Break my heart in little ways,
Softly,with great care.
Tell me a half-written story and
read me an ending that was never there.
Bring me words with little magic,
Sing a song half-way, leave a sentence unfinished.
Wake me up in the middle of a dream.
Show me a rainbow without indigo.
A story that ends, lightens my heart.
Songs that finish, make me sing.
Words, nouns, complete lines make sense.
A dream that transports allows a dream.
The seven symmetrical hues catch the
first breath of wonder.
Walk away sooner.
From sights, sounds, meanings and books.
Break my heart in little ways,
Softly, I pray.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
NOT THE KNOT!
‘Sorry Madhura, I can’t make it for your birthday today. My in-laws are coming over.’
Your in-laws can come anytime they want; my birthday comes once a year! No, that’s not what I told her. But yes, I said that loud and clear in my head.
That time has come in our lives, when we have husbands, children, mother-in-laws, grandmother-in-laws, new priorities and much more. The horrific part is, we also have to accept a new set of parents.
Suddenly there’s no greater joy than changing one’s status to ‘married’ on Facebook. There’s no bigger life event than
Karva Chauth. In fact, the new best friend is the sister-in-law herself!
Okay, I don’t have any sort of personal vengeance against the latest trend but why is everyone following it? It’s like a set of skittles, knocking each one down. It’s like small pox. A disease! And there’s no way for immunity.
‘Ah, just herd mentality,’ says Priyanka.
‘I know, it’s scary,’ says Aparupa.
‘I still have so many things to do,’ I conclude.
And the three of us are inwardly thinking, ‘when is my turn?’
I’d be lying if I said all this isn’t playing up in my head. It is. But I have so much to do before I’m cajoled to meet a batch of eligible suitors.
Firstly, there are a million places to visit. Paris, Geneva, Spain, Greece, Vegas, Vietnam, Pondicherry, Rishikesh. I’m yet to experience the best thing that ever happened. I’m yet to do something that’s going to inject a rush, I’ve never felt before. I’m yet to be completely reckless and take a risk. I’m yet to learn cooking, driving, a new language, in fact, I’m still far, far away from earning 30,000 rupees. I still have a list of books to read all day without budging. I want to learn painting and stop drawing clowns, because that’s the only thing I draw well. I want to be a part of a great play. I want to try an outrageous hair-do. I want to be inspired by a complete stranger. Most importantly, I’m yet to fall in love. And I need a story that’s beautiful, adventurous, wholesome. May be a little bit dangerous too.
Recently, a colleague confessed, she’s scared of getting married to her 6-year-old boyfriend, because she doesn’t want to give up her ‘me’ time. Perhaps that’s my fear too. I’m scared of losing everything I want to do alone. Companionship is important, I agree. No one’s happy being alone. I’m sure, I’m going to love skiing across snow-capped Switzerland with my husband, but before that I want to able to drive away someplace else, because that’s where I can write a book.
There’s a lot to do before I change Neelanjana’s nappies.
That’s going to be my daughter’s name, by the way.
Your in-laws can come anytime they want; my birthday comes once a year! No, that’s not what I told her. But yes, I said that loud and clear in my head.
That time has come in our lives, when we have husbands, children, mother-in-laws, grandmother-in-laws, new priorities and much more. The horrific part is, we also have to accept a new set of parents.
Suddenly there’s no greater joy than changing one’s status to ‘married’ on Facebook. There’s no bigger life event than
Karva Chauth. In fact, the new best friend is the sister-in-law herself!
Okay, I don’t have any sort of personal vengeance against the latest trend but why is everyone following it? It’s like a set of skittles, knocking each one down. It’s like small pox. A disease! And there’s no way for immunity.
‘Ah, just herd mentality,’ says Priyanka.
‘I know, it’s scary,’ says Aparupa.
‘I still have so many things to do,’ I conclude.
And the three of us are inwardly thinking, ‘when is my turn?’
I’d be lying if I said all this isn’t playing up in my head. It is. But I have so much to do before I’m cajoled to meet a batch of eligible suitors.
