The bumpy ride

I cant rave enough about the bump pictures of my pregnant friends. Did I forget to mention the cute, pretty dresses, make up, hair designing, and the preening, proud daddy?? I have to say this with a hint of wistfulness. I wish. That I had them too.

At 25, I had a sheltered bump. All the values and traditions with a hint of tradition bordering on orthodoxy ensured my bump was safe and hidden from the world. I played along. Ultimately I was only a pregnant mom. I was a minor stakeholder in the bigger scheme of things. I got suggestions and advices from moms who behaved like they had half a dozen kids. Which they didnt anyway. :) :)

My rant is why cant a girl enjoy her pregnancy? Feel proud of it and show off the bump? After all, isnt it hardwork? But no... we all love our fk all values so much, that we dont bother to concentrate on ourselves. Selfishness was always bad.

But I.. am turning pages of a book called myself. Slowly yet steadily.

Value System. Wtf??

What are the values that we believe in and live in?? I live my life in a way because my dad said so. I have a predictable reaction to most of the things around me because my mom said so. We had kids because it was an expected thing. You see, my great grand parents had them. My grand parents had them and my parents had them. So well, I have them too. Get the picture?

What makes us practice these values? Elder folks told us to do so. Society dictated these to them. Society said there was a difference between human beings and the rest of the other million species. So we made rules. Rules which were illogical and binding. Trapping and tripping. And we became proud of it. Somewhere we started calling this culture.

Why does the same value system not recognize harassment? Incompatibility? Why does it not focus on things like personal happiness? If each of us took the responsibility of being happy for ourselves, wont the world in general be a better place to live?? A happier place? In the whole battles of keeping others happy, each one of us is forgetting their own special greatness.

And there goes another generation down the drain.

Unblocked. And unleashed.

Finally the drafts are unclogging. And how. I can feel words. Hear them. Think them.Eat them up. Brace yourselves.

The dog is unleashed. 

The green walls

The girl was hardly ten. A little less innocent than an average ten year old. A lot more wiser. The noise of the waves, the hoot of a distant owl. Not the wide open spaces, not the dinosaur outside the apartment. Nothing really disturbed her.

There was a jacket in the corner of a room. A jacket on the floor. A jacket sleeping on its stomach. Smoke came out of it continuously. There was no fire. Not a trace. The smoke could take various forms and could speak various languages.

In its full glory one day, it called out to the child. It called out to peep into the jacket. Alice in the wonderland must have been as curious as her. As fearful as her. After contemplating for a few moments, she peered into the jacket for a moment. A moment was all that the jacket needed to suck her into the smoke into the darkness.

A strange alley with no allies did not help. She found a trash can. A green one. The only cover where she could tuck, hide and pray that she falls asleep and this nightmare would go away. She found her haven, little did she know that it was only temporary.

There were noises. Some male voices full of abuses and laughter. What a strange combination, she thought. They appeared into her line of vision. She was further confused. Male voices but dressed as females. Not just male voices, but male bodies too. Strange is the world really. But a voice caught her and sought her from the hiding place. Is this what being naked meant?

 She took a long breath and braced herself for the longest, darkest and the most needed run of her life. She ran and ran and was still running. Her breath was burning her lungs. She desperately tried to scream. Her vocal cords were holidaying in the Bahamas. She finally found a green door that was open. A small stall. The wooden door looked and felt like the doors of the paradise. A small, dim red lamp illuminated the room, albeit faintly. It also had a queer smell. Of burning candle wax. Of the raw flesh of a goat. Of incense.

She found a rope which held all sorts of shiny, new shoes. One of the pairs called out to her. Red canvas slip-ons with white polka dots. Her weary feet felt perked instantly. She immediately plucked them off the main branch of the rope and wore them. A perfect fit. Was that a hint of a smile on her face? Maybe. Maybe not. Nobody could decipher it. Because in those lighter notes, the woman-like man's hand landed on her tiny shoulder. The other hand pointed towards a board.

Red light. Board. The ten year old now understood the deal. She truly would be a meal in the green walls. It always happened in a lot of movies. Why should life be any different? 

Its waffles

Waffles. They have to be the eggless ones. I hate the ones with eggs. They stink of it. The eggless waffles which are crisp and brown and with deep creases are the stuff that I love.

With freshly sliced strawberries, walnuts, chocolate ice cream and sauce. I cant eat two quarters.

With blue berry compote and cream cheese sandwiched. I can eat 2 more quarters.

Make it cinnamon and powdered sugar with a mild spice. Pour maple syrup and please, please make the maple syrup strong in flavor but weak in sugar. I can eat up 3 quarters.

Put some discs of fresh kiwis, chocolate sauce, apple syrup. I am not a great fan of fresh cream unfortunately. Its a bit weird, but scoop of cherry sorbetto on this.

I rest my case. Its all about waffles.

Turn me on...

I had to make a few important decisions that minute.

Do I want it long, slow and thorough? Or short, quick and instantaneous?
Do I want it hot? Or cold?
Rub? Squeeze?
Fast? Faster?
Front? Or Top?
With soap? Water? Or anything else more creative and interesting?
Inside? Or perhaps be the neighbor's envy?
Use hand? Or maybe can manage without it.

Choosing a washing machine to buy and to programme it so I can wash clothes is actually a big deal. Sigh! Machine, turned you on. Start the action.

The famous block

Officially I hit the writers block. How else do I explain this? The need to write vs. Words are not flowing syndrome?
Lots to write. Lots of views and opinions and stories. But block it is.

Btw. I celebrated my 5th year budday as mommy. Yay. I survived and so did the daught.