I guess the only time I can sit down and blog ( not that i do it standin otherwise.. ;) .. ) is when i hear the sound of rain.. I think I was concieved on a rainy day.. There is this stubborn streak in my DNA that rejoices at the smell, the feel, the taste and the sound of rain..
In Mangalore now, home. But the journey here was nothing short of a nightmare, what with the flight landing in Cochin and travelling from there on a 16 hour bus journey sitting over the rear tyres of the bus.. I have a healthy respect for the wads of tyres on my own hips now...
As always... Mangalore is green, beautiful, charming and very very dangerous. The roads are a killer.. But I will not go into the downside of home.. for now.. the heart sings and all is well with the world... to a frog... her well is paradise... n so be it!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Friday, June 26, 2009
Discipline... huh??
Seriously, I believe I should write, want to... everyday you know but my old nemesis - discipline eludes me.
Time has no meaning and the passing of time scarcely registers, how the days, months and days have flown away I can't really say and it seems to be a sentiment echoed by all I know.
Has the passage of time made me older.. wiser.. I dont know. Maybe the fine lines on my face and the turrets between my eyebrows have a story to tell. Funnily though I do not feel older, Neverland is home I guess. Stuck in a time warp.
Hmnn.. Neverland.. Whacko Jacko just died! Thoughts beginning to wander now.
Will not dwell in morbidity now, there's a time and place for everything.. today... I'm at peace.
Amanda, my daughter writes beautifully and at the cost of sounding egoistic and pompous.. I see traces of my soul in her. She is ofcourse her own woman, individualistic and unique.. but her writing touches the very depths of my being. Her description of pain... makes me joyful.
Paradox!!
Time has no meaning and the passing of time scarcely registers, how the days, months and days have flown away I can't really say and it seems to be a sentiment echoed by all I know.
Has the passage of time made me older.. wiser.. I dont know. Maybe the fine lines on my face and the turrets between my eyebrows have a story to tell. Funnily though I do not feel older, Neverland is home I guess. Stuck in a time warp.
Hmnn.. Neverland.. Whacko Jacko just died! Thoughts beginning to wander now.
Will not dwell in morbidity now, there's a time and place for everything.. today... I'm at peace.
Amanda, my daughter writes beautifully and at the cost of sounding egoistic and pompous.. I see traces of my soul in her. She is ofcourse her own woman, individualistic and unique.. but her writing touches the very depths of my being. Her description of pain... makes me joyful.
Paradox!!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Just another day
Recieved a real sweet and cheery ' Happy Women's Day' sms in the morning.. hello... what that??
Every day of the year is Women's day....
You wake in the morning... do the routine chores, cook lunch, hurriedly dress and rush to office driving at 135 kmph singing along with the music on the radio...
Zip into office n unzip ur pants to pee in the loo.........
So... did anything different happen today....
Barring that sms...... just another day!
Every day of the year is Women's day....
You wake in the morning... do the routine chores, cook lunch, hurriedly dress and rush to office driving at 135 kmph singing along with the music on the radio...
Zip into office n unzip ur pants to pee in the loo.........
So... did anything different happen today....
Barring that sms...... just another day!
Friday, October 24, 2008
Its been a while
After Mangalore Chronicles, which in itself is incomplete, I haven't written, probably cause my cup overflows. So much to write, to say, to expunge... but I let it simmer...
Mangalore Chronicles, by the way will find a place on this blogspot. Have to complete it.
Mangalore has been in the news for all the wrong reasons, I mean, I'm first to admit that i would rather be infamous than famous. Conformity, not my style. But not my Mangalore and not for communal reasons. Please.
I've been watching the mayhem, the madness and the marauding mob tear my home apart and it hurts, so much that I cant assimilate words. For now, I'm posting a mail I wrote 5 years ago and got buggered for.. read it and you'll know why, but even now... should i write it again, will do so, with the same sentiments and more tequila perhaps...
To Be Or Not To Be.... MANGALOREAN!!!
