Short story

Outfits and insights

There I was, seated daintily in my new black outfit, accessorized with the perfect chandelier earrings, and waiting to be summoned for the crowning event! The dental crown, I mean.

When, I noticed someone sauntering down the aisle. If you asked me, he could have passed off for Ben Affleck! I might have stared at him a moment too long, for his gaze met mine. I quickly ducked behind my magazine.

When I finally summoned the courage to look up… “Nice weather!” came a wonderful baritone voice. Trying in vain to close the mouth that had fallen open, I smiled back at the handsome stranger, wondering if it was my new outfit that had done the trick.

Within a few minutes of our conversation, I was convinced he was Mr.Congeniality. As I drowned into his deep brown eyes, something extraordinary happened. Something that had never happened before. He popped a question! A question that made me all flushed and embarassed at the same time.  He lowered his head slightly, cleared his throat, and whispered: ‘I know this is all too soon. But I’d love…’

‘Huh?!’ I gaped, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

‘…I’d love…to ask you…to participate in our brand new weight-loss programme’, he continued, thrusting a brochure into my hands.

‘Huh?’ I repeated. Braving the rebellious pricking sensation in my eyes, I accepted the brochure and filled out the ‘Contact me now!’ section, trembling in complete silence.

After what seemed ages, I had answered all of the inane questions (‘Do you exercise? What lifestyle changes are you planning? Blah.. blah..).

As I handed him the form, our fingers did not brush. There was no delightful tinkling of bells. He stuffed the papers back into his folder without so much as a nod.

Finally, he looked up at me, and said, ‘Thank you, Madame’. I didn’t bother with a reply. Then, with an unmistakeable twinkle in his eyes, added, ‘Beautiful earrings, if I may say so!’


On dieting

Today, as I solemnly complete the 7th and final day of the well-known GM Diet, I am thrilled to find that I weigh a few kilos lesser than I did earlier. Therefore, I am going to celebrate this achievement.

‘Hello? Is that Pizza Hut? One Veggie Supreme with extra cheese, please’.

55-er Short story

The Promotion (55-word story)


‘Everything’s screwed!’

‘Please Sumit, talk softly. Daddy’s awake..’

‘So? The last year has cost me my promotion! Look at his hospital bills!’

‘Click’. The lights went out in the next room.

Daddy slid the sepia-toned photograph beneath his pillow and smiled. ‘1974 -Sumit was born. Missed my promotion. But I couldn’t be happier. Thank You, God!’

Thought and Reason


I shocked myself yesterday.

At the children’s soft-play venue:

She: Hi! What’s your son’s name?

Me: Its ‘Rishi’

She: Oh, I know the name. Are you Indian?

Me: Yes (pleased)

She (to her son, the birthday boy): Give Rasheed a slice of cake

Me: (horrified) Its not Rasheed. Its Rishi.

She: Yeah, I got it. Rasheed, would you like some cake?

Me: Its R-I-S-H-I

She: Still gives a piece of cake.

Me: Rishi, say ‘Thank you’.

And then we part ways. I am still flustered about my son being called ‘Rasheed’. For all my thoughts of being tolerant and broad-minded, I still hated being thought of as a Muslim.

And realised that as long as we have this divide ingrained in us, ‘world peace’ can remain only a fancy term and nothing more.


1930’s marital scale

Stumbled upon this test




As a 1930s wife, I am

Take the test!

” alt=”test” />
at Roop’s blog and thoroughly enjoyed taking it. As I can see, there’s tremendous scope for improvement!!


My best Valentine’s message ever!

I finally hear you utter,
The words I never thought you would..
‘I lub you, Amma’

Humour Incidents Short story

The benefits of rising early – A day in the life of a mum

6:00 am

The alarm rings, I promptly press snooze and enjoy those ‘5-more-minutes, mummy!’. Just as I complete my work-outs and 5-mile-run, the alarm beeps rudely, waking me out of my reverie. Sigh!


6:20 am

I stumble into the bathroom and search for the toothbrush in the dark (not wanting to awaken the rest of the family). Aah! I get hold of it, but it’s the wrong one. I then reach for the correct one, and it slips into the little dustbin that is placed conveniently under the washbasin. The new Cool Me doesn’t swear…she just picks it up with a resigned air, washes it and completes the morning ablutions in auto clock mode.


6:50 am

Now its time for the workouts I’d been dreaming of the last week. I search for my jogging tracks (not that I’m going jogging, but hey, you do need an outfit that motivates you!). I find them under a bundle of rubble, read: clothes meant to be disposed off in the local charity box! I yank it out, dust the spiders off lovingly and don it. Obviously, one can’t wear the going-out-shoes indoors. So I search for the old pair of sports shoes. The damn thing seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. But this isn’t going to deter me. I patiently clean the soles of the current pair of shoes until they are ‘shainey an cleen’ (as my son would say). (Let me omit the hunt for the perfect pair of socks). Then I take a deep breath of lovely, early morning air, and turn on the treadmill. I wait to begin running. And wait. And wait. For the treadmill doesn’t work. Like we do with our computers, I try a Ctrl-Alt-Del but the damn thing just won’t work (oops, no swearing!). I decide to do a bit of Yoga instead. So I get out of my sporty outfit and search for something serene. As I ravage the shelves of the messy cupboard for a pristine white dress, my little one wakes up. Sigh!


