Grandma's Michelin Star Lunch

Grandma's Michelin Star Lunch

It was late-ish afternoon, in what definitely felt like somewhere in India, but a house I can't recognize. I was sitting alone at a dining table, on a stool. It was an open-plan style room, with the kitchen to my left and the living room to my right. Grandma (nana Ivy) was pottering about in the kitchen, preparing a meal. She walked over to the dining table, and set down a small stainless steel plate. It had 3 things on it, and the weird thing was that every thing on the plate was half a portion. As grandma set the plate down in front of me, she told me these are my appetisers. She went back to preparing the rest of the meal, and I was about to start eating my lunch. I was curious about the beef cutlet, specifically half the cutlet that was on my plate. It was my absolute favourite thing to eat and I was a little disappointed that I was only served half.

I thought to myself, maybe I shouldn't be expecting so much, after all grandma is old and cooking such an elaborate meal must be very tiring for her, so I shouldn't actually expect more. And these were just the appetizers, so there's obviously more on its way! I also noticed that dad was helping in the kitchen, quite silently and inconspicuously in fact, just putting things away without speaking. I wondered why I was eating alone. I ate the half cutlet and really enjoyed it - it was every bit as good as I remember from years ago when I was a little kid. But then, grandma interrupted me and told me, I'm going to have to put up with something unconventional as dessert was ready and unfortunately it can't be kept until the end of my lunch as she had timed it wrong and it wouldn't stay as intended for much longer.

At that point mom sat at the dining table beside me, and grandma brought both of us a plate each. small stainless steel plates with dessert on them. dessert was a weird 3 layered thing in the middle of the plate - grandma described it as she set it down. the bottom layer was sweet potato, the middle layer was some white foam thing that was made of a couple of fruit, and the top was a green paste made of some other fruit.

my first reaction was that sweet potato would be a very interesting addition to a dessert and I had absolutely no idea how it would work with the other two kinda dessert-y stuff.

my next thought was, grandma didn't serve me half a cutlet because because she's tired or old or anything. she's making a fine dining, Michelin-style lunch for me!

and that's when I woke up.

Rushing to the doctor

I was walking with dad. we had just stepped on to the road from the small gate of Alfa. dad was taking me to our family doctor - Dr Vora. I'm not sure what exactly was wrong, but I certainly didn't feel right. Strangely though, we walked left instead of right - the longer way to the doctor! after maybe half a minute, I asked dad why we were walking the wrong way, the longer way. I also glanced at my watch and noticed it was 10:15pm. I thought we were too late - doesn't Dr Vora close his clinic at 9:30pm? Dad said no, he's actually in his clinic till 10:30pm - he switches off the bright lights, draws the curtains and reads by candlelight for an hour every day, so we still had 15 minutes. But then dad started jogging. I told dad to stop, as he had a heart condition and shouldn't be jogging at his age and with his heart condition! He told me I needed the exercise. I told him I would jog to the clinic and he could walk and catch up with me there. I jogged a bit but was soon very breathless and was forced to walk - in fact I was so breathless that I had to walk quite slowly. By the time I was going around the corner to arrive at the clinic, dad caught up with me. The door of the clinic was shut and th windows were dark, as I expected.

Dad knocked on the door and a nurse opened it. The room was dark inside, and the nurse held a lamp, its glass smoky and its light quite dim - only bright enough to see her face and follow her into the room. She said the doctor would be out of his private room in a minute to see me.

She hadn't shut the door, and the street lights lit the room to some extent, when someone appeared at the door and said hello. It was uncle Cossy!

He said he saw us entering the clinic and recognized us as he was walking to Alfa from the bus stop.

I asked him how come he decided to come visit us unannounced, and he said it was a last-minute thing, he had to come to Borivali to purchase a charger as his phone's charger had stopped working - in fact that's why he couldn't inform us either.

At that moment the nurse returned to the room and told us that she was leaving, but I should wait there for the doctor as he was just wrapping up and would see me and lock up the clinic.

and that's when I woke up.

Grandma drying the washing

We were in Belfast - on the first floor of my home. I was standing in the passage, and Desiree was standing next to me. At the other end of the passage, grandma was taking clothes out of the washing machine and putting them on the clothes horse. Uncle Dirk stepped out from the room (the door was behind me) and started talking about how the natural lighting of the passage was excellent at this time of the day with the utility room door open (that's where the washing machine is). I told him that it's a shame as the bedroom itself gets light at an angle while the utility room gets more direct light. He suggested replacing the utility room windows with a fogged bathroom style window to diffuse the light, and leave the door open or even eliminate the partition between the utility room and the passage. I looked at the utility room window and was surprised to see Mackayla sitting on the ledge!

and that's when I woke up.

ps: I actually had more dreams, but I was so overwhelmed I only tried to remember these 3. the first thing I did when I finally got out of bed was count the number of alive vs dead people - it actually felt like I had more dead people in my dreams than alive!

dad visits me daily

it's been a weird week or so - I wake up practically every morning having had dreams of dad. the first few got me quite emotional - in fact there was a weird one where I woke up in tears and it sounded like Shruti was crying as well! I asked her if she was dreaming of her mom, and if she was OK but it seems she wasn't crying at all.

I think it's now become a self-reinforcing cycle. every time I wake up, I spend some time thinking about my dreams, and that might reinforce my tendency to dream about dad the next night?

either way, I'm not complaining. it's weird: I spent a while thinking that while I remember dad quite often as I'm going about my life (especially taking apart and re-assembling electronics, and experimenting with food!) thinking about him doesn't really get me that emotional any more. in fact I think I've reached that phase with everyone who's passed away... but I have to now add the caveat that I only am this way when fully awake. when dreaming, it's quite different. dad wasn't quite the emotional sort in the sense of talking about feelings and emotions, but he definitely knew how to make me feel loved. I'm glad that Shruti does the same, and maybe that's why I don't feel like I miss him with that "empty inside" feeling I had for a while after he passed away.

still, one weird thing in all my dreams is that at some point I do realize he has actually passed away and the thought comes to my mind "can I talk to dad about his own death?" and weirdly enough, in my dreams, I do kinda mention it, but he never talks about it. in a couple of dreams he actually said things like "that happened while I was away" or "I wasn't here when that happened".

today's dream was quite different from the past few though. it was about me and mom going to church for his one year anniversary mass. kevin was already seated, as was most of the rest of our family. it might have been a re-enactment of what I thought his funeral would have been like, as I was unable to attend it in person. I was very emotional in the dream, and even more so when I realized that while it looked and felt like a funeral, the coffin wasn't there and it was actually a year later! the most striking part of that dream was the family gathering around me and me replaying all of the last few days' dreams in my head, telling them that he's coming back, while simultaneously remembering that he isn't - remembering that I saw his remains being sealed off in the niche.

and now, after blogging all of this I am beginning to wonder if I will dream of him again tonight!

