I'm Posting This Everywhere...

Disclaimer : This message contains certain comments that at best should be overlooked... and at worst, should be undermined... offended christmas lovers please delete this message at this ripe point cause the Grinchess is going to go "Glingle Glingle" over all that overflowing Christmas spirit...


Well, Mother Mary's Mistake was born on 25th to provide the world with a semi-holy Ghost who walked freely among us and turned water into wine and died because nobody else could do that and they all wanted free booze but couldnt make any... so year after year we celebrate the day that marked this great man's birthday, who was the world's first one-man insta-distillery...
And then there was the other guy, Nick, who gave away free gifts to kids, and spoilt them beyond their bratty pants, and their poor parents were supposed to provide gifts, because the brats would not stop until they did... St. Nick just started the tradition, who cares where those poor parents might end up on their way to the toy/chocolate/gift/other goodies shop... cursing their dwindling bank accounts and wallets for being so slim and trim (well, FAT is in, at least when it comes to this)...


And then there are the songs and the traditional cakes and chicken (in lieu of the Turkey or Ham).... yada yada.... Yes, fine, and all that. I just want to tell everyone that it all adds up to the Spirit... the Booze that is...


So there. I had to get that out of my system. For those who reside in this world, Happy Christmas... for those who reside in this world and the Disc, Happy Hogswatch... may all pigs fly.

Panu.

My Way

I stand here in the empty darkness,

Waiting for the first chord of the bass to fall

Behind me lies the distant dreams that I forgot,

In my fingers lie the silken chords of silence.



I can choose but my choices make no move

They melt in the depths of the darker shades,

They rustle through the wind like dry leaves,

They split the dry ground and eases within.



So many memories of mythical madness

My presumptions, my illusions, all fall down

Frequent mistakes I have made, but I

Never thought of the consequences to come.


Now they have come back to haunt

The depths of darkness that stretch in front,

But I must walk this path, although I can feel

It is fading away into the dark abyss.

A Farewell to Cell....

Well, so I lost it. Finally.



For those who does not know, its my new Mobile Phone!!




Well, not so old maybe, but it was only 6 months I had it. I bought it with my own money, hard earned own money.... thats what makes the absence of the fat little piggy so bad. It was my baby, my pillow for comfort. My Nokia 6600.


I will miss you, my bloated buddy. You were there when I needed to video record, or listen to music, or something equally important. Nothing will replace you.

*Audience shall excuse me now while I bang my head against the keyboard.*

Two Poems.... for the mists of an Autumnal Dawn

Arka, this is because I was too lazy to mail.


The Retreat


I've stopped loving you.

Whatever courses through my veins now are aftershocks,

Denied moments of paralysed thoughts,

Unbearably familiar.

Oh, I have stopped.

Waving, wading towards the unreachable horizon of Eternal Belief

When I once perhaps could unite

But now the straining drops of molten wariness

Chase the futile fragments;

My memories float in the shallow pool

Of numb distorted moments of fragmented vision.

Yes, I have stopped it. Finally...



The Partition


My fingers creep towards the door

And unlatches the lock

And then freezes in the distant discord

Of melifluous harmony.

In the roots of my aching bones

Something wake up to call forth

So many dried-up memories

Born again, from the drugged

Hole inside the rusty depths

Of this chaotic vision.


My spirits hover over my head,

Crooning, caressing, craving

The necessity to give in

To shameless, wanton discourses

Of dissected emotions,

Laying them moments apart from

Where I stand, hands frozen

On the doorknob,

Waiting for an entrance

To my divided portions.

The DOSE

So there are talks and there are talks… and then there’s my family. Modest gentle folks would surely get a heart attack after an hour with them in full throttle, and its even worse than Him-mesh Reshammiyyaa-yaa doing a moviee with two ‘e’s and even more songs that can be categorized under ‘u’ with a nasal twang.

In fact, I sometimes wonder why I am with them. I mean, they are rude, arrogant, mentally and emotionally challenged, exceptionally blunt, vengeful and filled with deceit, and crude about most of the things in life and all in all, pains in the butt cheeks.

Oh, that's me.

Part of the time, of course. When I am not being an overly sensitive diva-dolly about something or not moaning about my life, or being agony aunty to my near and dear ones.

So for the last four days I am receiving little doses. I would like to share them and add to your blog-reading pain.

Chapter One

Sister arrives home, exceptionally excited.

Panu takes heed. The fifth bite to the five-star is wisely not made, and is carefully tucked away behind the pile of books she was attempting to read but never really got further than the flyleaf.

N.B. transcreation from Bengali by Panu.

Meghna (enter room door): DIDI!! (Sister!!)

Oh, a small pause. Meghna is 12 years of age.

Panu (cautiously covering leftover five star with the Xerox on Eliot): Ki? (What?)

Meghna (Excitement pours round her vein like bolts of blue lightning): Tui janish sex mane ki? (Do you know what sex means?)

Panu (Gasp! Sacrilege! Gasp! Or according to fish interpreted by Peep, Vulva! Labia!) : Um-

Meghna (know she is on to something prick-y, so becomes real insistent): Janish kina bol??

Panu (still struggling with her 23 year old understanding of life and everything and her sister’s mental status for grasping the major equation and skipping details): Mane—er… (Meaning, er…)

Meghna (wide-eyed with ecstatic energy that courses through her veins every time she lets her poor sister suffer a trick question): Janish na to? (You don’t know, right?)

Panu (at this point chooses the wisest course and gives up): Na, mane…(no, I mean…)

Meghna: Tui kichhu janish na. Sex mane holo f*cking. (You don’t know anything. Sex means the abbreviation for Fornicating Under the Consent of the King... you dig??)

Panu (faintly): Oh. Okay.


Chapter Two


Early morn. Very early. Like five o’clock in the morning. Panu is going to sleep after a hard night of chatting and orkutting. Yawn yawn and beddy bye… just a little formality of closing the door after the father’s left for his three-mile morning walk.

So enter parent’s bedroom to see how long will she have to stay up before the brawny beast (i.e. daddy darling) left for the fields.

Mum sleeps with cheerful disarray, legs bared artfully, her pale skin glistening like pearl under the early morning sun (yeah, yeah, I don’t have a life…). Panu stops to admire the view.

Dad enters.

Dad: Pronam koro. (Pay respect)

Panu: Er, keno? Kake? (Er, why? To whom?)

Dad (indicates the pearly skinned beauty gracing the bed): Pronam koro… tomar jonmosthan ar tomar babar kormosthan. (Pay respect to your birthplace and your father’s workplace).

Panu had NOT seen that coming so early in the morning.


Chapter Three

Mother in the room watching ATN Bangla (probably… or one of those Bangladesh-i channels). Panu sits down.

Onscreen:

Fat woman wearing violent green frump-top with carrot coloured leather-look skirt revealing her fat thighs and wobbly belly-flesh and huge 70s show sunglasses to indicate MODERN MAGI (Modern Woe on Mankind). Fire engine red high heels try to attempt some semblance of movement, but gasp here comes the Hero!

Hero enters with James Bond’s gracefulness without the grace bits hanging out, shaky head and revolving body in virulent shades of red and purple retro material. Yellow trousers and blue boots complete the ensemble together with ruffled hair gelled and colored in the front to resemble an ice-cream cone with chocolate sauce on top.

Hero enters. Kills most of the cast and crew, gets hit by a baddy (who had better dress sense than the previous two… only flaw was that golden waistcoat), kills him and falls.

Heroine (heaving bosom and Bangladeshi English accent): Ponti! Ponti!!!! PONTIIIIII!!! (calls hero’s name)

Throws herself on the hero. Hero suitably mollified and out of breath after having a 60-plus kilo woman fall on top of her lets out a groan.

Heroine (wails): PONNNTIIIII!!!

Panu wonders if the poor man has a death wish/ his body insured against unsuspected falling objects. And moreover, all that screeching is bound to make any man deaf. Wishes for a pair of earplugs for herself and the poor fashion disaster on the loose.

Hero: groan!

Heroine: PPPPONNNTIIIIII (boo hoo)… PPPPONTIIIIIII!! (gasp sob GASP) I LUUUURRRBHHH IUUUU!! I LUUUURRRVV IUUUUU!!!(GAASP!!)

Hero has miraculous recovery. Tears glisten on my mother’s eyes and she wipes them off with the back of her palm. Day saved, superman switches channel.


And here I draw the curtains.

COME AWAY, COME AWAY!

Peter Pan came into Wendy’s life and changed it… he took her away to Neverland and made sure that she never forgot the adventure.

But then Wendy had to grow up. She had to grow old. She had to remember her duties and her self.

And so she did.

But she never forgot what it was like to be gay and innocent and heartless.

Away, away… far, far away to the distant dream of forgetfulness… and then back to reality and duties.

And this too, shall pass.

Shall be a grain of sand in the infinite beach of time.

Woe is Me

Okay, so the matriarchs just shot three brand new troubles at me that goes by the common name prospective husbands at me... and gave them my cell phone number....

Damn me for going to Patna in the first place. Looks like this country is getting too little for one overweight person.

And my neck is in a brace because flu struck and I struck the steel bucket. See, theory of cause and effect at work.

And now I must leave. I am supposed to study for tomorrow's exam. Only, I haven't done a thing.

You

The mid-autumnal depression settled down on Panu’s weary soul… filled with the temporal gloom that she was habituated by the 23rd year of her life. It was always this way. It will always be this way. But it is not this way. Not this year.

