It's interesting to go out for a smoke break with two of the guys at work, even though you don't really smoke.
One of them - let's call him S, is trying to quit and is carrying that cool electronic cigarette that is mint-flavored and blows fake smoke. The other A ( of previous foot-in-mouth fame) is not trying to quit.
Post lunch, I am for some reason carrying some fruit I do not want any more, and ask A to hold it for me. I take a drag from A's cigarette just as two other smoking strangers walk out into the stairwell. They are not used to my presence, but are familiar with the other two.
One of the guys asks S for a light.
S tries to oblige, bending forward to light up the other guys' cigarette, but then realizes that his fake electronic cigarette is not up to the task. It's a bit of a foolish thing to do, but it's funny.
They laugh a bit, and then S indicates that A should light the man's cigarette.
That's when they all look at the fruit item between A's fingers, balanced delicately exactly as if it were a cigarette that he's been nursing.
A sputters and tries to explain as they all look at him askance, and tries to disown the banana.
But it's too late.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Y's Thought For the Day
It's fun hearing the guys at work describe a poker session they had without you last week; and then asking them sincere questions about it, only spontaneously adding the word 'strip' ahead of the 'poker' ; and then watching them look askance at each other and sputter in righteous indignation about how it was ONLY poker.
Note: I have decided to regale you all with little pearls of Y-dom from now on. I will make up in frequency what I lack in depth. It's kind of like micro-blogging. It's also kind of like laziness. Rejoice!
Note: I have decided to regale you all with little pearls of Y-dom from now on. I will make up in frequency what I lack in depth. It's kind of like micro-blogging. It's also kind of like laziness. Rejoice!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Unforgivable Boo-boo
There's a young man in my office. For the sake of anonymity, let's just call him - oh, I don't know, A.
A is a simple young man who sometimes says very dumb things.
Over the lunch table yesterday, we were having a random discussion, and the topic somehow came to how one particular person - (let's call him X, just for variety) - has joined the gym at the Office just to be close to and impress one other gym goer ( let's call her Gamma, for some more variety).
We were all laughing at X for being so obvious about his crush on Gamma, when it came to light that quite a few people have a crush on Gamma, and that she is considered to be what some might term 'Hot Stuff' amongst the males in the Office.
A looks up at this point and says to me 'You think she's hot?'
'Me?' I am surprised that this question is directed at me 'I guess she's kind of pretty, sure'.
A makes a scornful face and says 'I hardly think so. But these guys are desperate to find some goodlooking girl in office. I suppose it's a case of 'Andho mein Kaana Raja'. And...'
He stops when he sees me staring at him.
He starts to explain 'Andho mein Kaana Raja, Y, means that...'
I snap at him 'I KNOW what it means. And you just insulted every girl in the office. Zee!!' I turn to the nearest female member of my team 'Did you hear what he just said? Andho mein Kaana Raaja! He thinks we're all UGLY'
A panics when he sees that several women have stopped chewing their food and gossiping to direct malignant stares at him 'No, NO. That's not what I meant! I mean...you know...' He gives up and gawks helplessly for a while, a pleading look in his eyes.
It is the sort of look that clearly says 'Oh dear Mother Earth, please open up and swallow me now'.
I give him my most dangerous narrow eyed look until he blubbers and comes up with ' What I meant to say was...Andho mein Kaana Raja-S...as in the plural!'
'WHAT?' Zee and me say together. 'What does that even mean'.
'As in' A gains confidence ' YOU guys also fall in that category...so it's not her alone...it's the lot of you, really'.
We are mollified for only about a millionth of a second, until we figure out what has just been said to us.
Cries break out of ...'That's an even BIGGER insult! You're saying that WE are Kaana Rajas?'....'So net-net, only if someone is desperate, they will find us good-looking?'
Someone ( male) pipes in merrily with 'One eyed beauties, eh, A?' while the rest of us carry on haranguing the young man who already looks distinctly older, if not wiser.
I promise A that I will post about this little faux-pas.