2025

2025 ended and 2026 started over 3 weeks ago. It's been quite the year - and I think I need to write up some of it "for the record" lest I lose track of it. In fact, I've been actively putting this off as it's been a year I still have mixed feelings about. But since I've already just posted my first blog for 2026, now is probably the best time to give it a go.

2025 started with me in A&E - we went for a movie on 31st december, I had intense lower abdominal pain that was gettng worse, and we had to leave the cinema and take a taxi to hospital. bringing in the year in hospital felt surreal. almost a throwback to 2007, when I "celebrated" my birthday being admitted to hospital right after lunch with family and cutting (and eating) the cake. the only difference this time is, unlike 2007, when I remember telling mom she didn't need to stay with me in hospital, and was left there alone by my choice, feeling absolutely down and in tears, I had Shruti by my side this time. I started the year grateful for the people around who supported me when I really needed it. oh and the first thing that happened to me after midnight was a rectal probe - Shruti and I laughed that it was the absolutely weirdest start to a year anyone could have had!

even though kidney stones are not dangerous, painkillers weren't doing the trick, and the year continued with two more trips to A&E, the third ending with me being admitted and the stones "taken care of" - a week into 2025 and I had another achievement to be ticked off, my first ever hospital admission in the UK and the 3rd hospitalization of my life.

a few days later, there was another shock, when Shruti's mom, who had been visiting, had a cardiac arrest that she never recovered from. it's another moment that I can never forget - having to do CPR for the first time on a person, after the half dozen or so times I've practiced on a training dummy. taking a break while the ambulance crew used the AED on her - unsuccessfully - then the adrenaline injection, still unsuccessful, then another go at the AED, and me doing CPR in between all of this. The relief when her heart restarted. the surreal experience of being in the same hospital, the same A&E, that I just got out of less than a week ago.

what followed was three weeks of ICU, having to come to terms with the possibility of her never regaining consciousness, and finally being told by the doctors it's time to pull the plug. 6 days of watching Shruti grieve by her mother who was still alive, but inching to a guaranteed death. and when the time came, organizing the wake (sort of) and the cremation. after family left, it was time to help Shruti get on with her life, while simultaneously trying to get on with mine. back to work, back to trying to deal with my chronic fatigue without the help of Shruti's family and our friends who pulled together to support us when things were really rough.

a few weeks later we travelled to India. that was another emotional whirlwind for Shruti, reopening fresh emotional wounds every time someone would ask about her mother's death, every time she had to submit a copy of the death certificate to get some more paperwork done. that month was a blur - I still don't remember much about that trip other than it involving loads of paperwork and form filling and Shruti crying every night. I convinced my mom that now was the best time to travel to Belfast, and we were able to organize things so that we could travel together.

april to september 2025 went by in a blink of an eye - it's the longest time I've spent with mom since I moved out in December 2016. It felt great to reconnect with her, but my fatigue got significantly worse during those 5 months and while she didn't say too much I'm sure it hurt her to see me struggle so badly with my health. Shruti turned 40, I turned 42, mom turned 76. I earned my day skipper at long last (literally 4 years of workong towards it!). Those 5 months were a blur of walks (which tapered off a couple of months in as my fatigue got worse), fatigue-induced-haze, and trying to work. I did start getting better towards the end of mom's visit though, and was on the upswing by the time she left in early september.

my own trip to India (second of the year!) was in early october, and by thast point I had steadily got better in terms of fatigue. it was literally the day before my flight that I had my last therapy session, and the flight to mumbai felt weird, as it was the first time in over a year that I had nobody to be accountable to for my wellness, than myself. something any adult should normally feel, but honestly given the emotional mental and physical turmoil I had been through so far in the recent past, I felt like I was a child who had just learned to walk all over again.

I think my therapist was right in deciding I was ready to face the world and my fatigue without professional assistance. I was able to function. I was able to live within my limitations and energy levels. definitely not as well as before, but I wasn't spending days in bed like I did only a few months earlier. three weeks in, I felt ready for what (to me) felt like the ultimate test of my recovery - an ambitious motorbike trip across the country to harshad's farm near kodaikanal. it was not without hiccups, but by the end of those two weeks, I had returned home with something I was really missing all this while: evidence to back my hope. evidence that things are concretely getting better, I can still do things I enjoy.

I returned to Belfast in early november, and while it wasn't smooth sailing throughout, I was able to get back into the grind of work, life and day to day stuff, and I definitely felt like things were sustainable.

come end december, we were off to Mumbai again - after a tiring day and a half of travel, we landed on Christmas eve, for the first Christmas in Mumbai since 2018 (and back then, we couldn't really enjoy it as we flew back on the 26th!). This was the first time in years that I was on leave in Mumbai without any plans, and while in hindsight it felt like I didn't do much, I think the relaxation and family time, meeting friends, a good amount of digital detox, really helped me end the year on a much better note than it started.

2025 ended with a bbq at Myron's, and 2026 started with Tony's Ros - defintiely an improvement over the previous year!

that's it for 2025. the year that was so crazy that even when it ended, I didn't want to think about how it went, what I've learned, or what I want 2026 to bring me. I'm just happy and grateful to have survived it, come through stronger, felt feelings that must be felt, and kept going through it all (even if just barely!)

my first favourite dish: sorpatel!

I'm not one to usually follow a recipe, let alone remember it, so this post is quite likely a one-off.

First, some back-story: growing up, sorpatel was my numero uno favourite dish. I wasn't given much agency as a kid in terms of food - I ate what was presented to me, although my parents were quite aware of my preferences. Once I finished school I did get to eat out a bit, but it was mostly snacks. I do remember the first time I was ever asked what I'd like to eat though. I was about 19, and my parents were going to be away on a pilgrimage for 10 days. It was going to be the first time by brother and I were going to be left alone at home for more than a few hours. They asked us what we'd like them to cook and refrigerate for the time they were away (we had never cooked independently, other than frying eggs for breakfast - I don't think I had even ever made instant noodles!). I don't remember what Kevin said, but I do remember saying that I want 10 days worth of sorpatel. And the end result was us eating sorpatel for 9 days (we loved it so much it didn't last 10 days, and I remember we cooked a very terrible chicken curry for day 10!).