Okay so I’m Mangalorean. So what? Yeah we love to gossip, we love to drink, we love to pretend we’re terribly intellectual. So what? I sound like I’m pissed off n justifying myself. So what? Frankly, so Nothing. Just that I received this mail which says you’re Mangalorean if………. N goes on to list virtues that I don’t think belongs to us Mangy’s. OK …OK I know we’re mostly all fart no shit, but hey, So what? How does it affect Non-Mangy’s?
There is this breed of pure, blue blooded Mangy’s who would rather not associate themselves with Mangalore n bitch ‘bout Mangalore n Mangaloreans. Am I here to defend this eclectic, strange, multi-faceted culture? Umnnn, I have obtained my Bachelors degree in Academic Law, n you know the adage, “ Half a Nut is worse that a Whole”. My savoir faire, incidentally.
So what’s this strange emotion that makes me fiercely protective about Mangalore? Damned if I know. Have a sneaking suspicion that it just might be the combo of beer n tequila…… or is it the other way around? Well I’m inebriated enough to not involve myself with semantics. Permit me to use a ‘Mangy’ expression here, “whose father’s what goes” hehehehe Hic’.
Actually I’m just beginning to feel sorry for all u people who are part of my mailing list, u’ve got to endure shitty mail from me once in a while,,, hic’ sorrrrrrrrrrrry.
Ok now getting back to business, (whose? Your Father’s or Mine?) what is it that makes me love Mangalore? Where do I begin n hey I’m quite sober now, booze not workin enough. I love Mangalore, because, This is Me, this is what I Am this is where I belong, This is Home. Hearth, Heart, all here, there is no where else on earth I’d rather be……… sounds like the lyrics of a song, I think. Can I reiterate I’M Sober, hic’ .
Not just that, you know what Mangalore does that makes me wanna stick around till, The Good Lord decides he wants to exterminate a pest? ( makes God sound like one of the Men In Black eh?) I wanna stick around. I wanna grow old here, wanna breathe my last breath here. Coming back to why, this is where, I know, with conviction, that should I need a friend…….. I’ll find one. Should I need food for the soul……. I’ll find it. Should I need a shoulder to cry on……… right here. Should I need someone to just be there for me…….. there will be hordes. Should I need support…… there’s a battalion. Yeah it’s a small town, no job opportunities, not much scope for development, umnnn of what? Bank balance or the Soul? Different strokes for different folks I s’pose. Having said that, I’ll be the first to admit that we’re truly backward where career prospects are concerned n oh yeah it is the downside of being here, but then it is typical of most small towns isn’t it?
I love Mangalore for being a place where my children n me can walk around without being asked what religion we belong to. Am I a Hindu? Muslim? Christian? Buddhist……… ‘whose father’s what goes?’ hic….
Sad naah, when secular India is divided on basis of Caste? Does it matter? Let me proudly announce that we here in Mangalore are bound by a yarn of thread that contains myriad colors. Konkana’s, Brahmins, Muslims, Christians, Shetty’s, Pujaari’s, Jains, Koragas , n the many lovely religious clusters that make Mangalore what she is. I hope I’m not being too presumptuous by saying this and honestly hope that that the ugly division of Indian society doesn’t ever, ever, raise its monstrous head here.
What about the ice cream you have to eat? The educational institutions that edify one into becoming a complete individual? The crazy milieu of folks who love to make it a point to know what’s cookin in the neighbor’s pot, even if they are surviving on ‘ bangude and buthai’….. whose daughter/son, ran off with whom? Even if their own eloped. Whose daughter-in-law is worse? Even if their own belonged to a character from Balaji films stupid, odious serials. Whose father’s what goes?...... hic’.
Let me, (while sober,……. hic’) extol Mangalore’s scenic beauty, not just the women, the geographical beauty. God!!!!! But do we have lovely beaches or what? Sand that slithers through your fingers with just a trace of fine dust leaving you wondering whether it manifested itself into your being in the first place. The ocean? What do I say? I wish I had the craft that Arundhati Roy is so blessed with n describe my home with similar artistry. Blue, crystal waters that ripple with waves stronger than your fiercest orgasm?..........hic’…….. (all of you who know my mom, please oh please don’t forward this mail to her…… sheesh, orgasm indeed, she’ll disown me) the awesome rocks that coax the fierce sea into caressing her like a desperate woman trying with all her feminine wiles to seduce an unwilling lover?........... the varied shades of green in the landscape dotted with old bungalows, unkempt ones too, all of them add up to make my Mangalore.