Firstly, there are a million places to visit. Paris, Geneva, Spain, Greece, Vegas, Vietnam, Pondicherry, Rishikesh. I’m yet to experience the best thing that ever happened. I’m yet to do something that’s going to inject a rush, I’ve never felt before. I’m yet to be completely reckless and take a risk. I’m yet to learn cooking, driving, a new language, in fact, I’m still far, far away from earning 30,000 rupees. I still have a list of books to read all day without budging. I want to learn painting and stop drawing clowns, because that’s the only thing I draw well. I want to be a part of a great play. I want to try an outrageous hair-do. I want to be inspired by a complete stranger. Most importantly, I’m yet to fall in love. And I need a story that’s beautiful, adventurous, wholesome. May be a little bit dangerous too.
Recently, a colleague confessed, she’s scared of getting married to her 6-year-old boyfriend, because she doesn’t want to give up her ‘me’ time. Perhaps that’s my fear too. I’m scared of losing everything I want to do alone. Companionship is important, I agree. No one’s happy being alone. I’m sure, I’m going to love skiing across snow-capped Switzerland with my husband, but before that I want to able to drive away someplace else, because that’s where I can write a book.
There’s a lot to do before I change Neelanjana’s nappies.
That’s going to be my daughter’s name, by the way.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Amazing women I cannot date.
I know women who can run the parliament and give you enough reason to choose Chilli Paneer over Tandoori Chicken. I know women who pretend to be coconuts but melt like ice-cubes. I know women who are no different than Jai, Veeru, Chulbul Pandey and Rowdy Rathore. I also know women who are dainty, alluring, who write well and speak little. I know artists, poets, lawyers, financial analysts and extremely capable home-makers. In fact, I know women who are mothers! Some can knit, cook and create home-made wax, for well, waxing. Some are tactless and sincerely innocent. While some think, they are the cat's whiskers.
Some have beautiful voices, some are actors and some have never even read Enid Blyton. Hot headed, fickle, affectionate, moody, entertaining, quiet,talkative, loving, sentimental, clumsy, graceful – my amazing women can make your day or wish you never had met them in the first place.
Each of them is a gem and they sure as hell, rock my world! I’ve made a list of interesting snippets from our conversations ranging from deep to bizzare. This list will definitely have more additions. As for now, enjoy the Excess Estrogen!
Me: I can never learn from my mistakes.
Maharaj Kakkar ki Jodha: Our mistakes make us interesting. And in life, we meet people who make us feel there’s nothing wrong in that. Sometimes, we are loved for our mistakes.
Me: Hum ek baar jeetein hain, ek bar marte hain. Shaadi bhi ek baar hoti hai, aur pyaar… humein kyun nahin hota, yaar?
Miss Pumpkin Pumpkin: Kyunki tumhe thappar se nahin, pyaar se darr lagta hai!
Me: Happy Valentine’s Day!
Skinny Bony Alley: Yeh ishq nahin aasaan, itna samajh lijiye. Ek aag ka dariya hai, aur doob ke jaana hai.
Me: No, that line should have been the parting line in Goa!
Miss Trunchbull: Aacha, I take it back. Reserved for Goa, sad scene moment. Shobai train-e uthe aachi, and C is standing at the station. Dadu is holding your hand and not letting you go. And you are semi-crying, saying ‘mujhe jaane do buddhe’. And then he finally lets you go. We smile through our tears. C Jiju spreads his arms and nods his head in utter joy!
Miss MC BC CC: Watching Dil Chahta Hai. I feel, I was an Aakash, then I became a Sameer and right now, I’m like Sid.
Me: I’m still stuck at being Aakash.
Miss MC BC CC: If you can, skip being the Sameer part of it, it’s pointless.
Me: Come to think of it, Aakash had a bit of all three.
Miss MC BC CC: Yeah, and that’s why he was the lead.
Me: I have a feeling, we’re going to become BIG one day.
Bobby Da Dhaba: Yeah, we’ll be like the three women of Sex & the City. We’ll be rich, hot, slim, care-free with arm candies.
Kitty: Whales have calves,
Cats have kittens,
Bears have cubs,
Bats have bittens,
Swans have cygnets,
Seals have puppies,
But guppies just have little guppies.
Me: Kittens kittens everywhere
Kittens chewing on my hair
Kittens climbing up my jeans
Kittens hanging from the screens
There's a kitten on each shoulder
Will they do this when they're older?
Kittens fighting on the chairs
Kittens tumbling down the stairs
There's a kitten on my head
There's a kitten in the bread!