So yes - sorpatel, my favourite by a long margin, made even more desirable by the fact that it was only made a couple of times every year - Christmas or Easter, birthdays if we were lucky.

And then, when I was in Bangalore last month, Neena gave me sorpatel for dinner. Two days in a row. It was so good that on day 1 I told mom she had ordered it from someplace, not even stopping to consider that such good sorpatel could be made at home (sorry, Neena!). When she told me she had made it herself, and it was our grand-aunt's recipe, I was mind-blown. It was the comfort food of my childhood, only better! I had to have the recipe!

Couple of weeks later, back in Belfast, Neena sent me the recipe. It wasn't in the usual format, more of a flow-of-concsiousness style, which works great for me except when I'm out shopping for ingredients (and my brain-fog does make things worse when I need to approach unstructured things too)

So, one Friday I decided that was the weekend for Sorpatel. Friday night was spent first transcribing the recipe, then restructuring it so I have ingredients first and then the process.

I woke up at noon-ish on Saturday (as has been the case for a few weeks now - long sotry that probably needs its own blog post) with only one objective: I will not go to bed without having made sorpatel.

And so, here is Aunty Flo (yes, that's what we called her!)'s sorpatel recipe:

1.5kg pork (can include liver)

6-8 onions

15 garlic flakes

1.5" ginger

5 big green chillies, halved and slit

3-4 bay leaves

1 teaspoon sugar (optional)

tamarind juice (optional)

pork blood (optional)

for spice paste:

20-24 kashmiri chillies

2 rounded teaspoons jeera

10 whole peppercorns

1/2 teaspoon mustard

2/3 teaspoon haldi

15 garlic flakes

2" ginger

9 cloves

3" cinnamon

5 elaichi

vinegar to make paste

salt to taste

2 teaspoons oil

grind spices with vinegar to make a paste

if using liver, boil with salt and discard water

parboil remaining meat with salt. retain water.

chop meat small.

fry small quantities of meat lightly in oil till lightly browned and fat renders. fry liver last. retain rendered fat.

fry onions lightly till soft in rendered fat

add garlic, ginger, chillies

when onions begin to brown add the spice paste

add meat water to make a thick masala gravy

add sugar if desired

add bay leaves

simmer for 10-15 minutes for spices to cook

add tamarind juice if not sour enough

add meat and cook till tender ensuring gravy reduces till it's thick

optionally add pork blood for the last 5 minutes of cooking

Of course, I didn't fully follow the recipe. Here's my modifications:

• 1kg pork loin and also 600gm of sweet and spicy pork belly that happened to be in the freezer
• double the garlic flakes
• balsamic vinegar instead of normal vinegar
• some random type of chillies that were in the supermarket - not green, but fleshy and red. less spicy than the green chillies the recipe called for
• more than 2 teaspoons sugar (basically just finished the last bit of sugar in the house!)
• I did use tamarnid juice but no portk blood
• I forgot the bay leaves (ironically, I have way too many bay leaves in my spice stash! I really need to use them more!)
• 4 tablespoons homemade mustard paste instead of whole mustard - it's been lying in the fridge for 3 months so I was hoping the flavoud had mellowed a bit
• did not have whole kashmiri chillies but had a mix ofcrushed kashmiri and guntur chillies (that we basically use for our everyday cooking). I have no idea how much I put. basically just topped up the mixer bowl, adding more as it ground until it was a bowl full of paste.
• did not boil the pork. chopped it raw. did two rounds of lightly frying the pork before adding to the main pot before I decided to not bother and tossed the last half kg of chopped pork straight in.
• since the pork wasn't boiled I rinsed the mixer bowl and used that water instead.
• simmered for about an hour after it was gently boiling to compensate for not boiling or frying the pork.

End result: the pot was off the stove at midnight. It smelled so good I decided I had to make rice to go with it. So I boiled some long-grain white rice. Also, the end result looked too monotonous for a photo so I chopped some chives and sprinkled on top (just for the photo - the sorpatel completely overpowered it!).

A meal made in heaven. Think I ate sorpatel for 10 days, with some breaks in between.

Yep, still my favourite dish.

BTW, for all the chilli I put in (which I have a feeling was way more than the recipe called for) it still wasn't overpoweringly "hot" spicy - but it was off the charts in terms of "aromatic" spicy. it ws so spicy that when I ran the pot (my cast-iron dutch oven) under hot water, I started coughing! I think the copious amounts of sugar (as well as the slight sweetness of balsamic vinegar) offset the spice.

I have a feeling that just like how 2025 was the year I got comfortable with biryani, 2026 might be the same for sorpatel!

thank you

after 8 months of regular sessions in the "condition management" programme and a little under year of CBT before that, today marks the first day in a very long time I am out in the world without the reminder that a healthcare professional is going to check up on me in a few weeks. while I'm going to keep doing what I have been doing for the past few weeks/months that culminated in me getting off the programme, it has to be said that my social circle is in no small way responsible for my recovery... and I'm grateful for the friends who have helped me get back on my feet. it's ironic that I'm putting this up on my blog when all of the benefits have come from meeting my friends in person... but I feel it must be said anyway. I may not always have the energy to meet my friends, but sometimes even trying is more than half the battle... and knowing I'm being thought of and my company is valued means a lot more than it might seem in dark moments when things don't feel very hopeful. 

I don't know how to end this post, other than say thank you, and hope things keep moving in their current trajectory (ie upwards instead of downwards!).

take care! 

black roses

I came upon a rose garden. The rose garden had black roses, which I know fascinated my mom as she has mentioned them multiple times for some reason - I think she saw them once 45+ years ago.

I was going to go bring her to see to see the black roses when a friend arrived at the garden to tend to the roses. She told me they looked black because they were burned roses. She showed me the bit where the ends of the petals were still red, as that was the newly grown bit.

I didn't at the time question how burned petals could continue to grow and how the new growth was red, but I did think to myself that it would be very disappointing to explain to my mom that black roses are simply burnt roses.

And that's when I woke up.

Coincidentally, I completely forgot about this until I saw a video today, a tongue in cheek one about people who can't see colour in their imagination, which prompted me to describe my dream in the comments. I found the coincidence (that I would dream of black roses on the same day I'd come across a video of people with black and white imaginations) uncanny... or was it confirmation bias?

Either way, time to tell mom about my dream about black roses... or not.

parabola

January 12, 9:30pm. I heard a thud. Rushed to find you lying on the floor. The call to 999, 20 minutes of CPR, a shot of adrenaline, a couple of jolts from the AED were all to no avail. 21 days in the ICU, begging you to open your eyes, and when your eyes finally opened, to elicit some sort of acknowledgement, were to no avail.

