Sunday, 23 August 2015

A lustful affair!

Through glistening eyes, he looked at her. How much ever forewarned, he couldn't lift his eyes off her translucent skin. She had that inner glow within her that called to him. Her radiance is always akin to the maid who found out how sweet passion could be. He ravaged her with his eyes. His eyes were roving over her contours. So shapely, so curvy. She had curves at the right places. Killer curves that made his eyes linger on her as she lay basking in the golden sun. 

This morning as he had set out about his routine, collecting the basket and setting off to the market, little did he know that he would be rewarded with this sight. The sight of his lady love alluringly calling out to him. She was the ultimate temptress and he knew, this temptation was fatal. He would have to dash barefoot if he yielded to her temptation, yet he couldn't help but turn a few furtive glances at her as she lay in all her glory, her skin pulling him to her like a magnet.

She was nothing but heart ache. She was going to bewitch him, he blew an exasperated breath. This one was going to be the death of him. He shut his eyes and wariness spread over him as the familiar scene of his lady yelling out to him loomed over. This one would definitely give his wife heart-ache. He was not prepared for the tears that would continuously pour from the poor woman looking at the blemish-less skin of the pink beauty. Pans and saucers would bang and fly and he was not ready for a full- fledged war at home. This better be the last time I see her, he thought to himself.

He turned his head away as he approached her as her pungent perfume wafted by, tickling his nostrils. It has been ages since he saw her at close quarters. He would have given anything to hold her, to feel her and to breathe in her special aroma. There were days when she was the only company he had, he itched to bite into her and licked his lips reminiscing those golden days when she was available. When she would come to him willingly and when he could run his fingers along her smooth, polished skin before placing her on the board.

Even as he crossed the area shutting his eyes tight, Rani ma called out to him. Shucks! How did she know I was even here, he mused as he turned to greet the vegetable vendor. As Rani ma kept on questioning him about his withdrawal, he watched his lady-love with dreary eyes.  "So fresh and lovely. Why don't you stop by?", Rani ma drawled, knowing his frustration too well. As her eyes peered cautiously at her regular customer who was now playing hide and seek with her, she was fervently wishing he would get some interest. He was one among her regulars and she wouldn't want to lose him now, that he is this close to sealing the deal. 

As the hot sun beat down mercilessly, he was gripped in a do or die situation now. Muttering under his breath and dreading what would happen if his wife gets to see the pink sheathed beauty in his arms, he grumbled, "how much?". Rani ma was so elated that she showed him her rare million-watt smile and piped in- "One hundred only, sir. Madam will enjoy it". The hell she would enjoy. She had dared him to even one glance at her direction, he would be skinned alive and here he was contemplating taking his love home. 

The seductress- he smiled triumphantly as he walked back home, slinging her over his shoulder. Walking in the hot sun made him all sweaty and miserable. Yet, she was his now.  As she grazed his back, his skin tingled. She was his now. No one can ever snatch her away from him. She was his now, pricey, but his nevertheless. His mouth watered and drooled as he thought of what he would do to her. Smacking his lips at the vision of disrobing that pink sheath, peeling off her layers he chuckled and tramped home. 

"Did I not tell you to turn away? Did I not warn you to ward off? Look at what you have done. What have you bought?", his wife wailed looking at him. He sat back relaxed on his chair, his eyes longingly devouring her as she lay on the table. His lady love- a kilo of onions ;)



p.s.: Was really happy to post this in my FB page... 
# Selfie with onion- Hamein bachao, dhaam gatao#
 
p.p.s.: Another video doing the rounds- If you die of laughter, this blogger is not responsible!
video
 
p.p.p.s: Got into  trouble with picking a dress for the daughter's birthday. Why do dresses for little girls be soooooooo revealing? Are they going to shake a leg in a flick? :(

Sunday, 2 August 2015

The ever elusive time



Punctuality. Spelt 'punk'tualittty. With extra stress on the 'punk'. Time conscious. Punctual. So many adjectives that baffle the average Indians like us. Indian Standard Time and the select few people who love to stick to it like a leech on the skin suck, big time. There is this one generation of people, whom we call 'oldies' by all standards who covet the hands of the clock as their love. That one word which I have been hating right from childhood is 'time'. I have spent hours brooding about 'on time' and 'just in time'. If there is one word that we Indian women despise other than 'guests' is 'time'.

Our household work is always well-timed. Planned and executed to precision. We have the capability of using all the four burners of the stove effectively, while the washing machine churns by one side and the mother-in-law chews our head on the other. We battle with everything under the sun- doing the morning dishes, tea spilled on the kitchen counter, the kaamwaali bhai who is on leave, sulking kids who think their mother is a genie at their beck and call and finally the mother of all time bound woes- the cylinder that sputters and dies in the middle of a morning marathon at home. 

When you practically push the kids into the waiting van and heave a sigh of relief with a socks dangling from your arm, comb perched atop your head and ribbon hanging around your neck, the man of the house calls out for his chaai, with eyes glued to the newspaper and the headlines of 'memont of reckoning'. You wish you were in the Nagpur jail instead of mixing chaai. A hasty bath, quick dab of makeup, carelessly draped saree and equally hasty breakfast, you literally run to your bike and realise you forgot to fill the petrol tank. As you summon the neighborhood autowallah who is a Robinhood reincarnate, the minutes tick by and your fate that day is sealed. 
 
By the time you sprint into the sanctum of power that you longingly call your office, rushing past the pearly gates, Saint Peter aka your supervisor rocks in his high chair and looks at you in disgust. His voice rises a few octaves as he bellows, "you must come to office well in time. Do you know what is the time now?". To prove that you are late, he turns his wrist and stares hard at the antique piece that he calls a watch. As if on cue, all heads turn to your side, men click their tongues with false pity and women sharpen their ears for some gossip juice. Your day- ruined. You are never on time, you see.

If reaching office on time is a nightmare, simpler pleasures like a movie night out is a distant dream. If you have a toddler at the crook of your arm, never ever try this stunt. Packing for a movie night with a toddler can drive you crazy as you keep packing and packing. Hot water in a flask, food substitute, bowl and a spoon, milk in a flask, bib, diapers, towels, baby powder, liquid soap, the list is longer than your grocery bill. A diaper forgotten will bring you back 'pooped' memories from nowhere! If you have two kids, God bless you, lady! You can be the referee to a free-for-all instantly.
The domestic God is always invincible when it comes to getting ready. A quick shower, dress up and  a dab of perfume, he is ready and shining. Here you are, oil-dripping hair, sweat oozing face, adorned in a nighty that would have seen a hundred washes trying to figure out which attire would be comfortable for the odyssey while he eyes his watch...meaningfully. Getting ready on time- bah...never happens to the women. Forget it. 


p.s.: I hate Mondays, period. Why do we have to put ourselves to the torture that is called 'office'?
p.p.s.: Special mention to the education minister of Jharkand- Neera Yadav. Milady. Please don't garland anyone's picture, ever. 
p.p.p.s.:  Why do you always have to be the subordinate of Kim Jong Un? :P