There's a kitten in my shoe
I don't believe we just have two.
Me: First, you were NUTS about Shaky, then you were BOLTS about Nachi, but finally you SCREWED J**! Nuts, bolts, screws. You’re like the perfect TOOL KIT.
G3: Wow, you make me sound so portable. Take it, pack it, shove it, and move it.
Miss Mishtu Shona: Listen, it’s your 24th birthday. You’re freaking 24!
Me: Yes. What are you getting me?
Miss Mishtu Shona: Your first kiss! I think I only have to kiss you!
Me: This is Peter Cat. You need to try their sizzlers here.
Wobbly: I’m scared to order sizzlers.
Me: Why?
Wobbly: What if I get burnt?
Video: Aacha, mera engagement Hyatt mein hai.
Me: Hyatt! Tum maru log itna kharcha kyun karte ho, bey?
Video: Arre, maru log mein karna padta hai. Varna problem ho jayega community mein.
Some have beautiful voices, some are actors and some have never even read Enid Blyton. Hot headed, fickle, affectionate, moody, entertaining, quiet,talkative, loving, sentimental, clumsy, graceful – my amazing women can make your day or wish you never had met them in the first place.
Each of them is a gem and they sure as hell, rock my world! I’ve made a list of interesting snippets from our conversations ranging from deep to bizzare. This list will definitely have more additions. As for now, enjoy the Excess Estrogen!
Me: I can never learn from my mistakes.
Maharaj Kakkar ki Jodha: Our mistakes make us interesting. And in life, we meet people who make us feel there’s nothing wrong in that. Sometimes, we are loved for our mistakes.
Me: Hum ek baar jeetein hain, ek bar marte hain. Shaadi bhi ek baar hoti hai, aur pyaar… humein kyun nahin hota, yaar?
Miss Pumpkin Pumpkin: Kyunki tumhe thappar se nahin, pyaar se darr lagta hai!
Me: Happy Valentine’s Day!
Skinny Bony Alley: Yeh ishq nahin aasaan, itna samajh lijiye. Ek aag ka dariya hai, aur doob ke jaana hai.
Me: No, that line should have been the parting line in Goa!
Miss Trunchbull: Aacha, I take it back. Reserved for Goa, sad scene moment. Shobai train-e uthe aachi, and C is standing at the station. Dadu is holding your hand and not letting you go. And you are semi-crying, saying ‘mujhe jaane do buddhe’. And then he finally lets you go. We smile through our tears. C Jiju spreads his arms and nods his head in utter joy!
Miss MC BC CC: Watching Dil Chahta Hai. I feel, I was an Aakash, then I became a Sameer and right now, I’m like Sid.
Me: I’m still stuck at being Aakash.
Miss MC BC CC: If you can, skip being the Sameer part of it, it’s pointless.
Me: Come to think of it, Aakash had a bit of all three.
Miss MC BC CC: Yeah, and that’s why he was the lead.
Me: I have a feeling, we’re going to become BIG one day.
Bobby Da Dhaba: Yeah, we’ll be like the three women of Sex & the City. We’ll be rich, hot, slim, care-free with arm candies.
Kitty: Whales have calves,
Cats have kittens,
Bears have cubs,
Bats have bittens,
Swans have cygnets,
Seals have puppies,
But guppies just have little guppies.
Me: Kittens kittens everywhere
Kittens chewing on my hair
Kittens climbing up my jeans
Kittens hanging from the screens
There's a kitten on each shoulder
Will they do this when they're older?
Kittens fighting on the chairs
Kittens tumbling down the stairs
There's a kitten on my head
There's a kitten in the bread!
There's a kitten in my shoe
I don't believe we just have two.
Me: First, you were NUTS about Shaky, then you were BOLTS about Nachi, but finally you SCREWED J**! Nuts, bolts, screws. You’re like the perfect TOOL KIT.
G3: Wow, you make me sound so portable. Take it, pack it, shove it, and move it.
Miss Mishtu Shona: Listen, it’s your 24th birthday. You’re freaking 24!
Me: Yes. What are you getting me?
Miss Mishtu Shona: Your first kiss! I think I only have to kiss you!
Me: This is Peter Cat. You need to try their sizzlers here.
Wobbly: I’m scared to order sizzlers.
Me: Why?
Wobbly: What if I get burnt?
