I had been thinking of writing a meaningful blog on the occasion of The International Women's Day. Thought I would reflect on the women I have known, even write about someone whom I have found inspirational. And then I chanced upon this. Random thoughts that had escaped her mind (or was it her heart?) Once I read what she wrote, I felt a tad foolish about what I had been planning to write. She happens to be my better (by a long way) half...
At times you don't know what to write but you still feel an urge to say things. Nothing in particular, probably just to convince yourself there is still something happening in your life except the mundane daily chores of getting up in the morning, not quite relishing your cup of bed tea (as there is always a backlog of work bothering your mind so much that a cup of tea means a criminal act of wasting those precious five minutes!), then taking a (not so) luxurious two-and-a-half minute bubble bath.
Then the vigorous exercise of waking up the little one, who secretly -- and sometimes not-so-secretly -- wishes every morning the day to be declared a holiday, giving him a minute-long bath and then a never ending argument with him about his attire (I never quite understood why they don't have school uniforms at the nursery level!). In winters he refuses to be stuffed with multiple-layered woolens, according to him, it makes him look fat and un-smart. And in the summers the luxury of an air-conditioned room doesn't let him leave the bed. So, you see, he can't be blamed for reaching school just a minute before the main gate is closed.
Me leaving the house with hair uncombed, carrying my son's yellow coloured Pokemon's school bag, two office leather bags and a bowl containing a boiled egg (that's my breakfast every morning). Needless to say, I detest having it, but don't have the energy to bother my mind to decide on a more convenient and an easier thing to carry which I can munch while driving and dropping my son to school and realizing I am late as always for office.
All I can do is pray I don't get a maddening traffic like I did the day before, and, of course, my prayers are never answered. The 16-kilometer stretch has made me a make-up expert, as at one traffic intersection I apply a kaajal (my eyes look sad without it, someone once told me and I guess I have taken it too seriously!), at the next intersection a lip gloss (which reminds me I need to change this one, as it must be a year old) and at the next one, I comb my hair.
I get a call from my boss, who despite being a sweetheart, calculates the working man hours better than any mathematician would. I tell him I am in the parking lot trying to find a space which can somehow accommodate my charming grey Santro Zing (my favourite possession which tolerates all kinds of tortures inflicted by me, in terms of maintenance). The minute-long walk from the parking lot to the office is killing, as i know there is a mail in my inbox, saying : "Meenu, you are doing a great job, but you need to work on your morning arrival. I wonder who invented this term "but", as it completely leaves the part of the statement before it insignificant.
Work begins at 10 and ends at 6 and it is time to start preparing MIS for 11 girls, editing, sending mailers, saying that the same mistake is repeated and is unacceptable if this happens every day. Does that sound like a warning at all? I don't simply hate man management but even dread it, as it is something I need to work on. I have been trying to improve my man management skills since i don't remember when.
By the time I reach home, I hope to relax and enjoy watching some television, or listening to some good, even soulful, music. But as I drag my weary body through the door, I find -- to my dismay -- on one television set a Bengali woman sobbing hysterically after she discovers she has been cheated by her husband. On the other TV, Popeye has finally got an opportunity to smooch his gal and my son's eyes are glued to the screen as if he is one of the characters of the cartoon series.
Equidistant from the two television sets, my husband has this huge pair of earphones clamped on his ears, in a desperate attempt to avoid the sobbing woman and the love-struck Popeye, and there is a loooong gap between the "hi" and "how was the day". I wish the answer was any different any day.
And, sitting here in my office, I secretly wish to myself, Happy Women's Day !!!
At times you don't know what to write but you still feel an urge to say things. Nothing in particular, probably just to convince yourself there is still something happening in your life except the mundane daily chores of getting up in the morning, not quite relishing your cup of bed tea (as there is always a backlog of work bothering your mind so much that a cup of tea means a criminal act of wasting those precious five minutes!), then taking a (not so) luxurious two-and-a-half minute bubble bath.
Then the vigorous exercise of waking up the little one, who secretly -- and sometimes not-so-secretly -- wishes every morning the day to be declared a holiday, giving him a minute-long bath and then a never ending argument with him about his attire (I never quite understood why they don't have school uniforms at the nursery level!). In winters he refuses to be stuffed with multiple-layered woolens, according to him, it makes him look fat and un-smart. And in the summers the luxury of an air-conditioned room doesn't let him leave the bed. So, you see, he can't be blamed for reaching school just a minute before the main gate is closed.
Me leaving the house with hair uncombed, carrying my son's yellow coloured Pokemon's school bag, two office leather bags and a bowl containing a boiled egg (that's my breakfast every morning). Needless to say, I detest having it, but don't have the energy to bother my mind to decide on a more convenient and an easier thing to carry which I can munch while driving and dropping my son to school and realizing I am late as always for office.
All I can do is pray I don't get a maddening traffic like I did the day before, and, of course, my prayers are never answered. The 16-kilometer stretch has made me a make-up expert, as at one traffic intersection I apply a kaajal (my eyes look sad without it, someone once told me and I guess I have taken it too seriously!), at the next intersection a lip gloss (which reminds me I need to change this one, as it must be a year old) and at the next one, I comb my hair.
I get a call from my boss, who despite being a sweetheart, calculates the working man hours better than any mathematician would. I tell him I am in the parking lot trying to find a space which can somehow accommodate my charming grey Santro Zing (my favourite possession which tolerates all kinds of tortures inflicted by me, in terms of maintenance). The minute-long walk from the parking lot to the office is killing, as i know there is a mail in my inbox, saying : "Meenu, you are doing a great job, but you need to work on your morning arrival. I wonder who invented this term "but", as it completely leaves the part of the statement before it insignificant.
Work begins at 10 and ends at 6 and it is time to start preparing MIS for 11 girls, editing, sending mailers, saying that the same mistake is repeated and is unacceptable if this happens every day. Does that sound like a warning at all? I don't simply hate man management but even dread it, as it is something I need to work on. I have been trying to improve my man management skills since i don't remember when.
By the time I reach home, I hope to relax and enjoy watching some television, or listening to some good, even soulful, music. But as I drag my weary body through the door, I find -- to my dismay -- on one television set a Bengali woman sobbing hysterically after she discovers she has been cheated by her husband. On the other TV, Popeye has finally got an opportunity to smooch his gal and my son's eyes are glued to the screen as if he is one of the characters of the cartoon series.
Equidistant from the two television sets, my husband has this huge pair of earphones clamped on his ears, in a desperate attempt to avoid the sobbing woman and the love-struck Popeye, and there is a loooong gap between the "hi" and "how was the day". I wish the answer was any different any day.
And, sitting here in my office, I secretly wish to myself, Happy Women's Day !!!
5 comments:
Brilliant! captures the essence of 'modern day life' to the core.
Look forward to seeing you guys this weekend.
That's what I call typical metro life. Well written, beats the shit out of the promoter of this blog. Cheers
Promoter? eewww... Hmmm may be I should moderate all those comments that are unfavourable to me :-)
I cant stop giggling..thanks a ton serious knickknacker!! a comment from you means a lot !! Unfortunately I cant upset 'the promoter' as I plan to add more sobbing tales in his blog !!! hoping to meet you soon..Meenu.
Enjoyed reading this one... Very well written... the better half writes as well as the other half. As a woman and a wife and a mother, I could completely identify, and empathise, with what was written.
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