I'm a mixture of a traditional and a modern Indian married woman. Love all the Indian cultures, festivities, cuisine and everything Indian....simultaneously love to hold a drink while gossiping,
to hit the dance floor, dressed comfortably most of the times.
Talk, Eat, Sleep, Travel, Friends,..you can place that in any order.
And yes...That's me !!
Three things that I will burn this weekend…..
Three things that I will burn this weekend…..
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
Whoa !! what a weekend it’s going to be. Just the thought is giving me so much of a calm and soothing effect.
Let's see, what’s at the brim of my mind to be burnt, at the behest of this week’s WOW.(Write Over the Weekend) Hmmmmmm…………………
Ok, so, here goes……
Burn the dance floor. Oh ! What a fantastic Friday Night it would be.
To be held in the arms of a person you love. To groove away endlessly to the music which transfers you from the spectacled, straight-faced, duty bound, workaholic secretary to a happy, carefree girl deeply in love. Seems like the DJ knows you are here to rock n roll.
Without caring two hoots to the week gone by or the one which is yet to come. Swaying to the slow beats and progressing to the high tempo-ed JHINGAA-LA-LA HO types. Leaves you panting and sweating, yet yearning for more and as if on cue, he spins another disc and you are not in control of yourself. Looks like you are possessed by the spirits of the beats.
Music has no language, nor does the movement of the body to the beats.
Dance away your Blues,, in the true sense and burn up the floors.
Hee-haw…. Hee-haw… I heard a donkey laugh. Have you ever heard one? It is believed, that when a donkey laughs, your wishes come true. And I swear I heard the donkey laugh.
I pulled out a very pretty royal-blue frock tucked away at the back-most part of the wardrobe. I had outgrown this beautiful dress. Or rather, I shamelessly lied to people that it shrunk.
Now, on a whim, tried it on only to see that I have burned away the stubborn fat at all the wrong places because of which I needed to tuck away that very pretty royal-blue frock at the back-most part of my wardrobe.
Oh, what immense joy burning fat can give !! Hence, I promised myself,, I’m going to burn up the rest of the stubborn-as-a-mule fat too. Hope to pull out a few more shrunken dresses.
A well-paid job. A handsome boyfriend. Weekends to burn up the dance floors. A body fat burning spree which enables me to adorn enviable attires. A bright and happy future. I have all that a pretty, young girl can ask for.
But, something is knocking at the back of my mind. What is it that is bothering me but afraid to surface?
And now... finally…I can see it.
Being a primaeval Indian at heart, my inner voice is calling out--- nazar lagegaa, kuch karo. (Evil eyes are on you. Protect yourself)
Oh My !! This is not me. How can I ever hear such nonsense? I’m a modern girl. I live in the 21st century. My inner self is so damn out-dated. It has no right to dampen my spirits and hopes for my successful, enviable future.
The battle of voices continues.
Finally, I fall prey to the inner voice. Mentally I run through the mazes of ancient memories of my childhood days at Granny’s place.
3 dried red chillies, 5 black peppercorns, 7 grains of crystal salt, 9 mustard seeds and a black woollen with 11 knots made in it. All this is to be placed in a new black muslin cloth and tied tightly with a black sewing thread. This potli is now to be placed on burning charcoal.
The pungent smoke emitted and wafted far away from me, will take away the ‘’evil eyes’’ or nazar. I have burned up the evils that were to befall.
Now I am free. I am liberated.
I carry a high flying- fluttering flag, stating I have the willpower to burn up the dance floor in order to burn my body fat so that I can fit into my pretty, skimpy outfits.
I make no reference to me being a primaeval Indian at heart, and my inner voice calling out--- nazar lagegaa, kuch karo.,, because I’m a modern girl living in the 21st century.
Story making is an art, just like any other art form. To some
it’s an inbuilt mechanism whereas some others need a Vroom- a start-up kit. Mothers
are a natural pro at this, with the built-in app. To feed, bathe, soothe , or
put the infant to slumber… a new wave
of imagination weaves forth effortlessly. Children then carry the story-telling-
Here’s a bit of the imaginative weave from a Big Brother
to a Baby Sister….from Anirudh to Anandita.
Once upon a time, long-long ago, there was this planet
where no man had dared to go. On this unknown planet, the only occupants were Mr. GREENAPPLE PIE and Miss.CAVITY DRILLER. They
were surrounded by rotting mountains and slippery walls.
Inside, it was as
dark as it could possibly get an…
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for India Bloggers by Blogadda 'I
have just 9 more months!’… she tells herself. Giving her an aura of being at peace. She will
complete 50 years of age. Thus starts her second innings. 50th Birthdays are made in heaven. To be
distributed to the priceless species on earth. But.. What the hell !! Why is this 50th event so special?
Is it because it occurs only once in a 100 years? When it arrives for the
second time, its called a centenary. J Whatever the reason… it is
a much awaited one for sure. 'I have just 9 more months.'... she reminds herself
Now, this woman is definitely not the coy teenager nor a first-time
inexperienced harassed mother of a toddler. No more a demure wife, often
treated like a doormat. Crossed every bridge, as it approached. Through the
course of this journey called life, has braved the ups and the downs of experiences.
She has borne the rubs and digs of the snooty-snobs of society. Has learn…