Behold the madness that comes with the forbidden! Panu feels the pangs of her conscience strike her unblemished behind with guttural force, but still she stalls, still she is unable to give up the call of temptation that drags her away from her peaceful deluge.

And then she sings out in the depth of fading darkness. She sings out her fear. Her doubts. What has she done? What is she doing?

What are you doing to me?

I can’t rest I can’t work

I cant move, I cant sit still

All comes round when the time approaches

And as your voice pours in

The indescribable joy that

Infuses my very soul.

Damn you! I wish

You did not have the power

To do this to me.

To make me weak and carefree

Spilling all of myself

Right out to your waiting ears

Your taunting face

Flashes in a vision, lips

Curled into a cruel smirk

Standing, shifting right beyond me,

Watching my folly with unbidden delight.

My soul twists up in conscientious knots

But waits for your call

When you let me soar high up,

My body rocking with pleasurable pain

Of your absence.

Once there was a Cow...

And that was fattened and cut up.

And poor Panu was stuck with the calf.


So at this point if anyone wonders what the heck is this sadly demented woman screeching about, I daresay, the calf is a symbol. A symbol for dewy-eyed susceptibility and an unerring nose for trouble.

This has been my punishment, my sorrow, my unfortunateness that there was once a DON, who was ze Great Boss....

And then there was the calf. The Clone. The deceptive little thing that was nigh on impossible to make out from outside what it was going to be. That thrill of anticipation was so great that even Panu decided to place a bet on the outcome.

RESULT : Ah, clones are never the same. Just look at Dolly. And look at Rampal trying to be Pran, OH THE DISGUST it fills me with {together with a healthy dose of lust to see those gorgeous mass-scale muscles on the move.... thanks Mr. Almighty for still keeping thick-skinned men whom women(and of course, the occassional male as well) ogle}.

And then came that stutterer whom I expected to say "d-d-d-d-donji!!" any moment in the film, and somewhere in the first half-an-hour, I started to regret not going to see "Jaan-e-Mann" (where there were a lot of long-haired bare-chested crying men, from those reports I heard.... and nicer songs).

So all in all, NO, I WAS NOT HAPPY To Spend hard-earned money on something that was a cross between Duplicate and Manikchand Ad.

And advice to all who will be spending their hard-earned cash in the near future for it : Please. You'll get the CD of the real thing for a few rupees... stick to it.

Nobody, but nobody can beat the Big B.

*hem hem*

The Theory of Relativity

And no, it aint Einstein.

So, on an uncertain evening of October, the grandparents of a cousin land on our pujo-Aching backs, just as we were recovering from seeing off one set of Grand-Parents (By Grand, I DO MEAN Grand, I.E. Ma Durga and her Brats.... they were quite demanding I dare say, Looking for brand new benarashi sarees and blisters on poor big toes... ) on and with truckloads of maniacs who waylaid anyone who got in the way....

Anyway, they are mean, and they are here to stay. For the next six days. Just when I had all the intents to work on my TERM PAPERS. THREE TERM PAPERS. And at the verge of it, my poor room gets ransacked (I.E. I have to clean it because clearly those grandparents will go with a magnifying glass to find specks of dusts on unsuspecting places and then go home and tell all about uncivilized women who keep their room according to their convenience. As a result, prospective mother-in-laws in HYDERABAD will turn their faces from the evil woman who will ruin their poor son's life by breathing the same air and therefore leave Panu a very miserable spinster desperate enough to date girls and whatnot).

SO my room is not mine anymore. Those two will lay their bald and black hair on my pillows, totally disregard my raggedy pillow that I just have to smother my face in, in order to go to a restful and much desired slumber, after a night of insomnia. They will be mutilating my racks of books for a bangla thriller (while all they find is a banged up Gitobitan, a Tenida Samagra, my Parashuram and Tarashankar collection) and lament that "P=== r joto Jadobpurer aantlaami.... apasanaskriti"(Panu suffers from false Jadavpurian intellectual pangs... signs of unculture) . And this from people who spell my name with the greatest amount of incorrectness possible.

And on top of them, I cant say a word. I must run now.... Gotta cook up something for them.


WAAAAHHH!!

My room! MY POOR POOR ROOM!!! WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU!!!

Sheempel Plejaarsh.

Well, I have been tagged by Miss Peep and therephore, I have begun a deep search deep within my heart and realized that I love a lot of things in life, but most of that is kind of twisted and extremely un-simple... er... I mean, they are complulukated.

So ten simple pleasures of myn lyf.

10. Rain. The first drops on the dry earth and the musky smell and the wet spots on my schoolclothes to the day after day drops of Jupiter, and moving through knee-deep water. Come to think about it, I also love the sound of Thunder and the Blinding Lightning. Sometimes I go upstairs just before a storm and stand there till rain drench me.

9. Working with my pets. They are so trusting, they love me for exactly what I am, not for what I have or who I am going to be. I feel so content when Ghotu perches on my shoulder and playfully pull my glasses or my earlobe.

8. Cooking. It relaxes me after a hard day's work to let some of the tensions on an unsuspecting alur dom or chicken teriyaki.

7. Music. My kind of mushic. When I want to hear them.

6. A good Mills and Boon. To cry my eyes out at the brink when I am drowning in Derrida or fouling up Foucault.

5. Chocolates. I think I am an addict. I love caramel-filled, Butterscotchy chocolates, oozing calories. as they melt in my mouth.

4. Weightloss. Ah... the moments when someone says I have lost weight, or that I look good. Ah puppy fat. GOOD RIDDANCE.

3. Walking miles and miles with Andro. Anywhere.

2. My room. I love my room. I love my bed and all the junk on it, my bookcases bulging with book, my casette player that refuses to play casettes, my mountain of xeroxes and most of all my pillows. My small, thin pillow that I refuse to let go of.

1. Reading before sleeping. Almost anything goes there, but I remember once I was desperate enough to read my accountancy book. I daresay I had a very restless night.

Fine

I tag others. Just you unsuspecting creatures wait.

A community thank you note

This I sent to all my friends at Orkut. I had to post it here as well.

Shubho Bijoya to you. May this year be as great as physically and spiritually plausible.

Thank you thank you whoever sent me birthday greetings. I mathapete take JAP's Ayush'man' bhava.... HOW THOUGHT(?)FUL.

Aritra - I shall put myself in the third position.

Rimi - Saatkhun maaf.

Rashidi Gargidi Amritadi Kurry - Thank you so much

School Friends - Thanks Satu, Arps, Raws, Goru,Priyanki, Idrisha, Arjun,Arunava, debipriya, surupa, Kamu, and everyone of you who wished me. Whoever did not, I magnanimously forgive you all.

Swayam - bhaier underwear Sujan ferot diyechhe??

Jennifer - ah thanks babe.

Sriram, subhankar, Alone in the dark, debashis, Dev, sujoy, Abhik, Sudip, Zesporking, soumen, jhilom, Shiv - thank you so much

Suchismita didi - birthday went well, got a bit mussed by pujos.

Antara shaoli srimoyee priyanka - I love you all and really sorry about nabami. I shall tell you the horror story later.

Lagnajita - thank you

Rosy - Ahh, you sweetie.

Kaichu - Sikkim theke fire amar oi boita dhar chai bole rakhlam.

Shutapa - Love you hun.

Somak dada - thank you, sediner surprise kemon chhilo??

Pritam - ah you know I would save you for last. Thanks for the card, you thoughtful thing.

And all who forgot, I forgive you.

Shubho bijoya ebong samabeto kolakuli.

And then there were Some...

Tune: London bridge is falling down-

Silicone tits are hanging out

Hanging out, Hanging Out,

Silicone Tits are hanging Out,

Of my F*cking Bytches


Ah, those days when I would get away screaming *Misbegotten Freakingchoos* at all and sundry on a sultry summer afternoon while lazing away at Allen's Park near my beloved Xavier's. Oh I miss you so... I miss being a responsible member of the English Academy pinching the odd fifty bucks off Professor Biswas, I miss P.Lal's Saturday classes of incredible fun (because he used to give us books if we got his answers right), I miss Bertie's brand of super-charming Twelfth Night classes. I miss the canteen, I miss the library, I miss the classrooms, I miss Father Eton, because he was so nice.

And I miss Sir. I miss you. I miss Araby. I miss The Fly. I miss Paradise Lost. I miss Cricket Scores.

I miss my innocence when I believed that I was a cynical beeyach, overly confident on oversized feet. When I look back now, I know I can never go back to what I was once upon a time. Dear readers, who are at this point wondering what the f--- am I doing drowning in nostalgia, I suggest you take a hike because I would continue in this vein for a few more posts. Just to get all this off my bosom, impressive as it is.

The Power of Discretion

I have recently found out that discretion gets me stuffs. For discretion read anything that does not involve screaming at the top of my lungs.

So there on the sultry afternoon of one fine September day, sun sets and birdshit on the background, my friend asked me the eternal question:

So....

What do you want for your Birthday??

Needless to say, Panu was speechless with happiness. This selfsame friend, who cringes at the sight of creditors, runs at the mention of a treat, and faints at the thought of an upcoming birthday actually stood up to Panu's impressive bosom and dared to ask....

And Panu went for the kill.


Therefore all was well. Panu dropped discreet hints all over.

Result, two weeks before her birthday, Panu was the proud owner of two brand new books - Terry Pratchett's Hogfather and Moving Pictures, a brand new Blondie's Greatest Hits CD, a new pair of super stylish shoes in pale cream, two new pairs of earrings, a wristwatch, a bracelet, a lipgloss, a lovely pale green hand bag and a game called Taboo.


