To kill a cockroach...

Calming baby pink tiles, air pregnant with the mild fragrance of citrus, soothing warm water, aromatic and exotic body wash...she was ready to let the fatigue wash away...

She pulls the bath curtain close and in a flash, the serenity disappears...out jumps the dreadful creature...

Given her delicate circumstances and for want of suitable weapons, she improvises...her eyes alight on a bottle of L'Oreal Fall Repair 3X Anti-hair fall shampoo (no less) and a bottle of citrus room freshener.

Heart thumping, adrenaline rushing, she cautiously inches toward him and deftly sprays the room freshener on him to immobilize him and then a dollop of the shampoo to finish the job...he fights for a while holding on for dear life...then with a final spasm he breathes his last...laying still...

The roach is dead!


They say cockroaches can survive extreme weather conditions and are the most resilient. They even have a much higher radiation resistance than humans and it is said if humanity destroys itself in a nuclear war, cockroaches would "inherit the earth". 
Their Achilles' heel - L'Oreal Anti-hair fall shampoo... 

What is text?

Text is letters grouped together to form words in a particular order making a sentence, which when splattered with the appropriate punctuation forms an idea, conveys a thought, describes objects, places, people. 

Today's evolved definition of text could be the staccato of words impatiently shortened and disfigured miraculously decipherable by even the most lexis-challenged. 

Grasping for the elusive

Ceiling to floor French windows. Just past tea time, twilight. Facing me, the dockyard, a couple of schooners anchored in with their morning’s catch of fish, fisherman winding up for the day. Sea gulls hovering. To my right, the monastery, monks returning to their rooms after the evening prayer, the wide open gray courtyard, spotted with the orange robes. A beautiful sunset on the horizon. The silhouette of the monastery’s turrets against the orange-red sky. To my left, the slave market, after the day’s business, slaves being returned to their cells while on one side there’s a commotion caused by the disagreement over a sale. Passersby not giving it a second look, used to such occurrences every day. The prison walls behind me, guards on their watchtowers with their rifles, monitoring the prisoners as they languidly walk back into the building for lockdown after their evening on the yard. 

Oh for those good old days

Crazy bumper to bumper traffic, impatient honking, scrambling for parking, pushing into the elevator, waiting impatiently in front of a store door, the clock strikes the hour, through the plexiglass a store assistant is seen lazily dawdling toward the door, boredom written all over her face, she fumbles for the key, and unlocks the door. The door bursts open and the eager, impatient crowd push through no different from the angry, irate boarding of an electric train in Mumbai. There’s a stampede. People are knocked over and hurt – situation reeking of callousness.

There’s a mad scramble to catch the clearance sale, with limited sizes and designs. You rush to your section, only to find the single piece in your size seized by this grouch of a person. Shoulders slumped, you leave. After all that trouble!!!

Tinted windows to the soul

In a bustling café amidst the murmur of conversation and the commotion and clanging from the kitchen with the chef impatiently belting out orders, Meera suddenly looks up and notices him sitting in the far corner, staring at her, light streaming onto his face through the French windows, glint of recognition in his eyes.

Arjun had come in for a quick bite and rendezvous to shake away the languidness of the summer afternoon. She stood out in the crowd, he couldn’t shake off this feeling of familiarity.

They stare at each other silently grasping for memories.

(Moodboard – scenes flash in quick succession each with different perspectives but incomplete and somehow abruptly cut off as if from a weakened memory, of romantic walks on the beach, yacht rides, hiking through forests, afternoon strolls in the park, crazy costume parties, group of friends – in all a couple hand in hand with comfort and familiarity only with those in love. But these scenes never show the couple’s faces.)

They each realize something and run out of the café. She goes to her apartment above the café, while he runs out to his car.

They both return, each holding something – their sunglasses. They don their sunglasses, look at each other and the floodgates of their memories open and recognition dawns.

(Moodboard – the scenes from before now flash clearer and complete showing their much younger faces, the couple wearing their sunglasses throughout, in all the scenes)

The chef walks in then and an elegant salt and pepper haired lady returns from the ladies’.  

The chef walks up to Meera and gives her a peck on the cheek “Sorry for keeping you waiting, honey.”

The salt and pepper haired lady intertwines her arm with Arjun “Sweetheart, have you ordered for me as well?”

Their eyes meet, introductions are made. They all sit at the corner table with the light streaming in and enjoy a meal, laughing away heartily. All wearing their sunglasses. Meera and Arjun look at each other undetected, eyes moist with bittersweet memories and lost hope.  

You've got to be happily single to be happily married, and yet some would say the latter is an oxymoron.
So the point is moot. 

Thoughts on the pot...

जहाँ  सौचालय  वहाँ  सोच 

Today's specials

I place an order for home delivery at the local grocer's. The staples arrive, eggs, tomatoes, onions, maggie noodles....
and a surprise - Valentine's day special edition Cadbury Dairy Milk Silk.
I paid. 

Them and us...

Muscat, winter 2007

We were on the way to pick up a friend from the airport. It had just rained heavily. Driving an old Ford, tried and tested through all weather conditions, battered and basically dragging out its lifespan. 

Around a bend in the road, in trying to avoid a large area of stagnated water, drive right into the middle of it, the car stalls and we are surrounded by water 2ft high.

Mom and sis get out and stand aside, while my bil and I get out to push the car with my dad behind the wheel. Some local men drive by in a 4WD, seeing a woman push the car, they get down and offer help regardless of the knee deep, stagnated, dirty water. 

Bangalore, winter 2015

Late evening, bumper to bumper traffic at the KR Puram bridge. A Maruti 800, carrying a family of three, stalls in the middle of the road, the husband steers while the wife gets down to push, their 8 year-old son helpless. The wife clearly struggling to push and the husband trying his best to use the momentum. 

Pedestrians, truck/car drivers, bikers, cyclists - all watch while they wait for the signal to change. The lady is clearly embarassed, the husband seems frustrated, son perplexed. 

Two women push a car, on a well-lit road, in the middle of rush hour traffic. No one stops to help. 

On the one hand, a culture constantly berated  for its portrayed treatment of women and the way they look down on them. But, where chivalry still exists.

On the other hand, a nation that venerates female deities yet displays the deepest disrespect for women in real life.   

Great Expectations

If I sleep, I either sleep like Rip Van Winkle
Or I don't

If I sing, I either sing like a nightingale
Or I don't

If I paint, I either paint like Picasso
Or I don't

If I write, I either write like ZB
Or I don't

If I love, it should be one that surpasses that of Romeo and Juliet
else it isn't love at all

I can't love
I can't write
I can't paint
I can't sing
I can sleep 

Falling Slowly

I don't know you, but I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me
And I can't react

And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly eyes that know me
And I can't go back
The moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black

Well you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing it loud

- Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova

Traffic blues

What's with the Monday morning gridlock!!!
Like a guilt-ridden, desperate urge to rush back to work and reality to make up for the less-deserved weekend! 

Amusing

"You don't have Ebola do you?"

"You are not conventionally pretty but there is something about you that makes you stand out in the crowd"

"You are definitely strict"

"Anyone set to fill your shoes has high standards to meet"

Exhaustipated
(verb, adjective?)
Definition - too tired to give a shit
Courtesy - Deb

Sandy (May 5th, 2015)
"find someone who you think is 50%...then marry him...make him feel 100%...that's it mate."
"you send me good news this year ok...marry a hot desi guy...have plenty of kids...and our kids may join jibroo some day."