Joanna

Joanna was a little girl whose house I had to pass on my way to school.  She used to wait at her gate, in her school dress holding her mother's hand, refusing to leave for school until she saw me.  After many days of smiling bashfully, one morning she mustered up enough courage to run up to me and say breathlessly, “I love you like chocolate.”

Being in high school and carrying all the baggage that comes with that age, I don’t think I appreciated her sentiment.  I never saw Joanna after that school year.

Some time back I found myself thinking of her and realized that Joanna had paid me a very great compliment.  In those days in India, chocolate was a rare treat and to a six-year-old, surely the most precious thing in the world.

I have been and am loved in many ways but no one since has ever told me I am the most precious thing in the world.

I wish I was 14 again and Joanna was waiting at her gate.
Rosemary

What women talk about...

Overheard at a beauty parlor:

Very pretty girl getting artificial nails fitted on:

So I bring him his soup and he says. "It’s cold."
So I heat it and bring it back.
He takes a sip and says: It’s still cold."
I take it back, heat it thoroughly and serve it again.
He : “It’s cold.”
I go, heat it, bring it back.
"Its cold.”
That's it. I go back, heat the soup to boiling point, then heat the spoon red-hot and bring it back with my loveliest smile.
The creep takes a sip and is silent for the rest of the flight.




Two very young girls lying with eyes closed and faces hidden under cucumber face masks:

Girl 1: The boy is coming this evening to “see” me.
Girl 2: Remember to look at his hands.
G1: Hands? Why hands?
G2: Don't be an idiot. Don't you know, the size of a man's hands is equal to the size of his…..
The face masks crack up.


Pregnant woman getting a foot massage:

At my Bunty's time I had it really bad.
I used to sit and sit and sit and strain and strain and at the end of it , what do I get?
THIS much. (Finger and thumb held an inch apart)



Much married matrons:
My husband is such a miser. He’s just back after a six-month stint abroad and guess what gifts he’s brought for the boys. The hotel blankets.

The above is absolutely true and just a small sample. Don't think you men are up to hearing the whole of it..

Lots of love and really sorry for keeping away for so long,

10 Reasons Why You Should Not Have A Baby At 21.

Greetings!

1.You lose every friend you had at 20, because you are married and pregnant, and none of them have even found decent boyfriends yet.

2. Your brain stagnates.  You find things like another prima gravida relating the agonies of constipation riveting. “I sat for hours and hours and then after all that I had a little, such a little, (measuring a nail width) bowel movement." (language edited).  Yes, I ACTUALLY listened to that and didn’t have nightmares about it until years later.

3. You are 21 but people take you to be at least ten years older than you really are. And you look it too.

4. All your friends are busy partying, traveling abroad, buying the most delicious clothes, making and dumping boyfriends, while YOU are busy with diapers, immunization schedules, trying not to get pregnant again, wearing your oldest and  only clothes, since you haven’t shopped for yourself in ages,because baby isn’t toilet trained and won’t wear diapers, and now that the hormones that raged at 20 have settled down, wondering what you saw in the man you married.

5.  Finally the babies you had when you were 21 grow up and you are now free and raring to go, but all your friends are either just getting married or with new babies and no one has time for you.

6.  You are taken to be older than your sister who is five years older than you because she has a 2-year-old, while your eldest is 20. (And nobody believes you when you say you’re not.)

7.  You want to take up that exciting job you have been longing to do for years, but couldn’t because of the kids, but every employer is looking for 21-year-olds.

8.  Your older daughter follows in your footsteps, marries at 20, and you become mother-in-law to a man who is just ten years younger than you, but calls you “Mum”.

9. You live in constant dread of being a grandmother, for god’s sweet sake, at 42!

10.And finally- because you never get to live! Because no matter how cute they look in pictures and what their mothers tell you, babies are the most selfish creatures on earth.  They take your life and make it their own. And they never give it back. Not even when they are 21.

