Jul 20, 2015

Turkish Diaries: Part 3

To read earlier parts, click here: Part 1, Part 2

Being from Chennai, it was common practice for me to get up early, have a coffee strong enough to knock a gibbon’s brains out and take a walk around the apartment doing nothing constructive, until the maid arrives. My wife on the other hand is wont to sleep late and wake up late; which was nothing new north of the Vindhyas (this is a stereotype I have noticed, so all you tut-tutters can kindly go jump in front of a moving BEST bus). So, as the sun rose colouring the sky a dark purple, I was treated to a miracle. My wife was up, ready and raring to go for a walk. I acquiesced, albeit grumpily having been smoothly robbed of the one trait that I thought gave me an upper hand in marital life.

Our hotel was conveniently located right on top of the Ayasoluk Hill, next to the İsa Bey mosque. We ambled around, taking pictures of a nearby synagogue and the joke that was the Temple of Artemis along with what was supposed to be a bath but looked like a medium-sized mound with a lot of holes stamped by a few elephants on a sugarcane rampage. This bath along with its weird holes on the ceiling has some significance later, when I reached Istanbul (but that is shelved for a different post). On our walk, we encountered several relics of both the Greek and the Ottoman Empires; it was deliciously adventurous. Here you are, calmly walking along a boulevard whistling Maari Theme song and suddenly out-of-the-blue a column addresses your view with imposing authority. You scuttle initially in fright and then in awe and then you slyly shift into DSLR-mode. The column snorts in approval having made its point.



Breakfast
After the walk, which was imperatively populated with even more cats than ever, we reached the hotel and hey-ed the hotelier. We told him we would be leaving in 25-30 minutes and requested him to get breakfast ready. We quickly had a shower, dressed, came out and sat at our first Turkish breakfast, which we discovered were the same across Turkey, irrespective of which place you were holed up. The menu is as follows,
  • At least 4 types of cheese
  • Bread (ekmek) and Simit
  • Homemade marmalade jam
  • 3 types of olives (green, black, pickled)
  • Yogurt
  • Cut tomatoes and some random fruit which tasted like cow's feet
  • Fruit juice
  • Turkish omelet which is same as normal omelet but made in Turkey
  • Cold meat which was unnaturally cold and tasty
  • And of course, tea
After the unashamed annihilation, we burped our way to the hotelier. He handed us a map, gave us directions on what to do and we matched that with the mental plan we had made the previous night. It was all good. We threw our bags over our shoulders, took some water bottles, drew a vinayagar squiggle in the air and began to sight-see.

TIP 1: Take water bottles. There is a fair bit of walking about the ruins and you'll end up getting dehydrated anyway. There are also taps all over the place, where you can refill to your heart's content.

Ephesus:
Our first stop was the Ephesus ruins. There is a trick here. Cabs at the bus station would take you to 3 places: the Mother Mary's house, the entrance at the bottom of the hill or the entrance at the top of the hill. Take the one that goes to the top of the hill. There is simply no point climbing up and down the same hill, unless you still have that Gold Gym membership and you are feeling guilty and depressed at that awesome dinner you had the previous night full of calories and other gymmy stuff. Mother Mary’s house was walk-able from within the ruins itself. So, we boarded a taxi, got dropped off at the hill and started our way down.

Ephesus is simply brilliant. I would suggest an audio guide, but there was no need. Each point was helpfully marked all the way with boards and placards; you would hardly have time to stop, listen and move on. Better still, take a guide from the hotel itself (which is what we did) and read it away whenever you stop. The walk downhill was amazing, replete with a view of the entire valley that was loaded with remnants of almost five eras - the Classical Era (under the Persians), the Hellenistic Era (under the Greeks), the Roman period, the Byzantine era and the Turkish era*. The ruins themselves are breathtaking, culminating at a massive theatre following the equally impressive Library of Celsus.

