How to flush Rs.10.50 down the kitchen sink

The scene starts in the bedroom. Yours truly, Kenny, is "half asleep" which means those scenes of mountains and geometric series that indicate approach to zonked-out-land have started forming, and the words have started slurring. Enter the husband. Mr.Man lets call him today (I have retained my maiden name, Maine, do you see that?). Yours truly suddenly jerks out of geometric series and, enroute to multiplication tables, remembers the milk that is sitting next to the stove. She opens an eye. Oh what the heck. I opened one of my eyes and said to Mr.Man "Hey that thing that is white and liquid and sitting in a steel vessel next to the stove is milk, not curd being set for the morning, not curd being set for the morning. Please put it in the fridge, thank you" At that point the pine trees and equations in large font took over and I assume I drifted off.

The scene now moves to the kitchen, wee hours of the next morning. What do I find that is white and liquid and sitting demurely in a steel vessel next to the stove? Come on now, guess it. No, you silly gooses, its not milk anymore, its that special thick thing that happens to it. I do what any self-respecting member of the household would, and pour into the sink before the maid/cook come in and start scolding me for my carelessness. So thats how you do it. And yes, as of this month, the milk that comes in the suspiciously grimy packets costs Rs.21 per liter.

Now, this was quite an entertaining experience, I felt like I was Caligula or something, pouring half a liter of milk down the drain. But it set me thinking along such domestic lines, and I came up with:

(1) How to burn up Rs.500 on diwali night
Obvious answer! Hardly even requires Mr.Man's intervention, or miscommunication akin to 'Got the keys (?)' in the very forgettable thanksgiving episode of Friends. Crackers! Flower pots, wheels, sparklers, whatever your little heart desires. Buy them, set them on fire. Watch with glee as your money burns. This has the side benefit of polluting the place, increasing ambient temperatures (and tempers), and potentially causing burn injuries

(2) How to use up 16 KWH of electricity
Just one night out of several that you can potentially celebrate diwali, set up 100 bulbs of approximately 20W. Buy them in colours. Leave them on for the whole night, of 8 hours. This one also has a side benefit that come summer you can enjoy the load-shedding, secure in the knowledge that you have personally contributed to it.

Diwali

In a sense, it has come and gone. Diwali I mean. I was busy celebrating my first white hair and sort of forgot partially about the festival of lights. And since we were supposed to celebrate it a day before the rest of the local populace, it was like a bit of a fairy-tale, really.

I blah blahed about Rangoli and Murukku and Coconut Burfi (and beer). Bought some dreamy mud diyas for Rs.2/- which I fell in love with on the street. Plotted various things in my head, diwali will be like this, and like that, and I will do this and that, and run 14k in preparation of the marathon, yada yada yada. With about 36 hours left before the work week, right now, I am in a haze. No, no, I am insanely sober, having watched Baghban on TV all afternoon. I cannot separate fact from fiction. I feel like I lit diyas sometime. I remember changing the monster's dress once because of the diyas in the lobby. I recall a rangoli. I can taste some sweets and murukkus and sundry other foods (all yummy). But I am not sure. It could be my over-active imagination, or I could have actually transformed myself into the now almost extinct Domestic Kenny and done a few things in honour of the festival.

Like take last night for example. The official Diwali night. Two of our friends came over with a back-pack full of food. We did what we were expected to (such as order beer). We were hanging out. The child was demonstrating its skills by writing their names on a slate. If you ever need help cracking an anagram, please to employ child. You know how you write the letters all in a sort of circle so you can visualise the combinations. Well, thats how she normally writes words. It is up to you figure out the word based on all the letters she has managed to put down. Sort of a fun game. Anyway so we are doing this slate business. We are shouting big time at each other. WHAT IS THAT? OH! THAT LOOKED LIKE AN APPLE? WHAT?? IT IS Q? OKAY YEAH. GUYS WHAT DO YOU THINK IS THE AMBIENT TEMPERATURE NOW? WHAT IS THE EMBARGO TIME FOR THESE GODDAMN CRACKERS? GROWING UP, WHICH WAS YOUR FAVOURITE ONE? MINE WAS THE SNAKE...HISS...

We were dressed as shabbily as possible. I was wearing husband's discarded shorts and my favourite CRY RUN WALK Tshirt from last century. The child was wearing a half-dress created out of cloth remnants (original plan was for me to wear the kurti and her to wear the dress and we would finally look like mother and daughter). The friends were better than us (considering they travelled through a city which was decked up and dripping jewels) but would not easily be allowed on the ramp. Of course the husband was trying to display his biceps by wearing the oldest possible tshirt from his gym collection.

And monster child has dissed all the light decorations all around us as 'Too much jing' This has to be fiction. I mean, this is the girl who thinks in pink and gold generally, and never has enough bangles on her little hands.

Oh Diwali, I am thankful for the time off, the afternoon naps, and most of all, the ten spoons of neat Milkmaid I stole and ate enroute to making my coconut burfi. That last thing is indeed a fact, and I better figure out a long-ish run tomorrow morning to get around that...