14 of those 21 days in, the doctor told us, behind closed doors, that the person we knew and dearly loved was no longer there.

Two days later, the doctor told us it would be unethical for them to try to keep you alive. 

We found this hard to accept. How could someone say this? It sounded like reading out a death sentence to the innocent. 

They took off the ventilator. They took off the feeding tube. They took off the intravenous fluid. You are now in your natural state, they said. 

They replaced the array of instruments that beeped every few minutes or seconds with a clock that ticked away silently. 

The clock felt ironic. The clock drove home in no uncertain terms that they were waiting for you to die. We were waiting for you to die because we were told there was nothing left for you.

Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. 

We couldn't accept this any more. Surely you were not meant to die! You were alive with no medicines, no intervention, no ventilator, no food, no water! There had to be some sort of mistake! 

You were moved from the cold dark ICU to a sunny private room. You seemed better. Would they let us take you home? We didn't know if we could even ask the question and if they would find it ridiculous. 

23 days after you entered the hospital, you went home. Not your home on earth though.

"This body, this body holding me

Be my reminder here that I am not alone in

This body, this body holding me

Feeling eternal, all this pain is an illusion"

everybody's free (to wear sunscreen)

2am. a restless night that doesn't want me to sleep. I'm sore and tired, my eyes burning, but sleep eludes me.

one glance at my phone screen that silently glowed in the darkness of the bedside table told me I have a new message. it was mom, telling me she didn't call me as she didn't check her phone before going to bed. it told me she was awake. 

I took my phone from the bedroom to the couch downstairs and called her. she answered right away. we spoke for an hour. we spoke about how I can't sleep as my feet are aching and my eyes are burning. she told me what new exercises she's added to her morning regime to keep her chronic backache from getting worse. we spoke about arbitrary things. after half an hour I told her I should go back to bed even though I'm sleepy. it took half an hour to say goodbye. at some point it stopped being a goodbye and just was an extension of the conversation.

I told her I want to spend time with her while she's healthy and able to enjoy it. I told her I'm sad that I didn't get as much time with dad as I'd have liked and I don't want the same to happen with her. 

I told her I love her and miss her. 

I don't remember when's the last time I told her I love her and miss her. I don't think she remembered either. 

at that moment, I wanted and needed to hug her more than I have wanted and needed to hug her since the last time I did. 

she hung up.

I want to sleep. my thoughts won't let me. 

I've spent the last 42 minutes, half in tears, listening to Baz Luhrmann. one song on repeat: wear sunscreen.

one line struck me every time the song looped:

"The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4 PM on some idle Tuesday"

it's 3:47am on Wednesday but it's still a blindside. 

I want a hug from my mom. Nothing else will do today. 

But I don't think I'm going to start wearing sunscreen. 

dad smiled

We were at home. it was a Saturday afternoon. We were downstairs, in the dining area, discussing what we should do today. Shruti handed her phone to me and showed me a message from Abhishek saying B&Q has an offer on fancy flush tanks. She asked if we could get ours replaced with flushes operated by a pull cord. I explained there are two types of such flushes, the Victorian style "high flush" which are quite old fashioned, not very practical, and not really better than what we currently have, and completely concealed flushes which would be hidden in a false ceiling. However concealed flushes would require us to redo the ceiling of all 3 toilets, which would be much more expensive than the flushes themselves. Shruti agreed it didn't make sense, so we could go out for ice cream instead. She went upstairs to get ready (I was already dressed to go out for some reason), while I waited.

I noticed it looked quite damp outside and sounded like rain beating on the windows, so I thought I should go out and check how bad the rain actually was. I went out without my jacket, and the rain was really barely a drizzle, and it was pleasant despite there being a fair breeze.

Our house was identical to the Belfast one, but its surroundings were completely different. there was no fence. we had no neighbours! on one side of the house, there was a dense evergreen forest of pine trees. on the remaining three, it was well trimmed grass. not flat but not hilly either - just undulating. there was a path leading sideways from our house to a row of similar looking detached houses, about 100 metres away. the path was paved, but quite narrow - just about enough for two people to walk along it, side by side. I took a few steps along it, and turned around to look at the house. in the window of the room facing me, beside a couple of small bits and bobs, was dad's head, stuffed and preserved. it was placed facing out of the window, into the distance. the eyes were pointing straight ahead and his expression, neutral. Shruti must have just moved it there, and I made a mental note to check if direct sunlight is fine or will affect the preservation of the head. 

Just then, I realised I was wearing my home slippers (the flip flops I used to wear in Mumbai, specifically), and I may have got a bit of mud on my left slipper. I bent down to check, and when I stood up and looked at the window again, dad was now looking slightly downward towards me, and smiling broadly! I couldn't believe it. How was such a thing even possible? I must be seeing things! My mind is surely playing tricks on me! It didn't make sense though, as everything else seemed quite real and exactly as it should be.

I closed my eyes and stood still. After about 5 seconds, I reopened my eyes and he was no longer looking at me, and his expression was back to what it used to be. 

And that's when I woke up. 

I thought to myself, that was my first ever dream where dad hasn't been alive. 

Sailing from Charni Road to Portpatrick

I woke up at 7am and headed to Carrickfergus. It was a gloomy morning, and only two other people had arrived - the rest were on their way. We were going to leave for Portpatrick between 11am and noon, so I was very early. I took the train. Shruti, Kevin and Brenna joined me on the train as we headed to South Bombay. We got off the train at Charni Road (although from the layout of the platforms and bridges it seemed more like Mahalaxmi). I wanted to use the toilet. Shruti and I looked for it. We could only find the one marked Ladies but not the one marked Gents. We arked around and was eventually led to the station master's office. There were a bunch of people inside, a few sitting around a table, having some sort of meeting, while the rest were in a queue. It was a queue for the toilet!

Thr toilet and the station master/meeting room were in one big room, with nothing to separate them - the toilet was a commode surrounded by filing cabinets and files and stacks of paper other things you'd expect to see in a station master's office. I didn't really pay attention to the queue ahead of me and before I realized it, it was my turn. There was nobody queued up after me, and I was thankful. I would have really liked some privacy but the best I could get was the fact that there was nobody in the room other than Shruti, and the bunch of men having a meeting in the other half of the room - the men were bent over something on the desk and discussing it animatedly, so Iwas quite sure they wouldn't pay me any attention.

Right after I sat on the commode, I started feeling very weird. I felt dizzy and unstable. I asked Shruti to come closer and hold my hand, as I felt I was about to faint and fall off the commode and make a mess. She held my left hand and asked me what happened and if I'm OK. I told her I'll need a minute but I feel better already.

