November 30, 2010

Virtual Coffee IV

My dearest dearest friend wanted me to have our coffee date and because she is so important to me, I am having this coffee date especially for her. Others are all cordially invited. You know the drill… Head over to Amy's.


If we are meeting today, you would see me in my denim jacket. No snow, no rain, no mist yet but the winters are here. The nights are supposed to be longer but what does it matter anyway, November is over. I think cold air is the best botox you could ever get. My evening walks are just beautiful.

I’d also tell you that the last week was so much fun even without the Thanksgiving turkey and the celebrations. We went to the zoo and we had a great time. I wish I could have seen the snakes but I guess hibernation is important as well. Snakes are my favorite and I would never understand why not many like them. If you do not like snakes, I would talk you into listening to their beauty stories and why I love them. And if you happen to like them, VOILA! Where have you been all this time?

I’d also tell you that just yesterday we again had to participate in the cleaning marathon sponsored by my mother. She is a genius. But I enjoyed the time because we could dig into some of our old books from my first and second grades. Someday I would pass them onto my kids.

By the way, I think we should order now. I’d love to have a hot cappuccino along with a blueberry muffin.

Google Images

Google Images 

After my first sip of the uber delicious cappuccino, I’d tell you that I have been feeling a lot of guilt lately. I have not been working hard and it has been a long long time that I have said that my body is tired. I am never tired these days and I feel sleeping is just a waste of time. I haven’t been sleeping at all too. Insomnia has affected the grey areas of my brain and I am on the verge of loosing my sanity. I am jealous of the people who are awake into the middle of the night working on their home works. I need to get back in that mode again. I want to just dive into my bed and go to sleep the next minute. I want to feel the perspiration on my forehead. I want to work hard for something.

This week my crush is on Audrey Hepburn and Matt Damon. If I had a bucket list, I'd say raising my four girls to be strong, good women would be No. 1.” Mr. Damon, you are so totally every minute of crushing upon. J

After my narcissistic fits subside, I’d ask you about your week. There is just so much happening around the world. One of my friends has literally vanished and I am waiting for her return. Another of my friends got her first Gmail account and we both are so super excited. Another friend is strolling on the streets of Cape Town. And I am jealous. Just a tad. Another friend is traveling down to get her appointment letter. So much is happening.

Before you leave, I would gift you a blueberry muffin, one each for your family member so you can all enjoy a nice evening around the fireplace talking about me… J and the other things, of course. I’d also give you a warm hug, a big one, to compensate for the whole week. Until we meet again.

Love YOU.      

November 28, 2010

The Fourth Last House from the Left

Here I am again. Just last week, I conflicted with my heart and the skin covering my flesh- that one day I will agree that it is okay to call myself a writer. I sit here on this cold winter night scrapping my belief, one tiny inch at a time. I struggle to write. There are a million little things that I could go back to but my brain could not accede to those terms. It would prefer to sit here, typing and deleting, one word, one letter, at a time. The clock in my room is fifteen minutes ahead of time. It ticks away asking me in its monotonous way that in another five hours, the world will see the sun again. I know I must give up. I could easily put every thought aside and snuggle into my welcoming bed. The flowers printed on my bed cover remind me of tulips- I hear them say that tulips are beautiful. I would still have preferred the striped bed cover better. I stare at my bed from a distance- my sweatshirt lies in a disgruntled manner, the kind of look that says, ‘Don’t even think of bothering me.’ A Database Management book lies just parallel to the sweatshirt. It was last read at five in the evening and scouring through its contents seems like the last choice I had for myself on a dull Saturday evening.

It is no good that I continue to write. I have words and I have been reading the Thesaurus lately with renewed pleasure. I could do better; I have certainly done better before but tonight just does not seem to be my night. A street light stands just outside my window, offering its bright orange light into my room with new found gratitude. Numerous attempts of relaxing its generosity have all ended in vain. I can hear the mild screams of passing carrier trucks strolling on the roads, I can hear the grumpy old television of my relentless neighbor like many other nights before. I wonder what is that he is watching. I have never seen more of him except on certain unforeseen occasions. He is much of a speculation between us- the kind who never talks, does something that no one knows of, and keeps to himself. There are many others like him in this colony. We are one among them.

