Short Story: Happily Ever...What? Chapter 2

"Hello," a deep male voice seemed to come out of the shadows.  I softly gasped, looking around while holding the cigarette behind my back, an instinctive habit.

"Who's there?"  I whispered, the sound almost caught in my throat barely audible as I backed away from the edge.  Narrowing my eyes I peered into the deep blackness of space wondering if there had been someone there all this time?  I remembered checking.  How could I have missed?  Was I so wrapped up in my own misery that I was being super careless?  This wasn't good. 

"I didn't mean to scare you," said the disembodied voice.  Even through my fear of having been caught I couldn't help but notice that this persons accent was not Indian...but then again I still couldn't quite make it out completely since he hadn't said much. 

"Well you did it anyhow,"  I snapped, trying to regulate my heartbeat.  "Have you been up here all this time?"

"Yes, you were so occupied that you didn't notice I suppose," he said softly, his voice low, masculine, soothing.  It was British.

I didn't know how to respond.  I remained silent for a few seconds.  "Can you please come out of the shadows?"  I finally bit out, frustrated.  Seemed like life was always frustrating me, or at least most aspects of it. 

He did without a word.  From what I could make out he was about 5'11 or so, with the same dark hair and eyes of most of the populace in the country, again it was too dark to really see all that clearly.  There wasn't anything much to distinguish him from anyone else other then his accent or at least I didn't think so.  Then again, nothing in the last 6 months had made much an impression on me.  I turned away, secure in the knowledge that I didn't know him, that was really all I cared about anyhow.  Pulling the cigarette from behind my back I took another drag.  I saw from the corner of my eyes that he had come to stand beside me yet several feet away.  I appreciated that. 

"It's rather humid, isn't it?"  He asked almost conversationally. 

Rolling my eyes, I responded, "Isn't it always?"  It wasn't a question as much as an instinctive comment, a thoughtless one. 

"Hmmm," the sound seemed to come deep from his throat.  It too was soothing.  Just about then I noted that he too was indulging in a cigarette.  At least he wouldn't give me a lecture regarding the dangers of smoking, I thought to myself.  There was still the niggling fear that he would tell someone what I was doing but it was as easy as feigning ignorance and confusion.  I was good at that so it wouldn't be that big of a stretch. 

We both smoked on, neither saying a word.  The silence was comfortable in an odd way.  Or may be I didn't care if it was or not, I just craved the solace badly and would rather share it with one person than being forced to withstand the house full of folks downstairs.  Besides it appeared as if he had forgotten I was there as well while he smoked on, staring off into the distance.  Something about him reminded me of myself, a loneliness that wasn't just in the soul but radiated out.  A sadness that hung over a person almost like mist.  I did another mental eye roll, gosh I was becoming sappy.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled long, holding it in for a bit, then exhaled slowly wishing I could get rid of some of the inner turmoil as easily.  But then like the black tar that was probably even then settling into my lungs, the problems were equally as deep and clinging.  God, my life was so screwed.  I couldn't even find mental satisfaction in my addiction.

"I don't want to go back down," he said startling me again.  I had nearly forgotten he was there. 

Keeping my eyes closed I nodded, not knowing or caring if he was looking.

"It's as if breathing became tough."

Yes, he was certainly right about that.  "And the noise, aren't there any noise ordinances in this country?"  I wondered allowed slightly hating how...American I sounded. 

He chuckled good naturedly, "no I don't believe there are, at least not that I know of."

"Next time I'll bring along earplugs," I drolly responded, giving it some serious thought a second later when a blast of loud laughter filtered up to us.  "How this is not a nation of deaf people is a mystery."

"I guess they're just used to it and I'm assuming you're not?"  He had turned his head to look at me.

"Right."  I didn't need to share more information then I had to with this guy.

"American?"

"Yes."

"First time in India?" 

"No."

"Chatty?"

"No."  I internally grimaced at how short I was being but I just wanted to be left alone.

"Okay seems like I'm disturbing your solitude.  My apologies."  He sounded formally polite without any underlying tones of accusations or anger, more as if he were stating and observation but I felt like a heel as I watched him turn to leave.

"I'm sorry."  I said softly, my words being blown away by the heated wind that had kicked up.  Tears suddenly stung my eyes.  I dismissed them as a bit of dirt yet in reality I knew...  "I shouldn't be so rude."  I said hoping I didn't sound as lost as I seemed to my own ears.

"It's okay, no issues."  He hadn't walked away, just stopping in place, head turned towards me.

Sighing, I almost spoke to the air as opposed to him as I said, "I feel as if I'll go crazy.  Just too...much, too overwhelming.  It's like I'll never be alone again."  It was true, constantly surrounded by family (some of which I barely knew) and friends (who were not my friends at all) there was not a moment in which I was just by myself.

"That's not a good thing, hmm?"  This time he turned around but not moving closer.  Again in his voice there was no inflection of judgement or sarcasm, rather a strange sort of understanding.
"Not always, no.  I'm not a loner but I like me time."  I looked at him askance, "very western in thinking, isn't it?"

He nodded, his face impassive but a slight smile playing around his lips, "yes, but that's okay also.  You are the product of your environment, as these people are."

Well put, I thought.  I had never considered myself a terribly judgemental person.  In fact I prided myself for being open-minded free-thinking however since I had arrived in India 2 weeks ago I had been walking around with a perma-scowl on my face.  Everything irritated me, everyone annoyed me, all mannerisms seemed boorish and uncouth.  Yet the weird thing was that this was not my first trip.  I had visited throughout my childhood and never ever had I not enjoyed it, embraced it, loved it.  Going home had always been earmarked with floods of tears.  But this trip was different in all respects and this very difference in itself was the precise reason that the whole experience was unfairly tainted.  I shouldn't blame nor damn the whole country for my stupid problems. 

"I should go back."  I said almost sorrowfully, looking down at the stubbed out cigarette that I had finished several minutes ago.

"Me too.  I'm sure someone is looking for me."  He sounded glum also.  "You go down first, I'll follow later, we don't need people to think..."

I just nodded, coloring slightly.  Thank god it was dark outside.  "Thanks," I murmured and sort of scurried away.  With all the tension in the house as it was, I didn't need another thing to be added to this, particularly when there was nothing to be added. 

Back down the hazardous stairs I went but before going through the bottom door I stopped, reached into the top of my bra and pulled out one stick of gum which I popped into my mouth, then I pulled out a very small sample vial of perfume and strategically dabbed.  Long since had I perfected the art of covering up the smell of smoke and thank god thus far I had not been caught.  Once the careful application of Channel No. 5 was complete I inched the door open, again I cringing at the loud protest of the rusted hinges but quickly slipped in and to the left.  Thankfully for that second at least there was no one around but a few servants rushing by with plates of food and serving trays of drinks.  I shook my head wondering how they kept up this pace all day long.  It was tiring to just behold.

Within a few seconds I was safely in my room, or rather the room I was presently sharing with my cousin.  She wasn't there but had she been I wouldn't have been overly concerned.  She knew I smoked, as did most of my other cousins, and would keep it a secret besides I had so much dirt on her as well as them that they were in fear of retaliation.  Would I ever rat them out?  No, but it was a good bargaining chip for most things.

