Lotus Stem Vathal

Monday. The dastardly day. Fie! It rhymes already. Triple Y! Oh my gawdy! What a bawdy day indeedy! Blueberry waffles I want simply cause tis monday and monday goes very well with blue. It's a cliche and it might as well hang with something utterly yummy in sick hopes of subduing its manic sting. Yes, I'm taking off popular terms associated with the dread day - blue, manic. Tsk Tsk.

Monday is precisely 30 hours along. It eats into my last 6 on Sunday. Propped like a cubist creation on orange cushions sipping languidly on mom's tea, spliced in neat lines of dull gold, a typical sunday sun, and cream blind's narrow shadows, I feel the anxiety getting unzipped and grate over each interlocking groove. Wallowing on what's to come, devising ways of making it to alternate world, actually a fisherman or a dolphin trainer will do. Or octopus catching in Grecian Urns by the seas of Tunisia will do too.

Loathsome morn I tell you. Why awake. Why can't it slip in unnoticed during the bustling hours when it doesn't matter what day or time it is but what's on hand is all that counts. Why the faff can't it dawn monday when I'm busy squabbling with an auto fellow, or busy rummaging through a book store, flipping channels on worldspace, while going ouzo ouzo with N, or when busy doodling!

Lilly livered monday! I dare you to take me at day time! Ha! Parasite prey on sunday. Out from 'neath buttercup yellow underskirts! Milksop! Monday you!

Episode 1 of Time and Timely Travels

Scrambled out of bed bug infested side upper at 4 am. Stubbed my toes down and into floaters and plodded through snores on my way to make myself presentable. Splashed rubbery water that rolled off without removing a tint of the train's muck. Actively rubbing with tissue, it unclogged. Old man on lower birth panicked on seeing me so sprightly. He sprung up and went about waking his relatives scattered around the compartment. Every station he peered at as though waiting to leap out through the emergency exit if need be. Sat smug knowing we were still some time away. Complacently I went about applying moisturiser and lip salve, packing in my shawl and arranging my bag for easy grabbing. His panic heightened and he went about snatching shawls off his son and wife and folding them hastily. Sporadic lights came on. The ujala ones of the train as well as glow watches. They hrumphed and they grumphed, turned their behinds on each other and regressed.

In the meanwhile, I was busy going bright eyed at myriad flashes of being received and how. At the station? Should I just save trouble and land up home and surprise? Will, I zero in on speck tween all that sludge like flow of sweatered trudgers with luggage? Or will I find him step-in from a corner? Will I kill slow minutes, squishing them with glee as one does when squelching nits and tell myself to walk patiently to the gate to prevent myself from tripping over auto men's legs? And then will I take short wisps of searing cold in bursting anticipation, recapping to the slow droll of days past? And then on seeing his car, I knew I'd grin like an idiot, highlights streaking off like the northern lights.

By now, the train promised to pull in at the station closest. I saw his apartment zip by. And it took me quite a while to figure that the train wasn't going to slow down. Drat! More time in my way. In between all this anticipation there were other eager souls who kept shoving their mousy hair under my nose as they kept ducking to see if they had indeed arrived.

Jittering and thudding on potholes I landed there pretty fast. Ripping out hairbrush, I gleaned scattered strands. Trotted to the elevator, slammed gates, n whistled like a milk cooker. That name plate :-) Ding! Dong! I tried to look composed. And my idea of composed is staring at a space nowhere. I walk in. Act like I've just arrived, plonking bag and all. And turn around to get a squg. Squg! Warm. Catholic experience. Time's zapper. Content. Blissfully blank except for one strong feeling of just being. Period. That's what I've been waiting for over a month. That's what I dreamt of and daydreamed of a trillion times. That's all I've been quite wanting for sometime. And now that I'm back, I want more!

Nosey worries

My monster nose is gonna give Rudolf stiff competition. Raw red, it's gearing up for the christmas season doing trial runs with make-up - tell tale snow flakes. Flaked skin. It burns I tell you. However, I am begining to seriously hope that I do take a trip across the world and land up in N's stocking on christmas day.

Should've taken up p'dners invitation and gone to Pondy tod. Uncle would've been quite willing to let us go and get drunk. Rocks to warm butt on. Green moss slapping behind your ankle. A lone fish flip-fopping. And all that pasta! Fie O Fie Arcane!

