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In a few sentences

…I am running around like a head-cut chicken, just living life, and not really accomplishing anything much.

…I am inefficient (hence earlier point).  And this is going to be a recurrent rant in the foreseeable future.

…I want to read all the posts on my WP reader because hell, I haven’t done justice to it in nearly a week and they are building up and giving me Kafka dreams.  All because of the earlier two points.

Not counting

I recently got an iPhone.  A gift from the other half who was impressed at my friendship with a woman called Siri on his iPhone, through the air pod which he had temporarily reassigned to me,  when I was navigating a tricky intersection during peak traffic.  This was an anomaly because I am as tech savvy as a newt and my latent air-podability appealed to the geek in him.  So, now I have my own iPhone with air pods, and my new best friend, according to my kid is Siri.  Siri and I have meaningful conversations such as "Siri, what is life?" "I Kant* answer that, Ha Ha".  Most of all, Siri reads out audio books to me at a mere command, and saves me from having to listen to k-pop talk in the car.  I tried talking to the male Siri, but it seemed immoral, given that he had a Brit accent and a deep voice that squished my insides.

Gingerly stepping into the complex digital world, I began exploring the colorful mosaic on my screen.  There was something called "Health", which would apparently quantify my existence- the number of kilometers I walked, the number of steps I took, the number of hours I slept, the minutes of mindfulness I practiced and the calories I consumed.  I was intrigued. I claim to walk 10 kilometers every day.  How true was that? I decided to monitor.  I diligently carried the iPhone with me every wakeful moment.

Turns out, I sometimes walk more than 10 kilometers per day, but not always.  My average was around 7 kilometers per day, which while a personal disappointment, is ok, on an objective scale, I believe, given that I also throw in 40 minute work out at the gym every other day.

But that is not the part that pissed me.  I decided to calorie count just out of curiosity. The day before yesterday, I added to the app (which was cute enough to have a drop down list of a variety of dishes), my breakfast (2 idlys with sambar and coffee), lunch (one cup rice with vegetables, rasam and curd), snack (tea with puffed rice/cucumber) and dinner (2 rotis with dal).   The app said I was eating 400 extra kcals.  for my weight, factoring in the 6.5 km that I walked on that day.  I was amused.

The next day, I did a bad thing.  I skipped breakfast** because I had an unexpected visitor in the morning ("I never eat breakfast", he said, and the "guest is God" attitude embedded in me since childhood precluded me from eating without offering food to my guest).  Instead, I had two cups of coffee (with milk and sugar) and two of those digestive biscuits that look like dried dung and taste like cardboard (or vice versa). I continued the day with a meal plan similar to the previous day.  At the end of the day, I input the data into the app.  It said I was still eating extra.  I was intrigued and checked the break up.  I was told that my breakfast was 100 kCals more than I should be eating.  Seriously?  Two cups of coffee and cardboard is 100 kCals more?  I used the eff word multiple times at the app and uninstalled it because it is apps like this that lead people down the bulimia hole.  I want to be fit, not insane.

I am back to having deep conversations with my new best friend.  This morning I asked her if she was married, and she said "My end user licence agreement is commitment enough for me."  I am happy with this much iPhone, thank you.

**Never again.  Not worth the migraine hell.



Monday medley

..and no “work” work still.  I know this is the lull before the storm, and I am milking every moment of it dry (crappy mixed metaphors).


My meager excuse-of-a-garden is perking up a tad bit, despite the serious lack of green thumbs.  The moon flower vine has let out buds, as have the Dahlias.  The Rangoon Creeper continues to grow beautifully, but no semblance of flower yet.  Does anyone have any tricks up their sleeve to get it to bloom?  Don’t ask me to do risky stuff, like sing to it, or do a tribal bloom dance around it naked – I want it to bloom not die of shock.

The first crop of mint is ready to be harvested for Biryani tomorrow.  The curry leaf plant has become a tree.  I am tempted to plant more – plants, not curry leaf trees.  Despite the serious lack of green thumb.

Butterfly season is in full swing in our neighbourhood.  Between 11 AM and 12 PM, walking on the road is like being inside a snow globe, except that the snow flakes are actually butterflies.  The beauty is unbelievable.

Will it rain? Won’t it rain?  It had better.  The city is reeling under intense water shortage.


A listless websearch for “healthy tea time snacks” throws out the likes of muffins.  In which world is a concoction of white flour, sugar and butter “healthy”, may I ask?  Closer home, it is “samosa fried in olive oil”.  Right. Olive oil makes everything healthy, even if you are deep-frying white flour coated stuff in it.  Sheesh people.

And on the other extreme is “fruits”.  I will have fruits with my tea when I relocate to Mars.