You have fun now and listen to-

Bitter Sweet......

Greetings!

I asked several people, both tweeters and “real life” friends what their best and worst memories of childhood were. I found that while the men’s were invariably of “winning”, the women’s were of “bonding”.

Amongst the men, the most touching was Aditya's.http://blog.aditto.info/2008/06/22/192-the-million-colours-in-my-mind/ )  His best childhood memory was the time he won at an interschool competition and was desolate at finding none of his schoolmates around to cheer for him; until he saw his father- standing in the crowd, clapping heartily for his little boy.

Kamlesh, now CTO for Global Colleague an LPO here in Pune, tells me his worst memory is climbing up a mango tree in his village while on vacation and not being able to get down.  He was stuck there the whole night; was discovered the next morning by the villagers and had to be brought down with the help of a rope. I was very concerned about what he did the whole night as regards bodily functions, but he tells me they went straight down the tree. I hope it lived.

Kenney’s ( http://www.kenneyjacob.com/) worst memory is being beaten up by his math teacher. It might interest you to know Kenney that Ratan Tata, our leading industrialist, also had a math teacher who apparently did his best to “get him thrown out of school.” (The great man himself in TOI).

Leo’s(http://www.startonomics.blogspot.com/) worst is almost drowning in a nearby lake while his best memory is getting selected in the national basketball team. Interestingly Leo is now a startup entrepreneur in a very competitive field.

Neeta a friend, says her best memory is of winning a “healthy competition" at age 11.  Healthy baby at age 11? But I can understand why that memory should stand out.  Neeta is the scrawniest thing that has come out of India in a long while. (She is going to kill me for this.)

That everyone is not blessed with a happy childhood was brought home to me very strongly.  So strongly, that I almost did not do this post.  A Twitter friend tells me her worst childhood memory was of being sexually abused by her neighbor and stepfather and of having to stay away from home.  Fortunately for her, the experience has left her strong and far from embittering her, it has made her able to not only forgive, but also help others. She is a happy and well-adjusted woman today. (I am honored and humbled by your confidence, friend.) 

What I found wonderful was that she did not have to think long before coming up with a “good”memory.  It was of long swims in the nearby swimming pool with her darling kid brother, even though they had to dodge the “neighbor” while on their way to and back from the pool.

Tweeter @hedgemint from faraway Wales says her best is, “My mother polishing furniture while Doris Day was on the radio. I must have been two and I felt such sunshine.  My worst - school. Each flipping day. Ruined mypeace!”

I have no idea what the little butterfly is doing with her life at present but Iam sure it is something very happy and bright.Kay adds further that I must share my memories too.

Well, I was Papa’s girl; and my best memory is of him waking me up at night to eat caramels, because if he left them for morning, they would be eaten by the rest of the kid gang.

My worst is of peeing in a coconut shell and getting my little brother to do so too, (we were on holiday in Goa), and throwing the pee on my younger sister just to tease her.  I still can’t believe I could be so horrid.

And despite what they say about sibling rivalry not lasting, this sibling and I still bristle when we come together,although I don’t think I would ever do that again. Or would I?

Thank you all for cooperating. I’m sorry I could not fit in all the responses.  I hope you enjoyed this post and if I have offended anybody, I apologize in advance.

 

Twitter me down to size..

Greetings!

You’ve heard of Twitter. But if you think it's a social website, or a great place to market your skills, your products, unbelieve it. It’s not.

Rather it is the new age bible proclaiming in updates rather than verses, the word of a new age, tech- savvy god. Teaching you that whether it is you, or your sins, your sorrows, or your achievements, or your joys, nothing is anything to crow about. That there are thousands out there just like you.
So get real and never forget you are all nothing but dust.

You think you’re special because you’re a great writer, technology expert, biochemist, a spiritual, a tarot reader, a witch, a woman with seven kids, a pauper, a president or a religious leader.