We moved into this house a little under three short years. This is an old house- the fourth last from the left. The walls were once saggy, I heard and the doors creaked when you opened them. It still looks like an old house, only now it has been painted with the idiosyncrasies of my family. My mother was the mastermind for changing this house into what it looks like today. We have a small garden in our balcony and we feed a fat, scary cat to its whims and fancies. On a special night, you can see the full moon right overhead our house. You could almost see the first rays of the sun before, where now stands a four-floored flat. You can hear the tippity-tap on the leaves in a generous monsoon and feel the drops of the rain on your face and then onto the ground. Life in this house has been different from any that I had lived before.

It has more of the laughs that die down into giggles at the reminding of the time, it has more of the melody of the guitar that I play so badly, it has the family dinner at nine. It has the celebration of festivals with colors and lights, of midnight feasts of chocolate-chipped cookies and pizzas. It has the familiar snoring of my father and the five o’clock alarm bells. It has the television that runs into the midnight with the remote in the hands of my sleeping mother. It has the ‘Goody Goody Nigh Nigh’ of my twenty year old sister. It has the subtle hilarious comedies and shouts, sleepy afternoons and sleepless nights, and most importantly the realization of a home, a family.

I am at peace. I am with my family. Tonight is a good good night. 

November 25, 2010

Thanking You, Yours Sincerely

My dad’s laptop is very slow. My mother is never tired of questioning. My sister, well, we are not talking at the moment. My friends are doused with their studies and work so much that we do not find time to call each other. Everyday is a total blast! The weather outside my window is monotonous. The sun has taken to rest for the rest of the week and it has allowed the frigid weather to dance around my face, hair, and skin. I have lived in four cities of this magnanimous country- born in one city, adapted to the circumstances of another, and fell in love with the city I am living in. Once my dreams looked heavy and forlorn, today they have the base of the right city to start their journey. Life is rapt.

In the miniscule of everyday moment, I understand that the life which is unraveling itself around me could have been worse. I have been a lucky chick. From my birth, my boisterously rich education to my current state of living, life has been too generous on me. I have always wondered and feared for my dreams. In this moment of amazement as I watch my parents pacing up and down the house, I wonder what my parents dreamt of. Did my father always wanted to be an architectural draftsman when he graduated from his school? Did my mother dreamt no far than being a homemaker, a good one in that? I cannot ignore the subtle cues that I receive from every sweat that my father sheds, every arthritic joint that my mother suffers from. I cannot overlook the patience that my younger sister bestows on me that should be the other way around. All, my body suffers from is mild eosinophilia that ruptures my skin into occasional hives. My education has offered me the help to distinguish between the good and the bad, the right and the wrong. Lessons that I have learnt from my teens would not extinguish without stirring my soul’s light.

I am selfish. With the simplest of things coming my way with so much ease, I could easily forget the millions of efforts making my life the way it is today. I am impatient too. It takes time for me to settle down into a state of serenity to think of the countless things that have made themselves so feasible. The world requires a Thanksgiving Day for souls like me. For it is in the unknown minutes of a sleepless night that I can think of all these elements that have played their parts efficiently so I could be a person. In the day light, I am too busy to quench my curiosity about everything else.


Thankyou to the Big Guy for taking care of a silly a** like me, my parents for not throwing me out for the rude soul that I am, my sister for being annoying and patient, my friends for their ridiculous time schedules, Mother Nature for letting me appreciate miracles, music that resonates with every beat of my heart, impatience that has taught me to stay curious about life, the paucity of more money which has made me realize that I could still have a blissful life without it, and for the million little things that are working around me in a random manner to make life perfect for me.

All of it could be better but I still prefer this version.

Happy Thanksgiving.


This post is also my entry for the TRDC meme this week. 

*Image Source: Google Images 

November 22, 2010

To Be Known As a Writer…

I asked my sister last evening, “Nithi, would you call me a writer?”

Writing has never been my resort. Throughout my school years, I have written as much any subject would demand me to. I was not the person born to write. I do remember a faint part of my childhood spent writing stories though. But my creativity never extended beyond fairies and princesses. As I grew up, I estranged from writing without any conscious notion. And before I knew, I had come a long way to go back to something that I barely remembered as a talent of mine. My diaries usually talked about how my day was or how much I hated to have a dark skin or frizzy hair. High school memories do not count much if one is not popular or if they are not bullied. If you are left alone to cherish the moments of solitude and ignorance, high school memories do not have much impingement later in life.

