Things That Bang

When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities.

-Matt Groening, From "Basic Sex Facts For Today'S Youngfolk" In Life In Hell

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Ernie doesnt like to scratch the itch but wouldn't mind feeling them with Bert ;) Could Sesame Street be confirming my suspicions?

Sesame Street happens to be our favorite watch. I'm now ensuring that like Aayan, Parita too prefers Sesame Street to that obnoxious Barney.

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Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.
- Samuel Johnson

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At times the greys are so cloudy that I cannot find the shades of white even if I wade deep into the murky depths. Dr Politics asked why the Women's Rights Groups are silent when a pregnant woman becomes a suicide bomber. While I am a firm advocate of pro-choice but to read that a female may have deliberately sought to get pregnant just to blow herself up does makes me cringe and question on how far does lack of humanity or the zeal for a cause go?

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Today I actually got up from the wrong side of the bed and watched the day go down hill from there. Parita nowdays has decided to stick to me and sleep. And I hate it! To such an extent that she sleeps spread out on the king sized bed and I sleep on the edge. So today my back finally said Enough!! And I woke up with the worst neck and backache of my life.

I couldn't get up! I lay there huffing and puffing like a beached whale and whining like a cat on a cold winter night. Aayan stared at me as I feebly told him to get my painkillers. Obviously the three year old thought I was talking gibberish. Painkillers? Whats that ma?And I wasnt stupid enough to leave them around. Damn it! I couldn't even remember where I had packed those shitty pills.

I painfully craned my neck and stared at five big suitcases and tried to remember where I had packed in my medicines. But all I got was a Blank Mind. So, I got up painfully from the bed, put my gigantic baby on the floor and that caused further fizzures to do the Indian raindance on my poor back and slowly approached the first bag- Nothing Second bag- Nothing. I was getting frantic. Third bag...where were they??

My fingers began to tremble. I was in a hotel room alone with two over energetic, over zealous kids, my back was killing me and I couldnt find my fuckin' pills!!!! I was close to tears when by the sixth bag and a messed up floor I found my medicine.

I stared at the Tylenol with relief but then realizied that I couldn't have the pill on an empty stomach and just then my stomach, as if listening to my thoughts, cramped with hunger. Parita crawled up to me and grab my leg.

All of a sudden as I stared at my baby she seemed to swell in size. She was heavy! How was I going to lift her up?

She tugged on my pajama bottom and gave me a toothy smile. I smiled back painfully and thought I dont want to pick you up '

Aaggha' she responded with a toothy smile and tugged harder.

I sighed and bent down to pick her up and all the muscles on my back did a ferocious samba. They squeezed together into a tight ball and then nuked my senses with a white hot mushroom. I gasped and found myself to be paralyzed right next to my daughter.

"Aagha!" she put her drooling mouth on my cheek and kissed me. I closed my eyes and thought When will it all get better?

Putting in Herculean effort I picked my kid up gently ....ever so gently but my back felt as if a magician was sawing it into million little pieces, I placed her on the bed, changed my clothes then gingerly picked up her up again and steadied myself.

We had to go down.

I called out to Aayan and we slowly walked out of the room, down the elevator and the breakfast room where the hotel hosts free breakfast.

We walked in and all the high chairs were taken. I sighed. I shouldnt have gotten out of bed

Aayan settled down on a table while I did a back and forth of food, juice and tissues and gave our neighboring table a dirty look once in a while as they were just sitting there chatting with a wailing kid in a highchair who obviously wanted to go. But the couple were leisurely hanging on the table and the freakin' much needed highchair.

I wanted to tell them to get their fat german arses off the freakin chairs, take their apple cheeked infant off the high chair and go for some whale watching or witch burning!!

But kept my peace. By then the painkiller was working. It was making me sleepy but the frigging pain was still there.

People walked by us and complimented my kids. So cute, how adorable etc etc...

I smiled back painfully and thought Fuck off!! What? Are my kids the only ones over here? Go kiss that fat german kid(Beg thousand pardons if it sounds racist)

Aayan by then decided to act extra cute thanks to the attention that was being showered on him and tried to feed Parita some juice.

I watched in horror as she raised her hand to ward off the plastic cup as he tried to shove it her her mouth. I raised my hand to grab the cup but the damage was done. I saw the juice spray all the table.

"Awww...juicyie fell all over the table"

LADY SHUD DA FUCK UP But I smiled and hobbled over the food display for more tissues with Parita beairng me down. I could have stopped the juice from falling. The kid was sitting on my lap. My one and only blouse was wet. (Tomorrow is our laundry day and we are all out of clothes. Thats one of the reason why I hate living in hotels, finding laundro mats and then sitting there for atleast an hour while the clothes get down).

I muttered under my breath and returned to the table and slowy bent over to clean the table, picked up the dirty plates, made a couple of back and forth trips to the trash, got new food on new plates and threatened my son to park his butt on his seat and keep it parked orelse.

He, on the other hand , decided to make a bid for independence and rejected his corn flakes that he had been previously munching with full gutso. I gave up.

I was sleepy, in pain and in a nasty mood.

We went back to the room and all hell broke lose. The kids were all over each other, wailing , grabbing me, tears, sticky fingers, hair being pulled and me having a mini meltdown along with a dizzy spell. I wanted to pause the scene , to take a breather before I handled them both. But living in a hotel room does not afford such luxurious.

We could have been thrown out for noise pollution. I sighed and felt a raging headache come on. GreatAnd it was only ten thirty in the morning.

I broke another painkiller into two and had the bigger half. Maybe I should have had a Valium instead.

The pain began to abate and I decided to step out despite the slightly high and extra sleepy feeling.

