I want my Oreo…

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Have not felt this low for the longest of time.
Sad – yes.
Hurt – yes.
But not this low. The type that saps out all your energy. The type that leaves you wondering why you’re still lingering on physically and metaphysically. 
For no apparent reason I cried buckets.
Hachinko definitely had a hand in it; triggering the water ducts to burst the gates wide open – off which I can’t help but feel deep regrets for watching the movie with my almost 4 year old niece who looked amused as I sniffed uncontrollably and wiped off the water works that was raining down my cheeks furiously with the back of my hand.
Damn aided vision apparatus!
It only made it all the more obvious that meek ee ee cries over a loyal dog while the little one smirks, sniggers and proceeds on to sequel in delight.  
Do they not teach them manners these days?
Ahhh… brats!
Wait till I kick her flock of angry birds across the hallway on one of her I’m not too perky. Leave me alone.’ days which I assure you is plenty for a about to be 4 year old.
Oh heck! yes!
I am reduced to tormenting brats that are yet to turn 4. 
I know, that doesn’t say much about me. But that’s how it is at times … and at times when the ‘low’ is truly rock bottom low.
I wanted my Oreo a few days back real bad.
I usually feel vulnerable in the Boardroom, standing in front of the powers may be and trying to influence a favourable decision. Often I had not have enough of time to do my pre-session lobbying; outcome and reaction unknown I thread on egg shells, naked and bare to the world.
Last Monday was one of such days.
Unprepared.
Sleep deprived.
Exhausted from travels.
Suffering from the ever cumbersome monthly cramps.
Bottom line was I felt crappy and even my embroidered Fendi shoes didn’t cheer me up and I sure didn’t feel like Cinderella in her glass slippers; which frankly if it hadn’t been for her glass slippers, she’d still be scrubbing floors!
Anyways, the faint aroma of chai from the far end of the Boardroom table got my fingers to furiously punch a sms to the tea lady to fetch me one, which as expected resulted in an acute headache by my third sip. Taking the cue of V.C. Andrews’ “Flowers in the Attic” growing up, a quick flash of white light fear hit me – arsenic!  Yeah rite.
I just never learn from mistake.
For one, I constantly convince myself on the most impossible and ridiculous ideas even a blind and deaf man could detect. Well, I did it. I had talked myself into how brilliant and absolutely necessary to start creating a short movie with flash at 9 p.m. on a Sunday; materials that needs to be showcased the following day at 10 a.m., right after a breakfast meeting that starts at 8:30 a.m.
Two, the only chai I can consume by huge quantities are those by chai wallahs along the open streets in India that miraculously misses the red stained spits of paan eaters and is ‘flavoured’ by the exhaust expulsion by buses that runs even on CNG (compressed natural gas).
Three, good chai brings back memories of the better days when loads were brewed and enjoyed with Oreo…
I shall be having good chai and Oreo soon, I hope.
But more importantly I hope that it will taste just as good as my recollection {and imagination} goes … mindful of the evils of expectations and its often resulting disappointment and lows.
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2 thoughts on “I want my Oreo…

  1. Maybe you should trade the Fendi for a glass slipper and you'll find a Prince to sweep you off your feet and don't have to work or face Boards and Directors and politics and traffic jams and …Ben

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