I will now go and explain it to him. 'Faux-pas, A, means a little bit of an oopsy...'
A is a simple young man who sometimes says very dumb things.
Over the lunch table yesterday, we were having a random discussion, and the topic somehow came to how one particular person - (let's call him X, just for variety) - has joined the gym at the Office just to be close to and impress one other gym goer ( let's call her Gamma, for some more variety).
We were all laughing at X for being so obvious about his crush on Gamma, when it came to light that quite a few people have a crush on Gamma, and that she is considered to be what some might term 'Hot Stuff' amongst the males in the Office.
A looks up at this point and says to me 'You think she's hot?'
'Me?' I am surprised that this question is directed at me 'I guess she's kind of pretty, sure'.
A makes a scornful face and says 'I hardly think so. But these guys are desperate to find some goodlooking girl in office. I suppose it's a case of 'Andho mein Kaana Raja'. And...'
He stops when he sees me staring at him.
He starts to explain 'Andho mein Kaana Raja, Y, means that...'
I snap at him 'I KNOW what it means. And you just insulted every girl in the office. Zee!!' I turn to the nearest female member of my team 'Did you hear what he just said? Andho mein Kaana Raaja! He thinks we're all UGLY'
A panics when he sees that several women have stopped chewing their food and gossiping to direct malignant stares at him 'No, NO. That's not what I meant! I mean...you know...' He gives up and gawks helplessly for a while, a pleading look in his eyes.
It is the sort of look that clearly says 'Oh dear Mother Earth, please open up and swallow me now'.
I give him my most dangerous narrow eyed look until he blubbers and comes up with ' What I meant to say was...Andho mein Kaana Raja-S...as in the plural!'
'WHAT?' Zee and me say together. 'What does that even mean'.
'As in' A gains confidence ' YOU guys also fall in that category...so it's not her alone...it's the lot of you, really'.
We are mollified for only about a millionth of a second, until we figure out what has just been said to us.
Cries break out of ...'That's an even BIGGER insult! You're saying that WE are Kaana Rajas?'....'So net-net, only if someone is desperate, they will find us good-looking?'
Someone ( male) pipes in merrily with 'One eyed beauties, eh, A?' while the rest of us carry on haranguing the young man who already looks distinctly older, if not wiser.
I promise A that I will post about this little faux-pas.
I will now go and explain it to him. 'Faux-pas, A, means a little bit of an oopsy...'
Friday, September 9, 2011
The Physicality Of It All
...days like these when I am just so tired, I'm not really thinking, but just registering the physicality of it all.
The pushing myself up eleven flights of stairs out of sheer habit and the knowledge it's the only exercise I'll get today.
The hot coffee that practically burns my tongue but props me up for the first few hours of the day. The aching muscles in my neck and shoulders, and the exhaustion that creeps in after lunch hour, reminding me again of the fact that I'm sleeping far less than I should be.
And then the dizzy spell that hits me as I'm climbing up the steps to my home towards my kids.
The way that the kids crowd around my legs - the twins insisting upon being carried, an impossible task beyond a few seconds.
I feed them one by one - Pickle bites me viciously and I cry out in pain. He thinks it's funny and breaks into impossibly cute peals of laughter. He bites me again.
And eventually I give up and lie down on the floor in surrender. Peanut takes the opportunity to come and lie down next to me, and starts imitating the twins. Blowing raspberries on my tummy. She thinks it's funny. After about the twentieth time, I'm not laughing, but she doesn't stop. She pokes my belly-button and tells me that I'm 'the best'.
Pickle and Papad take the opportunity to fall on top of me repeatedly, almost banging their heads against each other every few minutes. Despite how tired I am, I try to energize myself with a few floor exercises - leg lifts and some Yoga. The leg lifts, they do not appreciate, and push my legs down whenever I lift them. I turn around to lie flat on my tummy and try the Bhujangasana, but Papad takes great offense to this pose, and starts to pull my hair. He does it so hard that tears come into my eyes, but I'm too tired to actually get up. I try in vain to do a few more exercises, but none of it works.