In the meantime, a lady walked in, wearing a white nurse's uniform, including a nurse's cap.

I somehow assumed she was in charge of keeping the toilet clean, and complained to her, while still seated on it, that it was not. She replied that it's not her fault it's not clean, as I'm the one currently using it. I told her it wasn't clean before I used it, and in fact I almost fainted as it was so dirty. She refused to believe me until Shruti backed me up.

Job done and I was back on the platform. We took the bridge on to the road. We were trying to get to the beach, but I took the wrong bridge out and we had to walk along the road, and take another bridge to get on to the beach. Kevin and Brenna were waiting at the end of the bridge, and I told them they should come sailing too. At that point, a group of about 3 or 4 older people (one of whom resembled my school science teacher) told me it was too late to go sailing - it was already noon! Also, we were at Charni Road, and the boat left from Carrickfergus!

I wondered why Hugh didn't call me when he was leaving - I thought about it a bit and realized he may have not left yet, but I definitely wouldn't make it, so I should message him instead and tell him that I couldn't make it. I also told everyone that we weren't sailing today as it had gotten too late.

And that's when I woke up. It was 8am. I had dismissed my 7:40am alarm in my sleep. If I didn't leave at 8:30am, I'd have been late to get to Carrickfergus to go sailing! I thought to myself, damn - that was really close! If I didn't wake up when I did, I'd have actually missed sailing that day!

ps: Turns out I had not read my email and we were actually supposed to get to Carrickfergus at 10am instead of the usual 9am. Still!

I'll fly away

two years.

they say that time heals, and in many ways it has, but in some ways, it hasn't. he's still here, following me everywhere in a way I never felt while he was alive, like some sort of omnipresent vacuum.

I am aware of my human weakness when it comes to making up memories, subconsciously adding a little detail to moments that may have been blurred by the passage of time and distorted by the strange way the human mind works. but I know there's something that rings true with every memory. that marvellous man, my beloved father. a man who, despite obvious shortcomings and failings, I still maintain was the best person to have walked this earth.

just the other day, we were discussing what dad would have had to say if he was present at that moment. the moment was something mundane, possibly me breaking the garlic press in an attempt to disassemble it. it's easy to imagine something logical, sensible, brilliant. or maybe something witty and irreverent. and I know, it's also equally (or maybe even far more) likely he'd have said something extremely mundane - maybe one of his favourite tropes/quips. but to predict what dad would have said is futile. every fantasy of being reunited with him in some sort of weird predicted interaction would fall short.

but that's all I have now. thoughts, memories and my imagination. 

I know that sitting on my couch, typing a blog post when I should be sleeping would elicit a gentle nudge from him to go to bed, to remind me that I have work tomorrow. he cared for me in a way I've never felt anyone care for me... in a way that was both protective and freeing. and that's what I remember best about dad. he was only human, in a way that made "only human" something to aspire to. he made the imperfect feel right.

everything feels imperfect right now. but I know this is the sort of moment that dad would meet with calm acceptance. with making the best of the moment, even if it looks like I'm failing miserably and everything's lost. 

I just realized I have never ever, ever, ever, absolutely ever, seen dad give up.

good night. please come to me in my dreams. I miss your hugs.

serial killer dad?

a recent dream was too traumatic to even blog, but I guess if there's some hidden meaning to it, it might be worth interpreting. in short, it was a dream about dad being a serial killer, him killing someone and dragging the body into our living room and propping it against a wall. for some reason we didn't seem to even react to this other than saying hello to dad as if it was just another day.

the victim was shot through the head so cleanly he had bandaged the bullet wound and it seemed like the victim (who was a bald middle aged caucasian man, btw) had simply had a bump to the head. but after the body was in the house (which looked like our mumbai apartment from the inside), we were surrounded by police cars (they looked like UK police cars) hiding in the thick pine forest surrounding it. the house was on the side of a hillock that was slightly higher than it, and looked like some sort of modern glass and metal house, with one side built into the side of a hillock and the other side held up by stilts, with a garden below it.

I had to get out of the house to go to the shop for something (seemed like something mundane like milk) and basically had to get away on foot without being spotted by the police. thankfully there were only about 3 cars and I was able to evade them by moving outwards in a spiral.

and that's when i woke up.

ps: I've had recent conversation about the hidden meaning of dreams, and while i insist there isn't any, my friend who I was discussing this with (and a few other people I know, and loads more on the internet) said they mean something. so - what does a dream about my dad being a serial killer mean?

The anniversary adventure

23rd December marked 7 years since we got married. I still remember some of that day very well, although given the amount of photographs, facebook statuses and other digital evidence I have of the day, it's hard to separate what I remember organically from what I remember digitally. It's true though that the statuses and photos and videos and whatnot are linked to feelings, feelings I can still feel inside me from that eventful day. And I guess one of the overwhelming feelings I have from that day was of adventure!

My life 7 years ago was definitely crazier and more unpredictable than what it is now, and while I remember the feelings and even feel the motivation to do the same things, it's almost like something's holding me back. It's like, every time I sit at my couch and look at my motorbike parked outside my front door, I think, I could just go for a spin in the middle of the night? Only difference is, there's no crazy friends to meet for tea at 1am, no all-night chai and bun-maska stalls, the waterfront feels boring, and I should really be going to bed.

Anyway.

On the 23rd, I sneaked out of the house to buy mutton from St George Market. I thought Shruti was still asleep and wouldn't notice. Turns out she did. Does that count as adventure? When was the last time I tried to sneak out of the house without telling Shruti? Must be years!

We then changed and headed out for lunch at the "Dirty Duck", a rather nice (and award-winning, it turns out!) restaurant at Holywood. I didn't really do any research at all, Shruti had done the reservation, and I was thankful I had stuck on navigation before we set off, because I wouldn't had found it - I had no idea Holywood had such a nice seafront, much less that the dirty duck was situated right off it!

Lunch was great, and we were so stuffed we decided to walk around before heading back. We walked to the high street, stopped at Cafe Nero for a coffee, and walked around the town centre and back to where we parked the bike. Wore our helmets, gloves, and was about to set off when I had an "oh no" second: I had popped the keys to the ignition into the locked fairing pocket!