I went to the low dressing table across the room and sank down onto the small stool.  It was wooden as well as rickety, hard and uncomfortable but I didn't seem to feel that bit of nuisance as I took a seat.  I stared at the reflection before me, something I had been avoiding for days now and it was no surprise that the person looking back appeared as foreign to me as those who were presently surrounding my very space, as unknown in a familiar way as the country I had been inhabiting for the last few weeks.

The girl in the mirror, she was a virtual stranger really.  She had lost a good bit of weight, which was probably a positive thing normally but the loss had left her cheeks hallow while her face could aptly be describe as gaunt, odd indeed for one who was supposed to be happy.  Her hair lay lifeless pulled back into a low ponytail and her eyes...eyes that had always shone with humor and a zest for life, those were completely vacant presently with smudged dark shadows decorating the delicate skin just below.  There was a tightness about the lips that normally were so quick to laugh or smile and the shoulders drooped in a clear sign of defeat.  Had anyone asked her what was wrong?  No, of course not because the majority knew.

I turned my face away.  I hated my reflection, I could even admit that I hated myself.  I was weak and pathetic, a grown woman who did not possess a backbone.  This was probably one of the harshest lessons I had learned recently for I had always thought that I was for the most part the controller of my own destiny, that I could and would make the decisions of my life.  Nothing unusual about that really.  Yet I had forgotten...why had I so deluded myself?  Why had I for a second believed that I had the right to do what my heart wanted as opposed to what my family and society expected of me?  Oh why God had I not remembered that I was nothing but a helpless puppet at the end of the day?  And when it had come time to put my foot down, to make those hard and fast decisions, to say 'no, that's not what I want, this is..." I had given up so damn easily.  I had no backbone at all, a fact that I had never accepted before, a fact I could never forget again.  I had given up on life, my life, and the evidence was in the very fact that I was there in India.

"There you are."  I turned to find my mother rushing into the room in a flurry of dark pink Benarasi silk, interrupting the pity party I was throwing myself.  "Where have you been?"  She demanded to know, sounding almost suspicious.  Whereas I could have told her that her suspicions were unfounded, that my cell phone even at that moment was charging safely on the other side of the room therefore she had nothing to fear, it was this very distrustful tone that ruffled my feathers to the point where I snapped my mouth shut and stared at the floor. 

"Had a headache, came to get some medicine."  I murmured adopting the same curt tone that I had been utilizing for a while now.  I knew it was disrespectful and that she probably wanted to rip into me for it but honestly she could do nothing.  She controlled too much as it was, something she knew.  She was methodically picking her battles and it looked as if she was definitely going to win the war.

"Well they're here.  Come."  Her face was impassive, hard, totally unyielding.  I wanted to hate her but I couldn't really, not really.  May be though, at that moment I did.  Just a bit.

With a jerk up and down of my head in what could resemble a nod, I got up and grabbed the dupatta that had been tossed onto the bed a few minutes earlier.  Draping it around my neck to float behind, I followed her without a word.  She was a foot or so in front of me, saying nothing but then again I would have heard nothing had she even bothered to speak.  We had had conversations regarding this moment a few times already.  I did not need to hear it again for if I did, this time I would go up to the roof and jump. 

We entered the big main 'hall room' as they called it otherwise known as the family room near the front of the house.  There were an astonishing amount of people there.  Every one of them were dressed, primped, rouged and perfumed to within an inch of their lives.  Head to toe women sparkled, the weight of the gold they wore probably adding several extra lb's to each as their figures were wrapped in elaborate gorgeous vibrant fabrics.  The men wore pressed dress pants and collared shirts, shoes scuffed with dirt and they seemed to be surrounded by a cloud of a mixture of several different brands of colognes.  One one side the females congregated in chairs lined against the wall talking about this recipe, that sari, this sale or that trip.  On the opposite side the males were seated on sofas and clustered in groups speaking extensively about politics, finances or the new car they just purchased or the land they were about to purchase.  These were conversations I had heard so many times throughout my childhood and into adulthood, whether they were being had in the US or in India, it was the same damn thing. 

I wished more then anything I was back on the roof at that very moment, breathing in the heated air, even if I had to share the space with that stranger, it was better then what was about to happen.  My father suddenly materialized to my left, while my mother flanked me on the right.  They walked me through to another room, smaller, one more formal and a tiny less crowded.  I saw out of the corner of my eyes the same man I had saw earlier from my escape sitting on a sofa chatting with another young man his age.  He glanced up, our eyes met, we did not acknowledge each other in the slightest.  He quickly went back to the conversation at hand.  I noticed barely anything about him even in the light.  I wasn't interested in noticing anyone...I was blinded from the inside.

We stopped.

"Thank you for coming."  My father's voice brought my head to face forward.  He was speaking to another couple who stood side-by-side, respectable, well dressed, smiling pleasantly, obviously married for they stood scandalizing close, meaning as in next to each other.  Next to them stood a younger version of the older man, his hands jammed into his pockets, head held high and a smile that seemed uncomfortable stretched upon a pleasant enough face. 

I knew who he was all too well even though this was our first meeting...he was supposed to be my future. 

Short Story: Happily Ever...What? Chapter 1

There was a repressed sense of excitement that permeated the air which was practically palpable. The laughter was so loud that I flinched at its harshness. It was overwhelming and seemed forced.  In fact, it was to some degree completely fake but only obvious to those who knew.  Yet they plastered a smile upon their faces, eyes glittering with something that the general populace would have missed. Things were amiss.

I turned, slipping out noiselessly, not that any noise in the world could have overshadowed the present clamor.  Turning a few asked, most knew, others didn't see.  I was glad about that but I didn't care anyhow.  Nothing mattered anymore.  I needed to get out.

Avoiding eye contact I found what I was looking for, well sort of.  It wasn't the escape portal which could have saved me, pulled me from the abyss which yawned before me.  No there was no such thing, at least not that I knew of but for now this door would do.

The chipped blue wooden door creaked in protest, the slightly rusted hinges groaning it's unexpected activity but gave way.  Opening it only wide enough to squeeze myself through, I made sure it was shut behind me so that hopefully no one would notice the entrance having been disturbed and come to investigate.  Turning back I wrinkled my nose as I noted the rancid smell of mold, rotting wood and other things that didn't need identifying.

Pulling the dupatta that hung about me closer into the shelter of my body I moved forward with almost mincing steps.  There was a weak light coming from the top of the flight of stairs that was about 4 feet in front of me.  It was dark and I knew that traversing the narrow stairs wasn't a good idea particularly in the heels I was wearing but I had enough of all that was happening below.  I was willing to risk falling down the stairs and breaking my neck just for some alone time.

Slowly I made my way up, up to the sliver of light that was my only guiding way and finally got to the other door.  I stood there and pushed through.  Immediately warmth, hotter then even that from inside, rushed out to greet me.  There was no relief from the ever present heat.  My hair and skin became immediately saturated, the collar of the kameez clinging to my skin due to the humidity.  It was difficult to even take a lung full of air for it hung thick about me.  But again I was willing to suffer any adverse effects if a solitary moment was in the making.