Nasty little cutthroat.

Thats what I Like myself to be called.

Anyway, the other day, Peep, Teleute and the JUDE pee-pal were acting in this play called Laxman Shell-shocked at Gyan Manch.

Needless to say, I reached too late, I left too early, but I saw all concerned.


On another note, I daresay I am extremely dissatisfied with myself. Its impossible to change myself, Its impossible to be what I want to be.

So I have decided to be me for a change and drive the world out with my madness.

In the ancient days 0f loneliness, once a little spot of blood called for love and the young girl grew up in a second of momentlessness.

Is there such a word? Momentlessness? I do wonder what I will do with all these spare moments going to waste and momentlessness creeping over like a silent assasin, waiting for the right time.

And though this post began on a note of discretion, its no longer a meaningless piece of nothingness, it has great potentials to become something that just might change your life, and become a milestone for future generations.

But no, why waste my time to do this??

Its impossible to make sense of what I say, because no one is like me and no one can be like me just as I cant be anyone else, and I am too annoyed about it because no one knows what its like to be me.

Am I feeling sorry for my self?

No, I am annoyed.

Only way I can describe myself right now.

I dont have time, but the wasted moments crowd behind my eyelids, waiting to erupt, and stream down my cheeks. I dont have time, but still the smell of wet ground after the first rains on a hot summer day remind me of my ways and days and how I wasted myself away, wasted my potentials, and destroyed what I needed the most.

I am sorry. Oh God, so sorry. Forgive me.

Ahem... I said

All this time I have been not recognising my power of writing nonsense that makes perfect sense.

Well................

A huge thought is whooshing around the surface of my ever-imposing brain that I just cant seem to forget....

No no, its not anything to do with my nearly non-existent social life... nearly extinct blog life, or disgruntlingly short Orkut life....

It has something to do with Monty Python. This is a sketch on pornographic bookstore...


The cast:
SECOND ASSISTANT
Eric Idle
NID
John Cleese
FIRST ASSISTANT
Terry Jones
MAN
Terry
GASKELL
Michael Palin
FATHER
Terry Jones
MESSENGER
Terry Jones
ELIZABETH GENT
Eric Idle
SPANIARD
Terry Jones
VOICE OVER
Terry Jones
WIFE
Carol Cleveland
MADDOX
Graham Chapman

The sketch:
(We see a bare room with a counter and magazines in racks on the walls at eye-level. Three drably dressed men are thumbing through books. One of them is a vicar, one of them is gathering a huge pile. Behind the counter is a Soho toughie in Tudor gear showing books to Mr Nid a tweedy, rather academic, respectable-looking man of senior years. The customer goes through, and the wall slides back.)
Second Assistant: There's a 'Bridget - Queen of the Whip'.
Nid: Yes..,
Second Assistant: Or 'Naughty Nora'... or there's this one: 'Doug, Bob and Gordon Visit the Ark Royal'. Or there's 'Sister Teresa - The Spanking Nun'.
Nid: Mmmm... I see ... you don't have anything specially about Devon and Cornwall?
Second Assistant: No. I'm afraid not, sir.
Nid: The one I was really after was Arthur Hotchkiss's 'Devonshire Country Churches'.
Second Assistant: Well how about this, sir: 'Bum Biters'.
Nid: No ... not really ... I don't suppose you have any general surveys of English Church architecture?
Second Assistant: No, it's not really our line, sir.
Nid: No, I see. Well, never mind I'll just take the 'Lord Lieutenant in Nylons' then, and these two copies of 'Piggie Parade'. Thank you.
Second Assistant: Right, sir.
First Assistant: (voice over) My Lord of Warwick.
Second Assistant: 'Allo?
First Assistant: (voice over) Raise high the drawbridge. Gloucester's troops approach!
Second Assistant: Right.
(He presses a button below counter and the wall slides back. The man with the big pile of books comes up to counter.)
Man: Just these, then.
(Enter Gaskell in Tudor gear. The wall closes up behind him.)
Gaskell: All right. This is a raid. My name is Superintendent Gaskell and this is Sergeant Maddox.
Second Assistant: Ah! Sir Philip Sidney. 'Tis good to see thee on these shores again.
Gaskell: Shut up.
Second Assistant: Your suit is fair and goodly cut. Was't from Antwerp?
Gaskell: Shut up. It's a disguise. Right! Confiscate the smutty books, Maddox.
Second Assistant: Sir Philip!. Prithee nay!
Gaskell: Listen, mate! Don't come that Philip Sidney bit with me. I'm not a bloody Tudor at all. I'm Gaskell of the Vice Squad and this is Sergeant Maddox. ',
(They all look at him blankly. He looks to Maddox for support and realize he isn't there.)
Gaskell: Maddox! Where's he gone?
Second Assistant: Sir Philip, prithee rest awhile.
Gaskell: Look. This is the last time. I'm warning you, I'm not Sir Philip Bleeding Sidney. I am Superintendent Harold Gaskell and this is a raid.
(Everybody resumes their book-buying and ignores him. At the counter the assistant is still totaling up the huge pile of books.)
Second Assistant: That'll be 540 quid sir.
Man: Oh, I'll just have this one then. (takes top one)
Gaskell: Maddox! (addressing everyone in shop; they ignore him) Look, this is a raid. (no reaction) Honestly, I promise you. (people start to leave through the rear door of the shop; Gaskell blocks it) Where are you going?
Customer: I'm going home.
Gaskell: Right. (looks for his notebook but it's not in his Tudor clothing) I'll remember you. Don't you worry. I'n remember you...
Customer: Pray good, Sir Philip, that you...
Gaskell: Don't you start! Maddox! (the customer leaves; other customers start to leave) Listen, I can prove to you I'm a policeman. I can give the names of all the men down in 'F' division at Acton: Inspector Arthur Perry, Superintendent Charles Frodwell, my best friend, police dogs, Batch, Wolf, Panther, Maudling. How would I know those names if I was Sir Philip Sidney? (the vicar comes up to counter) Look, vicar, you know me. The Gargoyle Club - I got you off the charge. (the vicar leaves guiltily)
Second Assistant: Farewell, good Sir Philip.
(He goes out carrying a pile of magazines. Then the vicar goes, followed by the Tudor man.)
Gaskell: Hey, stop! (the door slams; Gaskell turns and looks round the empty shop; pause) Maddox!
(He rushes up to the sliding wall and beats on it. Then he turns and makes for the little back door and goes through.)
Gaskell: You'll never get away with this, you porn merchant. Blimey!
(He stops and gapes. We cut to his eye-line to see he is standing in a beautiful, green, Tudor garden. In the distance a Tudor house. A girl is sitting on a stone bench, sobbing. Gaskell walks towards her, bewildered.)
Gaskell: Maddox!
(The girl looks up at him with beseeching eyes. She is young and beautiful.)
Girl: Oh good sir, how glad I am to see thee come. Forgive me weeping, but my love has gone.
Gaskell: Er, listen. My name is Caskell ... Superintendent Caskell of Vice Squad. Myself and Sergeant Maddox are on a raid. We are not Tudor people. We are the police.
(An Elizabethan gentleman appears through the trees.)
Father: Frances, what idleness is this? Why, good Sir Philip Sidney, (he bows extravagantly to Gaskell) What hast thee here?
Girl: (turning to Caskell with bated breath) You are Sir Philip Sidney?
Gaskell: ... Possibly... but I may be Superintendent Gaskell of the Vice Squad.
Father: Ah good, Sir Philip, thy sharp-tongued wit has not deserted thee. Come. Let us eat and drink. Stay with us awhile.
Gaskell: All right, sir. I think I will.
(They walk off together am in am into the idyllic country garden. The girl looks after them with hope in her eyes. Bring up Elizabethan music......)
SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: 'THE LIFE OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'
(Mix through to a Tudor dining room. At the table a group of Tudor gentry are sitting listening to Gaskell. Evidence of a banquet, and two minstrels in attendance. Gaskell has obviously just finished a story. Applause and laughter.)
Gaskell: . .. then did we bust the Harry Tony mob, who did seek to import Scandinavian filth via Germany. For six years they cleaned up a packet - the day I got whiff of them through a squealer and within one week did a mop-up right good. They're now languishing doing five years bird in Parkhurst.
(Applause. They are all very impressed. Cut to exterior. A messenger on a horse rides full pelt straight towards the camera. It is dusk. He stops outside the Elizabethan house, leaps off and dashes into the house. Cut to interior again. They are still all laughing from his last story. The messenger bunts into room.)
Messenger: Sir Philip. The Spaniards have landed in the Netherlands. My Lord Walsingham needs you there forthwith.
Gaskell: Let's go.
(Cut to exterior. Gaskell is seated on the back of the messenger's horse and they gallop off. The dinner crowd are standing waving on the doorstep.)
Dinner Crowd: Good luck, Sir Philip!
(Cut to a British standard fluttering in the breeze against the blue sky. Fanfare. Two Elizabethan gentlemen, and four men dressed as Elizabethan soldiers are standing on a cliff top. Gaskell strides up to them, and takes up position on topmost point of the knoll.)
Gaskell: Where are the Spaniards?
Elizabethan Gent: Down below Sir Philip, their first boats are landing even now.
(Shot of a sailing-galley seen from above.)
Gaskell: Right, you stay here, I'll go and get them.
Elizabethan Gent: Sir Philip! Not alone!
(Cut to the beach. Suspense music. Gaskell strides up to the camera, until he is towering over it. The music reaches crescendo.)
Gaskell: Allo allo! What's going on here?
(Cut to beached rowing boat piled high with bundles of dirty magazines. Two Spaniards are unloading it.)
Spaniard: Ees nothing, Senor, ees just some literature.
Gaskell: I know what literature is, you dago dustbin. I also know what porn is. (pulls out a loose magazine and brandishes it) What's this then eh?
Spaniard: It is one of Lope De Vega's latest play, Senor.
Gaskell: 'Toledo Tit Parade'? What sort of play's that?
Spaniard: It's very visual, Senor.
Gaskell: Right. I'm taking this lot in the name of Her Gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth.
Spaniard: Oh, but Senor.
Gaskell: Don't give me any trouble. Just pile up these baskets of filth and come with me.
(The second Spaniard leaps out of the boat with a drawn sword and they both engage Gashell in a fight. Then we start to draw away from them, leaving them tiny dots in the distance fighting. Fight music over all this and voice over.)
Voice Over: The battle raged long and hard, but as night fell Sidney overcame the Spaniards. 6,000 copies of 'Tits and Bums' and 4,000 copies of 'Shower Sheila' were seized that day. The tide of Spanish porn was stemmed. Sir Philip Sidney returned to London in triumph.
(Cut to stock film of Elizabethan London street during celebrations.)
SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: 'LONDON 1583'
(Cut to side on close up of Gaskell riding hard through woodland)
Voice Over: Covered in glory, Sir Philip rode home to Pensburst to see. his beloved wife... but all was not well.
(Gaskell runs up outside another Tudor house and strides in. Cut to interior of an Elizabethan room - paneled walls, log fire, latticed windows, etc. Sir Philip's wife is sitting reading. Gaskell enters.)
Gaskell: Good evening all, my love. I have returned safe from the Low Countries. (she hurriedly hides the book she is reading under some knitting and starts whistling) What an thou reading, fair one?
Wife: Oh, 'tis nothing, husband.
Gaskell: I can see 'tis something.
Wife: 'Tis one of Shakespeare's latest works.
(Gaskell picks up the book and reads the title.)
Gaskell: Oh ... 'Gay Boys in Bondage' What, is't - tragedy? Comedy?
Wife: 'Tis a... er... 'tis a story of man's great love for his... fellow man.
Gaskell: How fortunate we are indeed to have such a poet on these shores.
Wife: Indeed. How was the war, my lord?
Gaskell: The Spaniards were defeated thrice. Six dozen chests of hardcore captured.
Wife: (trying to look innocent) Hast thee brought home any spoils of war?
Gaskell: Yes, good my wife, this fair coat trimmed with ermine.
Wife: (without enthusiasm) Oh, lovely, nowt else?
Gaskell: No, no fair lady. The rest was too smutty.
(He settles himself down in front of his lady's feet and the fire.)
Gaskell: Now, my good wife. Whilst I rest, read to me a while from Shakespeare's 'Gay Boys in Bondage'.
(The wife looks a trifle taken aback but reluctantly opens the book and starts to read with a resigned air.)
Wife: Yes... my lord ... 'Gay Boys in Bondage' . .. Ken, 25, is a mounted policeman with a difference... and what a difference. Even Roger is surprised and he's... (she looks slightly, sick with guilt) he's used to real men ...
Gaskell: 'Tis like 'Hamlet' ... what a genius!
Wife: 'But who's going to do the cooking tonight? Roddy's got a mouthful...'
(Enter Maddox - a modern-day plain-clothed policeman.)
Maddox: All right, this is a raid.
(The wife screams, Gaskell leaps to his feet.)
Wife: Oh! We are disgraced!
Gaskell: There you are, Maddox!
Maddox: Cut the chat... and get in the van.
Gaskell: Maddox! You recognize me...
Maddox: Indeed I do, Sir Philip Sidney, and sad I am to see you caught up in this morass of filth, (he picks up the book) ooh - that's a long one.
Wife: Oh oh... the glorious name of Sidney is besmirched ... all is lost ... oh alas the day.
Gaskell: Shut upl I know this man - this is my old mate Sergeant Maddox...
Maddox: You'll do time for this.
Gaskell: Oh Maddox - it's me - Gaskell ... 'F' division down at Acton ... Inspector Arthur Frodwell.
Maddox: Come on Sidney. (he bundles them both out) And you, miss.
Gaskell: I'm not Sir Philip bleedin' Sidney .... and where were you? We could have mopped up that Tudor shop...
(They are bundled out. Maddox pauses only to pick a book from the bookcase near the door.)
Maddox: Ooht That's a good onel
(Cut to outside a modern theatre stage-door Gaskell, still protesting, and wife are bundled out and into a police van. As it drives off, it reveals on the side of the theatre a poster saying: 'The Aldwych Theatre, The Royal Shakespeare Company Presents "Gay Boys In Bondage" By William Shakespeare'.)

