Don’t cry over spilt milk

Four babies are being born every second. Scientists at ISRO are toiling hard for nation’s first mission to moon this month. Rules are being rewritten in the finance world which is in a turmoil never witnessed since ‘The Great Depression’. Minissha Lamba is dropping her ‘Kidnap’ itsy-bitsy for ‘Maxim’.

Meanwhile, far-far away from all this excitement, on a lovely Sunday morning, yours truly is busy preparing morning cereal in a kitchen where little has changed since last two years. I take the milk-filled-till-the-brim bowl in living room and try to settle myself in the bean bag. Please don’t try this at your home. Milk spills on my T-shirt the moment my body has comfortable settled. I would have perhaps given a squeak if there had been an audience. But now I silently suffer. I decide to finish whatever is left in the bowl first before getting up to change the wet apparel.

Seconds later, the milk makes it presence felt on the skin on my stomach. ‘Milk is good for skin’ is what I cheer myself up with. Cleopatra bhi gadhe ke doodh se nahaati thi. I read this trivia long back in a ‘Ripley’s Believe it or not’ book gifted to me on the ninth birthday. I was disappointed to see it when I tore open the gift-wrap; was expecting a board-game. But that book did a lot of good to the kid who lived in an age where Doordarshan was his only eye to see the world.

I cringe at the memories of watching ‘Sangeet ka akheel Bhartiya Karyakarm’ and ‘Krishi Darshan’. ‘He-man’ was the epitome of entertainment. Sometimes I here people reminisce those days with fondness; nostalgia is all fine and dandy but I have a sound objection to the claims that Doordarshan-days were much better. Seriously!!! Just how dumb-sighted someone has to be to ignore the choices and improvement in quality of present times in favor of mind-numbingly boring and unimaginative pieces of crap served back then. Kids these days are way too cool . TV has a very important role in this evolution. And to all those who yap about degradation in morals and values, all I’ll say is that we were ignorant, not innocent.

Anyway, back in present tense, while the skin on my stomach is getting the care that Cleopatra was used to, the door bell rings. I ignore it. It works quite a few times. But the possessor of the hand on the bell is adamant. I know this must be one of the aunties who employ the same maid. The "chann-chann" sound of bangles confirms the fact.

“Who’s there?” I shout from within the bean bag with clear hint of irritation.
“Mrs. X. Did the bai come today?” yells Mrs X.
“No. I’ll send her to your place if she comes.” I say in a leave-me-alone tone.
“Ok. Pakka send her. I’ve to take my mother to ……” describes Mrs. X in a single breath.
A resigned “Yes” is what I manage. Mrs X. leaves after cribbing about the maid the maid to her heart's content.

I am not an antisocial lunatic who stays buried away from the big bad world outside. But this ‘Aaj bai nahi aai’ talk pisses me off to no end. Simply stated, I don’t share the same fascination for the topic. Again, not claiming to be a man of sophisticated taste, I admit to watching reruns of Big-Boss on You-tube and discuss the game-plan with like-minded people. But bai-talk is just not my cup of tea. Have told the aunties so many times that I don’t care if the maid doesn’t come, please don’t bother me. Even scolded one of the persistent aunties to not to knock on my door every other day. Strategies also include opening the door wearing just a towel. But, as the great king Singh sings in Singh is King “ Taan Lo Dus Banduke, Koyale Fir Bhi Kooke”, to no avail . Once she called me in the office while I was giving a presentation and even though I just said ‘Yes/No/OK’ during the conversation, the audience gave me a sympathetic look assuming me to be under some serious personal distress.

Well, such is life. Need to change my T-shirt now and move on. You know what they say: