Things That Bang

She stood in front of the LCD with a slack jaw. The broom fell from her hand but she did not pay heed. The torrid kissing scene between the American actors had her undivided attention. The woman sitting behind her felt embarrassment crawl up her skin reminding her of all those uncomfortable childhood memories when her father cursed under his breath and fast forwarded the movies when sex scenes came.

She waited for the maid to move but the kissing turned into clothes being torn off. She stifled a groan and reached over for the remote. The maid continued to stand and watch as the actors fell on the bed and seemingly naked bodies undulate to soft sex music. Her finger was on the stop button but she let the scene finish. She decided she would be generous and let the scene be the highlight of the maid's day.

Next scene came on and showed the man buying coffee and flowers for the woman sleeping in his apartment while armed men broke in and killed the love of his life. The maid lost interest, picked up the broom and swept the room in a halfhearted manner and the lady of the house went back to watching her movie.

The maid wondered how long it would take her to finish cleaning the house. There were too many rooms and why did this family need two bathrooms? She tried her best to keep her mind away from the images that kept re-running her in mind.

The noises made by the copulating couple lying just a few yards away from her just about every night since she had come to stay with them a month back had turned her into a wanton hussy and she couldn't get her mind off sex. She felt like the village prostitute who was always at it. But she wasn't getting it. Her brother in law had been eying her slim figure. She had seen his eyes resting on her breasts but she loved her elder sister.

This was her sister's second marriage and she already had two kids by him. She did not want to break her home but the urge to lie with him tempted her.

She collected the dust that had piled up in a corner and threw it in the nearby dustbin and stole a look at the rich woman sitting on the sofa. She was dressed like a man. Her cotton shirt was stretched across her breasts and the jeans showed her thighs and buttocks. She knew if she wore such clothes her brother in law would be on her the minute he found her alone but it seemed rich men didn't care what their women wore.

Shots rang out through the home theater speakers and despite the extraordinary drama being played out on the screen the face of the rich lady remained expressionless. The maid went back into the room to sweep the floor. As she swept the Italian marbled floor with a brown rag, squished and squeezed the rag in the bucket full of water the lady sitting on the sofa stared at the young girl who was on all fours sweeping her floors.

She wore a cheap saree but her thin figure looked sultry in the Indian clothes. The cleavage showed through, the lean caved in stomach peeked out and the slightly raised butt as it swept to and fro made her grin and think to herself - no wonder there were so many 'doing the maid' jokes.

The girl had worked for her for over a month. They had never spoken much to each other. A smile here and there and that was about it. Her husband never acknowledged the 'help'. But that's how it was supposed to be. He was the king of his castle and the servants mere phantoms catering to his needs.

Not that she wanted him to acknowledge the young servant either. Competition from the maid? How absurd! She burst out laughing loudly at the thought of her snotty highbrow husband mauling the maid. As it is in bed he talked about white maids not dark skinned maids. He was a typical Indian male.

On hearing her mistress laugh the maid looked up with a smile at her and then at the screen. But there wasn't anything remotely funny. The fair skinned handsome man was punching some one to the ground. She went back to sweeping the floor thinking the rich were weird people.

The lady on the sofa tapped the remote against her knee and felt bored. The maid finished her cleaning. She picked up the bucket and the rich lady gave her the -'thank you' smile that didn't reach her eyes and stared back at the flat screen.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 09:24 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Sometimes even in our dreams we know what we are dreaming is just to weird. Last night I dreamt that I made friends with babes who came from tribal areas and there were 'urban' people who wanted them kicked out. One man broke into our home and wanted to throw 'roties' at the girls. Roties?! He just stood there with rolled out flour, bug eyed and wanting to wreck havoc and I had the girls standing behind me while I gave the man some much needed verbal lashing.

That was my night dream which was interrupted by my need to visit the loo.

Morning dream started with me being a blond and my husband (some strange dude) muttering he didn't get me at all. I was sitting with him as he grumbled and twiddling my thumbs. Suddenly I got up told him I was hitting the salon for some massage and left with him looking depressed. I reached the place when I met a Thai babe who took me into a room where a white stallion was waiting to be ridden. She whispered in his ears to be a good boy. I tugged his lovely white mane, jumped on his back and was about to ride out of the parlor when Aaman woke me up.

Weird!

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My garden is a neglected plot of land. Corporation water stopped coming a few months back and we went back to getting water from tankers. My green fingers dug into container gardening and the land was neglected in favor of clay and plastic pots.

Winter passed, spring came and I let the leaves of trees lie on the land. They acted as natural mulch against weeds. I would look out of the window and see the good earth get buried. Plants died and I felt bad but there wasn't much that I could do.

Today I decided to take a walk on the land and as my feet crackled on the leaves I came across something red berry-like jutting out of the leaves. Strawberries?! Couldn't be. On closer inspection they turned out to be cherry tomatoes. There was a vine growing somewhere under the leaves.

I dug through the leaves and found the vine. Tomato plants love the sun but this vine had grown despite the cover of dead leaves and under the shade of a mango tree. Its survival against all the odds pitted against it was remarkable and gave credence to the story my grandfather told me decades back.

