was the rule

Weeded out one by one

Blade against smooth skin 

She had given up

Almost 

But now she had a new reason to fight

To carry on living 

Inside her a new life bloomed 

Memory

Memory and I, we go a long way back 

I have tried to kill her many times 

Tried pushing her into a well 

From the edge of a cliff top 

But she was stubborn like a stain 

Refusing to leave my side 

She drained me, took away everything 

And so I decided to trick her 

We went on a journey by boat 

Into the ocean at night 

Side by side, frolicking 

Sharing a jolly time 

It's time for you to go, I tell her 

She looks at me in panic 

I can see the pleading in her eyes

I try to shrug it off 

I take out my matchbox and light a matchstick 

In the flickering flame I see her weeping 

Before having second thoughts 

I light her on fire and watch her burn and burn

Burn till she's no more than a fistful of ashes 

Lying on the floor of the boat

I take it and scatter it in the water around me 

Watching it floating and dissolving, becoming one with the ocean

I look around, dawn is breaking 

The sky is turning a blushing pink 

I row back to the shore all alone 

Feeling strangely empty 

Her death was what I wanted all this while 

But now that she's gone, why do I feel so guilty?

Why this hole in my chest? 

I walk back to my life, each step heavy with exhaustion... 

Ruins

Image Source: Francesca Woodman

I was a ruin when you met me. An ancient one at that. You fell in love with my cracks, the dust gathering around my soul. But you lost interest, you always do. 

Like the time you craved perfection, when you knew from the beginning that I was not. In fact, I'm scared of shiny, new things, unlike you. Things that have no soul; unblemished, untainted. 

My roots go deep. You prefer to admire me from far, yet, you will never make me home...

Linking this post to Magpie Tales - Mag 303. 

The Tea Shop

Image copyright: Anaz Jaffer 

She watched the tea leaves simmering inside the hot water, turning a shade of deep amber before adding spoonfuls of sugar into it. The time was 4'O clock, a busy time at the tea shop. Most of their customers would come in at this time. A bead of sweat made its way down from the corner of her earlobes. The kitchen was small and stuffy, filled with smoke and kerosene fumes. 

"Eli kutty.. ," her reverie broke at the sound of his voice. Her name was Eliamma, yet for Chacko, she was always Eli kutty, from the day of her marriage. He took the tumblers of hot tea from her hands and took it to the adjacent room to serve. Looking out at the dusty road from the kitchen window, her heart clenched. No matter how hard she tried to forget, some days like this one always brought back the memories. Ones that she wished she could bury forever. 

As always, her mind wandered over to Joseph and Mathew, her sons. Joseph, her first born, who had come into her life with the joy of a rainbow. She had cradled him close to her, he was the apple of their eyes. Till that dreaded day when he had decided to play in the village pond with his friends. He was only ten, still a child. Some say he had lost his step, others dismissed it as a cruel twist of fate. Losing him was a grief that took her many years to get over. It still ripped her apart.

Then came along Mathew. Her serious and sturdy boy. Her baby who had come to her when she was too old to be a mother. He was nothing short of a miracle, which was why she wasn't able to ever say no to him, unlike Chako, who was always stern with his children. They had given him the best they could manage between the two of them. He had grown up fine. He studied well, found a decent job to support himself before getting married. 

He had wanted them to close up the tea shop and move in with him. Chacko had said a firm no even though they both craved to spend time with their granddaughter who was only two. Chacko was always a man of principles. No matter how little he made, he made sure to support all her needs without depending on anyone else. Depending on their son for even small errands was something he didn't like.

Though she tried not to dwell too much on these things, there were days like today. Days when the ache in her heart spread all over her body, grasping her in its clutches. Her eyes welled up and she wiped it on her faded blouse before Chacko came in and saw. She mixed the batter to make the bhaji which they served along with tea just as he came in. 

"Sit down, your feet have started swelling again. Let me handle the rest," Chacko insisted as Eli kutty went down and sat down on the stool in the corner of the kitchen. She leaned back, resting her head on the charred walls behind her and closed her eyes. 

