.
Bubble tubble
little trouble
gubble chubble
chocolate double
Fatty watty
smelly ratty!
Hubble mubble
under blanketty.
.
Bubble tubble
little trouble
gubble chubble
chocolate double
Fatty watty
smelly ratty!
Hubble mubble
under blanketty.
.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Friday, October 19, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Ring-rrrring
.
Sometimes I hear my old ringtone
In a crowded room or train bogey
And a distinctive pang grabs my heart
Oh-my-god, I miss that old phone
I lost :(
.
Sometimes I hear my old ringtone
In a crowded room or train bogey
And a distinctive pang grabs my heart
Oh-my-god, I miss that old phone
I lost :(
.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Ah, heaven!
.
I left the chicken thawing in the kitchen sink
Cotton balls full of kajal on my dresser
And sat all evening next to the window to think
I let the rain fall heavily on my soul
Pitter patter and unravel dust in crevices
Between beautiful tiles laid neatly in rows
I left the prayer-mat crumpled beneath me
And the bookshelf frowning disdainfully
For my unscrupulous want of the desire to read
For my unscrupulous want of the desire to do anything
Other than repose on soft cushions and listen to the rain
And watch a young leaf dilly-dally, and dance or something...
.
I left the chicken thawing in the kitchen sink
Cotton balls full of kajal on my dresser
And sat all evening next to the window to think
I let the rain fall heavily on my soul
Pitter patter and unravel dust in crevices
Between beautiful tiles laid neatly in rows
I left the prayer-mat crumpled beneath me
And the bookshelf frowning disdainfully
For my unscrupulous want of the desire to read
For my unscrupulous want of the desire to do anything
Other than repose on soft cushions and listen to the rain
And watch a young leaf dilly-dally, and dance or something...
.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Chameleon
.
Sometimes my hair are red and I'm
blazing through life at break-neck speed
Recklessly getting into one scrape and then the next
And breaking all bounds of decency
And Sometimes my hair are brown and I
Spend a couple hours a day with my nose in a book
Figuring out Fisher's linear discriminant function
Or the recipe of pineapple upside down cake -
Then all of a sudden my hair turn gold!
And I can be found giggling in any mall of the city
Trying dresses I'm never going to wear
And commenting on those Oh-so-L.S. leggings these days (ugh!)
At night sometimes my hair are grey - and I
Am seriously contemplating the secrets of the world
How God has designed things and why
And how little children are like the beginning of everything
Yet in my dreams my hair are always black
And long like Rapunzel's.
And I'm lying in wait like Sleeping Beauty
Or crying alone like Cinderella.
.
Sometimes my hair are red and I'm
blazing through life at break-neck speed
Recklessly getting into one scrape and then the next
And breaking all bounds of decency
And Sometimes my hair are brown and I
Spend a couple hours a day with my nose in a book
Figuring out Fisher's linear discriminant function
Or the recipe of pineapple upside down cake -
Then all of a sudden my hair turn gold!
And I can be found giggling in any mall of the city
Trying dresses I'm never going to wear
And commenting on those Oh-so-L.S. leggings these days (ugh!)
At night sometimes my hair are grey - and I
Am seriously contemplating the secrets of the world
How God has designed things and why
And how little children are like the beginning of everything
Yet in my dreams my hair are always black
And long like Rapunzel's.
And I'm lying in wait like Sleeping Beauty
Or crying alone like Cinderella.
.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Alone in the Parking Lot
.
The outline of my shadow begins to blur
And Quiet is an egg that sits balanced on my wrist
In the darkness, Cat begins to stir
Then suddenly two eyes become apparent. At first
They seem to grow in size, and quickly I realize
As they advance towards me non-stop
The egg is about to pop - Quiet falls down in a crash,
As Cat makes a sudden dash,
And I slip over the yolk and fall
And nothing makes sense at all.
.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Therapeutic note on humility
.