I came from a family of achievers. My parents had successful careers and my sisters were toppers at school. I on the other hand, was the proverbial black sheep. Easy to anger and bad at studies.

I had come to accept my lot. I was the odd one out, the sore thumb, the kid who always caused her parents worry and there was no way I could change but my grandfather one day grabbed hold of me.

He told me of a story of a farmer who tilled the land and threw seeds on the ground. Most seeds grew on smooth well turned soil one however found itself buried under a tiny pebble. Few days passed and the seeds germinated but this one seemingly didn't and by the time the other seeds had reached the three leaf stage the one stifled under the pebble finally sprung up a small little shoot. It had gone around the pebble and made it. Its struggle was remarkable.

He looked at me meaningfully with his electric blue eyes and I looked back glumly. He obviously in his wisdom wanted to convey that those with determination would make it no matter what and I in my youthful ignorance didn't like the fact that life didn't deal equal cards to all.

The two little cherry tomatoes brought it all back. I looked around my shabby seemingly dead garden with new eyes. It wasn't dead. In some nooks and corners it was surging through despite my deliberate neglect.

The banana tree branch bending down with growing fruit, baby roses had blossomed on my rose rambler which hadn't flowered for two years and ornamental grass was turning green around the tips. The April showers though far and between had brought life back to my garden in bits and pieces.

Sure, life is not fair; nature is not fair and yet it gives its children the gift of resilience and determination. There is no- 'why me?' in nature. You either make it or you don't. There will always be odds stacked against us one way or the other but we have to make it on our own pace and in our way.

I hadn't liked my grandpa's story because he had ended it by telling me that the seed had grown into a plant healthy but shorter than others. The farmer hadn't cared and reaped it like he did others.

Somehow I couldn't pluck those cherry tomatoes. The struggle couldn't be negated, not of that little seed, of the tomato plant or that of my grandfather's life.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 12:05 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I get spammed by my family and friends and despite my pleas for them to smother their  I gotta share this emotion they continue to send me forwards.

And unlike trashy get a bigger penis or double your breasts spams, family forwards are very boring. Most forwards range from - Pass this email along to all the sisters you love dearly and mail it back to the recipient causing hundreds of emails to go back forth to A prayer for a dying cancer ridden child, to animal pictures to Jai which ever god/goddess and the latest- the Papaya leaves save dengue victims making rounds cause me to bang my head against my desk.

Seriously, what gives? Its so nineties to send forwards. If people do remember me I would rather they call me up with a -how do you do instead of making me hit the delete button twenty times in a day?

Worst of all is when they ask - So, did you read the forward that I sent to you? And I ask -er Which one? You sent so many.

The message obviously doesn't hit home and I get a thick headed reply - The one with the poem and a cute doggie under it.

Cute doggie under it? I groan and plead- Don't torture me! No forwards please but the relative doesn't relent and replies- Fact is, I am sitting in front of the laptop and someone sent me this picture of an African emaciated baby with a vulture waiting next to it so the baby can die and the vulture can eat it.

I groan even loader. I don't need a forward to visualize that kind of a horrid tragedy. My mind already showed me a picture of a curly headed tot with skinny arms, legs, chest and a bloated belly sitting under the baking sun and a vulture hovering over it.

My relative, who I absolutely adore, refuses to relent. That is her way of bonding and my way of bonding is far more expensive. I make calls instead of sending I remember you and therefore will trash your inbox with forwards.

Friends too torture me but on Facebook. I get spammed on Facebook. I don't do the - I like you quizzes or the -How many things do you have in common? or the Join the werewolves or the vampires or the someone bit you, poked you and best all murdered you with - join my movie group, join my recipe group, join my religious group blah blah blah.

My idea of family and friends loving doesn't include forwards. Chatting online sure but even then I get fidgety. I suffer from ADD when it comes to the internet. Its like a quality quickie. Read, move on, read some more and even when I find something interesting I do not forward.

I tend to talk about the stuff that I read online and if they want the link then I forward it. Or better still put the link up on Friend Feed or Twitter.

There should be some way we can filter out forwards that have the terms - prayers, hunger, cancer, astrology, love, sisterhood, brotherhood, names of gods, jokes, pictures, blessings, good luck, bad luck, etc

Forwards to my mind are like reused condoms and I sure don't want to be part of a 'forward' group orgy. So people please deter the need to share yourselves with me via forwards.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 06:50 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

When you have small kids the world takes on the surrealism of Alice in Wonderland. Every minute spent with them or because of them is wondrous, exasperating, and insane.

Here is a quick list of what happens when you have small kids:

Your Newly Painted Walls Don't Remain Pristine Beyond The First Few Days

You may put the fear of God in them but walls in the kiddie mind are blank canvases to be expressed upon. Kiddie murals, graffiti or stickers on the walls have you cry - How could you?! How could you be so heartless? All that money spent. And the kiddie wounded eyes look back- Mommie, don't you like my picture? Mommie, don't you love me no more?!