P.S. A special thanks to Anaz, the talented photographer who was kind enough to allow me to use this image on my blog. He captured the picture in all the right emotions. I don't know if this is their story and I hope not. But this is the story that spoke to me from this picture. The story of Eli kutty and her Chacko. A melancholic one. 

Crimson Red

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You slash me with your words. Invisible wounds inflicted. I bleed. My blood spilling in between my fingers, from the pores of my body and flows into you. A silent sob escapes my throat. 

You dip your pen into me, filling it with my life's essence as you repaint me in your words. You are applauded. How beautifully he writes. So much of pain in his words. How lucky is his muse to be loved so deeply.

But I seem to be the only one who notices that all your words are stained crimson red...

To the people who broke my heart

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To the people who broke my heart,

You, who took my heart and shattered it into a million little pieces, thank you. That was not easy for me to say. I nursed a broken heart for many years and it took me only some tear soaked pillows, a handful of friends and many nights of tearing my hair out in frustration to finally say it out loud. Thank you for tearing my heart when I gave it to you. For betraying my trust. 

Because of you, I'm who I'm today. The brokenness that sometimes reveals itself no matter how hard I try, has become a part of who I am. Those words that I can write, ones that I get appreciated for, are all thanks to you. They reflect who I am honestly when the words flow from my heart.  

Yes, you messed up my head in ways more than one. There were times when I could hardly recognize the cold hearted person you had turned me into. Time is a funny thing. It heals wounds you wouldn't have thought possible. With time, there were other people who entered my life. People who showed me why it never worked with you, why it never could have. People who have stayed by my side through it all. Ones who proved to me that it was possible to trust again. To even fall in love. 

Getting over you did not happen over night. It took many, many years. But it gave me a chance to rediscover who I was before you came into my life. It gave me back my first love - words. Perhaps it is both a boon and a bane, to feel so deeply. I think moving on finally happens when you can look back on those times without a bitterness twisting your heart. I know so because I can today. Without wrecking havoc on my emotions. 

As much as I am thankful for the lessons and creativity that you gifted me with, I sincerely hope that our paths do not cross ever again. Do not nudge your way back into my life and head. Please don't even try. You were a chapter in my book, a meaningful one at that. But I have moved on and you should too. It's time to finally turn the pages. 

Thank you for everything, 

Me 

Signs

                     

Waking up to the sound of rain rattling against your windows. An old song playing on the radio, making you reminiscent of the memories that always tags along with it. A long conversation with a friend. A walk in the rain with that someone special, hands clasped under an umbrella, getting drenched all the same but your heart soaring with each step. 

That lightness in your heart when you think of nothing but watching the pouring rain outside while sipping a cup of piping hot coffee. Two sugars, just the way you like it.

A text message when you least expect it. An old love making their way into your heart and you smile because it no longer hurts, it was just a beautiful lesson learned. Reading a book that came to you at just the right time. Re-reading an old favorite when you want to shut out the world and get lost in an alternative reality. Words heal. Always.

A long night drive, with no particular destination and just your favorite music for company. Star gazing. Writing a verse of poetry after ages and loving the flow of words from your fingertips. An unexpected kiss. Stumbling across an old e-mail. Poetry touching your very soul. And love, always love. With the one, with life, with the beauty all around. 

Today is one such day. That makes me want to believe in the little things. Signs that pop up just when you need it the most. Life is not all bleak, there is love and beauty all around. You just need to look harder and believe in yourself. 

Waves

                  

Missing you comes in waves. Sometimes it's the gentle lace wave caressing my feet, carrying the sand beneath them without a moment's notice. 

At other times, it comes crashing down, drenching me from head to toe. And when I least expect it, you are a whirlpool as you drag me down under. Smothering me, the salt water in my eyes and throat, blinding me, not allowing me to breathe, cutting down the flow of oxygen in my blood. 

But I'm still waiting for the day to let go, when I can finally drown in you. Won't you come? Or would you leave me here dying alone on the shore...