Every evening I cross my legs and sit on a sofa compressing
the foam of the seat in a way that bunches up the display even when I am not
seated on it.
I make a cup of tea,which by proportions is also an
indication of the greed I infuse,(actually greed is a negative connotation as
pointed by my concerned dad,as he saw my future prospects dwindling with the
opposite sex with each such unladylike becoming declarations. However considering I still have to come up with a convincing reason regarding why I have
tea in a mug that could fill out three
cups,I shall stick to greedy and hope that none of the prospects chance upon
this and then flounce out as easily.
Look at their brighter prospects , there will always be enough
tea in my gigantean receptacle for the duality we would represent far into the
rosy future behind fluttering flowers. Any green tea lovers out there?)
But coming back to the point where I am sitting with my mug
surrounded by at least three different kinds of snacks.I don’t like to strike
out very far when the munching bug strikes.To my list of desirabilities we could add 'resourceful', Dear Daddy.
This is me and meet my friends next.
All my friends seem to have gone onto the healthy treadmill
diet ; health talk , treadmill walk,and diet food routine the minute the third decade of our lives
slid in full throttle.
One of these lovely , grass and salad eating ladies hasn’t
spoken to the other for the reason that the vegetarian snacks in a party thrown
in general happiness were laden with Oil and that was the only vegetarian snack
on the menu,obviously translating into her dictionary as a lack of care and a
litany of other deductions followed,which may only suit a mind of no less than seventy
decades old.(I was about to write sixty then realized my parents are into that
decade and Coherency should not be a hostage of age,plus if they read this I
could be in mortal danger of confirming their belief that they are old,I am
trying to hoodwink them otherwise,every single day with PoooooF ! sixty is nuuuuuuhthing.)
But look at the
friendship which shredded like a rocket or lettuce under pressure from
oil,through thick and not so thin ,they still speak through the veil of
shredded lettuce,gritty,as though not cleaned.
Do we judge friends who do not shift with times,should we
even judge friends?what am i doing writing about them,maybe this is my tri-decade defect.Ive become third party analyzer of others lives well on my way to becoming the nosy neighbourhood gossip.SHUDDER!!! Sanity hinges on the maybe.
Presently lets talk about my trip to the supermarket to
stock up.
I have always loved Bourbon Buiscuits.As a child I would sit
with a packet and finish the last crumb assisted by a bottle of water.Today I Have a jar in which I stare at all my
assortment of biscuits and when I sit with my tea with them and a mix of the
healthy ones my eyes always longingly look at the bourbon which I secretly
slide in making a mental note of exercising more.
In all my organizational skills,I slipped and my stock of
health food was at an all time low when one of my friends came to spend the night.But bourbons
which I love cannot be an organizational blunder they come under 'needs' category
so they were visible in their evergreen display.
This friend, she is not a part of the social butterflies i
spoke of before,but yes she is a very old, as prehistoric as me friend.
It seems the age where everyone comes into their own, also
is turning my friends en-mass into 'whole wheat' and' brown' rice ,eating monsters
who will not touch a biscuit if it isn’t a digestive.Imagine the reaction when
I lovingly took my bowl of only bourbons to her with morning tea( I am usually
not this agile in the morning serving tea,only with house guests of short stay, is an
exception,do note!)
Her reaction was
first to politely ignore the existence of the bourbons.
That polite refusal was of course not noted in my exuberance
to feed her.
So I waved the bowl under her nose again.
And this time she went to exclaim ,” do you not have any
healthier ones?”.
I went into shock firstly at my lack of hostess skills for
not providing and secondly at the sleight to my bourbon.Both polar reasons,yet
the effect was physically evident on my goldfish mouth.
Because obviously I didn’t have anything else.
We recovered that situation by her remaining nil by mouth
,and feeling a certain raise in her spirits as she weighed lighter in her
conscience.
But the question is who will eat the bourbon?Not My specky
friend,not my nitpicky vegetarian dragon friend,Not a whole lot of any others I
know.
Will my childhood love sit it out in stores ,spending lonely
nights whereas newbies and digestives will fast move off the shelves into
loving homes and fuller stomachs?
I cannot let that happen.
Is my bourbon biscuit my answering metaphor to anything
chocolate?yes.It is a specific desire
yes,but it is also a symbol of the fact that my mouth waters at the sight of
anything in a sinful chocolate avatar.Or caramel.And Am I willing to drop it in
my midlife sanyas virus(sanyas is a hindi term for renunciation of worldy
pleasures)that seems to be an epidemic among my friends?
Maybe by this point you think by deduction that greed is
weighing me heavy,literally.
I should point out
that the gravitational force is also responsible for my cushions foam having
compressed designs,I love to walk every single day,I love to stretch in different yoga
poses that contort you weirdly and I only help the gravity by a quarter of a
century in Kilograms.
And no my metabolism is not my genetic inheritance , in
fact,in that department I do not have any inheritance,Health is an exercised
form for me.Like a huff and a puff away.
I know and have always known the answer to who will eat the
bourbon? I will.
I will be the Organic whole wheat eating( I am not
completely out of tune here) bourbon and chocolate incorporating anomaly to a
generation in early transit to Satvik(simple)food.Making space for these on my recipe planner app,(yes! I am strangely tech savvy), while I pump away on the treadmill.
