Showing posts with label i noticed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label i noticed. Show all posts
18 February 2007
17 February 2007
25 September 2006
Correction
Every morning, I walk the same route. Pass the same street with garbage can. Even encounter the same passersby heading my way. Occasionally, there is a white van with men hard at work, digging or loading things. Everything is so familiar, that I can even afford to read a book when I am walking (okay, okay I know I should not) before I reach the signal.
This morning, I noticed a new bright blue sign pointing to what looked like a new eating place. It was just outside that little restaurant opposite my workplace. Laila Cafe, the hand painted red letters declared delicately pointing in the opposite direction. Must belong to a rather cheeky competitor, I thought to myself. So I walked on, instead thinking kind thoughts and feeling sympathy and admiration for the little motherless girl in the book I was reading.
Incessant traffic. People on either side, waiting. Cyclists breaking rules. Royal mail van turning up in the corner with one eye flashing. I looked around trying to pass time. I looked back and glanced up at the name of that restaurant whose name I had never seen. Laila Cafe, it read. My head jerked and I blinked trying to sort out why the painted sign which also said Laila Cafe. And it was there, metallic and small, resting on the footpath innocently pointing to the opposite side.
The lights went red and I crossed the road forgetting all about Laila Cafe for a moment. But it nagged me that the sign board was wrong. It gnawed me just as much when my deskphone cord tangles up. The sheer urge to uncoil the mess. It amused me as if I had seen someone wear a pair of socks one white and one red. It also concerned me that hungry people might go in the wrong direction to fill their bellies. So I crossed the road again and went into Laila Cafe in Farringdon Road.
This morning, I noticed a new bright blue sign pointing to what looked like a new eating place. It was just outside that little restaurant opposite my workplace. Laila Cafe, the hand painted red letters declared delicately pointing in the opposite direction. Must belong to a rather cheeky competitor, I thought to myself. So I walked on, instead thinking kind thoughts and feeling sympathy and admiration for the little motherless girl in the book I was reading.
Incessant traffic. People on either side, waiting. Cyclists breaking rules. Royal mail van turning up in the corner with one eye flashing. I looked around trying to pass time. I looked back and glanced up at the name of that restaurant whose name I had never seen. Laila Cafe, it read. My head jerked and I blinked trying to sort out why the painted sign which also said Laila Cafe. And it was there, metallic and small, resting on the footpath innocently pointing to the opposite side.
The lights went red and I crossed the road forgetting all about Laila Cafe for a moment. But it nagged me that the sign board was wrong. It gnawed me just as much when my deskphone cord tangles up. The sheer urge to uncoil the mess. It amused me as if I had seen someone wear a pair of socks one white and one red. It also concerned me that hungry people might go in the wrong direction to fill their bellies. So I crossed the road again and went into Laila Cafe in Farringdon Road.
17 July 2005
The Lizard
A tiny lizard has just landed itself into my kitchen sink. I was just about to rid the sink of the the shining steel vessels which are submerged in dilute murky turmeric water with curry leaves floating, and smeared with potato peels and shredded cabbage. This is enough proof for the fact that I have been occupied manufacturing various dishes all morning. So this lizard offspring. Its tiny and squiggly. Sand coloured, less then two inches long and half a centimeter any other way. I stare at it for a few seconds and decide to ignore it. I have work to do and can't be bothered to rescue unwelcome lizardlings.
I turn on the tap. Evidently this creature is not prepared for the cold sprinkle. So it springs around inside the sink and tries to get out. Huh, but the water is fast and the walls of the sink don't have the grip that the climber needs. I continue in my engaging chore of cleaning vessels. Scrubber, soap, vessel. I tell the child-of-the-lizard by both verbal and non-verbal methods to leave. The lizard does not take the hint. Then I pour out the water from the cooker. This time the water is warm. So the lizard leaps in shock, I think, and lands plop on the plate that I am now cleaning. I tell the lizard that I don't like it hopping around on my plate and then politely tip the plate. The lizard falls down on the floor and waits suspiciously for a minute and then runs off in a familiar direction. I smugly smile at the scrubber and adjust the halo behind my head.
I turn on the tap. Evidently this creature is not prepared for the cold sprinkle. So it springs around inside the sink and tries to get out. Huh, but the water is fast and the walls of the sink don't have the grip that the climber needs. I continue in my engaging chore of cleaning vessels. Scrubber, soap, vessel. I tell the child-of-the-lizard by both verbal and non-verbal methods to leave. The lizard does not take the hint. Then I pour out the water from the cooker. This time the water is warm. So the lizard leaps in shock, I think, and lands plop on the plate that I am now cleaning. I tell the lizard that I don't like it hopping around on my plate and then politely tip the plate. The lizard falls down on the floor and waits suspiciously for a minute and then runs off in a familiar direction. I smugly smile at the scrubber and adjust the halo behind my head.
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