Dec 31, 2014
Dec 15, 2014
For teaching me to respect
You and through you
All of womankind.
For hearing things that I would otherwise never speak of,
And telling me things
That I would otherwise not want to hear.
For declaring me sane
Even when I and the world believed otherwise.
For nudging me to take risks
Which on my own I would never have taken.
For all the hollering and badgering you fill my otherwise silent life with.
For blackmailing and threatening and extorting
Every saree churidar and dress
That I would have anyways given you with all my love.
For negotiating with mom and pop
And ensuring that I don't set the house on fire.
For being my sister and my friend
And helping me define
Such relationships more closely
Forever I remain blessed
And forever will be my gratitude.
Dec 12, 2014
Papu's dog used to follow him all day long. I believe it was this dog that gave us the word "dogged". If you wanted to know where Papu was, you could search for his dog instead. There was this time when Papu's wife found him missing from the bed well past midnight. She knew that Lakshmi the neighbor had hots for him. She also knew that Babu, Lakshmi's husband, was out of town. Suddenly everything fell into place! Her fears were about to come true!
With a heavy heart she stole her way out into the dark night and made way to Babu's shack....and knocked. No answer. She knocked again, now harder. No answer! Now she knocked even more harder. The lights in the neighborhood started coming on. She could no longer hold back her tears. She screamed in anguish..."open you dog, I know you are in there!" And just then there was a small sound from the cattle shed next to the shack.
Papu's dog walked out of the darkness, glanced at her for a moment, gave a woof, and stuttered away towards Papu's shack. She looked at the door for a long while. She could feel the eyes glaring at her from dark corners across.
She walked back home, silently holding back the sobs.
Dec 9, 2014
The clatter clatter of your Stilettos
Running into the angry night
That fiery perfume of yours
Still engulfing me, in flames of your angst!
An empty table
The insolent stare from the waitress
And the smug look on the guy by the window
And oh...a small fortune of a bill!
Welcome back baby ;-)
The iron box feels quite heavy. It has been years since I have ironed a shirt. All my growing up years were filled with ironing chores. I would have my dads shirt to iron, moms saree and sisters skirt to iron. I was also a difficult-dhoti ironing expert. I could iron the starched dhotis and cotton sarees back to shape. I was also a bike and car cleaning expert. My tiny hands could reach into places that were seldom cleaned, and then I would polish the chrome for hours. I was also an expert cook of the exotic dishes. I could make a jelly out of any fruit, but guava was the favorite. I was also the go to kid for curtain and double bedsheet cleaning. All my growing up years were spent doing these chores at home. And then, until the time granny was alive, she would make me work in the fields for a glass of coffee and loads of love. All the trees we planted together have weathered the seasons of time. The stand tall like my grandma. Tall and proud and strong.
The iron box feels quite heavy in my hands today. Prosperity always inflicts collateral damage, as does growing up.
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