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.
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.
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?”
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.
If you look inside one of those omnipresent auto rickshaws in Pune and spot a particularly hassled passenger, it might as well be me. Wave out to me, Good Samaritan, and I may last out that bit longer. Why the drama, you say? Read on.
~* Winning Post in Kolte Patil Developers and Blogadda’s Celebrate Life at Ivy Contest
On summer afternoons, sometimes, I watch the sunlight streak in through the window and drop onto the floor. It is usually golden. It reminds me of sitting on the floor surrounded by sketch-pens and drawing paper, accompanied by a glass of lemonade, a bowl of mangoes and a very excited Mom. She laughs when I tell her about my reminiscence. “That is a nice and subtle way of saying you miss me. I had warned you as much when you were busy buying wedding saris.” To make me smile, she sends me pictures of the potted plants in our backyard. The colourful new blossoms dancing in the wind instantly cheer me up.
To be honest, nostalgia can be immensely absorbing. Continue reading
I was drunk with questions after my large glass of Coke at the multiplex yesterday. Drunk without having been served a margarita, that is. One of my perennial concerns is the curious price of the glass, which I fail to arrive at even after factoring in all costs. The second pertains to audience attitude in the theatre. This is scary because it leaves me feeling depressed, out of place and at odds with the world.
What, for instance, can explain the presence of several babbling, very young children during the screening of Shonali Bose’s “Margarita with a Straw”? Continue reading
Meera looked around the living room. Several years ago, it had served as the auditorium for her impromptu dance performances, set to the tune of the latest Bollywood numbers. It was in the living room that she had cut her birthday cakes, pored over Christmas gifts and spent many peaceful hours with her pastel colours. Tired out from her adventures, it was here that she had contentedly dozed off in Grandpa’s lap.
The room had changed. Continue reading