The hotel shuttle took twenty minutes to come. By the time it came and we were able to board we found oursleves quashed between two big old ladies who drolled over my kids and I simply wanted to curl up and Die.

Once there I parked my kids on the Target trolley and we began to shop in peace.

Did some shopping at my slow pace, had luch at the Target canteen where Parita broke my cell phone's front. But the phone was still working so somehow or other I made a call to the hotel for the shuttle and was told it would take thirty minutes to come.

Thirty minutes??

I parked Parita to my side, with shopping bags hanging from the side and Aayan by the other hand and began to walk. It was hot and Parita began to feel like a ton of bricks and add the heavy shopping bags to the mix. Aayan began to grumble, Parita fidgeted and none of the cabs stopped.

The pain in my back decided to wake up again and I felt like beating myself up. Stupid, stupid woman. Why did you have to step out?

I decided then to do something that I had promised myself that I wouldnt do. I took an unofficial cab. Whats that? Well, there are a group of guys with cars that hang around the grocery store and you pay them a certain amount and they drop you where ever you want to. Unsafe? Probably. Convienent? Very.

But what I can vouch for is that they all had been pretty gentleman like in their behavior whenever we took them so I crossed my fingers and took the cab.

The guy was friendly, his car comfy and the music my favorite but he dropped me behind the Hotel. Dumb and I was even dumber for accepting his mistake and then dragging the kids all the way to the front with the bags.

By then we were all cranky. Long story short (ie if you are still reading it and brave of you do so) the kids are still wailing and I'm staring at the door waiting for the angel of mercy to walk in.

Aaman should be home soon. It will then be a battle half one.

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In my many years I have come to a conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm, and three or more is a congress.
- John Adams

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We all know about Kevin Costner getting a boner during a message while he was at his honeymoon but the reporting of it has me cackling-

Last month, the Scottish masseuse told the tribunal in Dundee that she was "mortified" when Costner removed his massage towel before engaging in a sex act.

Whipping the towel off his boner to ...er....er.....dang it even I cant say it...grossed out......couldnt that fellow just tell the masseuse to leave the room and get his bride in for a quickie?

Talk about horny old hollywood have beens. Maybe he will cry his eyes out on Ophra

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Today I found myself going up and down the hotel's elevator too many times to keep a count. The kids and I stepped out for lunch, came back in, felt parched so went down to the veding machine, came back up then went back to the vending machine for M&Ms for Aayan. Later on he got hungry so again we went down for dinner.

And as we went up and down the elevator I found myself noticing the hair of the women who were riding the elevator with me. Most of them had such much hairspray on that even a stinky hibernating grizzly's matted fur would have felt better to touch. I couldn't imagine any sane man wanting to run his fingers through those chemically choked strands.

We tend to suffocate our skin and hair with chemicals in the name of vanity. Something as simply as a nail polish and cause nail discoloration and yesterday while I was about to use an eyeliner I saw little bumps on my eyelids exactly where I apply the eyeliner.

But vanity seemed to win over the sudden awareness and I applied the black eyeliner. Stepping out without eye make up is akin to being nude in public for me.

Guess, same goes for the hair sprayed ladies. They probably like having their hair all neat and in one place where as I let my hair be untidy and ratty.

Obviously there have been certain women in my life including my mom who have time and time again asked me to tie all that hair up or spray it to tame it but vanity stops me from hiding what probably is my second best feature.

I can vouch for it as most hair stylists tend to reach an orgasmic level when they trim my hair. Most land up pulling it up, letting it fall, running their fingers through it and say- Its so rare to come across such thick luxurious hair.

One hair stylist even refused to cut it short and chided me for wanting to get rid of my tresses that according her would not have grown back to their beautiful length again (her words not mine) She trimmed my hair and sent me packing.

My secret to healthy hair is simple- no hairspray, no hair straightening irons,lots of conditioning and applying baby oil to it every Wednesday and shampooing it only twice in a week.

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Forgive me father for I tried to smuggle coke in the bibles.

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While watching the new HBO movie- Elizabeth 1 I found myself admiring the queens jewelry more than the movie itself. The pearls that dripped from her ears down to the edges of her gown's hems were magnificent.

The movie itself was a passionate drama about a ruler having the heart of a lion in a woman's body. Helen Mirren did a splendid job playing the Queen and so did her loved yet rather unfortunate lords - the Earl of Leicester played by Jeremy Irons and The Earl of Essexs played by Hugh Dancy.

Since her reign was far too rich for a couple of hours that HBO could grant, the movie was rather fast paced and would have done better as a whole series and given me enough hours to droll over the splendid, shiny, round pearls.

A proper review of the movie is pending and I will do it as soon as I have time to spare. I just had to pen about the gorgeous pearls.

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Here's a clue: Stupidity pisses off a lot of people. If it's naked stupidity it is even more offensive.
-Temple Stark

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A Dauphin County sheriff's deputy has been suspended after being charged for sitting buck naked on a neighbor's picnic table on two separate occasions.

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An article in Asian Sex Gazette talks about Asian countries replacing their 'asian' values with those of the West and thereby going downhill. Tom Plate talks about the fervor caused in Indonesia by the availability of a rather tame Playboy magazine, its posied advent into the Indian markets, the Rolling Stones performing in China, the bar top dancing in Sinagpore and the refusal of the western powers in recognising the Hamas as a legitimate political party.

Okay, I added the last one. But the article was along the same lines as Osama's latest speech on the war the west is engaging against Islam.

What about the continuous cultural domination through the setting up of radio stations and TV channels along with the Voice of America, London and others to continue the cultural domination of Muslims, combat our beliefs, change our values, encourage vice and even interfere with school curricula?