I Guess the Bard never perhaps thought of it so well....

Its all in my Head...

"I repeat, is there anyone home???

Silence.

Claustrophobia drag me down. Inside myself, there is so little space.

So I try to summon my others to find the way out... unfortunately they were all covered with a brown mass of semi-solidity."

Inside every fat girl there is a thin girl and a lot of chocolate. Mine is called Panu.


And Panu comes out as a vivacious redhead, with a temper to match her inclination to have sex on the kitchen table during dinner. With Matt Damon or Hugh Jackman. Unfortunately, the mirror tells her another story. The mirror never lies. It just points out that though she might have been all the rage in an Arabic Harem, they are not really in high fash now...

So Panu decided to be bisexual to accomodate all her needs.

Hey presto! Flocks of females flocked around her... she promised love to all.... and at the end of the day realized, she was becoming as sleazy as any man. By the way, she loved it.

Butt then, reality check was necessary. One day, a handu gandu prince drove in his white innova and decided to make the woman, in which Panu recided, his bride.

And then he decided (poor doctor that he was) to give Panu a lecture on Hamlet.

Well... needless to say, all the bull he doled out led Panu to disagree. The woman tried to stop her, but Panu could not stop speaking.....

And well, they did not live happily ever after. No one really does, actually. Trouble was, Panu was too outspoken for their taste.

And the beat went on, the search continued..... And Panu was glad she was alone.

Ah the Pains of being Alive....

I did not see you today
Reclining in the shade of the tree
Rings of cigarette smoke swirling around
The white shirt clinging wetly to your sweat-soaked skin.



On a more prosaic mode, I dare say I have been extremely busy trying to avoid an ex-flame whom I have met up in JU.... Buggerit! As if I care!!

And we begin the Pujo Countdown

Panu the shameless bargainer has yet again begun her Eternal Quest for the Perfect Top. Those who come to their workplace everyday in the same pair of torn jeans with a scratchy crotch never knows what a buxom lady with an eye for Gucchi goes through before the ten-armed Goddess appears with her four semi-freak kids (one of them semi-bestial, I daresay).

On a cold day in end July, Panu was wandering lonely as a cloud near Gariahat, Kolkata, minding her own way, being delicately groped by an elderly uncle whose left foot was dangerously near her stilettos, when lo and behold! She spied from yon bus window the word Sale and 50% off on the doors of Pantaloons.

Oh Joy! Oh Glory! Oh Joyful Glory! What gratifying sight that was! A place to shop without the hassle of people pushing her sideways, no worry of a picked pocket, a safe place to keep her heavy bag, and above all-----------

the changing room where she could try out all the stuffs she carried.

YAY!

The very next day brought Panu to Pantaloons.

Oh no! How can this be?? Only yesterday did the sale begin... how come so many people stood before her, waiting for their baggages to be hefted in by the security people???

The interior looked no better.

People here, people there. People virtually everywhere.

She ran towards the Kurta section. Pantaloons (till very recently) sported a fab-u-lous kurtis. She had espied one a mere week ago. Oh please God! Let there be top.

No sign of the damn thing. Who was the dumbass who said God is great? Take it from me dude, he is'nt.

Suddenly, a glimmer of burnt orange beckoned from a faraway corner. Panu whirled.

Ohdearlord!!!

You ARE there!!

Thank you lord... thank you thankyou thankyou----

Oh damn, who's that fat-arsed cow and whats she doing staring at me like that there?? Why is she glaring at me??

Oh!

That was the mirror.

Well, she snatched the desired kurta and ran towards the changing room...

Twenty metres to touchdown...

Fifteen.....

Ten.....

Eight.......

Oh damn!!! Whats that line?

Caught!

A long line befell Panu. Saree clad women preceeded Panu. She stared helplessly at the long queue. Women glared. It would take at least an hour to get to the changing room.

Reluctantly she turned around.... resignedly she called the valiant Andromeda, her trusty sidekick.

So here I have a great question that I must ask you....

And here the eternal question of womanhood is asked----

Is it looking good on me?? Am I looking good in this??

Two questions with fabulously different senses....

Anyway, Andromeda shook her head and decided to be diplomatic.

You look good in both.

Just when I dont need diplomacy.

One desperate attempt was made. Panu picked up one and headed for the cash counter.

Payments made, she came out.

And Andromeda had to open her mouth.

You know, I think the other one was better.

OH Darn it!!

Three Weddings, a Cell, and a Name

Those of you were thinking Panu would take another year to recover from the horror of Kriish, guess again! Here is the one and only, everyone’s truly... ambling on with her rambling self again. And this time there is plenty to ramble about.

