Articulation Pending Since Class 3

 Today was a bad day at office.

I kind of knew this day would come, but when it finally did... uff. Brutal.

I usually don't write much about office stuff here. Somehow work has always felt too personal to put on the internet. But at this hour my brain is refusing to shut up, so dear blog, congratulations. You're my unpaid therapist today.

When I was little, one of my teachers wrote in my report card, "Her expression needs improvement."

Perhaps she was way ahead of her time.

Because here I am, 42 years later, and my articulation skills are still as healthy as my bank balance at the end of the month. 😒

The problem is not that I don't have thoughts. The problem is I have ALL the thoughts.

My brain has three parallel tracks running simultaneously. Each track has its own permutation, combination, side quest and background music. While I'm speaking, Track 1 is explaining the problem, Track 2 is already thinking of the solution and Track 3 has wandered off wondering what to cook for dinner.

By the time I speak, all three tracks merge into one glorious traffic jam.

With my team, I've found a hack. I keep checking in - "Is this what you understood?" "Is this what I meant?" We recalibrate and move on.

Unfortunately, you can't keep asking your boss every two minutes, "Are we on the same page or have I completely lost you?"

Sigh.

Anyway. That's mine to fix. Communication is a skill, and clearly mine still needs software updates.

Rest all is okay... well, relatively.

The last two weeks have been dreadful. MIL's hospitalization, endless hospital runs, and watching my daughter get traumatized seeing blood every day... not exactly what I had planned for July.

Also... I have officially started believing in nazar.

Just TWO days before my MIL's fall, I was happily telling someone, "My sasu maa does so much yaar. I don't know how she manages everything."

Lo and behold...

Kand ho gaya.

Coincidence? Maybe.

Am I taking chances again? Absolutely not.

From now on, everyone in my family is average. Nobody is exceptionally good. Sab theek-thaak hain. Nazar management is now part of my risk mitigation strategy.

Anyway...

Tomorrow is another day.

Hopefully my brain runs on one track, my words come out in the right order, and life decides we'veArticulation Pending Since Class 3 had enough character development for one month.

A House That Doesn’t Feel Like Home

 Shifted finally.

But I am too tired and carrying too much of a mixed bag of emotions to feel anything close to excitement. I am not liking this place at all right now. The roads feel non-existent, the traffic feels omnipresent, and everything from homes to food to maids....is so damn expensive

Maybe I am also being unfair to this city because I am grieving what I left behind. I am not even liking this house, perhaps because it isn’t mine. The loss of your own home pinches in ways you don’t fully understand until you no longer have it.

Today while unpacking, I suddenly felt completely overwhelmed. Usually I am quick, efficient, always moving to the next task. But today I kept asking myself..... what the hell am I doing here? Why am I here?

Maybe someday, when my head is clearer, I will write in detail about why we shifted so abruptly. Right now my brain is dog tired, but somehow sleep refuses to come.

All I feel tonight is a deep sense of loss.

Visited Salasar Balaji temple after years, and honestly, with a lot of fear in my heart. Again heard news of someone passing away. Though this time it was someone already unwell, and maybe death was the kinder thing… it still leaves behind a heaviness you cannot explain.

Kiddo was exhausted helping me today. Sometimes I wonder if I should have let her come later after things settled a bit. But I also know having her here gives me mental peace, even if life now has to revolve completely around her routine and comfort.

I just hope uprooting our entire life will someday be worthy for her. Maybe that hope alone will keep me moving through the next few insane days of settling this lousy house.

Anyway, I think I have vented to my heart’s content now. Maybe I can finally catch a few winks of sleep.

Ciao

Ps.Thank you my fren for keeping me sane through these days of sheer madness 

Wishful thinking

 

The wishful thinking that never goes away,

The mind that never lets peace stay.

The “what ifs” and “what could have beens” creating havoc

In the middle of all this noise…

Hold on to what truly matters.

Focus, and let yourself stride through it.

You can do this — after all, that’s how you’ve come this far.

Don’t let the past haunt you, or worse, depress you.

Only you truly know your strength.

So my darling self… be calm.

Move on.

By the time It Feels Like Home

 May has somehow become the month of moving for me and my family. Four years back, we packed our life into little carton boxes and shifted to Noida. 

As someone who moved constantly during childhood and never really had permanent memories of “home,” leaving Mumbai ,officially my first real home..... was hard. Not just hard, but traumatic in some ways. Mumbai wasn’t just a city for me; it was where I belonged, or at least I thought I did. Packing away memories of our early married years, my daughter’s childhood, and pieces of a life we had built there felt like leaving parts of myself behind. 

Leaving my bhabhi , who is far more than family, almost a friend, philosopher, and guide....hurt deeply. Leaving behind the helps who had quietly become my support system felt equally harsh. I refused to accept Noida for the first year and treated her almost with disdain. 

Every time I travelled back to Mumbai for work, it felt like I could breathe again. But slowly, somewhere along the way, Noida grew on me. I began to love the wide roads, the lack of traffic, the fact that my parents were suddenly so close, and the soft gulabi sardi that North India brings. So when my husband decided we should finally buy a permanent place of our own, despite my better judgment, I agreed. 

We bought a house and turned it into a home. We spent endless time building it, dreaming through it, shaping every little corner of it. And boy we did build a beautiful home, one that I now have to leave behind again, while rebuilding life not just for myself but for my daughter too. 

Maybe that is the part that hurts the most. I always wanted to give my child the stable childhood I never had.. the comfort of growing up with the same friends, the same community, same school, the same sense of belonging. But once again, I have to pack all of that into those hideous carton boxes and leave. 

Last night, surrounded by packed boxes again, I looked out at the beautiful skyline outside my window and realized I always thought I had more time. More time to admire the view. More time to sit in the little library I built so painstakingly and watch sunlight pour into it. More time to simply belong. 

Maybe that’s the tragedy of moving so much.... by the time a place finally starts feeling like home, it’s already time to leave. Sometimes I surprise myself with my own ability to adapt, but I wonder if adaptation is both my greatest strength and my quietest grief.