In conclusion, a war is under way to offend the messenger of Allah, his religion and his Umma (nation). The Muslim preparedness and their jihad should be on a par with these events. The duty of our Muslim nation over this Crusaders' campaign with its different aspects is to focus on supporting the prophet, his religion and the Umma to the best of our ability in all fields.

In other words Western values replacing Eastern values(religion included?). Pornography replacing decency, selfish individualism unravelling the social fabric of asian societies that had been held together by collectivism and the most feared of all- sexual liberalism blowing the minds of the repressed middle class.

Obviously there can be finger pointing from the west too- sexual exploitation of women and children, lack of rights, poverty, girl infantcide, honor killings and the list goes on.

Somehow the tag of Cultural War does not sit well with me. Here in America I have seen parents taking care of families and participating in their communities better than many Indians and Indians partying and yet retaining the eastern pragmatism of being career oriented.

It is a matter of personal choices, of being level headed and learning to swim the tide of globalization and not against it.

Quoting Gandhi -I do not want my house to be walled in on sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all the lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible.

The pendulum tends to swing to the extreme before reaching the middle ground yet I don't see the Asians as a whole going to the other extreme as neither did the West become sex depraved hedonists no matter what the conservatives would have us believe.

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Childless Western parents seem to be turning to India for surrogant mothers. Like outsourcing its more economical and has an exotic flavor to it. The Indian government has yet to wake up to this trendy practice and bog it down with its inherent red tapeism and may just as well come up with a baby tax.

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I have been wanting a dragon tattoo (not there, obviously) on my arm since aeons but havent been able to get one till date. If I happen to see a tattoo shop I get pretty excited but Aaman inevitably says next time and we move along.

I dont think Aaman would mind if I turned up bald but he is dead set against me getting a tattoo. He never says a direct 'No' but he'd rather I got those sticky, fake, cant take the pain tattoo instead of the real thing.

After nearly four and a half years of whining about a tattoo if I dont get it now then I'm a real chicken! It is either going bald or a green scales on my upper arm.

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Let’s run away. Why lead a dreary existence of soured love? You do what you always do and I do what I always do, creatures of habit wary of each other. We fight, we claw, tear the insides; lay our ugly guts out for the world to gloat on. You wish you never laid your eyes on me and I wish I never asked for your number and yet we find ourselves wrapped tightly in satin sheets, slick in passionate embrace.

Let’s run away. So far away from each other that despite all the trembling of the hearts we cannot feel each other’s longing pound our senses. Run away from the hate, the jealously, the love, the drudgery of tears and empty apologies.

Let’s run away and numb ourselves to all that was and now has come to pass. You loved me and I loved you. But now all that lies between us cannot be wanted by either. The silence screams louder than the volley of abusive words and gestures. And yet we are two peas of the same pod, you are my breath and I am your heart. We bring out the worst in each other and cannot have enough of each other.

Let’s run away before we kill each other bit by bit with cruelty and cold kindnesses. You run first and I will follow. You run right and I will turn left. Don’t turn and look lest you see me standing and wishing you never ran.

Let’s run away, before I regret what I am saying and wish we stayed and made it all alright. It hurts too much to run. My breath curls within and refuses to sigh, heart hurts and head spins. Run now before I break down and ask for one more chance. It just isn’t worth it no more, run away, darling, run away, I’m just not worth your while any more.

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Why did the post seem nice when I typed in the middle of the night with music blaring in my ears? Its like a woman who looks good only at night after a couple of shots of drinks and come morning I can't even recognise it.

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This is a Victoria Secret Blouse that I have been drolling over for over a month but their shipping takes so long that one tends to forget about the order altogether. Last time I ordered a bra from Vi c it took two whole months to reach.

No use drooling over it as in a month's time we will be leaving US.

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All members of Prime Minister Tony Blair's cabinet made a contribution towards a gift for the queen - a china tea set from Spode's, the country's oldest pottery manufacturer.

"It was something the queen had indicated she specifically would like", a spokesman for Blair said.

Might seem weird to some but sometimes it makes sense to ask what a person wants for birthday when they have the world at their feet

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Happy birthday Lizzy. May your 80th birthday be full of buoyant celebrations and may none of those insidious voices reach your ears (at least today) who talk about the end of the British monarchy with your demise.

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Could you imagine how horrible things would be if we always told others how we felt? Life would be intolerably bearable.

- Randy K. Milholland (Something Positive Comic)

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Men and women are actually from the same planet, but scientists now have the first strong evidence that the emotional wiring of the sexes is fundamentally different.

Interesting read that proves that women respond better to stress than men. Said it before years of oppression have made us stronger ;)

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UPDATE: Nepal's king vowed on Friday to return power to the people of this Himalayan kingdom after weeks of massive protests and increasing international pressure.

King Gyanendra said his dynasty had "unflinching commitment toward constitutional monarchy and multiparty democracy" and he called on the seven main political parties to name a prime minister as soon as possible.

But irreversible damage may have been done to the Nepali monarchical rule by his high handed behavior.

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“The only thing that one really knows about human nature is that it changes. Change is the one quality we can predicate of it. The systems that fail are those that rely on the permanency of human nature, and not on its growth and development. The error of Louis XIV was that he thought human nature would always be the same. The result of his error was the French Revolution. It was an admirable result.”

- Oscar Wilde

The ruler of Nepal, King Gyanendra like LoiusXIV may have made the cardinal mistake of not keeping a finger on the pulse of the nation. The rising tide of resent against the king and the demand for the resumption of democracy seems to be an indication that the days of monarchy maybe numbered.

