The Art bin

She grabbed an apple on her way out. Slamming the door behind her, she ran to the elevator trying to escape the small windy opening in the corridor that invited the cold. It was already late. The cold dreary morning outside was splattered with sporadic rain. She grabbed her jacket closer to her while waiting for the elevator.

‘Aah! Why does it have to be so windy? It is so cold!’ she spoke to herself. Her eyebrows got closer to each other and a distasteful frown appeared on her face, much like the weather outside.

With shaky legs, she moved closer to the door of the elevator. Finally, the elevator was here. As soon as it opened, she darted right in almost scaring the tall passenger inside.

The apple was crunchy. She munched and munched, and the morning rush showed in her bites. The other occupant watched her chomp away from the corner of his eyes. She suddenly felt the bright chartreuse scarf she was wearing. It sure could brighten up the insipid morning outside.

The elevator stopped.

On her way out of the emergency exit, she tossed the seeded core of the apple into a bin near an apartment door.
‘Whoever kept a bin here is a thoughtful fellow,’ she said to herself and walked out.

The day ahead was so full of debris for her that she could have filled that entire bin with it. Needless to say, she came back and slept off.

The next morning was a late morning again. She hurried to leave and grabbed an orange on her way out. She peeled it in the elevator and dropped the peel in the same bin on her way out of the emergency exit.

10 am.
He yawned and opened the door to check for milk bottles. A strong whiff of ripe oranges struck him. He looked around and saw the peel of an orange in his precious wide-mouthed vase near the door.
‘What! Again?!’ his eyes were big and the last traces of sleep had dramatically vanished. He remembered that just a day before he had taken out the core of an eaten apple from inside the vase.

He looked around hoping to see someone to rant to and exclaim his surprise at the ignorance of the moronic person who used his decor as a trash bin.

The dull blue colored vase was part of a curator’s collection that he had fancied and bought from an art exhibition. It was wide mouthed with a lesser bottom, and this shape was precisely what he had liked about it. He loved ornaments for his home, and he had hoped that this vase just outside the door would set the ambience for his guests when they entered his crafted museum of decor that he called his home.

Only that his hopes and dreams were dashed by a moronic individual who was atrociously using his decor as a trashbin!

He decided to wait for the miscreant the next morning.

Keeping in mind his own eccentric timings of going in and coming out of his house, he calculated that this art-crime was being committed in the morning hours. He would wait.

He would definitely wait.

All night he was up fearing that he would not be able to wake up early morning and grab the culprit by the collar. He worked, ate a packet of noodles, worked again, and planned to keep the door open from 5 am. Tired of working, he switched on the television.

7:30 am.
Morning rush. Morning rush, she talked to herself. Scuttling around in the house, she got ready to leave for work. She opened her refrigerator one last time to pick up a crunchy fruit but didn’t find any. She grabbed a banana and slammed the door.

10 am.
He woke up with a startle. The television was on and he had slept on the sofa. It was bright outside.

‘My vase! My vase,’ he screamed and ran to the door. He pulled it open and was horrified to see a banana peel inside it.

Somewhere a lion clenched its teeth and growled. It was inside him. Seething with anger he picked up the peel and threw it away aiming the trash bin in his kitchen. It fell on the floor. He thudded to the kitchen, lifted up the peel, and tossed it again into the bin.

That night he slept and woke up sharp at 5 am. He rushed to the door and kept it open. He sat on a chair next to the door with his laptop on.

An hour passed. No sign of the criminal.

Another hour passed.
He was slowly getting impatient. The elevator next to his apartment had started to get busy. He could hear kids, elders, babies coming out of the elevator but no body walked out of the emergency exit just adjacent to his apartment.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps arriving towards the emergency exit. He straightened himself and braced for a fight.

She walked towards the exit and by way of a three-day habit was just about to toss the core of a pear into the bin when she saw him sitting at the door. Her right hand was still in the tossing position when he screamed.

‘So, it’s you! You drop garbage into my vase every morning?,’ he thundered.

As if the morning rush is never enough for her, she was startled at the holler.

‘What are you talking of? Vase? What vase?’ she replied.

‘This, this vase,’ he said, pointing to his piece of decor.
‘This is art, and not a trash bin.’

