I’ve decided to get off my arse

So am I. Only as I can be.

Hard on the outer, soft in the inner and soppy in between, with the crust almost shedding in indignation as the trespassers slither their way deeper within. They dodge me with menace with every attempt I make to aim at their horns.

Yes, they have a pair and some even pairs – sharp, pointed and dangerously positioned to pierce through me. And lo! there I’m lost. Guess, that’s why people ask me to shut up. Those near ignore me and those afar thank their stars and others sent me notes with asterisks, which I take time to count and deduce what they mean. Crazy me!

But for all the brain cells in me, [yes, I do have them, too] I cannot figure to which part of me they want to cause harm to. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, sexual…am I missing any al? Okay, et al…In case I discover some by the end of this.

If at all I get to the end, that is. My ToDo list is cracking my wrist and stiffening my shoulders. But surprisingly it’s also aching my back, which I thought had long ago parted ways with me. Oh my, sweet arse, thank you for bearing me all these years!

There I hear! Gedupp!

This is the sound I am tired of hearing. Loud most times, feeble at times. From where, is what I fear. May be those creepers inside me are barking for not praising them enough! How can I? All they do at all times is stand on their heads and gnaw my insides, asking me to get up.

What do they know of my work load? I have to take care of my family, friends, community, even foes. I have to work to keep my mom happy, dad satisfied, brother smiling, and those cousins’ egos well-fed. I have work at my desk, on my colleagues’ mind and in my boss’s plans. I have work at home, in the kitchen sink, at the study table, in the living room and even bedroom.

But today, I used the trick I learnt at my workplace - Speak more. Work less. I took time to speak to the trespassers yelling at me from within. I tricked them by describing the colourful world outside and persuaded them into stepping out. “Don’t be holed up inside a woman. The world outside is beautiful”, I sang to them.

And they ran away…stupid fellows.

Now, let me get up. As in GET UP. And fill my insides with what I love to hear, with deeds that will radiate into hues that I love to see myself in.

It already feels nice. I feel great. Actually, those fellows were not illegally occupying my insides, yeah. I had allowed them in. Ah! There I go. It was me trespassing on my poor dumb and mute arse all these years.  How long? No guesses, please. I’m forever young… 32 at heart, 24 in mind and 36 in spirit!

 

When a daughter calls her parents ‘naughty’…

If your pre-teen walks into your bedroom one morning, stands imposingly, looks at you with a slanted head and queries, “So you guys are getting naughty, aah!”, how would you react?

At least I missed more than a few heart beats. I also squeezed hard at my husband until he shrugged and moved away, adding to my discomfort.

 

“Where are you going?” I snapped at him, feeling rather exposed by his assumed abandonment more than the situation we were thrown into together.

 

“You are hurting my armpit!” He whimpered.

 

Was it the pain I inflicted or his lack of coherence in stringing thoughts of the previous night, I couldn’t exactly place.  

 

My poor man! His underarm was the closest of him near me that I could grab for support before my balance threatened to leave me after our daughter’s broad daylight accusation.

 

I attempted to speak and thought it was wise to play coy this time. Dads are better at handling daughters, I’ve learnt with recent experiences. Especially pre-teen girls are to be precariously dealt with, I have been advised by my friends, too.

 

So, I drew closer to his new position, on the bed, and nudged, “What is she saying?” Before, he could answer, our young lady replied, “Oh! Oh! What ignorance!” Now her hands were on her hips and one foot stepped in front of the other. She guarded a sly smile, which unsettled me.

 

“You can’t be walking into our bedroom like this,” I blurted throwing my resolve to the wind.

 

“Whoowaat!” she drawled and I pressed myself beside the husband as if his touch will transfer in me some courage to handle the situation.

 

“You like to sit cozy, cozy like this, yeah. And do all naughty things?”

 

The husband picked up his mobile in an impulse as if an earth-shattering bulletin was waiting for his attention. I grabbed the phone from his hand, “This can wait.”

 

“Remember, the phone rang early morning. Let me check who it is.” He was wriggling out. No way!

 

“This can wait,” I ordered.

 

“Let him check. May be it’s from his office. The server might be down, you never know,” our girl philosophied.

 

“Yeah, beta. Your mama can never understand such things.” He sat scrolling the BB screen.

 

And I followed suit. Sat still, gazing at his mobile screen, like an athlete concentrating to take off on the field.

 

“Hello! Leave Papa alone. You tell me. Why were you both reading my friend’s message yesterday night?”

 

Phew!!!

 

So much for giving kids your email id!