The English Patient

The novel had been on my reading wish list for a long long time. Finally finished reading it. And I loved it - in parts. The part on bombs, while very comprehensive, frankly did not interest me. I devoured the passages about human relationships and love. Loved Kip, got intrigued by Almasy and Caravaggio, adored Hana and admired Katherine. I wanted to post many many small bits from the novel. But somehow after some time, I forgot to put markings in the novel and lost the pages. Here are a few of the selections - in random order.

****

“She had always wanted words, she loved them, grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape. Whereas I thought words bent emotions like sticks in water.” (238)

“Women want everything of a lover. And too often I would sink below the surface.  So armies disappear under sand, and there was her fear of her husband, her belief in her honour, my old desire for self-sufficiency, my disappearances, her suspicions of men, by disbelief that she loved me. The paranoia and claustrophobia of hidden love. (238)

“Death means you are in the third person.” (247)

“If I gave you my life, you would drop it. Wouldn’t you?” (145)

“- the old guy upstairs is asleep. Hana’s obsessed with him. I am obsessed with the sanity of Hana, I’m obsessed with my ‘balance,’ and Kip will probably get blown up one of these days.” (121)

“I’ll rewire him in the morning.” He puts his left hand on her shoulder. (115)

“… Could you fall in love with her if she wasn’t smarter than you? I mean, she may not be smarter than you. But isn’t it important for you to think she is smarter than you in order to fall in love? Think now. She can be obsessed by the Englishman because he knows more. We’re in a huge field when we talk to that guy. We don’t even know if he’s English. He’s probably not. You see, I think it is easier to fall in love with him than with you. Why is that? Because we want to know things, how the pieces fit. Talkers seduce, words direct us into corners. We want more than anything to grow and change. Brave new world.” (120-21)

Words, Caravaggio. They have a power. (234)

“This alcohol will probably kill me.”

“Nothing will kill you, my friend. You are pure carbon.” (109)

“You have to protect yourself from sadness. Sadness is very close to hate… if you take in someone else’s poison -  thinking you can cure them by sharing it – you will instead store it within you.” (45)

How did you hate me? She whispered. You killed almost everything in me. (257)

*****

The English Patient - Michael Ondaatje

Vintage Books Canada Edition, 1993

on the acquittal

I am ashamed 
of living in a country
which rejoices in meting
injustice to my people
and
which justifies blood
that I am, till today, washing away from those cool marble tiles
with my tears
ever since those tanks crushed the delicate vines
on the floor
ever since the guns thundered inside an epitome of peace
and much before.

I am ashamed
of growing up in times
when I didnt know 
if that random bullet
would strike me
or my turbaned father
or his unturbaned friend
or my conscientious mother
or a random stranger going to his fields.

I am perhaps ashamed 
of growing up at all.

yes, these words make no sense.
Dear Facebook, I wish you hadn't asked again 
what is on my mind.

Murderous Murder 2

Ludhiana: 8^th July, 2011. 9: 00 pm onwards-

Mampi on whatsapp (hereafter referred to as WA) with cousins from Jaipur: Garry. Its been a while since u said – “Bhabi ji ki jai ho.” Make me smile. Say that.

Garry (on WA from Jaipur to Mampi): Bhabiji ki jai ho. Howz life, hubby, and kids?

Mampi: Same old life, same old man, same old kids. Going to see Murder2 today. (remember readers, this used to be our routine? Friday night – movie, however rubbish it might be.. remember?)

Garry: Okay, Delhi Belly?

Mampi: Seen.

Garry: What a comedy, nahi?

Mampi: Oh yeah.

Garry: Whats the show time today?

Mampi: 10:45 pm

Garry: (Suddenly wakes up) Haha, the old man is fitter than all of us…whats going on with Ajj da Masla (Remember folks, I have been doing a TV show for the past few months on the good old boring DoorDarshan? This is what he is talking about)

Mampi: Will do one next week (Dear readers, don’t forget this)

Twist in the story: Garry’s sister, Gunnu joins us in the conversation.

Gunnu-Oye how are you?

Garry-I am your older brother stupid, tameez naal gall kar.