The king is growing increasingly unpopular fourteen months after he took direct powers which he said were necessary to quell a long running Maoist insurgency.

An autarchy has never been popular with the masses and a despotic ruler's days are always numbered.

The reimposing of the daylight curfew for the second day running to curb the rising demonstration against the ruler doesnt seem to be effective. There have been people who have defyed the curfew, over ten have died in a matter of two weeks and people seem to regroup and protest when the curfew is lifted.

The passion of the Nepali people is admirable and their demand for democracy cannot be muffled.

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There is absolutely nothing sexy about this picture. It made me feel dirty as if I had been caught watching some fat chick about to masturbate. Sure, she is an everyday babe, somewhere between a size14 or 16 but there is just too much of her, all steamy and five cups too big for my comfort.

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Talk about horny old bastards

Broward Sheriff's Office deputies arrested a 76-year-old man Thursday who they say was going door-to-door in a Lauderdale Lakes neighborhood offering free breast exams.

Two women accepted the exams, BSO officials said.

Fine, he was a devious old goose trying out a devious ploy but the women who fell for it were idiots. I've never heard of a free breast examination except in the bedroom. Eesh

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Last night we ate at a Korean restaurant. The food was delicious but rather unusual for Aayan's palatte so when we returned to the hotel, he looked across at McDonald and squeaked- Chicken nuggets. We crossed the road and walked into a restaurant that was rather quiet except for an Afro- American abusing the McDonald employees.

He was a tall skinny angry guy threatening physical harm and the customers silently watched the interaction between the irate customer and the Mc Donlad management.

I began to feel a little apprehensive and imagined the guy pulling out a gun and shooting us all and was about to tell Aaman that it would be best if we left but then the guy said something so comic that the whole restaurant burst out laughing.

The menancing cloud was replaced by light hearted laughter as he was thrown out of the restaurant.

Here is what he said - I will get my sister here and she will whoop your ass!

His sister!!

Boston sure is fun

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Today I had the best dinner of my life. The appetizer was New England clam chowder and the main dish was Shrimp and Garlic tossed with linguine. Sounds like an everyday meal but the clam chowder has been served at every presidential inauguration since 1981. The bloody Mary was smooth, the horse radish tangy and the celery fresh. The service was great and the ambience crowded but congenial for those burdened with little people.

I am talking about a famous Boston sea food chain restaurant called Legal Seafoods. Walking around the Prudential Center I had felt my stomach rumble and found myself staring at the stores hungrily.

One thing was obvious, if I stayed hungry I was bound to buy stuff I would later regret buying and thus found myself insisting that we eat before I walked around the mall.

Aaman suggested Legal Seafoods, a restaurant that we had passed by just as we had entered the mall.

The place was dimly light and when I looked in all I saw were adults but I had a feeling that the food there would be scrumptious and in we went.

Surprisingly, we got a table just as we entered despite the fact that we were there at about six thirty in the evening which is the early dinner hour for most Americans. As we sat on our table, a bear of a waiter strolled over to take our order.

Aaman ordered a mixed sea food platter, Aayan had lobster, corn on the cob and fries from the kids’ menu and I had my Shrimp and garlic linguine but it was the appetizers of lobster bisque and clam chowder that stole the show.

The clam chowder was piping hot, creamy and the chunks of crab melted in my mouth. I loved the chowder but liked Aaman’s bisque even more. As we began to enjoy our appetizers the waiters brought our dinner and caught us off guard.

We were rather surprised. How could such an up market restaurant make such a big mistake? We kept Aayan’s dinner and sent our entrees back. Since the kids were in a good mood and we were enjoying our soups we decided to forgive them.

But then our waiter strolled over and said that parents generally liked all the dishes to come at once as they were often pressed for time thanks to the short attention span of kids.

We were touched by the extra attention provided and found ourselves enjoying our meal at a leisurely pace.

Parita was chewing at cucumbers followed by lemons and Aayan was digging away at his lobster.

Our waiter looked in on us once in a while and made a few suggestions that I should have a little pepper sprinkled over my linguine to give it that extra zing or got more cucumbers for Parita.

Half way through our meal the kids decided to act their age and began to fidget and have mini melt downs as it is way past their bed time. I obviously stopped eating and took care of my nine months old while Aaman distracted Aayan, our three years old.

Our dinner had come to an end but I did not begrudge my kids for acting their age as the restaurant had made us feel quite comfortable and the people around us gave us sympathetic smiles and some even complimented our kids for being generally well behaved.

Since I had barely touched my entrée I asked the waiter to pack it as Parita had parked herself on my lap and wouldn’t let me eat. He smiled and replied it was all sand slipping through the hour glass.

It was then that I realized the truth behind his words. Time has a way of flying when we enjoy our selves and these were the moments that I had to treasure the most as my kids would grow up at a blink of an eyelid and the chances of me getting good lobster or big plump shrimps in India would be rare.

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For Indians Nepal is nothing more than a tourist destination. The little kingdom is torn between an overbearing ruler, the growing influence of the Maiosts in the poverty stricken villages and the increasing demand for democracy by the educated class.

Sanat Mohanty shared an article written by a journalist who has been detained in prison for defying the curfew hours as a means of protest for democratic rights and in the thread section temporal has provided more information on the same issue.

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How much easier it is to be critical than to be correct.
- Benjamin Disraeli

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Last night when I saw a Mc Donald restaurant right in front of our hotel my heart sank. It was a recipe for disaster and my son's squeal - Chicken nuggets, Mikey D- had me cringe. I don't mind feeding my kid Mikey D once in a while but we will be in Boston for a month and having a fast food restaurant next to our hotel room would surely play havoc on my fight to feed nutritious food to my son despite being on a vacation.