Video: Aacha, mera engagement Hyatt mein hai.
Me: Hyatt! Tum maru log itna kharcha kyun karte ho, bey?
Video: Arre, maru log mein karna padta hai. Varna problem ho jayega community mein.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
A strange thing happened when I shampooed.
As far as I know, the day began with me grumbling. I had to cancel my plans with my baby niece and head to work like a normal Monday on a lovely Saturday. But before that, I stopped at a parlour for a nice, inspiring hair massage.
I know creative ideas are spotted in bathrooms. Inspiration can also be derived from politicians, messages can be decoded in dreams, love can be found in tattoos, reflection can be sought in malaria, but forgiveness while you shampoo?
While Mr Black T-shirt muscled his fingers to wash my hair, I let it all go. There were too many people living in my head, rent-free. Today, I politely asked all of them to find another place of living. I thought, it wouldn’t be easy at first, considering most of them hadn’t paid their dues. And honestly, I was a little tired trying to remind myself of who did what and when and why and how could she and how dare he?
I usually hold on to a grudge till I exact my revenge. I’m not the one to say, ‘I forgive you, we’re friends again.’ I’m the one that says, ‘Serves you right.’ But today, I’m ready to be the forgiving, more mature, sensible, charitable or whatever ugly-ass word you call it, kind of person. Now, that doesn’t mean we’re friends again. That certainly doesn’t mean, we can jingle to old times. That just means, I’m done with your loud music in my head and I need to turn off the noise, so that I can listen to better stuff.
So, there. You’re free to be with those who value you. You’re free to be with those who love you and care about you. You need to realise, that I’m not the one to catch you when you jump off a bridge. I’ll be the one at your funeral, saying, ‘We were really close in school’, or ‘He really was a star footballer’. So, there, get out of my head and invade the minds and hearts of those who understand you, trust you and protect you.
Tomorrow, if you swallow a bitter pill, there won’t be a thousand trumpets blowing in my heart.
Tomorrow, if you call for help, there won’t be a special prayer to see you fail or watch you run into a golden unicorn.
Tomorrow, will be easy and ordinary for the both of us.
We’re not friends anymore, remember that. But I’m okay if you wish to have an icecream sometime.
And there I was - done with my excess baggage. And my shampoo.
I know creative ideas are spotted in bathrooms. Inspiration can also be derived from politicians, messages can be decoded in dreams, love can be found in tattoos, reflection can be sought in malaria, but forgiveness while you shampoo?
While Mr Black T-shirt muscled his fingers to wash my hair, I let it all go. There were too many people living in my head, rent-free. Today, I politely asked all of them to find another place of living. I thought, it wouldn’t be easy at first, considering most of them hadn’t paid their dues. And honestly, I was a little tired trying to remind myself of who did what and when and why and how could she and how dare he?
I usually hold on to a grudge till I exact my revenge. I’m not the one to say, ‘I forgive you, we’re friends again.’ I’m the one that says, ‘Serves you right.’ But today, I’m ready to be the forgiving, more mature, sensible, charitable or whatever ugly-ass word you call it, kind of person. Now, that doesn’t mean we’re friends again. That certainly doesn’t mean, we can jingle to old times. That just means, I’m done with your loud music in my head and I need to turn off the noise, so that I can listen to better stuff.
So, there. You’re free to be with those who value you. You’re free to be with those who love you and care about you. You need to realise, that I’m not the one to catch you when you jump off a bridge. I’ll be the one at your funeral, saying, ‘We were really close in school’, or ‘He really was a star footballer’. So, there, get out of my head and invade the minds and hearts of those who understand you, trust you and protect you.
Tomorrow, if you swallow a bitter pill, there won’t be a thousand trumpets blowing in my heart.
Tomorrow, if you call for help, there won’t be a special prayer to see you fail or watch you run into a golden unicorn.
Tomorrow, will be easy and ordinary for the both of us.
We’re not friends anymore, remember that. But I’m okay if you wish to have an icecream sometime.
And there I was - done with my excess baggage. And my shampoo.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Emni Likhlam
An athletic diver jumps into the deep blue width of an ocean. A soundless splash and he streams through the ocean like a rocket, touching the blue earth at last. That’s exactly how it goes in me. That's how I feel when expectations are fulfilled.
