and you may now update your status!

I used to find it scary that a person had to have a credit history to be acknowledged by the socitey. Now, people need to have an online presence and social network. A friend of mine found it funny that my husband and I are not connected on facebook.

We are not friends! - on facebook... Whatever for?!!! We share a hundred thoughts and moments. We weed our garden, go to work, decorate our house, groan over tax returns, throw parties and grocery shop together. What more will I share with him on facebook? And what I do want to share, I would rather share with him alone and not with the rest of the world. And so it is for me! :)

Being a happy woman

"Dont spend. I will take care of the bills. You can keep all the money that you earn as savings." 

Most men, whose mothers have not been working women tend to think that their role in a family is about being the provider. If they happen to marry a woman who works, they have a very hard time getting used to the fact that the woman might not necessarily like being financially dependent. Or being told not to spend. Or being told how to spend their money. 

Each person has a sense of control over their lives, by being financially sensitive. By knowing their earning potential and how they should plan their lives around it. It is not just the man's domain to earn money. Women also have developed a taste for it. Let alone the financial aspect of going to work... A woman's life today does not revolve around the kitchen and keeping a beautiful house and picking up laundry. More so, for a woman who has seen her mother raise her, take care of the house, go to work and multi-task in a 100 odd ways. 

It becomes very demeaning to be told that I should not spend my money. That he will take care of the bills. That he will take care of the EMI. That it is sufficient if I plan the vacation. He will pay. I do not need to own a house. I dont need a car. I dont need a 100 dress wardrobe. I did not get married because I needed somebody to support me financially. I did not get married because I needed a social licence to have sex. What I want is a person who lets me grow in my natural way. Who feels proud of my accomplishments. Who appreciates/ criticises my work with honest interest. Who takes interest in the people who mean a lot to me. 

It forces a woman to become fiercely competitive and earn at least equally as her husband, if only to gain his respect and interest. If we were left to ourselves, without getting married, I think most women of today would not be bothered about earning so much above their needs. We women do not have great aspirations of wealth. A supportive family which respects our opinions and freedoms will leave us a lot happier. We would probably be a lot happier writing poetry, painting, dancing, singing and feel happy at the progress of our families. 

appreciate it...

Ever wondered on the things that we appreciate? books, music, dance, food... Indians specialise in likening uniquely cultural / scientific things to things familiar from the home land. Like - minestrone soup to rasam, tetziki to raita, refried beans to rajma, evolution to dasavatharam, ballet to odissi/ baratanatyam, why this kolaveri to subapantuvarali, anything nice that the wife cooks to his mother's cooking... Books are the ultimate in terms of proportionality of familiarity to appreciation. We predominantly read from the protagonist's point of view. Where they react in the manner that we might ourselves react, we read with greater interest. When the author thinks differently, we say the book is boring/ outrageous/ irrational. What a narrow mind it is that refuses the person who has thought and written his words...

Maybe there is a subconscious compulsion to compare every thing that we see to things that are familiar to us. And we appreciate only those that strike a resonant chord. Would this mean that sufficient familiarity with any given thing would make us appreciate it? How then do we form our dislikes? Other than instanteaneous allergic/ unpleasant reactions, how does one know that something is amiss?

Not so bad a world to be in.

I saw this person... He was a competitor at a vendor meet during the opening of the tender. A bit elderly. Not particularly tall. Was wearing neatly pressed clothes. Just a faint outline of vibuthi was visible. Whatever little was remaining after the morning of travelling in the sun and sweat. His face was radiating warmth and peace. I broke into an automatic smile of acknowledgement and happiness on seeing him. Did not get to speak to him.

After we left the place, my cousin asked me who he was. I replied that I did not know. Sometimes, we come across people who glow with peace and happiness, who walk around with a smile - like they have the buddha inside them. We feel happier to have just seen them. I guess, it taps something inside us and reassures our belief in goodness of the world.

