Fifth!

The clock struck midnight. There was victory in his eyes. On the bed were remnants of his night’s hunt – the Scrabble letters I scattered after he had defeated me yet again! The man who can beat me at Scrabble is a man I respect.

On weekday nights, R and I whip up (not so) simple dinners so we are all sorted for making our way through the bedside books. They have been taking longer to get through, I have noticed. I swear this is because of how beautiful Pune night rain looks from our bedroom window. Golden, quiet and melodious! It looks different over the weekend though – more intrusive than beautiful, more irritating than romantic. We still trudge out, braving the mighty raindrops and squealing over the puddles.

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The Woman In My Window

Woman in the Window

*Picture from http://www.123rf.com

I love sitting by the window when it rains, dilly dallying over my bowl of soup or cup of coffee. I strain my nose to catch a whiff of wet earth and stretch my ears to listen to the distant song of the birds in their nests. It is then that I spot the woman in my window, quietly boring her eyes into me as if she can look right through me and to the other side.

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The New Age Male Chauvinist

Calvin

Before you put me down as another fanatical feminist, I have some concrete reasons to believe male chauvinism isn’t a thing of the past. It’s just that they now come in new packages and try hard to hide among the sheep.

There are men who expect their wives to wait interminably for that one weekend they will spend together. Life, after all, is not rushing by and she MUST understand how every weekend is meant for earning extra money, spending time with friends or worse, inviting them all home. In any case, she has had the entire week to relax when he was busy at work. Even if she has a career, her workplace couldn’t dream of being as tiring as his! These are the men who think nothing of adoring other women (we can tell when it’s “platonic”, please) and filling their home with bottle openers and corkscrews shaped like a woman’s (sexy, of course) torso. Perfect pigs!

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Spare Me the Selfies

Selfie

*Picture from http://www.zazzle.com

The world has become more self-assured. We are all convinced we are beautiful. While I think this is great, I would love it we weren’t quite so assertive about it. I mean, I so can do without those gigantic close shots of your torso on my social media timelines with enigmatic Mona Lisa expressions on your faces. Often, all I get to see is a medley of magnified eyes, lips and eyelashes – scares me out, really.

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Steaming Things Up This Monsoon

*Picture from http://www.self.com

*Picture from http://www.self.com

It’s only June but mornings in Pune have started to bring rain. I woke up to the music of raindrops last night and stopped short of spooking R out by walking to the bedroom all drenched, holding a flashlight. Things got dreamier when sweet, fragrant winds blew in from the window at dawn and I couldn’t believe the world could be cruel enough to expect me to work (turns out it could!). This was when I decided on an evening treat. 

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Of Watch-Men Who Give You Headaches

*Picture from www.yorkshireclockrepairer.co.uk

I committed a grave mistake the other evening; I went to get the battery in my watch replaced. Turns out this can be as dangerous as playing with fire.

The watch repair guy sat busily doing nothing behind the counter and said to me: “What’s wrong with your watch?”

“I think the – “ I ventured to reply, when he hushed me and continued. “You don’t really need to tell me. I can figure it out in a second just by holding your watch. I have been in this business for twenty years and this shop of mine is frequented by any knowledgeable Pune-ikar.” He turned to a tea-seller who had his little pop-up shop next door and called out. “What say, mate?”

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The Rift of the Maggi

Maggi noodles has never been my comfort food. Unless you count the countless times it has helped comfort me from hunger away in a hostel that served consistently bland food. But I experimented. Maggi, Top Ramen, Yippee, Wai Wai. They all worked for me. I threw in a generous amount of tomato ketchup to get the right tang. Goodbye, soul wrenching hunger. But the health people can’t let us lie in peace, it seems. Exactly how you feel when you spot a red ant in the bottom of your lemonade glass – after you’ve finished it.

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