Gunnu-Oye, I m sitting two feet from you and you decide to shout in the chat?

Mampi-LOL

Gunia-Bhabhiji how is the Qatl Dwitiya (Murder2, sweeties, Gunnu is really funny.)
Mampi-Yet to start

Gunnu-Apna dristikon hume awashya bataiyega,

Mampi-JI Medem

Gunnu-Beta Raabart tum kahan ho?

Garry-Yahin hoon sambha.

Mampi-LOL
Garry-Bhabhiji, u alongwith kids?

Mampi-WHAT?

Gunnu- Beta Raabart, its an aedult filym. No kiddies.

Garry-(the gentleman that he is) Ok Bhabji, enjoy the movie. catch you later, tell me how the movie was.

Mampi-(5 mins into the movie now) Ppl are whistling (Emraan Hashmi is back to his old ways-the bijness of kissing and garment removal but I don’t reveal it to them)

Gunnu-Aaye haye seetiyan baj rahi hain Raabart beta chalo naachna shuru karo

Mampi-(forgets about the movie)- haha ha ha ha haha ha ha ha

(by now there is this gory murder sequence on the screen and I am beginning to feeling sick.)

Mampi- Horrible movie, folks.

Gunna-Tai tai phisssss, Raabart, beta nachna band kardo, bhabiji ko movie achi nahi lagi.

(and somehow my laughter is out of control when I read this. On the screen the girl is struggling to survive, I am fighting hard to control my callous laughter. )

Intermission.

People around our seats are looking with a great sympathy at Mahesh. Secretly they are happy-for it is the other man who has a mad wife. I suddenly look like a pervert, laughing uncontrollably, albeit silently. My forehead crinkles, my breath stops-I cannot control it when I laugh so hard. Rabart dancing in front of us, and ppl whistling, the image still haunts.
Intermission continues. And I prepare to run out of the hall, the supremely composed Mahesh sits there stoically, sagely commenting- it is a lousy movie. I give him an I-told-you-so look, (I had looked up the reviews in the evening) giggle and quickly descend the stairs.

And promptly I rush out of the hall. My laughter is so intense that I don't think I can walk on ramp. I feel like rolling on the ramp laughing. I dial Gunna’s number, I have to talk to her. I manage to find a seat in the waiting area and laugh my head off for the first one minute of the call. “Okay okay, what happened, you wanna talk about the movie?” Oh she thinks I need a catharsis. “No silly, I wanna thank you. I was sooo under the pressure of the movie. And you guys made me laugh.” And then I go on to tell her what an anti-climax the WA conversation was.

But for them, the movie would have been unbearable.

I go inside the hall, movie begins again. I know what Emraan Hashmi will do. Now that he has done enough of the kissing wissing for one movie, he will do the needful with the social service also. (But who told him long hair go well with social service?)

Garry: Is the movie at least a one time dekho?

Mampi: No beta, don’t go to watch it. Not even if someone else sponsors the ticket.

Garry: Is it that bad?

Mampi: Yes, even if they sponsor your popcorn and cold drink, decline politely.

Mampi to you all – surely give it a definite miss. It would have been more appropriate to call it Murder of the Audience 2011 instead of Murder 2. The only redeeming factor in the movie is Prashant Narayanan who I hated perfectly in the role that he did full justice to. Girls who are drooling to see another six packer in Emraan Hashmi, please hold your royal drool back, he shows these packs only in posters. Bibi Jacqueline has really pushed the limits as she claims, but she still remains unimpressive. Its not that I missed Mallika who I recently discovered has been posing with her tongue stuck permanently somewhere in her hard palate.

But I loved the time out. I call it counting my blessings.

Delhi Belly

Candid, funny, raw, hilarious – is how I would describe Delhi Belly. The posters had promised Imran leading a group that I thought was saving the world from the likes of Amjad Khan and Amrish Puri and Prem Chopra. But it turned out to be different. It was absolutely funny-even shocking at times. In fact my moment of enlightenment came when Mahesh whispered the truth in my ear during the DK Bose song. He was wary of watching it in English/Hinglish. "Yaar, it wont be fun," he said when it began. But within the first five minutes of hearing them speak, you feel –yes, Indian- English/Hinglish whatever you call it, has arrived. And then the movie begins to shake your sensibilities, it makes you laugh, it scandalizes you and at the end of the movie, you get up from the seat saying, “Oh I loved it.”