I tried jimmying the lock open with our house keys (yes, thankfully we carried a spare set, there have been plenty of times we didn't because I have one set on the bike keys - in fact evern today, Shruti grabbed the spare set as we were getting out the door, "just in case"!), to no avail. Someone was unlocking their car in front of us, and we asked them if they had a screwdriver. Strangely enough, they said they didn't, but they checked the boot and found a first aid kit, which had a pair of scissors - that didn't work either. In the meantime, Shruti called the nearest locksmith (a half an hour's walk, but still in Holywood) but there was no answer. I then called the next nearest locksmith, but he said they don't do emergency callouts and asked us to call the locksmith we had just called.

After one last call to the nearby locksmith, we decided to head home and fetch the duplicate key instead. Luckily for us, we were just a 5 minute walk from the train station (we had just walked past it), and the next train was due in another 15 minutes. We booked a single ticket for Shruti and a return for myself. Back in Belfast, the quicket means of transport was actually the bus, so we took the bus home - again, a single ticket for Shruti and a day pass for me. Back home, I picked up the powerbank and charging cable, headphones, a bottle of water, and headed back out to catch the same bus that had just dropped us home, headed back the other way. Ran to the station, and caught the next train with just 4 minutes to spare! I was glad the timing worked out perfectly, and also that the key opened the lock, despite my attempts at forcing it open with a scissors!

Given the sort of thing that just happened, I was super cautious as I put the keys away and got ready to start the bike, conscious that all 3 sets of keys were now on me, and there was no plan b!

On the way home, I did stop for groceries, and also picked up a drill machine from Jay before finally getting home around 9pm - 4 hours after I locked the keys in the bike.

The rest of our anniversary was fairly mundane, sitting around with Shruti, watching youtube and talking about stuff - enough adventure for today!

It may feel strange, but less than a downer, I felt it was actually nice to have a bit of adventure on our anniversary. We had a good time, but we also took the rough with the smooth, and all's well that ends well. Which kinda sums up our relationship too.

Happy anniversary to us!

grocery shopping

 I had just entered a supermarket. It was a Lidl. I had cycled in. There was a room right next to the entrance, which was painted in bright colours and with stuff that might make it appealing to kids - a play room of sorts. Except that there were no toys, furniture, kids, or indeed any people at all in it. There was a cycle parked right in the centre of the room though, so I figured it might be acceptable to leave my cycle there as well while I shopped. I decided to stand my cycle against one of the walls of the room - and noticed there's a small door at the end of the wall. The door was locked, but I moved my cycle so that someone opening the door wouldn't knock it over. I then left that room and entered the store proper. There was a counter which had bakery items and a slicing machine. A man was at the counter as well, and it seems he was operating the bread slicing machine, which was unusual. The machine also looked different from the usual ones I've been using in Lidl stores. I saw the man put a bar of dark coloured cake to be sliced, and noticed it was being sliced into long slices instead of along the width of the cake as would be usual. Menawhile, the man was also making some sort of cheese toastie, except that after the toastie was made, he cut it into strips lengthwise, so it looked like cheese and bread strips. I asked him if he'd slice a loaf of bread for me, but he told me this counter was only for cakes and sandwiches. I looked for the actual bread slicing machine, but isntead found an entrance to another room. This room was colourfully (but not very brightly) lit, and had a comic book theme, including moving spotlights that contained colour projections of comic book characters. It seemed quite vivid and surreal. The room looked like it might have comic books, but on closer look, it was actually comic book themed greeting cards!

I picked up a very fancy card - I don't remember what was on the cover, but it was a birthday card. The inside ofthe card had a whole long message, which almost looked like a whole letter to the person whose birthday it was! Strange. Stranger though, was the fact that it was pre-printed with the name of the recipient and the sender! It was a birthday card to Stephanie from Roseanna. As I realized the names, I thought to myself, this can't be real! Why would a card shop in Lidl have a card which was clearly from my (late) aunt to my cousin?

And that's when I woke up.

all-inclusive!

Last week, we spent 5 days in the sunny (and occasionally - but only very briefly - rainy) Dominican Republic. It was my first time at an all inclusive tropical resort, and the sort of thing I wouldn't have planned myself, and definitely not in the part of the world I'd have usually considered for a holiday either. It was all thanks to Nisha and Pieter deciding to celebrate their pandemic wedding with a proper party! They picked a splendid resort, the Excellence Punta Cana, and going by reviews, it could very well be the best resort in the area. 

Punta Cana fits the definition of a tropical paradise to the letter, and after all the planning and booking and the long flight we landed at this quaint airport which even has a thatched roof!

Through the airport, we were at the spot where we were supposed to get our pre-arranged airport transfer. The staff were very courteous, the transport felt exclusive (a massive 7-seater Chevrolet Suburban for just the two of us, seems every group got a suburban to themselves, even though it was just 6 of us on that flight to that resort!)

Champagne at the resort gate while our bags were unloaded, we were escorted to the front desk where we were given the all important WiFi details (no password even!), key cards to our room, and the link to download the app through which we could get all the information we could need - restaurant and bar timings and menus, dress codes, etc. We were told what's included (basically knock ourselves out with the mini bar in the room, everything in the fridge, 24 hour room service etc.) literally everything!

It's a strange experience, when you can eat and drink everything on offer. Don't like something? Ask for something else. Can't decide what to drink? Order both! 5 or 6 restaurants, 3 or 4 bars, 3 swimming pools, Jacuzzi, a private-ish beach (open to the public, but there's no other resort around so it's pretty much exclusive). Sun beds, staff walking around to make sure food and drink is in constant supply. Courteous and attentive staff. Your belongings are safe anywhere you choose to leave them (and you obviously don't even need to carry anything besides your room card around). Shruti had looked up the menus of all the restaurants and made a list of what we should eat at which one. A list of cocktails/drinks we should try. At some point I stopped caring. The food was all passable, but nothing was truly great. Some of the drinks were uniformly good, others were hit-and-miss. There were so many activities, but at some point I wasn't really feeling like doing any of them. I realized it had reached a tipping point when there was a game organised in the pool where the staff threw dominoes into the pool and people took turns to fish out as many dominoes in a single breath (ie without surfacing) - something I'd normally love to do, but I just didn't feel like it it. I literally stood by in the pool for 15 minutes and watched people give it a try. 

Of course, I did enjoy the company - it was great to spend time with Nisha and Pieter, couple of their cousins I haven't met in decades, a few of their friends who we got to know over the period, interesting conversations, including one night we were up till 3am because the conversation was so interesting we lost track of time! But generally, by the end of the 5 days, I think we were ready to leave. I guess the only event we really enjoyed was the "Dominican Republic festival" they had one evening, which was a buffet of local dishes, with a live band, some traditional dances - I would honestly have preferred to eat local food every day, but there was no such option (except for a few measly offerings at the buffet restaurant which seemed neglected by everyone I saw!). My only regret was not eating at the Mexican restaurant which actually seemed authentic - it seems Shruti didn't really look at the menu when she was planning our meals, or maybe I didn't sound very enthusiastic about Mexican food when she read the menu out to me the weekend before we flew?