There was a small detour to the House of Mother Mary near the Northern Entrance; apparently a place where Mary spent her last years. We gave up having had our fill of ruins and went out to wait for the shuttle to take us to the next point - Pamucak beach.





Pamucak Beach:
TIP 2: There are these shuttles that transfer you between points across Selcuk. They are very cheap and are enormously obliging while commuting between key tourist spots. Suggest, you take these instead of taxis that are just plain expensive for no reason.
The beach was on my list mainly because, again being from Chennai, I cannot resist a beach. However far it is, however desolate it is, however tepid the water is. But Pamucak exceeded all expectations and demanded a salary raise; it was very far, was more desolate than Mettupalayam railway station and the water was a dark green peppered with sharp rocks. Nevertheless, nothing dissuaded me from kicking off mine shoes and wading into the water as much as I dared, slightly drunk from a pint of Efes that I bought from a beach-side cafe that had last seen a customer when Alexander the Great waded into this beach with his platoon.


After relaxing for some time under the shade of a palm tree, we walked back to the bus stop and waited for the return trip to Selcuk; ruminating where to go next. We were already tired from all the walking and I could visibly see my glowering wife on the cusp of what I would like to call, the Great Exhaustion Outburst. By some divine intervention, the shuttle came from somewhere and saved me from the jaws of death and blade.

When we reached the bus station, it was barely 2:30 PM. We were famished and entered the first restaurant that we came across. It was 'Mehmet and Ali Baba Kebab house'. We had no idea about the place, though the board was littered with recommendations from Tripadvisor and Lonely Planet.

They weren't wrong.

We sat down on a wooden bench under a mulberry tree; wife suggested that we can eat those mulberries and we did. It was superb! As we waited for the food to get ready, the owner of the establishment, Ali Baba himself, came out and gave free apple tea. We sipped the tea, chewed the sweetly sour mulberries and thought philosophical thoughts. Lunch was obviously sumptuous and included Kuzu Güveç, Çiğ köfte and Dolma washed down with more Efes pilsner (this beer would be a running leitmotif in this series).

Şirince:
Now fully rejuvenated, we trudged back to the bus station and caught a shuttle to Şirince, which is supposed to be a small hamlet known for its wine. The trip was beautiful; there were groves of olive trees littering the hills, as the bus navigated over a minor ghat-section to finally come to Şirince. The best description of the place is 'cosy' and we hiked all the way up to the peak, overlooking the valley. On the way, there were a host of shops with shopkeepers tempting you with their wares that included several wines and homemade soaps. The wife had a sudden memory flash of her brother and gave in to the temptation, buying a few soaps.



Did I mention, they were also dirt cheap?

Right at the peak, we encountered a solitary, Ottoman-designed water tap that gave the coolest water I had ever tasted. The water was slightly saline, but apparently it was potable. There were two horses there as well but they ignored us. We drank the water and sat down to take a breather giving the stink eyes to the horses.

I was very hurt.
TIP 3: Ignore all forms of four-legged lifeforms. They are bad. And rude. And very... *reaches out for handkerchief*
The Basilica and the Mosque:
We caught the shuttle back and reached Selcuk. Our penultimate stop was the Basilica of St. John followed by the İsa Bey mosque. Both were spectacular in their views, one external and the other internal. The Basilica, built right on top of the hill, gave you a bird's eye view of Selcuk and you could make out Ephesus from there. No. Ephesus is not a girl. On the other hand, the mosque was the first glimpse we got into the intricacies of ceiling calligraphy which were prominent across Turkey’s mosques.




The sun was still trying to set, but losing graciously. Once fully satisfied that we had probed our limits of walking/trekking/hiking and our feet were self-dialing ambulances, we went back to our hotel and literally dropped in exhaustion. We decided to have dinner near the aqueduct, next to the railway station. But a nap came first.

Dinner:
After a short nap, that lasted 2 hours, we woke up and got ready for a good dinner at one among the multitude of restaurants around the aqueduct. It was 10 PM thereabouts and the town had just come to life. Dinner had two major highlights - Lahmacun and Cacık. The former is Turkish pizza and the latter, a delectable yogurt dip.



Post dinner, as I was suffering from food coma, I kindly requested 8 hours sleep. Yours sincerely, Sirpy.

Wife was too tired to reply and soon snores punctuated the night stillness of a starry Selcuk.

The best part of the trip was yet to come.


*copy pasted from Wikipedia.

Jun 30, 2015

Turkish Diaries: Part 2

To read Part 1, click here,

Along with a bunch of Malayalee job-aspirants, we boarded the flight bound for Istanbul via Doha. Qatar Airways, one of the few 5-star airlines in the world, has an impeccable airport at Doha. Our stopover, even though it ran to slightly a bit over 4 hours, was bearable, primarily due to the vast airport that had a gazillion things to do. We walked around, mentally taking note of the booze brands to buy on the return leg, checking out the throng of Chinese at the internet kiosks updating whatever god-forsaken social media they have, peeping in to bug the jeweler and check gold prices and eventually wound up near our terminal, with half an hour to kill.

Do you remember that Panchatantra story about a robot that is sent back in time to assassinate its maker so an AI network can win the war and ensure Judgment Day happens? I assume you don’t. We didn’t either. But we spoke about a lot of other meaningful topics such as the marriage woes of our friends, whether we had switched off the stove back home, a minor unnecessary flashback sequence involving our honeymoon trip, office gossip and relatives.

Oh, I think I had failed to mention this. Please find below a snapshot of our itinerary. No need to revert to us at the earliest. Thanks and regards.


As you can see from our thoroughly detailed itinerary, we had booked a flight to Selçuk on the very day we land. This is because, we wanted to travel to the Asian side of Turkey first, finish all the locations possible on that side, before we slide over to the more civilized, and more populated European side of the country; in other words, Istanbul. Now that we knew we were going to spend the majority of the vacation in the Asian side, we had to cherry pick places. There are three items on this list which you should tick off;
  • The Ephesus Ruins
  • Pammukkale
  • Hot air balloon at Cappadocia
TIP 1: Whatever the prices, whatever the amenities, whatever travel agency deals there are; stay in Selçuk. Other places nearby, namely İzmir and Kusadasi are good as well. But it would make sightseeing a lot easier, given that Ephesus is actually just a boulder’s throw, away.
SELÇUK:

We landed at İzmir airport and took the train to Selçuk. The station is very helpfully located directly opposite the airport, but the ticket attendant was very unhelpfully not versed in any language other than Turkish. Somehow, with the help of fellow colonial passengers who were equally lost with us, we found the right platform and bundled into the train.

The train rumbled away; meadows and olive trees greeting us in the fading sunlight. It was a pleasant evening we thought until I happened to glance at my watch and my mind jumped a few metres into the atmosphere and came to settle inside a plate of fresh curd rice. I remembered having corrected my watch at the airport and it was showing 7:30 PM while there was bright sunlight outside. It was like a Shakuntala Devi puzzle. It took us a few millennia to realize that the sun sets very late in this part of the world.

We promptly dozed off.

We awoke as the train chugged into one of the quaintest railway stations I have seen in my life. And right behind the station, loomed the famed Roman aqueducts replete with stork nests. By the time you could say ‘Kumabhishekam’ three times, I took out my DSLR and went off on a photo snapping spree, completely oblivious to the wife belting out choice words in Hindi.

I had forgotten the luggage.
TIP 2: Beware of stepping on cats. They are like red ants, OLA cabs and Thalappakatty biriyani outlets back home in India. They are everywhere.
After a few minutes, when we were out of camera angles and newer words respectively, we trudged around. I was a bit wary of passersby constantly asking us if we would like to eat and alluring it was. The smells that pervaded the place were delectable and the boulevards were so very inviting – tables and chairs everywhere, people consuming chunks of juicy meat, lazy cats dilly-dallying all over the place and a general sense of casualness that I had last seen in the power-point presentation that my subordinate had sent me to review, the day before.