Moving silently, I headed for the darkest corner of the empty roof top, which was hidden by a  line of sari's left to dry from that mornings laundry but clearly forgotten to be taken inside.  This suited me fine as I ducked under the luminous floating white fabric.  The vista that beheld me was congested, teaming with life and activity.  The smell of overripe mango's, sweets and fried foods perfumed the air.  Music wafted from below, some song that I knew and would have hummed along with had the heaviness of my heart not prevented anything other then sadness to rule my world.

 Glancing around quickly to make sure that no unwanted intruders  were present, I made my way to a long since discarded Dano Milk powder tin and opened it. There at the bottom was my salvation, temporary maybe but still salvation: a pack of cigarettes I had slashed a few days back.  Eagerly I pulled one out, along with the matches and lit it, amazed out how my hands slightly trembled.

Leaning against the side of the smallish cement building that housed a myriad of crap that I didn't feel like knowing about, I took a long drag, exhaling slowly.  Bliss.  I closed my eyes and almost believed I was home.  But I wasn't.  Home was far away along with my happiness.

Pushing away from the wall I took a few steps to the edge where there was nothing but a short cement barrier that barely reached my knees.  I bent forward and peered down.  3 flights down.  It wasn't that far. 

Lifting the cigarette to my lips, I closed around the filter and slowly breathed, taking a lung full then ever so slowly I let go...

Male PMS [Insert eyeroll here]

Note:  The blog below was actually one I started over a year ago.  It was to be posted in the other blog I used to have for a while but I basically gave it up since the darn thing became so controversial (don't ask).  I just looked to see if there was anything good I could re-post here (read that as appropriate to view) and found this one and thought to myself 'sure, this is more like a public service message, so why not.'  Here it is y'all.  Enjoy.
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Have I written about this before? If yes, then sorry for being redundant but if not, why the hell haven't I? I mean this is a serious problem. We should have support groups created for this specific reason alone. And I don't care how many men would protest, screaming that there is no such thing because somewhere deep down in their soul, they know it's bullshit. 

So the other night I walk into the house and try to give P a friendly hello to which the only response is a grumpy 'hmph'. Thinking something is amiss, I plaster on a concerned look on my face even though all I really wanted to do was to sink down onto the sofa and partake in a bag of lays potato chips. I slide down next to him, wrap a reassuring arm around him and croon into his ears, 'what's wrong darling?'.

He looks at me as if I had lost my mind and goes 'nothing, why?'  Now this isn't like a female version of 'nothing' which means really there is something wrong and you better figure it out immediately because you will suffer the consequences for the next several hours/days/weeks/months. No, his nothing was honest to goodness nothing. I've figured this out after 15 years of being hitched to this fool. When he's pissed, he'll tell me and once I've said "I'm sorry" once he'll pretty much get over it and move on.

So I'm looking at him in this perplexed way and say "so nothing is wrong yet you're grumpy. There is NO reason behind it?"

He just shrugs, and focuses back on the television while mumbling 'does there always have to be a reason?'

I'm sitting there gazing at him thinking, YES, there DOES have to be a reason!!

I get up and stomp away trying to not whack him.  I put up with his snarly attitude for most of the night and thank god when my cousin calls me cause I'm able to just release my outrage over this to her.

There was a time that I didn't think that male PMS was real however living with a man for so many years (ages, eons, forever basically) has taught me that in fact there is such a thing and it's most certainly not mythical like the Loch Ness or Big Foot (or a "sensitive man" for that matter).  Hell it's as real as the streets that you walk down, the car that you drive or the LV purse that you covet.  It's as true as the air that we breath, the gravity that keeps our feet planted to the ground or the farts that men will emit as soon as you're in bed (*eww* and why...just seriously why?).   

Let me stop here with a small disclaimer:  I'm not a medical researcher or doctor, hell I'm not all that intelligent or book smart really.  You could say I'm just a normal ho-hum boring individual who has lived a long enough life to be able to claim that this condition, Male PMS, does exist without the need for medical proof, just real life experiences.  Please do keep this in mind as you read on.

The thing is we females...we have a reason for our insanity, oh yes and I admit that we can be in every sense of the word...nuts.  But listen up, it's called PMS.  Don't know what that is?  Well crawl out from under that rock and check this out... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Premenstrual_syndrome.  Now that I've edjumicated you via Wiki, let's move on.  I mean honestly, we sure can be down right loco sometimes to the point where I can look at myself or my counterparts and shake my head and roll my eyes in disgust however we can at least for the most part blame hormones and 'that time of the month'.  It's not even some crutch we use to be bitchy, it's a real condition (as most men and women out there can attest to).  If the female in the house (yours or someone else's or hell even on the street or at work) who is normally sweet, kind and considerate suddenly turns into Godzilla, there is a perfectly reasonable reason (unless that is if you've done/said something just purely idiotic in which case may be she's just boilin' mad but that's another story). 

Err...but here's the question:  If we can use biology as a reasonable excuse, what's a man's explanation for suddenly turning into Freddy Friggin' Kruger, huh?  I mean do you guys got the same happy welcomed-with-open-arms monthly visitor that refuses to leave and ruins a perfectly good week?  The one who makes it impossible for you to button the same pair of jeans you wore just the week before because now you're retaining water?  The same one that has you clutching your abdomen in agony while you're doubled over resembling a 90 year old?  Or holding your back because it feels as if it's about to break in half?  Do you break out into pimples just as some big important even is impending, have super ridiculous chocolate cravings where  you're huddled into some corner scowling at others who even look at the chocolaty goodness with interest or burst out into tears because you saw a leaf blow by (don't judge, that's happened to me once)?  Is the answer "no"?  If it is then please, for the love of god please tell me what your damn excuse is to be so damn moody?  As far as I can see, you have absolutely no call for pitching fits, being sulky nor pissy.  Get a grip Boo-Boo, this ain't your show. 

Worse of all, y'all think we enjoy using our hormones as an excuse?  Uh...NO (okay sometimes yes but for the most part NO) because we have to deal with the other lovely part of it which is the cramps, bloating and ... well you know.  Hello does this sound like fun stuff to you????  Oh I know some of you are sitting there going 'ahem' and 'TMI' and 'jeez Rubes, bring it down a notch' but put yourself in our shoes for one hot second and may be, may be you'll understand.  Actually no, you won't understand, never ever.  You may try to sympathize but fully understanding can not happen.  What a shame too. 

Basically what I want to say is that next time guys, when you decide to PMS...DON'T.  That right is reserved to the female gender who has to deal with all the nasty yuckiness that comes with it and believe you me, I think that most of us would agree that if we could give up the honor we would do so with a bounce in our steps and a grin on our lips.  Don't misunderstand me, I love being a woman but this part of it I can do without. 

Oh, here's another disclaimer and consider this good solid advice that may save your life at one point in the future:  When females are acting a bit crazy and you know she's nearing that mystical time of the month where her senses are all tossed to the wind and she's acting just that teeny tiny bit crazy, do yourself a favor and do not say 'that time of month?' or 'oh you must be PMS'ing, it's okay' or anything similar in reaction to her actions.  No really, just don't.  You want to save yourself the wrath of God descending upon your head then just refrain.  Hey you know what numb nuts, we are fully aware of what's happening to us, we don't need you to tell us okay?  Thanks!

