@#$# !! Monkey

October 2nd, Gandhiji's birthday, and H and I were enjoying a sleep-in, alarm being subjected to multiple snoozes. There was a loud noise from the balcony, I thought it was our neighbour dropping something. But then it happened again and it sounded suspiciously like it was coming from our balcony. My first thought was that it would be a monkey, having had one creep into my room before.

I opened the door a fraction, and there it was, perched on top of the AC. I quickly closed it again and banged on the door and window. But I could still hear it moving about :( I woke up H, he went to the loo, grabbed a stick, and the monkey was gone (before H could wield the stick, ofcourse).

We use the balcony as a kitchen and so there were raw potatoes and onions scattered around and bitten into. It must not have liked the taste much because it spat out everything, but it tried quite a number of them. It had tried opening the jars too, but he gets zero for dexterity. We already had a net in place covering the whole of the balcony, but the furry thing had managed to creep in from the top. I have a feeling it'll be back:(

I hate monkeys. I dislike them because of a number of reasons.

• They are just so smart and human-like. In my previous hostel, the monkeys used to knock on closed doors, and get inside as soon as the door is opened. They know how to open jars, they even take tablets out of blister packets and eat them. God knows why.
• They can tell the difference between male and female humans. When I tried to shoo away one, it actually charged towards me, making me run faster than fast. There were recent reports in the news about how monkeys specifically bother female workers in the fields. Chauvinistic little things.
• They are just not cute and cuddly like the rest of the small animals, like dogs, or cats.
• They don't seem to know when they're not wanted. I wonder if they ever go bother Maneka Gandhi.
• They have really sharp teeth. They can harbour rabies, simian virus 40. But mostly, they have sharp teeth.

According to my friend, there is a monkey in Sikkim who hitches rides on jeeps and buys food with money. It does not know the denomination of the money but it shoves the money towards the shopkeeper and takes what it likes in return. I don't know how much truth is in the story, my friend likes to tell me stories sometimes :P

Complaints of monkey menace are usually dealt with in a nonsensical way. The authorities either ignore the complaints, or they station a langoor (pic) where monkeys abound. But when they go all out and catch them, they stuff them in cages and maltreat them, so that the animal activists are up in arms breathing fire and venom. We can't seem to win.

Right now...

Right now...

I'd like to be a silent spectator, watching old men enjoing each other's company. Maybe something like this.I'd love to have a cup of great coffee, made with real coffee beans and everything.

It would be lovely to re-read a favourite book.

Definely not doing this....
Because I am not doing this!!

(Pics stolen from all over the net. Don't sue me, I'm stressed)

I am one of a million people who acutely dislikes being woken up. I can't help it, it's probably in my genes, encoded in the short arm of some obscure chromosome. So I was on 24 hrs duty yesterday, and one thing leading to another, I managed to fall asleep at 2.30 am. 15 mins later, there was a very confident, loud knocking on my door. I opened the door and there was this brain-deficient security guard asking me if I sleep in room no 8. Brain-deficient I say because Room no 8 has '8' painted on its door, and I sleep across from it in an unmarked door. I told him 'No' in my very elegant Hindi and crawled back to bed. That's when tragedy struck, I couldn't sleep till 4, only to be woken by my mom on the phone at 6. * Sigh *

But I am post duty today so I shall be sleeping the day away, except to cook. Because my cousin arrived yesterday, laden with goodies like mai an, behlawi, bekang ro, tumbu pickle and even the dried version of them. So I shall make use of my cullinary skills and make mai an bai. It will be quite an occasion because, for the last 2 months, I have been feeding my husband nothing but fried potatoes, dal and a stew of cabbage, eggplant and beans. H has been stalwart and stoical and has not complained even once ( I don't take his suggestions of dining out as complaints). I think he really deserves the change, I think I may even add a dash of butter for good measure :)

Talking of cooking, I have been cooking for the last 3 months or so on a regular basis (alternative days I suppose), and I have burnt food only twice. That works out to be approximately 4% of total cooking episodes. I say the statistics are very encouraging. I will try my best to remember to simmer.

Dear Diary

Dear diary, what is wrong with me?
Cause I'm fine between the lines.
Be not afraid, help is on its way
A sentence suspended in air way over there
Dear diary, what else could it be?
As nightshade descends like a veil under the sail of my heart
Be still don't stop until the end.

Melancholy lines of Travis, sung in their beautiful melancholy way. I like the way the sentences are written, in a vague helpless kind of way. Not their most memorable song but I loved it nonetheless.

I used to keep diaries before, frantically noting down stupid emotions on handmade papers :) It was kind of nice to exaggerate feelings and events in your own personal novel. Even if not much ever happens, it makes for a good reading later on. I remember in school though, I had to pay my brother everyday to keep my secrets. Those little heartshaped locks did not offer much protection against naughty little boys.

I loved reading as a kid, and I was quite delusional for a while that I could be a writer too. (I was also once delusional that I could sing, but my dad rid me of the notion before I tried it in public). Even after being told quite clearly by two palm readers that I don't have an artistic bone in my body, I continued to churn out so called poems, they mostly had no rhyme or reason. Thank God I grew out of it.

Anyway, after undergraduate days, with all the shifting around, it became kind of difficult deciding which diaries to throw and which ones to keep. And getting rid of a diary meant shredding whole lots of pages manually, and disposing of the bits in godforsaken places. On retrospect, I think I stopped keeping diaries when things actually started happening. When my life was oh-so-boring, I guess I compensated by making my diaries more interesting. But diaries are still a girl's best friend, where you can write about your deepest feelings and thoughts, because thoughts are fleeting sometimes and you forget, and the moment is forever lost.