Why is it that you will be one of the very lucky few who will find that one soul sister aka best friend aka besty aka go to person at all times....
and
she will live at the other end of the world from you, separated by some various oceans whose names you don't even remember, by a 27 hr long flight, by completely different time zones by which I mean, her night, your day kind of different time zones.
And if you're lucky you will see her for a what will seem like very short 15- 20 days every three years.
And you will constantly wait for her sun to rise while yours sets to be able to pour your heart out to her because she is your go to person. Living at the other end of the world?
Why?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Observations of the Why Why girl.
Why is it that you will have a month of absolute peace and stability , bordering even on the edge of boredom and you will begin to question the presence of excitement in your life.
And then within a week, A pipe will break in the washroom, flood the house, leading to inconvenient repairs in the house, you will suddenly be given a whole lot of work with the deadline being yesterday, your child will fall sick and be difficult, you will PMS and how, dandruff will surface, along with her friend, the pimple, bloating will happen and clothes will not fit. All at once.
And then within a week, A pipe will break in the washroom, flood the house, leading to inconvenient repairs in the house, you will suddenly be given a whole lot of work with the deadline being yesterday, your child will fall sick and be difficult, you will PMS and how, dandruff will surface, along with her friend, the pimple, bloating will happen and clothes will not fit. All at once.
Monday, August 16, 2010
I have a dark sinister secret
Caught your attention, didn't it? It did. That's what secrets do. They have an allure. A pull.
First the word. Secret. I like. It's one of those words that I think was well thought of. By whomsoever it was that thought of the words. Unlike table. For some reason, I think (and it is my own personal opinion) that a table could have been called something else. More thought and more editing might have gone into that.
But secret- that came out just right. The word to the meaning- it fit.
Secret has it's own distinct sound. In my mind, its a whisper.
Secret has a life span. And it varies. Short, long and eternal.
Secret definitely has a life. And a very exciting one at that.
Personality? Now we're talking. Dark, alluring, mystical, devious, happy, joyful.
And power. To make. To break. To resolve. To hurt. To elate. To banish. To reveal. To hide.
It can definitely be seductive. Or ugly. Dangerous. Sinister. Or beautiful.
Everyone has one. Or more. But, one, at the minimum.
And the coolest thing about a secret. It finds its space. A nook. A corner. A brain cell. A thought. In your system. Heart or mind. And stays there. Safe. As it should.
And it demands to be well kept. Because it knows that if it isn't, then it will cease to exist. It will no longer be that. A secret.
First the word. Secret. I like. It's one of those words that I think was well thought of. By whomsoever it was that thought of the words. Unlike table. For some reason, I think (and it is my own personal opinion) that a table could have been called something else. More thought and more editing might have gone into that.
But secret- that came out just right. The word to the meaning- it fit.
Secret has it's own distinct sound. In my mind, its a whisper.
Secret has a life span. And it varies. Short, long and eternal.
Secret definitely has a life. And a very exciting one at that.
Personality? Now we're talking. Dark, alluring, mystical, devious, happy, joyful.
And power. To make. To break. To resolve. To hurt. To elate. To banish. To reveal. To hide.
It can definitely be seductive. Or ugly. Dangerous. Sinister. Or beautiful.
Everyone has one. Or more. But, one, at the minimum.
And the coolest thing about a secret. It finds its space. A nook. A corner. A brain cell. A thought. In your system. Heart or mind. And stays there. Safe. As it should.
And it demands to be well kept. Because it knows that if it isn't, then it will cease to exist. It will no longer be that. A secret.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Observations of the Why Why girl.
Why is it that when a mother changes the millionth (or at least what it feels like) diaper, she's only just being a mom?
But let the dad get his hands on one and the whole room gushes what an absolutely amazing dad he is?
Why?
But let the dad get his hands on one and the whole room gushes what an absolutely amazing dad he is?
Why?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The thoughts that are thought
Think of all the thoughts we think.
Good thoughts. Bad thoughts. Nice thoughts. And naughty thoughts.
Happy thoughts. That make us smile. Sad thoughts. That rather not
be thought.
A thought that's private. A thought that is shared.
Crazy, insane thoughts. Rational, sensible thoughts. Calm, peaceful thoughts. Anxious thoughts.
Thoughts that are born. Thoughts that are inspired. Borrowed thoughts.
Fleeting thoughts that come and go. Thoughts that linger. And breed more thoughts.
A single thought. A chain of thoughts.
Clear thoughts, of a sound mind. Confused thoughts of an irrational one.
Thoughts of love. Thoughts of family. And friends. Thoughts of strangers.
Remnant thoughts of the past. Thoughts of the here and now. Thought that think into the future.