As they fall on me, twisting their limbs uncaringly, trusting that I will somehow catch them in the nick of time and save them from hitting their heads on the floor -which somehow, with some motherly instinct, I do each time - I can feel their smooth cheeks, their soft hair, and smell their sweet baby breaths.
I watch as they momentarily lose interest in me and climb the sofas, climb the chairs, climb the railings, attempt to electrocute themselves by sticking their fingers into sockets, open cupboards to take out and eat CDs, throw their toys on the floor, fight over balls and bottles, hit each other with their plastic bats, pull each others' hair - while Peanut perches on the dining table like a little Princess and does her drawings. I am still exhausted, lying prone on the floor, and my two maids leap into action, saving the twins from each other and themselves. I thank my lucky stars again that I have such help, but feel really sorry because I realise how tired they must be after a full day of this, and I feel bad that I'm so tired myself that I'm really unable to help out just now. I feel so sick and I wish Vijay wasn't so late coming home today. Two hours have already passed by now, and it's been a crazy, impossible, fun and exhausting two hours with three children.
I wonder how long I'm going to be able to keep this up. Perhaps it's the fact that I am no longer as young as I used to be - after all, I'm in my thirties now. But between work, the children, and lack of sleep, it all feels like it's a little too much and I am very very grateful for the fact that there is a two day weekend coming up. Heavenly. My entire body already aches for the extra sleep that the Saturday and Sunday will bring.
And then the bell rings, interrupting my contemplative reverie. All three children promptly run towards the door and in walks my six feet two Vijay. It is eight p.m. and the two of us stare at each other - he grins at me but I am not amused by his lateness and have no sympathy for his extended meeting. The twins are now crowded around his long legs and he picks up Papad. Pickle does not like this and makes his protests heard until my maid picks him and places him on Vijay's other arm. He stands there like that with his two sons, grinning in pure delight - all three of them have identical smiles on their faces and the sight of my many, many men makes my heart lurch a bit.
And then, Papad gives him a resounding slap on the face, stunning him. Pickle follows suit and Vijay is shouting, and trying to get the two of them to stop, but their new game is amusing them immensely and they repeatedly slap him. Peanut is trying to show him her drawing, unmindful of the fact that he is getting assaulted, and when he is unable to respond to her, she loses her temper herself and starts to pummel at him - unfortunately for him, her height and skinny long arms are positioned for most of these blows to land upon his crotch and he dances around like a giraffe under attack, shouting 'Help, help' as all three children do their best to smack him silly.
I hear a loud, throaty laugh pealing through the room and it takes me a moment to realize that it's me, giggling uncontrollably through all the exhaustion and dizziness at the sight of my husband and children like this. I laugh long and hard for the next few minutes, feeling better and more energized than I have the whole day.
Yes, it's kind of funny when you're not the one being mauled.
Welcome Home, Honey.
The pushing myself up eleven flights of stairs out of sheer habit and the knowledge it's the only exercise I'll get today.
The hot coffee that practically burns my tongue but props me up for the first few hours of the day. The aching muscles in my neck and shoulders, and the exhaustion that creeps in after lunch hour, reminding me again of the fact that I'm sleeping far less than I should be.
And then the dizzy spell that hits me as I'm climbing up the steps to my home towards my kids.
The way that the kids crowd around my legs - the twins insisting upon being carried, an impossible task beyond a few seconds.
I feed them one by one - Pickle bites me viciously and I cry out in pain. He thinks it's funny and breaks into impossibly cute peals of laughter. He bites me again.
And eventually I give up and lie down on the floor in surrender. Peanut takes the opportunity to come and lie down next to me, and starts imitating the twins. Blowing raspberries on my tummy. She thinks it's funny. After about the twentieth time, I'm not laughing, but she doesn't stop. She pokes my belly-button and tells me that I'm 'the best'.
