Rather jolly little Monday this has been, I must say. Mondays are usually when your past catches up with you, with all the promises you had made in the nature of "I'll do it next week, for sure" in the optimistic belief that tomorrow never comes, arriving for encashment, and make you wonder if you weren't actually better off taking up sanyasa like that spurned-in-love-and-thereby-unbalanced-distant-uncle of yours.
This Monday, as I was saying, was different. I was jobless pretty much all day, waiting for various chaps to finish whatever they were doing and meet me, and when they did meet me, they acquiesced with whatever I was saying, reducing a potentially wordy duel to a feast of reason and flow of soul. I pondered long and hard on the nature of life and its strange ironies, while I did the waiting, for I am a philosopher at heart. Sadly, however, I am a philospher who should have taken memory lessons as a child because while I remember thinking the ripest thoughts, I remember virtually none of them. There was something awfully clever about Narendra Modi which sadly I have lost for ever. Sigh.
But the night being yet young, I decided to curry some favor with the missus. She has been disappointed with me the last few weeks. Apparently, I have been spending far too much time on twitter and far too little with her. The lad stoked the fire a bit by asking her why she didn't get a twitter account and be on my timeline, thus dousing the proverbial campfire with a gallon of gasoline. All in all, the domestic situation was not unlike the UN after a weekend of bomb-tossing on the Gaza strip.
Thus we decided to go for a movie. The movie chosen was a thing called Red Dawn. In this day and age, that can mean anything. It could be a Hindi movie with a couple of love-starved teenagers braving the cruel world or a Tom Cruise samurai based epic for all I knew. The missus, who had gotten her reviews mixed up, thought it was a romantic comedy starring Gerard Butler.
In my case, the first connect was some underwear I used to own. Dawn used to be a famous undie brand in my time. Dawn Underweeyer, Dawn Baniyaaan is a jingle no male of my generation would be unfamiliar with. They were usually white but I had a pair which had shared a washtub with a deep red dupatta of singularly unfast color and consequently, Red Dawn was not without meaning for me. Wisely, however, I refrained from sharing this delightful bit of trivia with the missus.
Anyway, it turned out to be a full time NRA philosophy based gunfight orgy. The plot was delightfully harebrained. North Koreans land in America by parachute and take over the country, quelling its military and civil government, only to be undone by the brave resistance offered by six or seven young people wielding many kinds of guns and explosives. I thought it was wonderful, and I sincerely hope they come up with something equally awesome for a sequel, say the Aleutian Islands taking over China and de-communist-izing them.
Tooled off to a nearby eatery for soup and salads and at the moment of going to press, I am contentedly reviewing my realm, which consists of a bottle or two of scotland's finest, and thinking of what goes better with a Monday evening, Whiskey on ice with a dash of water or just plain old whiskey on the rocks.
Decisions, decisions.
This Monday, as I was saying, was different. I was jobless pretty much all day, waiting for various chaps to finish whatever they were doing and meet me, and when they did meet me, they acquiesced with whatever I was saying, reducing a potentially wordy duel to a feast of reason and flow of soul. I pondered long and hard on the nature of life and its strange ironies, while I did the waiting, for I am a philosopher at heart. Sadly, however, I am a philospher who should have taken memory lessons as a child because while I remember thinking the ripest thoughts, I remember virtually none of them. There was something awfully clever about Narendra Modi which sadly I have lost for ever. Sigh.
But the night being yet young, I decided to curry some favor with the missus. She has been disappointed with me the last few weeks. Apparently, I have been spending far too much time on twitter and far too little with her. The lad stoked the fire a bit by asking her why she didn't get a twitter account and be on my timeline, thus dousing the proverbial campfire with a gallon of gasoline. All in all, the domestic situation was not unlike the UN after a weekend of bomb-tossing on the Gaza strip.
Thus we decided to go for a movie. The movie chosen was a thing called Red Dawn. In this day and age, that can mean anything. It could be a Hindi movie with a couple of love-starved teenagers braving the cruel world or a Tom Cruise samurai based epic for all I knew. The missus, who had gotten her reviews mixed up, thought it was a romantic comedy starring Gerard Butler.
In my case, the first connect was some underwear I used to own. Dawn used to be a famous undie brand in my time. Dawn Underweeyer, Dawn Baniyaaan is a jingle no male of my generation would be unfamiliar with. They were usually white but I had a pair which had shared a washtub with a deep red dupatta of singularly unfast color and consequently, Red Dawn was not without meaning for me. Wisely, however, I refrained from sharing this delightful bit of trivia with the missus.
Anyway, it turned out to be a full time NRA philosophy based gunfight orgy. The plot was delightfully harebrained. North Koreans land in America by parachute and take over the country, quelling its military and civil government, only to be undone by the brave resistance offered by six or seven young people wielding many kinds of guns and explosives. I thought it was wonderful, and I sincerely hope they come up with something equally awesome for a sequel, say the Aleutian Islands taking over China and de-communist-izing them.
Tooled off to a nearby eatery for soup and salads and at the moment of going to press, I am contentedly reviewing my realm, which consists of a bottle or two of scotland's finest, and thinking of what goes better with a Monday evening, Whiskey on ice with a dash of water or just plain old whiskey on the rocks.
Decisions, decisions.
6 comments:
My sanity is being quickly called to reason everytime I am caught laughing at one of your posts NAren!
Considering I had a pink dawn at home yesterday, this post has me 'tummy holding, teary eyed' reading this. And I sympathise with the missus..I thought of the handsome Gerard too. But some part of the name thanks to my boys makes me think twice before I put a stamp on my thoughts. I'm hoping the whiskey went well and not the rocks on the head?
For some strange reason Red Dawn does bring back memories of Aithapa (?) or was it Yenkkappa and Sanjeeva the dhobis.
Ref: Wordier matters such as scotch - I can give some sound advise. If it is Scotland's best, dont pollute it with ice. If it is akin to the same stuff we used to drink 1 score and 5+ years back, liberal use of soda, ice and water would undoubtedly help.
Reading your blog on a night when the atmosphere in the domestic circuit is chill is injurious to contented marital life, so I discover!
"They were usually white but I had a pair which had shared a washtub with a deep red dupatta of singularly unfast color and consequently, Red Dawn was not without meaning for me."
Ha ha...had so much fun reading many of your posts including your Gun N Roses concert post...
To get a tad analytical, one of the things I really love about your writing style is the way you introduce a transition - it hits you gobsmack in the middle when you are least expecting it - "TIn my case, the first connect was some underwear I used to own." POOF...
I am part of a toastmasters club here in Phoenix and my next speech is going to be the project of "The Entertaining Speech". I should definitely incorporate some of your style. As always. fantastic post Naren :)
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