Thoughts that turn into dreams. And fantasies. Thoughts that turn into a creation. Or thoughts that destruct.
Thoughts of great minds. Of artists on canvases. Of poets in poetry. Thoughts through films. Orations and books that translate thoughts.
And then the everyday thoughts of the ordinary man. And woman. And child.
The thought that are thought.
Like this one. A thought about thought.
Good thoughts. Bad thoughts. Nice thoughts. And naughty thoughts.
Happy thoughts. That make us smile. Sad thoughts. That rather not
be thought.
A thought that's private. A thought that is shared.
Crazy, insane thoughts. Rational, sensible thoughts. Calm, peaceful thoughts. Anxious thoughts.
Thoughts that are born. Thoughts that are inspired. Borrowed thoughts.
Fleeting thoughts that come and go. Thoughts that linger. And breed more thoughts.
A single thought. A chain of thoughts.
Clear thoughts, of a sound mind. Confused thoughts of an irrational one.
Thoughts of love. Thoughts of family. And friends. Thoughts of strangers.
Remnant thoughts of the past. Thoughts of the here and now. Thought that think into the future.
Thoughts that turn into dreams. And fantasies. Thoughts that turn into a creation. Or thoughts that destruct.
Thoughts of great minds. Of artists on canvases. Of poets in poetry. Thoughts through films. Orations and books that translate thoughts.
And then the everyday thoughts of the ordinary man. And woman. And child.
The thought that are thought.
Like this one. A thought about thought.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
kookie mookie shookie koo
Mama ka koochie poochie. Goo goo gaa gaa shee. Bad googy hup. soni moni. Alle alle baby choochie choo. Cutie patootie too. alle alle sonie monie tootie pootise poo. poo poo. No poo poo. baby did pee. sona mona baby. doodlie doo. such a sonie monie. chotru potru .
There's English. and Spanish. Mandarin. Russian. Canotnese. french.
And then there's baby talk.
No grammar. No rules. Phonetics, bah. It just comes naturally when you're talking to a baby who has not yet been inroduced to the complicated rules of language. It comes freely. And well understood and recieved in spasms of delight by recipient.
And I if it inspired doo doo doo, da da da, is all I want to say to you.
There's English. and Spanish. Mandarin. Russian. Canotnese. french.
And then there's baby talk.
No grammar. No rules. Phonetics, bah. It just comes naturally when you're talking to a baby who has not yet been inroduced to the complicated rules of language. It comes freely. And well understood and recieved in spasms of delight by recipient.
And I if it inspired doo doo doo, da da da, is all I want to say to you.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Uncleji that sold bras
Flash back to school days. When mothers always took it upon themselves, at least mine did, to make an expedition out of buying bras for her daughter. And my mother believed that the best kind of bras were the the functional, sturdy, white cotton bras. And that the best place to buy these best bras was Indraprastha lingerie store at CP.
In- dra- prastha. Indraprastha. Indra- prastha. No matter how you say it, Indraprastha does not invoke lingerie. Nor sexy, nor lacy.
Say Indra- prastha. Now say, Victoria's secrets. Or La Senza. Now say Indraprastha again. You get the drift.
And the icing on the cake that was Indraprastha, was the bra selling Uncleji in Indraprastha.
Rotund, bald, pant suit wearing Uncleji. The undisputed king of the bra counter. No pantie or sock selling for this Uncleji. Nooooo, let the ladies handle that counter. This gent handles the bras.
Uncleji- the star salesman. With years of expertise in selling bras. Uncleji with the balding head, which he frequently rubbed. And a beer belly which he rubbed on occasion.
Uncleji with a very loud voice. The very loud voice with which he which he announced to everyone in the store and outside- haanji madam, bitiya ke liye brassiers?
And then in that loud voice, he yelled to mysterious man in a mysterious loft in the ceiling of the store that stored all the white cotton sturdy functional bras " Oye Chotu, ek 34 B dena."
Mysterious chotu in the mysterious loft would then throw down various boxes of bras in 34 B.
Cut to Uncleji. Who would then then with a swoop of his head and belly caressing hands, take the bras out of those boxes and hold them up for everyone to see. And for some strange reason , once again announce your bra size for everyone in the store and outside the store. 34 B.
And because that was not excruciating enough, Uncleji would procees to loudly announce the benefits of the above mentioned bra. Very strong, madam. Comfortable. Very beautiful. yeh detail dekhiye madam.
Acha, biitiya, abhi try kar ke aao. ....
Meanwhile, Bitiya (me) was pretending to not hear him. In fact , pretending that he does not exist. In fact, pretending that she did not exist. And that she was not currently engaged in a discussion about a bra with a rotund, beer belly rubbing Uncleji who was explaining to her that this bra is very strong.