The squirrel that came bumbling across the grass
Stopped short.
And considered - Is that creature watching me?
I wanted to befriend him
But I transcent him.
And he went gliding up the tree.
.
The squirrel that came bumbling across the grass
Stopped short.
And considered - Is that creature watching me?
I wanted to befriend him
But I transcent him.
And he went gliding up the tree.
.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Show biz
.
Today you plan to build something
Supposedly out of nothing
Or something borrowed -
All but anyone else's time spent well
Which you intend to sell
For a handsome sum of money.
You work hard, of course -
I can't deny that
But no matter which way I look at it,
I can't envy your achievements
And I'm surprised at my total lack
Of wishing I could have a slice of your pie.
.
Today you plan to build something
Supposedly out of nothing
Or something borrowed -
All but anyone else's time spent well
Which you intend to sell
For a handsome sum of money.
You work hard, of course -
I can't deny that
But no matter which way I look at it,
I can't envy your achievements
And I'm surprised at my total lack
Of wishing I could have a slice of your pie.
.
Friday, August 26, 2011
This is my language too!
.
The things I've come away from
Keep following me nevertheless.
Like mispronounciation
A phrase
or a style
I've learnt I'd rather live without.
But time teaches me humility.
.
The things I've come away from
Keep following me nevertheless.
Like mispronounciation
A phrase
or a style
I've learnt I'd rather live without.
But time teaches me humility.
.
Monday, August 22, 2011
humph!
.
Today is one of those days when there is more than the rush of the highway to bother my morning nap. There's a cacophony of Bollywood dance numbers blaring outside. I wonder what the society people are at, but whatever it is, I don't understand what pleasure anyone can derive from such crass music.
Middle class people gyrating to numbers such as "character dheela hai" in the middle of the day. All I can hear is the bass, of course. It's booming through my windows and unsettling my bookshelf. And my stomach.
.
Today is one of those days when there is more than the rush of the highway to bother my morning nap. There's a cacophony of Bollywood dance numbers blaring outside. I wonder what the society people are at, but whatever it is, I don't understand what pleasure anyone can derive from such crass music.
Middle class people gyrating to numbers such as "character dheela hai" in the middle of the day. All I can hear is the bass, of course. It's booming through my windows and unsettling my bookshelf. And my stomach.
.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Begum Ammi
.
Mother was, comparatively, one of Naana Abba's youngest, so by the time I arrived, Begum Ammi was quite old. But she never appeared old to me. She was just olden. When I was five, I remember her emerging from her bedroom wearing a plain white cotton gharara, pink kurti, and pure chiffon dupatta, and proceeding towards the chaarpayi laid out for her in the aangan in the shade of the guava tree, on a sunny winter morning.
This was where she would sit and dress her hair. Her beautiful silver hair would be parted right in the center and then puffed up on either side before getting braided into a single plait at the back of her head that would become thinner and thinner going down until it was just a few strands below her waist.
We were not allowed to climb up on Begum Ammi's sacred chaarpayi. The obvious reason was that we would soil the pristine white cotton dupatta that she covered the bedsheet with. The not-so-obvious reason, which I learnt as I grew older, was that she was afraid the chaarpayi would be rendered najis - or impure. Begum Ammi was an awesome pious lady indeed.
I must have been twelve when I realized that Begum Ammi was not, in fact, her name. And I think it was around that time when I figured that all children did not call their maternal grannies by that title. The explanation I was given was that she was so young when she first became a grand mother that her sensibilities were hurt at the thought of being called naani. And of course, naani was too bourgeois a title for my Grand Mother Royale.
.
Mother was, comparatively, one of Naana Abba's youngest, so by the time I arrived, Begum Ammi was quite old. But she never appeared old to me. She was just olden. When I was five, I remember her emerging from her bedroom wearing a plain white cotton gharara, pink kurti, and pure chiffon dupatta, and proceeding towards the chaarpayi laid out for her in the aangan in the shade of the guava tree, on a sunny winter morning.
