<%-- Page Title--%> Slice Of Life <%-- End Page Title--%>

<%-- Volume Number --%> Vol 1 Num 153 <%-- End Volume Number --%>

May 7, 2004

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Life Sucks!

Richa Jha

Excuse my language there, but yes, I am in a whiny mood this morning, and this is the only word in my active vocabulary that captures the mood of the hour. Mot Juste. Besides, this despondency is not unfounded. Things haven't exactly gone my way over this past week. Why this particular week, and why me, are two existential inanities few among us are equipped to decode. I certainly am not, which is why the only way to vent my frustrations is by putting it all on paper.

The Hubby says that it may have been something to do with the overall mood of the nation- tense, volatile, and highly-strung, but also sleepy, lethargic, and unproductive, all at once. I urge you to run through this list, prepared in no particular order, and tell me if my yammering is uncalled for.

• A new duppatta I give for ironing comes back to me with a hole. The burnt out case doesn't get a chance to be argued because the launderer has quietly vamoosed to his hometown some 100km away from Dhaka.

• A toy car that I bought as a child's birthday present this afternoon suddenly finds itself being flung out from my balcony; my child wants to see it fly-- he is Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's slave (and Ian Flemming's tiniest fan) these days. By the time it gets retrieved from four floors below, it is fit enough to be sent to the junkyard. Needless to say, my son is ecstatic to see it thus.

• On its downward trajectory, this toy car (capable of feats of epic, mythical proportions) first hits against the carefully nurtured hanging mini fern-pots on the balcony of the floor below ours, and then gets deflected towards the road. The damage happens at both the levels. In emotional and monetary terms, the damage at ground zero is insignificant compared to the one at level three.

• The large community of red ants have taken it upon themselves to bother me in every possible way they can.

• Yesterday's sudden downpour takes in this year's first casualty inside my house: the floor cushions in the lounge. If I am to go by the previous year's experience, few rugs and carpets, a couple of poofs, and the lounge curtains are soon to follow suit. But then, after this first jolter, I plan to be better prepared.

• For past three days in a row, our local cable provider has been doing his 'maintenance work' between 1 and 1:30pm. If Prerna has gone ahead and married Anurag all over again, I wouldn't know. Kasauti… is the only serial on Star Plus that I follow, and if this is the cable operator's way of putting me in my place (we had an argument, of sorts, some time back), he wins.

• The Hubby's sudden passion for ghazals doesn't help either.

• I am still struggling with the name game in chapter 5 of The Namesake, stuck on the fourth page as I was four days ago. Hartals and weekends have ensured that the children stay home and try out the parents' patience to the brim. Gogol's predicament will have to wait. To have come this far, but no further, is not a nice feeling to have with un-putdownable pieces of work.

• The domestic aid threatening to leave in the middle of this is not a particularly merry development on the home front.

• No bua in the house next to mine, and a new-born baby in the one next to that have ensured that children from these two houses as well make themselves comfortable in my house. There are only so many strands of hair I can tug at in misery. My maid's ultimatum is understandable.

• But finally, letting 3 and 4 year olds pummel you with soccer balls is actually a good stress reliever.

In the midst of these dampners are several other occurrences, too commonplace by any standards, which haven't exactly helped me brighten up. Like The Hubby deciding to snore louder at night, and then deciding to wake up before the first cock crows to go for a walk. "Hartals, you see, I want to make the most of these days. The empty roads are beckoning me to jog on them…"

Uugh, don't you get it? At 5:30 in the morning, hartal or no hartal, on any morning, it is the same, why just this week? I try my best to pull him back in bed, but he looks determined. I wouldn't have lost sleep over it if he were a tad discreet with his movements around the house. But he isn't, which means that the rest of the household wakes up with him. Oh, it doesn't help, I tell you. An overnight-turned fitness freak of a husband who needs his wife to be as supportive as his old pair of sneakers (I don't even remember which of us came first in his life), is not your best companion on days when the sun refuses to shine, the rains refuse to stop, the ants refuse to go away, the internet connection doesn't go through, the water in the outdoor swimming pool is uncomfortably cold (the breeze makes it worse), and the water in the heated indoor pool is not quite refreshing enough, and the one movie I've been dying to watch for weeks still refuses to play on my DVD player. You get it, don't you? Basically, life sucks… And there's little I can do about it.





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