And if that is not excruciating enough, Uncleji sizes me up. Take note now, that I am not buying shoes here. So when Uncleji sizes me up, yup, he sizes me up. One thing I'll grant him , he does it professionally. Not seedy, not cheesy. "Bitiya, aap yeh 36 C bhi try kar lo."
And then proceeds to loudly announce to mysterious man in loft and all bystanders in CP that I might , in his opinion be a 36 C. Oye chotu, ek 36 C dena.
So then I proceed to the fitting room. I can still hear Uncleji having a conversation with my mom about the benefits of the bra. I stay in the fitting room for a very long time. If I could have styed there forever, I would have.
But I couldn't have so, I walk out and Uncleji asks me if the bra fit well. And really if there was a moment when the earth should have opened up and swallowed me, that was it. Because then I would not have had to have a conversation with my eager mom and eager Unlceji about how the bra fit and how I was indeed a 34 B and Uncleji responded to say he was surprised because his assessment was still that I was a 36 C. I pretty much blanked out after that.
Next thing I remember was my mom was happy.Our bra buying expedition had been successful. Uncleji was happy. He was indeed the superstar salesman. I am sure mysterious Chotu in the loft was happy. Another random Uncleji in one corner of the store seemed happy. I have no idea why.
Me, I had added two more white, cotton, strong, sturdy bras to my bra collection. My bra collection from Indraprastha.
And I was pretty much contemplating joining the burn the bra movement.
In- dra- prastha. Indraprastha. Indra- prastha. No matter how you say it, Indraprastha does not invoke lingerie. Nor sexy, nor lacy.
Say Indra- prastha. Now say, Victoria's secrets. Or La Senza. Now say Indraprastha again. You get the drift.
And the icing on the cake that was Indraprastha, was the bra selling Uncleji in Indraprastha.
Rotund, bald, pant suit wearing Uncleji. The undisputed king of the bra counter. No pantie or sock selling for this Uncleji. Nooooo, let the ladies handle that counter. This gent handles the bras.
Uncleji- the star salesman. With years of expertise in selling bras. Uncleji with the balding head, which he frequently rubbed. And a beer belly which he rubbed on occasion.
Uncleji with a very loud voice. The very loud voice with which he which he announced to everyone in the store and outside- haanji madam, bitiya ke liye brassiers?
And then in that loud voice, he yelled to mysterious man in a mysterious loft in the ceiling of the store that stored all the white cotton sturdy functional bras " Oye Chotu, ek 34 B dena."
Mysterious chotu in the mysterious loft would then throw down various boxes of bras in 34 B.
Cut to Uncleji. Who would then then with a swoop of his head and belly caressing hands, take the bras out of those boxes and hold them up for everyone to see. And for some strange reason , once again announce your bra size for everyone in the store and outside the store. 34 B.
And because that was not excruciating enough, Uncleji would procees to loudly announce the benefits of the above mentioned bra. Very strong, madam. Comfortable. Very beautiful. yeh detail dekhiye madam.
Acha, biitiya, abhi try kar ke aao. ....
Meanwhile, Bitiya (me) was pretending to not hear him. In fact , pretending that he does not exist. In fact, pretending that she did not exist. And that she was not currently engaged in a discussion about a bra with a rotund, beer belly rubbing Uncleji who was explaining to her that this bra is very strong.
And if that is not excruciating enough, Uncleji sizes me up. Take note now, that I am not buying shoes here. So when Uncleji sizes me up, yup, he sizes me up. One thing I'll grant him , he does it professionally. Not seedy, not cheesy. "Bitiya, aap yeh 36 C bhi try kar lo."
And then proceeds to loudly announce to mysterious man in loft and all bystanders in CP that I might , in his opinion be a 36 C. Oye chotu, ek 36 C dena.
So then I proceed to the fitting room. I can still hear Uncleji having a conversation with my mom about the benefits of the bra. I stay in the fitting room for a very long time. If I could have styed there forever, I would have.
But I couldn't have so, I walk out and Uncleji asks me if the bra fit well. And really if there was a moment when the earth should have opened up and swallowed me, that was it. Because then I would not have had to have a conversation with my eager mom and eager Unlceji about how the bra fit and how I was indeed a 34 B and Uncleji responded to say he was surprised because his assessment was still that I was a 36 C. I pretty much blanked out after that.
Next thing I remember was my mom was happy.Our bra buying expedition had been successful. Uncleji was happy. He was indeed the superstar salesman. I am sure mysterious Chotu in the loft was happy. Another random Uncleji in one corner of the store seemed happy. I have no idea why.
Me, I had added two more white, cotton, strong, sturdy bras to my bra collection. My bra collection from Indraprastha.
And I was pretty much contemplating joining the burn the bra movement.
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