the zoo in my room

when the pest moved away for his post graduation, i rejoiced for days on end, thinking that my room would finally be my own, and that i would be freed from loud, off-key renderings of a tasteful selection of the choicest of himmesh reshammiya hits.

but in keeping with 'the best laid plans o' mice and men, gang aft a gley...' and all that jazz, my hopes were dashed against the merciless rocks of fate. little did i know that this was but the lull before the storm.

there is this thriving bee hive right under the eve of my window. the members of the colony think that my room is the most happening hot-spot in this part of town, with the hottest chick, to boot.
come evening, all of them make a bee-line (aha!) to my window and hang around buzzing to be let in. the ones who do manage to sneak in somehow, spend the rest of the night making giddy circles around the light, serenading the unresponsive beauty with buzzy ballads sung with much enthusiasm and never-ceasing effort.

the most ardent of suitors are well-versed in the casanova-style of seduction. they shun the direct 'i'll fly at you, and you fall for me' approach and try more sophisticated variations. some of the smoothest moves i've seen so far include moving in a diagonal path towards the object of adoration from the farthest corners of the room, making sure to do all sorts of impressive stunts on the way. they dip, they soar, they manfully thump their rumps against the wall, they walk backwards, they walk forwards, they fly in circles, they fly in straight lines, they lay in wait in seeming indifference and then make quick feints...all of course, with total disregard to the rightful owner of the room, trying to read her book in peace. the braves terrorize any visitors i might have, who offer interesting reactions of their own and shrieks of varying decibels and tonal qualities.   

if all this was not excitement enough, the gecko family has decided to make my room their home as well. the pater-familias (i think, though i can't be certain) keeps peeking out at me from behind the bulb and casts malevolent glances in my direction.
my traitorous mother refuses to have them swept out of the house, and has been ignoring my pleas on the grounds that they make huge dents in the insect population. i would gladly eat all the mosquitoes she can catch, if only i can be free of the specter of a yellow eye beaming malice at me.

the mother-of-mother is a kindred spirit. i suppose a supari offer is in the offing. an offer she cannot refuse.a weeks-worth of smuggled in sweets in exchange of the dirty deed.


why must such tragedies be visited upon me? my only refuge from the madding crowds invaded. tragedy of 9.99 magnitude.

horror story

my mattress is out to murder me.

one day i shall be found impaled upon a spring from my own mattress. what a way to go.

rime of the ancient merryner

woozy woozy wally hoo,
coughy coughy through and through.

all around the house i go,
wheezing sneezing as i blow.

i need a frog to croak with

a cold is an interesting affliction to develop. it gives one ample opportunities to study life's vagaries.
the progression thus far has been hugely interesting, if at a little personal cost.

day before yesterday, my voice was slightly husky. very bette davis. if i had someone to smoulder at, i'd have made a very convincing vamp, if one were able to ignore the runny eyes.
then yesterday, it got a little heavier. more rani mukherjee. still, not too bad, i consoled myself.

now here i am, ready to play the star part in the 'princess and the frog' remake.


not everyone is sad though. in fact, except my own miserable self, i don't see anyone upset about this domestic tragedy.
the representatives of two previous generations who share my dwelling with me are almost apoplectic with glee. short of rubbing their hands together and doing a jig, they are displaying every sign of utmost happiness. in the name of medicine, the geneva code is being violated randomly and 'we are older so we know better' is being thrown at me at every waking moment.
in these past hours, i've drowned various monstrosities, out of which the omelet from hell takes the cake. it had strange green bits in it and refused to let itself be swallowed. i made the fatal error of pointing out the lack of salt and pepper in it, and now am faced with a bowl of pepper powder drowned in honey.


even the announcement that i shall pay them back when they are senile and at my mercy has no effect.

if i live to tell the tale, i shall tell some very horrid tales indeed.

unsolved mystery: number 6

why do doors, seemingly-innocent by daytime, creak at night?

by night, my room door, the bathroom door, the fridge door, all assume characters out of the ramsay brothers flicks of yore and engage in indiscriminate groaning and ghoulish creaking. this mysteriously stops the moment it starts looking like dawn.

what? am i being haunted by the door-hinge ghost?

important new learning

"may i look at your hair?"
plait unplaited.
"have you ever had any chemical treatments done before?"
"no"
"ok. so you are virginal then."


!!!

never knew he could tell only from the hair.

modest self-examination of the day

i have guts!
i impress myself.