Take A Peek (the ‘tail’ continues…)

My happy moon has risen tonight. So let me introduce you to Batman, Blake, and Tun-na (left to right). The three bullies in our house; sons of their Pit Bull Terrier mother, Xena. At almost 10 months old, these three brothers already have the strength of any full-grown adult I’ve encountered. And as you can see in the picture, this three-seater couch is no match for them! Our bullies, along with our cocker spaniel, Scotch, our pug, Pebbles, and our pariah, Tu-Ta, make up this extended family of ours. (You’re probably already familiar with Scotch and Pebbles from my earlier blog)

My family has never been complete without a furry friend or few. And the mania has never been limited to just the canine lot. As growing up girls, we’ve taken care of hens, cock birds, rabbits, parakeets, parrots, crows, mynas, cats, goats, tortoises, hamsters, white rats, and fish. I guess it’s just something that runs in the family!

As a little one, I remember my nans (mum’s mother) recounting tales about the different animals they had as kids. She also narrated hilarious stories about neighbours pets that played up hell. We’d sit and listen to her talking about a neighbour’s parrot that duplicated the exact tone and voice in which the wife showered her husband with some fancy French; the ‘pardon my french’, kinda french, you see! Then she told us about a dog they had, that was probably evil reincarnated, as it only went for the padris and nuns and pandits; those who came to the gate in religious garb. Stories from Nana were always intriguing, and most of them are etched in my memories of happy childhood days.

Having a pet as a part of the family just comes naturally to us. I could never imagine having to go through teenage heartbreaks without my dogs around me. Mom and Dad always knew all the relevant details, but my special four-legged partner knew the deepest hurting of my heart. I would never want to believe that I’d just walk in straight through my front door, without being greeted by the cavorting of my mongrels. It would be difficult to think about a packet of anything being opened; that made even the slightest sound; without the puppers wagging their tails off their butts, and surrounding you with their covetous eyes. I call them ‘mongrels’, and ‘puppers’, and ‘gundas’ and all sorts of terms that I think of because we’ve never had just one breed at any one given point of time. And the word ‘Take’ is like the golden buzzer at home, because it only means that there’s something for them to put into their gobs and chew upon. So we use it with caution unless we want to lure them away from a petrified guest or helpless squirrel.

But this is us, the Auberts; two-legged, four-legged, and all the legs in between! This is how we will probably always be and I’m sure that it could only get better than this; never worse, and never normal!

The Tailor’s Hands



The Tailor’s Hands
When did you last meet a tailor's hand,
With a snap and a style, and a glamorous plan?
Or have you, like me, grown fond of the garments, 
That companies and brands sell on mannequin stands?
When did you last see some sequins and pearls,
on his needle tip, embellishing the dress for a girl?
Or have you, like me, come true to believe,
That they can't live up to the powerhouse image you hurl?
When did you last watch him measuring a dart,
that would shape up your bosom, and melt your admirer's heart?
Or have you, like me, questioned his intentions,
For the man that you loved had the touch that tore you apart? 
When did you last ask him to patchwork the pocket,
Of your favourite blue, college-time, denim jacket?
Or have you, like me, considered it easier,
to roll it up, and get rid of it, in the trash can packet?

The Monkey Nut Man

I’ve met a handful of nuts through the years
Enough to drive me nuts, oh I fear!

So I’m nut a fan of a nut-orious man;
Just a simple monkey nut man would do.

He’ll say nut-thing fancy, no big words I’m sure,
But in a nutshell, he’ll tell me what’s true.

But believe it or nut, he’ll talk about roasting
the hard nuts that ain’t easy to chew.

And the cog-nut-ive therapy we give to each other
will be nut-thing like I ever knew.

So I’m drawing a plan to find my monkey nut man
To tell him, “I’m nuts about you!”



The Dough In My Diamond Ring

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

He was the dough, stuck between the diamonds on my wedding ring.
After I had lovingly cooked a much-desired meal for my husband, I saw him there.

I tried cleaning him out with the other pieces of dough that were stuck to my palms;
I ran them under the gush in the kitchen sink; scrubbed them off with some washing wool;
wiped them off with a bamboo hand towel; finally sat myself at the table.

Just as I broke the first piece of bread to feed my husband, I saw him, still there.
In all quickness I pulled my hand away, flipping the ring around to hide him on the underside. My troubled husband asked me if I felt alright; I said there’s just a little something stuck somewhere.

He says he’s sticking there and I am to blame; the dough was done, but I kept going at it because I thought I’d achieve another level of perfect; because I thought I needed to do a little something more; because I wanted to feel appreciated for the effort of working so hard; because I had nothing much to do that night other than go at the dough!

So I found my sterling silver safety pin and straightened it out; I warned him it would be ugly; that I’d flick him away like an unwanted piece of nothing, ’cause he skillfully hid, causing me the desperation of cleaning things up, but creating fond memories of how hard I had toiled and what beauty I had created in the bread that I served that night.

I poked and I pierced; I hurt myself. I was able to clear the sparkling emptiness between my diamonds.

My husband took my hand the other night, looking hard at the wedding ring. He said that I didn’t appreciate it and I didn’t know how to keep it clean.

I Require Not, You!

I require not, you!
I am my own woman and I do well alone.

You had the knack for fostering me futile;
And portraying essence out of my irrelevance.
You made me your quaking canvas;
And loving called me your own.

I tried uttering of your insolence
Keeping away from you, currently and next;
But you kept bringing me solicitude
And exploiting me in tones.

You kept instituting charge of me
And never ceased to manifest
The manners in which you wrecked my heart
Right through my desolate bones!

Encounter me now, after I’ve survived
You’ll see new constructs woven;
From the degenerated fabric you left of me.
Come prepared for this battle
Because I’m taking back my throne!