I could wax eloquent bout the churches, temples, mosques…. Sum other time……… hic’ nosh jush now……. Hic.
A delightful swarm of assorted Mangys who believe that they were born to speak, abuse, amuse in Tulu? Whose father’s what goes…… hic’.
Hopefully you will be sober enough to combine the pro’s of being Mangalorean…….. hic’.
Mangalore Chronicles, by the way will find a place on this blogspot. Have to complete it.
Mangalore has been in the news for all the wrong reasons, I mean, I'm first to admit that i would rather be infamous than famous. Conformity, not my style. But not my Mangalore and not for communal reasons. Please.
I've been watching the mayhem, the madness and the marauding mob tear my home apart and it hurts, so much that I cant assimilate words. For now, I'm posting a mail I wrote 5 years ago and got buggered for.. read it and you'll know why, but even now... should i write it again, will do so, with the same sentiments and more tequila perhaps...
To Be Or Not To Be.... MANGALOREAN!!!
Okay so I’m Mangalorean. So what? Yeah we love to gossip, we love to drink, we love to pretend we’re terribly intellectual. So what? I sound like I’m pissed off n justifying myself. So what? Frankly, so Nothing. Just that I received this mail which says you’re Mangalorean if………. N goes on to list virtues that I don’t think belongs to us Mangy’s. OK …OK I know we’re mostly all fart no shit, but hey, So what? How does it affect Non-Mangy’s?
There is this breed of pure, blue blooded Mangy’s who would rather not associate themselves with Mangalore n bitch ‘bout Mangalore n Mangaloreans. Am I here to defend this eclectic, strange, multi-faceted culture? Umnnn, I have obtained my Bachelors degree in Academic Law, n you know the adage, “ Half a Nut is worse that a Whole”. My savoir faire, incidentally.
So what’s this strange emotion that makes me fiercely protective about Mangalore? Damned if I know. Have a sneaking suspicion that it just might be the combo of beer n tequila…… or is it the other way around? Well I’m inebriated enough to not involve myself with semantics. Permit me to use a ‘Mangy’ expression here, “whose father’s what goes” hehehehe Hic’.
Actually I’m just beginning to feel sorry for all u people who are part of my mailing list, u’ve got to endure shitty mail from me once in a while,,, hic’ sorrrrrrrrrrrry.
Ok now getting back to business, (whose? Your Father’s or Mine?) what is it that makes me love Mangalore? Where do I begin n hey I’m quite sober now, booze not workin enough. I love Mangalore, because, This is Me, this is what I Am this is where I belong, This is Home. Hearth, Heart, all here, there is no where else on earth I’d rather be……… sounds like the lyrics of a song, I think. Can I reiterate I’M Sober, hic’ .
Not just that, you know what Mangalore does that makes me wanna stick around till, The Good Lord decides he wants to exterminate a pest? ( makes God sound like one of the Men In Black eh?) I wanna stick around. I wanna grow old here, wanna breathe my last breath here. Coming back to why, this is where, I know, with conviction, that should I need a friend…….. I’ll find one. Should I need food for the soul……. I’ll find it. Should I need a shoulder to cry on……… right here. Should I need someone to just be there for me…….. there will be hordes. Should I need support…… there’s a battalion. Yeah it’s a small town, no job opportunities, not much scope for development, umnnn of what? Bank balance or the Soul? Different strokes for different folks I s’pose. Having said that, I’ll be the first to admit that we’re truly backward where career prospects are concerned n oh yeah it is the downside of being here, but then it is typical of most small towns isn’t it?
I love Mangalore for being a place where my children n me can walk around without being asked what religion we belong to. Am I a Hindu? Muslim? Christian? Buddhist……… ‘whose father’s what goes?’ hic….