With all thanks to Google’s offline map feature, we finally ended up near a castle/mosque-ish building, thoroughly lost and weary. Our limbs screamed for moov tubes. Throwing anxiety to the winds, we entered a small corner restaurant and out of sheer desperation asked him if he knew our hotel. He scratched his imaginary beard, smiled, just pointed and said, ‘Eet ees right there.’

And so it was.

Our hotel was more like a small cottage with a lovely garden, surrounded by rooms with windows skirted by curtains that were intricately embroidered. And that is where we encountered our first brush with Turkish hospitality. The hotelier chap was so filled with happiness at seeing us that we felt like we had returned from the US and our parents were meeting us at the airport with garlands and a trumpet band. He ushered us to a lovely room with beautiful wall-hangings and a well-stocked bathroom. (I am getting into the weird area usually occupied by MasterChef judges with their superlatives, but what the heck.)

We dumped our luggage, rested our feet a bit and then stepped out to converse with our host in broken English. His inability to speak English was evenly balanced by the effort he put into stressing each word slowly and steadily, almost like a tortoise. We decided to take a walk outside and stopped at the selfsame restaurant we had encountered, deciding to reward the Good Samaritan by having our first meal there. It was already close to 10 PM.
TIP 3: Gold gym members, kindly do not go to Turkey. As for the others, eat, eat, and eat everything you see. Taste everything you see. Tie up your habits, rituals and food-orientation into a small sock, attach a large brick and throw it into the Arabian Sea before you come. It is worth it.
It was fantastic.

To start with, the restaurateur was even more hospitable than the hotelier. He asked where we were from, how long we were staying, what places to visit, what to eat etc. Within half an hour pat, we had planned the next day completely. And then we tucked into the first of our several amazing meals in Turkey – Adana Kebab, an assorted meat platter that included Köfte, Şiş Kebap, İskender Kebab, a side of pilaf rice and a glass of cold Efes Pilsen beer.


It was a fitting end to a tiring day.

Little did we know, how exhausted we were going to get.

Picture courtesy: Wikipedia.org (forgot to take the camera and had to glamorize the post. Will be original, going forward.)

Jun 25, 2015

Turkish Diaries: Part 1

The cricket in the kitchen chirped away to a still screen of Gabriel Macht holding a file, frozen on the television. My wife looked at the watch and told me to book the cab.

It was time.

We had been planning to go on a trip to Turkey for eons. It took a wedding, a small session at a pub nearby and several jealousy-inducing pictures on facebook for us to finally take the plunge. This series of posts is our version of how we travelled as a couple to one of the most beautiful and endearing countries in the world. It is not an indicator of what you should be doing; there are better websites out there that are also better written somehow, although it is beyond me how it is so. One of those unexplained mysteries of the world.

THE PREPARATION:

The preparation for the trip was an arduous, 8 hours of intense planning and googling. As many people might mislead you, planning is the last thing you should be doing for a trip to Turkey. My philosophy is somewhat similar to what a valiant beast of the wilderness, say, a tiger, does after getting up one fine, Sunday morning – decide what to do for the day, on the go. Maybe chill out with the tigresses for some time, play with a few berries, hunt and devour a wild boar and maybe wind up at the nearest watering hole for a nightcap. To quote a famous ceiling fan manufacturer’s tagline – it has to be dynamic.

So, as the first step we booked the tickets. I have married into a family that has slight Marwadi traits of which I was completely unaware of; which worked largely in my favour as the trip progressed and I came to know a little bit more about my better half. Coming back to the better things in life, we waited and waited until the airlines figured that there was this Indian couple who wanted to make a cheap trip to Turkey and decided to lower it a teensy-weensy bit. We sprung, booked the tickets and ran around the room, crying inside at our forthcoming inevitable credit card statements and cheering outside at the onset of a long-due trip to a lovely country.

We had made a mistake.

In the heat of the moment, we had booked tickets for a mere 7 days. It was an error of enormous proportions, which we came to realize much, much later. Don’t run away thinking I will not talk about it. I will elaborate in due course in gory, painful detail that will make any KJo movie seem like an action flick.
TIP: Plan for more than 7 days to Turkey. Preferably 10 days, or 20 days or 42 days or even 365 days; but never 7 days. Or less than 7. Which might be... *goes to get a calculator*
Meanwhile, preparations started somewhat. We googled for some time and then lost interest. It was two months in advance and there was a truckload of time. Procrastination is beautiful.

THE VISA:

Around a month before the trip, came the visa. I found out that I was eligible for an e-visa to Turkey, all thanks to the company I worked with. However, my wife was not. So we consulted leading experts in the market of obtaining visas and zeroed in on Thomas Cook. The second big mistake, but this we realized much earlier.
TIP: Do not go through travel agencies to get your visa unless you have a weird fetish for getting high blood pressure. Apply yourself – it is easier, cheaper and less of a hassle.
After several trips to their offices, with barely 3 weeks to fly, Thomas Cook wanted our marriage certificate for God-knows-gujarati-what-reason.  They have a fixed template like an Andhra meals menu for all Middle-Eastern countries; none of which made sense for Turkey. The lady there even went to the extent of lying about a delegation from India flying to Turkey exactly on the same dates we were going. We went solo and got the visa rather easily. We swore at the guy who recommended us the agency and proceeded to go home and have a cup of filter coffee to calm our frayed nerves.

So, everything was more or less set. More googling happened. The googling may or may not have included shopping for clothes; my wife is unable to determine the exact location or nature of this particular memory segment.

THE PACKING:

Yahoo! weather came to the rescue, as we began packing 10 hours before the flight. It was supposed to be partly rainy around the time we were going; so we flung in an umbrella and a plastic shower cap for good measure. Apart from that, we decided to travel light. Please do not attempt to crack a joke asking whether we packed in Philips or Godrej. That sort of wry humour will not be tolerated.
I have made a checklist here of the things we took,
  1. 2 knapsacks
  2. 2 smaller bags
  3. Clothes for 7 days (me)
  4. Clothes for 83 days (wife)
  5. 2 pairs of sandals (for both of us)
  6. 1 Burma Towel
  7. Phone charger
  8. 1 plastic shower cap
  9. Camera with 2 memory cards and 1 pendrive (very helpful)
  10. Selfie stick (which was on the list but we forgot to take)
  11. 1 umbrella
  12. 2 books
  13. 1 soap, 1 toothpaste, 2 toothbrushes and 10 shampoo sachets
  14. 1 bucket of enthusiasm
  15. 1 small dead cockroach
The phone rang.

The cab had arrived.

I turned off the television; Suits paused at some dramatic point of the episode. I checked my watch for horoscopic auspiciousness and then realized I had no idea what the kaalam was. It was 12:30 AM, if you really want to know. It did not matter.
TIP: Start the previous day itself if you are going to the Bangalore airport. I am not aware of any visa required for that, as of now. Even if it is, strict no-no to Thomas Cook.
We high-fived, blew a kiss to the cricket and stepped out. All that mattered was beginning.

WE WERE GOING TO TURKEY!

Apr 22, 2013

Pangs of Guilt

8:00 AM

Four Wheels:

Arun woke up to a well-constructed symphony of cutlery noises that made Megadeth sound like an S.A. Rajkumar refrain. He glanced at the clock and let loose an expletive. He quickly got ready, with one eye on the calendar, randomly hoping it would turn out to be a Sunday. The calendar remained unmoved and he came to a brilliant conclusion – hope is not random. Which is random, anyway.