Hunting letters written in good handwriting to a possible boyfriend that were never posted. Reading them aloud in my head, only to sound like a total ass. Now that’s love, dug out from the drawers.
Remembering a 10/10 in Maths that was only possible because I cheated. The little pleasures of seeing full marks, without my credit.
Praying for the night to end. Ma’s gone to get me a little baby toy, they said. Seeing a chinese-looking brother the next day. The joy of holding a real toy that can breathe.
Seeing a long-forgotten best friend on the road. Throwing about mean words in my head. Perhaps imagining a tight slap across her face. Relief.
Readily sharing my spirit. Going on and on about my wishes, dreams, fear, the future and even elaborate tales of eating breakfast, fairy tales and the rain. Ripping out my heart until it says, you’re done for the night.
Biting my lip and rubbing my eyes to dig out an ant. Then justifying it was the ant that caused the tears. Lying my way out safely.
Looking at the stars from my balcony. Knowing fully well, Thamma had roast chicken for lunch and beef steak for dinner. Consolation.
Watching a beautiful scene in the movies. Say somewhere in fascinating Switzerland. Watching good-looking people glide across snowy caps with stuffy gear. Waiting for my turn to do it someday. Adventure.
Hearing stories about forgiveness. Reading fancy quotes on how one should forgive and forget, because it’s the only way to move on. But I’m still not ready to let go.
Heady with victory. Beaming with an everlasting smile. A hundred trumpets blasting away in my heart. Only because things didn’t work out for a certain somebody. Revenge.
Sitting across a dirty sea in Bombay. The waves never stop dancing. The wind carries a whiff of garbage, but never stops whistling. The rocks are shabby, but appear to be lustrous black in my eyes. That’s how nature felt.
Simply, amazing. All of the above. Can I, for once be the richest one alive and awake to all the feelings designed in the world?
Hunting letters written in good handwriting to a possible boyfriend that were never posted. Reading them aloud in my head, only to sound like a total ass. Now that’s love, dug out from the drawers.
Remembering a 10/10 in Maths that was only possible because I cheated. The little pleasures of seeing full marks, without my credit.
Praying for the night to end. Ma’s gone to get me a little baby toy, they said. Seeing a chinese-looking brother the next day. The joy of holding a real toy that can breathe.
Seeing a long-forgotten best friend on the road. Throwing about mean words in my head. Perhaps imagining a tight slap across her face. Relief.
Readily sharing my spirit. Going on and on about my wishes, dreams, fear, the future and even elaborate tales of eating breakfast, fairy tales and the rain. Ripping out my heart until it says, you’re done for the night.
Biting my lip and rubbing my eyes to dig out an ant. Then justifying it was the ant that caused the tears. Lying my way out safely.
Looking at the stars from my balcony. Knowing fully well, Thamma had roast chicken for lunch and beef steak for dinner. Consolation.
Watching a beautiful scene in the movies. Say somewhere in fascinating Switzerland. Watching good-looking people glide across snowy caps with stuffy gear. Waiting for my turn to do it someday. Adventure.
Hearing stories about forgiveness. Reading fancy quotes on how one should forgive and forget, because it’s the only way to move on. But I’m still not ready to let go.
Heady with victory. Beaming with an everlasting smile. A hundred trumpets blasting away in my heart. Only because things didn’t work out for a certain somebody. Revenge.
Sitting across a dirty sea in Bombay. The waves never stop dancing. The wind carries a whiff of garbage, but never stops whistling. The rocks are shabby, but appear to be lustrous black in my eyes. That’s how nature felt.
Simply, amazing. All of the above. Can I, for once be the richest one alive and awake to all the feelings designed in the world?
Thursday, April 14, 2011
DRAWING
I drew a picture on paper.
It never had a name,
But it had a face.
It had meaning,
till I realised,
it’s the only picture I could draw well.
I drew it when I was happy,
when I was jealous,
when I found a memory.
and lost a race.
But one day,
I drew a flower.
I coloured a star.
I knew how to draw a volcano.
It had names,
and faces.
and no meaning.
Till I realised,
I don’t remember the picture I used to draw well.
It never had a name,
But it had a face.
It had meaning,
till I realised,
it’s the only picture I could draw well.
I drew it when I was happy,
when I was jealous,
when I found a memory.
and lost a race.