‘I’m sorry I don’t understand. This is art? I thought it was a bin. If it is art why is it not inside your house?’ she was quizzical.

‘I can keep my decor anywhere. What made you think this was a trash can?’ he fumed at her.

‘Well, it is standing in a corner with a huge open mouth. What else is it supposed to be?’ she answered with a nonchalance that could defy the monotony of the life of the vase.

‘You’re atrocious!’ Thundering more than ever before, he pulled his piece of arty decor inside his house.

Wham. The door slammed on her face.

It opened even before it had closed completely.

‘You mean you can dump garbage into anyone who stands with an open mouth?’ he asked.

She seemed terribly upset with the question.

‘Anyone? You mean people? Yes I will, if someone stands in a corner with his mouth open, I will toss garbage into him’ she replied in anger.

The door slammed, and did not open a second time.

The emergency exit door opened. She breathed in fresh air, thought about the episode, chuckled and walked off.

Ryan Tales -6. ‘My mom hates her life.’

Scene 1- It was a long morning, and a long afternoon. Finally, thinking of getting a few non-walking moments, I had hardly sat down on the chair when my phone rang. It was away in the other room.

‘Aargh! why couldn’t it ring when I was there?’ I asked myself fretfully.

I muttered ‘I hate my life’ and got up from the half sitting position to see who was calling.

Scene 2 – A few days later.

The 5 year old was playing with his friend at home. As usual, I finished all my work and thought of getting a few non-walking moments, I entered the kid’s room and  had hardly sat down when my phone rang. It was away in the other room. I felt my eyebrows unite.

While I got up from the almost-sitting position, Ryan whispered to his friend ‘My mom hates her life.’

That made my day and had me in splits.

The Knotty Wardrobe

I have almost stopped organizing my wardrobe. Each time I organize, I keep the wardrobe door open to celebrate the day as an admiration day.

Soon enough (exactly, 5 days), the admiration season gets over.  The clothes in there get back to hugging each other. The entire compartment becomes one mound of sleeves, and hooks, and legs, and pockets. I pull out one visible sleeve and the entire mound falls out. I pull and I pull until I can pull no more to extract that one sleeved tee from its communal hugging friends, hold the entire pile up and put it back into the shelf. The fight repeats itself every day.

Sometimes, I think of calling the fire-fighters, but I realize they would make it more messy. The wardrobe would become one heap of knotty wet pulp.

Then comes that one day when I get so tired of having to pull legs and sleeves that I give up and organize the section. I award myself with four doughnuts and an ice-cream for the effort and admire my closet with loving eyes.  Often, on such days, I also rest my head on the neatly folded clothes making them feel loved. My favorite tee looks at me with fluttering eyelids, and I pick it up. I smell it, the fresh smell of Surf Excel (the liquid one, to be precise) tantalizes me. I fold the tee back to its place. (No, Surf Excel is not paying me a penny to write this.)

Lifting my head, I go back to the chair right in front of the wardrobe. I sit there and watch it. My neat, colorful, organized wardrobe. What would I not pay to get this view everyday? Everyday, for 5 days?

It’s evening, and I’m rushing to get dinner done. I need to change into my pajamas. Clothes which don’t let in air from everywhere restrict my cooking abilities. I run to my room and pull out a pj from under four or five pieces of clothes which tumble down. I pile them up and put them back.

The saga restarts.

The day for the next four doughnuts and one ice-cream is far away.

Do you also have knotty wardrobe days?

When the caterpillar fell out of the book ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’

The very hungry caterpillar from Eric Carle’s ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ came out of the book and fell with a ‘plop’ on the ground.

Ryan, a curious five-year old, heard the ‘plop’ and looked down to find a scared green caterpillar on the floor. Wasn’t this the same caterpillar he was reading about a few minutes back?

Yes, it was! It was the same caterpillar which was very hungry. Ryan looked closer and picked it up very gently. It was a scared, scared ringlet.

‘Sshh, sshh, it’s ok, it’s ok. It’s just me. I won’t hurt you,’ Ryan said.

Looking up with big round eyes, the caterpillar lifted one of its legs and squeaked ‘Friends?’