And it isnt him alone. I love the Mikey D fries, they are salty enough to give any healthy person high blood pressure and addictive enough to ensure that no one would ever ask for a small size.

Maybe I am being overdramatic but its being a junkie with a crack manufacturing unit operating in the neighborhood. Some how or the other I have sneak Aayan out of the hotel without him pleading to be taken to Mc Donald's.

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what kind of sick piece of shit are you?? what the hell is the
point in this story? i think you're sexually frustrated to come up with
something like this.

That was the comment I got today for my storyStephanie The Lazy Town Slut I found the comment to be rather amusing. Obviously, the individual who had posted the comment didn't seem to be familiar with fan fiction nor did he/she realize that in my story Stephanie was at a legal age to have sex.

Naturally, the comment was posted under anonymous and made me wonder why people generally lack the courage to be rude or obnoxious up front?

Hate mails or comments are directed to upset the receiver, it makes the sender feel righteous and impowered and the receiver feels either degraded, amused or indifferent depending upon the warying level of self-esteem.

Being an erotic writer I've received all kinds of mails, some chiding me for obvious typing errors, some appreciating the efforts put in and some being absolute stinkers where even my sense of morality was questioned ( I got a whole bunch of them when I wrote an incest story)

As a writer one has to be ready for all kinds of responses. In fact to receive a response whether positive or negative is a big achievement as it means it touched the responder at some level.

I have no qualms about my chosen genre and rather enjoy peoples' reactions that wary from awkwardness to becoming extremely obscene as if my stories reflect me to be an amoral person who is either to be avoided or a type who would love to indulge in a bit of internet sex.

But, again I take it all in my stride as I'm a comment whoring writer. I live for responses whatever they may be. Yet for a change it would be nice if a hate mail was accompanied with an email id as I'd love to know what brought the wave of negativity.

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“I thought you were done packing? What’s all this?” Aaman stared at the four baggages that lay open with me sitting in the middle.

“I’m re-packing.” I muttered and dreaded the next question which came anyway.

“Why?”

I sighed and stared at a hard top VIP bag and replied “Because I am stupid.”

Silence

Then came a quieter question

“Why are you mad?”

“Because the bag is heavy and I don’t have much in it.”

“So, can’t you lighten it?”

Pitch rises

“I did but it is still FUKIN’ heavy.”

“Then, let’s get rid of it and get a lighter bag.”

“NO.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to get rid of it.” I snapped

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you want to get rid of it?”

“I got it in my trousseau”

“That’s silly, we will be paying extra for sentimentality.”

Silence followed by minute of inaction then I grabbed the bag and emptied out all the stuff on my lap.

Aaman watched me in silence. I grabbed another bag and emptied out its content and stared it and then did the same to another suitcase. He continued to watch me as I got more agitated.

“Why are they so heavy? They are just clothes.”

“Why?” I mutter again

“Are you asking me?”

“No. It was a rhetorical question.”

I opened a fifth bag and stared at it angrily. By then the room was full of overturned suitcases and an overly irate woman.

“I don’t want to go to Boston.”

“I really don’t want to go.” I stressed each and every word and sait next to Aaman.

He smiled as he knew what was coming but still asked

“Why?”

I started to blubber as tears threatened to fall. I clenched my fingers.

“I don’t want to go because my bags are too heavy.”

“We can pay for the heavy baggage.”

“No, I don’t like heavy bags.”

I became mulish.

“Dee, you are tired, with all that apartment cleaning, kids and now this. Relax for awhile.”

“No! I can’t take this- My bags are too heavy. I don’t want to go.”

“Fine then we won’t go.”

“But we have to go.”

“Yes, we have to go.”

“But my bags are too heavy.”

We both sighed and stared at the tossed out clothes- the bags were too heavy.

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Five years ago on this date I had got cold feet as I stood barely two feet away from Aaman. I was the bejeweled bride, ready to grab her lenga and run through the nearest door. Thoughts had skittered across my mind- how could I spend my whole life with one person? I couldnt meet my best friends beyond twice in a week and here I was going to marry a person I had barely known for over three months.

I watched Aaman approach me holding a garland and I nearly took a step back. Adrenaline shot through my body- Turn and run, Dee. Do it now! I bit my lip and felt my aunt prod me on the back.

"Move" she hissed.

I stared at the faces of people I knew and some I didn't. Move Dee, one way or another the thought raced through my mind.

My hands began to shake and I clenched and crumpled the orchard garland that matched my bridal outfit.

"Move Deepti" my aunt whispered a little louder.

The crowd was laughing, Aaman was laughing, his family was laughing so was mine but I was trembling with fear.

One person to wake up to, to meet everyday and to talk to everyday. I don't know if i can do it! This is my last chance.

"This is your last chance Dee. If you want to run now is the time." My future sister-in-law shouted over the laughing crowd. Her words shook me out of my reverie.

I took the step forward towards a dark future, towards Aaman and before I could put the garland on him as bride's are supposed to, he placed his garland on me first and let me put mine on him.

People laughed more and told him that he was supposed to make it difficult for me to put the garland on him. That was the custom. He laughed and helped me off the platform.

I laughed and took it as a sign that no matter what happened as we traversed through life he would always be there for me.

Things moved smoothly after that as most weddings do with a few hitches here and there which were happily overlooked.

I'm glad we got married and I did not pay heed to the temporary feeling of wanting to escape. These have been the happiest five years of my life and I am the luckiest woman in the world. Thanks babes, you are the best thing that ever happened to me.

Happy anniversary Aaman :)

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Its funny how we get attached to the most mundane or smallest things and worry about them. Our move is only three days away and I have bamboo plants that I had nutured for five months and had grown accustomed to.