Fairy tale ending

And they got divorced and lived happily ever after...

why do you want to dance?

"What do want to dance for?!!"

"I want to...? Is that sufficient reason?"

"You have your priorities all mixed up. You know your age? We should be looking at having a baby. What will people think? Why do want to waste so much money on an arangetram? I dont think your parents will be happy. Neither will I be. Nor will my parents...I am not at all comfortable with you going ahead with this. Please drop the idea."

Is it insanity that makes a woman want to go and do exactly what the person who declares that he loves her does not want her to do? Is love always about giving up what is dear to you? Is love always measured in tears and heartbreaks? What an irony for a happy feeling... I dont want to be loved like this.

remembering

Waiting for the moon,

I failed to see

the forgotten stars were

staring back at me...

They each asked a hundred questions,

blinking

at my unwavering stare

wondering what I was

searching for.

Their questions reached me -

a hundred light years later.

Now, When I try to reply

they are no longer there.

A year gone by...

The last year has been satisfying to say the least. I tried earnestly to be the person people wished me to be - a handful of people who really matter to me. In doing so, I forgot that I had take care of myself, be happy with myself, if I were to bring any real happiness to any of these people. And I fought for my space, time and priorities, without even knowing what and who I was fighting for. It was hard.

 

We struggled, fought, came out with a few resolutions and are still living together. I decided against cooking south indian meals, if i did not feel up to it. I actually baked some amazing breads, made great salads and dressings. I planned a vacation for both of us as per my likes - a backpacking vacation and he actually does not disapprove. Dance has been going on great... I feel so thrilled to dance, to emote, to be able to move with rythm and grace. I finally finished the paintings that I started last year. Have given them for framing, so that they can be hung in the new house. I have decided on starting a small stacked vegetable patch and a couple of other projects. He saw the seedlings today morning. We were completely thrilled. It struck me that it has taken us nearly four years to discover a common liking... He said he would not divorce me till I turned 65.

So English!

Got to hear "Morning, Miss!". Am so charmed and thrilled

the tale of the buddha

He was thirty seven years old and blessed with a beautiful wife and two equally, if not more beautiful girls. He was talking about the time when he was in the US, some fifteen years ago. Had to stay a night at his friends place in philly. Since his friend and his girl friend shared a studio, he had to share their bed for that night. He was saying that it was the most freaked out thing he had ever done in his life. "Nothing happened", just so that you know...

Is it not such a heavy burden to carry one thought with you for fifteen years? Especially - if "nothing happened"?

So, I did not hire Jaseera.

I am a great advocate of the feminine right to wear whatever a woman wants - from shorts, to bikini tops, to nine yard sarees to train dresses to whatever not, as long as it is her choice. Infact, I thought that the french ruling on trying to ban burkas was completely absurd. So, it came as a pretty big shock to find myself kind of hesitant towards hiring a petit, pretty moslem girl in a burka. 

And I got to wondering what it was about the dress that made me uncomfortable to having one at work. First of all - chennai is hot. Hot as in sweaty hot, sultry hot, the kind of hot that makes you discover you can sweat out of your hair tips and finger nails. So, when I see a girl in a big black all covering dress, it reminds me of masala vadas. (They use a couple of days old masala vada as bait for the rats - supposedly the aroma is simply irresistable!!!) So, the idea of having a sweaty person in the office is not completely alluring. 

Also, it is so unpleasant to the eye. Though I do not expect any major head turning dresses at work, I still expect to see something that is pleasing and welcoming. Not something that will make me think twice about talking to the girl. I dont mind the vohra burkas - Most of them are handworked, embroideried and very tastefully done. Infact, I have worn one myself... 

Finally, I think, girls should be girls. Their innate craving for pretty things, shiny stuff etc. should not be constrained and forced inside a billowy, ghost of a completely unimaginative dress. 

So, I did not hire Jaseera.

what should I do with all the beers that I owe you??

