For anyone who’s wondering about the sudden jumps in the numbers on the blog posts, let’s just put it down to outright artist license and move onto the good stuff. Here’s another post which brought a smile to my face because life has interesting ways of teaching us lessons..

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Vengeance is mine, and I will repay.”

Or something to that extent I imagine must have passed by an old chappie’s lips when four loud, boisterous kids from his neighborhood would filch his precious stack of clothes pins and make them disappear day after day..

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The more he complained to his neighbors (the parents of the brats) the more clips kept disappearing. They’d go off the clothes line and end up in the oddest places, like the water tank. Which after a point of time seemed to verily have more clips lying at the bottom than coins in the Trevi Fountain!

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Anyhow, he’d rant and rave and often cuss at them, not that they gave a hoot! It was fun to see the crusty old man finally move his potato sack of a body off the swing and lumber after them. Else it was the swing where he sat, day after day and made it squeak and squeak as if it was his life’s purpose.

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The brats didn’t know that the irritable man who always told on them was actually retired and wanted nothing more to sit on his swing and sip from his stainless steel glass of booze that would remain undetected in that wettest of dry lands. So the sight of children causing a ruckus put a cramp in his guzzling plans indeed! And if he stayed compliant and ignored them, he would have to face the task of answering his not so little woman who would wonder about the regular disappearance of her clothes pins.

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Cut to present day- one of the brats is grown up now. Somewhat. When she finished her laundry today and went to hang up the innumerable little things that her child goes through daily, she found that she was YET AGAIN short of clipsies..!
How she gnashed her teeth and wished that for once her beloved dumpling would throw something else off the balcony or find other things to confiscate instead of the oh-so important clips…

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And while seething and doubling up the clothes (since there weren’t enough clips to go around) she thought of a curmudgeon whose clips she and her fine companions would to love to chuck into the water tank or use as marks to get badams off the tree.

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And then it came home to her…what goes around definitely comes around. And there was plenty more coming her way…!

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The Housewife Chronicles

Note: The author knows that women put up with the vagaries of the hoomans they live with whether they are working inside the home or outside of it but it does seem a little tougher to escape said hoomans when you’re chiefly inside the home. You either have to buy a ticket to the tropics (minus the drama of the song) or buy your hoomans one and get yourself some METIME.

So the latest hurdle to hit this cozy household was one of milk. Yup, that’s M-I-L-K. Why did milk become a crisis as it were? Well our earlier milk vendor who sent us yummy, delicious, thick milk in good quality glass bottles (yay for the eco footprint reducers!) was unable to provide the milk due to some operational hitches. And the milk delivery stopped abruptly.

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I got back home from a trip to my folks’ place to find my husband saying “fix this” and a child who’s a food critique par excellence in the making; his terse and discerning palates lead him to say, “Yuck, this is disgusting” and that particular item is deemed unfit and doesn’t cross his lips again. Ever.

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So a bit of a background about my two masters- they are fussy eaters. Not an extensive palate. Extremely limited fare goes down their gullet but that must be consistent and be the same-ish. And if you ever need a bit of a feedback about what may or may not be making the dish taste good or bad the answer comes back in a way that redefines being succinct for all eternity- “Doesn’t taste good” OR “tastes good”. And you’re left trying to decipher what the bleeping eff you’re supposed to take back from the exchange.

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So when I went back to an earlier brand of milk we used to have before our new favorite, Red came to me with a scrunched up face. And for an-almost constant poker-faced guy a scrunched up face can signal the beginning of the Apocalypse. This is how the exchange went-

Red- Is this the new milk? Me- Umm no..this is the old new milk..hee hee, we used to have this brand before we switched to the latest thing. Red- We did? Why? Doesn’t taste good. Me- You liked it earlier. Red- Don’t like it now. Too thin. M- OKAY…how does it taste though. R- I don’t like’s too thin. M- $%@#$^@#^@$^. Red- get something else for tomorrow.

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Similar exchange with TO- “Ayu…the chocolate milk doesn’t taste good. Me- it’s the same as it always was. TO- No it’s not. Can I have juice? Me- No, we don’t waste food, finish this and I’ll get you something different later. TO- Add some chocolate sauce and put a straw in it like Ma (my mom) does. This is weird. Me- Weird how (because, yes…I’m that much of a masochist). TO- IT.IS.WEIRD.” Nuff said.

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So after having a couple of mind-boggling, eye-popping experiences by seeing the prices of the stuff out there and even contemplating buying a damn cow to please the two ogres I live with, I finally got a brand home that’s passed muster with OGRE#1. Am waiting for OGRE#2 to wake up and put me out of my misery and give me his trademark thumbs up approval for the new milk brand.