By the end of our stay we stopped eating lunch and instead would snack on coconut pulp from the fresh coconuts we were regularly drinking - something I noticed most people weren't doing. I stopped trying new cocktails or even looking at the menu. 

I realized I was eating and drinking way more than I should - not more than I used to say 10 years ago, but more than my body is currently used to. But given there was nothing much else to do, I had no way to assess how happy or unhappy my body was with the treatment. I felt mentally un-stimulated. I was feeling like taking naps instead of lazing in the pool. 

I felt a bit of guilt about being in this centrally air-conditioned room with the thermostat set to a cool 20°C while the rest of the country suffers from blackouts that lasted hours. Of drinking bottled water because that was the only option. I felt sad about having staff at my beck and call, doing everything to make my stay enjoyable.

When we were in the taxi to the airport, I was excited to actually be able to see the country outside of the resort.

I thought to myself - that one experience was enough for me. An all-inclusive resort certainly made it stress free when it came to organising and spending time together, but I definitely don't associate it with travel or a vacation. It's hard to put a name to the feeling, but I somehow feel like I must put some effort in order to enjoy things... in fact, I don't think I can fully enjoy experiences if there is no degree of discomfort involved. Maybe that's why I enjoyed my first night the most (if you disregard the wedding evening itself, for obvious reasons), because we were exhausted from the flight and I felt some discomfort in pushing myself to attend the "silent disco" after over 16 hours of travel!

Anyway - one more experience ticked off my list. Next up: Puerto Rico! 

killing dad

I was in my parents' apartment in Mumbai. It was late afternoon.

Dad and I were having some sort of fight. It wasn't verbal. But it wasn't physical either. It was still a fight - the feeling of being physically threatened was very strong. I thought about how I could defend myself. But there was no way I could hide from my dad or prevent him from getting to me.

I considered getting out of the apartment from the terrace, climbing over the wall and sliding down the drain pipe. The thought of doing that and falling was scary, and I was afraid dad might still get me.

I decided the best thing to do was to run away from home.

As I opened the door, mom heard me and called out from the kitchen - "take care", she said.

I left without saying a word. I had actually hoped to leave the hosue without anyone noticing, but it was obvious that plan had failed.

Just as I shut the door I realized how stupid I had been. I could have locked dad INSIDE the apartment - all I had to do was lock the gate to the terrace, take the keys with me (there were no duplicates that I know of), and lock the main door from outside. I didn't have the set of keys to lock the main door from the outside (only dad had them) but I could have pushed a rod through the latch and shut it anyway. There were even plenty of rods that would have fit, on the terrace!

In the fraction of a moment I took to contemplate my stupidity, I also realized I had not carried my motorbike keys. Another ridiculous mistake. At least I had my wallet, although in my hurry I hadn't checked if there was any money inside.

As I ran down the stairs, I thought to myself: the motorbike was out of the question. Dad would have shot me getting out of the gate. Maybe I had a chance if I silently pushed the bike out of the gate and rolled down the street before starting the engine when far enough for him not to hear it. But that was irrelevant now - I didn't have the keys!

I then thought I'd meet a similar fate if I tried to exit the building by either of the gates on foot as well - dad would see me from the terrace and shoot me.

The only way out was to jump the wall and into the next apartment compound, and then the other wall into the one after that, to get to the next street without dad being able to see me. And that's what I did.

Once on the street, I thought about what I should do next. The first thing I did was check my wallet. And my worst fear was true - it was empty. So much for being able to run away. I hadn't even eaten yet!

I noticed the queue of rickshaws parked right next to where I was. None of the drivers were about. I got into the first rickshaw in the queue. The key was in. I turned it, and surprisingly, it cranked and turned on! I have never ridden a rickshaw before, so being able to start it on the first try took me by complete surprise.

I decided to use the rickshaw to get some distance between home and myself, but as I started driving the rickshaw I realized I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. I didn't even know how to change gears or operate the brakes!

I got the rickshaw around the corner and managed to stop it. That was scary. I had better think of a better plan.

That's when I realized I was right next to uncle Dirk's apartment building. I thought I could hide out there for a bit while I considered my next move.

As I got out of the rickshaw I took the key with me, just in case I needed the rickshaw later.

I entered the gate, and right behind it, dad was there!

He was dressed in his Sunday best, and I was surprised that he had the time to dress up and get there before me, and without me even seeing him - I hadn't taken more than a couple of minutes at the most.

He grinned at me and asked if I thought I'd be able to get away from him that easily, and that too by trying to go to the most obvious hideout. I didn't answer but pushed past him into the elevator.

The elevator was a construction elevator - it had no walls and was literally strung on a few steel cables. There were no buttons to select the floor - instead there was just a lever that could be pulled up or down to go up or down (and presumably returned to the middle to stop). I pulled it up just as dad jumped on to the elevator platform.

I held on to a bar at the corner of the elevator - dad stood next to me, at the edge of the elevator, not holding anything.

I swung my right leg at his legs, which, if I had connected, would have thrown him off the elevator and tumbling to a serious injury or death.

Dad, sidestepped, grinning, and I missed his legs completely.

That's when I realized I could have killed dad if he hadn't dodged me so well.

And I woke up.

making things up

We were at home in Mumbai. Dad and I were discussing something important. I can't remember what it was, but we were trying to solve some theoretical problem. I mentioned something that Dad had said earlier and said that based on that, what he was saying now is impossible.

Dad replied by saying "Ignore that - I had made it up"

This completely baffled me. I was shocked beyond words. My thoughts were in a jumble. I mumbled "but that means... that means..." but was unable to finish. I finally said "I don't know what to think. I don't know what to believe and what not to."

Dad said "Don't take me so seriously. I've made loads of things up"

I told him that can't be possible. That too much of my world is based on things he's said, for me to pick apart things I know for myself and things I believe because he told me.

Dad reassured me he didn't make up stuff that was fundamentally important. And if he made something up it'd be trivial enough to be easily disproven if I throught about it carefully enough or did a bit of fact finding. And that I should treat things I think I know and things I think he told me with equal skepticism, because both of us may have made things up or believe things that aren't true.

And that's when I woke up.

I tried to remember what it was that we were discussing, what was the contradiction and what was the thing dad claimed he made up. But I simply couldn't remember any of it.

dad came back and dreams are real

This was last week, and was so clear I can remember every detail right now.

