Rishi baby: ‘Chakka China..la la la.. Chakka China’
Me: ‘Huh? What the hell is that?’
Rishi: ‘Want to see Chakka China’
Me: ‘What are you blabbering?’
Rishi (continues ogling at Deepika Padukone): ‘Where’s she gone? I want to see Chakka China!’
Me: Finally realise he’s getting at Chandni Chowk to China! Duh! Can’t understand sonny boy’s feelings.
She was smoking. Smoking hot.
He looked away, tightly clutching the paper files on his lap. Some very important, secret documents, perhaps!
She crossed her sexy (mini-skirted)-legs.
He arose, evidently hurrying to get off at the next stop. And smoothed the crinkles on his trousers … accidentally unguarding the secret the papers were trying to hide 😉
The whole world yet to see
We finally decide ‘romantic Italy’!
Once the papers are ready,
We queue at the Embassy
‘Oh! Sorry, we’re busy…
‘Book an appointment’, says she
We go away, crossly (So much for forced rhyme!)
But finally manage to see
The bespectacled lady
Who grants a visa to Italy!!
So we’re set, to fulfil a dream:
Venice, Florence, Rome
Though nothing really can seem,
Better than Home Sweet Home 🙂
I have been so busy lately. Busy doing nothing solid. Yet, busy. You know how it is. There’s things to clear, mess to clean, chores to be completed. Which is why I haven’t been able to post anything for the last week or so. However, there is something I’ve discovered. And it is this:
‘Time flies when I browse the internet at will,
But stands still when I am on the treadmill!’
That lovely parrot green,
The purple of a royal queen!
A sprinkling of golden yellow
A dash of turquoise below.
The colourful, intoxicating fusion
Suddenly created confusion
And made me realise,
That it wasn’t awfully wise
To wash together,
all those new clothes!!!
Fetch me a stain-remover,
before I receive a dose!
They gathered around, roaring with laughter. She flushed, as the tyre went flat when she mounted the bike. “Not my fault!!” They guffawed louder. As they wiped their tears, she spotted him. Watching disapprovingly. His thick crop of hair waved above the deepening furrows on his forehead.
She would be in love with him, forever.
(Shortlisted as a finalist for a Sulekha EYC contest. This is what the judges had to say:“…captured everything in such a neat and small package”)
‘Darling, don’t be furious. He’s just a toddler.’
‘He’s scribbled on newly painted walls?!!!’
‘You’re turning exactly into your military dad! Why won’t you encourage the budding artist?’
‘When our landlord realises…’
‘No, he won’t, because we’ll erase it by then..’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah! You should, infact, be proud!’
‘Right! Those are permanent non-erasable markers!’
He bought her stunning clothes from every country he visited. She put them away, disinterested. She felt fat, ugly and undeserving.
When he left, forever, she paled into a shadow of her former self.
She found them while emptying her wardrobe. They fit like a glove.
She laughed. She cried. And gave them all away.
We are celebrating brother’s board results. Daddy has ordered ghee dosai, sambar vadai and mango lassi. Mummy sulks. The food is cold and the table, filthy. Daddy bellows at the waiter and he disdainfully takes away the cold food.
We now see the waiter lining up our new trays of steaming, delicious food. Our eyes gleam and my mouth waters. I clap my little hands with glee.
A short, dark boy, around my age walks up. He is wearing a frayed brown shirt and faded pair of brown shorts. Even his hair is brown, to match. He wears no slippers. His face is sunken, cheeks are hollow and lips are chapped. He wipes our table with his dirty rag. Daddy shouts at him to get a cleaner piece of wiping cloth. He wipes his nose and fetches another cloth – one that is bright and clean, like me but is frayed, like himself.
Daddy is happy. Mommy is gloating over brother. I have lost my appetite.
Writer-z-block 