Sad naah, when secular India is divided on basis of Caste? Does it matter? Let me proudly announce that we here in Mangalore are bound by a yarn of thread that contains myriad colors. Konkana’s, Brahmins, Muslims, Christians, Shetty’s, Pujaari’s, Jains, Koragas , n the many lovely religious clusters that make Mangalore what she is. I hope I’m not being too presumptuous by saying this and honestly hope that that the ugly division of Indian society doesn’t ever, ever, raise its monstrous head here.
What about the ice cream you have to eat? The educational institutions that edify one into becoming a complete individual? The crazy milieu of folks who love to make it a point to know what’s cookin in the neighbor’s pot, even if they are surviving on ‘ bangude and buthai’….. whose daughter/son, ran off with whom? Even if their own eloped. Whose daughter-in-law is worse? Even if their own belonged to a character from Balaji films stupid, odious serials. Whose father’s what goes?...... hic’.
Let me, (while sober,……. hic’) extol Mangalore’s scenic beauty, not just the women, the geographical beauty. God!!!!! But do we have lovely beaches or what? Sand that slithers through your fingers with just a trace of fine dust leaving you wondering whether it manifested itself into your being in the first place. The ocean? What do I say? I wish I had the craft that Arundhati Roy is so blessed with n describe my home with similar artistry. Blue, crystal waters that ripple with waves stronger than your fiercest orgasm?..........hic’…….. (all of you who know my mom, please oh please don’t forward this mail to her…… sheesh, orgasm indeed, she’ll disown me) the awesome rocks that coax the fierce sea into caressing her like a desperate woman trying with all her feminine wiles to seduce an unwilling lover?........... the varied shades of green in the landscape dotted with old bungalows, unkempt ones too, all of them add up to make my Mangalore.
I could wax eloquent bout the churches, temples, mosques…. Sum other time……… hic’ nosh jush now……. Hic.
A delightful swarm of assorted Mangys who believe that they were born to speak, abuse, amuse in Tulu? Whose father’s what goes…… hic’.
Hopefully you will be sober enough to combine the pro’s of being Mangalorean…….. hic’.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Mangalore Chronicles.. Estate....
What a whale of a time I'm currently having. Had planned an elaborate itinerary for my India trip and so far its been completely hunky dory.
Went to the estate. The drive itself filled my senses and engulfed my being. We wax eloquent about the verdant hills of Switzerland and they are beautiful ofcourse but wait and see the rolling mountains of gigantic propotions in my beloved Charmadi Ghats, part of the Western Ghats. It's raining and God in his heaven must be completely at peace. Every unasphalted patch of land is green and my, what shades of green. There are waterfalls aplenty and tiny purple flowers growing on the hills. I'm driving the SUV up the mountains with its 11 treacherous hairpin bends and loving it. The visibility is a killer though. I can't see more than 3 feet ahead, the mist is so thick, I roll down the windows and inhale the atmosphere, soak in it. It invades me, my being. I'm complete. I'm home.
We reach the Balehadlu, our coffee plantation at dusk. The dogs I haven't seen for 2 years look at me accusingly and whine and I can barely stop the tears. My garden wears the Lady Haversham look minus the cobwebs. The cottage is still beautiful though.
Next morning we drive into the estate on the jeep and are stuck in quagmire in a dozen places. The 4 wheel drive is seemingly powerless. We get off and walk and are inundated with blood sucking leeches galore. It would seem that they missed us too. Can't say the same.
The coffee plants are laden with green fruit and so are the pepper vines and arecanut and avaocado trees.
I go for long solitary walks every evening but solitary they rarely are.. I have my faithful dog following me and my thoughts to accompany me. I try and savor every moment of my stay here. Mom in law, kids n me.. we completely chilled out. Ate, slept, ate some more ans slept some more. By the way, back to my most favorite preoccupation. Am FAT. I swear and all that's holy and not. Mom is feeding me like its gonna go out of fashion and I'm loving it. Will worry about the love handles later.... much later.
We were in the Estate for 4 days and at the rate of sounding melodramatic, let me say.. when I drove away.. I felt a gut wrenching wave of sadness wash over me. This is where I want to be.. N I will..one day.. soon..forever!