I remember the smiles

And cheerful banter

I remember all the days of sunshine

and cracking up with tinkling laughter

I remember the times of tarot cards and reiki

Of crank calls and riding bikes

Of wisecracks and bad, BAD puns...

And Morse code swears

Of dancing and guitars

And Taichi and Deutsch

Of envious times of poring over Himalayan pictures

Of wishing “I were living his life”

Now – I just wish

you were alive.

Sometimes

Sometimes,
I wish I could believe,
instead of wanting to know.

Sometimes,
I wish I could let go,
instead of being weighed down.

Sometimes,
I wish I could simply laugh,
instead of having to smile.

Sometimes,
I wish my day had a little bit more,
than just twenty four!

The curse

6:30 a.m   She stood by the stove, thinking how much she enjoyed mornings. He was still warm from the bed, kind of fuzzy and had his head buried in her hair between her shoulder and ear. She was watching the milk, so that it wouldnt boil over.   She was watching the clock and running the laundry. The fool of a man had left the clothes once again in the bathroom. Like father; like daughter.. Idiots - both of them. She would once again be late for the day. Why in the world couldnt they pick up their clothes behind them?!   7:00 a.m They sat on the dining table, sipping their respective mugs of coffee and drinking chocolate and browsing the news paper. He liked his coffee piping hot, while she liked hers just before it turned cold.   Time was running out. That girl was yet to get out of bed. He had happily left to work, without waking her up. Now, everything was piling up on her plate. "Wake up, will you?? It is already seven. Hey- Isn't it tuesday? Your science assignment was due today, no?? GET UP, damn it..."   7:30 a.m She went into the kitchen to whip up a quick lunch for both of them and asked him to press her uniform. "Get me another cup of coffee, no?" She wondered how anybody could drink that stuff!   "You! Stop star gazing and day dreaming. It is 7: 30. I am already late. Have you finished your science assignment? Here is your milk. What? You are going to brush your teeth only now? Lazy fool! Why do you specifically do things that irritate me? Act fast. How many times should I tell you? Cant you understand what I am talking?! Or should I talk in some other language?!"   8:00 a.m She was ready to leave. He came out of the shower and wondered how she could look so sexy in a masculine industry uniform. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. "hmmm.. No, honey -  not now... Nope. Getting late. Come back early from office, ok?" She wriggled out of his grip and gave him a touch me not kiss.   "Idiot. Cant you for heaven's sake understand what I am saying? You were born to test my patience. One day or the other, I am going to lose my temper and brand you with a hot iron..."   They stood hand in hand listening to the incessant yelling next door. They wondered why that woman had the child in the first place.   She was going mad between her husband and girl. And to top it all, she had to hear all the love talk next door. She cursed them, wishing they had a child to deal with...

Loss

Do you know about loss? It comes in various forms - the silence that responds when you call out familiar names, all the conversations you can have only in your imagination the nearly sterile way in which things never move out of their place, except by you.

It looks like mexico

It looks like Mexico city,
All colors bright and sunny.
You ask - how would you know?
You have never visited the place!

I say - I could,
for my mind has been there!

knowing.

She had avidly followed his writings for more than five years. Had waited for every single post and poem. Had imagined the sound of his voice, the tone of his skin, his weight and book shelves and music racks and his guitar. His evenings with a lonely glass of whisky - and some times not so lonely bottles of IPAs. His walk to the university office and his laptop and his ipod. When she heard his voice for the first time, it was a teeny bit of a disappointment. He did not sound quite the husky, pleasant, unattainable imaginary character, she had envisioned.

Then came the book. She would not read it. She did not want to know his name. As she was picking up a gift for her husband, she asked for it, half hoping that such a vague first time author name would not be there on the shelves. As she read through the foreword, she knew - that it was no pseudonym. That was his name...

a new found love.

A card.
A kiss.
An endless wait.
I keep searching
for patience. . .

When it comes to me...

