Lock, curls and barrel

There are some simple contraptions that scare the hell out of me. A simple example could be a mixer-grinder. It’s more the spinning blades than the apparatus itself that makes my heart want to break out of my ribcage.

I think it has something to do with the incident I had with the clothes dryer we had back home when I was a kid. It was one of those simple dryers, which, during those dark ages, needed to be bought separately from the washing machine. This story begins with one of my unfortunate trysts with the damned dryer. It was nothing more than a simple case of under-loading [that, folks, is the opposite of overloading] the machine, but, for me, something went horribly wrong. It was, what you’d call, a life-changing experience.

After I loaded – or under-loaded, if you please – the machine with my clothes, the bugger grumbled, roared, bumped around like some crazy ball, spun out of control and finally blew its top off – literally! Not only did the dryer’s lid came flying off, it also grazed against my skin, tearing away a good chunk of skin from my hand. Since then, I’ve never looked at a spinning apparatus [especially the ones operated by electricity] the same, simple, naïve, trusting way.

So, it was a few weeks back that a hair straighter somehow found its way to the pad I share with Crazy P. The little black thingy looked harmless enough but I chose to remain skeptical. Exhausted by my, what Crazy P would like to call, ‘unfounded fear of technology’, he tried the little meanie on his ‘just washed’ wet curly locks.

The locks were stubborn, just like their owner. After coming out of the mouth of the black monster, a.k.a. that black hair straighter, his hair was not exactly curly and not close to being straight. It was, like they say, something in between. So to make a believer out of me – and maybe also to convince himself that technology still works – he slapped on a good amount of hair gel on his curls – or what once used to be curls. [Okay, I admit, applying hair gel was my stupid idea.] The little black meanie opened its jaws like a hungry crocodile. As soon as it closed shut its jaws, out came a cry of help from his locks – SIZZLE! SIZZLE! SIZZLE! – as if someone was preparing sizzlers on top of his head.

I’m still not sure that incident turned me into a staunch supporter of technology but it sure did acquaint me with a new smell – that of roasted hair gel. And did his curls become straight? Let me tell you: I’m now of the opinion that it’ll be a whole lot easier to turn a gay man straight.

And yes, a mixer-grinder still scares the shit out of me. As for those stand-alone clothes dryer, thank God, they don’t make them any more.

Still alive… and kicking

The last time this blog saw an update was back in The Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Six. Those were the ten glorious months of opting to stay away from any activity that [literally] paid – such as a full time job, or even a part-time one for that matter.

Those were the golden days of spending quality [and quantity] time with my computer; browsing through some interesting [and some not so interesting] blogs all day, and posting some interesting and some not so interesting blog entries [like this current one] all night [sleeping was something someone’s grandma did, not your truly!]

Life has changed – that too in two short months – after I packed my backpack and left home. Gone are the days. Those glorious days. Those gloriously lazy days of bumming around in the blogosphere. And in these two short months, I’ve made my acquaintance with something I always managed to ignore – or even taken for granted – certain activities, like, changing my linen, doing the laundry/ dishes, etc., [you get the picture] because there were always others around to do it for me.

I guess that’s a part of what you call being ‘responsible’, or being an adult. So far, I’d managed to remain a kid, minus the diapers. Now, it’s ‘hello reality, hello dirty diapers, hello cleaning detergent’. And most importantly, it’s ‘hell-o 9 to 5’. Again.

I think my folks back home would get a minor heart attack if they saw me now. In these two months, I’ve undertaken a crash course in household chores [don’t worry, mom, I haven’t yet learnt how to cook. By the way, does switching on the rice cooker count?].

I’m a dish jockey: Yes, now I dare to bear the chilly Delhi winter water to do the dishes because I really am not crazy about hiring weird looking bais, which means I don’t really have a choice but to roll up my sleeves and get down and dirty.

I got my chops: Hang on, people! I’m soon to get a PhD in chopping vegetables. I’m getting really good at it. Cross my heart. But chopping onions still makes my eyes teary and my nose red.

Laundry service: I’m even washing my clothes myself because I still do not earn enough to afford a decent washing machine and I don’t like the idea of EMIs. And I hate Shakira for falsely portraying doing laundry as sexy as belly dancing. Someone sue that bitch!

Bed shit: And, yes, I make the bed everyday… well almost everyday. And change the linen too [almost forgot to mention that!]

Back to the grind: And two weeks back, I even almost made it to the office on time. What idiot made the dastardly rule that office hours should begin at 9 frigging 30 AM!

Anyways, I’m still alive and kicking the dirty dishes. And, barring the early morning weird office hours, life’s not really that bad!