This blog was developed on eve of a New Year. My aimless brain was at its best work and somehow it had reached out to me satisfactorily to sell the idea of having a blog. What would I write, it never occurred to me. I have been able to keep it well for most part of this year. I reached some milestones in terms of posts and followers. I always wanted a good readership, I cannot deny that. This blog was half a part of my life written in complex words, occasional laughs and some tears.


I can never accept that I cannot write. Egoism is a part of my identity. But is that enough to call myself a writer? Is that the proof that I can write my mind on to the screen? Is it possible to continue writing? Can I, after all, call myself a writer? I have struggled to answer all of these questions. For the past few months I have had the honor of participating in the memes launched by the Red Dress Club. I have tried to write for most of the prompts. I have been able to break out of the self-imposed restrain on myself which was destructing my self-growth. Oprah taught me to put my thoughts into words so I could be heard. Writing here, on this platform, has given me the next dimension.

The power of words still lies ignorant to me. I cannot see myself writing a book. I have the least of interest in the publishing world unlike my sister. I am happy to write those words that could have clogged up in my brain when I woke up this morning. The fear of shutting myself from what I can think has propelled me to write. It has given me the direction and set my journey, an inspiration that knows where it began. When my sister told me that I am a writer, it did not convince me. It was not convincing because no one had ever told me that I could write and no one knows that I can. As I write this, I am still not at peace. The idea of looking at myself as a writer scares me and more often never fulfills me.

My mind tortured me from sleeping last night. It wanted an answer, an answer that bore profundity. It was three in the morning. It looked delirious to wake up my sleeping sister to feed my brain with some words. Not my best plans. During that time of the silent night, I wanted to write. I wanted to see for myself what I could have written. I wanted to know how long I could have written. The entirety of the night wore out on me soon as my father’s alarm went off in the next room. I pretended to lay on my flower-printed bed, still and staring into the blankness of the ceiling. Sleep did come eventually but not before thrusting me with new found knowledge. I was not the one born to write. I may never have more than an article written with under my name. I have been writing without expectations, competition, or any other mission. It has been able to fulfill my happiness. I still have not given up on being known as a writer but somehow in this mess, I have realized that writing for my happiness will give me the material I require to be one.   

 *Image Source: Google Images 

November 19, 2010

Why You Gotta Be So Mean?

Hello Bloggers. This week’s meme from the Red Dress Club is to write a piece (fiction or non-fiction) inspired by a song. So, here we go…


Someday I’ll be living in a big ol’ city
And all you’re ever gonna be is mean
Someday I’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me
And all you’re ever gonna be is mean

Some people are just mean. They have their way of life. They look their best, standing just a counter from yours, with that well-written smile you read in books. The distance is not too much to walk. You have your cell phone, you have a paper and pen, and you can always go over to say hi. With some help from heaven and the rest from your hormones, you are suddenly brave enough- brave enough to go over and talk and brave enough to ask them out. Maybe the brain shuts down in those times. Maybe you choose to see the better things that are hidden with the proximity of the actual truth.

M.E.A.N

M Manipulative
E  Egoistic  
A Abusive
N Narcissistic   

Manipulation is an art. It’s a shame that they do not teach it to everyone. When six months later, the relationship ends, you blame one single person for everything that happened. Yourself. How could you be this stupid? How could you be this dumb? How could you let this happen? And even though for the first time, you are at the center of your world, this is just not the right time. Sometimes we are harder on ourselves far more violently than others.

Your ego dies a thousand deaths. You were once the person- the person known for being the egoist among your friends and family. Today, you stand judgmental of your ego, of where it was when that person was breaking you in parts. In the end, with your ego, you lose your self-esteem, your pride. It does not take long for guilt and shame to replace the void. After all, there has to be something accompanying you when you walk on the road. Earlier, it was pride and self-esteem, now it is the battered conscience that tries to keep your head down.   

You do not acknowledge you were abused for a long time. Certainly, you have learnt a lot about abuse from Oprah, but no, you were not abused! Deep within you there is an urge to live up to expectations, to please that one single person, still after all that happened. It will probably take years before you will realize that you were one of those women who were in abusive relationships. Of course, because he never hit or punch you. Of course, because he never had a baseball bat. Of course, because you were not living with him.