This was where she would sit and dress her hair. Her beautiful silver hair would be parted right in the center and then puffed up on either side before getting braided into a single plait at the back of her head that would become thinner and thinner going down until it was just a few strands below her waist.
We were not allowed to climb up on Begum Ammi's sacred chaarpayi. The obvious reason was that we would soil the pristine white cotton dupatta that she covered the bedsheet with. The not-so-obvious reason, which I learnt as I grew older, was that she was afraid the chaarpayi would be rendered najis - or impure. Begum Ammi was an awesome pious lady indeed.
I must have been twelve when I realized that Begum Ammi was not, in fact, her name. And I think it was around that time when I figured that all children did not call their maternal grannies by that title. The explanation I was given was that she was so young when she first became a grand mother that her sensibilities were hurt at the thought of being called naani. And of course, naani was too bourgeois a title for my Grand Mother Royale.
.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Dumping Ground
.
The thing with staying your ground for too long is that
You tend to get buried under everyone else's trash
As though dealing with the trash wasn't difficult enough
You become the growing place of a lot of random stuff
Like the poison Ivy that grows itself into your ear
And stray dogs that bark regularly at your rear
Then there's the pigeons who drop their messages in your hair
And get them all tangled and messy. It isn't fair.
Of course there's rats that nibble on your feet
It's so horrifying, you can't hope to sleep.
But at the end of it you're so used to living without a fence
You can't even think of parking yourself somewhere else.
.
The thing with staying your ground for too long is that
You tend to get buried under everyone else's trash
As though dealing with the trash wasn't difficult enough
You become the growing place of a lot of random stuff
Like the poison Ivy that grows itself into your ear
And stray dogs that bark regularly at your rear
Then there's the pigeons who drop their messages in your hair
And get them all tangled and messy. It isn't fair.
Of course there's rats that nibble on your feet
It's so horrifying, you can't hope to sleep.
But at the end of it you're so used to living without a fence
You can't even think of parking yourself somewhere else.
.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
1 Kg Aromatic Lucknow Dum Pulao for the novice cook
.
The meat, or Yakhni:
----------------------
half Kg meat - chicken - about 5-6 medium to large sized pieces
- mutton - about 8-10 medium sized pieces
- choice of pieces: combination of meaty and bony pieces is great for added flavor
quarter tea-spoon of green cardamom powder
quarter tea-spoon of mace powder (it's the deep orange squid look-alike spice)
2 medium sized cardamoms
2 medium sized cloves
2 tea-spoons of curd
1 tea-spoon of garlic paste (if it has a dash of ginger, it's ok)
1 medium sized onion
salt
red chilly powder
half a coffee mug of cooking oil
The rice or Adhan:
-------------------
half Kg rice - Basmati extra long. Depends on the quality you desire. Measurable in two regular coffee cups.
half a tea-spoon of green cardamom powder
half an inch of cinnamon stick not more than one centimeter wide
one bay leaf about 3 inches long
4 medium sized cardamoms
6 medium sized cloves
10-15 strands of saffron - or more depending on the quality / taste
a pinch of orange food color
one third a coffee mug of milk
salt
To prepare:
------------
1. wash the rice and soak in water, set aside.
2. to the milk, add the saffron, and the food color, set aside.
----
3. In a pressure cooker, finely chop the onion and fry in the oil, add two cardamoms and two cloves. Stir fry until deep golden brown.
4. To the fried onion, add the meat, and stir for about a minute
5. Add a tea-spoon of salt, a quarter tea-spoon of red chilly powder (or to taste), and the garlic paste. Stir fry for about 2 minutes. Add a little water and stir until dry again.
6. Add the curd, the cardamom powder and mace powder, add about half a glass of water. Close the lid of the pressure cooker and cook for about 10 minutes, or until the meat is tender. Switch off the heat and keep the pressure cooker aside to cool off.
