Teehee

The picture on my phone lock screen. Always makes me laugh! 😁

Am I weird, or am I wired?

So I was washing my face today, and like I’m sure everyone else does, whether weird or no, I had closed my eyes. And because my eyes didn’t have anything to do, my mind kicked into action, and I started thinking about how my face looked, and where the latest blemish is, etc. Then I tried to visualize my face, and in my mind I saw this face. In my mind, this was supposed to be my face. MINE! (Well actually, she’s a model, a celebrity cook, and she recently appeared in MasterChef Australia and cooked a yummy, fab cake, so probably my mind was trying to tell me something…) Anyway, my mind actually thinks this is what my face looks like.

And then, whenever I’m not humming or talking or eating, or thinking, I’m constantly saying “agar agar” in my head. (I recently heard that on MasterChef, and I can’t get it out of my head now. I actually think there’s too much MasterChef viewing in this house.) Anyhow, I reaally like the sound of it. You can try it yourself. Try saying “agar agar” in different tones. Not aloud, just in your head. Say it like you would say the letter ‘a’ while reciting the alphabet. Then gar. With a short a. Then say it again while draaagging the second ‘a’. ‘a-gaaaaar a-gaaaaar’. Then again, agarrrrr agarrrrr.’ ‘aaaagah aaaagah.’ ‘agaaah agaaah.’ etc. It’s a silent stress buster. Therapeutic. It’s silences your mind. Trust me.

In other news, my sister thinks if I have to be a tree, I’ll have to be a bonsai of a bonsai. (This coming from someone who’s about an inch and a half taller than me.) (I’m guessing she’ll just be a bonsai then.) So I’ll be Bonsai Bonsai and she’ll be Bonsai. Nice.

Wonder what kind of a tree I’ll be though. I’d really really love to be an Ashwatha tree, because that’s my most favorite tree in the whooole world, but I’m afraid it won’t really be in my hands, would it. Things like this are usually predestined, and I’ll just have to be whatever tree I’m assigned to be, I guess. (I really would love to be an Ashwatha tree though. My beautiful heart-shaped leaves swaying and dancing in the tiniest of breezes, little kids plucking my leaves to dry them between books, little known artists creating Krishna and Ganesha paintings on my dried leaves…)

I think as a reward, I’ve been blessed with an equally weird offspring. The other day, in a too-much-love-pouring-out-of-Mother-India moment, I bit her chubby soft cheeks and said, “I sure don’t want any artificial marshmallows. This marshmallow is enough for me for a lifetime. I’ll toast it nice and brown, put it into a bigggg mug of hot chocolate and drink it all up.” She thinks about it for a while, puts on her eww-that’s-disgusting face and says, “Amma, you don’t want to toast my cheeks. The brown parts of a toasted marshmallow is not nice. Very bitter. Yuck. You should eat it raw raw. That way you’ll get all of my cheeks.”

So.

Waiting room angst

Waiting waiting
So boring
When will the doc be coming?
Being this late is not him becoming
Patients are all so impatient getting
Long line rapidly build upping
If all of them be in huff off stalking
Doc’s business is to hell be going.
Sigh.
ing.

Note to Myself

Write everyday.Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday. Write everyday.

It’s not enough if you compose posts in your head and smugly think, “Oh, I’ll remember it when I’ve turned on the laptop, when I finish washing the dishes, when I come back from shopping, when this earthquake is done with or when the sky lifts itself up again.” Write when you have a post in your head. You are not 20 anymore that you have a photographic memory.

Write!

Tum tum te tum…

Oh the things I would do
If my tummy was flat!
I would wear my tees
And hide them keys.
I would eat lots chips
And shake my hips.
I would shimmy and wiggle
Without having my tum a-jiggle.
I’d pull on my low-waist jeans
And beat all my ill-fated genes!
I’d drink me some ale
And have those tales to regale.
I’d whine about my hair instead
And then go shampoo my head.
Oh all the things I would do
If only my tummy would just bid adieu!

Where Bataany slept by herself! Gasp!

“Amma, I’m going to sleep in ajji’s room with S tonight,” Bataany announced at dinnertime. “Yeah, right!” the Cruella de Vila mom in me whispered. Outwardly nonchalant, I said “Yeah of course! You both ought to do that. Such fun!”

“Let’s see how many minutes she lasts there,” I sniggered to A. And we both sniggered some more.