‘Friends!’ the five year old replied, and gave a high five to the little larva which toppled off with the impact.  Picking it up again and patting its back, Ryan invited it to play with him.

The caterpillar was Ryan’s pet now. It had a sleep-over in his room that night. Both of them slept together, Ryan sharing his pillow with the caterpillar. The wriggling larva slept on its back with all its legs up in the air. Ryan slept on his back, his hands and legs shooting up in the air in his sleep.

The next morning, Ryan and the caterpillar were heard playing car games in his room. The caterpillar would sit on his Hot Wheels cars, and he would swoosh them through the room. The larva would go ‘Weeeeeeeeee’ during the ride down the room. The day looked promising for both of them.

Both of them were hungry soon after their morning games. Ryan fed his new pet a pancake, a chicken sausage, and fresh watermelon juice. Soon, the pet was so full of food that it slept off. The kid took it to his bedroom where it slept for three full days.

The fourth day, Ryan screamed:

‘Mamaa, come to my room!’

‘Coming!’ was the reply.

When his mom entered his room, she saw a beautiful butterfly fluttering all over in the room! Ryan was ecstatic! It was the same caterpillar that had turned into this beautiful butterfly!

However, it was not an ordinary butterfly. It was one that performed a lot of antics. It sat on Ryan’s car on just one leg, on one wing, on its head and twisted itself in funny ways.

While the mom and the kid were watching the butterfly, it fell down with a light thud. It was trying to somersault and hurt its head. Ryan ran to get some ice and rubbed it on the insect’s head. It was fine in no time!

The butterfly wanted to stay with Ryan in his house. The boy, being a very nice host, decided to go out to the garden and get some fresh flowers. He planned that the flowers would be put face up in a bowl full of water so the butterfly could sit on them and drink nectar.

Ryan and the butterfly stayed together since then.

**The story was entirely conceived by the five-year old boy named Ryan. His mom is just the social media channel for the story.**

#sravsquotes

If you talk to me, you will know that I can be satirical. However, remain informed that satire is one of the most superior forms of humor that can be handled only by geniuses. I’m one of them.

Ok, having beaten all the drums possible about myself (wait, all of them? no, there’s more), I would like to introduce you to Sravsquotes. It is my Facebook page which is a reflection of my satirical and humorous side, and what’s more, it can be biting too! On this page, I put up humorous puns, caustic remarks, and nuggets of satire. Here are some of them:

1. Don’t you think resolutions mostly gather dust, (rather e-dust) instead of momentum? This one is dedicated to all our resolutions which die a dishonorable death every February.

2.  Cleaning the house! Aah, this one. Don’t we really clean this way-take things from one corner and keep them in another while feeling gratified that the first corner looks so clean?

3. This one is so true! Each time I send out an email informing my neighbors that I’m decluttering, essentially, I’m inviting them to come and take my clutter. Only in very polite words.

Do like and follow my page on Facebook, and share my quotes if they tug at you!  #sravsquotes.

2017 – Resolutions Anyone?

 

Instead of socks for christmas, I hung my sports shoes this year at my door.

I kept the kid informed that Santa will not come in his traditional red. He will come dressed in an Amazon tee with an Amazon box in his hand. He believed me because the delivery guy actually came in an Amazon tee. I’m happy that the 5-yr old understands satire.

Now:

I smell a new year.

I smell a fresh year.

I smell resolutions.  

Isn’t it that time of the year when we all are checking ourselves, finding out where our sports shoes are? Some of us are almost scavenging the house for the shoes worn exactly a year back. A few better of us are cleaning them and showcasing them and feeling smug about ourselves. A few of us are already telling others how they should start jogging and working out to feel fit. From the new year of course! What were you thinking?

Another set of people are talking and trying to team up with others so that they can start working out from Jan 1.

The whole year is like a doughnut. It is a doughnut of our hopes. All our hopes, especially of working out start on Jan 1, come a full circle and reach the same point when we realize it is the next Jan 1.

The only problem is the hole in the middle of the doughnut. The hopes, the decisions, the resolutions fall through the hole. Often our workout shoes.

Despite us being in our resolutionary best, (that is not a typo), our weight-losing resolutions are like hot-air balloons which disappear in the air even before we can hold them in our hands.