Short Story: A Dogs Day in Paradise

So I've been batting a few ideas around about my blog and spoke with a very close girlfriend of mine as well whose ear I bent slightly.  She thinks that what I want to do has merit and I'm glad because the good lord up above only knows how gun shy I am about sharing too much of my writing.  I mean rejection generally sucks yet at least for the last 2 months or so since I've embraced blogging again, I realize that my writing isn't unbearable.  People actually read this stuff *shrugs* who knew.  Anyhow, the idea has been to use my blog as a sort of platform to introduce people to my story telling skills.  I mean after all if I one day wish to be a published author, I'm going to have to prove that in fact I can write in story form, right?  And that people would actually want to read multiple chapters of said story?  So yes, that's what I'm going to do now on the occasion...write short stories.

In speaking to my GF, I asked her for some ideas for the first short story and she threw out the most bizarre topic ever.  She said it was just a 'key word' that she had picked randomly and that I should let my imagination run with it.  I admit my mind sort of stopped working for a second as I did a mental 'huh?' but then within moments my brain resumed it's normal activity and ideas started to come to me.  So okay, I take up her challenge and write my first official short story...which may have multiple chapters but whatever, still a short story.  Let's see how things go.  Feed back will be appreciated : )

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A Dogs Day in Paradise

With her beloved camera clutched in her slightly sweaty palm, she pressed her right eye to the viewfinder scanning the crowd around her.  She stood like that, turning in slow circles as humanity swept by un-noticing of her solitary figure.  They were all in much too much of a rush to heed the person who found them so very fascinating, a quiet observer.  Her left hand twisted the zoom lens in and out, in and out, affording her the ability to see things probably others were missing or most likely didn't care to see anyhow. 

For instance, there in the distance was an old man hobbling down the dusty side walk with his cane firmly grasped in his hand, hair, beard and mustache as white as snow, perched on the back of his head a white cap which closely resembled a Jewish yamaka that one could easily miss since it blended into his brilliant locks.  He had smallish half-moon glasses perched at the end of his nose and he wore a white long cotton kurta (tunic) with cotton wide legged pants.  He seemed to be laboring slowly, looking straight and oblivious of the ruckus around him.  Just then, the call to prayer blared from a not-so-distant mosque and his head snapped up.  It was then that she took the picture, capturing him forever in the pixels of her camera.  She watched as he lowered his head and kept on going, his speed every so slightly faster, his eyes still ahead, everything about him seemed wise somehow.

Turning a fraction more, she faced the main thoroughfare boasting a 4 way traffic signal.  two sides were zooming by so fast that it made her dizzy so she focused on the cars that were waiting for the signal to turn green.  They were mostly small and compact, all dirty and dingy, the cars of course.  There were a few fairly expensive vehicles thrown into the mix along with big loud obnoxiously decorated trucks and buses packed to the gills with humanity that belched black acrid smoke.  The occupants of the private vehicles sat trying to tame their impatience, some singing to music, a few talking on cell phones, a few more holding conversations with those in the car with them and nearly everyone scowling to some degree.  Beggars wove in and out of the metallic beasts uncaring that they were systematically being shoo'ed away.  They persisted in tattered dirty clothes, faces blackened by lengthy exposures to the sun, gaunt adults and children whose eyes were far too big, bellies shockingly bloated holding out claw-like hands begging for something, anything.

She shot the picture of one small girl, probably about the age of 10 or so, who should have been in school rather then panhandling in the middle of the street.  A small half naked baby clung to her, its bizarrely big head laying listlessly on her shoulder as it tried to sleep through the ruckus of horns, music and general life.  The little girl held in one hand a wilted rose and she kept trying to thrust that through the open windows of the cars.  Some occupants yelled, a few swatted at her as if she were a pesky fly while the bulk abjectly ignored her existence.  The picture captured a moment in which the little one with her eyes sort of lifeless was standing there in the midst of the street placing a lingering kiss upon the babies head which didn't move even an inch.  All in all it was a rather thoughtless gesture but spoke volumes, a sort of tenderness wrapped up in hopelessness, if there was such a thing.  She watched for a few more seconds as the child moved down the street, begging for a handout over and over again but there was gnarly a flicker from those around her so she continued while hoisting the child repeatedly onto her bony little hip. 

Shaking her head and trying hard to blink back the sheen of tears that had crept into the corner of her eyes, she tried to tell herself that this was the way of life here in India, beggars and the rest living together in this sort of bizarre harmony but it just still...shocking.  She couldn't wrap her mind around how one contingent of society seemed to live so well while another was near starvation (or starving).  Plenty of her friends had warned her about this sharp contrast, asked her to mentally prepare herself, had told her not to judge but it was hard to some degree for she lived in a country where one rarely saw such things.  Or may be she was just blind to it?  Perhaps in her own world, she was as desensitized to what was around her as these people seemed to be?  She would go home and pay more attention she promised herself for the 1000th time.  The question was, would she keep her own promise?

Continuing the slow turn in the midst of all that she was trying to take in  she spotted a small dog, scrawny and malnutrition-ed, it's tongue lolling out to one side as it trotted at a weird angle towards the park that was located not far from where she stood.  She lowered the camera, taking the end of the scarf that hung limply around her neck to wipe off the perspiration that studded her forehead.  How did women in this country wear so much clothes, she wondered with a groan.  Not that she was one to show much skin but the long tunic and pants she wore along with the scarf wound around her neck was a bit much in nearly 100 degree weather.  She didn't want to even think about the humidity index that had the clothes on her back literally sticking to her.

Plucking the cotton shirt away from her chest to air out the moisture, she continued to gaze about.  India fascinated her.  The sites, the smells, the people...all of it created a complex tapestry of humanity.  Home was nothing like this where it was...cold.  She thought about that word.  Yes, cold was a good word to describe her motherland although not in too negative of a sense.  Strolling towards the little park she indulged in the thoughts of home.  In her minds eye she could visualize the towering mountains capped with white, the green valleys and the quaintness of her abode.  She had been gone for nearly a week and she was not in the least surprised that there was little 'missing' going on, in fact none in the least.  After all, she looked around again, who could miss anything when there was so much to see, do and experience in a country such as this?  She was the first to admit that her love affair with all things Indian was a long and passionate one and that this trip was one that she had anticipated, as well as saved, for as long as she could remember. 

There were several benches dotting the park path but for the most part they were occupied.  Luckily she spotted one not too far away that was even at that moment being vacated by a young couple.  She had to repress a grin even when she felt too sapped of strength to make even the slightest of movements.  The guy was tall and lanky, wearing a white shirt (what was it about these people and white?) and a pair of pants that sort of hung upon his slim hips.  Tattered sandals adorned feet that were in need of some lotion while on his wrist was a black thread.  He had a mop of unruly black hair that fell across his head in a rather messy heap, the ends near the neck clinging to his skin due to excessive sweating.  His eyes were the same shade of chocolate as nearly everyone, face pleasant but gaunt, a weird 70's style mustache decorating his upper lip.  He had a packet clutched to his hand as he waited for the young girl who was with him. 