Funny - how perspectives change when it is my own pain. What would I prove by having a biological baby? - That I am capable of reproducing? What if I am not interested? After all - it upsets my career, it would stop me from dancing, it would mean at least two years of sleepless nights and tons of hard work, trying to bring up a child with a modicum of what I consider decency and moral uprightness and fun.

But, I know that I would completely enjoy the work that it entails. Why is it so hard to bring up another's child with all my love? Why is it so very hard to love another person? When will my heart overcome my mind? And I wait endlessly.

broken

Numerous plants. A wonderful house. A hundred thousand memories. Broken in a span of three days. My home no longer exists.

I shall dance, I shall dance, I shall dance!!!
:-)
I shall dance on christmas...

what a pity...

He died before he could reach his final destination...

special entrance...

"Sir - twenty rupees per ticket. you can walk straight to god" - at mylai karpagavalli sannidhi...

Metacarpus

They sound like a pair of long dangerous scissors or a wonderful exquisite sword - like the green destiny, something that would snip metal with the same ease as we would think of tearing the morning's front page. But, she discovers that ten of them are present in every normal human and chimp and that they are not exactly made of cold forged steel.

She also discovers that it can hurt horribly, when a ligament tears between a carpus and a meta.

Looking "Married!!!"

"goodness! - you are married?!!! Dont tell me! You hardly look married!"

How in the world does one go about "looking married"?!!!

The absent belief...

The road is misty. So misty that the hills are not visible and neither is the precipitious valley below. The vehicle trundles on, irrespective of our fear; our excitement. It is so much easier to cope with an adventurous death, having done everything that you wanted to; or a sudden accidental one rather than waiting for it to come and fill the soul first and the body later. What awaits on the other side? Does it matter? Till what time will physical beauty and attachements matter? Till when will the mind stay put in the world around rather than running away into darkness to escape the fear of what lies beyond? Till when will an agnostic remain so?

The Sink

Like the hungry infant

that waits only for the mother

The dishes await her arrival...

when life was about simpler differences...

Q : What are living things and non-living things?
Ans : Living things 1) are capable of movement 2) feel and respond to changes in the environment 3) reproduce 4) die
Non-living things 1) do not move on their own, 2) do not have any sensory capacities 3) do not multiply in numbers and 4) can change with time from one form to another.

But then, the pens on my table move, the clothes move out of the cupboard all over the bed, the sugar box lid opens up... Then again, the to-do list grows and the papers on my table and mails in the inbox multiply overnight... the gas in the car dies, the laptop battery and the arm band battery die....the difference blurs...

the tragic death of 43 minutes

Madras
23/01/2008

43 minutes, including time that could have been spent reading or running were killed in a tragic incident of carelessness and negligence over the last weekend. The mishap occured when the woman failed to take the address of the destination and realised it only after about 20 minutes of travel. It was found that no final check systems were in place and disaster relief and recovery systems suggested for the future include cross checks before leaving the house.

The accident is being scrutinized for ulterior motives and the influence of foreign elements. More details are expected to flow in over the next two days.

Reuters.

For Benazir Bhutto...

A thousand five hundred rupees nut....

The trip had already been planned and anticipated. The mind had collected her requests for all the various people she knew. When she prayed, she would pray selflessly for all those around her, wishing every sort of happiness for her friends and family.

Her maid's husband should stop harrasing her. The other maid should have a safe trip to sabari mala. The next door mami should become cured of filariasis. Her sister's son should have a baby soon. Her son should concentrate on studies. He should not talk of the russian girl again! The business should prosper. Her daughter should be blessed with a baby as soon as she was ready for it. Her son-in-law's promotion should come through. If he had to go abroad, her daughter should also happily consent and go along. Her husband should become more tolerant and happy. Her neice's wedding should get fixed soon to a good boy. The house should be built without any problem... Mama should recover from the illness. People should keep good health and cheer. So many many requests...

The evening before the trip, all the news channels had screened the killing and the violence. Such mindlessness. Such violence. Blood. Gore.

