Peculiar? Who me?

The New Neighbour

“hi, I’m from #318.”
“hi, I’m new in #319.”

She looked at me strangely. I smiled at her strangely-er. She shifted focus from my left hand (tooth brush, paste) to my right (dettol liquid soap). I (still smiling strangely by the way) scanned the floor, the sky, the green railing, my right hand (ibid), my left hand (ditto).

Awkward silence, much friendly nodding, smiles (getting stranger by the nanosecond)

We took in each others’ respective strange-nesses, reconciled ourselves to them and forgave each other for the same.

“acha theek hai, bye.”
“bye.”

I think we both made a good first impression.

*

Rina has offered to deliver all my unwashed clothes to the custody of a washing machine, have them coaxed with detergent and warm water, spin dried. She also promises to not only hang them out to dry but ensure that they do just that, i.e. dry. All in return for nothing but the smile on my face. I wonder why. I’ve been smiling quite a bit these days.

She then offered to return all my library books. I agreed. In fact, while she’s at it she might as well borrow them and read them too.

I knew I’d be pushing my luck but I just went ahead and asked her to do me another humungous favour: to take my meals and bathe on my behalf as I am feeling terribly disinclined toward both. Not as much as the laundry though.

*

“You’ve been acting slightly strange lately.”
“Strange? Who me?”

*

We’re all a lot less weird and unusual than we aspire to be. Not nearly as kooky or eccentric as we would like. I wonder why it is so difficult to resign oneself to being normal? Almost as if normalcy (I was toying with the word ordinarity till I realised it wasn’t really a word at all, ordinariness however is) were an awful curse.

*

Po-yum

Mona is a royal farce
Coyly eyeing Marley’s arse
Would it grievously maim or hurt you,
To protect your dubious virtue?

All the pigeons writhe with shame
Shudder to speak your sullied name
And naughty lizards skirt the issue
With arguments as frail as tissue

Red curtains occupied by thoughts
Tie themselves up in great big knots
Curious clothes from cupboards tumble
And all I can muster is a humble,

“Grumble mumble grumble mumble.”

The end.

*

“You’ve been acting slightly strange lately”
“Strange? Who’s acting?”

*

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen… lend me your ears…
I shall have them back to you by Saturday next…promise”

(I’m terribly sorry. For some strange reason I’ve always wanted to crack that one)

*

And funnily enough, we are on occasion far more peculiar than we are comfortable with. This propensity for "uniqueness" is often badly timed. You can never count on it when surrounded by eclectic people who would appreciate strangeness and such like nonsense. And never once will it manifest itself when you most need an alibi or a scapegoat.

*

I really hope that made at least some sense. I really tried for it to. If you could just crack open my head you’d see the idea in its original form. It was a good one.

Oh well.