I've been listening to this song for the past three days. Every time I listen to it, I can see this brown-haired girl in a white pinafore leaping across the skies in a cycle. And all around her, the diamonds are falling. The sparkles catch her eye and like in a badly shot advertisement, she squeals her excitement when each rock hits her head. I was listening to it at work and reading this really boring manuscript that bossman wanted me to read. I wish people would get over the Ramayana and the Mahabaratha. I like the epics and everything, but I think I'll die if I read one more retelling. I want to read something that doesn't have people saying, "O Respected Jatayu, save me!" I don't want to look at monkey kings with incredibly curvaceous human wives.
I read Zadie Smith's On Beauty finally. I've been wanting to read it for a while now. Quite good.
Yesterday, I went to the beach and read Franny and Zooey for what must be the millionth time. There was an old man experimenting on his camera phone. He asked his son, who appeared to be very keen to sink into the ground, to stand here, there, come forward, go backward etc for an eternity. And he finally took a picture in which the son was hardly there. I was quietly grinning to myself. I don't know why fathers, in general, take pictures so slowly. By the time my dad clicks, my smile is a grimace. My forehead threatens to explode. And invariably, I end up looking like I have ice between my teeth.
For those of you who don't know, the Cozee sardarji died a while ago. I went to this other place nearby and ate naan and chicken tikka masala. A funny waiter kept the plate on the table and said 'plate'. I promptly went into giggles and then tried to make up for it by burying my nose in my Franny and Zooey. I was all by myself and it was nice to look at these hundreds of people walking and walking all over the beach. It's easy to like humanity when you are watching like that. I felt distinctly fond of this bumbling drama-queen species. I went to the terminus and took a 29 C back home. Zen.
Today, I went to Landmark. I'd gone there last week and 5 copies of Aana and Chena were there on the shelf. There was only one today. Hopefully, that means they've at least sold 4 copies. I slyly put the book on top and then pretended to read it with great interest. I was pleased by my own ridiculousness. I bought Sula by Toni Morrison. I loved her The Bluest Eye- one of the scariest and saddest books I've read.
I've got work tomorrow. I'm going to listen to Lucy in the sky with diaaaaamoonnndddsss endlessly. O Respected Lucy, save me!
The Life and Times of an Indian Homemaker » The interference of parents in the married life of their daughters…