Bloody Donkeys

A little boy wanted Rs.50 very badly & prayed for weeks but nothing happened.
Finally he decided to write God a letter requesting Rs.50.
When the postal authorities recieved the letter adressed to GOD, PAKISTAN, they decided to fwd it to the Finance Ministr of Pakistan as a joke.
The Finance Ministr was so amused that he instructed his secretary to send the little boy Rs.20, thinkng this would appear to be a lot of money to a little boy & he won't get spoiled.
The little boy ws delighted with Rs.20 & decided to write a thankyou note to God, which read: "Dear God, thankyou very much for sending the money. However, I noticed that you sent it through the Finance Minister in Islamabad & those bloody donkeys deducted Rs.30 in taxes!"

Only once.

once
and for once in all
i have lived in a shallow cave
a near- dry river flows by
one, a single, flower blooms at mid day
the sun refuses to light the time...
if, a sleepy gaze of the eye
an empty moon lulls it back to sleep

once
a sparkle: shiny, smooth, shiny still
worn crushed: powdered, de glazed

and once
the hand reaches out by me
pulls, pulls, takes the pretty flower
i shed, tears, silent, laughing sorrows
pain, etched misery; once

once.

I went shoppng tday, nt the kind whn u dress up (dressing up: wearing nice pants instead of shalwar, co- ordinatd earings, bags, shoes, fake- designr shades) and go to Bareezé, Kapas or J. etc, bt whn u simply pik ur car keys up, reassure tht u, indeed, r supportng ur dupatta n ur handbag (multi purpose, lots ov pockets) n simply go to shop for house utilities. So, anyway, as i ws abt to leav, my youngr sib (who had jst nw woken up; doing only- the- Lord- knws-wht the ntire nite ) wishd rathr woefully fr a pizza. Nw since PH r asses n dnt dlivr an ordr fr less thn 250/- (n he wantd tht 144/- deal), "gettng pizza" went strait up my list. Leavng, made a quick stop at an ATM (got my salary tday! Yippiee), which turnd out 2b not- so- quick. An Aunty (i refuse to call hr by any othr name), had aparntly gottn hr card stuck n nw, armd wth a hair pin, ws jabbng the poor machine in hopes of gettng the card bck. Quite obviously, the machine didnt let up (mimicking hr husband most probably). Aftr being fascinatd for abt 8 mints, my "patience well" had gottn its full taste ov curiosity n ws running rathr low. I movd to anthr one- link, gt my money out n braked whn i saw a prime parking location infrnt ov the whole- sellers (since v always buy a month's stuff, othr thn FMCGs). I had jst ntrd the shop, sed hi, hw r u?, n askd abt hs entire aulad whn my mobile beepd (yeah, it beeps like Meredith Grey's beepr n yeah, it's jst as imp!). I had totally forgottn abt the pizza. Urgh. The bear was frustratd, the youngr one ws hungry! As i left the whole- sellrs, the keepr ws baffld n i ws nearly in tears. Wud i evr find anthr parkng spot like ths? As xpctd, the PH ppl were ovrly chummy (borderng on Type 2 diabetes) n atleast 3 ppl (xcludng the door man) made a whole deal ov sayng thankyous. Disgustd (yes, im nt so kind), i left the almost charsi- happy place n dlivrd the pizza to the dumab man at home. "Pepsi he lye ho na?", i ws askd. I simply walkd bck 2 my car and keepng my fingrs crossd, proceeded to the markt once again. Yes, the parkng ws gone n urs truly had to park 3 shops away. "Baita, paisay ghar bhool ayen theen?", he (no more "uncle") chuckd. Asshole, i muttrd undr my breath n startd browsing through the aisles. Amma, who ws wth me the ntire time, kept remindng me hw v dnt need tooth pastes (abba wil gt thm in the eve), cans ov beans (v already hav 4 lyng in the cabinets), olive oil ("yeh acha nai lag raha... Shayad xpired hai"), dove soaps (v dnt hv any space to keep them) n on n on n on. I knew wht ws goin on: abba n mama hate it whn i spnd my salary on house supplies. Therefore, amma and hr elbowng were firmly ignord n i shoppd to my dil's content. Frm there, Bakewell ws the nxt stop where a dumb man kept knockng on my gari's window evn aftr repeatd shoo- shooing n maaf- kero- baba. Finally, 10/- baild us out. Needless to say, i went in alone, askng ma to keep an eye on the car (always works!). Loaded, as i came out, the same baba startd followng me, yt again. Hwevr, a fixd stare soon got rid of hm n as i sat myslf in the car, "gas kub dalwani hai?", greetd me. "ubhi ma", i dutifully replied n got on the road to the pump. The pump, is an awkward place. Half the men, while tryng to b polite, stumble on their wordngs while rest ov the miserabl lot jst stares n wonders why women dnt stay at home. Finally, gettng the gas n payng 57p xtra, v trudgd along to our house, tired n sweaty n fully acknwldgng the fact tht v had frgottn atleast 3 thngs.