​It is funny how, the things we turn up our noses at, turn right around and bite us in the rear.

Case in point: the other day I whined about mentioned coffee without sugar. And Pro suggested I add a pinch of cinnamon to it since cinnamon is known to help balance blood sugar. Remember I told you when Chetana talked about it years ago. Cinnamon? I thought. True, I enjoy chewing it occasionally, but somehow, it always makes me think of biryani masala. I scoffed at the idea. I laughed at it​ too.

So, yesterday, while waiting for the milk to heat, as my eye ran over the kitchen shelf, I noted, rather absentmindedly, how most of the containers were clear containers with a yellow lid. My eyes involuntarily filled up when I spotted the label Amchoor peeling off its container – I resist removing it because you wrote it. Then, I contemplated the cinnamon powder bottle. As I heard the rush of the milk rising, and automatically turned the stove off, I thought, why not just try a pinch in the coffee? And I did. It wasn’t so bad. No, I quite liked it.

Strange how we resist by default without considering certain things before we can open our minds, only to realize that we were judgmental even before giving it a chance. Nobody is immune to this. It is as if the barriers are up before fully hearing the details and minds made up before realizing the idea actually has merit. Quite like those days, when I wanted permission to go out, the answer would be “no” even before I explained where or why. You were the only one who listened and cared to be fair. Then of course, there was Kittu mama who happily allowed everything and said yes when he ought to have said no. But he was totally biased about me and believed I could do no wrong. I can’t help smiling as I think of him.

By the way, yesterday when I was returning home by bus, I found myself standing near the seats that face each other – the first ones. There were three women – in their 40’s or 50’s – who resembled each other. I noticed they had luggage with them, so probably had boarded the bus at Yeshwantpur station, having arrived from out of town. Oh, what fun it was to eavesdrop – obviously they shared good rapport and kept on teasing each other. One of them apparently hogs the one mobile phone they share and she coolly tucked it into her blouse and sat tight while they bullied her, good-naturedly.

Something they said made me laugh and they looked at me, eyes twinkling and asked if I understood Tamil. I said yes. Just then, the seat next to one of the ladies became vacant and I sat down. So naturally we started chatting – she asked where I was from and was thrilled to know. I told her that watching the three of them reminded me of my Mom and her siblings and what a riot they were. She asked me how I knew they were sisters – I said it was the resemblance. Perhaps they weren’t, who knew?

She asked where my Mom and her sisters lived. At that moment, I embarrassed myself by letting my tears flow – she was shocked. I told her none of them are around now. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it and consoled me. I saw my stop coming up and, thanking them – I am not sure for what – I got off the bus, tears still flowing.

Crazy how the smallest things trigger big tears. The thought that none of you are around hit me like a blow. It happens all the time, at the most unexpected moment. I have learned to simply allow my tears to flow. Why should I hold back?

So ironic that you always thought I was incapable of tears, Mi, because I am level-headed, balanced and all that blah. You should see me now. Oh wait, you are, right?

Off to have a coffee….without the cinnamon!

51AdcWk7uCL