Time for bed. The mattresses were laid, pillows and blankets gathered from the room, soft toys arranged, and the three cousins proceeded to jump and laugh and horse around. Which went on and on and on. Finally the littlest one went off to bed with her parents and I warned the other two: “You both better go to sleep right away. I’m sleeping now. Don’t come running to me later to put you to bed!” Which obviously fell into deaf ears.

So I went to my room, closed the door, lay down on the bed, and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally the door opened. Yay! “Amma, I forgot to say goodnight to you! Goodnight amma! Goodnight bed! Goodnight cupboard! Goodnight stickers!” and off she ran out, as fast as she had come in.

“Better keep the door unlocked tonight. She’ll come running again in no time. Hehe,” we thought. And then I waited again. And waited. How could I sleep without her sturdy slim little legs on my tummy? Or her little fists under my neck? Or the perfume of her curls in my nose, or the softness of her cheeks against mine? And I slowly drifted off to sleep, still secretly hoping she WILL come running to amma.

In the morning, there was no Bataany next to me, and the door was still closed. Did that mean she slept without her amma’s lullabies? Without me patting her? Nooo it’s too early for her to do that, she’s still too young! I can’t let go of her yet! Has my baby flown the nest? Gasp!! Does that mean she doesn’t need me anymore? Have I become redundant??

Melodrama done with, I go to ajji’s room to check on the girls. How peaceful she looked, long lashes resting on her perfect round cheeks. With the elephant sitting next to her. And then I sat there sniffling next to her and watched her breathe in and out, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was it. Did she discover the sweet taste of independence?

“And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave…”

Oh, to let go. To let things be. To things that weren’t and things that haven’t. To not be where I’m not supposed to be. To dream and not worry about practicalities. To forgive without bitterness. To do nothing. To think nothing. To be nothing. To be no one. To disappear. To throw away that umbrella and let the rain cleanse. To not hurt. To right the wrongs. To laugh. To cry. To not cry. To mourn. To remember. Always remember. To forget.

Oh, just to forget.

me me me.

I’m not myself today
which is not the way I want to be
I don’t want to be anybody else
I like me
the dysfunctional me
thank you very much
so shoo.
go away somebody else person
and let me be my mad self again.

Gloomy Days and Rainy Mornings

Days like this. Days when the nights are short and rained over and mornings are gloomy and cold, and dark clouds are pregnant with the promise of more rain. Mornings when I try to wake her up for school and she stirs without a murmur, without complaint. When she silently lets me carry her to the bathroom, eyes closed, reluctant to let sleep slip away, still not complaining. When she lets me brush her teeth, still silent, eyes still closed. When she finally whispers, “Don’t wash my eyes, amma, don’t send away my sleep, it’s very nice to close my eyes and think I’m still sleeping.” It’s on days like this when I never want to let her go, when I want to bundle her up, all slim legs and arms with hints of elbow and knee dimples, all mop of curly hair and dimpled chin and super soft tummy, bundle her up in the warmest, softest blanket and put her right back inside my tummy and keep her there in that cocoon, safe forever. My baby.

Psst: Does anyone think there’s any chance this reverse psychology here might work?

Blessed sunlight!

We, the puny earthlings, are overwhelmed by your blessings and (over)prosperity and (over)abundance of love in this humble planet. Us mere mortals are in awe of your strength and capacity to keep shining down on us ceaselessly, tirelessly, relentlessly, and all other lessly.

Have you noticed, revered sunlight, there’s the smell of this rain in the air. Pesky rain! How dare it even think of overriding your constant, unending blessings and even dare to think that we’d welcome it here on this brown, dry, warmest of warm earth?? How dare it take the liberty of taunting us mere earthlings with its tantalizing (or so it thinks. Hah!) smell of water, and coolness and romance and life. How dare it even think that us humblest of humble earthlings are open to taunting!

Forget that pesky rain, blessed sunshine. Please keep blessing us with your unending love for us. We are just dying, DYING I say, to continue receiving your benevolence, your eternal light, your life-giving (not to say life-taking) love, and of course, the much-talked about blessings.

Only, do you think you might just, just bless us a little less?

Hello world!

So, like I was agreeing with my sister the today, I thank God everyday that I still have my humor intact. In addition to my biting sarcasm. Which usually only comes right back and bites me in my ass anyway.

What better way to let out all the sarcasm that’s borning inside me than to give birth to it, let it out into the world and watch the fun? Heh.

And so, here goes.