No intermission? Thank God I had bought my popcorns and coke bfore the movie started. An Aamir Khan at the end of the movie dancing to a stupid song was lovely. This song and dance sequence is a bit overdone actually, they could have managed with a shorter one too. And in the whole of the movie, I kept wondering if it is the same Shehnaz Treasurywala who had bloated par limits and had turned to television in her fat avatar? If she is the same, how did she manage to thin down so wonderfully to squeeze into the Singapore Airlines uniform? I have to know, just so I can thin down a little bit to fit into my own clothes from a year back. Sigh!

Imran’s onscreen chemistry with Poorna Jagannathan as Maneka, the hanging cables and wires overhead, the metro train going past a dusty Delhi road, Kunal Roy Kapoor’s poo act, Vir Das’s Ja Chudail number, Vijay Raaz’s unique act, they all fit into the kaleidoscope of the Belly of Delhi. Swear words abound and double meaning dialogues attack you with a vengeance.

But you HAVE to watch it to experience the stink of innards of Delhi.

And I must mention that this was the one movie that I loved after Dev D.

just...

Broke

Threadbare

Nude

ਿਕ

ਕੋਿੲਲ ਦੀ ਿਤੱਖੀ ਹੂਕ

ਵਾਲੀ ਕੂਕ ਸੁਣ

ੳੁਹਨੂੰ ਦੱਸਣ ਨੂੰ ਿਚੱਤ ਕਰਦੈ-

ਕਮਲੀੲੇ

ਮੀਹ ਮੰਗਣ ਨਾਲ ਨਹੀ

ਬੱਦਲ 'ਕੱਠੇ ਹੋਣ ਨਾਲ ਪਿਆ ਕਰਦੈ

ਤੇ ਬੱਦਲ

ਆਪਣੀ ਮਰਜੀ ਨਾਲ ਈ 'ਕੱਠੇ ਹੋਿੲਆ ਕਰਦੇ ਨੇ

The Rite of Passage?

She is entirely dependent on you. Does not know how to manage her long hair. Brings her damp clothes to you to ask, "Mom, is it dry or not?"

Now your 13 year old is out on her own, for ten days, on an NCC camp. She has to fend for herself, decide for herself and manage on her own. She is due to make a PPT presentation on the second day of the camp. She is comfortable with the topic already given. They change the topic on the spot-about 6 hours before presentation time. She is visibly upset. She calls, "Mom what do I do?" (Thank God they are allowed cell phones). You tell her to talk to her incharge. She doesn't want to, for she thinks it is a cowardly move. You are busy in your college function where your stay is mandatory. While sitting there, you google the stuff, call her and give her the links because her incharge's internet connection on his computer is too slow to download the stuff from your email. She somehow manages to sew the pieces together. Calls you about an hour prior to the presentation. "Mom, does my voice look like I have been crying?"

What do you do?

The Evening

He was once an officer with the State Transport Department and speaks reasonably good English. He lives in the Vridh Ashram of the Gurudwara Rara Sahib near Ludhiana. His world is limited to a bed and a window. He is very possessive about his corner but he has never seen this world of his. When we wanted to move his bed to clean beneath it, clean the window, and to dust his surroundings, he insisted that he had been keeping 'his' area clean. But my girls wanted to clean the entire dorm which was badly stinking of urine, vomit and faecal matter.

The girls took half a day to clean the dorm, shake and make the beds, scrape the floor of all the dead skin and other matter that seemed to have been there forever. When this man came back, he was upset that we had moved his bed. I apologised and offered to set his bedding right. He strictly refused to allow me to touch his bed.

He said, I will make my bed myself and would see what all is missing. (The girls had only put someone else's quilt on his bed which he apparently didnt like.)