Pickle and Papad take the opportunity to fall on top of me repeatedly, almost banging their heads against each other every few minutes. Despite how tired I am, I try to energize myself with a few floor exercises - leg lifts and some Yoga. The leg lifts, they do not appreciate, and push my legs down whenever I lift them. I turn around to lie flat on my tummy and try the Bhujangasana, but Papad takes great offense to this pose, and starts to pull my hair. He does it so hard that tears come into my eyes, but I'm too tired to actually get up. I try in vain to do a few more exercises, but none of it works.
As they fall on me, twisting their limbs uncaringly, trusting that I will somehow catch them in the nick of time and save them from hitting their heads on the floor -which somehow, with some motherly instinct, I do each time - I can feel their smooth cheeks, their soft hair, and smell their sweet baby breaths.
I watch as they momentarily lose interest in me and climb the sofas, climb the chairs, climb the railings, attempt to electrocute themselves by sticking their fingers into sockets, open cupboards to take out and eat CDs, throw their toys on the floor, fight over balls and bottles, hit each other with their plastic bats, pull each others' hair - while Peanut perches on the dining table like a little Princess and does her drawings. I am still exhausted, lying prone on the floor, and my two maids leap into action, saving the twins from each other and themselves. I thank my lucky stars again that I have such help, but feel really sorry because I realise how tired they must be after a full day of this, and I feel bad that I'm so tired myself that I'm really unable to help out just now. I feel so sick and I wish Vijay wasn't so late coming home today. Two hours have already passed by now, and it's been a crazy, impossible, fun and exhausting two hours with three children.
I wonder how long I'm going to be able to keep this up. Perhaps it's the fact that I am no longer as young as I used to be - after all, I'm in my thirties now. But between work, the children, and lack of sleep, it all feels like it's a little too much and I am very very grateful for the fact that there is a two day weekend coming up. Heavenly. My entire body already aches for the extra sleep that the Saturday and Sunday will bring.
And then the bell rings, interrupting my contemplative reverie. All three children promptly run towards the door and in walks my six feet two Vijay. It is eight p.m. and the two of us stare at each other - he grins at me but I am not amused by his lateness and have no sympathy for his extended meeting. The twins are now crowded around his long legs and he picks up Papad. Pickle does not like this and makes his protests heard until my maid picks him and places him on Vijay's other arm. He stands there like that with his two sons, grinning in pure delight - all three of them have identical smiles on their faces and the sight of my many, many men makes my heart lurch a bit.
And then, Papad gives him a resounding slap on the face, stunning him. Pickle follows suit and Vijay is shouting, and trying to get the two of them to stop, but their new game is amusing them immensely and they repeatedly slap him. Peanut is trying to show him her drawing, unmindful of the fact that he is getting assaulted, and when he is unable to respond to her, she loses her temper herself and starts to pummel at him - unfortunately for him, her height and skinny long arms are positioned for most of these blows to land upon his crotch and he dances around like a giraffe under attack, shouting 'Help, help' as all three children do their best to smack him silly.
I hear a loud, throaty laugh pealing through the room and it takes me a moment to realize that it's me, giggling uncontrollably through all the exhaustion and dizziness at the sight of my husband and children like this. I laugh long and hard for the next few minutes, feeling better and more energized than I have the whole day.
Yes, it's kind of funny when you're not the one being mauled.
Welcome Home, Honey.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
A Questionable Exchange
Vijay: 'So Peanut also has to have a vaccination today, apart from the twins?'
Y: 'Didn't I tell you that already last night?'
Vijay: 'Which one does she have to have?'
Y: 'Arrey, Chickenpox only. It's at four years and one year. What else?'
Vijay: 'What time is the appointment?'
Y: 'Ten forty five. How many times do I have to tell you the same thing?'
Vijay: 'You think she'll actually get the vaccination?'
Y: 'Do we have a choice in the matter?'
Vijay: 'Have you noticed you're being a little snappy?'
Y: 'Have you noticed this entire conversation is in questions?'
Vijay ( tuneless singing) 'Mama is a cheap-o...cheap-o...cheap-o...'
Y (annoyed even more than before) 'What are you doing, Vijay?'