You No Longer Know Best

We all have been there. Its the school teacher who knows best. That perky young kindergarten teacher with the easy smile becomes the love of their little lives and you their home slave. And heaven help us all if the teacher shows her clay feet and teaches them something wrong. Then its a - no, she is wrong with this one. And the reply is - no you are wrong. And the battle ensues. No she is wrong. No you. No she..no you!! No! No! No! 

Kiddie Puke Doesn't Seem All That Bad

The little one falls sick and throws up on you. Bits of regurgitated food stuff sticks your clothes to your skin. The child sees the mess and gets more upset and cries. Your heart breaks and you hold the kid closer to your heart crooning away. What puke?

Or you are sitting in a restaurant and a kid throws up on the next table. You pause for a minute to see if the parents have got it and when assured they know what to do you resume eating. Kiddie puke no longer revolts you.

You Are Always Sleep Deprived

Even on a ordinary night you find you really cannot sleep as if dead to the world. That parental ear is always on the alert. A small cry or a childish whisper against your ear has you awake in a jiffy. 

Dirt Comes Home To Stay

You may be a complete psycho when it comes to cleanliness but kids revel in dirt. They return home covered in dirty after school. Dirt hides under their finger nails, behind their ears, their hair and even in their shoes. And despite the scrubbing the story repeats itself the next day.

You Ban Colas And Junk Food From The House

Gone are the days when you kept Doritos, Pringles, Coke/Pepsi in your home. Its all about fruits, vegetables, whole grained breads and lean meats. You start thinking organic and may even want to hug a tree.

You Cannot Turn a Deaf Ear To The Sibling Fights

They get up fighting, they go to sleep fighting. They fight in the car, at the grocery store, in the bathroom while brushing their teeth, while eating, while studying and even fight with each other while sleeping! The fights drive you insane and though you tell yourself- Deaf ear! I will turn a deaf ear. You find yourself mouthing the same words that your mother hollered at you when you and your siblings drove her mad.

You Become A Kid Yourself

Now that is the pleasure of being in the company of young ones when adults can get away clowning. You can come up with weird nonsensical songs, tease them, play with them or just act plain silly and they love you for it.

You Come To Appreciate Your Parents

Between all the worry and being driven crazy by the little ones, your own childhood memories flash in your mind and you remember the times you drove your parents over the bend with worry. And you tend to respect them even more for being able to bring you up in one piece. 

You Feel For Parents With Kids Throwing Tantrums

Even the most angelic child has a meltdown period when she is inconsolable. And if it happens in public the parents especially those who are new to the game suffer tremendously. The veteran parents generally feel surge of sympathy for those suffering at the little hands. Exceptions are always there at the same time.  

You Find Food Stored In Your Couch

Yeah, dig deep enough and you fill find cookies or bread down there. Don't believe me try it!

You Find Your Kid Wants To Visit The Loo Just When You Sit Down To Eat

Just as you taste your food. the whine, I gotta pee has you groaning. Its as if their sixth sense is geared to know when you are about to finally sit down and eat.

You Finally Get A TV In Your Bedroom

You may not be gung ho about television but find you cannot watch movies or programs of adult nature in the living room even when kids are fast alseep in their beds. The idiot box comes to stay forever in your bedroom.

Your TV Screen Or PC Screen Always Has Kiddie Finger Prints

Again, fear of god, mother or father doesn't work. They can't help their little hands. Hands are, after all, there to touch and feel especially anything that is electronic!

The Kids' Pediatrician Knows You By Name And Also Your Woes

A worried parent is a common sight and a knowledgeable pediatrician with a gentle bedside manner  sooths the parent as well as the sick child. Medicine provides most of the remedy but a calm collected parent infused with confidence provided by a good doctors helps tide over the ailment smoothly. 

You No Longer Remain A Night Bird Or You Burn Your Candles On Both Ends

Early to bed, early to rise makes a child bright eyed and bushy tailed and the parent? The parent remains blurry eyed till the first cup of coffee and then the grind begins from six in the morning till twelve in the night. 

You Find Yourself Laughing Despite Yourself

So the kid does something so insanely naughty that you find yourself overwhelmed with anger and you think that you are gonna be mad with your little person through the day but just a minute later that little person does something so funny or endearing that you cannot help but laugh. Emotions swing up and down through the day and in the end before you tuck your precious bundle in you remind the little one that you love her more than life itself.

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It happens. You hear your name being called from beyond the grave. Your heart stops. The voice is so familiar, the grief resurrects, the pain hold you still and you gasp for your breath. Could it be? How could it be?

You sleep and they visit you in your dreams. They tell you they are real; they are here to stay. You believe and they vanish once again. The betrayal rips you apart once again and you cry never again.

Death never leaves you alone. Every living moment reminds you of your own mortality. But it isn't your own death that worries you so but of those you love. Death fetters the bond but not the love.

The love lies buried deep within like an eternally grieving widow, nursing a pain that knows no healing. You see them live in the eyes and smiles of those left behind and yet nothing is the same no more.

You live, you laugh and yet when the voice calls you everything comes crashing down in that hushed whispered moment

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