I always thought that naming people could be eminently easy… here in Kolkata, a name is one of the easiest thing to find. I found mine with my great-paternal-aunt-grandmother (i.e. she was my father’s great-paternal aunt) Rajlakshmi Devi. Unfortunately, the name also brought its side effects, one of which is the direct result of my blog name, given to me by my aunt, S***** B********… I mean, imagine yourself being called Panu (means ‘Porn’ in Bengali, for the advantage of those who didn’t know) all your school, college and University life… especially when your family did not know the meaning of Panu, though they are Bengali sods through and through. But put yourself in my position, and imagine you being called by that name all over an amusement park by your uncle, and people looking with scandalous amusement at the defaulter of civil laws, not to mention some parents who put both their palms over their children’s ears… and at the end of the days just going and telling your uncle what exactly the implication of your name was. And then watch him blush despite his Brown-skinned complexion.

Well, er, where were we?? Oh right… the naming.

So dear professor asked… What should be she named… My little daughter… what Identity should I give her?

Name. Name. Name.

They came by bags, by dozens, by thousands and hundreds. I looked and looked over… and finally chose a few that I wanted him to contemplate.

The final five were -

Srutipriya, Spriha, Taijasa, Shaipatri, Supoorna.

And then came the selection time.

Srutipriya (Someone who loves listening)

Advantage: Knowing my professor, I would say that will have to be an essential virtue for those who live with him.
Disadvantage: She wont be able to spell it (both in Bengali and English) before class V.

Spriha (Zeal)

Advantage: same as above
Disadvantage: too short. And it can be shortened to Spree… that sounds like a new cold drink.

Taijasa (According to the Upanishads, the second last stage of the greater consciousness)
Advantage: lovely meaning. Very deep and all that.
Disadvantage: can be shortened to Taijash… and then taijashpatra… that is the sanskrit for Bay leaf.

Shaipatri (Erm… meaning unsure… something to do with a friend)

Advantage: sounds lovely.
Disadvantage: can be shortened to shoi… that’s the Bengali for autograph.

Supoorna (Well completed)

Advantage: lovely meaning. Completed in a good way and all that.
Disadvantage: will be shortened to Supu in school and soup in college. I really don’t think someone wants to get stuck with a name that's compatible with ‘sweet corn chicken’.

On another note, after 117 days of rigorous saving and scraping her precious money, Panu is now the proud owner of a new NOKIA 6600. Yay! Future blog posts will be hopefully a bit more scenic.

And finally, on to the BIG NEWS!!

Firstly, I shall warn you people who still are patiently reading this post that the following things happened on the span of 29 hours… from 2.00 a.m. of 12th July to 7.00 a.m. of 13th July. Off we go!

2.00 a.m. Panu gets a call from a very odd number.
“Hello.”
“Hello this is S***** here hon, guess what I am doing now“
“Huh! Oh yeah, you’re at San Francisco???”
“Yes… and I am Married!!”
Panu sits up on the bed. At wide alert mode.
“Married?? To whom?”
“B*** stupid! Who else?”
“Congrats!! I am so glad for you two.”
“Here, he wants to talk to you.”
Phone is handed over to B***
“Hey”
“Hi!”
“So you are the famous Panu who’s been bringing my S***** to sense. All I can say is Thanks.”
“No probs… treat S***** right or else!”
“Sure! Anyway, we owe you a big deal, Panu.”
“Oh please---“
“No really…”
Panu at this point of time hears the phone being snatched over. The voice of S***** comes back.
“Hon, would have chatted more… but you see…”
“No No! You guys… please… put the phone down… your phone bill… must be skyrocketing.”
“I’ll call you later. And I owe you one.”
“Yeah, enjoy babe.”
“BYE!!”
-click-
S***** was the first crush I had. When I was in class 6, and he was in class 12. After 6 years, I found out he was gay. Early last year, he was cut up about his break-up with a married man, who used him abominably, and for which he attempted to commit suicide, and would have succeeded perhaps. I am no Mother Teresa, but I cant see a guy hurting. So I counseled him for a while and he left for USA. Later last year, he met B*** and fell in love all over again. Brad’s a bit older, but I know they will be happy. Don’t ask me why. I just do.

That day, I was supposed to attend a distant cousin’s marriage. So I fell asleep planning what to wear with my sari.

9.00 a.m.

Phone rings again. A groggy Panu picks it up.
“H’lo”
“Panu I’m getting married, come over right now.”
“Yeah right” -–slam—

Phone rings again. Irritation laces Panu as she picks up the damn cell.
“Hello??”
“Hello, I’m Sayanti’s Mother speaking.”
Panu knows this voice.
“Hello Kakima”
“I think you should come over. Sayanti’s getting married.”
“Huh!??!”
“No joke my dear. The marriage was fixed Sunday night at 3.00 a.m. We are still calling people up. Come over please… I need more helpers right away.”

The day closed into night with a strange sense of unreality. I saw a dear friend getting married to a man she had known for only three days. She was so mature all of a sudden. Was this the same Sayanti who had been wearing a pair of shorts and a spaghetti top only a fortnight back? I looked and searched for the girl, and found the woman, chanting along with the priest in a strange, heavy voice. At night we joked, we made comments to the new bridegroom who was equally cool and casual. And when she left, I felt empty. The ruins of the marquee in the community hall was strangely bare, and I who had always been a jewel for making comments realized I had nothing to say to all that went on for the day and the night. Nothing at all. I just felt… strangely… relieved. As if, there was hope for me too.

Kr-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish

Down the rivers of Baby-lone this porno-loving beeyach went to spend her hard earned money on yet another muscle-bound flick because it was a boring saturday afternoon and she had nothing else to do.

So she was snared by fellow wannabe profess-whore Anni who dragged her to the nearest sleaze-theatre where every song was greeted by dudes dancing on the seats, and the first sight of the STAR earned him roars of appreciation and Sities (I.E. Long, pronounced whistles). Twice Panu's coke was spilled because the arse-jerk beside her had to scream "Hrithik!!!"

This Offended Panu. Seriously, did he think Panu was so ignorant as to not know whose flick it was?




Please!

And though I know Indian blogsphere is protected by a certain jock-slapping-fat-arsed-haute-beeyach with fabulous complexion (enough to give me a complex), but someone had to take up the position Shaktiman left off and Hatim wasnt really cutting it. Places like tank.com called Kriish the most awaited Hrithik movie, the sequel to the famous spastic superdream Koi Mil Gaya, that made the word alien second famous in the hindi dictionary, the first one being Jaggu.... erm Jaadoo (name of that particular alien who was featured there, means magic).

And after seeing it I can say that those of us who love hindi films taken to the levels of absurdity by copy-paste should go and see Kriish.

Remember Paycheck?? The Ben Affleck flick?? A computer that can see the future?? There.

Remember Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon??? Those IMPOSSIBLE leaps made by Chow Yun Fat, Michelle Yeoh and Zang Ziyi?? There too.

Remember Spiderman?? The spider-walks and hangs??? There as well.

Enough Remembering. All in all, the morale of this story is never cross no spastic papa who has a wannabe superhero at home.
But anyhow, the only saving grace of this movie was the star. It was enough to see that Hrithik's long absence from the movie world has not lessened his ability to act. He still can. Very well indeed. And he was the sole reason why I did not walk away after viewing the first half. And maybe because I loved the cinematography.

And perhaps because I loved the muscles.... what flesh...

I should get laid. I should.

I mean, I have been reduced to watching Chunkey Pandey on filmy channel on a sunday evening!!

Help....

To My First Best Friend...

Roshun,

*I am writing this down because you gave me virtually no warning of your departure to Hyderabad.*

This is not a letter where I would be all nostalgic and dippy and sobby sobby, and recall all the times we got each other into deep shit. This is not a letter where I would give you old counsel like the Ladki ki ma and say ta ta to you and go off in a merry manner.

This letter is to tell you that we won't perhaps be meeting again as we did, be happy in that innocent manner that we were, or even have the same surname (what with you getting married and all).... but baby, you were the first ever friend I had, and thats why you hold a very verrry verrrrrry special place in my bloated soul, and you will have that for as long as I live and breathe (until and unless I have alzheimer's or go into a coma.... disasters not to be taken into cosequence). We have had 20 long years of friendship.... and I wish for many more... even if we do not see each other as often as school, or even college.

When I kept the phone down the other day, and realized that this is perhaps the last time before you begin a new life in another city, I felt so damn sad, not exactly because my friend was going away, but because it was you. And I was worried. 'What if's crowded my mind. I have looked out for you for so long now, I feel bereft because you are gone.

I sound like a damn funeral march. But I am actually happy for you. Very happy. Finally you are gone to a place where they wont hurt you anymore. I am so damn relieved. I love you, you know. Right down to your not-so-fat arse.....

Come on baby, you Know I will never stop making fun of you, I mean, I will commit suicide the very day I fail to respond to a jibe from you.

With muh blessings, fly away. By the time you read this, it will probably be an old post in my blog. But you know what they say, about gold, old and other rhyming words...my poetess.

Keep being the way you are,

Peyaj.

Bus Stop Blues

Whenever I need sonmething God refuses point blank to give it to me. And the glaring example is a bus in time.

Today, Adt called up.

"Darling I need so-and-so-cream from A*** please get it for me I need it byebye[click]"

Okay. The cream's worth a bunch, so I had to go.


In the heat of the afternoon at 4.00 p.m. kolkata time, Panu stands in the deserted bus stop waiting for a bus to arrive.