Went to the estate. The drive itself filled my senses and engulfed my being. We wax eloquent about the verdant hills of Switzerland and they are beautiful ofcourse but wait and see the rolling mountains of gigantic propotions in my beloved Charmadi Ghats, part of the Western Ghats. It's raining and God in his heaven must be completely at peace. Every unasphalted patch of land is green and my, what shades of green. There are waterfalls aplenty and tiny purple flowers growing on the hills. I'm driving the SUV up the mountains with its 11 treacherous hairpin bends and loving it. The visibility is a killer though. I can't see more than 3 feet ahead, the mist is so thick, I roll down the windows and inhale the atmosphere, soak in it. It invades me, my being. I'm complete. I'm home.
We reach the Balehadlu, our coffee plantation at dusk. The dogs I haven't seen for 2 years look at me accusingly and whine and I can barely stop the tears. My garden wears the Lady Haversham look minus the cobwebs. The cottage is still beautiful though.
Next morning we drive into the estate on the jeep and are stuck in quagmire in a dozen places. The 4 wheel drive is seemingly powerless. We get off and walk and are inundated with blood sucking leeches galore. It would seem that they missed us too. Can't say the same.
The coffee plants are laden with green fruit and so are the pepper vines and arecanut and avaocado trees.
I go for long solitary walks every evening but solitary they rarely are.. I have my faithful dog following me and my thoughts to accompany me. I try and savor every moment of my stay here. Mom in law, kids n me.. we completely chilled out. Ate, slept, ate some more ans slept some more. By the way, back to my most favorite preoccupation. Am FAT. I swear and all that's holy and not. Mom is feeding me like its gonna go out of fashion and I'm loving it. Will worry about the love handles later.... much later.
We were in the Estate for 4 days and at the rate of sounding melodramatic, let me say.. when I drove away.. I felt a gut wrenching wave of sadness wash over me. This is where I want to be.. N I will..one day.. soon..forever!
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Mangalore Chronicles
Haven't had this incredible urge in a helluva long time. This itch is desperate to be scratched. I need to write. I need to pen my thoughts, my feelings. And I have to absolutely desperately have to tell you about my journey to Mangalore.
Let me begin with what I'm feeling at this particular moment. Completely 'KAAT'... for various reasons beginning with the airsickness bag. You see I'm writing on it.. I don't have paper!! Asked the steward and he doesn't have any too. But you see Madam M has to, needs to, is itching to write. Okies.. scratch scratch...
Back to Kaat.. that's what Anjali would say.. call's me anyways.. an elongated ka....at... Mangaloean for cheap. And today I am epitome of the same. I'm loaded with 2 bags screaming Dubai Duty Free. Gawd!! My walk to the aircraft was bloody embarrassing. I felt the eyes of the whole world and her aunt watching this blob balancing two bags and a hugely shamefaced expression on the face.
When young, I used to watch the 'Gulfies' strut with these duty free bags and used to cringe on their behalf. Funny how life turns around and slaps you on your backside when you least expect it!!
Wonder how I'll get off the aricraft. Will I stick my 4 chins out and walk like I care an effin damn or will my nose take a dive trying to reach the ground to hide the flush on my face and apology in my eyes. Have to wait and watch. Methinks I think too much.. bout the most inconsequential things ever.
Have to tell you bout the passengers on the flight. I'm sittin in the front row, all alone. Not a brilliant idea considering that most parents with small babes are upgraded to the front seats. The flight is half full. Not too many squaling babes. Thankfully.
There's an absolute angel in the seat across the aisle from me. With eyes like mine but lashes like palm fronds and with dimples on her cheeks deep enough to hide candy in. Cannot take my eyes off her. And she's terribly opinionated.