----
7. In a large vessel, take about a litre of water, add 4 tea-spoons of salt, 4 cardamoms, 4 cloves, the bay leaf and the cinnamon, and cover with a lid until the water comes to boil.
8. Strain the soaking rice and add to the boiling water. Cover with a lid and let it cook for about 5 minutes on medium heat.
9. Cook the rice until it feels like it is just about done, but not quite. Strain the rice, and separate into two portions. Spread one portion out in the vessel.
---
10. Open the pressure cooker and simmer over heat until all the water has evaporated (if any)
11. Spread the meat out over the portion of rice spread out in the vessel.
12. Spread the other portion of rice over the meat
13. pour over the milk kept aside making a neat circle
14. Cover with the lid, and keep on low heat for about 10 minutes. For added measure, keep a heavy object on the lid.
Now you're done!
.
The meat, or Yakhni:
----------------------
half Kg meat - chicken - about 5-6 medium to large sized pieces
- mutton - about 8-10 medium sized pieces
- choice of pieces: combination of meaty and bony pieces is great for added flavor
quarter tea-spoon of green cardamom powder
quarter tea-spoon of mace powder (it's the deep orange squid look-alike spice)
2 medium sized cardamoms
2 medium sized cloves
2 tea-spoons of curd
1 tea-spoon of garlic paste (if it has a dash of ginger, it's ok)
1 medium sized onion
salt
red chilly powder
half a coffee mug of cooking oil
The rice or Adhan:
-------------------
half Kg rice - Basmati extra long. Depends on the quality you desire. Measurable in two regular coffee cups.
half a tea-spoon of green cardamom powder
half an inch of cinnamon stick not more than one centimeter wide
one bay leaf about 3 inches long
4 medium sized cardamoms
6 medium sized cloves
10-15 strands of saffron - or more depending on the quality / taste
a pinch of orange food color
one third a coffee mug of milk
salt
To prepare:
------------
1. wash the rice and soak in water, set aside.
2. to the milk, add the saffron, and the food color, set aside.
----
3. In a pressure cooker, finely chop the onion and fry in the oil, add two cardamoms and two cloves. Stir fry until deep golden brown.
4. To the fried onion, add the meat, and stir for about a minute
5. Add a tea-spoon of salt, a quarter tea-spoon of red chilly powder (or to taste), and the garlic paste. Stir fry for about 2 minutes. Add a little water and stir until dry again.
6. Add the curd, the cardamom powder and mace powder, add about half a glass of water. Close the lid of the pressure cooker and cook for about 10 minutes, or until the meat is tender. Switch off the heat and keep the pressure cooker aside to cool off.
----
7. In a large vessel, take about a litre of water, add 4 tea-spoons of salt, 4 cardamoms, 4 cloves, the bay leaf and the cinnamon, and cover with a lid until the water comes to boil.
8. Strain the soaking rice and add to the boiling water. Cover with a lid and let it cook for about 5 minutes on medium heat.
9. Cook the rice until it feels like it is just about done, but not quite. Strain the rice, and separate into two portions. Spread one portion out in the vessel.
---
10. Open the pressure cooker and simmer over heat until all the water has evaporated (if any)
11. Spread the meat out over the portion of rice spread out in the vessel.
12. Spread the other portion of rice over the meat
13. pour over the milk kept aside making a neat circle
14. Cover with the lid, and keep on low heat for about 10 minutes. For added measure, keep a heavy object on the lid.
Now you're done!
.
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Dreaded Bumba
.
Along one side of the courtyard ran an open naali - from the kitchen to the drain. At the corner near the drain, there was the much dreaded bumba. I used to wonder what English or Arabic word bumba was a mutation of, since I thought it was more natural to just call it nul. Especially since it served as a multi-purpose washing area: for grown-ups to complete their ablutions, for children like me to wash their filthy feet, and the servants to do the laundry.