No Bus.

5 minutes later


NO BUS.


5 more minutes pass by


NO FREAKING BUS.

Panu looks up to the shade of the tree over her.

Now the equivocation begins...

Oh please crow, dont shit on me. Oh Lord, get that Goddamn Bus!

Oh please crow, nice crow.

Sweet crow.

5 more minutes

Panu gets desperate. No freaking Bus still.


O No, something gleam in the distant horizon. A bus!! A BUS!! Oh LORD, thou Exist!


Route 45. O no, God is dead. Bleeding Nietzche!!!

The first commandment in Bus Bible comes to mind at this point to Panu's heat-encrusted brain.

thou shalt not get up on a route 45 bus until it is a matter of life and death

This Was a matter of life and death.

The reason why I hate this bus.

- Groping by extremely uncool people, most of them over the age 45.

- Glares from overdressed Marus who go into constant boob-comparison.

- Constant leers from the conductor who acts as if he has never seen someone over 130 pounds/60kgs in jeas and kurta.

- The Lebulojensaala... dont wanna explain this one.

- Bus moves in extremities... either extremely fast or...

- Pickpockets and con artists who has taken the level of pinching goods to the height of artistry.


No FREAKING WAY!

Panu gets up on the bus. A moment later, zooms past the Bus of her dreams. CRAP!

Panu gets down. Takes an auto to the destination. Zooms past another bus. Crap repeated. Panu gets real turdy by this point.


SO THERE!!

Off my chest...

P.S. here's the pictures promised of HUGH.

The HUNK OF THE MONTH

As promised to the few webpests who trawl through this blog, I have a spread of Jackman.

But first............

Sorry. Had to get that out.


Where were we?? Ah, Hugh Jackman.

Sod! Lost the Jackman Pics.

Well, lets change it to Heath Ledger... HJ to HL. Cause.... MMMMMM he is HAWT!

Ah, there's my Honey Pumpkin.

Ah.... scrumptious in Black and white.

And this one's ... Ummm..

And this one... Here is a close-up on Heath.

I Just soooo love straight men who play Gay!! This one is for you Jay!!

OKAY

Before I begin the post, I believe I will be starting a Hunk-of-the-month thingy .... and the first one is Hugh Jackman!!

this post was a mishap. Why else would dear Panu sit up at the late hours to pour out bitter misery and murderous passions to the unsuspecting handful of poor creatures that make the mistake of entering the rightful space she owns in the blogsphere?

Panu can give very simple reasons for this mishap.

a. She was under the delusion that she was Liz Taylor after her 6th divorce and therefore this whole post was a sign of the old gal finally going off her rockers.

b. She had a bout of stomach flu after the three humungous scoops of Bavarian Dark Chocolate Chip Ice cream with chocolate sauce, wafers in a chocolate and nut covered waffle cone that she shamelessly wangled out of a poor, unsuspecting creature who didn’t even guess what hit him till he was paying the bill.

c. She had finally read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time By Mark Haddon and My Name Is Red By Orhan Pamuk on the very same day when she was supposed to study Foucault’s The History of Sexuality II and was thus suffering a massive attack of guilty conscience.

d. The aforementioned 1st book in c. was the direct reason for her to believe that she was detached from the rest of the world and a math freak (as if!! Panu suffers everlasting Mathophobia to its full extent).

e. She was swamped by old familiar faces and was swamped by nostalgia as she joined Orkut and made 84 friends in 1 week and 3 days flat, and realized she was virtually the last person to know about it, everyone else(other bloggers, that is) were talking about it since ages.

f. The particular guy mentioned in the post was featured in one community in Orkut that she too joined.

g. She found out that her biological parents still went at it like rabbits, for she discovered their condom supply (and this is the end of this point).

h. She received a large box of Belgian Non-Industrial Chocolates from her cousin Big Brother along with Yves Saint Laurent’s Paris perfume which resulted in a late-night -drinking party with father and the Brother, directly inducing all of the long-buried pains to emerge from the darkest parts of personal wastelands of Panu’s consciousness.

i. The exams. Bloody buggers. And still bugging the hell out of her poor, pious soul and ass.

j. Old diaries that came out with the annual room cleaning. This room clearance thingy is Panu’s greatest grievance every year. Panu hates a clean room. A room is just not a room unless it’s down and dirty.

k. A and her boyfriend’s intimacy. Jealous Panu sneaks around, unable to express her own grief at seeing unworthy hands maul her precious Andromeda.

l. Her second blind date and third marriage proposal.

m. The aforementioned Belgian Big Brother’s revelation of living together with a Belgian Girl friend (to the utter consternation of the parents) who is six feet tall. Brother and Girlfriend look like Ken and Barbie, reminding Panu (poor darkling that she is) how Even Undateable creatures ( Own admission, mind you... here Panu is being a bitch and loving it.... back off Helen, Bindoo, Dholakia) are getting adoring drools and she getting nothing. No loving. Nada. Nil. Zip. Zilch.

n. She has been lost in The Waste Land, drowning in Death in Venice, sweating with Sappho, fighting with Prufrock (not JAP the blogger), simplifying Symposium, courting Kureshi, screwing Sula, massacring Murder in the Cathedral, Sexing the 'Peare, Snorting at Sade, Hammering at The Hollow Men to no avail. She is still grappling with her syllabus and ending with nothing.

o. A visit to a Medical College Fest (Zephyr, 06) and screaming one’s head off with Bhoomi’s songs.

p. And this is the end of it, Panu has just discovered that http://aibbappsss.blogpot.com (mark the lack of the ' s' in blogspot spelling) leads to a Mega Site for Bible.


Lots of mishaps are going on in Panu’s otherwise nonexistent life. Simultaneously. Panu hates doing so many things together. Even Superwoman needs rest. But it seems this lazy ass is doomed to an existence of misguided activities, doing things that she should not, saying things that get her into trouble. Panu tries to control these wayward emotions, but just when she believes that she’s got them under her thumb, out pops a new one. And then the eternal, flaming racket repeats again.

Well you who has passed all these barriers of broken bits of my life, know now, what exactly have you been doing reading my post.

Correct. You have been reading what I went through in one single day of existence.

“Beauty is truth; truth beauty”

Or, in the immortal words of Porky Pig:

"That's all, folks."

Cameras Back to Me!!

Ah!! the sweet smell of freedom. Though the poor nose is blocked, and head still aches like shit, this babe's back on the track to waste blogspace with absolutely nothing else to write about but herself.

So, I would like you guys to turn your attention here before you move on. Jay has written this lovely post on Art and Digicams, ( and several other unmentionable things), that take me back to my favourite artist in the small screen...



RICHARD KARINSKY!!!



And talking of Artists, here is one more whom I like... rather, this one's a picture by him.

And before I go off track to do something else, I better tell you that I too am aspiring to be an artist. And I shall be specializing in Blog Blobs.

The last post

was a mistake. And when I return after 3 days, I will explain why.

vbI should be studying. I should be taking rest. I should be doing anything but write profitlessly on my sequence of sameness. Why is it that the words keep on flowing?? Why does the vacuam grow inside my self when I am staring aimlessly in the depths of the night, thinking of nothing else but...?

I love you. SO cliched. So boring. So like the gazillions of other people who have thought, said, and done it so many different languages, but never ever has they understood proper what LOVE really is, because its the very same people who have suffered the shadow between the essence of love and its dissent into language. So no, I won't be telling you all about that.

So what is the purpose of this post???

Well, yesterday I saw the person I thought I loved six months ago. And I felt nothing. Nothing.

So there. End of the story. The thoughts have died and so have my will to write. I am sending over a poem I wrote 5 months ago. You all who read it are free to make comments.

Need

When we were inside
And we were pulling and pusihing
Tearing apart with indecent haste
The vestiges of our senses,
Pouring deep inside
The tiny vortex that lay
Suddenly trembling,
Then, then was the time
When all stilled. All made
The sound of silence.
And we stilled as well,
Holding each other as the dawn filtered in.
And I knew the need that binds you to me.

Of Marriages and MayhemS - the conclushun

So the ordeal is finally over. Panu is back to her semester exams because Gata and Mrs Gata are off to the hills of Gangtok for the Luna de Miel (honeymoon), eating momo and a supply of the never finishing Ramen.



By the way, the Noodles are called KOKA instant noodles and they come in different flavours, like Singapore stir fried, curry, pepper crab, Chicken Satay, Tom Yam Goong, et cetera)

The Ramen is basically passed off to our place, since neither my aunt nor anyone else is interested in what they called Bideshi Maggi (foreign Maggi).

Incidentally, Gata calls Mrs Gata Saitani Magi (not to be confused with the aforementioned, this means “devilish slut-equivalent”).

Well, where were we??

Oh yes. Umm, do you people realize how many incidents have been happening through the last two posts. JAP told me that MayhemS are like LuggageS, bad English. But I have to use it. Its been like a few days of mini turbulence that has got to me pretty bad. My generally peaceful existence is traumatically tortured, what Babelfish might describe as a whirlpool in her fishbowl. She too is a fellow sufferer. I remember telling Rimi to quit with the marriage trauma bits somewhere in January, if I recall correctly. I hereby beg forgiveness, because I can UNDERSTAND the totality of the sense of being turned upside down, inside out.

Background music : Bismillah Khan er Shehnai, or Stacey's mom By Weezer. Or Snoop Dogg's Drop it like its Hot. Whatever!!


OK people, here is a lovely pic from the wedding. Its my Mum. Isn’t she tall??

