He was an autistic 8-year-old; not fond of animals. She was a feisty corgi puppy, determined to bite everyone in her path.
He screamed. She herded. He cried. She cocked her head and squeaked. But nevertheless she persisted.Continue reading“Nevertheless she persisted – a true story.”
Let me tell you a story. A story of two men and a little dog.
The front yard fence had been replaced by a newer, sturdier design. Long, horizontal slats of wood had been nailed to posts after careful measurements. But Minnie’s dad was still worried. From her past misadventures, he was sure she’d squeeze between the fence’s pickets and hightail it to the McDonald’s nearby. He wanted to be certain it was corgi-proof. The Handyman — who’d been extra thorough in his estimations — assured him it was. But Dad wasn’t convinced. So he set up a test.Continue reading“Two men and a dog.”
I was conversing with my mother-in-law in the kitchen last week as we washed the dishes. And to pass the time and tedium, I took it upon myself to educate her about random internet creeps.
Now, she is pretty worldly and, much like me, enjoys watching people make idiots of themselves. But her experience with perverts and weirdos was limited to 90s era sleazeballs and the odd guy airing his penis in a crowded subway train.Continue reading“Pillow talk.”
I usually choke twice or thrice a year. Not figuratively, but an honest to God “clawing at my neck with the whites of my eyes showing,” choking. And while I know I’m often hyperbolic, this is not one of those times.Continue reading“Gak!”
My 6-year-old came up to me yesterday, her eyes shining with some concern.
“Amma?”
“Yes, darling.”
“So Eva told me yesterday that Santa is not real. Is that true, Amma?”
(Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash)
My sister and I were reminiscing yesterday, mostly about my grandpa and his sheer badassery. A stringy beanpole of a man, grandpa (or Thatha as we called him), was a force of nature. Bright, articulate, and an absolute whiz at crosswords, he introduced us to Shakespeare and Wodehouse, the latter birthing in him a fondness for puns and wordplay. He was loaded with self-deprecating anecdotes — his favorite was the one about how he was napping after a huge lunch when India won independence from the British Monarchy. He loved the sillier side of life and was my best friend and confidante growing up.Continue reading“Silence is underrated – an absurd walk down memory lane.”
(Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash)
As a reasonably organized person, I enjoy the sweet, sweet joy of crossing out things/tasks accomplished. I’ll often add a couple of frivolous items just for the satisfaction of checking them off the list a few minutes later. And this show of planning makes me feel more like a functioning adult. I’m still not sure if I filed my taxes correctly, but the fridge is stocked, the kids are done with their dentist visits, and I’m caught up on laundry + chores. I’ve also been writing every day, keeping fit, and remembering to floss at night. Hey, at this point, my self-esteem is at an all-time high.Continue reading“Someone’s gotta do it.”
(Photo by Caroline Hernandez on Unsplash)
In new situations, I often flounder. As articulate as I like to think I am, my default mode is awkward mumbling when put in an unfamiliar or stressful scenario. I need a few minutes of back and forth before I relax enough to speak without sounding like a chump. I imagine it is the same for many adults (if not, I’m jealous, because how?)Continue reading“The chatterbox and the chump.”
(Photo by Call Me Fred on Unsplash) Now that all the serious discussion is out of the way, I’ll share some ridiculous things the kids have told me during our conversations or in inconvenient situations. Since my son is the brooding, silent type, most of these faux pas feature …
The voice said, “She’s dead, Pavi. Your paati is gone.And she’s never coming back.”
My tummy hurt. I was 11, and this was my first brush with death.