Apologies, confessions, purgation, lobotomy

I was contemplating avatars the other day. Figured a shriveled mushroom or even bacteria on a green bathroom tile would be apt. When faced with potent embarrassment that's bound to zap you out to extinction, you begin to ponder escape routes of a better life of a lowly miserable creature not worth noting, living blissfully for a few days in anonymity and utter contentment. Filth is at large you see.

Hoping that A doesn't write me off as disgusting and weird in need of a shrink. It was a mistake! It was a reflex! Monster House will prove my innocence at the gagging reflex. My uvula did it!

What don't I screw up? Even the art and joy of gifting refuses to take place as it should without me tripping all over it and sliding in my own butter at desperate lurches to save it. A cd I sent. In spite of having known that no one would be at home to receive it, I thickly drill squiggly lines of the residence address. Next morning I fret. So much for a surprise. I msg and reveal all in anxiety. Anxiety kicks into 5th gear and I make calls to DTDC offices in the city and out of station and finally land up with someone who is quite sweet but understands no word I say. Spelling out office address thrice and one hour later I get a call from the Chennai office for recipient's number. Recipient hasn't messaged. Was stuck with weird old man who kept emphasizing on how tongues wag when the opp sex hang out even if it's professionally. Lasted for 2 and a half hours!!! Tracking? My ass! I dunno if it's reached. Recipient is blank. Drat!

ketchup

A quart of vodka, my mauve blanket and Sophie's World. Wet dogs. I smell wet dogs! Slugs trailing in tantric patterns. Shadows glued to my curtains; waving and moulding to the breeze. A lone mosquito drones by the ear. Coconut goes thudding in the next compound as I plot to jump in and save it early next morn simultaneously preparing threats at grouchy watchman. Kitten bawls. Cats come skidding. Squeals and spitting orgasms. And then sleep's breathing becomes evident, permeates and explodes. Community feeling. Can't make up my mind if it's peaceful or bothers. Any sense of belonging icks me out. Only a mutual wanting for company corks hiccups on singularity. I am not a vagina. I am not here to reproduce. Being female is being part of me. Chocolate ice cream from sunday. Sugary chocolate sauce. It never drowns, the bottle's almost empty. Splicing and shoving with a spoon. Flipping channels. Reading news that stinks when its rotted so completely triggering gagging reflexes. Twiddling toes on carpet and wondering if the living room needs a larger one. The lizard population has grown. They somersault on blinds making thudripping sounds. I miss frogs. So long since I heard a croak or saw a snails black metal trail. The cops are having a ball with the new patrol cars. They experiment with the howler. Banshee! Dogs growl. I wonder if they see some white floatsomes. A bit of a wus, I stick by the TV longer. Scalding hot water from reluctant spores come gushing in archs hitting tiles and anywhere but me. Rituals of calls and messages and fears and complications. Praying. Transit to in between.

Sun Dunk

This morning was grasped with disbelief...it's a thursday! :-) I can sniff the weekend. Spilled out of bed in a scraggly vertical line and smacked palms on the switchboard barely squinting and twiddled up to the fan knob and eased it off. Peering eagerly for a calendar that wasn't there, my mind fell back on groping with yesterday, feeling up for a detail that would've positively made it a wednesday. Umm I remembered something about Kannada Rajautsav being on wed and I knew he had an off...ha! wednesday! Sunshine crept in.

Gulped oats and stepped out to be speckled by splotches and creeping gray. It hardly lasted for 2 minutes and the sun shone all the way. Drat! I'm rhyming! Rode in a daze. Landed on a pile of work. Ick.

I inch my way to lunch break only to be jolted and cringe a feet away. There was a puraan in my lunch packet lashing meekly. I don't know what that bledy insect is called in english. Anyway, its pincers are known to send rashes round the body and bloat. Egad! It was dying. Well, it was squashed under my lunch box all this while, some curd rice and mutton. Partially squished it turned a lovely blue. I saw it breathe its last in the curd fumes before chucking in a bin.

Rashes or bloats or not, an electrocuted cat on a wall is what I look like though the bristles are subsiding slowly. I'm still sitting on edge. And now is when the cleaner decides to mop the floor with a generous helping of phenoil. But the darn dank mop has stomped over the phenoil pungency and is wafting its stench through the vents. What goes around comes around. Blistering Blue Barnacles indeed!

Zilch appetite. Ordering from the fly-o-drome below is smudging away the hunger gnawing at my throat. Waiting for 415 and some plum cake and luke warm caramelly coffee from cheta. Tick faster time...I'll feed the world some quotable quotes in your name.