I had just come out of the office the other day. It must have been after six. A cool breeze was blowing accompanied by darkish clouds. It had been a hot day. As I walked along the heated asphalt I could feel the heat rising around my ankles just as the cool gusts played with my uncut-in-4-months hair. Strange sensation, contrary, like me.
Contrariness is not something appreciated in women. The contrarian Mary, Queen of Scots, was relieved of her head.
The most satisfying part of living alone (with cats, but cats don't concern themselves with such mundane matters, although they occasionally are startled by the resounding reports) is being able to fart loudly whenever I so wish. Arundhati Roy only wrote about the "joys of underwater farting" and Marquez about the stony farts of the colonel no one ever wrote to. I think a treatise on joys of expelling air with gusto is in order.
Today my grouse about this city is centred round the relative demerits of foodpanda in comparison to swiggy, zomato and your local biryani joints' generous free deliveries. Biryaniiiii (avec bhagarer mangsho) is muchly missed. Fingers crossed that the tandoori chicken and kaali daal will satisfy some cravings.
My one wish these days would be for restful nice dreams: maybe of flying over some exotic locales. All I am dreaming about are missed flights and wrong ticketed itineraries. Also nowadays I've become a massive homebody and such a recluse. I'm always pleasantly surprised at enjoying myself on my once-in-two-months dinners outside. But because of my stay at home, I've really learnt the extent to which cats can and actually do sleep. I wish I were a cat.
Contrariness is not something appreciated in women. The contrarian Mary, Queen of Scots, was relieved of her head.
The most satisfying part of living alone (with cats, but cats don't concern themselves with such mundane matters, although they occasionally are startled by the resounding reports) is being able to fart loudly whenever I so wish. Arundhati Roy only wrote about the "joys of underwater farting" and Marquez about the stony farts of the colonel no one ever wrote to. I think a treatise on joys of expelling air with gusto is in order.
Today my grouse about this city is centred round the relative demerits of foodpanda in comparison to swiggy, zomato and your local biryani joints' generous free deliveries. Biryaniiiii (avec bhagarer mangsho) is muchly missed. Fingers crossed that the tandoori chicken and kaali daal will satisfy some cravings.
My one wish these days would be for restful nice dreams: maybe of flying over some exotic locales. All I am dreaming about are missed flights and wrong ticketed itineraries. Also nowadays I've become a massive homebody and such a recluse. I'm always pleasantly surprised at enjoying myself on my once-in-two-months dinners outside. But because of my stay at home, I've really learnt the extent to which cats can and actually do sleep. I wish I were a cat.
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