She is from Calcutta. Her name was Kamla and now she has been renamed Mukhtiar Kaur....what all has changed for her?? Has a few sons and daughters - all 'happily married'. I met her first when I visited them one day prior to Diwali last year. I think I have a special connection with Bengalis. I locate them or they locate me...somehow. But this was the most unlikely place I would find one. Her bed is in the middle of the big

dorm that houses women inmates of the ashram. The moment she saw me today, she extended her hand in recognition and we exchanged a hug. Then she was all smiles. A small frame, shining eyes - half her words incomprehensible. (I have not learnt Bangla. Mental note- I should learn. I am sure I was a Bengali in my last birth and would be one in my next too. Mahesh, please make the necessary recommendations for yourself to dear God...the story of seven births you see.). Mukhtiar Kaur didn't want me to go away. She likes her current place of residence. I wanted to go meet other women also. So she let me go. My girls sang with some old women, gossiped with others and laughed with many. What would Kamla sing? Perhaps only I would be able to bond with her Bengali songs.

These are the son-in-law and the little grandson of this cheerful person. The moment we set his bed right, he invites them in. He hands over his share of biscuits and fruit to the kid. The tall old man rushes to the langar hall to bring kheer for his guests. Guests? The little man seemed to be on an outing. I teased him about gobbling up

his Nanu's biscuits. And I wanted to tell him to do exactly this to his parents when their turn came. He would, even without my training, I am sure he would. There is a saying in Punjabi, I dont know how you translate it into English, "The knots you tie with your hands will have to be opened with the help of your teeth." Will this young man in the middle and his wife one day have these beds as their worlds?

Will he, too, one day pose with a painful smile for some teacher from a college?

The Play

I am a character in a play, you said.

…..

I am fighting with myself, you said.

….

Perhaps

One character

Is fighting with another...

A play within a play?

You filled a void.

You left a void.

I filled my void,

I created my void.

What is this place?

Your presence

Makes the heart lonelier…

Words,

Our connection-

Broken,

Chapped

Bleeding,

Hurt.

I with You

I am a name

a face

a smile

a glow

to you.

To me

you are

a dot

in the dark

that you weave around

yourself.

The dot

that

I refuse

to

move

or

remove.

Jam Baby

She would be called a Jam Baby or perhaps Baby Jam. Or perhaps Zardari Jam. No, they wouldn’t want to associate her with Z . Lets call her Jam Baby.

Lucky, isn’t she? That she is born. Even if it is in a Jam. Isn't it better to become a Jam Baby instead of having been preserved in a Jam Jar? Zardari should not be upset about her for She and her mother are stronger than those babies and mothers who are forced to suffer the glorious practice of saving female fetuses from the trouble of being born. We women should honor and applaud them both. Even Zardari should be honoured for providing the baby an opportunity to show her strength.

Talking about a different sample of woman power, I have always been somewhat doubtful about the abilities and the merits of our own President, Madam Pratibha (Who??) Devisingh Patil. When I compare her to APJ Abdul Kalam, I often wonder what merit did she have to succeed a man of Kalam’s temperament. Just the accident of birth! Not that I am against her becoming the President. She has raised my own ambitions to the sky. Everytime I see her on television and everytime I see her talking about the imaginary babas that visit her in her dreams, I console myself, “Mampi, tera number bhi ayega.” I would also, inshallah, be the President of India one day. If SHE can, anyone can. And I am not that bad, am I?

Now, I was on a prominent Delhi road, waiting for my bus one day when the President Pratibha (Who??) was to pass by. The security personnel on duty (poor chaps) were requesting the people rather forcefully to go behind a barricade. Everyone moved behind the bus stop screen. Why they did, I failed to understand and I didn’t go behind the screen. I had to work hard to stop myself from laughing. I, however, moved back a little. The Delhi Police Jawan was not happy with the way people hid behind the screen. I wasn’t either, but I didn’t matter and the policeman did, obviously. He asked the people to move further back.

"Where?" The people wanted to know.

"There." He gestured. So the people moved behind the road on a link road.

"Further back," he demanded. I refused to budge. "Why should I go hide when my President moves on the road?"

"Orders from above, Madam." He was trying to be humble.

"But she is our president." I was adamant.