She was probably in her early 20's wearing a pair of jeans that were well fitted, a loose printed cotton-ish looking t-shirt and a scarf flung about her shoulder.  Her hair was, like so many other women in this country, to be envied and fawned over.  It was long and lustrous, silky and straight, tied in a ponytail that lay down the left side of her shoulder.  She tried not to feel unhappy with her own locks but that was difficult when one gazed at the women about who all seemed to have stepped out of shampoo commercials.  The girls eyes, which were artfully lined with black, seemed to glow every time she looked at the young man and the lower full bottom lip often found it's way between sparkling teeth as she coyly blushed whenever their eyes met. 

He stood several feet away from her, probably at what would be considered a respectable distance, yet he watched her intently as she was slowly gathering her bags.  Whenever her back was turned his eyes seemed to soften and nearly caress her slight form however when she would look back he would replace this with a polite smile.  This behavior, courtship probably, was again at stark odds to her own world.  There people felt free to express their interest in each other, sometimes a little too freely, but this behavior was not questioned or even really given much notice.  If a couple were found kissing in the middle of the sidewalk, most would just avert their eyes and keep walking not even giving it a seconds worth of contemplation.  Here that was most certainly not the case.  She had seen a few couples holding hands but for the most part distance was always safely maintained.  How the very country which could proudly boast the birth of the Kama Sutra could be this sexually constipated, she would never understand.  But hey, who was she to question this?  It was essentially what it was.

Eventually all the random bags the young girl had strewn around her were gathered into her arms but as the couple faced each other they looked almost uncomfortable.  Shifting back and forth, side to side their heads kept swiveling around to see if anyone they knew were close by possibly scared of being caught.  She guessed that they were probably meeting on the sly and wondered why they would pick such a crowded intersection of the city.  With a few quick words exchanged they both headed off in the same direction but their eyes still clung to each other while their bodies remained at a distance usually reserved for acquaintances, not for two people in love, which they so clearly were.  Within seconds they disappeared into the ever moving crowds.

She sidled up and took their spot, putting down the back-pack that housed an array of camera items and a water bottle which she fished out immediately.  Taking a sip she grimaced.  The water was warm and sort of disgusting but it quenched her thirst to some degree.  She thought of the fresh mango juice a friend had convinced her to purchase from a seedy little shop yesterday.  At that time she was a little doubtful as to the wisdom of consuming such a beverage from what could only be considered quite a questionable establishment but presently she was wistfully wishing that she could have a glass of that tasty juice clutched in her hand but alas the store was half way across town and surprisingly enough there were no vendors nearby because one thing about India, there were vendors and street hawkers everywhere and they sold the most tempting high calorie bad-for-you bordering on deathly yummy food in the world.  "Drat," she thought to herself.

Mentally sighing she pushed the thoughts of hunger and thirst out of her mind (something she could do with ease) as she sat back to simply take in all that was about her.  It was a lovely day, hot but lovely.  Smog hung heavy over the city clogging throats and stinging eyes but that was not unusual, not for the big metropolitan cities in this country (or probably anywhere for that matter) where it seemed as if pollution control was the last thing on any one's mind.  Who gave a damn about global warming when more than half the populace went to sleep hungry?  She had been out since dawn with her camera taking pictures of everything and anything, the air a bit more crisp if that were at all a probability.  It was a little off-putting to see how many people were already up and about that early, mostly the poor blue-collared retail folks getting ready for the coming day but she had enjoyed these moments she had alone to herself. 

The smell of something delicious wafted towards her but she was determined not to indulge just yet.  A few friends had insisted upon taking her to some special vegetarian dhaba (shack) for lunch and it was only about 11am but the meal wasn't until 3pm.  Another thing that was well...foreign to her were these super late meals which left her slightly mystified.  But then again this was a country notorious for snacking but oh no, not the ordinary chips or cookies nonsense, no these people were serious and all about making everything fresh or if not fresh then purchasing things from restaurants where things were being made fresh.  And when such delicacies were available day in and day out, then maintaining normal meal hours didn't seem all that important.  There was also the fact that most slept late therefore meals were pushed back.  Still her stomach had not acclimated therefore by 12 she would be starving.

Somewhere some store had just turned on a radio over loud speakers that was playing one of the most recent popular item songs, a number she actually recognized and could hum to, which she did.  The dog she had spotted earlier was presently sniffing around one of the benches several yards down.  The two occupants there shoo'ed it away with a wave of a rolled up news paper and a few staccato "ja!" ("go!").  It seemed to squeal with it's tail tucked between it's legs as it scurried away. 

Lifting a hand that seemed to weigh a ton, she pushed back a lock of blondish-brown hair from her brow, scowling.  Since arriving her tresses had drawn a lot of attention which went from curious glances to out right stares.  She had gotten used to it but it still made her uncomfortable, the attention.  All she wanted to do was blend but that was an endeavor she was destined to fail in a country where nearly everyone was brown and she was about 200 shades fairer.  Sighing she idly kept eyeing the dog, it was now closer and seemed to have gone back to sniffing the ground.  It wasn't really bothering anyone, just going about its business but constantly passer-byers were either kicking at it or waving threatening hands. 

Here was a really bizarre little thing she had noted...this country was bursting at the seams with stray dogs.  They were everywhere, around everything, under any inanimate or animate object.  She hadn't seen even a single one on a leash and for the most part they all looked close to starving yet they weren't vicious.  Some roamed in packs but for the most part the bulk were independent, trying to steal a scrap of food here or a lick of water there.  No one seemed to mind them, pay the least bit attention nor care if they got run over by a car.  Life was too busy for Indians and in a country where it was hard to fend for oneself, how was one supposed to look after a dog?  She thought to her country and what her countrymen and women would do faced with a dog on the street.  That was easy, it would either be sent to a kennel to be given up for adoption or destroyed eventually but never left to roam free like this.

The one that she was presently watching sat in the middle of the walkway looking around, still panting.  She had no idea of the breed, for all she could tell it was a mutt, beige in color with a whitish underbelly.  Actually another strange fact was that for all the color in the country, the strays were all very bland looking.  She had yet to see a black or white dog, frankly even anything in-between but everywhere there was masses of 4-legged creatures which were...beige.  She wondered why.  What did that signify?  In-breeding?  Something about genetics?  Probably nothing or something deeper?  She was curious, something to may be Wiki if she could remember once home.  The mutt was now laying down but it's eyes were ever watchful, darting hither and yon, alert but it's small tongue poked out of one side.  She wondered if it was thirsty and glanced at her bottle pondering how weird would it be considered for her to offer it some.  A group of young men were presently moving past throwing her lusty looks and cat-calling but she ignored them, that was easy enough to do now.  They at least didn't stop to harass her, which was a good thing because she was carrying mace but the dog was in their path and before she could blink or call out to it or stop it from happening, one unthinking cad instantly kicked it, making contact.  As the rest laughed uproariously the poor pathetic emaciated beast yelped in pain and scrambled away trying to avoid any more abuse.

