Thursday, July 23, 2009
10.10 a.m :I am so so late for a 10 a.m. meeting – everything that could have gone wrong, WENT wrong… Murphy lives !
I am therefore in my bath, when the cell first rings ‘Where are you, Jane?’
“On my way”
Nik starts howling.
‘What is that noise?’ asks the office voice
“That’s the traffic policeman. Can’t talk. Bye”
10.25 : Make it somehow to the car.
Yeooooww – forgot the stupid car key.
Run up the stairs.
Get into the car. Forgot the stupid cell phone.
Run up the stairs..
Cell rings “Where ARE you, Jane?”
“Bad traffic. Baaaad traffic. Traffic jammed for miles.”
Neighbour on stairs “Hi, still here today?”
Office Voice : “Who was that?”
Me : “Radio – radio FM”
10.45 : Now truly stuck in the dratted traffic jam.
Cell rings “Where are you NOW? Client’s waiting.”
“Reached. Parking. Be there in 5 mins.”
5 minutes later : Office voice :”Where are you now?” (I think they’ve got an automated voice response to keep saying this – it sounds like Arnold Schwazznegger )
“Can’t find parking. There in 2 mins”
Reach the office 1 hour 7 ½ minutes late. Rush into meeting.
Furious looking office person (owner of the Office Voice) and grumpy looking client.
“So Sorry! Am I late?
So – Where are We now? “ (hah ! Revenge on the Automated Office Voice).
Learning : I have made and heard excuses of every species : Rained, Flooded, Caught by police, Kid (Dog/ Fish/ Spouse) fell ill, I fell ill (should be accompanied by violent sneezes), forgot the way, forgot the date, forgot who I am (should be accompanied by bump on the head)…. Gonna write a book on them some day – Got any real winners, anyone? Maids have the best ones, I think though, going by the number of times they kill off a number of grandmothers.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Me : Omigosh, I’ve been gone 5 minutes. Who broke my long-stemmed vase?
Neel : Not me.
Niks : Not me.
Marco polo does not even shake a guilty tail.
The maid is cleaning under the sofa – under – understand – that’s a side of the sofa that has never seen a broom in its life, and is getting a persecution complex at the sight of one.
The cook is seriously buried in churning out something no one will eat. (Neel : Not me, Nik : Not me)
S is buried in a mallu flick, paying more attention to the woman shrieking on TV, than the woman shrieking off it.
Ma is playing the keyboard to drown out the screams of the dying vase. And those of her living daughter.
No one entered the house. The door is locked from inside. Hercule Poirot/ Mr Holmes, where are you?
Elementary, my dear watsits, the vase jumped up out of depression at being in a see-through garment all its life, and committed suicide! Any other theories anyone? Any IDEAS, huh?
Neel : Not me
Niks : Not me
Learning : The same mystery occurred when my keys got lost (and were found in the washing machine), when S’ specs were bent backwards, and when my perfume bottle was emptied into the dog basket. Any insider insights or ghost busters are welcome !
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
But it did matter to him, didn’t it? He went under multiple knives, and even more media twitter to become white, he married white women and had white children.
White. Thin. Rich. Cool.
Who sets the ‘happening’ labels ? Some fashionista in the sky? A blue-eyed god? Not likely. Centuries of white dominators?
And when do the opposite words become weapons?
Walking past the playground, I overheard “No, you can’t sit on that. You’re too fat.” A dreaded label which that little girl is going to try all her life to shake off.
Here instead are some totally cool labels I’d like to see (inspired again by my favourite beings : kids n animals)
“Butt-scented” : Notice how dogs make an impression on other dogs by sniffing their butts? As in : “Whoa, she’s cute!!! Her butt stinks from a few blocks away!”
“Stung Stud” : Neel : Mama, That tall boy’s really cool. He got stung by a bee 3 TIMES !!!”
“Lice Mate” : As in monkeys – “She’s the best thing to happen to me – She and I – we spend whole mornings just picking each other’s lice – My Lice-Mate till I die….” (sung to the tune of Yaadon ki Baarat. )
“Spit Chief” : I know for sure that the coolest kid among the 5 year olds is he who blows the biggest spit bubble.
No one’s bothered in the dog kingdom whether you look like a million dollars or earn it. The only label they ever stick on you is “Good tummy rubber” or “World’ best cook” (finally - someone thinks I am !)
Anyways, I sat through bits of Jacko’s funeral today, and through the tears, heard various people call him the “Greatest Entertainer of all Time”, “a loving Dad”, “ a fantastic human being”.
All politically correct, added-sugar, take-in-small-doses labels.
No one called him Black.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
So my doc tells me I’m stressed. (I have paid her a hugely stressful amount to tell me this). This is my list of how to bust the stress.
1) Breathe in and out.
Situation : Annoying person cuts in front of you in queue.
Action : Breathe in and OUT into his face. (preferably after eating garlic). Annoying person either passes out, or starts a fight, in which case, you are justified to smash him to pulp.
This is very relaxing I am told, but it didn’t work for me, for the following reason.
Yoga involves twisting your body into impossible angles, while thinking all the time of whether you have switched off the gas, or even worse, whether you will ever be able to untwist your body – and if not, how will you drive your car home?
3) Make me-time
This is the King of Wishful Thinking. The last time I wanted to go with my girlfriends for a drink, this is how it went. I had to iron my white shirt last minute, feed niks in a hurry, who then threw up over the white shirt, iron the black dress last minute, the dog ran away with it straight after, iron my red shirt last minute and find a huge iron burn in it, because I went to answer the phone,(which was S saying he’s stuck in traffic), then wear something un-ironed, which made my butt look too big, and not have time with all the ironing to wash out my hair which I had oiled with egg yolk, and have my 5 year old choose that moment to try out cross-dressing and break the high heel I had kept out to wear, and finally call my friends to say I can’t make it, because I want to use my “me time” to sit and howl.
4) Organise your life.
Ha HAAA. I am the kind who keeps all my bills in a shoebox. I am the kind who never pays these bills till they are overdue and my various phone and power connections have been cut off. I am the kind who gets pre-traumatic disorder when tax returns, insurance policies and other various things with drunk, dancing numbers – have to be organised. I wish we could go back to the barter system. You give me a bar of chocolate, and I will give you a branded black dress that my dog ran away with, and did undescribable acts with.
I am never gonna be stress-free, am I? But you are welcome to try and help me – by sending me your proven stress-busting tips. I promise to keep them carefully in my shoebox.