Knock! Knock!

I dont like sick jokes, especially if it's not me cracking them!

On a lazy evening, when legs are entwined, the TV is the most interesting thing, and arms are getting tired of moving to and fro carrying sinful little delightful bites from bowl to mouth.

He: I could make you cry without you realising.

I: Reaaallllly??? Try me, sweetheaaaart...

He: Knock! Knock!

I: Who's there?

He: Boo

I: Boo who? (Then seeing triumphant look on the male's face) Sick! Sick!

He: See, now you learnt a new one! But I must tell you it'll backfire if you try it with a Black rapper. A bartender was all set to see his smart regular client in tears.

Bartender: Knock! Knock!

Black Rapper: Who's there?

Bartender: Boo

Black Rapper: Boo the who?

Bartender started crying.

Bodily epiphany

These days I feel like Cleoparta herself. No seriously.

The reflection of the body that looks back at me from the bathroom mirror reminds me of the statues I had seen in Egypt. The best reflection is the gym mirror's as I see an immediate effect. I feel like Salman Khan himself as he pumps up before a shot and flaunts a bare, oiled body. And I feel a strange contentment. I refuse to look at the face for I will be flung far away from Egypt. But the body, yes.

The statues were so real life. Completely womanly with a little stomach that's by no means wash board flat. Little graceful imperfections. Sometimes even a slight slouch that only a woman can perfect. And yet so proud of it all. So unlike the impossibly endowed female statues of an Indian past. With impossibly huge bosoms, impossibly slim waist, impossibly well rounded behind and finally holding an impossibly seductive pose.

Statues in Egypt showed themselves off proudly. Quite like us. Or at least what we can aim to achieve. Lovely moments of lovely women, in a lovely era. Where life was filled with the best of food, games, wines, perfumes, clothes and healthy sex. None of which can be balanced today without the body and soul suffering the consequences.

And right now, I fear the body's taken over.

Bombay Bloggers Meet

Melody asked me to spread the word around.

Bombay Bloggers Meet on Tuesday, 31st of January, 6 p.m. at the Carter Road - Cafe Coffee Day (Bandra West).

The full address is:

Shop No. 14/15,
Gagangiri Premises Building,
Ground Floor,
Carter Road
Bandra
Mumbai-52

I think it's the first one this year. Would be fun. So Bombay bloggers, get ready to meet the faces behind the posts!

I think you need to confirm your attendance. Check http://www.thevoiceinmyhead.com/ for that.

electrically speaking

I am electric hot. If there is such a word. Not in the physically seductive sense. It's just that I get electric shocks all the time. From the most unassuming of things.

As a kid, I had a tough time, when any electrical appliance I touched was enough to raise my hair. I would heat the iron for a quick smoothening of creases and jerk back as soon as I touch the iron. The electric oven was another monster. Even simple lamps and bulbs gave me a shock.

So I gave up ironing. And cooking too was out of bounds for some time. More so because I got burnt a lot. I still light my gas stove with a matchstick. Because using a lighter sends currents through my body.

Then it got worse as current flowed out of door handles, TV screen, computer keyboard, just about anything. Initially my husband got a thrill getting me to touch his musical keyboard. He would take my forefinger and without warning keep it on one edge of the keyboard. And I would shriek. He thought I was doing it for kicks but later realised I was serious when I screamed like mad.

Then it got to people. I started getting shocks when I touched people or anyone touched me. Sometimes in between bouts of romantic notions, I would quietly creep up on the husband when he was playing and wrap my arms around him only to be shocked. I, of electric current types and he, normal scared types. And I would yelp. And he would yelp. "NEVER do that again!!!"

It was a problem in office. A colleage would tap me or gently touch me, and I would bolt back, prompting them to say, "sorry, didn't mean to startle you" and look at me oddly. Sometimes I tried explaining, "Nonono! This current passed when you touched me!" Only to be mocked, "Oh, didn't know I had that effect on you." First people were amused then I suppose it got tiresome. They thought I had gone loony.

Then for some time, things got better. The nervewhecking feeling was not so frequent. And I wondered if I was saved a death by electrocution.

But of late, it's back. And I suffer most in the gym. The treadmill seems to be getting a sadistic pleasure out of seeing me swing my hands wildly whenever I punch the speed increase button or downward button. The other women around think I am trying some new stunt. Weirdly even the rubber wrapped handles give me a shock. I keep my towel over it and then slowly get my hand on it. I tried confiding in a seriously-gymming-woman, hoping she feels the same. She smiled sweetly and I knew, if I ever came up in their conversations, I would be branded a nutcase.

