I saw an eighteen hour old baby today!
He was 4.1 pounds and 18 and a half inches long. He was bundled up in his sheets like a sausage in a hot dog. Not the best simile, but apt. Poor, poor kid.
He kept shivering every now and then and made funny faces. One minute he looks like he'll cry, the next he furrows his brows in concentration, and the next he smiles. All the while he's fast asleep. My mum tells me he's probably still having visions of a past life. Who knows? And I wonder how he'd feel when he woke up to four pairs of eyes gawking at him like he was an animal in a zoo. I also wonder if his destiny is written for him already. And that this was the first step of the grand plan. Maybe he's a part of the ultimate plan, whatever that is. Will he have an important role to play or a minor one? Either one will affect the fate of this world in a certain way. Or is it up to him to change the lines of fate as he sees fit?
He has a head the size of a small sweetmelon, or a huge American tomato. I swear to God the vegetables are enormous here, but they lack punch. It's like eating water. Anyway, his nose is the size of a tiny mushroom. Uh, you'll notice my preoccupation with food now in the fact that I compare a baby's face to different food products but come on! How would it sound if I compared his head to a tiny bowling ball? Or his nose to a miniscule, blunt pyramid? It doesn't sound cute. And baby and cute belong in the same sentence together. Why else do you think most people are reduced to cooing and garbling out unintelligible gibberish in the presence of a baby? Because even if the baby doesn't think so, it's the people's way of saying "You're cute" without actually saying the words.
I also wonder where his excited four year old brother thinks baby came from. Special Stork Delivery Service! One Super Deluxe Special Baby! Just like you ordered. Just worth nine months of agonizing labour and what's more, we deliver free!
He smelled funny, like chemicals. He was housed in the nursery with so many more infants like him. All oblivious and already annoyed at being introduced into the new world. Can you imagine if there was a baby jailbreak? Vengeful infants bouncing around, bawling so loud the glass shattered all around, peeing on things and melting them with their superpowered urine with pH 0.5.
Overall, this baby experience of mine proved to be quite interesting. He was, that's right, I'm going to use that word. Cute. And fascinating. It's as interesting as watching gold fish swimming around in their bowl. And I'm not even being sarcastic. There's this quiet contentment in watching them sleep. You just keep looking, watching one expression slide into another. Just like watching fish move around in the water. Yeah, just like fish.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Just Another Rainy Day
Another rainy day. I’m sitting on my bed while I stare out my window, getting partially wet from the heavy rain. The perfect time to observe the happenings in the four storied building opposite mine, in a strictly non-perverted sense.
I turn to my favourite window in the building, third floor, to the right. I call it “Raunak Ghar”, house of light. The usual Indian family: grandparents, parents, and their two children, elder son, younger daughter. To me, it epitomises the perfect family. Almost every time I peep into their home, there’s such harmony. I don’t expect it to be the perfect family, but it’s a symbol of the simple domesticity that most people crave and few are lucky to possess. An everyday scene from their house would be such: Grandma and daughter-in-law (I’m assuming she isn’t their daughter) tinker around the kitchen, preparing dinner, grandpa’s sitting in a chair in the bedroom next to the window, reading a book while he has his thick glasses on, his son is walking to and fro in the living room as part of the daily exercise routine, his little daughter watches TV and her older brother sits at the table, doing his homework. Today, the daughter-in-law is in the kitchen, preparing hot tea that seems necessary and most welcome on such a rainy day, grandpa’s reading a book as usual. The others? Can’t see them.
In the house next door, the TV’s on, uncle’s watching the news channel. I wonder if he’s looking out for warnings about the rain. Expecting a repeat like last year’s deluge perhaps? I wonder if he’s the same man who practices his classical singing every morning. I heard he’s very good, and only trains the really talented.
Below his window, there seems to be no activity. There’s a table right next to the window, it’s always cluttered with things. For some reason, I’ve always wondered if a painter lives in that house. Not good enough to be an artist maybe. But a good painter nonetheless.