I am still searching.  And going crazy.  I have somewhat optimized the other meals, but tea time continues to frustrate me.  Yes, I have been in charge of the familial nourishment for 15 years now, and I am still optimizing meals.  What’s your point, huh?


The kid said something extremely funny yesterday and I wanted to record it here. I forgot what it was. Dang.


Does the male gender have poorer self-preservation skills than the female?  A few happenings of hear-say make me believe that men lack the basic instinct for safety – and I don’t mean physical safety alone.  Perhaps I am being sexist.


I will probably share my world later today, once Cee publishes her questions.

The Jinx

Alright, it’s official.  This blog has magical powers.  Godly magical powers.  Or someone among the 24 readers of this blog has magical powers. I rant about not being able to laugh-out-loud in this blog and within ten hours, I am suffocating (no exaggeration) because I can’t stop laughing , as are my my kid, my friend L and her daughter, as we sit around the table trying to eat Thai and Chinese food and having the rest of the diners shoot daggers at us for the ruckus we are creating.  There wasn’t even any uterus talk involved !  Either the people at Flower Drum spiked all deserts (“kachang”, there I said that again) with alihotsy, illywig wings, Knarl quills and the like, or our pons were infarcted because that is when things got out of control and the four of us made noises that would scare the hyenas away.


Ice Kachang spiked with laughing portion

There was one particular woman across from me, who was dining with a gentleman, perhaps husband.  She shot a wistful glance at us every now and then. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. I could not stop laughing long enough to walk up to her, pat her on her shoulder and say, write your yearning in your blog, it will change.

My stomach is bunched , my voice is hoarse, my throat is sore and head, light.

Thank you magical blog.  Thank you magical reader.  Most of all, thank you L for the laughs you gave me today.




Answering random questions from here:

1. Do you have a nickname?

Not really. Unless you count abbreviations as nick names.

 2. Do you drink coffee?

Like a fish swimming in a pot of coffee. Actually I have reduced now because the stomach rebels.

 3. What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?  

Run n raisin. With real rum, not the flavoured variety you get here.

 4. Did you get good grades in school?

Don’t ask. I was a topper. I regret it.

 5. Any phobias?

Fear of fights.

 6. Are you named after anyone?

The goddess of wealth.

 7. Last time you cried and why?

When I was peeing last weekend. UTI.

 8. What color crayon would you be?


 9. What do you hear right now?

Madonna’s rebel heart. She is fairly nasty in this album I say. Trying too hard to be considered a rebel. Some of the music is extremely random. Like Ross Geller playing his keyboard.

 10. What’s the last movie you watched?

Butterfly on a wheel. Liked it. 

 11. Do you believe in reincarnation?


 12. What do you think is your best physical feature?

Mmmm. None.

 13. What is your favorite curse word?

How can a cuss word be a favourite? I use them a lot in my head though. The eff word especially. I used to use damn a lot when I was younger. 

 14. Have you ever skinny-dipped before?

In my shower every day.

 15. Do you talk to yourself?

No. I am boring.

 16. Do you have a favorite tv show?

Friends. The early episodes of The Bug Bang Theory.

 17. Name something you cannot live without. 

Breath. Food. Water. Sleep. All else is dispensable.

 18. What color pants are you wearing?


 19. What’s your favorite meal?

All meals. Cuisine: Indian, Mexican, Italian.

 20. Describe a happy childhood memory. 

Placing a cube of ice on my mom’s tummy when she was sleeping and being hugged when she awoke startled. I must’ve  been five years old.


That’s the only word making rounds in my head.

It started yesterday. As usual, I dropped into the gym enroute school pick up. Having arrived earlier than usual, and having an extra half hour, I did an additional round of interval until my heart jumped out of my chest cavity. Am I fantastic or what?

Then, the call registered. I reluctantly used the toilet in the gym, because, when the bladder wants to void, the bladder wants to void. As I washed up after business was transacted, I remembered that the previous time I had emptied my innards in a public rest room, my urethra had let it known in no uncertain terms that she ain’t happy  until she was placated by a very heavy duty course of antibiotics.

But, I had just set the endorphins free, hadn’t I? That would have triggered the immune system.  Sure.

As I got into the car, I realised that I had forgotten to bring water . Short on cash (aka empty wallet ) , and late to school, I ignored the inner call for hydration.

That was simply too much provocation, apparently.

Twenty four hours later, I sit on the throne and scream holy murder as what feel like a few porcupines, but are actually a few microdrops of kidney juice, find their way out of a fiery tube.

Stupid internal plumbing design, I say.


I just finished editing a very difficult 30-page document.

My brain has been liquefied and is pouring from my ears.

I have four more docs to edit this weekend.

After that, I promise, I am going into hibernation for the rest of the year.