It would be another couple of years before you realize that you have been lucky. In a new city, you have begun your life again. Every day is not your day. But with your work, your friends, your family, your success, your failure, you have been able to push aside the pain. You have begun to realize that you were lucky. Somehow during all that time, you did not die. You wear your makeup, you walk with your convalescing self-esteem, the water in your shower no longer hides your tears, and the gray clouds are no longer the signs of gloom. Their narcissism made you love yourself.                  

Because otherwise, I would not be living in a big ol’ city thanking you for being mean.    

*Image Source: Google Images

November 15, 2010

Remind Me Monday

I want to be reminded today…

That life is beautiful.


That tomorrow the sun will rise again even if this night looks never-ending.

That there are better things than money and falling in love is one among them.

That a bad haircut will probably grow out faster than you think.  

That your math score does not prove you are dumb. Your IQ score does though! That’s what they told me.

That you cannot expect your happiness to be tolerated by everyone.

That death looks better if you have lived.

That forgiving yourself is the best way to start all over again.

That you can dress as much as you like as long as it is for yourself.

That the friend you had the most conflicts will someday become your best friend and your best friend can be… well…

That life never waits for anyone. It is here and now.

That the world would not end in 2012.  

That it is never too late to start again.

That God is there.

That someday you will love again.

That someone secretly looks up to you.

That blogging is so much better than Tweeting.

That food is for your body and not for your tongue.

That money would not matter when global warming takes us all down.


That you and I are in this beautiful world for some reason.

That every word from your mouth stays in the universe.

That you should choose your words carefully. Duh!

That being pleasant is one thing and being smart is another. Harvey knows better.

That there is a list of things you must do before you die.

That every life on this planet should be respected.

That you are not perfect and so am I.

That love and appreciation is what everyone looks for.

That thinking over saying the truth is probably wasting time.

That it is stupid to challenge Nature. Titanic tried.

That Johnny Depp will be handsome even after 20 years.

That switching off the lights is still the cheapest way to save energy.

That it is better to be pleasant to certain people. You know they can come back to haunt. You know whom I am talking about.

That there are millions of children dying without food. Enjoy your broccoli.

 That laughter is the best medicine.

That someday we will laugh at the times we cried and cry for the times we had laughed.

That twenty years later, you would have forgotten the fights with your siblings.

That the worst death is not by coming under a train, or by falling off a cliff, it is dying alone.

That alcohol and smoking do not add up to being cool.

That heaven and hell are on this Earth.

That together you and I can make this world a better place.

That someday all men will have bald heads and all women will have sagging breasts. That is the rule of Nature.

That there is only one Monday in a week. Be grateful.

That someday, we can all retire and live in the place we dreamt as a kid.

That a******* will be a******** no matter how hard we try.

That sisters are still the best team.

That self-pity takes you nowhere.

That miracles are happening all the time. Remember Bruce Almighty.

That geeks rule the world. Bill Gates, Mark Zukerberg, Steve Jobs, Albert Einstein… you want more?

That working out helps as long as it is fun.


That smiling may not make things better but still it is a start.

That the magic of Disney will never end.

That somehow fairy tales will always be a part of the world.

That this is already a long list.

Have a great week. J 


*Image Source: Google Images

November 12, 2010

TRDC Meme: The Soul's Light Burnt

This week’s prompt from the Red Dress Club includes picture prompts. I decided to take the following picture as the inspiration for this poem or whatever you want to call it. Hope you enjoy it. Have a great weekend, my dearies. 



I am not stable, my mind wanders,
Like the ripples on the sea waters,
The thoughts are strong in me,
They are there to guide,
And make me what I want to be,
I wilfully ignore them,
For I’ll lose who I am,
A loss so big that I cannot stand,
And say that I have lived.

My dreams trouble me,
I cannot link a meaning,
I move and move,
But there’s nothing I can prove,
To anyone or to myself,
Forgetting how I felt,
On winning.