The bumba was dreaded because of several reasons. The first was the complex balancing act required to wash one's feet. It was a low tap - about a foot and a half from the ground - before which sat a large concrete slab upon which one had to sit or stand to access the water falling from the bumba. The wall behind the bumba was painted with choona tinged blue with indigo - layers and layers of choona, actually - and it looked like it was always moist. And the ground was just an inch higher than the slimey bottom of the open naali and right next to the drain - which was even more ugly and dreadful. Standing on one foot, I would reach the other one out under the mouth of the tap, taking care not to touch anything. But I would invariably end up leaning with one hand on the wall, or letting my foot touch the ground, and came back feeling disgusted.
The second was the horror-show bathroom right next to the bumba. Let me explain. On the side of the bumba, there was an arch, beyond which there were two latrines with tin doors, and a small dark passage beyond which was the hummaam - or the bathing area - the door to which was thick, ancient wood that looked like only Hercules could move. I said it all very quickly because I don't want to dwell on it for too long. I have only twice or thrice seen the interiors of that bathroom. I don't remember much, except two things: I never dared touch the ancient light switch for fear of getting electrocuted, or having the huge resident aracnid attack an intruder; and because there were no windows or raushan-daan's it was the darkest spot in the house, and I thought it was where the jinns slept at night.
.
Along one side of the courtyard ran an open naali - from the kitchen to the drain. At the corner near the drain, there was the much dreaded bumba. I used to wonder what English or Arabic word bumba was a mutation of, since I thought it was more natural to just call it nul. Especially since it served as a multi-purpose washing area: for grown-ups to complete their ablutions, for children like me to wash their filthy feet, and the servants to do the laundry.
The bumba was dreaded because of several reasons. The first was the complex balancing act required to wash one's feet. It was a low tap - about a foot and a half from the ground - before which sat a large concrete slab upon which one had to sit or stand to access the water falling from the bumba. The wall behind the bumba was painted with choona tinged blue with indigo - layers and layers of choona, actually - and it looked like it was always moist. And the ground was just an inch higher than the slimey bottom of the open naali and right next to the drain - which was even more ugly and dreadful. Standing on one foot, I would reach the other one out under the mouth of the tap, taking care not to touch anything. But I would invariably end up leaning with one hand on the wall, or letting my foot touch the ground, and came back feeling disgusted.
The second was the horror-show bathroom right next to the bumba. Let me explain. On the side of the bumba, there was an arch, beyond which there were two latrines with tin doors, and a small dark passage beyond which was the hummaam - or the bathing area - the door to which was thick, ancient wood that looked like only Hercules could move. I said it all very quickly because I don't want to dwell on it for too long. I have only twice or thrice seen the interiors of that bathroom. I don't remember much, except two things: I never dared touch the ancient light switch for fear of getting electrocuted, or having the huge resident aracnid attack an intruder; and because there were no windows or raushan-daan's it was the darkest spot in the house, and I thought it was where the jinns slept at night.
.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
To the Doggy who chases and barks at passing Mercs
.
Please stop
chasing me down
like a lost but excited puppy.
And expecting
to be treated always
with a doggy cookie.
One of these days
you're going to get hurt
and then you'll blame me.
.
Please stop
chasing me down
like a lost but excited puppy.
And expecting
to be treated always
with a doggy cookie.
One of these days
you're going to get hurt
and then you'll blame me.
.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
unlikely snacks party
.
It was 7PM. It was time to snack. And khau gali is the perfect place to pacify Tommy. So we were munching on Chinese dosa. Pooja, Priya and me. We had found a spot just next to the gutter, between the juice stall and the dosa-wala, that had relatively fewer people shoving around.
It wasn't long before we noticed a friendly neighborhood mole - a rather fat, friendly neighborhood mole - trying to have his snack too. He had got hold of a juicy big tomato and was trying to escape to the safety of the gutter to feast on it. He ran clumsily to the small opening in the broken gutter-cover - but bumped back because the plump tomato wouldn't go through.