"Whatever. You got to go behind that barricade." He meant business.

"But you are also a danger to her, what with your gun and all. And, for all that you know, I can throw a bomb at her from that afar also, hee hee hee." I teased him. He was stunned.

"Chaliye chaliye, madam."

And I dragged my feet. Though I wanted to spring on the road militant style and tell Madam Pratibha Who?? that she had no business disturbing our life like that. But then, she is not at fault. After all, she does not know that she is causing this kind of inconvenience to people. Hell, she does not know many things. Poor lady didn't even know that she was to become the president of this country when she did.

I know, you Dilli walas/walis would say, "Mampi madam you suffered it one day and we are suffering it everyday." I would say, "Well that is part of the fun of choosing to live in the capital city."

Thank God I was not pregnant and due when Pratibha Who?? passed by.

Otherwise I would have been nursing a Jam Baby too.

...And On this 9th March

You went

I crumbled away.

then I gathered the bits again

and built myself

limb by limb

again.

Some days

the pasting was

just a bit harder

then life came along

to give me a wall

to lean against.

Now,

why am I scared

of forgetting you?

***

Some days you do not have the luxury to cry. On those days, you do not have the compulsion to laugh either. You go back, and again try to balance all your equations. And you suddenly find that life was not fair to you. That life took from you what you desperately needed. And then you suddenly realise that another side to balancing the equations is to start counting your blessings. You had realised that three was not four and five was not six; but you recall that you have had some threes that plussed with one to make a four, and some plussed with two to make five.

Life gave you the cards that you could deal in your own way. It were your hands that mattered. But some hands are just not lucky with cards.

Like clay. It destroyed a pot, then you picked up the bits and pieces, and kneaded it again and wet your hands again and then you put it again on the wheel. It took another shape to give you one complete whole.

You are scared, lest this new vessel should break too. So you cover it, so you protect it-at all costs. At your cost. And then you set it free.

I know the story is not complete. It can never be completed. Not by me...

Love La

Congratulations !

You failed

my borsalino test

when I said

“no”.

I built my bridges

but

did not cross them

over to you.

Now,

all that remains

is

lingering around in

lonely

libraries

looking

at dusty covers

and

faded loves.

Journeys...

The sign at the Metro Station

Announces

“The Train Ends Here”

“Yatra Samapat”

... I walk on...

Wake Up ! Mampi

I have been away from this mad mad blog world. Reason is Yoga. Yes, I have become one of those who would sit on their aasan in that ultimate yoga pose and chant OMMMM, and laugh pointlessly when the rest of the class does that, and clap like mad when the instructor tells them to clap. Right in the middle of the clapping session do I realise that I am such a fool and that if one of my students were to be brave enough to pass by this garden while I sit in the front row clapping my brain away, he would go and report in the class and they would all end up sniggering.

Going to yoga class at 5 .15 am since October has had its own advantage. I have suddenly found that over the years I have become stiff as a log of wood. And that I cannot do the SarvangAsan anymore. That of course hurts. By god, it is actually devastating. I mean I could never do a headstand but then SarvangAsan culminating in a Halasan was the best alternative for that. Add to that the fact that I cannot twist my arms at my back and in an attempt to sit in a Gomukh aasan, I tend to sway and finally fall like a broken statue. So I have found a way out. I pretend to sit in the Gomukh aasan and support myself with my hands while all the grey haired men and women around me perfect themselves in the art of twisting their bodies wonderfully and looking at me with a what-a-lazy-bum-she-has-been-till-she-came-here look.

So, day after day, I go to the Rose Garden to learn and enjoy yoga. To be able to reach the yoga class at 5 a.m., I got to get up at 4:30 a.m. Yes it IS an UNEARTHLY hour to wake up. But I have been braving the urge to have another 10 minutes of snooze. Not only that. So conscientious have I been in waking up early that you would be amazed at me. I myself have been.