He made a ceremonious entry into his wife’s kingdom where she was sweating it out at the sink. To her, he might have as well been Torres scoring a goal; she did not acknowledge his presence. He looked around and gave a despairing look at his plump son who was hurriedly wolfing down a sandwich, lest it evaporated.

“Parvati, I will eat at the canteen. Where is my lunch?”

“It’s on the table. I have made your favorite brinjal fry. Try to come early; we have to go pick up my parents from the airport”.

Arun picked up one of the two yellow lunch boxes from the table and thought for a second.

“I will be late today; you better call them a cab”, he rudely spat and rushed to the car. His wife walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

Six Wheels:

Hari unfolded the morning newspaper as he drank his coffee. The sun rose with a marked disrespect for the moon, even if it was only temporary. Accident, rape, IPL - the more journalists bored into a news-piece, the more boring it became. He folded it back and scratched his stubble, trying his level best to ruminate deeply. He went about four feet, before he gave up and ambled away to get ready for office, after giving a cursory glance at his wife who was sweeping the front yard.

As he knotted his tie, for the 365th time, he wondered what mortal sin he had committed in his previous life. Did he run away with a Raaja’s daughter? No, not Bhavatharani. Did he shoot an arrow into a sage’s rear while the sage was meditating on the economic affairs of Greece? Everything had gone downhill since his parents pointedly rejected the love of his life, called him a nincompoop among other derogatory animal names and got him married to this simpleton. She was lifeless and for some reason, too shy for comfort. His love had a rebellious spirit that sent a stallion riding up his spine. His wife on the other hand, was a female Manmohan Singh at best and probably sent only a drunk mosquito up his spine.

He packed up the steel tiffin box and marched out of the house. From the periphery of his eye, he saw his wife motion to say something, but stopped herself. He disregarded her and walked towards the bus stop, trying to cross the four feet mark.

Two wheels:

Venkat stood in his lungi, as he recounted office gossip to the maami, who stayed opposite his house. She quadrupled up as his Landlord, Clothesline Advisor, Neighbor Relationship Consultant and High Court judge of Domestic Affairs in general. He had fallen back on two rent payments and was sweet-talking his way to buy some more time. As he kept bowling short balls, both of them heard a wail inside. Quickly delivering a premeditated wide, he made a strong but gentle promise to pay the rent next week and retired into the house for the next two months. Take a cue, Sachin.

As he got ready for office, he nudged his wife awake. She had been up all night, watching the baby. He had a strong feeling the baby possessed alien genes, most probably inherited from his mother-in-law. His wife got up, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and walked straight to the cradle.

Gathering up the Tupperware box on the table, he strolled to his bike and started it. He heard his wife say something about vegetables, but he drowned it in the revving sound and sped away.

I was sweating rivulets of sweat, as I ordered a hot tea. The heat was unbearable and the tea-shop owner gave me a look that made me feel I would fit better in a retarded ward. I picked up the tea and sauntered to the shade of a nearby tree. I sipped. Bliss reigned supreme.

Having skipped breakfast, Arun was famished. His eyes meandered around and spotting an empty seat, made way to a table at the corner. So did two other people in the cafeteria. All of them converged on the table and looked at each other with nervous glances not different from three men, who had just winked at the same girl and were too ashamed to admit it. They sat down with sheepish smiles and opened their boxes. They swore in unison. There was beans fry in each one of them. Arun knew it was his mistake, but he blamed it on Parvati. Hari slapped his forehead in disgust. Venkat quietly fumed. They dumped their lunches in the dustbin and went to order at the counter. None of them liked beans.

A crow flew down to the dustbin and started pecking at the beans.

8:30 PM

Arun was driving when he called his wife and told her, "Dress up. We are leaving for the airport as soon I reach home. We will eat out today…. Yeah… Work got over, early… No, I don’t have rabies or fever… Ok... Love you". As she replaced the phone in its cradle, Parvati smiled.

