Grrr!

I am verrrrrrrrrrrry angry. I could crack a few skulls.

But hey, I saw this sign outside a doctor's office today: "Health is the remedy for Happiness"
Maybe more of us should fall ill.

Debris

Rantypants! Rantypants! What do you say?
Nothing, O Nothing, I threw my pen away
Rantypants! Rantypants! Why don’t you blog?
My ink is all dry, and my mind is a fog

Don is bad. Dor is good. Delhi weather is good. Bangalore weather is good. Delhi airport is good. Bangalore airport is bad. Kingfisher is good. Jet is ok. Delhi sweets are good. Bangalore sweets are ok. Finance is ok. Fiance is good. Bas.

And oh, I have not replied to a single Diwali wish I got by email or sms. Just don’t feel like doing it.

Inkyji

That is all he sees. No wonder...

Spill

Had a long and terrifying nightmare about an egg-shaped tumor in my head, and a heartless doctor telling me I had a one percent chance of living if I let her drill a y-shaped bore in my skull and destroy the tumor, after which I’d have to spend 90 days in the hospital. All I wanted was a hand to hold, and that is not a luxury that people who live alone have; even in their dreams.

Ok. Too much sadness. Now for grossness. I woke up from the dream with a faint but familiar bad odour assaulting my nose. I tried to turn over, but the bed…under…my…bum…was…wet.

Ok. I decided not to panic. Maybe I had wet my bed. If people can have heart attacks because of dreams, bed-wetting is minor. Who am I kidding! Eeeeyaargh….I had wet my bed!!!!! I NEVER wet my bed as a baby! And now???

I moved my leg and the whole sheet was wet! Holy Moly! Surely one cannot pee that much and not know!!!! Or can one??? Omigod…I decided to go to a kidney doc and a brain doc as soon as I got up!

Grossed out, I sat up in bed. When I did that, I could not believe what I saw.

The whole room was swimming in two inches of water. The end of my sheet lay there dipped in the room-soup.

Only a dinosaur can have that kind of bladder! I was elated! I had not wet my bed! Capillary action had!

The roof was not leaking. The bathroom taps were firmly turned off. I sloshed out of the room and followed a thin trail of water…which was coming from the guest house kitchen, where a pile of dishes were blocking the sink, into which a tap was silently peeing.

Bleaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

I woke up the attendants. (Good thing I was too tired to change last night). Between the two of them, they shut the unshuttable sink tap. Then I helped them get the water out of my room (left alone, they were unlikely to finish before the polar ice caps melted, and then they’d have to begin all over again…sheesh! I made a global warming joke…very bad). Armed with buckets, mops, and dust pans (for scooping water!), we removed SEVEN big buckets of water from my room in about an hour.

So hey, if you plan to dream about someone boring holes in your head, check the kitchen taps, and wear a diaper or something…

Krrrrrrrr KrrKrrKrr

Nothing. Just needed a scratching post.

Slice-Of-Life

..Or, “Did that whole previous phase ever really happen?”

The boy took me out for a fancy lunch last weekend. Dessert was ice cream with some Goan specialty called “bibinca”. He assured me it was a million times better than apple pie (which is a big compliment, and even I’ve not been called better than apple pie yet). So coming back to bibinca, it’s apparently made of bread (see comments for details, and google before shooting your mouth off on your blog), and it was basically thin strips of bread-y stuff hesistantly sticking together. One strike of my hungry spoon sent them flying in different directions, their bonds with each other turning out to be not much more than the fact that they were together in being called bibinca, and would not be called so otherwise.

And that’s how it feels with my life right now…there’s so little that holds together London and Bangalore, SE1 and BTM, Regent’s Park and Lal Bagh, Foucault and Sachin Tendulkar…except they’re part of the bibinca called Inky…oye! ……Bibinka!!!!