The only pleasure I get is out of the vibrator*. I have long given it up myself. It anyways made me feel like 100 watts of voltage was passing through me. But I love to watch the others. A sight, I tell you, sure makes up for the electrifying shocks I had been suffering all these years. These women look like they are on the electric chair. Only there is no chair and they try to keep a straight face as every part of the body is violently jiggled. They actually queue up for the torture and derive a strange satiated kind of satisfaction as they wind up their routine with the vibrator. And watching them, I tell myself, the contraption has been aptly named.

*Edited to crush illicit thoughts - By vibrator, I mean a menacing machine at the gym, which has a wide belt and once strapped on, does some powerful pummelling to the body.

Bihu tales

It's the night of feasting and then prowling the neighbourhood to whack anything that could be burnt in the bonfire.

Like Lohri, in Assam it is Bihu celebrated on a cold wintry day in January. Of course this is not the Bihu that brings in the new year. That happens in April. As best as I remember, this January Bihu is simply to feast at night, and burn the traditional bonfire with a prayer, first thing in the morning.

But in between the feast and the bonfire ritual, a whole night of activites take place. First families, friends and the neighbourhood gather to cook outside and eat around a fire. Plenty of singing, dancing and games take place as sweet potaotes and corn cobs are poked deep into the fire to roast. After dinner, teenage boys act smart and go out. The idea is to steal neighbours' wooden and bamboo fences to burn the traditional bonfire with. Now most neighbours are alert and sometimes even put up extra lights around their houses to spot prowlers.

We girls never went. Though I did have a friend who was supposed to be a star performer on these nights. She could pull off a job very neatly without getting caught. Of course, we held her in high esteem.

My brother was often a part of these groups. Peer pressure. All the stealing he was used to, was getting his own things pinched all the time. And we wondered why he was included in the group with such a poor record. And then we knew why. My darling brother contributed in a big way.

One year, when the group couldn't steal anything as people all over were alert, my stupid brother led them to our house! Imagine, his own place! They neatly removed the bamboo fencing from the front while my parents caught their forty winks. And next morning the bonfire at the club (where all the boys celebrated) was crackling happily, fuelled with our fence. My poor parents got a shock when they saw the bare lawn and flowerbeds. Some of the rascals had even lined the road outside with mom's treasured flowerpots. Much later my brother confessed.

The next year, the lad was warned not repeat his stupid act and threatened with dire consequences. Though of course, the parents remained alert this time. Son was last seen going out with his prized cricket bat to the club. Ahh... all well. The feast happened. All danced and sang around the fire at night. We were proud not even a twig could be flicked from home this time. And next morning the bonfire at the club was crackling happily. We wondered who were the poor victims this time. Much later brother confessed. Again. Remember the prized cricket bat? Martyr brother let it go up in flames just so his friends could have a bonfire to pray to!

Someone in our house of two loses a lot of things. Regularly. The same someone lost a very expensive pair of designer goggles two days back. The excuse when growled at was very lame "Anyways I was tired of them. I am done with them now!"

And no, that someone is not me. If it was, I wouldn't be so upset.

Why is it always so difficult to tolerate someone else's mistakes?

Happy New Year!!

As we drove back, it was a moment I have lived a million times. Yet the feeling has not waned. The setting sun spread a warm glow all over an open sky. The horizon looked mysterious and inviting and held the promise of exciting prospects.

When you are on the theshold of a new beginning, there is a feeling of freedom, of letting go of the past, of being in control. And it is the beginning of another brand new year.

It was the end of the first day of the new year. Yes folks, I took your advice and honoured tradition. We went for a picnic.

Of course, nothing was the same like it was 20 years ago. The roles were reversed. We were the adults occasionally shouting "dont go there!" and explaining "a hammock is called that because I say so!" We had none of the grace or knowledge our parents had. We packed chips, chocolates, cakes, diet pepsi, red bull, and designer goggles. We checked into a nature resort and ate food cooked by professional chefs. A far cry from the huge cauldrons hanging over crackling fires. But we did manage to have a good time. A day I hope I'll be able to recall 20 years later and blog about. That, ladies and gentleman, is an subtle indication of how long I should be sticking around in blogspere!

On another note, I realise I haven't been very regular here. The intentions are so clear but the actions just don't seem to follow suit. There were much interesting and nice things that happened and there was much to write about. But I'll let bygones be bygones and look at the year ahead. All of you have a fantastic new year!