Now, below that window, the old lady who lives in that ground floor apartment comes to the window as she pushes at the curtain to take a look at the downpour. I wonder if she too worries about the rain. Is someone from her family outside? Stuck in traffic? Swamped at work?
I glance at the balcony on the fourth floor. It’s strange, their living room is completely empty, save for a table and a few chairs from what I can see, but they still have a satellite dish installed in their balcony. They must really enjoy their television.
There’s a car parked outside the building entrance. A young girl, probably in her early teens, a little plump, wearing a pink t-shirt and black pants rolled up to a little below the knees, steps out. Her hair is already wet. She stands next to the car, a smile on her face as she spreads her arms by her sides and looks up towards the sky. I smile enviously. I’m sure she’s laughing. She whirls around twice, arms still outstretched. She’s barefoot, and stepping in puddles. An old lady with a slight frame comes out of the entrance, she smiles at the girl I assume to be her granddaughter. She looks a little wary of the rain as she clutches her umbrella a bit tighter. Another woman follows her out. She’s wearing a nice peach coloured salwar kameez and black high heels. I expect her to stop and join the old lady in looking at her daughter, but she surprises me by stepping out in the rain, mirroring her daughter’s actions. I can’t suppress my laughter, as I look on with a mix of joy, envy and admiration for that middle-aged woman. So much for propriety! The woman spreads her arms out as well, giggling with her daughter. She’s half-wet unlike her daughter, who’s soaked to the bone. This whole event seemed to have lasted maybe two, three minutes, before they all went back in, still smiling.
So there it is, just another rainy day. Probably just one among dozens of similar days, but still special. It feels good to be home.
I turn to my favourite window in the building, third floor, to the right. I call it “Raunak Ghar”, house of light. The usual Indian family: grandparents, parents, and their two children, elder son, younger daughter. To me, it epitomises the perfect family. Almost every time I peep into their home, there’s such harmony. I don’t expect it to be the perfect family, but it’s a symbol of the simple domesticity that most people crave and few are lucky to possess. An everyday scene from their house would be such: Grandma and daughter-in-law (I’m assuming she isn’t their daughter) tinker around the kitchen, preparing dinner, grandpa’s sitting in a chair in the bedroom next to the window, reading a book while he has his thick glasses on, his son is walking to and fro in the living room as part of the daily exercise routine, his little daughter watches TV and her older brother sits at the table, doing his homework. Today, the daughter-in-law is in the kitchen, preparing hot tea that seems necessary and most welcome on such a rainy day, grandpa’s reading a book as usual. The others? Can’t see them.
In the house next door, the TV’s on, uncle’s watching the news channel. I wonder if he’s looking out for warnings about the rain. Expecting a repeat like last year’s deluge perhaps? I wonder if he’s the same man who practices his classical singing every morning. I heard he’s very good, and only trains the really talented.
Below his window, there seems to be no activity. There’s a table right next to the window, it’s always cluttered with things. For some reason, I’ve always wondered if a painter lives in that house. Not good enough to be an artist maybe. But a good painter nonetheless.
Now, below that window, the old lady who lives in that ground floor apartment comes to the window as she pushes at the curtain to take a look at the downpour. I wonder if she too worries about the rain. Is someone from her family outside? Stuck in traffic? Swamped at work?
I glance at the balcony on the fourth floor. It’s strange, their living room is completely empty, save for a table and a few chairs from what I can see, but they still have a satellite dish installed in their balcony. They must really enjoy their television.
There’s a car parked outside the building entrance. A young girl, probably in her early teens, a little plump, wearing a pink t-shirt and black pants rolled up to a little below the knees, steps out. Her hair is already wet. She stands next to the car, a smile on her face as she spreads her arms by her sides and looks up towards the sky. I smile enviously. I’m sure she’s laughing. She whirls around twice, arms still outstretched. She’s barefoot, and stepping in puddles. An old lady with a slight frame comes out of the entrance, she smiles at the girl I assume to be her granddaughter. She looks a little wary of the rain as she clutches her umbrella a bit tighter. Another woman follows her out. She’s wearing a nice peach coloured salwar kameez and black high heels. I expect her to stop and join the old lady in looking at her daughter, but she surprises me by stepping out in the rain, mirroring her daughter’s actions. I can’t suppress my laughter, as I look on with a mix of joy, envy and admiration for that middle-aged woman. So much for propriety! The woman spreads her arms out as well, giggling with her daughter. She’s half-wet unlike her daughter, who’s soaked to the bone. This whole event seemed to have lasted maybe two, three minutes, before they all went back in, still smiling.
