Higher ground

The most happening part of my job these days is a very busy tree just outside my office. Being on the second floor, I’m privy to ‘ave’rything that goes around it.

The last few days has seen a very persistent woodpecker, with a blood red toupée and flamboyant spots, completely replacing the two bright green parrots that gave me company for a while.

This is big.

Now I have to stand there and check out the proceeding of its daily life instead of being constantly updated on my chair by the garrulous couple.

 

 

 

Not now, I’m dreaming.

My son wants to be an explorer. He’s not sure what it means. But eating raw animals is not included for sure. Traveling with a back-pack is. He also wants to be an F1 champ. And then a world famous footballer. Famous enough to buy us (separately) some super cool cars, essentially. And lately he was told by one of his cousins looking at some photos he had clicked on a tablet, that he’s already a photographer! Sure enough, the child’s mind was left with no opportunity but to put himself onto a slick pedestal. As a parent, my immediate thought was to tell him that he has to work to get there. Which I did.

But there are other similar situations which become tough to deal with. For example, he thinks that when he goes to watch a football match, Messi is sure to come and meet him as soon as I (oh yea, did i tell you i was supermom!?) will call him. He cannot fathom why Messi would not, after all – he wants to meet Messi. Pretty much the same works for Sachin Tendulkar, apparently the next time we visit Mumbai, Sachin is calling us over for lunch. I don’t have the heart to tell him that he should not think of himself as relevant to them. Or (behind their back) tell him that Messi and Sachin will not think of him as relevant. So in my words, they stay busy. Busy achieving. And he should continue to be relevant where he is considered to be so, for now,  before launching himself to the hapless world!

As soon as reality pulls him in and he grows older, he will lose this sense of equality and measure himself according to other’s achievments. The time isn’t too far and until then I’d let his imagination and dreams give him happiness.

After all,  a child’s dream subject to reality is an adult’s hallucination.

Fruity

The best breakfast I ever had was at Palermo, Sicily. 2004. The worst lunch I had was also at the same place. The breakfast was free. So now I know that the best things in life are free. And I don’t have just words to thank for that. I have bacon strips, eggs, toast, loads of tarts to acknowledge. But the peach took the cake. Not on a date! Those absolutely juicy, huge , heavenly slices with some syrup on it…i must have finished them all twice over.

peach

And then there was lunch. Unfortunately, I’m not really cut-out for the sea-food heaven on Earth. I avoided all the highly recommended dishes and did the colossal mistake of asking for some veg. With some elaborate explanation about fish not being my type of veg, I asked for veggies. The waiter, an elderly guy, said I reminded him of his daughter and was VERY sure that he knew exactly what I was looking. Both of us, he in his broken English and me, pretty much matching his expertise, figured out a dish which I imagined my Mom cooking and he probably visualized his daughter gobbling. After much fan-fare what was served with a doting smile was this.

Boiled spinach

Yep, that’s it. No famous cheese sprinkled and crunchies to go with it. He made sure that he hung around and ask me several times whether I liked it.

My answer to that has to be the most consistent lie anyone has ever spoken.

I never found those amazing peaches again.

 

Bored

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Soft

Read my words

As you read your lover’s lips

Criticize my grammar

As much as your own character

Question my thoughts

As if you have them imprisoned

Steal some lines

Like you own them