Nail Polishing

I am upset. I am sad. And I am indignant. At my perfectly painted nails being screwed royally.

It had been quite some time since I wanted to paint my nails a dark chocolate color. The nail polish bottle was calling out to me. But I had been too caught up with a beautiful coral red and a perfect shade of magenta pink to pay heed to its calls.

But I couldn’t ignore the summons of my nail polish bottle anymore.  (The red color on my nails was beginning to peel away- Plight of a housewife). So anyways, I take out my nail polish remover bottle, clean my nails and give myself a nice little pampering manicure that was long overdue.

My nails start to glow and I feel proud of them again. So I bring out my choco baby, and tell her she can finally sit pretty on my nails. Two careful coats with a base coat do the job for me.  Perfectly manicured and painted nails- the fruit of my hard work. And they start to look like they were borrowed from Filmfare or Femina (or Cosmo if I may dare say). And I am a happy pampered woman again.

But no… the Gods above have something else in store for me. The power goes out and I am bathed in darkness. It’s scary to say the least since I am home alone (the hubby’s out of town).  Considering I was watching a scary movie during my manicure, which centered around a family moving into a new house and strange things start happening when they watch a particular soap on TV every afternoon; I kind of feel the hairs on my back standing up. I was watching television too! And we have moved in only recently…

Nonetheless, I gather up my wits, telling myself that is just a figment of somebody else’s imagination, so I shouldn’t let it scare me. After all, the hubby calls me Bengal Tigress!! I fumble for the matchbox in the dim, unhelpful light of the mobile screen, and fish out a candle. I bargained for one, but I get two. Too good, I say.

But it was said too much too soon. As I carry the candles to the balcony to check if the entire neighborhood is soaking in the same darkness, I see a shadowy reflection on a picture on one of the walls of my room. Two flickers of light and an indistinct figure. It takes me a while to realize it’s me, as the old fear gets ready to creep back into my mind. I push it away into the dark corners, instilling some sense and logic instead.

While I am busy fighting my inner darkness and the demons that live there, one of the candles has burned enough and hot, molten wax drips onto my fingers. Jolted out of my reverie, as I try to save myself from the sudden attack of the liquefied villain, it drips further down onto my perfectly painted nails!!

Oh the pain! Nope not physical hurt. The pains of seeing your hardwork go waste, or shall I say waxed.

Check out the smudges on the finger tips

Now my nails have a fourth coat of wax on them. I tried peeling it off… but the polish is coming off with it, making it look so ugly! 

Damn you power cut. Damn you scary movies. And damn you wax!

My pedicure saved the day a bit though. There was no wax dripping on my toes. Thankfully.

 But my nails look awful!!! :( :(

Mon kharaper dupur bela

Mon kharaper dupur bela

Poronto rodey bikeler barta niye ashe

Bindu bindu ghaame chokher jol mishe jay

Nonta shadey mlaan din

Esho hey godhuli… rangiye diye jao

Brewing tea- trouble

For a person who has always had her morning tea served at her bedside all life, being a married woman is a freaking tough job. You still want your tea, your husband wants his too, but who will brew the beverage, without brewing trouble as the by-product?
Removing the warm, snuggly covers of the blanket, stretching lazily in bed while you are still half asleep, the image of a hot cup of steaming tea lulls you back to dreamland, while you expect it to sprout appendages and walk to your bedside. Probably it would present itself on a colorful tray decorated with a few fresh daisies picked from your garden in the morning, take a little bow, and say, “Madam, tea is ready.” For some reason the mug likes to refer to itself as a third person.


Who cares? As long as you can take a sip and say, “Wah! Taj!!”


But nope… that is not gonna be happenin. You will wake up in the morning, and while you are still stretching lazily trying to shrug off the last shreds of sleep from your body and mind, a voice will drone on near your ear (left or right, depending on which side of the bed is your area); “Chai banao” or “Chai Lao”. Never a request or a hint of appeal in the voice- just to massage my ego a bit- it always sounds like I was born to wake up every morning and disregarding my own need to cling to the bed for those extra five minutes, meant to sprint to the kitchen and magically produce the beverage.
Why o why, I ask?
I am a woman. Hath not a Woman eyes? Hath not a Woman hands (NOT for brewing hot beverages), organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions (to test that last one, try getting me outta the bed!); fed with the same food, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means (though sometimes only a little pampering and love is enough), snuggled and comforted by the same blanket, as a man is?
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you anger us, do we not snap?
And if you DO ask us for tea, early in the morning, we definitely do snap. All you will get is, “Dude, get yer own.”
Seriously, how tough is it to get out of bed once in a while, and getting the tea and newspaper for your woman in the morning? There are loads that we go through all by ourselves anyways; atleast try sharing the tea controversy with us… it’s a free country and the Mughals were kicked out long back. No use trying to keep up to the long lost Maharaja heritage.


Dude! Get Real!