This is what usually happens to my gym resolutions in New Year.

The gym knocks and these are my replies:

On Jan 1 – No way! Are you still drunk?

On Jan 2 – Insane. Not happening.

On Jan 3 – Just getting over the hangover dude. Please hang on to your hopes.

On Jan 4 – I just started feeling fresh.

On Jan 5 – Sounds astronomically pragmatic.

Finally, finally, all in my best spirits, and with around 15 snoozes of the alarm, I wake up, look outside, feel drowsy and kicked at the same time and rush out of bed.

Fresh new sports tees, shorts, shoes, ummm, its a warm feeling right?

I reach the gym, look around curiously but with confidence and talk to the instructor about how my biceps need work. My core needs to be strengthened. My abs need love. He directs me to the nonchalant treadmill.

I walk.

I pump it up. I feel like a hungry dog.

I come down. Drink loads of water.

I look for the exit door when the instructor taps gently to ask ‘Madam, where are you going?’

The last person I would want to meet at this moment.

‘I will be here tomorrow,’ and I rush off.

I walk out. A smug smile of ‘I worked out’ plastered all over my face along with a ‘hah, you belly bag! Look at me’ snigger radiates from my face.

The next day comes, and the alarm needs to snooze around 20 times. Gradually, the alarm gets too tired to snooze constantly, and eventually, stops ringing.

So does my gym routine.

My shoes find a good spot somewhere in my store room.

Au Revoir my Nike until Dec 2017!

‘P’ as in Pneumonia

I decided to be mischievous when I got repeated calls from a certain telecaller and wanted to end it all so he would never call again. EVER.

I agreed to give him my name and email id so he could send over whatever registration forms were needed. Honestly, I don’t know for what!

Let’s call this telecaller TC. Here’s how the last conversation went.

TC: ‘Thank you maam. I’ll email you the form. Please tell me your name.’

Me: ‘Ok, my name is Phebe Kynx.’

TC: ‘What is it maam?’

Me: ‘P-h-e-b-e K-y-n-x. Do you want me to spell it out for you?

TC: ‘Yes maam.’

Me: ‘Ok, here you go.
P as in Pneumonia, H as in Hour, E as in escherichia coli, B as in Buttercups-butterflies-dot-blogspot…

TC: ‘The first letter is T maam?’

Me: ‘No no, P, P as in Pneumonia.’

TC: ‘D maam?’

Me growling at him ‘I said Ppppppp, P as in Psychiatrist’

TC: A little confused and relieved at the same time, ‘okaay maam, I got you. Next?’

Me: ‘H as in hour’

TC: ‘R?’

Me: ‘No, its H, H as in Hour.’ I went on ‘E as in Escherichia, did you get that?’

Silence. Some fumbling again. I realized he was getting super confused and nervous. I realized that I had wasted at least 5 to 7 minutes in this farce.

Me: ‘Listen, I don’t want to waste time. Call me later.’

Click-I hung up. It’s been quite a few days, and I haven’t received that call yet. *Evil grin*

Note that the picture above is just a representation of goofiness, and has no connection to the post whatsoever.

 

#MicroblogMondays: When I am sad

Today has been a particularly hard day for me. I’ve had a bad morning, and therefore,the afternoon also looked bad. Now that the sun has set, and it is getting darker, my heart is feeling a little more sad with the disappearing light.  I think the night monsters will gulp me down tonight.

Everything is almost making me cry. When you are a humorous person, you really can’t be serious. You also can’t be sad. Right? Right. But now, today, everything is almost making me cry. Even my own #sravsquotes. Im reading them and laughing, but Im crying laughing. You know what I mean right. You must have been there.

Someone posted a Chinese Chili Garlic Sauce recipe with a vibrant picture, and that made me sadder than ever because the accompanying rice didn’t look so appealing. I cried again.

Then there are these life and motivational posts and pictures which are wrenching my gut from within. I can’t stand those pics right now when my nose and eyes are welling up.

I need a shoulder. A shoulder.

Not to cry on.

I need a shoulder to wipe my nose on.

Linking it up to Microblog Mondays.