The other morning, I woke up, suddenly panicked that I was late for my yoga class. Without switching the lights on, I looked at the wall clock opposite my bed (from the lights streaming in from outside). I rushed to the washroom and quickly bushed my teeth, freshened myself up and ran back to the room. Changed from the night dress and then loked at the cellphone to see the time. And boy, it was 2.30 a.m. Wow. What a big fool ! And without switching the lights off I fell like a chopped tree on the bed-laughing hysterically and alone, hit myself on the head and got into my blanket again. Then the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. as usual and Mampi woke up pretending nothing had happened in the night.

Hota Hai, Hota Hai !

P.S. This post was written sometime in November 2008. Now that the conductor has taken some time off work, she thought of posting it.

P.P.S.- Happy New Year 2010. I would read blogs regularly and try to post regularly. No, it is not a New Year Resolution. It is just a resolution.

...Zindagi...

Bus de conductor wangoo
Ban'h gayee hai zindagi apni

Safar wi nahi mukk'na

Tey jana wi kiteiye nahi...

***

Bus ke conductor ki tarah

Ban gayee hai zindagi apni

Safar bhi khatam nahi hota

aur jana bhi kahin nahi...

***

Life has become like a Bus conductor. The journey is endless to no destination...

The Family That Whistles Together....

....Stays together. This is the logic that Mahesh gave to both the kids while counselling them to learn how to whistle using their fingers and their mouth with their tongue twisted inside the mouth.

Last year, he had challenged me to teach the kids how to whistle. “Mampi, YOUR kids should know how to whistle.”

“MY kids? Wow... And by the way, how do you expect me to know how to whistle? You mean I have been whistling at people... Bole toe MEN? You are the man, you are the father, YOU teach them how to whistle.”

This touched a raw nerve somewhere, “I don’t know how to. Otherwise I wouldn’t bring you in picture.”

After an extensive session of YOU YOU ME ME, we finally decided to take some professional help in teaching the kids how to whistle. That was much easier than convincing kids why they should learn how to whistle. My funda is straight. If you can learn to whistle, you can bully people, you can tease people, you can hoot in the auditorium. My kids are rather worldly less wise, so I believed that the ability to whistle would make them more confident human beings.

Once Mahesh expressed his inability to whistle (and believe me, with that he absolved himself of ever having teased a female on the road, or ever having made a pass at one of his pretty classmates), I had to look for someone who could teach the kids the fine art of whistling. Once I found the boys who would help me in doing that (no girls knew how to whistle real loud). But as they say that you can bring the horse to water, but you cannot make it drink. So I, too, could not. My kids were shy, they were reluctant, and they enjoyed cycling more than whistling. So here comes Dad with his logic that I mentioned in the very beginning. He said, “Look, if you learn to whistle, you will have a survival tactic right within you. You can raise an alarm, you can catch someone‘s attention if you need to. If you are stranded at sea, you can even bring down a helicopter.” Okay, this last one was exaggeration and he didn’t say this. Jai was totally exasperated at his father's convincing tactics. "Papa, why dont you just buy us a whistle if it is so important to learn how to whistle?" Anyway, the persuasive devil that he is, Mahesh made both the kids go with me to the ‘whistling classes’. The whistle teachers are my college Bhangra Team. The boys are usually in the auditorium, preparing themselves for the coming Youth festival.

They all know me as a rather weird teacher, but this? They were all wide eyed.

“ Teaching your kids how to whistle? Ma’am, how can we whistle in your presence?”

“OK guys, I can pretend I cannot hear you.”

Most of them were on the verge of crying. “Ma’am if our parents had encouraged us to whistle, we would have reached places. We have been beaten mercilessly for having whistled.”

My heart went out to them. Poor Boys!! I said, “Consider me your mom and whistle away to glory. Practise, practise till you make my kids really good at whistling.”

Every day, in the evening, after swimming class, both my kids would stand with their fingers in the mouth in front of the auditorium and try to whistle. Initially, the whistle was only a forceful breath and the fingers got wet with the saliva they forced out of the mouth. With a day or two of practice, Rasan was able to bring out some semblance of a whistle out of that breath. Another day and she could produce a loud shrill whistle. Then there was no stopping this girl. She would whistle for visitors, she would whistle for parents, she would whistle in the car, in the pool, on the road, on the phone, at night, in the morning before brushing and after brushing, before meals, after meals, in the bathroom and even in the restaurant. “Papa, if I whistle here, nobody would suspect that a little girl with innocent looks has whistled.” And I thought of the group of boys who would get a sound beating for having whistled in the restaurant.