She went on the trip. Witnessed the huge prayers and bhajans. Sung along. and then finally - they auctioned the holy coconut, saying that whoever got it could pray for anything and it would come true. She won it by a wide margin.

She prayed for world peace.

the zen dosai...

There is a wonderful sense of perfection in seeing a round drop of dosai maavu grow in size as I smear it into a bigger and bigger circle, till it covers the entire pan on the stove. The ridges appear in concentric circles, as the ladle moves around, spreading the batter. Then the tiny bubbles spark up and make small holes all across the surface. A teeny bit of oil along the sides and the cover goes on top of the pan. as the glass gets cloudy, with the vapor, i take it off, before the drips start to fall off the roof of the cover. the dosai slides off the pan bottom, as beautifully, as a piece of circular paper - golden brown on one side and a perfect creamy ridged surface on the other - thin, semi-transparent golden brown strips alternating with spongy white circles.

eaten with molaga podi and nallennai...

The ARCs that I have noticed...

MARC - Madras Assisted Reproduction Center
AARC - Apollo Assisted Reproduction Center

What is the big deal with a biological child that people would pay huge sums of money to hospitals to go through the whole deal?!!!

The gift of the Magi??

A year since we met...
A gift might be appropriate?
What if we have married since?
Become different people from the ones we were then...
Would you marry me once again?!!

P. James magic show...

He saw the chap dipping a brush into the mug of black paint that he had deposited on the side of the platform and write

P. James
magic show
9841119873

He had seen this sign across the city. On platforms, on telephone booths, bus shelters, behind buses, lavatories. He stopped near the man, whom he presumed to be P. James and asked him "so, what magic can you do?"

"hmm? - all the normal stuff - I can make things appear, disappear, remain suspended in air, produce an egg from your bottom, pull rabbits and doves out of caps and duppattas, cut a cloth into pieces and rejoin it in front of your eyes... Would you like me to perform for you sir? This is my card..."

"No, no - I was just curious. Thanks for explaining."

"oh - ok. I have to go and write my contact number in ten more places for the day. bye. and can I have my card back, please?"

the Cycle

boil the milk, make the coffee, shower, laundry, water the plants, clean up the kitchen, lock the house, drive to work, work, phone calls, meetings, drive back, clean the house, cook, serve, eat, do the dishes, sex, sleep, boil the milk, make the coffee, shower, laundry, water the plants, clean up the kitchen, lock the house, drive to work, work, phone calls, meetings, drive back, clean the house, cook, serve, eat, do the dishes, sex, sleep, boil the milk...

The strength of the chain lies in its weakest link.

Fate, luck and God...

Fate and Luck are events...
God is not?
Fate and Luck are factors that influence events
God does not?
Maybe - God plays dice
Loaded ones...
Maybe - God knows the answers
if there are any to know...
Maybe - there are no answers, for the question is lost
it is just 42...

If God were somewhere human...
Would God Shit? Suffer menstrual cramps? and migraine head aches? have sex? enjoy it? be bothered about population explosion and resource management? and global warming? About new stars being born? About teen trouble... and mid-life crisis??? Quite a cup full, hmm?!

72 hours

They die a thousand deaths
waiting to hear that he would live...

Manoranjitha.

A flower that smells like what your heart desires...

I HATE shopping!!!

Emancipation from the tresses!

She had conquered the numbers so long ago...

and the laws of Newton and Galleleo;

had fallen asleep cracking codes

and could quote

the bard with the same ease

as she could paint the skies and the seas!

But, what fears she faced
as she sat on the chair!
with lights turned on and
choices abound
Now came the dresser
to make her call...
To determine if her choice
would take the fall!

