Child with eyes like black pools

Last nite I dreamt of a little child. With tiny fingers that curled around one of mine. Black hair, and eyes, limpid pools of black.

There was no deep ache in my gut, that signified she was mine. But the way I barked at my mother, when she told me how to apply “Johnson’s Baby Oil”, told me that she was. :-D

It was a strange dream, as I have never been particularly a “baby-person”.

I wonder what it all meant...

In praise of idleness

Spent a lovely week, culminating with the 31st of this year, at my aunt’s place.

It is a lovely place in Whitefield, so much more a haven than “just a house”. With verdant gardens, and lily pools where goldfish frolic. A little turtle pokes his head out from the fronds and enjoys the morning sun. A catfish called Mao (only the Bongs will understand the joke, I think) who swims out to the surface when his name is called, and gobbles up the fish food. I think he is the only “pet” fish that I know of.

I spend the days in relaxed bliss, being looked after, chatting to Dida. The only blips on my radar are the loads of office work, and the daily commute to the city centre.

I wake up in the morning, and coffee appears magically by my side, whenever I stumble downstairs, groggy and half-asleep.

Meandering out into the garden, I collapse on a reclining chair, soaking in the sun. Dida sits by me, and discuss all and any random topic. She thinks I know everything. HAH!! I know zilch, as I tell her, I only know how to say what I know, in a convincing manner. I suspect it’s a genetic flair, got from a late grandfather of mine. At any rate, she loves hearing me speak. :-D

With my own Didubhai, as I used to call my late Gran, I didn’t spend as much quality time with her, as I could have. I was growing up and she was too slow for the pace, I felt back then, for me to slow down, and hold her hand for awhile. Now that she is gone, and I miss her fiercely, and I regret all those moments, wasted, vanished.

So now, I am softer, gentler with the Grans I have left, cherishing the time I spend with them. I think, I hope, that Dida enjoys my company.

Light and dark

In the light, I’m strong, invincible…I know no fear, no boundaries. I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, often for others’ too.

It’s only when it is dark, that the insecurities creep up my spine. I doubt, I wonder, I’m no Superwoman.

Sometimes, in the twilight hours, my pillow comes away wet.

Woman overboard

I bought and I bought and I bought… tons and tons of books, in November. I think I went to town, telling myself it was all valid since I hadn’t bought anything for a long long time. Am happily ploughing through the lot, right now. Winter is the perfect season for curling up with a book, snug under blankets, steaming hot coffee and some munchies by one’s side.

The list:

Jonathan Stroud: The Bartimeous Trilogy (BRILLIANT read, but more about that later)
The Amulet of Samarkand
Golem’s Eye
Ptolemy’s Gate

Bill Watterson: The Authoritative Calvin and Hobbes. This marks my 8th C&H till date.. slow and steady buying.

Asterix comics I had left.. this completes my collections (O Happy Day)
Obelix and Co.
Asterix and the Class Act: this one’s a compilation of 14 short stories.

6 Enid Blytons (don’t laugh).. Bought the mystery series…a favorite of my childhood, my friend bought some others. We both discovered we have moms who threw out (i.e., gave away to random people) our books, when they thought we had outgrown them. Which we might have, but there is something very comforting to settle down with those books once in a while, and invite old memories in :)

2 Chetan Bhagat’: I know he is being touted as something mind boggling, but found both books okie. Good flow of writing, witty and fast. But quite forgettable, really. Feel free to disagree with me :)
5-Point Someone
One night at the Call Centre

Louis Theroux: Call of the Weird. All about alternative societies, aka people who believe in aliens, people of the red light areas, people who are Ku-Klux-Gang members. Very interesting read, in a whole new perspective.

Salman Rushdie: Shalimar the Clown

Allan Sealy: The Trotter-Nama. Had read it ages ago, loveod oit, now got it for my own.

Kiran Desai: The Inheritance of Loss

Bulbul Sharma: Stories from a Himalayan Village. Lovely, gentle.. reminds me of the multiple holidays I have spent growing up, in different Himalayan villages

Best Women’s Travel Writing: a collection of lovely prose, by women all over the world, traveling all over the world.

3 Georgette Heyer. Her mystery/murder set. Who would have thought a lady who wrote about Victorian romance, could pen intrigue, with such flair.

..And how the west was won..

As mentioned, was in a really bad mood with the way the party got hijacked. Also, to add to our frustrations, the mails kept coming in, saying “sorry, can’t make it”. And the exasperating thing was that they were coming in from the nice people (yes, I’m prejudiced, so what!!). The irritating elements were still in full swing to attend.

If that wasn’t enough, the Sec went ahead, booked buffets and god knows what, where we “had” to pay up thousand bucks, no matter what, etc etc. no wonder, we were all smouldering.

So, we put our plans into action.

1st, we had to find out who all were coming finally. Sent around the sweetest girl to tell them about high prices (that was true). So she smiled nicely at them, said “so ur not coming, right” and marched back before they got over their bafflement and could protest otherwise.

2nd, we sent out a mail to all, saying the party was cancelled, due to random reasons.

3rd, called the admin people, who had hijacked our party in the first place, saying that it was cancelled, please “un” book the tables, etc.

I’m going into politics soon..


Mood – gleeful, chortling