She sat there stunned, eyes as round as saucers while rage took over.  What that bastard did seemed so harsh, so unnecessary that it was almost unbelievable and his stupid friends were even then slapping his back as if congratulating him for some good deed he had just done while snickering loudly.  The fact that he was probably somewhere in his early 20's should have made him a bit more...sensitive?  Less cruel?  Her outrage was towering but to her shock she noticed that no one else seemed to pay even the slightest bit of attention but she surely couldn't.  It was a vicious kick that surely rendered the dog injured.  Hell she practically had felt the impact in her heart when the jack-off's sneakers struck the hallow side of the dogs ribs causing a terrible loud 'thud'.  She turned in her seat and spotted it under a scrawny tree, laying on it's uninjured side looking for all the world as if it had shrunk in on itself.  Her outrage cried out.  What could she do?  It was clearly a street dog therefore approaching it wouldn't be wise but she hated the idea of ignoring the situation also.

Getting up she skirted a few yards keeping a sharp eye on the mutt.  It seemed to be licking it's injured side, shivering also.  She felt her heart tightened more.  Did anyone notice?  She wanted to find that thoughtless idiot and kick him into next week as retaliation but the first thing on her mind was what to do about the dog.  Just as she was about to approach it the thing seemed to straighten a bit, head swinging to the right seemingly looking into the distance.  An ear went up, the head tilted and it let out a soft little 'woof'.  She took a step back discreetly as the starved mutt got up slowly, almost laboriously and hobbled away.  Her eyes followed the straight line of it's path but saw nothing.  May be it had heard a call from another one of the several dogs that were always around?  May be it smelled food?  Whatever it was, the thing was on a mission even if it was in pain. 

Turning away she saw that her vacated bench was now taken again.  Drat.  Hoisting the backpack onto her never-quite-dry back she recalled a store that she had wanted to explore.  Taking the path the mutt had, she looked for it but it was no where to be found.  She darted through the busy street gasping in the process while muttering a prayer to whichever being was listening.  Sometimes she felt like Frogger dodging traffic trying not to be squashed by cars and trucks or even the occasional rickshaw.  Someone shouted something in Hindi at her.  She would just think that it was something nice as opposed to the likely curse that it probably had been.  She flashed the hostile driver a big huge toothy grin, wiggling her fingers in the process which seemed to irritate him even more.  This fact caused her a great bit of malicious glee as she hit the throngs on the side walk, ignoring the additional irate words he flung in her direction.  The streets were absolutely teaming with humanity, plenty of which needed a good swipe of deodorant.  Scrunching her nose she turned left and headed in the general direction of where she thought the shop was...or was it to the right?  Wait, may be...she gazed around in confusion.  Everything looked so much alike.

As she settled on going left her eyes looked down and there under a dilapidated cart on which an old man in what could best be described as a dirty loincloth lay snoozing with a towel over his face, was the mutt.  Only it was now surrounded by a few more.  Was it his pack?  Did dogs stick with their families?  Another Wiki question.  They all looked about the same: gaunt, starving and yes, beige.  Yet oddly they lay together nearly heaped one upon the other seeming perfectly content.  It was puzzle-some.  She looked about till she found a piece of trash that looked like something that could hold water.  Grabbing it with the tips of her fingers she approached the dogs which paid her zero attention.  Squatting she placed the receptacle a few feet away from them and poured out the rest of her warm water.  Knowing it wasn't much, she felt some what satisfied that she had done something...or at least she liked to think so. 

A few people gave her odd looks but for the most part her actions were ignored.  Even the dogs didn't seem to notice the boon in front of them.  Getting up and dusting herself off, which was always a useless effort because this country was perpetually dusty, she was off.  Her phone rang in her hand.  She glanced down and smiled with pleasure.

"Hello!"  She trilled with happiness at the person on the other end. 

And she was off.

Bonding Over Flu Medicine

Talking about impromptu bonding...read what happened:

I hunt around the house for more medicine until I realize that there is no more left to be had and also realizing that I have to go out into the cold to get some more.  This would be my 3rd trip and I'm shaking form head to foot from a lack of energy, exhausted from body aches and burning with fever.  I look at P in hopes that he won't want (or need) anymore (cause he hates medicating himself) but he gives me this feverish bright-eyed look that indicates that he is far too sick to move even an inch this way or that and that yes, he needs it badly.

Sighing I slowly, agnonizingly start the process of bundling up while my body protests against the movement.  Everything that touches me seems to hurt my super sensitive skin.  I want to lay down onto the carpeted bedroom floor in the fetal position and sleep while ignoring the man on the bed but a good wife/help mate doesn't do that, right?  I nearly wanted to scream 'talak' at him at that moment :|  But 16 years together had to account for something, particularly when he emitted a fairly weak and pathetic sniffle that turned into deep rumbling body shaking coughs. 

It took me approximately 20 minutes to get downstairs because my body refused to respond to any brain commands and just to be ornary it decided to act as if it were crawling through sand (both body and mind).  Fine, I was tenacious enough to keep at it even when I felt the nausea rise and linger at my throat.  As I pulled out of my driveway I gave a seconds thought to blasting the heat, putting the chair all the way back and going to sleep but the coughing man in the house could still be heard (okay may be it was just my mind playing tricks on me).  So instead I carefully drove out of our little housing unit surprised at how bare the streets were for a Friday night.  As I pulled into the pharmacy, I realized why the world appeared deserted, most were probably sick at home and the only other place to go was to the same place I was heading, the medicine counter of any local store (some franchisee owner somewhere was tapdancing to the bank I tell you).

Parking was ridiculously hard to find and in that cold I trampled the instinct to just cramming my car into any available space and get my business done but I found a spot and once I did the most half-ass job ever at parking, I wrapped the scarf I had grabbed before leaving the house around my neck 10 times, a perma-scowl in place so that people would know to stay away and headed inside.  It's funny how something you carry around all the time, like your cell or purse suddenly weighs a ton and bites into your shoulder unforgivingly.  That night my bag seemed to have rocks in it, no not rocks, boulders as I lugged it inside.  I even checked to see what the hell was residing in the recesses but spotted only a wallet and sunglasses.  Yea, that's how weak I was. 

The flourescent lights hurt my eyes and the place smelled slightly off, but that was probably because everything smelled weird to me at that moment.  I felt discombobulated as I tried to focus on which aisle the medicine was in however all I had to do was probably follow a long line of sniffling coughing achy folks who would lead me to the 'x'.  Making my way to the right spot I was not in the least surprised that the shelves lay empty(ish) nor that my first choice of meds were out of stock leaving the sad pathetic generic stuff behind.  Sighing in aggrevation and knowing that finding another pharmacy better stocked was out of the question I tried hard to recall which recent ad's I saw on tv that would help me make my decision.

As I stood there gnawing on my lower lip while mulling options over, 3 different flu medications in my hands, another young lady approached, blond and pretty, nose red as Rudolph's.  Her hair was pulled back into a haphazard messy bun, her eyes watery and a tissue clutched in her hand.  She came to stand right next to me, sniffing a bit as she did so and took on the same half slumped stance I had which meant her legs probably weren't supporting her any better then mine where.

She throws me a sideway glance, she eyed the boxes in my hand.  I tip one her way and sort of give her a 'did you try this' look.  She shakes her head, grimacing in the process.  I clucked in sympathy perfectly understanding.  She reaches forward and plucks a box off the shelf and sort of shakes it at me.  "This one's supposed to be good."

"A friend said that did nothing for him."  Her face fell.  "Sorry."  I felt the need to apologize.  I too was looking for that miracle medicine that would shoo the flu away fast.