Icecream with a 4 year old

Eating icecream with a four-year old is a hilarious event in itself. However, all my sympathies and empathies lie with the icecream being discussed. The creamy journey of its life turns out to be pretty bad if it falls in the hands of a 3 or a 4 year old. This is what happens.

We buy an icecream. The stick comes out of the icecream wrapper which gets crumpled within a flash of a second, and I hear ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and slurps of visual satisfaction as the entire icecream makes its grandiose show. Ryan looks at it from all angles trying to decide which is the best bet for the first lick.

Me: ‘Eat it fast. It will melt.’

My words fall just next to where the icecream wrapper was thrown a few seconds back.

After a complete visual survey, Ryan licks it. His eyebrows shoot high. His eyes become wider while his lips spread to his ears on both sides. I hear a never-ending ‘ummmmmmmmmmm’ which makes me take a sly look at the icecream. I find it still holding itself strong.

Somewhere close by, I hear the loud squeak of a squirrel. Ryan’s icecream reverie is almost broken and he looks up at a suspected tree with queer eyes. I notice the white droplet of icecream on his nose. One look at the icecream and I see it drip. One drop falls on the ground. A white circle; radius, circumference, and area undetermined.

That’s the beginning.

It’s starting. It’s starting to melt. It’s starting to melt.

The first tissue comes out of the wad that I bring along for our icecream sojourns. The top of the icecream is the low hanging fruit for him, and he works at it faster. I remind him that the bottom of the stick also needs some attention.

Me: ‘Eat the lower side too. It will melt.’

He looks at the lower side of the icecream. His warm mushy looks melt the lower end which rivers down his right hand, right down to the elbow. Had it been a few decades earlier with the same scene between me and my mom, by now I would have got a resounding whack on my back reminding me to eat it faster.

I am a more patient mother.

More tissues come out from the thinning wad, this time faster, one pulling the other, and the other pulling out more of the others frantically.

Racing against a trickling icecream is a tricky job for a mom. Jumping to my feet, I run to the store next to me and get a paper plate to hold the gathering white puddle. The icecream is in sad danger.

Soon I realize that the paper plate is not enough to hold the white liquid. It needs depth. I run back to the store and get a paper glass this time. What a strange turn of incidents for the icecream. The unsuspecting big bodied thing gets reduced to a mere colorless puddle that is collected in a paper glass.

Finally, it’s time. The momentous moment when the icecream soup is to be sipped. And it gets sipped.

The icecream. gets. sipped.

Here ends the sad life of an otherwise cool icecream.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a pic of the icecream being sipped because I was too busy wiping my hands off the sticky liquid.

What type of Facebook ‘Liker’ are you?

There are different kinds of ‘Likers’ on Facebook.  Well, the different kinds cannot really be as neatly arranged in jars and shelves as in the pic above, but, ask me, and I’ll tell you the broad categories of ‘Likers.’

In all good humor, of course all our Facebook friends do fall into any of these categories. They may move from one category to another, but they will remain in one of them.

The major buckets of ‘Likers’ on Facebook are:

1. Loyal Likers – They ‘Like’ everything you post. Or even if you don’t post anything. You eat something and you write about it, they like it. You got constipated and you post about it, they like it. Your pet ant waddled in egg yolk for a whole 29 seconds before drowning in it, and you mention it up here, they like it. They are your true Facebook friends, truest in the real sense of the term, and will be there through your ‘thick & thin’ post days.

2. Reciprocal Likers – Much to your chagrin, yes, they exist. You ‘like’ their posts, photos, videos, etc and etc, and they like yours. You don’t like their updates two times, and they stop too. Try it with a few suspects.  Let me not stir up hornets nests here.

3. Moody Likers – The first of every month, and this category is on a ‘liking’ spree. A good meal, and this category is on another ‘liking’ spree. You got it, right?

4. Lazy Likers – They just hit the ‘like’ button when something catches their eye. They don’t go to the extra ten miles to select a ‘love’ or a ‘wow’ button. Everything they love is a ‘like.’

Oh, and I wanted to mention the ‘Shy Likers’ above, but I didn’t, because I respect the fact that they are shy to declare they like something. A lot of people don’t hit the reaction buttons on my status updates, but they do tell me how much they enjoyed reading something I posted. My take: They don’t like PDA. (Public Display of Affection).