Thursday, 19 April 2012

Fire and Mice

Yesterday I was reading about a ghastly episode of a man who set himself on fire and blocked the door while his daughters, wife and father died. and immediately I imagined my father... on fire... blocking the entrance of my bedroom. I also imagined some possible remedies...1. a bucket of water in my room. (the last time I insisted on keeping a bucket of water near me was years back when Madhuri Dixit sat on the stairs with a blind child in a pre-diwali "stay safe" ad.) ...coming back to my father in flames...I also imagined having to fight my way out of the room...opening a window so that I don't suffocate etc etc.


I was rescued from this train of thought when my father stormed my room and picked up every hanky that I had used last week and grumbled why I hadn't given them for washing ....(yes I use "cheleder" rumal because those tiny, floral nyaka "meyeder" rumals don't work for me). Anyway I realised my father might not set himself ablaze because the things that bother him are not even remotely close to a debt of 80 lakhs...they are -


1.Why are the keys not in the right place?...a burglar might enter and rob the house of valuables like an out-of-work microwave, two bulky televisions etc..


2.Why the coffee cup is not in the sink? the cups will be stained (OH_MY GOD!!) ...and


4. WHERE is the newspaper? ...of course it is with his wife who reads the entertainment section and keeps it beside her pillow while the other insignificant stuff lies unread on the sofa...(I read newspapers at night). My father likes the ENTIRE newspaper arranged properly, he might not read all of it...but it HAS to be together.



With such grave concerns, I do not think he will set himself on fire anytime soon. I'm right , right?


Also 3 rats were mercilessly killed in my house last week. First my father dismissed me saying that I must have been in a delusion and "it" must have been some lizard.


Then, when I said "it" was climbing up the curtain , he said "they" don't "climb"...then when the teeth marks on the soap confirmed their existence (poor coap eating rats), they were killed (poisoned) .My father obviously refused to admit that he was wrong and he devised a new explanation -- "they" were of a "gecho" type...the ones who know how to climb, unlike the non-gecho type, who don't. I give up!


This was also a rather "happening" week. My dada and boudi visited us and my boudi was drinking tea when I discovered a dead baby cockroach in her cup. Instead of apologising, my parents started debating when the baby cockroach could have landed in that cup, after all it had NEVER happened before.This piece is to warn you .Don't visit us, and definitely don't stop for tea.



Saturday, 7 April 2012

Today I experienced a sort of epiphany. I realised that in the recent past I often did not opt for books that I knew I would enjoy instead I tried to read books that I thought I should read. It is the biggest blunder in the world. It is okay to hear names, it is okay to ask for suggestions but when after 2 pages your head tells you "WTF!" then it is time to bid goodbye to that kind of book (I say "kind" because "that" book I will finish- it is like a pregnancy that I can't terminate...will have to deliver the baby...finish the damned thing...no option there). As a result I have been rather slow in my reading, something that I intend to change. I will obviously be open to suggestions and recommendations of others (I will ask them) , but I will never ignore the voice in my head again.

I don't REALLY "get" early 20th century fiction (broad category...I don't even know all the authors probably...) . It is a scandalous confession. My fingers are protesting as I type it out. Some essays, fine. Some short stories here and there. A novel or two. Fact is, I can't read through most of it. I can't leave a book midway...so basically if it's a novel I struggle for a week and finish it and feel drained and don't go near one for a long time until the guilt pangs hit me again. Given half a chance I would pick a Jhumpa Lahiri over Joyce .

It is a terrible, terrible feeling to confess this. Thanks to my initial aversion I really have not read enough. I haven't given it a chance. Oh. Terrible. So , so, so terrible.

(If you are judging me, please do not comment, I am already judging myself..also do not give me list of your favourite authors etc..it will make me feel more miserable)



Anyway, bye. This is not working. I don't want to feel terrible on a Saturday night.

PS: I absolutely HATE the American Library. They do not renew overdue books over phone and are extremely rude. I think I am staring at a 3 figure fine for my overdue books. :(





Sunday, 1 April 2012