I pick up another one and indicate to it, "this one has been all over tv," I think I may have sounded desperately hopeful but she shook her head sadly.

"I've tried that, no go."

We both sighed, then she said in a croaky whisper, "10 days for me, you?"

This time I gasped, "6," was my response, wanting to cry.  The idea that this flu could hang around for so long seemed impossible yet she was standing there a feverish mess so this time the proof was most certainly in the pudding.

"I feel like death," she said, sniffling into the tissue while hunkering down more into her coat.  "I think this is punishment somehow."

"For all of mankinds evils?"  We both had to pause and wonder about that for a second.

I blew out a burst of hot air, "I think I'll go home and repent."  I said, "by crawling under the covers and passing out."

She nodded in total understanding, "yea, I have every plan to go home and do the same thing...stupid stinkin' flu."  She sounded so crumpy that I wanted to smile but didn't really have the energy to do so. 

Reaching out I snagged the medicine I had finally settled on, turned to her and smiled weakly, "I think this is it."  I'm sure there was some infusion of vehment hope in that sentence.

She peered at it, then nodded, "yes hopefully that'll work."

"You take care of yourself."  I said whole-heartedly, feeling a funny sense of sisterhood in our sickness.

"You too hon, hope you're better soon."

We both exchanged tired smiles and I walked away in search of chocolate, passing her boyfriend/husband/brother/whomever in the process.  He gave me a 'oh dang I'm so sorry you got this too' sorta look while skirting by me to join the coughing woman who still stood staring at the shelves.  I nearly glared at him, or may be I did, hating how people treated you as if you carried the plague when you so much as sniffled in public.  After snagging a dark chocolate Godiva bar (which boasted bits of peanuts...yum yum) and listlessly wandering for a few more seconds through the 50% off Christmas sale items, I joined the long line at the self check-out.  Sighing in impatience I focused on the other patrons, about a total of 12 of them ranging in ages but what seemed to be the commonality was that practically everyone was sick.  As we all stood there, shuffling back and forth, some murmuring low to one another, others rolling their eyes or jabbing at their cell phones, I wondered where the hell the sales clerks were.  My crankiness was simmering at the top ready to boil over but then...I started to cough.  This set off the person in front of me and then it was like a symphony of coughs.  One could almost find it pretty in it's harshness, and definitely amusing in a twisted way.   After one particularly loud round finally subsided, all of us looked around and began to snicker like kids which turned into laughs then another round of coughs.  Soon everyone was calling out how long they'd been sick for, some were suggesting home remedies, others were checking out the array of medicine that were being purchased by the others in line. 

So yea, for that moment in time a bunch of us strangers bonded...over the flu.  Good times. 

Pre- and Post- Holiday Catch-up and New Year Musings

I haven't blogged in so long or so it feels to me at least.  Right after the school shootings things seemed to mentally slow down for me.  I felt as if anything I could write would be so terribly trite, that somehow it would be wrong to just start jabbering on about some bum who (again) asked me for 100 bucks on the streets (yes, this actually did happen twice) or some such equally vapid every day story.  So I decided to take a break for a bit but it's the new year and I wanted to get back to one of my favorite past times I have...writing.  So here were some of the highlights that happened since I last took virtual ink to paper. 

Just before Xmas P looked at me and declared that I needed a few days away from all the craziness of our lives.  Actually he meant he needed time away so after a lot of debating as to how to ask the folks at my office for 2 days off, I bit the bullet, sent out an email saying I would be away (and unavailable while gone) and made some plans.  P's fab idea was NYC.  Why NYC?  Well I've gone on endlessly about how much I want to go to the city, stay there, take a ride through Central Park in a horse driven sleigh, catch may be the Nutcracker and go to Serendipity for some frozen hot chocolate, may be even a stop at FOA Schwartz.  You know, cool New York-y things to do.  

But anyone can tell you that around the holidays although NY is gorgeous, it's also expensive as heck.  My man was still okay with that but I scratched it thinking that the laptop he bought me was gift enough for my impending birthday and that being a bit wise in spending was called for after so many birthdays/weddings/anniversary and other such occasions that we face near the end of the year.  I think he was secretly pleased.  Anyhow we ended up booking a room in Williamsburg, VA and it was a super relaxing trip.  Some of you who know me well also know that we've been to this location numerous times and probably can not conceive as to why we go back at the drop of a hat as often as we do.  Well honestly besides the point that we actually enjoy it every single time, there is the added bonus that since we have vacationed there so much there is no pressure to see anything new therefore if we feel like lazing around in our hotel room watching television or wandering the small village when the tourists have already gone away, we can do so with minimal guilt at not having seen everything we should.  This particular trip we were able to eat and sleep a lot but I had noticed a lot of advertisements for some "Christmas Village" at Busch Gardens (see pics I posted on FB for frame of reference if you wish) and pestered P into taking me.  It was so silly fun, wandering around aimlessly with no agenda, listening to Christmas music, gazing at strung lights everywhere and drinking hot peppermint giradelli chocolate.  We nearly froze our buns off but seriously, so worth it.  If you've never gone and you live close by, take the trip. 

So we left for the trip on Thursday and came back on Saturday only because a dear, dear friend, who is also very much like a younger sister, had invited us to her wedding reception and if we were given the honor to be one of those lucky invitees, I was not going to miss it.  And yes, it was worth the 4 hour traffic back home and the next two hours to the reception venue.  Unfortunately we weren't late on purpose (like I don't believe in DST (Desi Standard Time) where everything starts 2 hours after the actual invitation time indicated by the host/hostess) but we were able to enjoy ourselves nonetheless and the bride and groom both looked so happy and radiant.

The next event was my birthday.  Okay so wait it's not an 'event' really but it also happens to fall onto Christmas hence it often feels like one considering all the prep that leads to the day.  P gave me a lovely bouquet of flowers the night before and then the day of we were off to my parents place to spend a nice day hanging out and in the evening a few friends and family came over to wish me happiness and love.  The thing I like most about my birthday isn't the focus on me, actually quite frankly I hate that part of it but I do enjoy seeing my loved ones together (however many of my family were missing since they decided to take trips back to the homeland).  The feeling special part is really nice too I won't lie.  My parents still are able to create the illusion that I'm a little girl and P treats me like a princess.  What more does a gal want right?

The next thing on the agenda was new years eve to look forward to and this is always rather a tricky subject for me.  Here's the thing, I've always thought that NYE is the time to have fun, to kind of get away from the whole 'family' thing and just let your hair down.  We've done the big fam parties many many times but lately P and I have sort of altered our thinking to where we want to focus on what we want to do, not what everyone else wants.  And also, since we have no children we don't feel as if we have to necessarily hang out with the family while they are with their kids.  For years P has pressured me into going out while the family have equally laid the same pressure to stay in.  I actually have come to dread the end of the year cause of this and push back any decision making for as long as I can.  Anyhow at one point 3 weeks prior to NYE P suggested we have a party at our place and invite a couple of friends over.  I agreed thinking that it would be better then freezing our buns off at the Inner Harbor and then trying to figure out what we would do next.