Vijay: 'I'm just breaking out of the questioning mode. (Continues to sing) Mama is a cheap-o...cheap-o...cheap-o....'
And yes, we had quite a day. Chickenpox vaccinations for three small children, and plus the treatment of 2 cavities for young Peanut.
I'm amazed I can spend a Saturday like this and feel so happy about it.
Truly.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Circus They Call My Life
This evening, one decides to go to the park with the kids. So Vijay, I and our help Rinki valiantly make our way with the three kids.
When we get there, Pickle and Papad decide that the best way to enjoy the park will be in Mama's arms. This is a bit of an issue given that they both now weigh well over 10 kgs each, and I can only hold the two of them up for a couple of minutes before my arms feel like they are going to fall off.
After much persuasion, they decide to grace the grass and potter about happily for a bit. I lie back sprawled on the grass as Vijay looks on, commenting that about half the kids in the park seem to be ours. I decide not to be lazy and get up for a jog. Papad spots me trying to sneak off and runs after me, screaming, worried that I am abandoning him. Pickle joins the fray.
Peanut, who is also looking like a little boy thanks to the haircut she gave herself - yes, my four year old cut her own hair today - is running around me excitedly. It looks impossible that I will be able to get in a jog, but some kids are now trying to fly a kite in the colors of the Indian flag in honor of independence day. The kids are distracted by this, and I whisper to Vijay that I'm just going to be back in exactly five minutes. He is not listening to me because he is most excited about the kite himself. I poke him a bit and get his attention and then make off for a jog of about seven and a half minutes some distance away from the park.
When I come back, the children are splashing about in a puddle. Which is okay except for the fact that they are completely wet from head to toe. It is when they start trying to drink the water that we decide we must draw the line. Vijay sees that Pickle's shirt is wet and so he removes that. When he sees his vest underneath is also wet, he removes that too. My child is therefore running around the park half-naked and other parents are casting disapproving looks at us. We don't care until we see that he appears to be shivering and not just in excitement, and so I ask for Rinki's chunni, wrap him up in it and we all head back home. Sufficient time has passed anyway with little shirtless Pickle and the wet-but-clothed Papad acting like little bullies, together ganging up on other kids older than them in order to steal their toys and generally trying to pick fights.
All three kids are brought back home and we think wet must bathe them. It is clear that it will save time to bung them into a tub together, and so their clothes are quickly removed and all the children are therefore splashing in the water. Vijay and me are responsible for managing them in the bath while Rinki brings out their clothes and towels. By now, my own clothes are completely wet, but it's fun. It would be even more fun if there wasn't the fear of one of them getting water into their lungs, since they seem to feel that they are supposed to drink this water instead of merely bathing in it. Soap is somehow applied and removed, with minimal screaming, and mostly on Peanut's part - Papad and Pickle are reasonably low hassle about these things. Except when it comes time to get out of the tub.
Papad goes first, and makes his protests heard in a deafening manner, wailing constantly while a determined Rinki dresses him. I volunteer Vijay for Pickle - Pickle is the next to start screaming as his father grabs him and gets him out of the tub for some drying. Peanut is the easiest. When she refuses to get out, I simply switch off the light and say 'Hey, the light's gone, you better get out'. She comes out right speedily and it's not going to be too hard to dress her.
At least, it wouldn't be too hard if Pickle and Papad both decide that this is the exact moment in time that they both need me to feed them. They start squirming and struggling and crying even louder and poor hapless Rinki and Vijay can no longer hold them back. I take Pickle with me and try to feed him. He's okay for about two seconds and then he starts to bite me something fierce. I squeal in pain. There is just always so much biting involved when it comes to these two. Every day I come home and lie down on the drawing room floor so that both of them get access to me, and the way they make their affection known is to bite me in all possible places until I'm bruised and begging for them to stop - they leave their sharp little tooth marks all over me, and there's no real way to stop them. And no real reason to, actually, given that I actually love it although it makes me cry sometimes.
