Helloooooooooo? Can you hear me?
I’m in California dreaming about who we used to be….
Okay, fine, the Adelegend sang that, I’m just fluffing the lines. But I’m here to say a Very Important Thing:
Thing is, there’s no point having a blog that was once alive and chattering languish like a Limp Thing (yes, I’m up to my eyeballs in Sandra Boynton, can you tell?) when I’ve clearly moved on to Web Affair 2.0 with other social media (looking at you, Instagram!) The 3 seconds it takes to click a picture, add a filter (or not), and upload it, is all I have to give of myself presently before hollers of “Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!” come seeking my bone marrow. (Here’s a fun fact: In the time it took me to type this post, I was interrupted
9 11 13 times, and not just by the bebe.)
(Here’s a second fun fact: I’ve gone dotty with the parentheses and haven’t the foggiest why.)
Or maybe that’s just an excuse and I don’t have anything to say anymore. Whichever way I look at it, I think closure is good manners. I may well be back when my brain returns to its skull. Or not. But ten years is a decent run in the world of blogdom, and it’s been a good decade, non?
Thank you for all that you’ve given me. You have my love and gratitude, all 3½ of you still glancing at this blog. I’ll draw only the lightest linen curtains for now, and you can continue to visit and make yourselves at home if you would so like. And come say hi on Instagram and Twitter (find me on the sidebar)!
For now, here’s my final post, a little something I wrote earlier this month and had vaguely referenced some years ago.
Happy New Year, lovelies! May every blessing be yours in 2017. ❤
On this day, nine years ago, I managed to lock myself into the restroom of a posh South Bombay hotel. I’ll just pee really quick, I had thought, before taking the elevator to the rooftop lounge for my date.
And there I was, trapped by an errant bolt that wouldn’t slide back. My heart sank. He sounded amazing in all our communication so far. He knew and loved my music, we got each other’s puns, and–best of all- he texted with zero spelling and grammatical errors!
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a stupid door get in the way of meeting this intriguing man,” I gritted my teeth. There was a considerable gap between the door and the floor. I could crawl through, but that wouldn’t be too dignified. And the germs, ugh.
Thankfully, I’m big and made with a fair bit of physical power. “Here goes,” I inhaled, and my shoulder made contact with the door.
Don’t tell the Intercontinental I owe them a latch.
Nine years later:
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, tying bows to the backs of dining chairs, the quiet rumble of the dishwasher in the background. Outside, the streets are wet from a quick drizzle. The lights on our Christmas tree glow as I work silently, grateful for the peace of a sleeping household. It will be a while before I finish tidying up, set the vacuum loose, and leave a (somewhat) uncluttered room for the farishtas to visit at night.
Right before he went to bed, tired from a business trip, I received a bear hug and thanks for making him a home, family and life.
All I know is, I’ve never been gladder to bust a darn door. And never in the history of humankind was lard put to better use.
Adieu and kisses! Time to give these soft, faded jammies a shelf.