Weird warrior and curd rice

I can hear my mother meddle with the vegetables to prepare something for my father. I’m trying to make sense of my writing. I’m trying to edit my nonsensical literature. I feel drowned by the animosity of my thoughts. A funny war inside my head. A war can never be funny but probably it can… if it is with those of my words and god’s words. “You have enough English on you!” She remembers a well wisher’s stance on her under confidence with the white man’s language. Well, not anymore. I admit that I’m not scared of writing about the quandaries of my life. There is always a dear where there is fear. Now it is brown man’s language, a black man’s too. She rethinks. It’s the rainbow women’s language. She knows she’s skipping from first to third person narrative. Very self aware she’s become she thinks. But what do you think? She dreads the constant vigilance that is nonexistent.

The vegetables have mixed up with semolina finally to bring upma to the dinner table. She wonders if at all -upma will enter the Oxford English Dictionary. You know just like how the word mantra has been included. She shudders at the pronunciation of an American lady uttering the word mantra. She hurls an abuse to the sky and due to the gravity it falls to the ground.

Upma for dinner? Yeppa! Ok! She makes a face (But she actually likes hot upma). Her mother – “I’ll make some rice!” “Mosaranna thindhu bidhko!” (Mosaru=curd, anna=rice and sometimes elder brother, bidhko= go to hell while you sleep)

These beautiful colloquial phrases shouldn’t be translated but to be or not to be these translations never bring justice to the world of language but I like surprises…

I fall on the floor. I cry. I eat the curd rice. I literally go to hell while I sleep. I meet Vichitra Virya (A character from the Epic Mahabharatha)  and he says he has a message for me.

“Don’t eat curd rice at night! Have buttermilk rice instead.”

I hurl an abuse to him agitated and he smiles like a weird warrior. Finally, he claims you’ll never make it as a writer. I utter a very famous, slightly uncommon abuse from my mother tongue at him!

Sometimes I just wish I had never listened to my grand mom narrate stories from this epic. I take offence for eating curd rice. But it’s the best.