So there it is, just another rainy day. Probably just one among dozens of similar days, but still special. It feels good to be home.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Whimsical Musings
Sara watched, mesmerized, as a blue butterfly flitted across the terrace and settled onto her untouched coffee mug with a twitch of its boldly patterned wings. There was a gentle wind blowing, just enough to barely rustle the leaves of the bougainvillea that crept along the walls of the terrace.
To her tired eyes, everything seemed mind-numbingly vivid, until for a few seconds she could discern no form, but merely colours. The blue of the little insect in front of her suddenly seemed to spread into the faded stone tables, the only thing standing out in the backdrop being the startlingly bright pink flowers of the creeper. The air smelled so crisp, so clean.
“Would you like anything else, miss?” interrupted the waiter.
The butterfly flitted away, snapping Sara out of her reverie. She focused on the waiter’s face, as she replied, “Er, no, well actually, I’d like another cup of coffee, I’m afraid this one’s gone cold.”
As she watched him walk away, she smiled wryly. Predictable. Such moments never lasted long. She supposed she should have felt thankful that she had those moments, as ephemeral as the butterfly’s life. She nearly giggled at the idea of resorting to a cliché like that to describe what she had felt for those few moments.
As she glanced up, she looked at the man sitting a few tables away. She'd noticed him the moment she'd walked in. She'd seen him come here before. He was dressed in a suit, he usually was. Blue tie. Her favourite colour. He had short black hair, just a little spiky, although not like those wannabe-cool teenage boys. It suited him. A narrow chin. He made her feel apprehensive and nervous and excited all at once. She wasn't used to this feeling. She wasn't sure she liked it too much. What was the point? There's no way he'd even realize she existed. She looked down quickly to avoid meeting his eyes. She felt a little prick of self pity.
She was being unreasonable. She had so much to be grateful for. Yet, she wasn't satisfied. She wouldn’t say she was unhappy with her life. She had a wonderful, steady job, which even allowed her to indulge in her fancies. She had the two best friends anyone could ask for; both thankfully different enough to even keep life interesting. Her family was doing well, she loved them so much. She felt a bit guilty at having to add that thought after mention of her family, as if someone had implied otherwise. Annoyed with herself for falling into that same trap of old insecurities and guilt, she frowned into her new cup of coffee that the waiter just brought in. She found this whole line of reasoning utterly ridiculous.
As she breathed in the rich scent of her black coffee, she relaxed a bit, slumping her shoulders in resignation.
It wasn’t that she was sad. It was obvious she had no reason to be. Everything about her life seemed perfect. She was reasonably accomplished for a twenty-four year old. It wasn’t so much that she was unhappy as not-happy. Yes, that was it. She was so blasé about life in general. She supposed it was expected. Such monotony. Was she setting her standards too high? She wasn’t going to be predictable by thinking of all those who were deprived of the good things in life to remind herself that she already had enough. Damn! She just did. Ah well what can you do. It’s what you got when you argued with yourself. She caught herself before she drifted off again into aimless thought.
She needed to focus. Her life. Boring. Gotta do something. But what? Wait, wasn’t she just speculating on the ‘whys’? When did she get to the ‘what next'? She was getting ahead of herself. Or maybe she had the attention span of a four-year old. Staring at the bottom of her now empty coffee mug, she sighed exasperatedly. She blew her bangs out of her face with little success. Expecting that, she brushed her hair away from her eyes with a grim smile. As a shadow fell across her table, she looked up to see the man looking down at her with an uncertain smile.
“Hi. My name’s Kanishk. Uh, do you mind if I join you?”
