This may or may not be a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents could possibly be the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, events, or locales need not necessarily be entirely coincidental.
In short, whatever I write, I write. What does it matter eitherways? I usually tend to talk about gender issues, parenting, books, movies, stuff that catches my fancy...
For all those who have noticed a laaaaaaaaapse in the speed of putting up new posts. It is NOT love. It is not because my other personality has her own blog. It is NOT writer’s block. It is only because my faithless PC blew up on me. I switched it on and then came a flash, much like the voice of God from the skies. Only, the spark indicated the death of my PC. Now it sits, looking undamaged externally but with severe internal injuries. I am also catching up on a new process at work, which is quite as interesting as blogging.
However, during the long break, life has been going on much the same, which translates into “There’s been hell and high water all around me, along with a few volcanoes thrown in.” Watched a Telegu movie last night. And drew conclusions.
Before you begin to condemn me, I confess that I am a closet watcher of Telegu films. I have seen 4 till date.
Ken’s having a birthday soon. He will be 5. Big boy now. He is already growing out of my favourite pants (his pants which are my favourites, I meant), telling me to grow up and kisses me on my lips. He can now climb on a 7-foot wall which separates the hall from the dining and yet does not quite reach the ceiling. There’s a ½ foot gap, which is a sore temptation to a high-flying 5-year old boy.
He is now eligible for 5 gifts. Clothes. A cake. A train. A race course. An aeroplane. Highly vehicular birthday this will be. And most of this will make lots of noise and will be followed by lots of heartbreak over broken toys.
The idea began when I realized I was getting him too many gifts and decided to make it 3 for his third birthday. “Happy Birthday Man will give you three gifts,” I promised. Rashly, on hindsight. What will I do when he’s 17? What will I do when he’s 50?
On Orkut. 25 fans. 1000 scraps. On Blogspot. 5000 visitors. At the end of a lousy week, I sit back, kick off my shoes, listen to American Pie (Don MacLean version, of course), put my legs on my CPU and view my site stats. And it makes me feel wonderful.
(Much better than my vital stats do. Those are always kind of depressing. And remind me that I need to use euphemisms for myself nowadays. Disgusting words such as "curvy," "plump and cute," "more of me to love" and that new one doing the rounds in the porn and dating industries (not that I am in either) - "BBW.")
It has been a while since I put my hand to keyboard (electronic equivalent of ‘pen to paper’) to blog. And now it is to say goodbye. Not to you all, cell of my cells, pixel of my pixels, in short, that part of the general reading populace that visits this space hoping against hope that someday I might update. And that the diva might return. I do not bid goodbye to you yet. In short, grin and bear it. I’m not going anywhere yet.
But I have bid goodbye to Amudha. One dramatic element in my life has been cast out deliberately, cold-bloodedly, ruthlessly. I found I was too old for Amudha.