I am an
unabashed believer in tear-therapy. Call me what you will, only
two activities help me tide over any crisis: crying, and sleeping.
Since most crises are facilitated by our own ignorance and slothfulness,
it pays to sleep some more and pretend the problem doesn't exist.
it helps to shed gallons of tears, feel drained, gulp down some
chilled cola, then get under your duvet, and sleep. There is
no problem in the world that a good night's, or mid-day's sleep
cannot solve. In most cases, talking from personal experience,
the problem somehow doesn't look all that insurmountable once
you've slept over it. Crying, on the other hand, in itself is
such a brilliant tool for catharsis that nothing can take its
place. Nothing. Not window-shopping, not actual shopping, not
even the most vicious round of gossip.
what I did most of the previous week. I cried for various reasons.
Let's not get into the unpleasant details, but should suffice
to say that nothing went the way it should have. When I tried
to be polite, I ended up hurting myself; when I tried to be
professional, I ended up jerky-eyed. When I went ahead and did
what my heart said, I knew I was being stupid, and therefore,
shed some more tears. In the middle of all this, a friend remarking
that someone else may be having the last laugh at my expense,
was not such a mood enhancer after all.
to give the wise owl his due, judiciously steered clear of trouble
by staying out of my way. He also did the endearingly clever
thing of sending me plenty of "Cheer up!" SMSs at
frequent intervals. And the most unbelievable act of all, he
also left Post-Its on our bathroom mirror and my handbag saying
how much he loved me! I'm certain he's been reading up a couple
of the so-called women's magazines.
I know I
am deviating from the usual pattern of this page, but it has
been an unusual week for me for all the wrong reasons-- and
some of gooey feelings are fighting their way in. A happy mind
looks at the delectable pan crust; an unhappy one looks at the
extra blobs of cheese that fell on your topping by mistake.
Yes, cheese, rancid at that, it is for me today.
It was an
unusual week for reasons more than one. In an email, I addressed
the editor of an Indian magazine as Madhuri, when her name is
Meghna. It could have been passed off as a harmless oversight,
but trouble brewed quickly because Meghna and Madhuri edit rival
publications! Then again, I keyed in the wrong email id while
sending an urgent mail, and without so much as looking at the
contents of a received mail, I deleted the 'undelivered' message
that showed up in my mailbox, and then sat fretting for several
hours over why the person wasn't replying. I bought entry tickets
to a play and remembered it a couple of days after the show!
absentmindedness make a routing combination. And a whining child
on antibiotics seals the deal. So you can imagine.
It was the
first time I heard my son say, "Mamma, why are you being
cross with me so frequently. Have I done something wrong?"
It was also the first time this week that he saw me walk home
without a smile. That night I wrote these words below in my
I look dumb, which is why I am unwittingly made a fool of. Or
maybe I am actually dumb to be taken in for a ride by everyone.
need to learn to say 'no' when I want to say 'no'. And a firm
'yes' when I want something badly. Irresoluteness did not take
one anywhere, it will not take me anywhere.
need to realise that the world does not think of the other person
first. I, me, myself rules. Maybe I shouldn't break the scheme
of things by keeping my thoughts so other-centric.
need to assert myself more often. Maybe I should learn to throw
my weight around. Maybe, I need to…"
own depressing words put me to sleep! for the sentence was incomplete.
This morning, I re-read it, tore the sheet away, folded it into
a paper-jet for my child, and forgot I ever had such sinking
thoughts. So there you are, I remain, as dumb as I was at the
start of the week. But at least I admit it. It is only the insane
who are always sure they're super-fine. The sane are willing
to admit they're crazy. I'm not crazy, just plain dumb, but
that's an equally perfectly-sane state to be in.
this week I also got to hear that few people think that my husband
may be ghost writing The Hubby's pieces. Thank Goodness, I took
that as a compliment!