Caught off guard, Sara fumbled for words, “Um, actually, I was just about to leave…”
“I won’t keep you long then, a few minutes at most”, he insisted.
“Um, sure, uh, go ahead.”
As he settled into the chair opposite her, Sara looked at him more closely. He had chocolate brown eyes. He was even better looking up-close. Now why in the world would someone this cute sit down at her table? She immediately grew suspicious and eyed him warily.
“You know, this is exactly why I was tempted to come over and talk to you.”
“Huh?” was all she could come up with. Here she was talking to this incredibly gorgeous man, well maybe not that gorgeous, but reasonably attractive man, one who she'd happen to have her eye on for some time, and all she could say was ‘huh’? She willed someone to come stab her.
“I was watching you from that table over there, and I didn’t mean to pry but it was a bit difficult to look away when I saw your face change expressions faster than Elizabeth Taylor could ever change husbands,” he said, wincing at his dreadful analogy. Nervously fiddling with his tie, he bravely continued, “ I know I should feel guilty but…uh…well, I was wondering, when you’re convinced that I have no ulterior motives and are well on your way to sympathizing with me for the absolute mortification I feel right now for torturing you with the worst analogy ever made, maybe you’d want to go out with me?”
She just stopped herself from gaping at him. Surprised? She was more shocked. Did she happen to think her life was boring? Or was that predictable? God, he has little gold flecks in his eyes. What are the odds of that? And if she were to believe what she just heard, he was floundering even worse than her. He just made a fool of himself over her!She felt the blush creep into her cheeks. She was being silly. Good God, he was cute. Adorable. Did she just think he was adorable? She didn’t even know the man! She couldn’t possibly say yes to him!
“Okay! I mean, I’d like that. That would be quite nice. We could meet here…same time Friday?” she finished breathlessly.
“You would?” he asked, clearly astonished, “Um, that would be wonderful…”
“Sara, my name’s Sara…”
“Right, Sara, I’ll see you then”, he smiled again, a little more confidently, got up and started to walk down the steps leading to the road below. He stopped after a few paces, turning back, much to Sara’s satisfaction, twice, before he finally disappeared down the stairs.
Completely forgetting about her earlier worries, she smiled foolishly into her coffee mug, shaking her head, already wondering if he’d actually make it next Friday. Even if he didn’t, at least she could pretend she had something to look forward to. Biting her lip, she let out a breathless laugh as she paid and left, her stride easy and carefree, giving in to the urge to sing softly as she walked home.
To her tired eyes, everything seemed mind-numbingly vivid, until for a few seconds she could discern no form, but merely colours. The blue of the little insect in front of her suddenly seemed to spread into the faded stone tables, the only thing standing out in the backdrop being the startlingly bright pink flowers of the creeper. The air smelled so crisp, so clean.
“Would you like anything else, miss?” interrupted the waiter.
The butterfly flitted away, snapping Sara out of her reverie. She focused on the waiter’s face, as she replied, “Er, no, well actually, I’d like another cup of coffee, I’m afraid this one’s gone cold.”
As she watched him walk away, she smiled wryly. Predictable. Such moments never lasted long. She supposed she should have felt thankful that she had those moments, as ephemeral as the butterfly’s life. She nearly giggled at the idea of resorting to a cliché like that to describe what she had felt for those few moments.
As she glanced up, she looked at the man sitting a few tables away. She'd noticed him the moment she'd walked in. She'd seen him come here before. He was dressed in a suit, he usually was. Blue tie. Her favourite colour. He had short black hair, just a little spiky, although not like those wannabe-cool teenage boys. It suited him. A narrow chin. He made her feel apprehensive and nervous and excited all at once. She wasn't used to this feeling. She wasn't sure she liked it too much. What was the point? There's no way he'd even realize she existed. She looked down quickly to avoid meeting his eyes. She felt a little prick of self pity.