No, Jai cannot whistle yet. He should have learnt it before her; after all he is a Punjabi Boy. But given his dad’s track record, I am rather apprehensive that he would. Coming back to the Family Whistling mission, I am midway into the lessons but Mahesh has withdrawn from the whistling club.

....And I thought Indians were the Greatest Bahanebaaz(es)...

A friend sent me this email. Not sure if you got it from your friends or not. I was about to send it out when I thought that I must share it here.

These are absentee notes from parents (including original spelling) collected by schools all over South Africa .

1. My son is under a doctor's care and should not take P.E. today. Please execute him.

2. Please excuse Lisa for being absent. She was sick and I had her shot.

3. Dear School : Please ekscuse Shadrak being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, and also 33.

4. Please excuse Gloria from Jim today. She is administrating.

5. Please excuse Blessing from P.E. for a few days. Yesterday he fell out of a tree and misplaced his hip.

6. John has been absent because he had two teeth taken out of his face..

7. Moses was absent yesterday because he was playing football. He was hurt in the growing part.

8. Megan could not come to school today because she has been bothered by very close veins.

9. Chris will not be in school cus he has an acre in his side

10. Please excuse Justice Friday from school. He has very loose vowels.

11. Please excuse Pedro from being absent yesterday. He had (diahre) (dyrea) (direathe) the sh*ts. [Words in ()'s were crossed out.]

12. Please excuse Tommy for being absent yesterday. He had diarrhea and his boots leak.

13. Petros was absent yesterday because he missed his bust.

14. Please excuse Jimmy for being. It was his father's fault.

15. I kept Beauty home because she was to go Christmas shopping because I don't know what size she wear.

16. Please ekxcuse Wiseman for missing school yesterday. We forgot to get the Sunday paper off verunda, and when we found it Monday, we thought it was Sunday.

17. Sally won't be in school a week from Friday. We have to attend her funeral.

18. My daughter was absent yesterday because she was tired. She spent a weekend with the Marines.

19. Please excuse Jason for being absent yesterday. He had a cold and could not breed well.

20.Please excuse Mary for being absent yesterday. She was in bed with gramps.

21. Gloria was absent yesterday as she was having a gangover.

22. Please excuse Burma , she has been sick and under the doctor.

23. Maryann was absent December 11-16, because she had a fever, sore throat, headache and upset stomach. Her sister was also sick, fever and sore throat, her brother had a low grade fever and ached all over. I wasn't the best either, sore throat and fever. There must be something going around, her father even got hot last night.

24. Please excuse little Jimmy for not being in school yesterday. His father is gone and I could not get him ready because I was in bed with the doctor.