Behind me is a mangalorean catholic family. Daddy, Mummy and Baby. Trying very hard to sound like posh-english-speaking expats. "Kaale baby.. sit fast. Flight is going.. you want to go aeroplane or bail gaadi" all in one breath. Poor child like she has a choice now that we are airborne. Hey daddy is talking english.. what you know man? Too much blogging fool. Daddy is asking the stewardess serving the most unpalatable snacks on earth, " beer, beer... I want beer" Stewardess, " Sir, this is not drinks trolley". Mummy angry got with daddy.. " you only think about drinks.. kaale tu.. "
Just before the cutie with the dimples n eyes occupied the seat across mine.. thre was a flurry of activity. Enter.. pure mangalorean aunty wearin 4 fat gold bangles, chiffon saree with blue pink flowers, hair in neat bun with 3 pins, gold rimmed spectacles and a mean mouth. Takes the window seat. A pale looking little thing in a sri lankan-auntie-long-skirt follows and flops into the middle seat. Tight T-shirt-nipples poking-jeemps pant-sport shoes-baldie mister walks behind holding eskimo bundle. You should have been here, I swear. It was so bloody hot that its not funny and the babe was wrapped in blankets that would hatched a newly laid egg.
Ok. they all settle down and peace reigns for exactly 3 minutes and 47 seconds. I was counting :)
Pale face begins drama - ' I can't sit here, too hot.. moan.. whine,, groan.. whimper. Mother in law looks out of the window with such attention you would think she has been paid to count the pieces of baggage being loaded onto the aircraft. Baldie mister-holding eskimo- guitar style rants at bag counting mother. ' Why did we have to come and sit here.. we were fine in the 3rd row. you like to sit in front.. why i dont know... grr.. gr... bark!'
What a sucker. Number One: you've wrapped a hapless newborn in fleece thick enough to make the hair on my legs cringe in shame and defeat. Number two: idiot, bloody fool.. you fell for IT!!! He's in between a power struggle and the ass hasn't figured it out. Mother plays first card - move to the front., daughter in law complies, cannot stand her ground and refuse, she's young yet. Instead, plays flip flop, moans and whines and baldie mister-holding eskimo-guitar style falls for it. Round one goes to Wife. They file back to to the third row in stony silence.
I watch the tableau and cannot hide my smile. Thankfully I'm bewitched by the next occupants of the seat. Mother and child - eyes and dimples.
Let me begin with what I'm feeling at this particular moment. Completely 'KAAT'... for various reasons beginning with the airsickness bag. You see I'm writing on it.. I don't have paper!! Asked the steward and he doesn't have any too. But you see Madam M has to, needs to, is itching to write. Okies.. scratch scratch...
Back to Kaat.. that's what Anjali would say.. call's me anyways.. an elongated ka....at... Mangaloean for cheap. And today I am epitome of the same. I'm loaded with 2 bags screaming Dubai Duty Free. Gawd!! My walk to the aircraft was bloody embarrassing. I felt the eyes of the whole world and her aunt watching this blob balancing two bags and a hugely shamefaced expression on the face.
When young, I used to watch the 'Gulfies' strut with these duty free bags and used to cringe on their behalf. Funny how life turns around and slaps you on your backside when you least expect it!!
Wonder how I'll get off the aricraft. Will I stick my 4 chins out and walk like I care an effin damn or will my nose take a dive trying to reach the ground to hide the flush on my face and apology in my eyes. Have to wait and watch. Methinks I think too much.. bout the most inconsequential things ever.
Have to tell you bout the passengers on the flight. I'm sittin in the front row, all alone. Not a brilliant idea considering that most parents with small babes are upgraded to the front seats. The flight is half full. Not too many squaling babes. Thankfully.
There's an absolute angel in the seat across the aisle from me. With eyes like mine but lashes like palm fronds and with dimples on her cheeks deep enough to hide candy in. Cannot take my eyes off her. And she's terribly opinionated.
Behind me is a mangalorean catholic family. Daddy, Mummy and Baby. Trying very hard to sound like posh-english-speaking expats. "Kaale baby.. sit fast. Flight is going.. you want to go aeroplane or bail gaadi" all in one breath. Poor child like she has a choice now that we are airborne. Hey daddy is talking english.. what you know man? Too much blogging fool. Daddy is asking the stewardess serving the most unpalatable snacks on earth, " beer, beer... I want beer" Stewardess, " Sir, this is not drinks trolley". Mummy angry got with daddy.. " you only think about drinks.. kaale tu.. "
Just before the cutie with the dimples n eyes occupied the seat across mine.. thre was a flurry of activity. Enter.. pure mangalorean aunty wearin 4 fat gold bangles, chiffon saree with blue pink flowers, hair in neat bun with 3 pins, gold rimmed spectacles and a mean mouth. Takes the window seat. A pale looking little thing in a sri lankan-auntie-long-skirt follows and flops into the middle seat. Tight T-shirt-nipples poking-jeemps pant-sport shoes-baldie mister walks behind holding eskimo bundle. You should have been here, I swear. It was so bloody hot that its not funny and the babe was wrapped in blankets that would hatched a newly laid egg.