She was being unreasonable. She had so much to be grateful for. Yet, she wasn't satisfied. She wouldn’t say she was unhappy with her life. She had a wonderful, steady job, which even allowed her to indulge in her fancies. She had the two best friends anyone could ask for; both thankfully different enough to even keep life interesting. Her family was doing well, she loved them so much. She felt a bit guilty at having to add that thought after mention of her family, as if someone had implied otherwise. Annoyed with herself for falling into that same trap of old insecurities and guilt, she frowned into her new cup of coffee that the waiter just brought in. She found this whole line of reasoning utterly ridiculous.
As she breathed in the rich scent of her black coffee, she relaxed a bit, slumping her shoulders in resignation.
It wasn’t that she was sad. It was obvious she had no reason to be. Everything about her life seemed perfect. She was reasonably accomplished for a twenty-four year old. It wasn’t so much that she was unhappy as not-happy. Yes, that was it. She was so blasé about life in general. She supposed it was expected. Such monotony. Was she setting her standards too high? She wasn’t going to be predictable by thinking of all those who were deprived of the good things in life to remind herself that she already had enough. Damn! She just did. Ah well what can you do. It’s what you got when you argued with yourself. She caught herself before she drifted off again into aimless thought.
She needed to focus. Her life. Boring. Gotta do something. But what? Wait, wasn’t she just speculating on the ‘whys’? When did she get to the ‘what next'? She was getting ahead of herself. Or maybe she had the attention span of a four-year old. Staring at the bottom of her now empty coffee mug, she sighed exasperatedly. She blew her bangs out of her face with little success. Expecting that, she brushed her hair away from her eyes with a grim smile. As a shadow fell across her table, she looked up to see the man looking down at her with an uncertain smile.
“Hi. My name’s Kanishk. Uh, do you mind if I join you?”
Caught off guard, Sara fumbled for words, “Um, actually, I was just about to leave…”
“I won’t keep you long then, a few minutes at most”, he insisted.
“Um, sure, uh, go ahead.”
As he settled into the chair opposite her, Sara looked at him more closely. He had chocolate brown eyes. He was even better looking up-close. Now why in the world would someone this cute sit down at her table? She immediately grew suspicious and eyed him warily.
“You know, this is exactly why I was tempted to come over and talk to you.”
“Huh?” was all she could come up with. Here she was talking to this incredibly gorgeous man, well maybe not that gorgeous, but reasonably attractive man, one who she'd happen to have her eye on for some time, and all she could say was ‘huh’? She willed someone to come stab her.
“I was watching you from that table over there, and I didn’t mean to pry but it was a bit difficult to look away when I saw your face change expressions faster than Elizabeth Taylor could ever change husbands,” he said, wincing at his dreadful analogy. Nervously fiddling with his tie, he bravely continued, “ I know I should feel guilty but…uh…well, I was wondering, when you’re convinced that I have no ulterior motives and are well on your way to sympathizing with me for the absolute mortification I feel right now for torturing you with the worst analogy ever made, maybe you’d want to go out with me?”
She just stopped herself from gaping at him. Surprised? She was more shocked. Did she happen to think her life was boring? Or was that predictable? God, he has little gold flecks in his eyes. What are the odds of that? And if she were to believe what she just heard, he was floundering even worse than her. He just made a fool of himself over her!She felt the blush creep into her cheeks. She was being silly. Good God, he was cute. Adorable. Did she just think he was adorable? She didn’t even know the man! She couldn’t possibly say yes to him!
“Okay! I mean, I’d like that. That would be quite nice. We could meet here…same time Friday?” she finished breathlessly.
“You would?” he asked, clearly astonished, “Um, that would be wonderful…”
“Sara, my name’s Sara…”
“Right, Sara, I’ll see you then”, he smiled again, a little more confidently, got up and started to walk down the steps leading to the road below. He stopped after a few paces, turning back, much to Sara’s satisfaction, twice, before he finally disappeared down the stairs.
Completely forgetting about her earlier worries, she smiled foolishly into her coffee mug, shaking her head, already wondering if he’d actually make it next Friday. Even if he didn’t, at least she could pretend she had something to look forward to. Biting her lip, she let out a breathless laugh as she paid and left, her stride easy and carefree, giving in to the urge to sing softly as she walked home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)