AGYAAT, LUCK, LOVE AAJKAL

1- What kind of a movie does it take to punch a good man?
Answer -AGYAAT-supposed to be unknown.
2- How much does it cost to produce such a movie?
Answer -A lakh or two, because all that the cast has to do is to run through a jungle and go on running in just a single change of clothes. And their roles go on ending one by one, through convenient elimination, blamed on something/someone unknown.
3- How much does it take for this movie to hire a fight master?
Answer -Nothing, cos you cannot see the villain/vamp.
4- How does the movie end?
Answer -With a single hand asking childishly, who-killed-them-all, and the protagonist says, "Hell yaar, no idea who killed them all. Thank god the shooting for the movie is over."
PHEW!
RGV-what did you do my dear? You are the man who produced and directed Satya, Sarkar, Sarkar Raj, Rangeela, Shool-what on earth is prompting you to go for making horror movies? You are making one horror movie for every socially relevant movie that you give us. But then you are the man who gave us Ram Gopal Verma Ki Aag too. Absurd!
You made Phoonk and when I came back from the movie, I vowed to myself that I would never go to another horror flick ever ever ever. But then being a beautiful little Phool that I am, I allowed myself to be tempted into watching 1920. I have not forgotten the horror yet. I kept postponing watching this movie Agyaat. But then the cruel man that my husband is, he persuaded me to watch it with him. Since I am his only movie buddy, he would either watch it with me, or would not watch it at all. And he always succeeds in persuading me, all that he has to do is to talk about the popcorns.
Coming to the movie, the tension starts right from the beginning as is RGV’s wont. But then this time I was amply disgusted with the gory show every few minutes. I was smarter though, this time I just closed my eyes everytime I suspected a death would take place in the movie. Mahesh refused to be moved by the horror . He said the movie failed to scare him. All through the movie, I kept digging my nails in his arms (whenever tension mounted). Poor guy, he will curse RGV. I mean it is not okay if BEEWI digs her nails in your arms while watching a movie... is it??
For RGV makes this absurd movie and aptly calls it Agyaat-the unknown. And he has the cheek to end the movie by telling us that COMING SOON is AGYAAT 2. I have never threatened my husband with anything. I am such a docile beewi. Today I told him at the end of the movie that he deserves a punch for making me go and buy tickets for this movie. Yawning, he started the car in the abandoned parking of the multiplex. It was at that moment that I again warned him against even suggesting that he wanted to watch Agyaat 2.
I had been whining that I don’t want to go watch a horror flick. I would have been happier sitting home and reading all these beautiful blogs if he had not wasted my precious 1.50 hours watching this movie. But then he is not the only one who is to be blamed. Told you, I had gone there to gobble up those yummy popcorns, movie be damned. And the tragedy is that I didn't eat any. I ended up eating nachos ! Bah, what a colossal waste. I should at least have had my bagful of popcorns. Now i will remember the jungle and water, and Agyaat by the nachos that I had there. Sometimes things just combine to give you that sub-natural feel.
That reminds me to count my blessings. Love AajKal is one of those blessings. It is a fabulous movie. Well, I like any movie in which the hero/one of the heroes is shown as an intelligent romantic Sardar, the way they actually are. Yes, I am racially/communally biased. Saif looks good as the young Rishi Kapoor wooing Gisele Monteiro. Boy, this girl is simply cute-every inch an innocent Punjaban like me, well not so old, nor so fat, but almost as cute. Transparently cute and sweet. Wish her luck.
Deepika is totally smashing. Mahesh did not like her (He finds her too thin) but the moment I told him she is Prakash Padukone’s daughter, he was visibly impressed. Is it something unique with him or is it with you all men?
And the week before that was Luck. Luck-a different kind of movie though they had used too much of the word Luck, Luck, Luck, Luck. 'Luck' in Punjabi is the word that we use for a waist. I have something far more than a waist, hence I have a lot more Luck to my credit. This is why I loved the movie. Imran looks cute, Shruti looks good, Sanjay looks great, Danny is fit as ever. The concept is different, the locations breathtaking. Though towards the end, it was more like a common Hindi Bollywood movie in which the hero saves the heroine in that 15 second period that goes on and on for about 30 minutes.
Next week it would be Kaminey, though I and Mahesh have been laughing at Shahid exposing his muscles, and then next week something else and so on and so forth.

Conclusion: Go watch LoveAajKal
Go watch Luck
Puhleez don’t go watch Agyaat .

But then some people always learn from their own experiences. Didnt the ticket counter guy tell me also that Agyaat was ‘so-so’ kind of a movie? Did I heed his advice in my over-enthusiasm to become a pativrata bhartiya nari out to accompany her husband to a horror movie show?
Mind you, I am writing this post within half an hour of returning from the cinema. Now what kind of a movie inspires you to do a post? Of course something like Agyaat. Mahesh said it didn’t deserve a blog post. He was right, wasn’t he?
And he complimented me liberally once we were out of the cinema hall and I was creating some kind of sounds with my singing. He said, "You are better off with the horror thingy." Now, a husband can get only this cute na !!

the lock

Every night

Before sleeping

I remember

to lock the heavy gate

Outside the courtyard

Of my house

From inside.

I do not want

Any intruders.

Tonight

I picked the golden lock

And pushed a silver key in.

I was attempting to lock it shut.