Anyway, Pickle is least interested in actually feeding now that he's got me all to himself and he clambers off the bed to go and play with the dustbin. Papad suddenly appears at the door and they fight over the dustbin, pulling at each other's shirts and hair and squealing 'Baiiya-baiiya-baiiya'. That's the only word they really know apart from 'Mama', and the 'Mama' is used to refer to absolutely everything. I watch them, fascinated, thinking for the nth time that I must have done something right sometime to be so lucky as to have twins.
Earlier in the day, I've gone for my guitar class and pretty much taught myself some new songs because the teacher was busy with some band practice. I've also had a nap - such a rare occurrence- and also gone to the parlor. I had to take Peanut there anyway given her disastrous attempt at cutting hair, and also myself enjoyed that form of Chinese torture otherwise known as 'Full Waxing''. With that, the whole day seems to have gone by. It's amazing. Even days when you do so little just absolutely whiz by - I've been sleeping a lot this weekend and could sleep some more. I am clearly convinced that I am not sleeping enough on most weekdays, therefore. This is even when I've rationalized various other ambitious attempts to pack more in - I don't try to write every day, but I plot a little daily and write on weekends. I don't bother practicing my guitar but just go in for the weekly class - mostly it's still fun, except when I'm sulking about how my fingers never seem to move as fast as my teacher's. I don't do a whole lot else apart from focus as much as possible on my work as I can when I'm in the office, and as much as possible on my family when I'm at home. But I do need those intense little breaks of about fifteen minutes that keep me sane.
Like that little stolen moment of guitar-ing that ends with the promise that by next year, I'll actually be playing the most complicated songs and producing the sounds with my fingers that my ear and heart aches for.
Like that few moments of jotting down some ideas for a book that I hope someone will publish sometime despite my being 80,000 words down and only half of the meandering fictional story through.
Like this post that in it's own rambling manner captures what I've been meaning to put down for weeks.
In the meantime. I leave you with a picture of what I leave behind every single morning at about 8.15 a.m. after we've all gone and dropped Peanut to the bus-stop ( someone remarked once 'ek bachhe ke liye itne saare log aate hai, because it's usually Vijay, me, Pickle and Papad who come to drop her. But then that's our circus.)
Anyway, here are my two little monkeys bidding me an unwilling goodbye.
It's not easy to walk away from this, I promise you.
When we get there, Pickle and Papad decide that the best way to enjoy the park will be in Mama's arms. This is a bit of an issue given that they both now weigh well over 10 kgs each, and I can only hold the two of them up for a couple of minutes before my arms feel like they are going to fall off.
After much persuasion, they decide to grace the grass and potter about happily for a bit. I lie back sprawled on the grass as Vijay looks on, commenting that about half the kids in the park seem to be ours. I decide not to be lazy and get up for a jog. Papad spots me trying to sneak off and runs after me, screaming, worried that I am abandoning him. Pickle joins the fray.
Peanut, who is also looking like a little boy thanks to the haircut she gave herself - yes, my four year old cut her own hair today - is running around me excitedly. It looks impossible that I will be able to get in a jog, but some kids are now trying to fly a kite in the colors of the Indian flag in honor of independence day. The kids are distracted by this, and I whisper to Vijay that I'm just going to be back in exactly five minutes. He is not listening to me because he is most excited about the kite himself. I poke him a bit and get his attention and then make off for a jog of about seven and a half minutes some distance away from the park.
When I come back, the children are splashing about in a puddle. Which is okay except for the fact that they are completely wet from head to toe. It is when they start trying to drink the water that we decide we must draw the line. Vijay sees that Pickle's shirt is wet and so he removes that. When he sees his vest underneath is also wet, he removes that too. My child is therefore running around the park half-naked and other parents are casting disapproving looks at us. We don't care until we see that he appears to be shivering and not just in excitement, and so I ask for Rinki's chunni, wrap him up in it and we all head back home. Sufficient time has passed anyway with little shirtless Pickle and the wet-but-clothed Papad acting like little bullies, together ganging up on other kids older than them in order to steal their toys and generally trying to pick fights.