Of course inviting people with such short notice for such a significant event is actually not the smartest idea.  You're assured that you'll get a lot of 'no, we're busy' responses but P was insistent.  Friday before new years I left work with a cherry stride to my step and by Saturday morning I was wracked with body aches, temperatures that were soring as well as lingering into the 103 domain and a cough that felt as if it was tearing my chest open.  Huddled under 3 blankets, eyes puffy and clutching my head due to a pounding ache that wanted to take up perm residence in my cranium, I tried to focus on the party plans which P was making enthusiastically but when one is that sick, nothing matters.  The news started to filter out that I was a contagious mess and the advice was to cancel the party.  But new years cancellation?  I can't be that big of a jerk.  No, I simply kept taking flu medication, a tea brew that included ginger, honey and lemon and did a lot of praying.  Come Monday morning though the flu germs had pretty much decided that it liked my body and was hunkered down for the long haul.  I can't begin to tell you how agonizing getting dressed for that party was.  Or how exhausted I was before it all started.  I somehow managed to get downstairs in order to set things up but after about 30 minutes of putting chips and dips out, arranging some of the decorations, I retreated to bed to try to get a few more hours of sleep before the guests started to arrive.

Prior to the first persons arrival I will admit that I was shivering beneath 2 layers of clothing plus 3 blankets, moaning somewhere deep within the recess of my throat.  The thing is, will power counts for a lot, and I certainly have it in spades so I somehow managed to swipe on some mascara, add a touch of lip gloss and joined the guests for what I think was a fairly successful party.  25 people showed up (whereas I thought not even 5 would come) and my last guest hung out till 4 am.  I can also assure you that on new years day, I was dead to the world.  The flu didn't like me ignoring it as I had the day before and laid down the law in making itself known (through out my body).

For those who are going through the same thing, you can attest to the fact that this little bugger is nasty.  It lingers forever, even when the soring temperatures are gone, you are often visited by the weird shakes and chills, and then at one point the best aspect of it makes an appearance:  the nausea.  Oh yes, this has been my constant companion for the last 6 days.  Ginger ale, Gatorade, saltines...nothing has worked.  I have systematically puked up every single morsel of food that has been consumed resulting in 6 lbs shed (I suppose there is a silver lining to every dark cloud).

So P, who was feeling pretty darn good about himself cause he thought he had dodged the flu bullet, was laying in bed on Wednesday morning and expelled a cough that rocked him and I knew immediately.  And seriously sometimes he's such a dude...I jumped up from bed (okay rather I tumbled weakly out of bed) and made a beeline for the dayquil but he stubbornly refused saying he was 'just fine'.  by 2 pm his temperature had spiked, he was fully dressed under the covers and his eyes were nothing but slits peering out from under the blanket.  I shook my head wondering how I was supposed to take care of him when I myself felt as if fainting was a better option then standing up.  Let me tell you, two sick people in the same home is just not right.  Where I mustered energy to make him tea, get him breakfast, lunch or dinner (all which he refused to eat, the big ol' baby) I have no idea, nor how I managed to drive to the pharmacy (one of many drives I would make in the  next few days) to get more medicine without getting into an accident because my hands felt boneless and my reaction time was super slow.    All it all I (and P) was (literally) a hot mess.

*pant pant, gasp gasp*

Then came this past Saturday and my dad's birthday.  This man loves his birthday.  No joke.  At the age of 69 he still behaves as if he's 12 finding the joy of the day of his birth as any child that age could/would.  He is all about being the center of attention while for the most part my brother, me and mom are happy with none of it.  For weeks even before my bday he started to talk about his own until I snapped at him and told him that we need to focus on one thing at a time.  Sigh.  Heh.  Anyhow, he wanted to have a big party at our house, invited 120 of his students and said that we would cater it.  This all sounded fine to me weeks ago when we initially planned the party but when one was sick and laid out for almost a week, the idea of joining a house full of people through a night of music seemed less then thrilling. 

This is where my super mother comes into play.  And yes, she is a super star of a woman. All my life I've watched her entertain scads and hordes of my fathers students with nothing but a warm welcoming smile even when she herself is sick/unwell/unrested/ailing.  She is the quintessential hostess with the mostest, but not just during parties, no my mother is like this 24/7/365.  Even when I'm irritated and annoyed at the lack of privacy, she is smiling and radiant.  How the hell she does it I'll probably never know, may be to some extent it's a genuine love of people, to another a strict abidance of her religion which says that guests take the form of gods blessings.  I don't know, may be I don't like human beings that much nor am nearly as religious?  I'm sorry but I like some privacy and not to be in the kitchen all the time.  Sometimes I enjoy having my house to myself but that's me, not her.  She's amazing, pure and simple.

At least during prior occasions I have been able to go early and help with the preparations but due to this wonderful flu I didn't make an appearance to my parents home until 4 pm on the day of the party.  Nearly everything was completed.  Did I feel guilty?  Yes!  I couldn't shake the 'I could have done more' feeling but honestly the options were limited for me,  I mean what good would I have been laid up in bed with my mother having to take care of me as opposed to me helping her?  No, Super Ammu had everything in order well before I made an appearance and really also thank god for those lovely students of my fathers who came to the rescue and her assistance...I won't name names but you know who you are and I thank you from the depths of my soul.

The party was a rousing success...I was even able to muster up the strength to sing a duet with N (Aaj Jaane Ki Zid Na Karo) without sounding like a constipated cat and only threw up once (although I ate also once) throughout the entire day.  By the time people left P was nearly mindless with exhaustion as well as running a temperate so he retreated to bed immediately and I was dragging royal bootay.  Laying down never felt so good though sleep stayed stubbornly away for quite a while.  Sunday my eyes popped open at 9am although I forced myself to stay still for about an hour more then made my way downstairs to a house still quite full of people. 

Although this end of the year has been irritatingly busy (as it has been every single year in the past) to the point where I quit looking forward to the holidays, I admit that there is a lot of comfort in seeing people who I usually only keep in contact with throughout the year via Facebook or the occasional text.  Family is always a bonus to have close by to share some food, some laughter, some gossip with and you never quite feel alone when the whole world is also celebrating with their loved ones when you also are equally surrounded by those you love...well bonus, right?  Therefore once home last night I was took a moment to murmur a little thanks to Allah for his benevolence and kindness to me.  No matter the things that didn't go right, the plans that failed, the dreams that seemed to crash and burn, I had to pause to also see what I did have and what I gained.  I prayed for my parents, and P's parents health, my family and my husbands families welfare.  I said a special thanks for those friends still in my life and those who were just brought into it.  I thank god for the job I got when so many others are struggling to find one.  I prayed for the souls that have departed and for man kind in general hoping that somehow we will become a better race which populate this earth.  I really prayed too that no one else gets this stinkin' flu and ask God to make me into a better person. 

For now I'm working hard at simply trying not to faint from lack of food (thanks to this lousy bug) and will sign off.  I have long since given up on the whole 'new years resolution' bit cause frankly I don't know a darn soul who has really been able to keep one thus far, nor have I ever been able to.  But yes, I am promising to myself that I will keep this blog running.  Let's see how much motivation stays with me through the year and the other small promise I made to myself is to see if anyone out there in the publishing world would be interested in seeing a manuscript of mine.  I wonder how my name would look splashed on the front page of a book : )  Hmmm...

Happy New 2013 y'all...do make it count.