This was of the Gaye-Holud (icky turmeric-applying ceremony on the wedding day).

She's the tallest of the lot.

And the only one whose face is showing here properly.

Beside her is the Hyderabadian Aunt, with the yellow saree.



Yep. Tall. That's why I always wanted height, to look nose-to-nose and say, “I’m going out.”

And the Hyderabadians left on 14th, a day before my semester exams began.

Well, meanwhile, the sister’s been a real sport and let me cut her hair… only the front, of course. Well, basically, when it comes to cutting hair, I am a bit like Phoebe in Friends. Its like, I can easily be distracted or misdirected. My sister wanted her hair cut like Kagome in INUYASHA.

SO I began.

With the half-blunt pair of scissors in one hand and comb in the other, Panu went for it. It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it!

SO I took a deep breath and snipped.

Ok. Nice going, the side was ok. Now for the center.

As soon as I cut off a little lock, Meg is like… “Oi, What are you doing??”

I weathered that silently.

M – DIDI!! Beshi katish naaa!! (don’t cut too much!!)

P – Fine!! ( Aside: Bitch!!)

M – OI, Oi!! OIOIOI!!!

P – Uff!! Dara!! (Wait!!)

At this time meg does a sudden shimmy. Panu is left holding a little chunk of silky 11-year old hair.

Whoops!!

M – Oi, tui ki korechhish? (What have you done??)

This was followed by an outraged scream (EEEEKkkkk!!!!!) in front of the mirror, followed by AAAAARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!

Well, for those who are interested to know, the result was not pretty. Ma gave me a sound talk (MOTHERS!! They cant even take a leetle mistake gracefully) and Meg doing the famous Beat-Scheme.

Its like this:

Meg & Me are having a fight. Meg hits. Panu hits right back (deserving little runt!!).

Meg hits back immediately followed by a rush of :

Asobbho, Ulluk, Paaji, Gadha, Chhuncho, Rascal, Honuman, Goru ……… MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA DEKHO NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA DIIIIDIIIII AMAKE MARCHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE {Uncivilized, Raccoon (it may be wrong... I can't find a proper English eqivalent for this one), Sadist, Donkey, Rat, Rascal, Monkey, Cow…………… MAAAAAAAAAAA Look Sister is beating me up!!!}

Ma enters. After a few solid slaps delivered to Panu asks, “Ki hoyechhilo bol!!” (Now tell me what happened!!)

So you see, the sister’s better off somewhere else. PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEAAASEEE someone TAKE HER AWAAY!! I'll even throw in a supply of Ramen.

Of MarriageS and MayhemS

The Saga Continues…

So then the day before wedding arrives, and we were all very happy for finally getting rid of our 26-year old BIG, SPINSTER SISTER who Married for Love. Ma and other Aunts & Uncles suitably gasped and choked when they came to know this 3 years ago when Rinidi declared she had no intention of making a match with any handsome doctor since she had Sougata dada who loved her. Unfortunately, love and marriage did not mix.

First, the Astrologer predicted a suitably horrible end for Sougata dada if he married before he turned 28.

Result, DELAY!!

Second, the biyebaris (marriage-houses) nearby were full on 10th of December. Since that was the only time last year when Sougata Dada was not abroad, well you can guess what the result was again.

Yep, DELAY again!!

Third, on February, when Sougata dada (from now on mentioned as Gata) was in town, Rinidi’s Ma declared the royal NO because Suman, Rinidi’s younger brother had exams.

Therefore, the wedding was set on May 1, 2006. MAY DAY!! MAY DAY!!

On 30th April the Aiburobhat for Rinidi was set. Aiburobhat s are big things for us original EastBengalis (which means we are originally from East of Bengal, now called Bangladesh, and we support the Football team East Bengal), and Rinidi’s was no exception. The feast was set lavishly for 73 people, including the drivers and photographers. We all helped in serving, and looking after, as in “bhalo kore khachho to??” (Are you eating properly?) Or “ar ektu mangsho… na korle sunchhi na.” (A bit more meat, and I wont take no for an answer), and food went off the plate to the mouth in the blink of an eye.

Then we danced off the night, doing an inpromptu cha-cha-cha with Chandrabindoo, and me and tinni did a little lesbian Salsa with Kishore Kumar and Item songs. Fun began when everybody, including grandparents began dancing.

* * *

Meanwhile, a new force has joined the Hyderabadians from hell. My cousin from down under (i.e. Australia), and his parents have come down specially for the wedding, and wonder of wonders, what have they brought for us from Kangaroo Land??

Packets of Koka instant noodles. Lots of them. 140 to be exact.

When asked WHY??? They replied, “toder sakolke biyer breakfast eta diye karabo bhebechhilam” (we thought we would feed you all with this as a wedding breakfast)

*Incidentally those who are shuddering at a Ramen Wedding breakfast, let me assure you, for Indians, the breakfast is not the feast. The feast begins at night, before/while/after the bride & groom gets married*

I would have understood chocolates, but Ramen?

Meanwhile, the Hyderabadian Hulk made comments…

Panu comes fresh out of shower, a Dhundhul scrub in her hand that was used to scrub her body off dirt and dead cells.

*Incidentally, the dhundhul is the fruit of the dhundhul plant, containing seeds within, and looks slightly like a giant cucumber, brownish cream in colour.*

Hyderabadian Hulk – Uff P di, you look hot…

Panu(perplexed and bewildered, looks downwards at her generously proportioned bod)- where??

H H – oi, tomar haate eta ki?? (Oi, what’s in your hand?)

P – err… chhobra… ? (er, scrub…?)

H H – O. ami Dildo bhebechhilam. (Oh, I thought it was a dildo)

Panu cringes. Yes, that Panu who never thought she could flinch from anything, actually shudders as she thinks of her body being brutally scrubbed by a Dildo look alike.

* * *

And then the night came for Rinidi, looking suitably radiant for all of her 5’ no inches, 77 kg body that was hefted up by not two, not three, but six men to go 7 times round Gata’s 5’6”- 55 kg frame before she revealed her face for Shubhodrishti (charmed gazing of bride and groom).

And then there was the Madhuri Dixit ishtyle shoe stealing, that has been a part of Indian weddings ever since the movie, Hum Aapke Hai Kaun. In this case, it was a shoe-robbery, when one of my sisters tore her shoe, sat and threw me a single shoe, and told me to run. I ran, ignoring my jewel pink saree and 3-inch high stilettos and threw it to a brother, who threw it to another sister who ran. Meanwhile, old men & women from the groom’s side raised a ruckus (sore losers that they were!!), and Gata trapped Rinidi behind closed doors and said, ”Juto ferot dao, bou ferot pabe.”(return shoes and take back the bride)

And then Panu went to DA RESCUE. Amitabh style, she crashed through the semi-closed bathroom door into the room, and before Gata’s very eye, and bewildered “eki!! eki!!s (What’s happening!! What’s happening!!), the whole Baashor (post-wedding night staying awake ceremony) party came in, and settled down. Gata did not take the defeat gracefully, settling into a sullen silence. But we made masti (fun) all night long, singing, dancing and Dumb Charading.

In short, the wedding night was done when we got the fruits of our labour, Rs 5000 from Gata in the morning and a promise to a treat at Barista.

Lovely Wedding, hmmmm??

Of Marriages and Mayhems Part I

In between a term paper thats yet to be written and a looming marriage of Rini, my cousin sister, I have more or less lost the conceptions of a time when I woke up at eight o'clock in the morning and started my day with a dose of soft rock and jiggly pop. The house is crowded with a bunch of OUTSIDERS from hell--- er, Hyderabad, and basically pulling all our body hairs on their ends just by being here. The Long-Distance Aunt, and her husband, and the husband's parents, and their three children, and their family friend (who has appeared into the scene because she claims she has never seen a Baangaali Wedding), who has two kids of her own ( the oldest being a year my junior) have suddenly taken over my room, my CDs, my BOOKS, my stuffs, and my life. The brats (aged 14, 16, 13, two belonging to the Aunt, one to her friend) are running around, disturbing my aura, disturbing my Mother, who seems to be at their beck and call 24-7, never begging for a raincheck. The worst bit is that, they constantly bugger my pets, (my Birds) who rebelled the first day by biting the 14 year old's hand, and resulting in eternal damnation in Cockateel Parties to come... and the older ones are the worst. Rinki, the Aunt's daughter has a crush on the Friend's boy who has developed a crush on me. Wild as this may seem, I have discovered that I am Crushable (i.e. I feel suitably crushed by this hulking crusher) and my woe lies in the fact that this has made the only person I like in that entire group 'jealous' and therefore I have lost the one friend I had in that Lot.

Anyway, the Grandparents are worse than mine. Those who does not know, I have a Grandma from each side of my parents remaining, (both my Gramps lucky enough to flee to eternal peace and quiet after 50 years of World War III) who compete with each other on being overactive. My affectionate name for both is Buri (old Woman), yet I favour my Dad's buri to my Mom's.
Well, Dad's buri is running like P.T. Usha at The Hyderabadi Gramps' favour. Mum swears they had something going when they were young (and still Do, from what I see) ... the Oldie has to lift one finger and his wish will be done. Incidentally, this old lech tried to feel me up when I touched his feet, hugging me tightly, and putting his right hand on my ass, gave it a tight squeeze. I've been running from the Lot ever since. And the Old Woman is no Worse. She is the step sister of my grandfather who sent her children over to Kolkata when they were young, and they stayed with us (all three of them), till they graduated. Needless to say, not a single penny came out of their parent's pocket. At this point, I admit I am being bitchy, but I hate it when these hypocrites arrive empty handed each year to our place, and leave with their hands full.