Hari stepped off the bus and started walking back to his house. He spied a jasmine seller and bought a foot of sweet-smelling jasmine flowers. It was the one thing, he knew, his wife liked. He smiled.

Venkat hauled up the groceries and strung them on either side of the bike. He was tired, weary lines creasing his forehead. He just needed to hug his wife and son. He looked forward, earnestly.

Having had its fill, the crow took off. Mid-air, realization dawned that it probably should not have eaten so much without Dr. Batra's pills. It flew around in torpor, with Chennai's sun beating down. After almost 4.32 hours it landed on a branch, cursing. It was time to let go. And let go, it did.

It so happened, I was standing under that selfsame tree, when I heard a plop in my tea and something floated to the top of my tea.

Jun 24, 2012

Fire in the Hole!

I was shaking and moving it with an Anushka (Sharma or Shetty, don't remember), when somebody who was the President of the International Imbecile and Moron Association (IIMA) flung a newspaper wrapped around a shoe. At my head. A head that was throbbing from an over-hung headache and supported a pair of bleary, fermentation-ridden eyes.

I woke up. It was ghastly.

Ghastly is the mildest description available. Imagine a troll standing in front of you wearing knickers/shorts and a vest with a grimace painted across his face, like he just swallowed a piece of bubble-gum that turned out to be bitter gourd pickle. Yeah, that. Add a couple of props, like a tennis racquet and a pair of shoes. And an unwashed shirt.

Flinging my veil of stupor, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My roommate was still standing there, brandishing his racquet. I said the only four letters I could manage.

"Dude".

He opened his vocal chords and proceeded to rape my ears, brain and a passing dove in that order.

"THE MAID DID NOT COME TODAY TOO! WHAT DOES SHE THINK OF HERSELF! IT IS YOUR MIS..."

I went to my happy place and waited until the storm passed. It was not quite long before I knew what he wanted me to say.

"You want me to fire the maid."

"Yes"

I gulped a glass of imaginary horlicks and stood up, arming myself with a pair of argumentative bazookas,

"Where is she? I will fire her this minute."

Now this followed a period of silence during which the raped dove, yelled a few choice words in dove language and Guru Ramdev executed a perfect headstand to a standing ovation. Gas bellowed from my roommates ears and I stood nonplussed.

"I JUST TOLD YOU SHE DID NOT COME TODAY!"

"Oh."

Sheepish. Dumb. I snuggled back under the covers, murmuring 'Mmmms' and 'Okokokokok' etc.

The next day, she came. I opened the door and she went about her work as lackluster as possible. In fact, she was content restricting herself to the kitchen. I blew my 300 hair-filled top. I called her and told her,                                                              

"We are extremely displeased with your work. Stop coming from tomorrow. Here is your pay. Please don't ask why."

"Why? What did I do now", she wailed. It is like women never listen to what I say. After 3 breakups and 2 false pretences, I still have not learnt anything that has impressed me enough to modify my modicum of speech. The Vesuvius inside me erupted with a small bang.
"You are supposed to wash dishes! But the algae on the dishes have been reproducing like rabbits. You are supposed to clean all the rooms! You run a random sequence of which rooms and clean, and then forget to clean them as well. You are supposed to wash clothes clean! Not dislodge the buttons and buckles off in the process, helping my teammates watch me saunter in Jockey jatti all day long! In essential, you are completely deplorable and are as much use as a wedding ring to a drowning woman!"

I took a deep breath after this rant. She too took a deep breath and I reflexed into a pink-belt-patented-chop-left-break-right stance. But she said,

"Ok."

I went Wow. That's it? I was expecting something along the lines of hell's fury multiplied by 6.023 times. My stance melted into something else that resembled a mangled mongoose. My roommates went gawking at me. I milked the adulation, fluidly moved out of my stance upsetting a bean bag in the process and stepped into my room, locking the door behind me. It was exhilarating and my adrenalin went a-pumping.

And then I remembered.


The person outside was the cook and not the maid.