Time flies as according,
Ripping me apart,
Questioning my upbringing,
Throwing me in the dirt,
What I am, what I was,
I have no time for such thoughts,
My mind has landed itself in a drought,
A place where there is nothing,
To learn or to see,
I might black out eventually.
My dignity fades with my identity,
I see the world,
But it appears empty,
I am a warrior on a rescue mission,
But the source is lost and forgotten,
The mistakes of a dreamy past,
Try their best to last,

But the path had been chosen,
A long long time before,
Before there were dreams in my memory,
I hold onto the lessons that I had learnt,
And to my soul’s light that I had burnt.  

November 9, 2010

In the City Where My Life Began and Became...

This post has been long overdue. Something told me, it should come out today, so here it is…


Some live by the seas. Some live by the sands. Some live by the mountains. Some live by the countryside. I live by the city- this city that has come to hold a crucial part of my life. Three years back, I was living in another city, a city by the beach. It was a beautiful city and to compare these two would be injustice. Just like the shores of that city danced with every wave, the winds of this city dance with the summer, the winter, the spring, and the monsoons. I cannot say that I enjoy the summers of this city, but every morning when the sun dawns, it promises of a day that would be complete in its own hot, sweaty way. A promise that is seldom broken.


When I came to this city, I was scared. My mind promised me that I would make something out of here, but my heart beats were towards the other end of the spectrum. I did not know whether I would ever be able to conform to the norms of this fast moving city. I was scared of the girls who looked so flawlessly beautiful, I was scared of the money that played so easily in this city, I was scared of the life that I have never lived before, and I was scared whether I would be able to become something here. My fears were not illogical. They had profound foundation to appear and they were genuine. I am neither what the world thinks beautiful, nor have I ever played with money.

I came to this city with unclear dreams, a broken heart, a lost love, a confused friendship, a little hope, and lots of fears. Today, two years, three months, and nine days later, I have been able to get things in order. Or like Ashton Kutcher says, ‘Get my ducks in a row’. This city. This place. This time. This moment. As I write this, there a mellifluous drizzle in the backdrop. The people around me are asleep. And I am devoting these few hours to myself, reminiscing this love that stuns me everytime I come to realise of its existence. I have been able to work on my dreams, the one thing that this city has given me. It has given me the hope to start all over from the deadening silence of a broken heart to believe in love again, to believe in dreams again. 

   
A city teaches you what you did not know before. Of all the things that I am proud of in myself, I am proud of one trait that I can learn. I learnt to live here. I learnt to do things that I have always wanted to do. The other things, the city taught me. Patiently. Like a mother or a teacher. One thing at a time. One thing in a day. This slow monotonous change that this city has given me and probably to many others who came here as a stranger, afraid of life, is something that will continue to burn within us.

I travel by the city bus. I travel by car. I travel by the metro. And sometimes, I walk. This city has become the protagonist in my conversation. I walk under its mellow skies, I sing in my heart to the resounding rains, I run away from its summer, I get ill in its winter, and I just be with it. Like it has been with me. Sometimes it is a better idea to take the passenger seat. It gives you the vision to see a city much better. Of course, there is the screaming traffic, the buzzing crowds, and the myriads of things that make a city appalling. This city has those things too. On a passenger seat, you just tend to ignore those things.

I know this has become a longer post than I intended it to be. And still, there is so much I wish I could write. As I go to bed, I bear this profound happiness within me, which knows its source and yet denies saying anything, fearing the moment will fade away into the night. This is my city. Without the shores of a beach, without the winds of a coast, and without the views of a countryside. It is perfect because of its imperfectness. Just like every other city. Just like everyone else. Just like you and me.

*Image Source: Google Images

November 8, 2010

Atta Boy Universe! No, Seriously Thanks

I never had many friends. High school wasn’t that bad for me. Middle school was the hard part. In middle school, we were a little better than the friends you make in bars and lesser than where we cannot share anything. Honestly, I was cynical. I was cynical of friendships, love, humanity and many other things. And although, I was cynical, I cannot ignore that there were greater truths than that of the ones I had perceived.

I went to a big school. Big in the sense where your parents send you because they believe that their children should get the best education. That part was true. But there was and there still is one part which is true as well. Big means big. Rich families, people who could spend 200 bucks in a single go, people who hung out at pizza parlors after school just for the fun of it, and people whose pocket monies ranged no less than two thousand. Gifts were never limited to Happy Birthday cards and teddies, they meant more. They had to be unique just like everyone was. Finding friends in that crowd… it was just hard for me. Beauty and money are things that have never been in my favor. 

