Skip to main content

In conversation with...

Sunday mornings are, perhaps the best times to engage dad in a conversation. No dad is not really that busy but then, its IPL time in the evenings and conversations at dinner are strictly about us… that me, manu & a lil bit of ma-pa.

I haven’t slept the night ( something I do quite often these days). Had he not seen watering the plants today, something that he does everyday; he would have had made tea by himself, read the news paper, called my aunt, stared out of the window and then, of course woken up ma. This is his usual Sunday morning routine.

He has had two cups of tea already ( I made!) and hasn’t read the newspaper much today. Well, that is thanks to me of course. I can talk incessantly ( Him would vouch for that and so would N). OK. Pa already knows that and it is welcome, my gibberish.

The best part about my pa is (when I have him completely to myself) that I can talk to him about anything. Today morning (7 am) we have been discussing about the new plants want… Actually I had insisted on them in the first place but like he cares for them now. Then we had our first cup of tea ( We don’t brush!) Ummm then Of course I started talking… random stuff. We discussed communism, socialism and capitalism (serious business!). And this one of the few times when he is so not defending my sis!

Then of course, he told me what he would actually like me to do. Blah… pa thinks I am still his lil monty ( I hate it… when I am called this!). He was so fretting over about how am I gonna manage flying off to another city all by meself! ( love him for that!)
Lastly ( as always) I ask him, whether “I am pretty?” ( this is a constant!) Ummm he very diplomatically replies “ Of course, my children always look nice!” Sigh… that will do for now.

Comments

  1. aaah..now that is sweet..indeed :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. that was really nice!! :) Way to go.. Btw the like the last sentence esp.

    ReplyDelete
  3. hmm....i went back to some old memories.......i have nothing to add here....sorry.

    ReplyDelete
  4. loved ur dad's answer... abt u being beautiful...

    anyways, u are... :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. My dad and I would have insane conversations when I was little and was of the opinion "My daddy knows everything". I'd constantly badger him with questions.

    I'm no longer ten, but my dad still thinks I am. Which is a pain sometimes. :/ I suppose all dads think that way about their daughters. :P

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

GO ahead, say it out loud!

Popular posts from this blog

#Sorry not sorry

I feel sorry for ‘Sorry’ – such an abused term. When you come to think of it, it is just a word, right? It holds significance in some instance and at times, it is a mere excuse. But we humans absolutely love it as an excuse, don’t we? I use this term a lot; I mean a lot! I think of myself as a kind being, and hence, if I happen to push or ignore (deliberate), I say ‘sorry’. I say sorry for things that may not need a ‘sorry’. I say ‘sorry’ to people I am not really feeling sorry for (don’t read this the wrong way). In short, I say ‘sorry’ a lot like I have already admitted. It is my ticket to moving on, a ticket to redeem myself for mistakes and sometimes, tinged with slight sadness (maybe).


But is ‘Sorry’ the right word? Mean, is it even appropriate? Like they say, first you commit the murder and then say sorry. What is the point of it? I would say nothing. Sorry – the term originated from the West Germanic term Sore that evolved to Sarig, meaning pained or distressed. It is also known…

Mind vs the heart

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Picture courtesy: Google. Only for representation purpose.
Standing on the highway, Roads leading both ways to somewhere, I stand still and wonder, Where do I belong?
The soothing lullabies of the green mist fairies call.  With promises to wrap me in the cool calm fog, Holding me in wet, gentle caresses, lulling the storm within. 
The call of the shrill, salt-laden sea sirens,  from the sun-baked rocks, Pull me back To join them as they make me one, in the fathomless abyss of wonders unseen. 
I lament my fragile being,  Born with one heart, not two, Torn between the ebb and flow of waves, And earthy scents in muddy dew. 
Both offer me refuge,  Cloaking me whole in their embrace, Dust to dust, flesh to flesh and soul to soul. 
In this battle between the mind and the heart, The heart but loses steam,  Leaving me stranded on a path to nowhere, never to be seen. 
My mind has been wrought with depression and all things crappy. This is a result of binge-watching a…

I Wonder What Ants do on Rainy Days…

Source: Google Images
On days when the sun has abandoned us, hiding behind the grey, moody clouds. Do they sit inside their hills and wonder out loud? Do they stare outside at the rain, measuring the raindrops, letting thoughts splotch all over? Does the earthy petrichor take them down the memory lane? Or are they content with what nature has to offer? It is a part of their lives, isn’t it? They dredge up foods daily, diligently build their hills, even if it is to serve their queen, only to enjoy it on days like this, no? Maybe they do take stock of things, of their bearings. They ought to sleep it off, take a day to rest or do they lament on the lost time?
Unlike me.
When I gaze out, a gazillion thoughts fly by; some worthy of the pen, some so disturbing that I often question my sanity. I like the grey skies though. They seem like textured canvases waiting for me to scribble something. The lazy raindrops wetting the streets below and casting a temporary stain on window ledges bring a…