You think you’re different because you hate your boss, you don’t love your kids, you want to kill your husband, you’re living with your wife for her money, and last night you had sex with the dog.

Read your Twitter. There is always someone out there tweeting “I just did that.”

Me, I thought I was unique in the little things. Like owning a pink towel, loving coffee, enjoying tea, drinking out of a mug, burning pans while cooking.

But someone in Massachusetts tweets: “I have a pink towel.”

And a tweeter in Londonia Nagar, UK chirps, “Drinking coffee. With 2 sugars. Out of a mug.”

And sometimes triumphantly, “Drinking tea.”

Not even my sins are unique. I thought I must be the only person who adds chicken cubes to the dishes I cook for my veggie friends.

But one tweet confesses: “I put meat in the veg burgers that I sell.” SIGH!

And if you want the ultimate proof that nothing you do is unique, listen to this update,

“I sit down to pee. And I am a man!”

I told you so.

How to Catch a Chick Without Moving Your Butt.

Greetings!

All boys, and grown men who should know better, try to catch chicks. They get all hot and breathless, running hither and thither, while the chick flaps and flutters, runs between their legs, and between their sweaty hands, above their heads and all over, always out of reach.

Of course, Man being the Chosen One and chick being the Chosen Sucker, the chick always gets caught in the end with no happily ever after. But by the time, the chase is over, Man/Boy is angry, he is flustered, he is yelling, and he is desperately needing a drink. Again.

Here for the first time is disclosed a sure-fire method of how to catch a chick without moving your butt, and without sweating it.

What you will need:
An easy chair: The idea is to be sitting comfortably, so while just any chair will do, you will have to look comfortable or else the chicks sense a problem- and stay away.

A glass of anything drinkable. Beer works best. Chicks like guys who guzzle beer. Beer drinkers have big beer bellies, which make it difficult for them to run and so the chicks feel safe.

A long piece of string. String. Not rope. You don’t use rope to catch chicks. You use thin, fine, strong, silken strands. But if you are the farmhand type and don’t know about silk, use ordinary string.

Peanuts. The peanuts are for the chicks. You may pop one or two into your mouth just to enhance the ‘comfort’ aura, but save some for the chicks.

A small table: To keep all the above, what else? Do I have to explain everything?

A place to keep the chicks: This is important. Success is guaranteed. You are going to get the chick. But if you don’t have a place to keep the chick, the chick may run away and then you have to do it all over again.

Procedure:
You sit at ease in the chair, pretending that life is good, you have a healthy bank balance, your weight is fine. The chicks are all around you but at a distance.

After a sip of the beer and a peanut or two, you take the needle and thread it with the string. The chicks sense your disinterest. The guy is sewing!? They think it’s okay to come closer.

Next you pierce a peanut with the needle and secure the peanut on the thread. Get that? The peanut has to be securely threaded. Then hold the other end of the string firmly in your hand and throw the peanut on the ground.

The chicks who have been nonchalantly wandering around you, see the peanut. They are excited. The Strong Silent Man has shown interest. Run. Run. Take it up! The smartest, fastest chick gets to the peanut first. She gulps it. She is happy. She has won.

Gently, very gently, you pull in the string. Don’t try to be hasty, or use force, or you will lose the chick. The peanut is stuck inside the chick. She cannot get it out. The string is in your hands. No rush. You pull. Chick moves. Pull. Move. Pull. Move. Gently does it.

The chick comes meekly towards you not knowing what it is that is drawing him/her there. It’s just a nut she/he has swallowed, but chick thinks it is some mystic ‘inner’ thing driving him/her. Chick comes close enough to be picked up.

Result: Pick up the chick. Chick is yours.

Note:
This works on male and female chicks.

You may catch as man chicks as you want at a time.
You may keep them even if they are not yours because the chicks can’t make a sound while you are doing this and so the owner never, ever discovers you have them unless you tell him.
This method is tried, tested, guaranteed, and patented. Send me your dollars.