Here And There…

Three days have passed since I came back to Bangalore after spending nearly a year in New York and I am already feeling he difference. The first thing that grabbed me when I walked out of Bangalore Airport was the crowd – NY was sleepy compared to this; the people, the sounds, the casual disregard for traffic rules and the chaotic harmony here is a welcome change.

I never realized how much I missed home until I took a bite of Mom’s dosa and a sip of Dad’s tea. I took out the bike I had been using before I left, cleaned it, repaired the engine and took her out for a drive around the block. Instinct guided me through the dirty traffic and in almost no time, I was weaving in and out of oncoming buses and cars in a way that would have made Trinity (in The Matrix) proud.

Met all my friends, tried out the road-side pani-puri and also visited my old college to see all my old teachers again. Ah, I am home! ๐Ÿ™‚

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Love’s Gastric Connection

She loved him too much – she used to wait for him to come home everyday, patiently watching the door, never losing hope even when he turned up late, or sometimes, never at all. She didn’t say anything even when she could smell the perfume and see the stains of lipstick on his shirts. She sat close to him and allowed him to run his hand through her hair because she knew he liked doing it. She knew that despite his affairs, he still loved her. She believed that more strongly as each day passed and the affairs grew more and more prominent. He didn’t bother hiding it from her anymore – he started bringing his women home, caring little for what she thought and what she felt. She couldn’t cry out loud or voice her opinion for fear that he might stop loving her. Sometimes, she wanted to lash out at him, but restrained herself. She hated those other women.

But her jealousy was kept hidden within herself. She dared not do anything to upset him. She loved him beyond words and she knew he loved her.

But that night, when he forgot about her, she was angry. Even thorough all his women, he still had found the time to talk to her and kiss her. But that night, he completely forgot her. Anger made way to forgiveness pretty quickly. Her love for his touch became unbearable. And in the dead of the night, when all was still and all were asleep, she stole up to his room and crept up to where he was sleeping, nuzzled close to him, sniffed him and let out a soft bark, as if to say, “Feed me, I’m hungry…”

He woke up, smiled at her, ruffled her hair and said, “I love you. Come on, I’ll get you some juicy bones!”

She padded after him into the kitchen, wagging her bushy tail…

When “Fat” Doesn’t Quite Say it…

Some people are just not meant to do hard labor. Physical exertions are a phobia for these “creatures of comfort”. And I’m proud to be one of them. I hate going to the gym everyday. I hate the fact that I’ve got to lose all the nice padding I’ve accumulated over the past 22 years. I feel sorry for those adipose tissues, insulating me in this cold.

Memories of my grandmother feeding me healthy (and fat) tomato juice and ice creams and chocolates almost makes it illegal for me to burn the calories. I like the way I am – I am a healthy specimen of slightly overweight people. So what if I can’t run three miles? I can drive ten without breaking a sweat and I can cure cancer. So what if I can’t climb up a steep staircase without breathing hard? I can fly (under certain conditions, if you know what I mean!).

Vatson and the gang are hell-bent on making me sweat it out in the gym everyday. I’ve devised a great plan for avoiding this. I’m going to fake a heart condition so that they’ll leave me andย  my fatty acids alone. I hope this works.

For gym-haters all over the world, take my advice. Fake a heart condition. Stay home and eat burritos. Drink coke. They say life’s short – so why ruin it? ๐Ÿ˜‰