Unwild Rumpus

My dearest dearest baby, I can't believe you are 9 already. I love your curiosity and I want to encourage all kinds of questions from you. And I've decided to answer last night's question with a letter. Yes, I do have a "little red story" just like every woman around me. The story of my first period. But it's nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Nothing traumatic. I was 10 on that Saturday when I felt my first cramps. The cramps were followed by a dampness. The dampness that I'd already been warned about. I had a pack of sanitary pads from the presentations we'd had at school. I had also had 'the talk' with my mom. I knew what to expect. I knew what to do. Which is how I am hoping you'd be too on the day it finally happens to you. My mom walked into the house in the evening after a long day at work. I waited until she'd had her tea and then broke the news to her. "Amma, I got my first period today". She panicked for a bit, I t

I'm sitting at my breakfast table. Multiple tabs open in my browser window. Running bioinformatics pipelines isn't the most exciting of jobs. I love the science behind the research but, for the most part, it translates to absolutely boring coding. "Just wait till you get all the results together" my boss pacified me last week. "The real fun starts then." Sure, if you say so. Until then, mind-numbed is my middle name. But, today, I have a saving grace. To my left is the window, and through the blinds, I can see rain pouring down the bare branches and trunks. Lightning flashes across my laptop screen now and then, followed by the predictable rumbling. There is an incessant pitter patter on my roof that I hear as a background to the music that's playing on loop. I haven't found a better rainy day music accompaniment than Illayaraja's soothing tunes. "Vaanam enakku oru bodhi maram... Naalum enakkadhu seithi tharum" croones SPB and I am i

I like to proclaim that I find relationship beginnings absolutely dreamy. If I know you, I've probably asked you stories about how you met your significant other. They are always such happy little tales. Always following a predictable path of meeting, falling in love, getting together. I'll ooh and aah along with you and cheer at the appropriate junctions. I am the types to claim that rom-coms are my favorite movies. And nothing can be more perfect than Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks finally getting together (no matter the story). But deep inside, I am a sour puss. I am skeptical about relationships. I don't think they are made to last at all. I put an expiry date on my relationships. And on most relationships around me. And what really interests me more than beginning stories are the tales of how relationships ended. I am morbid like that. It's hard to come by break up tales. No ones wants to talk about it. They are either mean little 'dumpers' or sad little 'dum