I wasn't a happy camper today, no indeed I was not. You wonder why? Well somewhere during the day I came to terms with the fact that I was craving chicken biryani and I'm lucky enough to have spots around here that make it pretty good. In fact there's a Bangladeshi hole-in-the-wall that offers pretty authentic as well as cheap food. Also the fact that since Ramadan started I've done nothing but cook, cook, cook, I had no interest in doing the same today. So mind made up I left work pointing Stella towards the restaurant with single-minded intent.
So far sounds like I have no reason to be unhappy, right?
Up to that point I wasn't, not other than the fact that my body was still growling at me for holding back coffee from it. I slapped it mentally into place and told it to shut up. My will is greater than my bodies longing, I'm out to prove this to be true...darn it. I also think that I'm finally settling into the whole not-eating-or-drinking-during-daylight-hours thing. Yay me.
The bad mood did settle in unexpectedly to be certain. There had been a bounce in my step, I had energy I wasn't sure from whence it came and iftar was but a scant few hours away. Two things happened simultaneously though that sent me down the plummeting darkness of unhappiness. Actually not exactly back-to-back but close enough that one sort of abutted the next. Oh how dramatic am I?
As I was on my way to the B-deshi store, the windows open, sunroof also pouring in the heat of the day, I was feeling pretty okay. I had escaped work without incident while the blackberry pressed to my hip was not vibrating. These were all earmarks to the possible good ending of an already long day. I was willing to embrace the inevitable with open arms, albeit weak ones as long as biryani waited at the other end. *Sigh* that was when, thanks to the windows that had been lowered, I smelled the mouthwatering aroma of something scrumptious. It blew in, swirled around me before fluttering off. I stiffened, senses immediately heightened. I didn't have time to identify what it was precisely but my stomach rumbled in response. It was quick and harsh. I did a mental 'oh well damn'.
Can you say 'bloodhound'? That's what I think we become during Ramadan. Total bloodhounds. We can sniff out food at about 100 paces, possibly more and given a bit of a chance not only identify what it is but when it was prepared, who was eating it and where the ingredients came from (not to mention what those particular ingredients are). Pretty impressive, right?
That was the first thing. I ignored it successfully, even entered a restaurant that absolutely wreaked of all sorts of delicious smells and felt as if it wasn't bothering me, anyhow I was busy yacking away with my mommy on the phone so the distraction was welcome. Things seemed to level out a bit as I hopped back into the car in order to make my way home. That's when the second 'incident' happened.
I was waiting for a light to turn green when I look over and see a family of 4 in a silver car. Nothing noteworthy except for the fact that the three passengers were all busy eating ice cream cones. I really disliked those folks instantly. I immediately shot S a text and told her of my negative feelings and like a true blue buddy she suggested that I honk my horn really loudly so that they became startled and dropped the icy treats. I told her that although it wasn't an unreasonable suggestion, having a lot of merit to be honest, the action itself would go against the whole idea behind why we observe the fast. One of the bullet points from the earlier blog (I think it was like day 1) about how we should love thy neighbor or some such nonsense as that. Tolerance, obedience, blah, blah, blah. Good lord how inconvenient for my sense of outrage at that moment to have to remember all that. Meh.
By the time I squealed the car to a stop at home I was pissy, hungry, frowning and my pants were sticking to me uncomfortably. I wanted to run inside to jam my head into the freezer (for the heat relief, not the food although if a samosa, even if it was frozen, was to sneak into my mouth, would it really be my fault?) however my desi neighbor couple was out with their adorable little 2 year old so I had to go over and chat for a minute. The little one was splashing around in a kiddie pool. Boy was I ever jealous of her but didn't think they would take too kindly to me plucking her out and flopping into the cold water.
Since then things have gotten better. I prayed for patience and iron will. I scarfed chicken biryani as if I had never eaten before (as well as yack it back up which has been a persistent problem I've had for the last 3 years while fasting) and now am chilling. I have also decided that the best bet for me is to keep the windows of the car closed...at all times. The evening has been peaceful and P had been puttering around the house doing this and that. I watched him from my perch on the sofa feeling zero compulsion to lift even one finger. From tomorrow I would be elbow deep in cooking hence today I decided would be my 'day off'. I do not feel guilty.
Oh, also Ammu bought this beautifullllllllllllllllll handmade cuckoo clock for me back from her trip to Europe. Amazing German mastery is this adorable thing and I'm in awe of it. P finally put it up and guess what? It actually cuckoo's! Imagine my shock as the air was rented by this soft little sound. But then, 15 minutes later, another cuckoo...and then another 15 mins... :| Um...right. Get it? P comes down after about an hour and I tell him of this phenomenon and what does my man do? What does this perfectly grown adult do in the face of a wooden clock? He goes up to it and softly mimics 'cuckoo'. I think he actually expected the darn bird to fly out and sing back to him.
I turned from my spot on the sofa, stared at him pretty much wide mouthed and croaked out, 'babe, you realize that thing isn't real, right?'
He cleared his throat, ignored me pointedly, smiled at the clock and disappeared back upstairs.
Just another night at our pad. You so wish you were apart of this, don't you? :P
No comments:
Post a Comment