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If that doesn’t work I’ll just interview the milch cows of Hyderabad and see if anyone wants to generate milk customized to the taste buds of two (semi) high maintenance males who seem to get hungry and thirsty the moment they see my face. If that doesn’t work either they can live offa Soya milk because I’ll be saying MOO to you!

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P.S: how do people inherit food genes?! Baffles the mind.

Peas, Worms&Reruns

I’m stuck with buying frozen peas when my batch of fresh ones run out. I try to buy a few kilos at a time and then chuck them in the refrigerator for as long as they’ll keep and go back to the supermarket for the frozen stuff once I run out.

Yesterday while I was shelling about 2 kgs of peas, a nice big wiggly worm wiggled its wobbly body out of a pea shell and calmly took a walk across my dining table. If I’d had an empty glass jar at home, I’d have kept it in one, with some leaves to see how much more it’d have grown…nice stuff for MLM to see and learn from without rushing to get Google’s of Alexa’s aid in learning about wormliness.

But I didn’t have a glass jar and the worm had to be let go in the trash can instead- we don’t squish stuff unless we can help it.

So on went the pea-shelling exercise while I binge-watched (tried to) episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. It is really like going back in time- unemotional Christina, messy Meredith, sad-eyed Derrick and the list goes on…kind of like the worm I threw out. The little crawler had managed to climb out of the trash bin and had made its way across the floor when the offspring saw it and was creeped out.

Now, I’ve said it before and will say it again- I don’t get kids! This boy of mine will get droopy-eyed with love seeing a cobra spread its hood or an anaconda squeeze the life out of a prey and get squeamish about a half-inch worm on the floor. Can you feel the disdain and dafuqness coming off me in waves?

So El Wormo was picked up on a pencil, transferred onto a leaf and was heartlessly thrown down the trash chute. Well, not entirely heartlessly, we did give it a leaf for its journey towards certain death. And if it didn’t die after its trip down 9 floors in a vertical shaft, I’m not going to eat any more peas from that last shelled batch that house Mr.Worm…who knows what kind of mutants we’ll turn into.


The Life Of An Urban Housewife

  • Get up and beat the alarm…not to death but beat it to the finish.
  • Stumble over toys and everything that should not be scattered on the floor.
  • Brush while still a zombie.
  • Use the loo and think Oh God…another day.
  • Struggle into swimsuit and go for a dip.
  • Get into pool and properly wake up.
  • Thank the heavens both kid and husband are still asleep.
  • Scramble out of pool to wake up kid and husband.
  • Walk back in wet clothes and squelching slippers because changing takes time.
  • Walk carefully into the house to not drip more water than required.
  • Wake up sleeping beauties. Loudly.
  • Jump into the shower, shampoo, dry hair, put on clothes.
  • Wake up sleeping beauties. LOUDER.
  • Tickle child awake.
  • Kick husband out of bed.
  • Alternate between cajoling and threatening child to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
  • Ultimately give child piggyback ride to bathroom and coax him to brush his damn…erm little teeth.
  • Give husband nasty looks because he’s reading sports page and not making coffee.
  • Get child to brush teeth and rinse his mouth properly.
  • Give husband nastier look and say stop acting like a slug/sloth/any other S-L-O-W moving creature.
  • Get child to dinning table and give him a glass of milk and promise yes, there’s a lot of yummy chocolate at the bottom.
  • Forgive husband while he hands you a cup of coffee.
  • Leave coffee untasted while child starts playing with cars and dinos at the table and leaves milk untouched and raise your voice to the “I’m getting angry” level.
  • Give husband the EVIL EYE when he says you shouldn’t get angry so early in the mornings.
  • Get milk into child eventually.
  • Get child into school clothes.
  • Run after him with a brush to comb his hair and put lotion on his face.
  • Kiss him goodbye and promise yourself to be a less impatient mother from now on.
  • Look at husband with benevolent eyes once he drops child off and comes back home.
  • Feel blood pressure rising when you keep talking to husband and he keeps burrowing into the same damn sports page.
  • Feel relieved when husband finally goes for his bath.
  • Feel irritation when he forgets his towel and asks you for once just as you pick up the paper. YET AGAIN.
  • Start counting to 10 when he asks if you know where his washed undies are. AGAIN.
  • Start looking for a weapon when he asks if you’ve seen his glasses. YES! Again. Every single damn day!!
  • Recite his checklist by rote and make sure he’s taken everything he needs to for work.
  • Send him off and feel love and affection flooding your heart. And relief.

It’s 9 am. You’ve been up for 2 1/2 hours. And there’s the rest of the day to get through. And you WILL do this again. TOMORROW. THE DAY AFTER. And the day after that too.

Thank God for predictability.



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