Back to the Buri. Its still Dad's Buri by the way. She's 77, though her vanity admits to only 75 of these years. Once a tyrant, age has reduced her to a general dogsbody around the house who is only too pleased to be running around trying to do everything. In this she generally succeeds, by the way. If there is anything she prefers more than being the doormat is being the saint. But she is even better at being Narad (Hindu Mythology sees this creature as being the instigator of major fights), watching with real pleasure as others cut each other up.

And then there was her Kaanchi Pyaanch (scissor twist action) where you fall into a Catch-22 situation. An Example at this point is called for.

Victim arrives late at night. Confronts Buri

Buri - Kothay gechhile??? (Where were you gone off to??)

Victim does not respond.

B- chup kore dariye achho je?? Mukhe ki katha shorchhe naa?? (Why are you standing dumbly? Are'nt words coming to your lips?)

Victim at this point begins to explain, but is cut off at the first three words....

B - Abaar Mukhe Mukhe Katha??? Choap!!! (You dare Talk Back?? SHUDDUP!!)

See?? Damned if you do. Damned if you don't.

And then there was that IPS Officer who came last Sunday for Coffee, tea and me... I mean, He came to look me over for a matrimonial match. Needless to say, it was a disaster. For once, I do not go for 30 year old KAKU types with Moustache and Paunch. For another, I hate being asked dumb questions by people who do not know what they are talking of.

An exerpt from the conversation.

Would-be - uhh... tumi Hamlet jano? (do you know Hamlet)

Panu (with extreme wariness) - hyaan... (yeees....)

Would-be (with all signs of apparent relief) - AMIO!!! (Me too)

At this point I must say that if this is the situation of Indian Police, No Wonder our Country is going to Hell.

The conversation ended after I calmly explained to him precisely why I could not marry him (and no, I did not have to mention his aforementioned vices at all) and that was that... One more day to live through.

But then I lament too much!! Trauma. Thanks Rimi for THIS.... its the least we can share.

My Andromeda... MINE ENEMY...

tI am actually getting popular in blogland cause 1069 times my profile was seen to this post since November 2005. I am NOT bragging. Check my profile to see it! Its true!!

For those who are concerned, this is a Bitch POST against my Best Friend ANDROMEDA, or A.

I love my best friend. I DO. I swear.

So there I was trying to celebrate my friendship with my best friend that has rolled on to its third year. Readers, take note that though she and I met 4 years back, I did not trust her for the first year or so, and considered her the most nyaka (Non Bangaalis read affectatious, but really, this word has no proper translation, if you know what I mean) person I have ever had the misfortune to meet in my sorry existence , that, incidentally I still believe.

So here's my list of complaints. But before, you all must know my woe. My tale of sorrow and pain. Here is a leetle incident. Believe me, we have had many.

Well, yesterday was one of the busiest days I ever had. And the weather did NOT help me a jot. The whole day was HUMID, and I soaked in it with Andromeda, sweat pouring down my body, taking with it my heard drunk morning litre of water. At these points of life I really Hate her, because she has the type of MILKY PEACHY skin that glows when it sweats, and looks like as if she's risen from some Arabian wet dream, all honey and softness. I, on the other hand, look like a ripe PAANTUA whenever I get hot and bothered.

Then we went to LANDMARK to get a CD for her Sister's birthday.

She argued with me for the better part of two hours over what to give her sister, and between X-Men and Lara Croft, she presented me with a fit of sulks when I asked if she would like Charlie's Angels.

And then was the part when at LANDMARK I went orgasmic over The Simoquin Prophesies and Mr. Pratchett, she looked and dismissed them with a bored... "WHO?"

And then came the time where she left me at the metro station and I had to wait for two hours before I got back home (at this point I might add that normally it takes only half-an-hour to get back).

Not only this.

My complaints are -

1. She does not return my books in time, and when she does, I find them marked with icky pink marker.

2. She cannot control her laughter. Once she starts giggling, she does not stop. And when she giggles, she shakes. And her body moves like a mass of pale jel-o, waiting to explode.

3. Flirting is like her second nature. It comes to her as naturally like a newly hatched duckling to water. Be one or a hundred years of age, no one is immune to Andromeda

4. BABY. The word was made for her. She Bawls, She Screams, She Throws a tantrum if I forget to bring her cherry wine lipgloss, or say no when she wants to walk ten kilometres on a May afternoon. BUT I HATE IT when she talks baby, mumbling out just to look pretty.

5. And I hate her on the phone, talking nineteen to dozen to her Boyfriend for ages while I look around, scratch my ear and in short, get bored out of my numb scull.

6. I hate her when she hogs my stuff, not using them herself and not allowing me to use them as well.

7. And I hate it when she does her lip job... sticking it out and going " BOO HOO HOO".... This girl does not cry "WAAAAH", she goes Boo hooo....

Et cetera Et cetera Et cetera

Yes. I am Spoiling for a fight with her. Its been three years and no showdown. Real couples have showdowns. Memorable fights.

*sigh*

I'll have to give up on that dream of living together and opening a lingerie shop called "Sin Creation" with her.

Oh well. I am short of candidates. Audition anyone????

I DONT CARE IF I DON'T

This world is after me. But I Don't care. Why should I??

This has been a disastrous week. I hate it with my soul.

Sorry reader, I have to explain the current state of misery, hmm??

First was the Vote ID making..... 3 hours in the sun.

Then was the SEMINAR from HELL, where I got Jharofied by TINTINDA.

Then came my TV appearance (and here I would like to thank all who did not see the programme thinking I was fooling them).

And then came this!!!

It began about 10 days ago when a long term chat buddy R*** called up after a year or so. I being naive, talked to him for all of 20 minutes, about several very general topics. After that we rang off amicably, and that was the end of it.

Today, I got a call from a fellow:

Caller X : Hello.

Panu : Hello? Ke? (who's this?)

X : Are you free now?

Panu : erm... what??

X : Look, I am a Friend of R*** ... he gave me your number and told me to call you.

Panu : But may I know who is this??

X : I'm X***

Panu : And why are you calling me?

X : R*** said you are very good at *uh* *slight gulp* certain stuffs...

Panu *genuinely bewildered* : what Stuffs???

X : You know, phone sex and things. He said, you were very good at it.

Panu : WHAT!!!

X : Er... whats your charge-------

*At that Point, Panu put the phone down*


I know my blog name is silly and suggestive, but honest to GOD, if it was not meant to tease or tempt. I just wanted to keep something my Chhota gave me.

And yes, I am no prude, but somehow I still believe in Virginity and Happily Ever After and the whole Valentinoesque sweeping off feet part (though I admit that sweeping off part is a bit difficult, considering my size).

But I hate being lied to and lied about.

HATE IT!!!!

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Your Hair Should Be Purple

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Ramblings of Panu-star

Today I was talking to good morning, midnight about our normal blog patterns when she said a curious little thing.

“ Ar Blogging korte bhallagchhe na re…” (Don’t feel like blogging no more…)

Somehow, a curious lethargy is spreading. I feel like screaming sometimes… there is no one who would listen. Its depressing the way I lead my life… my blog is the evidence. I take life WAY too literally and get kicked in the guts all the time.

Sorry folks, guess Panu is in self-deprecating mode again!!

Anyway, I should tell all who would believe (for this is kind of unbelievable) that I will be on TV. The reason for not believing me would be the date. 1st April. On that day, I will be on ETV Bangla at 6:30 p.m. sharp. For those who would want to recognize me, look for the young sidekick dressed in BLACK.

The whole episode took place a couple of weeks ago, when I ditched a couple of queer studies class to hitch a ride to the ETV studios where I was supposed to take part in a game show, Shashurbaari Bonam Baaperbaari (needless to say, the game seriously challenged my intellectual capabilities and took heavy tolls on my nerves and deducted at least 2 years from my rapidly dwindling life).

I went. I saw. I conquered. I saw bright lights and stars after the first battle. The second made me lose my temper, and I held on to my wits for the third. What struck me were two things:

1. My Matchmaking Mother immediately tried to pair me off with the “handsome” (according to her) singer on the show, without a single thought of him being married with two kids.
Her defence: tui to lamba cheyechhilish?!?! (You wanted height?!?!)

2. They had a 3-feet tall person who was my dance partner. And I, a modest five-feet four…

There is no fairness in life. At least, not for me.

Reader, consolations should be in order.

ITS A DOGGY DEMON LIFE!!!

My sister, at the ripe old age of Eleven and half is in love with a Japanese doggy demon called Inu Yasha. The worst part of the matter is that no amount of teasing, tormenting or bribes has stopped this nonsense. It was okay when she fell in love with Dinosaurs and then Pokemon, but then, it was not like this. This time, I'm afraid, its true love. She says, and I quote word perfect: "When I see Inu, my eyeballs turn heart-shaped."

Excuse me now when I gag.

The next bit is a bit more on the non-accusatory ishtyle, Meg and I also watch Ranma 1/2 together, and guess what? Ranma, the protagonist, a boy, becomes a girl when he comes in contact with cold water(or water at room temperature) and turns back to a girl when she(?) comes in contact with hot water. Sister says : "I am really confused about his/her gender."

And how I agree...

Oh Dear Darling Dastardly Demon of a sister mine... how you are growing up.

Is this the little girl I carried??