Ok. they all settle down and peace reigns for exactly 3 minutes and 47 seconds. I was counting :)
Pale face begins drama - ' I can't sit here, too hot.. moan.. whine,, groan.. whimper. Mother in law looks out of the window with such attention you would think she has been paid to count the pieces of baggage being loaded onto the aircraft. Baldie mister-holding eskimo- guitar style rants at bag counting mother. ' Why did we have to come and sit here.. we were fine in the 3rd row. you like to sit in front.. why i dont know... grr.. gr... bark!'
What a sucker. Number One: you've wrapped a hapless newborn in fleece thick enough to make the hair on my legs cringe in shame and defeat. Number two: idiot, bloody fool.. you fell for IT!!! He's in between a power struggle and the ass hasn't figured it out. Mother plays first card - move to the front., daughter in law complies, cannot stand her ground and refuse, she's young yet. Instead, plays flip flop, moans and whines and baldie mister-holding eskimo-guitar style falls for it. Round one goes to Wife. They file back to to the third row in stony silence.
I watch the tableau and cannot hide my smile. Thankfully I'm bewitched by the next occupants of the seat. Mother and child - eyes and dimples.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Two bricks short of a full load
Was reading a book yesterday and came across this sentence ' two bricks short of a full load' and was amused.. it stayed with me.. made me smile and ponder.. felt comfortable.. rolled it over in my head.. loved the sound of it on my tongue and the affinity I had for it was immense.
I suppose that's 'cos of the comfort factor I derive from.. feels familiar like someone.. somehow was describing your's truly and that someone would be my friends.. the ones I've grown with.
If they were asked to describe me, in very Mangalorean fashion they would say..' that one.. that is like that only.. two bricks.......... :-)'
I've recognised the fact that I love having a pet angst. If something does not bother me.. I feel empty. Is this a confessional..... ....I suppose. Since I do not believe in baring my soul to the priest.. hallelujiah Blogger!
Seriously though I need a bee in my bonnet. And it has to be the busiest, noisiest bee. The latest ofcourse is my battle with the bulge. When I think about it rationally, I'm like.. who cares about what the set standards of acceptable girth are. The rebel in me is up in arms.. But then again I do want to gel.. will wait for hubby's arrival and pester him with.. "i've put on weight huh".. hee hee... if there's anything that can trigger off a spate of disgusted, disgruntled and resigned volley to the oft repeated Q.. nothing beats this. Love to pester him.. must be that bee....
Oh and by the way.. you see.. after all I am two bricks short...
:-)
There.. i justified it..
Wicked!!
I suppose that's 'cos of the comfort factor I derive from.. feels familiar like someone.. somehow was describing your's truly and that someone would be my friends.. the ones I've grown with.
If they were asked to describe me, in very Mangalorean fashion they would say..' that one.. that is like that only.. two bricks.......... :-)'
I've recognised the fact that I love having a pet angst. If something does not bother me.. I feel empty. Is this a confessional..... ....I suppose. Since I do not believe in baring my soul to the priest.. hallelujiah Blogger!
Seriously though I need a bee in my bonnet. And it has to be the busiest, noisiest bee. The latest ofcourse is my battle with the bulge. When I think about it rationally, I'm like.. who cares about what the set standards of acceptable girth are. The rebel in me is up in arms.. But then again I do want to gel.. will wait for hubby's arrival and pester him with.. "i've put on weight huh".. hee hee... if there's anything that can trigger off a spate of disgusted, disgruntled and resigned volley to the oft repeated Q.. nothing beats this. Love to pester him.. must be that bee....
Oh and by the way.. you see.. after all I am two bricks short...
:-)
There.. i justified it..
Wicked!!
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