She had frizzy hair!
Not the kind that would tumble down
to curve around, a face so fair!
She wanted to wear a shorter crown
But the dresser said
"curls wont look good on you, my dear;
neither would short hair
you should wear it long and tie it back
and maybe gel it down, to get it slack"

To hell with the dressers thoughts, she decided -
even if it meant looking like a polliwog, uncapped!
She would have her hair cut short,
and love her frizz, curls and what not!
As the tresses fell,
she wondered about the face that would result
and the questions that would swell
around a simple summer haircut!

Beneath the dressers cloak,
she unclasped her crossed fingers
and slowly opened her eyes
to see the unfamiliar face in the surrounding mirrors
What a difference the loss of tresses made!
The need for approval by now fade
into the recesses of her mind
as she reveled in herself - her sparkling new find!

image courtesy: http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Theater/9876/hole-haircut.jpg

moonshine and all that blah~!

Seen a yellow moon?
- hanging precariously from the sky;
or maybe - it is floating up there
like a helium balloon...

Held back by threads
and will ?
Or wobbling and pulling
the holder to heights never imagined!

Who holds what
becomes the question,
as Aprils pass in tropical warmth.
Fear and curiosity
Wax and wane
Alternately...

how addictive can it be?

He stops and gets off the bike in a rush. The "potti kadai" is busy with the evening rush of BPO crowd - youngsters in their early twenties, who have sufficient money to be able to afford more than the sneaky once-a-weekend-in-the-beach cigarette packet. His only thought by now, is to get the smoke and inhale it. It has been nearly two hours!

She watches him, as he inhales deeply - the helmet on his head and wonders...

Bubblesome...

A faint thread of thought just surfaced. peeped out a bit to feel the air, if it was going to be a warm reception or a struggle getting out. Wondering if it should perhaps take a brief breath of air and dive down once again to resurface in another head...

Kites swimming across a black sky - like sperms...

Sunday afternoon....

The letters seemed to float in her eyes. She shook her head and started over from the beginning of the paragraph. Two lines later, her mind soaked in the warm afternoon heat and the beautiful music more than the contents of the book. He was completing the application, Mozart playing in the background... He would be gone by next fall. The music lulled her to sleep, curling on her side. The faint chillness of the cement floor falling away as her body warmed the surface it came into contact with. She lay still, in an blissfully inbetween state of a relaxing semi-sleep. Just conscious of the music being played for her and the necessity to stay still so that the chillness would not touch her. Mozart - so good to sleep with.

obituaries,,,,

I first remember time by the length of the class periods in school... They used to be so long. Social sciences the longest of them all. Then I knew time by summers. Mangoes, road trips, spinning tops and playing marbles and summer assignments at the end of it all... Crushes came and went, followed by relationships... College degrees and graduations... Jobs, relocations...

Weddings, births, deaths... And then at one point, relative time ceases to be of any meaning. When my age doesnt seem to matter to me any more. When people I know start dying. When I realize that the rope has reached the end for people around me and I have no clue how long my own is...

It is strange to see somebody's name in the obituary. Not a close friend who died by accident or by a freak heammorage or something that shakes you, leaves you crying till your tears dry out, not a relative who has been suffering for the longest time with a renal failure or cancer, with life slowly but surely slipping out of the body. A name of a random person whose existence you have taken for granted... Somebody of unremarkable significance in your life - somebody who has just been there, you know... And then their picture comes up one fine day in the hindu obituaries column. And you know that you have turned a page. From now, you have one more marker for time, baby...

the rains

The rains come down
in sheets
tearing the tender petals
off the trees

Had they known what they would get
maybe - they would not have wished for it so ardently, hmm?

red roses

He saw the roses out of the corner of his eye. She had said yes finally! He was speeding towards her house, a blur on a blazing red bike against the cloudless bright blue skies, leaving the road wondering what could make his bike sing like that. The roses would be just the thing.

He saw the bike flying out and the helmet rolling on the other side of the road. The sudden flash of incongruous movement had distracted his eyes from the road ahead to the rear view mirror. He had just seen the bike, the boy and the helmet separate from each other at an amazing speed. he couldnt stop and help. The hospital was just a few furlongs away, but it would be impossible to get there. He felt so frustrated, so helpless...