But one day,
I drew a flower.
I coloured a star.
I knew how to draw a volcano.
It had names,
and faces.
and no meaning.
Till I realised,
I don’t remember the picture I used to draw well.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
...'Kalkaji aa jayiyo'.
From the gloomy days of sambar, I have stepped into a rich, fattening city of butter chicken – where amongst Mother Dairy, accelerating vespas, and brawny(not brainy) men lies the invigorating spirit of New Delhi.
Besides the cathartic sensation of hindi galis, I was beginning to enjoy the company of a sinful man. Now this very sinful man believed, the gym next door would make the world unhappy.
Near the second gol-chakkar at Kalkaji, just next to the Dental Clinic resides this honourable man. He has been stationed there for a tidy long time. This man is a pot-bellied, pleasant looking chaat-wala. Never seen him wear anything but white; stainless and crumpled. He’s stout, brimming with self pride and ability. He knows your dirty thoughts- which primarily begin and cease with food. If you turn away, he flicks a small chopped dice of aloo and slowly clouds you with his slightly spicy, slightly chatpata aroma.And when you surrender, he is more than happy to tell you, why happiness is food.
He is heroic – his tikkis are unmatched.If you have ever tried to tame hunger, you should never approach this man. That makes him angry.
His frying pan almost reflects the size of his heart. His magic potions of pudina chutney, imli, dahi, namak, pyaaz and mirch are sealed in clean glass bottles, shimmering under a bare bright bulb. I forget the name of his shop on wheels, but what I remember is, his perfect temerity about the bliss he was about to give.
He folds his sleeves and lets out a slight grunt before the magic show. He places a tikki hastily but not ruthlessly so, in his pool of gleaming oil. They instantly turned golden. Almost like a command.
Passersby walk on. Some stand next to the book-shop beside his territory. Some move on to better things, while the ones who know what joy is, stop. They gather around his shop; the magic show is on. The tikkis are still frying.
Aware of rising appetite, with maddening speed he rushes the tikkis to perfection. A dollop of dahi, a dash of imli chutney, pudina chutney, lots of pyaaz, mirch and a few sticks of bhujiya. Happiness has arrived.
The job is done. As the audience begins extolling, he smiles with complete knowledge of being the best. He watches the unruly tongues flap in joy,while the calorie-dreading woman bites knowingly into the ball of sin,wimpering, 'Iski ma ki…'
Besides the cathartic sensation of hindi galis, I was beginning to enjoy the company of a sinful man. Now this very sinful man believed, the gym next door would make the world unhappy.
Near the second gol-chakkar at Kalkaji, just next to the Dental Clinic resides this honourable man. He has been stationed there for a tidy long time. This man is a pot-bellied, pleasant looking chaat-wala. Never seen him wear anything but white; stainless and crumpled. He’s stout, brimming with self pride and ability. He knows your dirty thoughts- which primarily begin and cease with food. If you turn away, he flicks a small chopped dice of aloo and slowly clouds you with his slightly spicy, slightly chatpata aroma.And when you surrender, he is more than happy to tell you, why happiness is food.
He is heroic – his tikkis are unmatched.If you have ever tried to tame hunger, you should never approach this man. That makes him angry.
His frying pan almost reflects the size of his heart. His magic potions of pudina chutney, imli, dahi, namak, pyaaz and mirch are sealed in clean glass bottles, shimmering under a bare bright bulb. I forget the name of his shop on wheels, but what I remember is, his perfect temerity about the bliss he was about to give.
He folds his sleeves and lets out a slight grunt before the magic show. He places a tikki hastily but not ruthlessly so, in his pool of gleaming oil. They instantly turned golden. Almost like a command.
Passersby walk on. Some stand next to the book-shop beside his territory. Some move on to better things, while the ones who know what joy is, stop. They gather around his shop; the magic show is on. The tikkis are still frying.
Aware of rising appetite, with maddening speed he rushes the tikkis to perfection. A dollop of dahi, a dash of imli chutney, pudina chutney, lots of pyaaz, mirch and a few sticks of bhujiya. Happiness has arrived.
The job is done. As the audience begins extolling, he smiles with complete knowledge of being the best. He watches the unruly tongues flap in joy,while the calorie-dreading woman bites knowingly into the ball of sin,wimpering, 'Iski ma ki…'
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