8:15 am

The chef in me is invigorated to cook a nice and traditional breakfast. Yes! Idli-sambar. I reach for the idli-maker that some idiot has thrown into the recesses of the kitchen loft. Who could it be? Considering that I am the only one to enter the kitchen. Anyway! I do find it eventually, and drag it out using an idukki(pakad). It lands plop, straight into my hands. I smile like I’ve just caught a match-winning wicket. As I turn, a plastic bag full of unused crockery follows the way of the idli-maker. Just that, this time, I am not available to hold it when it falls. So there it is, all over the kitchen table. ‘Shit!’ I mutter, and proceed to swipe it off into a big garbage bag.


8:25 am

What the **** ! I’m way beyond schedule. The husband’s late for work and sonny hasn’t don’t his poo yet. I thrust the little brat into his potty and hurriedly oil the idli-plates. Obviously, the little jar is almost devoid of oil, so I search for the new bottle. To save time, instead of replenishing the little oil jar, I pour it expertly, straight from the big bottle. Of course I should have known that it would simply ooze over and fill the entire idli-plate. Now I begin the cursing routine. I clean it all up and pour in the idli-batter and set the cooker on. Just as I keep the rest of the batter back in the fridge, I notice the little one is not to be seen in his potty. He has, however, very kindly left a trail in brown, to where he is at the moment. Playing with his train set, and glue-ing together the engine and the wagons, with someone that also looks brown and sticky. And I must say, he’s having a whale of time!


8:55 am

I’ve cleaned the trails, set out the breakfast table, and made sure the little one is perched in his chair. As hubby sits down at the table in complete awe of the shiny stainless steel plates and a clean little boy beaming across at him, I proudly open the idli-maker and take the stand out, in the process scalding my little fingers. I take a flat spoon (specifically meant for this purpose) to ease the hot, steaming idlies out of their plate, and onto ours. I am, however, unable to do so much, as to even pierce the edge of the idlis. I try, and re-try. But the little white rocks remain firmly glued to their plate. I resort to the knife. Now that has some effect! I manage to scrape little white stones into the casserole and finally bring it to the breakfast table, swallowing both my pride and my tears.


9:25 am

Hubby has left for work, and sonny has resumed his play. I clear the dishes and put the cornflakes back into the cupboard L. And suddenly realise that the train set the sonny is playing with, hasn’t been cleaned of the brown stuff yet.


10:00 am

Tired, and back in bed for a nap.


Moral of the story:

The benefits of rising early, are, but a myth. Mommies (and Daddies), just enjoy your beauty sleep as much as you can!


(I’m submitting this entry to (please click on the link) IndusLadies for the contest, as I think the tone of all the entries is personal parenting experience and not creative writing. Please vote for me if you like the submission!).

Humour Incidents

SOS call

Terribly tired last night, I had no choice but to tidy up the hall before we hit the bed.

Me: ‘Baby, Amma is really tired…please can you help me with clearing the room?’

Rishi: ‘Yeh Amma’ (with a dimply smile).

Gleeful me: ‘Thank you, baby. How sweet!’

Rishi – climbs onto the cluttered sofa, flashes one more brilliant smile, and begins screaming: ‘Help! Help!’

Me: Sigh!

Humour Short story

The ‘first-night’ dialogue

‘Shhh…What are you doing?’
‘Nothing unusual…considering it is our first night!’
‘This is against the law. I mean, custom!’
‘Law? Custom? What rubbish! You got to respect basic instinct, honey.
She giggles.

‘I’m so tired, Pavan. Greeting those thousand guests with a plastic smile! jaws are stiff!’
‘Okay…but I hope you aren’t too tired to…’
‘To…ahem…you know…’

‘Pavan, stop that!’
‘Stop what? Doesn’t everybody do this? I mean, am I infringing on someone’s rights here? Is this violation of the law?’
‘No BUTs, this is a perfectly natural reaction..a raw necessity, if I may say so!’

‘Think of this – what if someone hears? There is, but a thin wall between our bedroom and your parents’.
‘Right! And they’re probably doing the same thing.’
He smirks.

‘Pavan, you really need to stop now.’
‘You didn’t mind before we got married!
‘That was different. It was the start of our relationship…everything you said/did was exciting/amusing’.
‘So What’s changed now?’
‘Nothing..its just rather uncivil’

‘What the heck, Malathi? This is getting too far. I mean, this is all your parents’ fault.’

‘Yeah, they set the menu for our wedding function! They ordered all those puris and biriyani and gulab-jamoons and ice-creams! They are the cause for my eating too much and having this stomach upset.’

‘That’s enough, Pavan. You really must stop farting now, or all you’ll get is the couch! Good night.’

Defeated and deflated (well, literally!), Pavan sulks away into slumber.



The new year started off with a bang! Really! Apart from the job cuts happening in London, we also had a totally unexpected power cut (which means, no hot water, no gas, no microwave, no light, no heater…nothing!) followed by unprecedented snowfall last weekend. What with all this, and a thoroughly enjoyable visit from my parents (forget the part where my mum was stranded at Heathrow airport, with hardly any cash, and no phone- for almost an entire day!), I was too tied up to do things!

It was only yesterday, that I managed to get back to my old routine. That is, the ‘doing nothing’ routine (as Winnie-the-Pooh would say). Got back to Orkut, Yahoo and blog-hopping. Met a close close friend on Yahoo Chat, and reminscing about college made me feel young and enthusiastic. So I decided to clean the house and begin my workouts (ugh!!). And guess what, the treadmill doesn’t work. Its too cold and wet to go for a walk outside. And I’m far too lazy to workout indoors. So here I am, my fingers doing all the exercise they can on the keyboard.

Have a good weekend, all!