He tried again with a little more force to push the tomato through to the other side before giving up and trying plan B. We watched with disgusted amusement as he left the tomato aside and jumped headlong into the hole. But he got stuck at his waist-line: his hind-legs comically flailing in the air as he tried with all his might to push himself through.
awww... poor thingy can't we help him in any way?! The three of us were splitting between laughter and despair by the time he had squeezed to the other side. And then his head appeared again at the mouth of the hole, and he grabbed the tomato and try to pull it in. Now all we could see was the tomato stuck in the hole, being pulled by an invisible force.
Well. That was smart. But not quite. By now Pooja's soft heart had given her inner strength that Priya and I couldn't muster. Amidst our cheers, she took a couple of brave steps forward, and gingerly tried to push the tomato with the tip of her purple satin sandal with no success. The three of us uttered suppressed screams. ewww... This is not going to work, girl! And she came hopping back, trying to shake the disgust out of her leg. Stupid rat: why can't it understand that the tomato is too big to go through!!
For a few seconds, nobody moved. The rat had probably shrunk back in fear or confusion because of the unsolicited help. But contrary to what we had deducted, he was not a very stupid rat: he had a secret plan C- to munch on the tomato until it became small enough to fall through - as was evidenced by the half eaten tomato that had fallen back. Well. Here's another example of why man should not interfere with nature. sigh.
.
It was 7PM. It was time to snack. And khau gali is the perfect place to pacify Tommy. So we were munching on Chinese dosa. Pooja, Priya and me. We had found a spot just next to the gutter, between the juice stall and the dosa-wala, that had relatively fewer people shoving around.
It wasn't long before we noticed a friendly neighborhood mole - a rather fat, friendly neighborhood mole - trying to have his snack too. He had got hold of a juicy big tomato and was trying to escape to the safety of the gutter to feast on it. He ran clumsily to the small opening in the broken gutter-cover - but bumped back because the plump tomato wouldn't go through.
He tried again with a little more force to push the tomato through to the other side before giving up and trying plan B. We watched with disgusted amusement as he left the tomato aside and jumped headlong into the hole. But he got stuck at his waist-line: his hind-legs comically flailing in the air as he tried with all his might to push himself through.
awww... poor thingy can't we help him in any way?! The three of us were splitting between laughter and despair by the time he had squeezed to the other side. And then his head appeared again at the mouth of the hole, and he grabbed the tomato and try to pull it in. Now all we could see was the tomato stuck in the hole, being pulled by an invisible force.
Well. That was smart. But not quite. By now Pooja's soft heart had given her inner strength that Priya and I couldn't muster. Amidst our cheers, she took a couple of brave steps forward, and gingerly tried to push the tomato with the tip of her purple satin sandal with no success. The three of us uttered suppressed screams. ewww... This is not going to work, girl! And she came hopping back, trying to shake the disgust out of her leg. Stupid rat: why can't it understand that the tomato is too big to go through!!
For a few seconds, nobody moved. The rat had probably shrunk back in fear or confusion because of the unsolicited help. But contrary to what we had deducted, he was not a very stupid rat: he had a secret plan C- to munch on the tomato until it became small enough to fall through - as was evidenced by the half eaten tomato that had fallen back. Well. Here's another example of why man should not interfere with nature. sigh.
.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Ms. Cwab
.
Your doubts
Have brought dark clouds
And I don't know if I'm with you
Or without. Your nose and eyes
Are teary, and you're about
wearied by the ins and outs -
your heart that moves in leaps and bounds
it starts in inches as you count
the petals of the flower that you found
settled in the bottom of the pocket of your coat.
I can hardly stifle the laughter in my throat.
So when I try to put an arm around
Your voice utters a threatening note
And your eyes cast me a withering glance
And I sit back and stare askance
Though I'm still entranced by your fragrance
I dare not touch you. Damn Damn Damn.
