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Sundays

There was a time when I waited for Sunday. After a week of work, and I worked hard, a day of rest  was very welcome. I loved to sleep.  I am not an atheist, and I go to church maybe once a year for  midnight mass on Christmas eve. So I'm not a churchgoer basically. Therefore Sundays did not mean  that I was seated in the pews in church listening to the pastor's sermon.  The pastor, in fact,  would not recognise me until my sister, who goes more often to church, introduced me as her brother  after Christmas Eve mass. I also had a problem sleeping and would lie awake at nights trying desperately trying to fall asleep. I tried counting sheep and it never worked. I also tried those sleeping videos on YouTube. I listened  \ and felt bored. They were not music I was familiar with and they kept my eyelids firmly apart. Even a safe  tranquillizer that my doctor prescribed did not have any effect. The on...

Body language



He was a banker with round expressive eyes. But, what was remarkable, were his perfectly arched and manicured eyebrows. The eyebrows danced each time he made some point or the other.  All through that bankers ‘meet at which a lot of Englishmen were present I looked awestruck at the callisthenics that his eyebrows were continuing to do. It must have required years of effort and practice each morning after brushing the teeth.

I could almost visualise his wife asking him at the breakfast table, “Did you do your eyebrow exercise this morning dear?”

“Coo! I did, “he would reply tucking into his ham and eggs which are de rigueur for the breakfasting Englishman. That was my first lesson in bodily speak.

There was the one man in office from whom others always kept as polite a distance as possible when he bored down  asking for the latest gossip.

He would deliver a resounding pinch every time he made a point. He would seize a portion of his victim’s flesh between thumb and forefinger and give a sudden twist eliciting gasps. All his victims and would be ones took to their heels at the sight of him. 

In office there was another person who was elderly and when he would retire nobody knew. At the time these gentlemen entered service, birth certificates were rare. Horoscopes provided by the employees gave their age which the office accepted. It may sound surprising, but it is true nevertheless.

He could fly into a temper when his ears would waggle furiously and his jaws would clench and unclench. People amused themselves by making him angry so that they could see his ears waggle and his jaws working.

There were certain things that made him angry. He drank a lot of milk according to his own admission loved arhar dal and ghee. When within his hearing some employees would comment on his habit and this made him fly off the handle his large ears waggling furiously. But he was a nice and helpful man at heart.

When his son entered employment one of my lady friends happened playfully to ask another colleague whether the progeny’s ears also waggled. This colleague when in the presence of the ear wiggler's son told her, “He is Mr …r’s son. What was that you asked about him?” The lady friend went into fits and could only giggle helplessly.

If it means bodily harm I can only think of my school principal. He was enormously fat and tall. The bulging eyes behind a pair of glasses transfixed his tottering victims. He also had a voice which should certainly have been heard from miles away. It took on a foghorn like quality when he asked his cowering sacrificial lamb to touch his toes for a couple of swift ones.
He was all body, less language and all cane.





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