Silently, but surely the plants had become silent members of the family. I even found myself caressing the small leaves once in a while and when no one was around I even muttered a few loving words to the bamboo sticks as plants supposedly respond to human interaction.

I had picked the plants up from one of those tacky Chinese shops at the mall. Plants have always been my weakness and instead of browsing through the Chinese nik nacks I had found myself making a beeline towards the bamboo plants.

Most were grouped together in bunches of four to six sticks in little green porcelain pots. The leaves of the plants gleamed and beckoned my touch and yet I didnt not want any of them. They looked cluttered and I wanted something dainty.

I found myself bending down and pulling out a small porcelain pot that had been pushed behind a small laughing buddha.

Two young bamboo shoots were tied together and were kept stable by pebbles as small as my fingernails in a pot that was a little bigger than my hand. It could not get smaller than that.

The salesperson didn't want to sell it and tried to herd me back to the bamboo shelves to pick up a bigger plants but my mind was made up- it was love at first sight. There was something sad and yet hopeful about two bamboo sticks struggling to live despite all odds.

I wanted to be part of their tiny yet significant struggle.

But our love affair lasted for a rather short period and I have to find a new owner. My bamboo shoots arel low maintence; all they need is plenty of water, cool envirornment and indirect sunlight.

Any takers?

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 04:16 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.
- WH Auden

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 04:12 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

All parents tend to think that their kids are the cat's whiskers but my second kid is truly exceptional. Not only is she taller than most babies of her age but my baby loves books. Since she was seven months old she had been turning pages of Aayan's books, would look at the pictures and even grabbed our books to look for pictures which obviously were never there.

Yes, I am one proud mother hen strutting around with her little chicks. As it happens a rather scrawny mother hen came over yesterday to check out some of the stuff we were selling. Her daughter, an eleven month old, was one fourth the size of my nine month old. I seemed more like a steroids pumped hen and the lady a lean, worn out quail.

The comparison was stark - I was trying to sell her my furniture and she was trying to part me from my Teflon pans.

I was as vocal as Aaman and she was whispering things into her husband's ears. Parita, on her end, was eyeing the petite scared baby with eagle eyed concentration and tried to grab the kid when I wasn’t looking. The lady's baby on the other hand clutched her mom and eyed me with such suspicious eyes that I felt like a poacher about to part the babe from the monkey mama.

It was a Darwinism at work- the big females overpowering their lesser sisters and it wasn't a weight issue but the family needed to have a little more presence than that of a limp noodle.

Aayan, by the way was playing with his duckies in the tub and missed the visit.

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I don't want to sound like a soppy wife but its been only an hour since Aaman left for a business trip to Boston for two days and I'm already missing him. There is this low feeling in my middle and a restlessness that refuses to go. This kind of dependency is a sign of love and of not having any friends around to distract me.

Its just a matter of two days of managing my little balls of energies. Thursday night Aaman will be back and the next two days we will be cleaning up the apartment and finally on Sunday catch our flight to Boston.

Its weird but I have moved more often than the years that I've been married and each move has been a positive experience with me becoming a more seasoned gypsy.

Five years of living in America reduced to mere six bags and I have no space to carry gifts for relatives. Guess, now is as good a time as any to break a useless custom of giving 'made in China' but US returned gifts .

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Boris Vallejo happens to be my favorite painter. His women are unfettered beauties who emanate raw sensuality and tend to draw us into their fearless unreal lives. In many of his paintings Boris has shown bestiality with creative hutzpah and given them an errie normalcy found only in science fiction.

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I was sitting behind Aaman reading a book and as I happened to gaze at his laptop screen I saw a penis jutting out from a sidewalk. Such bold, in your face creativity can be expressed only in Amsterdam or in San Francisco (being magnanimous as it happens to be my favorite city).

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 03:51 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

We will be moving to Boston in a few of days and after a couple of months to India. Its been a rather hectic week with all the packing and junking of things. We have sold most of our books, given away clothes by the tons and still there is so much more to do.

The only thing I regret during this tranistion period is kids getting neglected. I am not able to pay too much attention to them. Aaman generally acts as the baby sitter and I do the packing, cleaning and throwing since I want everything done in a certain way.

My kitchen is still functioning and the apartment needs a thorough clean up.

On friday it will be five years to our marriage and we will probably be packing up for our move. So much for a romantic wedding anniversary.

I;m so sick of packing and unpacking. We just sent a package to India that cost us a whooping $300 bucks and I feel like beating myself up as the stuff sent could have been shelved but under all that stress of packing we made a bad decision.

Ah! well, live and learn.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 10:32 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

As a rule I don't like to take comments from Blogcritics. org or Desicirtics.org and put them on my site but this comment on my recent post on BC was so outlandishly funny that I found myself laughing at the commentor's ability to spin vulgarity to the highest proportions of literary creativity:

Comments: Outer Mongolea was my homeland and my family sold Yak goat
cheese. We now have store on 10th ave east in NY. Please visit the
Mongolean Cheese Factory. Newsweek magizine did a story on Mongolea and we
received mention in the April 2002 report. My wife Gauneda, Ga-une-da are
now seperated. For those who came to the Mongolean Cheese Factory Im
sure you remember her. Gauneda at that time was around 580 pounds or
more. She was always very sweet to all our patrons. If you recall, I was of
small frame and maybe 125lbs. What you dont know is the physical and
mental abuse I endured all those years. So, as you can see men can be on
the opposite or receiving end as women. Many times I ended up at the
emergency room of our local hospital. Because of Gauneda's last attact
she is serveing 5 to 10 yrs. That almost killed me. I woke up at night
and she spread her butt checks and sat on my face. Because her ass was
very hairy and Gauneda bathed once a month if that, she had accumlated
various objects, dingle balls, pet hair, and who knows what. The doctor
said I was poisoned from the leftover Mongolean Beef stuck in the butt
hairs.
All Im saying is abuse to each involved can happen. Hope to see you at
the Cheese Factory. Call ahead for reservations. Toll free # is
1-800-PET-BUTT. Local # DINGLEBALLS. Thanks. Slaphappy.