I was at the apartment in Mumbai, with mom and Kevin. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through some stuff. The doorbell rang, and Kevin answered it. Dad stepped in, wearing a blue checked shirt and dark brown trousers. He was carrying his favourite black bag.

I was shocked and stunned! How did he get back? It's been months since he passed away! I was so full of questions that I kept asking him without giving him a chance to answer. What happened? Did he really die? We saw his body being buried (I wasn't there, but I did see the livestream - it's even on youtube!), so how could he be back looking exactly the same as when I last saw him? Where had he gone? How did he survive for so long away from home, presumably with no money?

I finally stopped asking questions, but he didn't answer any of them. He simply took off his shoes and sat in his favourite chair. Mom and Kevin didn't react beyond greeting him, as if it was completely normal and he was just back from a walk around the neighbourhood or something.

He took out a packet of cigarettes from his bag and started to walk out to the terrace for a smoke. The packet was white, and definitely not his usual brand, although I couldn't identify it. I chided him for smoking, reminding him it's bad for him. He replied saying "does it really matter now?"

I followed him out to the terrace. As he lit his cigarette I told him I still couldn't believe he's back. I remember questioning my own sanity, as if the memory of his death was just a hallucination or a dream. He told me I see him so he must be back right? I still couldn't believe it. I asked him if he knew he's dead. He said he was aware, and he was also aware of things that happened after he died, mentioning a couple of things to make his point. I asked him if other people who had died can also come back. He simply shrugged. I asked him about grandma. He said "Grandma's here too". I asked if I'll get to see her. He said "No, she's all around us". I was confused but didn't ask him any further questions.

Dad finished his cigarette and walked back inside, and I followed him. Dad asked me why I was so surprised to see him now. He said this isn't the first time I've seen him after he died. I told him I don't remember this happening before.

He asked me if I don't remember the bus journey from Goa when he was sitting beside me for the entire journey. I told him I do remember, and I remember he got off the bus at Panvel without telling me where he was going. As I told him this I could visually recall the journey - I had the window seat on the right side of the bus and he had the aisle seat. But that was a dream!

He told me that wasn't a dream. He told me every time I thought I met him in a dream, I was actually meeting him for real.

At that point the dream abruptly ended, and I was awake, staring at the wall. I glanced at the clock, and it was somewhere between 5am and 6am - it was just getting bright outside, but too early for me to get ready for work.

I thought to myself - is this for real? Is dad really visiting me every time I dream of him?

I found myself unable to sleep again. I just kept thinking back to every dream I've had of dad since he passed away. This obviously can't be - right? Or maybe it is.

After a some time (maybe even an hour?) I nudged Shruti awake and told her I dreamed dad came back. She hugged me and told me to go back to sleep. I couldn't. All I could do was think about the last thing he said before I woke up.

Every time I thought I met dad in a dream, I was actually meeting him for real.

the refugee crisis

i was in a small shelter. shelter was barely appropriate term to call it: it was more like the dilapidated, crumbling remains of a shelter. it measured barely 12 by 6 feet, and the roof, if one could call it that, was just haphazardly placed sheets of wood/plastic. light filtered in from a couple of openings - these seemed to be collapsed window frames which had been propped up with stones/rubble. i peered out of the nearest one: in contrast to the dim insides of this shelter the sun was blazing bright outside. however, this shelter was adjacent to another similarly dilapidated one, and both of these shared a wall with a taller building, in a similar state. the other side was barely a couple of feet away from another building in a similarly bad state. between the two shelters, there was rubble and scrap planks of wood.

the air outside was still and there was no sign of movement or other people.

i shifted my attention back to the shelter i was in, and looked past the collapsed timber beams to the other side. a woman sat there, her back to the wall, an infant in her lap. she was trying to rock the infant to sleep, humming what might have been a lullaby, and the infant didn't make a sound or move, so it might very well have been asleep. the woman was dressed in tatters, and didn't look like she had bathed in a while.

the air was still and i felt trapped, even claustrophpobic in this tiny space.

I then realized that there was, in fact, a dark passage leading into the building this shelter shared a wall with. i was barely able to see into it, but it was just a few feet long and ended with a door. I tried the door, and it opened into a bright room.

I was back in my parents' apartment!

I closed the door behind me, and thought about what was back there. in a moment, mom (she must have heard the door) walked into the room from the kitchen and asked me how I was.

I told her there was a lady and child in a small room behind that door.

she told me they're refugees.

that's when I woke up.

dead

i was dead.

i was in a house, but it didn't look familiar. the house seemed rural, with its sloped roof, thick walls and old paint job.

i was young.

i can't say how young, but much younger than I am today. not young enough to be a child though.

i was lying on something. it could have been a stretcher, or it could have been a coffin.

dad and kevin were there.

they were pottering about, moving small things around the room, probably setting it in order for the wake.

they didn't really pay much attention to me for some time. at one point, they discussed what would be a suitable location to place me. they decided i should be moved to the other side of the room and face the other way.

once they set me down in my new location, i felt a wave of emotions. it felt like all the emotions i've ever experienced in my life, all layering themselves one on top of the other. this barely took an instant, and before i could even realize what was happening, the layering of emotions was complete - i now felt the sum total of every emotion i've felt in every moment my life.

i felt sad. just slightly sad, but still, sad.

i didn't want to feel sad. i wanted to feel something else.

but then i realized, my life is over. nothing more is going to happen to me. if the sum total of my life is to feel sad, i must feel sad.

i said "i feel sad"

it didn't seem like a spoken voice. more like a transmission of thoughts that had verbal form.

dad and kevin immediately left what they were doing and peered at my face.

one of them (i can't remember who) suggested they video call my cousins.

kevin took his phone and did something with it. a few seconds later, he held the phone with the screen facing me, on a video call. aunt lilian and uncle jude were on the call. i heard kevin ask if gillian was around. they said gillian was next door, playing at the neighbours'.

while they spoke, i thought about what i wanted to say.

i started off wanting to say that everyone should live with no regrets.

i then thought, what else do i want to say? would anyone hear me? would they care? would it matter? is one of my cousins going to take out a notepad and scribble every word? would they be able to keep up? would they get bored after the first few sentences?

and then i thought: it seemed weird that i wanted to say anything at this moment. what could i say now that i haven't said before?

that's when mom walked into the room, looking at me as she walked.

everything - my thoughts, my vision quickly faded to blankness.

and that's when i woke up.

i shook shruti awake and told her i dreamed i was dead.

i told her i feel sad.