So I never found friends in them. Either they were too good for me or I was somehow too less for them. High school came and went by and I continued to be cynical. I don’t know how God works. But tonight, I have a strange feeling that that smart brain had not completely ignored me. Tonight I received a text message from my best friend Soms

Rats you are very sweet! I miss you. To say the truth, I am a lucky person. Take Care. Goodnight J  

Soms and I met in college. We could have hit it right away but we never could find a word throughout our first year. She would sit in the second last bench with her group of friends and I would be on the first bench. We found each other during a college skit competition. Ever since, we have had our rollercoaster ride. She held me together during my breakup. She put the words to my thoughts. Somehow I know I can never fear losing my thoughts with her. We have been friends for five years. When college got over, I moved out that city. Today, she lives 1127 miles away from me. We have been friends ever since only on phone. I do not have a single idea why she sent that message. I also do not have any idea what I should reply. We will talk again tomorrow just like every other time and I know that we would not talk about the text message. We would rather ponder over why men are such dickheads or why Rihanna did not attend Katy Perry’s wedding! Seriously that is a big issue!

Moving on...

I have four IRL friends today. I have written a big post about them but tonight, I feel I am obliged to write something for them. Tonight, I believe that the friends I have found have been worth the wait. The universe has proved itself again. In those random acts of unhappiness and sorrow, it guides you to the place where you belong. Sometimes, it is love, sometimes it is friendship, sometimes it is something bigger, but the universe does make it happen. Atta boy Universe! 

*Image Source: Google Images 

November 5, 2010

TRDC Meme: What's in the BackPack?

"Your protagonist empties the contents of his/her pockets, purse, and/or backpack onto a table. What all was dumped onto the table?" That’s the prompt for this week’s TRDC meme...


The living room was quiet. Time had learnt its way to slip away in that last house of the street. The house held the Longbournes. You could seldom see them out walking in the street or watch their kids play with other kids. Somehow they had lived ten years in that neighborhood without attracting much attention and without paying much either. Samantha Longbourne was the last born; a shy and sober child aged six. We usually saw her coming back from school. Navy blue tunic over a white shirt, a neat backpack without pink or purple, pigtails neatly tied with blue ribbons and finally black shoes, Samantha Longbourne was not the perfect image for a school girl. We could see her, sometimes with her father going to the supermarket and sometimes playing with her siblings. You cannot hear their playful screams or their laughter. The last house had remained the same over the years.

It was four hours since Samantha had come back home from school. She was still in her uniform. Her skin full of tan from the afternoon sun- the kind we call sun burnt. She sat on a window pane, looking out. It had been a horrible afternoon although she did not know what horrible meant. She had seen her parents fighting that morning. They were arguing just like most other days. Her mother screamed, her father shouted, one after another, in varying sync. She could not understand what they were saying for the most part. She did fight with her siblings but it ended with one or the other smiling unintentionally. The fights that her parents had were different. She had always known that.

She was hungry and it was late. Later than the time she usually had her dinner. The tears on her eyes had left salt marks on her cheeks. Either she had forgotten to wipe them off or there was no one to do that for her. Her mother was in the living room but there would have been not much difference even if she wasn’t there. Samantha had just learnt to tell time. The smaller needle is on six and the big one at 9. Six… six… four…  six forty-five. She had to do her homework. She had tables to do and then a whole page in her English workbook. She went to her bed and pulled out her backpack that lay hidden underneath the bed.

Samantha zipped open her backpack. From inside she removed her stationary kit- a grayish pencil kit that her elder sister had lent her, a couple of band-aids, her Math workbook and then the English workbook. She had received a star for writing correct answers in her last exercise. Her teacher Ms. Emily always praised her for being such a sweet child. She searched for the candy bar that she had got today in her bag. Tony Bateman, the new kid had given them candy bars on his first day. She unwrapped the candy and starting chewing on it patiently, fearing she would eat it all alone. I should save some for Tom and Maria. But she was too hungry. Groping further into her bag, as she removed the last content, her eyes filled with tears again. She was holding a clothes line…

That afternoon was as normal as any other. She had come home as usual, hungry and tired. Her mother was in the living room as she entered the house. ‘Mom, you know Ms. Emily gave me a star today. And there is this new kid, Tony. He joined our class today…” she said, as she jumped on the sofa next to her mother. Her mother got up and went to the kitchen. She came back with a poorly dressed cheese sandwich. Samantha had never liked cheese. It was gooey for her and she never had a good experience with it, altleast not with her mother’s cooking. Her face showed hunger and pity- the face of a child that has toiled hard at school, being a good student, being a good daughter, and plain hunger.