Your crabby ways
Test my patience.
.
Your doubts
Have brought dark clouds
And I don't know if I'm with you
Or without. Your nose and eyes
Are teary, and you're about
wearied by the ins and outs -
your heart that moves in leaps and bounds
it starts in inches as you count
the petals of the flower that you found
settled in the bottom of the pocket of your coat.
I can hardly stifle the laughter in my throat.
So when I try to put an arm around
Your voice utters a threatening note
And your eyes cast me a withering glance
And I sit back and stare askance
Though I'm still entranced by your fragrance
I dare not touch you. Damn Damn Damn.
Your crabby ways
Test my patience.
.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The fallibility of being nonchalant
.
I feel so great
Now that I've forgotten you.
Now that your face
Doesn't pop up before me
Every morning.
And today when I noticed your name
In my list of gtalk contacts
I thought to myself, "Wow!
What are you still doing here?"
And figured you couldn't really hurt me
Lounging in the corner of my screen.
But that was just a snowflake
That triggered the avalanche
That sent you crashing everywhere inside my head.
And I don't feel so great anymore.
.
I feel so great
Now that I've forgotten you.
Now that your face
Doesn't pop up before me
Every morning.
And today when I noticed your name
In my list of gtalk contacts
I thought to myself, "Wow!
What are you still doing here?"
And figured you couldn't really hurt me
Lounging in the corner of my screen.
But that was just a snowflake
That triggered the avalanche
That sent you crashing everywhere inside my head.
And I don't feel so great anymore.
.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Consternation
.
I don't know why I go a little gastric when I'm in Lucknow. I spent nearly 5 complete years farting and burping very much. I almost stopped feeling embarrassed, because how was I supposed to help it? And it's one of those things that hits me first every time I return: I become gastric again.
Which leads me to think that I become my old self. The familiar fumes of a past existence? Or does the present stink as much as the past? Or could it be that the anxiety I've accumulated during my stint of living alone in Mumbai vaporizes when I'm back home?
I can't really answer these questions. Maybe it's not as metaphysical as all that (yes - I'm reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love). Maybe it's the water or the food or the air. But one thing I do know - I'm forced to accept that some of my problems only become loudly apparent when I'm at home.
In my Mom's presence.
[sigh]
.
Which leads me to think that I become my old self. The familiar fumes of a past existence? Or does the present stink as much as the past? Or could it be that the anxiety I've accumulated during my stint of living alone in Mumbai vaporizes when I'm back home?
I can't really answer these questions. Maybe it's not as metaphysical as all that (yes - I'm reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love). Maybe it's the water or the food or the air. But one thing I do know - I'm forced to accept that some of my problems only become loudly apparent when I'm at home.
In my Mom's presence.
[sigh]
.
Friday, June 25, 2010
ladies' room encounter
.
She arched her right eyebrow, lowered her kohl-lined lids, and raised her pointy chin a couple of inches. With seemingly tremendous effort she had extracted her hair-brush from her vanity kit and was proceeding to pass it through her already impeccably neat hair.
Her chin raised a couple of inches higher as she ran the brush through from the tip of her forehead, back through the lengths and down to her shoulder. And just as the brush was about to emerge at the end of it's journey, she squeezed her eyes shut and later exhaled a sigh of relief, exhausted by her tiring efforts.
She caught my eyes in the mirror of the ladies' room when she finally condescended to open them. I quickly averted my gaze afraid that she might catch the laughter over-brimming from my eyes.
.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Aside to my geeky sisters
.
I am the exception
Not the rule;
The outrageous,
The uncool.
The unfit,
The unwilling,
The tooth
With the filling.
The unscrupulous,
The vulgar,
The low and
Unspectacular.
The party-pooper
The grouch
The lizard
The cockroach.
I am the exception -
Not the rule.
But at least I hated
Going to school. :P
.
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