Life - so unexpected, nearly as unexpected as death...

rain, rain - go away...

It was the third day since any of them had seen water. The sun was not blazing, shining in a way that hurts your eyes to look at the sky, but the heat was incessant. The air felt blood warm and it hurt to breath. If you kept your eyes closed, you would not be able to make out the time of the day based on temperature alone. The heat would just not let up. The air, the earth, the body - everything felt like they had reached thermal equilibrium. There was no breeze, nothing to disturb the equilibrium of the place. They lay listless in a row, not having the strength to signal the life left in them.

She came out of the house, weary and hot. Today had been particularly hot, not that it had been any less for the last three days. It had left behind hot tar roads and roof tops, melted chocolates, flaring tempers and warm bath water that would't lose the heat despite leaving it to cool overnight. The neighborhood children had emptied the water from the fridge three times from the morning and were complaining that the water was not cool enough. The little one was curled up in a daze beneath the ceiling fan, after playing in the sun despite warnings. He had left to work early in the morning, leaving her the responsibility of dropping of the kid at school. How she had hated going out... But, he had his English mid-term and he was already two points behind Shammu. She to sit with him the previous evening and listen to him recite rhymes -
"rain, rain - go away,
little children want to play..."

So, she had taken him to school in an auto-rickshaw, tagging the younger one along at 7:45 in the morning. She would have to go back to pick him up in a bit. She had to summon the rickshaw-wala again. How she hated him throwing off his responsibilities like that! It was bad enough to have to go out of the house once in the afternoon to pick him up. And it was so hot... The driver had slid down the seat and was snoring, his head lolling to one side. There was some music playing in his vehicle. The fact that he was able to sleep in the heat annoyed her. Even the song irritated her. The heat was oppressive and she thought - "there, he should be happy, sitting in his air conditioned office." He had taken to spending longer hours in the office for the last couple of days and she wondered if he would come home tonight if the heat did not let up. Why couldnt he air condition the house! Or atleast let her dad get them one? Damn his ego... The man was still sleeping and she didnt want to touch him to wake him up. She knocked on the auto another time and managed to wake him up. She had locked up the house, hoping that the little one would not wake up before they came back.

The kid was crying because the exam had been difficult. Teacher had asked him to recite "Four and twenty blackbirds" and Shammu had to recite only "Peter, Peter - pumpkin eater". "It is so unfair. Why should I always get the longest "poems"?", he had asked. She replied automatically without thinking "I am sure you did well and the teacher noticed and it is a nursery rhyme, not a poem!". She had to carry his school bag for him. As she paid off the auto, she wiped her neck with the dupatta and looked up. The sky was starting to turn overcast at the northwest horizon. Her mood immediately lifted. It would become alrite, she thought. As she walked back, she saw the row of plants - tired and lifeless, looking pathetically helpless. It would definitely rain today, so no need to water them, she thought as she turned the keys to let themselves in.

its just a...

She had resisted for so long and then she decided that she had had enough. There was a sense of fearful anticipation, of what would happen if he caught her in the act. After all - she had never done it before. She took a picture before she set upon her mission and carefully rearranged it before he came back, using it as a reference. One could never be too careful. The last thing she needed was frayed nerves in the house because of some random careless misplacement. She had made sure that not a thing was out of place. He had called up from the office at the usual time after lunch. She had anticipated the call and carefully told him that she was just pottering around the house - nothing much, just chilling out.

He returned from the office, a little past 5:30 in the evening. The traffic was generally bad and she could determine how bad from the way in which he shrugged out of his shoes. Today must have been pretty bad, she thought, waiting as he got through his chores of showering, dressing up and sitting down for his cup of coffee. His eyes swayed inevitably to the shelf, as she set his cup down.

He smiled - So, today was "memories of my melancholy whores", was it?