“Mom, I don’t want that sandwich.”

Her mother looked at her. Samantha looked at her mom and then the sandwich. “Eat it Samantha. Don’t be like your father.”

“Mom, I don’t like cheese. I don’t want this.”

“Samantha, eat it.’

“I don’t want it. I hate cheese.”

“No, you don’t. You are not borne to a millionaire. This is what your father gets. Eat it or throw it.”

“I am hungry.” With this Samantha got up to go to her room. In the famished anger, she tripped across the table’s corner, making the plate fall to the ground with a loud noise.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

“First it is your father and now it is you… How dare you throw the food? Where did you learn this, from your father, huh!”

“You spoilt brat! Your father is an evil and you are born of him. You cannot be my daughter. You cannot be my daughter…”

“I will put an end to this. I cannot go on living like this. My mother was right. I never should have married that man… never… never...”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Tears rolled down Samantha’s eyes. Her cheeks had become red petals. She could hear her mother shouting in the kitchen, throwing away dishes, crying, repeating everything what she had said before.

“My death will teach you! My death will teach that man! He’ll go to hell… my mother was right…”

Samantha ran into the kitchen and stood at the kitchen door. She saw her mother holding a clothesline in her hand. Fear rushes the blood to the legs- the human instinct to run for life. Samantha ran for her mother’s life. With the power that a body of a six year old could permit, she fought for the clothesline from her mother. She did not let it go.

“Let go Mom. I will eat the sandwich.”

“I am sorry.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“Let go.”

She wrestled her mother for the clothesline and once she got hold of it. She ran- ran from the kitchen, from the living room, to her room. There she hid the clothesline in her backpack, under her workbooks, under her stationary kit, and then hid them all under her bed.    

November 2, 2010

Virtual Coffee III

Hello Friends,


Time for our coffee date. Head over to Amy’s to find out some sweet friends you can share a coffee with. And for those, who do not like coffee, we are okay with whatever you order. As long as you are there.


I’d like something hot today. Maybe a cappuccino or anything that has a good unique name.

If we are meeting today, I’d tell you in a hyper-dramatic way It is November. It is scary that the year’s end is already here. I’d tell you that the winter has already begun for us like I told you when we met last. The slant rays from the sun are welcome in our house. Winters in my place are misty and foggy with a random dryness that is hard to beat even with the best of Vaseline moisturizers.

I’d also tell you that this Sunday we rearranged our furniture in the living room because of course the momzilla is back. The living room looks nice and last night as I was sitting there and watching ‘Knowing’, I had a feeling like this is how I would want it in my living room. The idea of laying on the sofa, in a dark living room, the only light coming from the TV and the night lamp near it, looks appealing.

The coming Friday is Diwali. The city is preparing itself for the showdown. I am not a big fan of Diwali but I have some sweet memories with it. I’d tell you that as kids, my sister and I, we would wait for the festival food and while our mother would be cooking it, we would dance around in beautiful dresses. However, this festival is not the one that has serenity affiliated with it. This is the one where you start hearing crackers going off when you are least expecting. We gave up crackers when I was in the seventh graded. That was the year when we became obsessed against pollution. Watching the fireworks is still something that I enjoy.

I’d tell you I have created a new blog See, Shoot, Sony. It is my photography blog on Tumblr. I am not even an amateur but that is not going to stop me. You can comment there, if you like, that is. No pressure. =)

I’d tell you that this week on my crush list are Tim Roth, Nicolas Cage, and James Marsden. And for the week, I am pissed off by David Arquette- the guy should hold his tongue in the media.

All right. I’d also hear out what you have to say. What would be a date without each others’ stories? I’d bombard you with questions about how you spent your Halloween and where are my candies? Seriously, where are my candies? This time I'd bring some gifts for your kids. Halloween gifts. A little too late, but that's alright i guess!

I’d give you a sweet hug before we leave. Until we meet again. J
 
*Image Source: Google Images