We have all been there maybe once or twice in our lives or maybe all our lives...
An inconsequential workday where the only exciting work thing was when you sent a passive aggressive reminder email about a languishing project or played water jets and secret agent in the washroom. Excruciating traffic coupled with an urgent need to pee prolongs the day some more and then you hit your street , typical south indian homes boxed next to each other- most occupants all tucked away inside their matchbox existence and the MEAN GANG of housewives or just returned from work wives all ganged up to catcall your name and give you a good earfull of moral policing about coming home late. IF people think Harlem is scary, they should pay a visit to my locality.
Anyways, you proceed to get interrogated by early 30's somethings who think its their duty to enact a scene from Godfather and whose husbands have not yet reached home demanding dinner.
Once that very not nice social interaction is done, you finally navigate to your own middle class duplex house, you can hear the tv, a gossip channel disguised as a news channel is blaring. You step in to see what i am pretty sure is one of the most depressing tableaus ever, a half-naked middle-aged Dad religiously staring at the yelling news presenter, Mom in the kitchen hidden from view by the dusty fridge.
I go home to that scene every day, have been for most of my adult life. While some better-adjusted people may tell me, its supposed to be a happy scene; family gathered in one place safe and belchy. Well..It's fucking not......Apart from the myriad issues i have with my father, i somehow find myself decreasingly less tolerant of his bare-chested dhothi clad avatar glued to the sofa and oogling at the TV all evening and night. Especially when that ass doesn't move for the rest of the night.
After fielding and strategizing my way through a host of perverts and harassers on my commute, i do not want to see my own father sitting in all his half naked glory and announcing his mastery over the house with burps and heavy breathing.
I confess i am not a social person at all, i would be perfectly okay with not having to talk to anybody or listen to anybody for the rest of the evening after a days work. People never shut up.....never ever...the talking, complaining , whining, never stops (so says the author herself is clickity clacking on her keyboard)
An inconsequential workday where the only exciting work thing was when you sent a passive aggressive reminder email about a languishing project or played water jets and secret agent in the washroom. Excruciating traffic coupled with an urgent need to pee prolongs the day some more and then you hit your street , typical south indian homes boxed next to each other- most occupants all tucked away inside their matchbox existence and the MEAN GANG of housewives or just returned from work wives all ganged up to catcall your name and give you a good earfull of moral policing about coming home late. IF people think Harlem is scary, they should pay a visit to my locality.
Anyways, you proceed to get interrogated by early 30's somethings who think its their duty to enact a scene from Godfather and whose husbands have not yet reached home demanding dinner.
Once that very not nice social interaction is done, you finally navigate to your own middle class duplex house, you can hear the tv, a gossip channel disguised as a news channel is blaring. You step in to see what i am pretty sure is one of the most depressing tableaus ever, a half-naked middle-aged Dad religiously staring at the yelling news presenter, Mom in the kitchen hidden from view by the dusty fridge.
I go home to that scene every day, have been for most of my adult life. While some better-adjusted people may tell me, its supposed to be a happy scene; family gathered in one place safe and belchy. Well..It's fucking not......Apart from the myriad issues i have with my father, i somehow find myself decreasingly less tolerant of his bare-chested dhothi clad avatar glued to the sofa and oogling at the TV all evening and night. Especially when that ass doesn't move for the rest of the night.
After fielding and strategizing my way through a host of perverts and harassers on my commute, i do not want to see my own father sitting in all his half naked glory and announcing his mastery over the house with burps and heavy breathing.
I confess i am not a social person at all, i would be perfectly okay with not having to talk to anybody or listen to anybody for the rest of the evening after a days work. People never shut up.....never ever...the talking, complaining , whining, never stops (so says the author herself is clickity clacking on her keyboard)