All three kids are brought back home and we think wet must bathe them. It is clear that it will save time to bung them into a tub together, and so their clothes are quickly removed and all the children are therefore splashing in the water. Vijay and me are responsible for managing them in the bath while Rinki brings out their clothes and towels. By now, my own clothes are completely wet, but it's fun. It would be even more fun if there wasn't the fear of one of them getting water into their lungs, since they seem to feel that they are supposed to drink this water instead of merely bathing in it. Soap is somehow applied and removed, with minimal screaming, and mostly on Peanut's part - Papad and Pickle are reasonably low hassle about these things. Except when it comes time to get out of the tub.
Papad goes first, and makes his protests heard in a deafening manner, wailing constantly while a determined Rinki dresses him. I volunteer Vijay for Pickle - Pickle is the next to start screaming as his father grabs him and gets him out of the tub for some drying. Peanut is the easiest. When she refuses to get out, I simply switch off the light and say 'Hey, the light's gone, you better get out'. She comes out right speedily and it's not going to be too hard to dress her.
At least, it wouldn't be too hard if Pickle and Papad both decide that this is the exact moment in time that they both need me to feed them. They start squirming and struggling and crying even louder and poor hapless Rinki and Vijay can no longer hold them back. I take Pickle with me and try to feed him. He's okay for about two seconds and then he starts to bite me something fierce. I squeal in pain. There is just always so much biting involved when it comes to these two. Every day I come home and lie down on the drawing room floor so that both of them get access to me, and the way they make their affection known is to bite me in all possible places until I'm bruised and begging for them to stop - they leave their sharp little tooth marks all over me, and there's no real way to stop them. And no real reason to, actually, given that I actually love it although it makes me cry sometimes.
Anyway, Pickle is least interested in actually feeding now that he's got me all to himself and he clambers off the bed to go and play with the dustbin. Papad suddenly appears at the door and they fight over the dustbin, pulling at each other's shirts and hair and squealing 'Baiiya-baiiya-baiiya'. That's the only word they really know apart from 'Mama', and the 'Mama' is used to refer to absolutely everything. I watch them, fascinated, thinking for the nth time that I must have done something right sometime to be so lucky as to have twins.
Earlier in the day, I've gone for my guitar class and pretty much taught myself some new songs because the teacher was busy with some band practice. I've also had a nap - such a rare occurrence- and also gone to the parlor. I had to take Peanut there anyway given her disastrous attempt at cutting hair, and also myself enjoyed that form of Chinese torture otherwise known as 'Full Waxing''. With that, the whole day seems to have gone by. It's amazing. Even days when you do so little just absolutely whiz by - I've been sleeping a lot this weekend and could sleep some more. I am clearly convinced that I am not sleeping enough on most weekdays, therefore. This is even when I've rationalized various other ambitious attempts to pack more in - I don't try to write every day, but I plot a little daily and write on weekends. I don't bother practicing my guitar but just go in for the weekly class - mostly it's still fun, except when I'm sulking about how my fingers never seem to move as fast as my teacher's. I don't do a whole lot else apart from focus as much as possible on my work as I can when I'm in the office, and as much as possible on my family when I'm at home. But I do need those intense little breaks of about fifteen minutes that keep me sane.
Like that little stolen moment of guitar-ing that ends with the promise that by next year, I'll actually be playing the most complicated songs and producing the sounds with my fingers that my ear and heart aches for.
Like that few moments of jotting down some ideas for a book that I hope someone will publish sometime despite my being 80,000 words down and only half of the meandering fictional story through.
Like this post that in it's own rambling manner captures what I've been meaning to put down for weeks.
In the meantime. I leave you with a picture of what I leave behind every single morning at about 8.15 a.m. after we've all gone and dropped Peanut to the bus-stop ( someone remarked once 'ek bachhe ke liye itne saare log aate hai, because it's usually Vijay, me, Pickle and Papad who come to drop her. But then that's our circus.)
Anyway, here are my two little monkeys bidding me an unwilling goodbye.
It's not easy to walk away from this, I promise you.
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