To Break or Not to Break.
So, there's an egg in my window. That isn't a metaphor or euphemism or anything like that; there really IS an egg in my window. Ledge. It doesn't have a proper nest or heavenly abode-type place yet, thanks to an earlier half hearted attempt on my part at clearing the little twigs and sticks that the little yellowish white egg's mummy and daddy had painstakingly collected . I am a romantic like that, because even while trying to poke away the random motley of twigs into nothing-ness, I couldn't help thinking of the big, beautiful nest it will grow up to be and the many happy memories egg and its family will have there.
Anyway, so, now I don't know what to do. I am in what one, in common parlance, calls a dilemma. Well, I could call Babu Bonda and ask him to clear the wannabe nest and drop the egg. Like, he drops his scabs in our wannabe dal. Eugh, gross. Alternately, I could let it be and be a silent spectator to the days of egg's lives. Then again, my very cheerful roomie who is always smiling will smile some more, and ask me uncomfortable questions about the little alter-family I am bringing up. After all, she does have a point. It IS the hottest summer in Bangalore, and eggs stink. Not eggs, exactly. Nests, I suppose. I could counter that by saying that there isn't even a nest here, but she can always counter that by saying that there will be. Looks like egg was a premature egg. You know, egg sort arrived before mummy and daddy had time to prepare for their summer home.
It is, sort of, like a summer home. These animals get going during the summer, I suppose. I remember, in my previous room (when I was an ickle first year, and all things were not bright and beautiful), one of the only romantic things that I would look at and heave extended sighs for- was the goings-on in our Loo window. It was one of those huge windows, with the glass tilted to the wall at a precarious angle. The intervening space, however, was a jungle. Of wild, animal passions. Literally.
That was where I saw my first squirrel-mating. (I have a history with squirrels, so to speak. Once I came back from class to find a naughty squirrel that had crapped all over the goddamned place. Inside my cupboard. In my lens solution. Can you beat that?) And, hopefully, the last. But, seriously, little squirrels chasing in each other in a frantic frenzy till finally one of them (presumably, the she-squirrel) gets subdued and submits sexily affects you in a manner nothing else can. And, you must remember this was the Loo. That holy sanctum of peace. Where you may be yourself. And all I ever got to witness for a whole trimester was crazy animal-porn. Can you blame me if I am a little perverse?
I like being able to blame other inconsequential things for stuff I do. It's lots of fun, and if you haven't tried it yet, extremely convenient. It makes a lot of sense, too. For example, I submitted my projects on last-last-last day. If anyone has the audacity to ask me (especially when- as a dear friend said, I am looking like a canned fish that hasn't slept in 30 hours) why I didn't submit my projects on time, I will give you dirty looks. And then, I will blame the heat. You will also notice some of my better posts are written during summers. I have a theory about How Heat is Conducive to Creativity. And, just so you aren't confused, I mean summer type humid type uncomfortable heat. Not the other kind. What with me talking about animals and mating and all that.
Besides the fact that it's not project(s) time and I still didn't sleep a wink the whole night, and am posting this at 6:30 in the morning; if you meet me today and I snap at you, please know that I'm worried and it's cos of egg.
PS: Major renovation at Blogroll. Be checking out, you.
Anyway, so, now I don't know what to do. I am in what one, in common parlance, calls a dilemma. Well, I could call Babu Bonda and ask him to clear the wannabe nest and drop the egg. Like, he drops his scabs in our wannabe dal. Eugh, gross. Alternately, I could let it be and be a silent spectator to the days of egg's lives. Then again, my very cheerful roomie who is always smiling will smile some more, and ask me uncomfortable questions about the little alter-family I am bringing up. After all, she does have a point. It IS the hottest summer in Bangalore, and eggs stink. Not eggs, exactly. Nests, I suppose. I could counter that by saying that there isn't even a nest here, but she can always counter that by saying that there will be. Looks like egg was a premature egg. You know, egg sort arrived before mummy and daddy had time to prepare for their summer home.
It is, sort of, like a summer home. These animals get going during the summer, I suppose. I remember, in my previous room (when I was an ickle first year, and all things were not bright and beautiful), one of the only romantic things that I would look at and heave extended sighs for- was the goings-on in our Loo window. It was one of those huge windows, with the glass tilted to the wall at a precarious angle. The intervening space, however, was a jungle. Of wild, animal passions. Literally.
That was where I saw my first squirrel-mating. (I have a history with squirrels, so to speak. Once I came back from class to find a naughty squirrel that had crapped all over the goddamned place. Inside my cupboard. In my lens solution. Can you beat that?) And, hopefully, the last. But, seriously, little squirrels chasing in each other in a frantic frenzy till finally one of them (presumably, the she-squirrel) gets subdued and submits sexily affects you in a manner nothing else can. And, you must remember this was the Loo. That holy sanctum of peace. Where you may be yourself. And all I ever got to witness for a whole trimester was crazy animal-porn. Can you blame me if I am a little perverse?
I like being able to blame other inconsequential things for stuff I do. It's lots of fun, and if you haven't tried it yet, extremely convenient. It makes a lot of sense, too. For example, I submitted my projects on last-last-last day. If anyone has the audacity to ask me (especially when- as a dear friend said, I am looking like a canned fish that hasn't slept in 30 hours) why I didn't submit my projects on time, I will give you dirty looks. And then, I will blame the heat. You will also notice some of my better posts are written during summers. I have a theory about How Heat is Conducive to Creativity. And, just so you aren't confused, I mean summer type humid type uncomfortable heat. Not the other kind. What with me talking about animals and mating and all that.
Besides the fact that it's not project(s) time and I still didn't sleep a wink the whole night, and am posting this at 6:30 in the morning; if you meet me today and I snap at you, please know that I'm worried and it's cos of egg.
PS: Major renovation at Blogroll. Be checking out, you.
3 comments:
that was really funny man
amazingly so.
good luck with your egg.
That made me so happy. Really, really. Thank you. :)
Egg's gone, though. The Ammas came and cleaned the ledge. I even paid them 10 rupees. I feel like an egg-killer.
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