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It's just human. We all have the jungle inside of us. We all have wants and needs and desires, strange as they may seem. If you stop to think about it, we're all pretty creative, cooking up all these fantasies. it's like a kind of poetry.
Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Mister Sandman, 1994

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 02:34 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

“There goes a hen pecked husband” They would snicker behind their beers watching a brow beaten husband head home not wanting to hear his wife nag him if he returns late from a 'Buddies night out'. If only things went as far as verbal abuse and heckling.

It was recently been reported on CNN that there is an increase in number of cases where women have resorted to violence in their relationships. While some might find cat fights to be sexy but when a woman turns on a man and scratches his face with talon like nails, it is then that a man realizes that there is no such thing as the ‘weaker sex’.

Paul, who works for a cement company, said his wife would attack him when he got home from work.

"She'd come running at me like a wild animal, both hands and arms swinging, I think she had her eyes closed half the time," he said.

Women tend to get instant sympathy from society, men however when victims of domestic violence are generally heckled for not being able to take the ‘little woman’ at hand.

Would the man then be justified in defending himself or would he slapped with a misdemeanor and do time in jail?

The depths of domestic violence are always murky and while accusations are made by both sides, the law generally tends to believe the woman’s side even if she was the abuser.

While women have earned their rightful place next to their male counterparts yet it is imperative that women should not abuse the laws of the land but then again human nature is such that when we make mortal enemies we use all means possible to destroy the one who is at the recieving tend of our wrath, whatever be the gender.

Domestic abuse begins with verbal abuse. The signs are ever present and there can be no excuses to stay in the soured relationship even though the spouse may apologize once the terrible words were said or violence was done.

The best way to avoid domestic violence is to leave at the first sign of abuse even when the abuser is a woman.

There is no reason why a man should stay married to a woman who resorts to verbal or physical abuse and should rightfully be able to provide domestic abuse as legitimate grounds for divorce.

And the victim should have the support of his male friends and of society instead of being further victimized by having his masculinity questioned as the laws of the land, obviously, do not support Horatio- like tactics.

.

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An anecdote told to me by a Publisher about a researcher whose book her company had published

She was researching on the status of Indian women in the villages. She had already come with her baggage of preconceived notions. They were exploited, subdued and treated a little better than the farmer’s animals.

She wore the right clothes, a cotton salwaar kameez and rubber chappals . Sitting under the cool shade of the banyan tree she watched the farmer plough the land in the sultry heat with his oxen. He trudged patiently, spoke lovingly to his animals.

She watched the sun beat down on his lean, naked chest, sweat glimmered on his brows but he didn’t complain. She wanted to improve their lot, she had a lot of ideas she wanted to share with him.

Excitement bubbled in her throat- she would change his thinking. He would be a better husband and a better farmer.

A hand on her shoulder startled her and she stared at the smiling lips that peeked from the covered face. The farmer’s wife had come with lunch.

She called out to her husband. He smiled and removed the heavy plough from the oxen shoulders and sat with the two women in cool shade.

The couple offered the foreigner their simple food. She ate the dry roti and little subzi.

In her broken Hindi she asked him “why don’t you buy a tractor? Life would be easier.”

He smiled and responded “The crops had been good this season and I can finally afford one.”

“Well, in that case you should have one.”

He looked at his wife whose face was covered in purdah and asked her “Should we get one?”

She nodded.

His eyes twinkled and he said “It will be done.”

It was then that she understood that appearances can be deceptive. There was no exploitation here.

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My post on Desicritics.org - On Immaculate Birth is causing a lot of fur flying and I am enjoying it and here is my latest response

It never is the right time...

Say what you like...it never is the right time till AIDs comes and kills you.... 1000 times more than you can count.

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Today I recieved an auto-confirmation on an order I never placed on Amazon. The item bought was - My Life by Bill Clinton It was the hard copy with one day shipping option. All I could think was huh? I never bought the book. Who had been messing with my account?

Then it came back. Aayan had been playing on the Sesame Street Website on my laptop and I had left a few windows open. Somehow or the other he managed to get to the Amazon page and ordered the book. The site is so customer friendly that even a three and a half year old can order.

And now I am stuck with a hardbound book worth nearly 30$ with the one day shipping charge.

Dang!

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 02:08 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Indians are a suppressed lot. Go on, try grabbing my neck over this statement but you know there is much truth to this statement. Tell me how many of you have openly showed affection to your significant other in front of your parents?

I'm not talking about mauling your partner but just a affectionate hug or a peck on lips? Worse still even at the age of thirty one I feel embarassed if a hot scene happens to play on the television while I'm sitting with an older relative. The urge to switch the channel has my fingers hovering over the remote and yet being an adult it would be a rather childish thing to do so I'd find myself sitting through the two minute scenes in pin drop, uncomfortable silence.

Why? Because we have been told that sex is dirty. Something as bad as taking a friggin dump. No wonder in Chandigarh they have No Kissing Marshals patrolling the grounds to stop youngsters from smooching.

For Christssakes, grow the fuck up Indians! Sanskriti my friggin arse. Sexual suppression is the worst kind of phobia that most Indian teenagers seem to suffer from.

Ask any Indian teenage boy what the vulva is, he would tell you that it's probably is the car -Volvo. No, its no joke, despite sex education being taught in most urban school most Indians don't even know the names of the sexual organs forget about doing it the right way.

But they are doing it. A couple of years ago there was a case of a cell phone snap being taken of a school girl performing oral sex on her boyfriend and the idiot put the snap up on bazi.com.

Sure, kids will be kids and raging hormones make them do idiotic things but the point is that they are doing 'things' without protection.

And kindly dont blame the humping on the changing times, every generation has felt its oats or eggs. Some suppressed the urges, others masturbated and some rebelled and went for the ride.

Do I feel you become a little uncomfortable when I say the word Masturbate in a public forum? Would you rather I said 'Self abuse' or 'What the fuck were you doing with my cream?' Like your mommy asked you when she barged into your room?

Come on lighten up a bit, talking about onanism couldn't be all that bad. We all have been down that secret garden one time or the other but I have yet meet more than five Indians who have openly and proudly said "Yes, I shag once in a while." or for that matter talked about the various kinds of contraceptions available.

And what could be so wrong when I joke about stiff sheets or condoms? Some Indians would be quick to label me a loose woman for being so forth right. But someone has to ask these questions. Someone has to tell Indians to let down their hair a bit and not make sex out to be such a big deal that either we hide it behind flowers banging against each other or make it so grossly expressive that one wants to throw up.

Grossly expressive? Yeah, like taking it too far to be 'in' with the times- where the man would be sucking the woman's face in! Sadly enough with all this discouragement of dating most Indians - men and women are bad kissers and dont even know what foreplay is all about.

Men are quick at grabbing the boobs and dry rubbing and women try to go all the way without actual penetration.

All this suppression in the name of custom and traditions needs to dealt with a iron hand. Today HIV and other sexually contagious diseases threaten to engulf our country and how is our moral police helping out? By carrying out marches against Valentine's Day or calling up Mum or Dad when caught smooching.

Grow the freakin' up India! We all are doing it, thinking it or buying it. All that is needed is to add a condom to it. Say No to drugs and No to sex without a condom.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 03:50 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

There were two things I was known best amongst my friends when I was single - firstly that I hated shopping and secondly that I could drink any son of a gun under the table. Both these qualities made me quite popular with my guy friends who shared my aversion to malls and loved to part other guys of their money by having a drinking bet with me.

My drinking days obviously stopped once I passed out of college and began to work but my aversion to shopping continues till date. Despite living just a few blocks away from one of the biggest malls of America I cannot bring myself to rub shoulders with fellow humans in the crowded mall nor do I like to discuss my needs with some pert saleswoman.

Recently, while visiting a store in the Magnificent Mile district in Chicago I got waylaid by a lady dressed in a real fur coat. She tried to pass me a leaflet on the store and asked me to feel the soft fur. The old fox even smiled at my husband and told him that a little pelt might make his wife happy.

I stared into her old wrinkly face and wanted to turn tail and run. It wasn’t as if she was forcing me into the store but the pressure of trying to politely reject a fellow being made my old nemesis reappear.

Once in a while I suffer from Social Anxiety especially when a stranger catches me off guard or tries to make friendly conversation. I, however tend to clam up and look for the nearest exit points.

The fur lady cootchie-cooed my kids and tried to herd us into the store. I felt crowded and smiled at her rather sickly.

“No thank you” I muttered and tried to step away.

She raised a faded eyebrow and pressed a little more, “Honey, you just have to see the marvelous furs.”

I stared at Aaman, hoping that he would stop the barracuda from herding me in. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me away from the lady.

“We are in a hurry. Maybe, next time.” He smiled politely and wheeled me away.

I breathed a sigh of relief and we continued our window shopping.

If you happen to ask Aaman whether I like shopping he would probably tell you that I love shopping but not in person. I get fidgety in front of cashiers when they ask for my zip code or phone number or try to make some sort of inane conversation.

I hate making polite conversations with strangers and prefer to hide behind a over priced blouse in a store or a newspaper in a bus than make eye contact or general chit chat with people.

So where do I shop?

Online of course, I grab my cup of tea, curl up on the couch and shop on Amazon.com.

Apart from general stuff like books (that I buy at least two to three per week) one can even buy all kinds of items from clothes, kitchen stuff to even dildoes and other adult products not only from Amazon but also from their affiliates.

Even when I’m not in the mood to buy, it still feels nice to be able to click on things that catch my fancy and put them in my wish list. I can visit my wish list time and time again and decide whether I want to buy any of the products without a sales person breathing down my neck or have a restless husband trying his best not to tell me to ‘hurry it up’.

I’ve bought a number of things from Amazon itself but recently I found myself buying oil paintings from an Amazon affiliate- Malovani Designs

Initially I was a little apprehensive and it felt as if I stepped into a shady arts gallery and was going to be the sucker of the century. But the store was prompt in its delivery and the paintings were beautiful.

While shipping in Amazon is always convenient and is free for Prime Members, the one thing that I wished they would include in their virtual sale racks would be booze.

I realize that may not work out for them, but I would seriously like to buy my Bailey's without the tax as I do my books, paintings and kitchen gadgets.

That being said, I enjoy shopping for liquor as here in Ohio we have drive through liquor stores that look like car-washes stacked with booze. We gently drive our cars in, place our order the attendant who loads it up in the trunk, swipes the card and we drive out.

No unnecessary verbal interaction happens, eye contact is to the minimum and the service is quick and we drive back home where I take sips of my Bailey's, add stuff to my wish list with a slightly tipsy smile and wish that all my shopping experiences were this cozy.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 05:57 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)