An old man, his daughter and her daughter

Despite my general foul mood these days, there are still a few things that make me smile, laugh even. But reservedly of course. 

For example, I find myself composing elaborate excuses to not socialise. 

I find myself telling lies to wriggle out of hosting duties for friends and their nakhray wale children. The thought of opening the front door, then the gate tires me. Children running everywhere and messing up my perfectly decorated rooms and making noise annoys me. Pakistani children with their obsession with white sauce pasta annoys me. Pakistani children speaking a hideous combination of English and Urdu annoys me. 

"Mama, mama, I want white sauce pasta!" they say and I think to myself , horrified, what's becoming of good old polite Pakistani society? At least I had the excuse that I never grew up here. 

I think Kavita's the only kid who calls her mother "Ami." Everywhere else is "Mama , mama." 

Thinking about having to clean up afterwards - and sweeping and mopping, putting things back have to be done, no matter how late into the night otherwise I can't sleep - tires me to no end. Sometimes, I do say: "I'm tired of hosting." The sad thing is :no offer to host comes back. And, so I turn to imaginary ruses to not have visitations. 

The last time I dodged a visitation involved beguiling Kavita as well. And, I chuckled thinking about it. 

I'm thinking about renaming this column "Evil Thoughts." 

I love chuckling to myself. Having a little secret. Like having such a strict policy of "No guests allowed."  

And in fact, if guests somehow do manage to show up to a grudgingly organised occasion by my very self, I thinking of putting up a sign that says:

- No social media while in my house

- No children on sofas

- No children in sight

- No small talk 

What else makes me smile? I love thinking about making a cup of tea even before I've had it. It is perhaps the only thing to look forward to, sometimes. That cup of tea after a meal, the cup of tea I'll have right after I wake up, and the cup of tea I will have with friends who come to visit (even though I'll have to open the gate, wash up after they leave). 

What really makes me laugh is the retorts Kavita sometimes gives back to my father. I can hear her squeaky voice float upstairs. Aboo and Kavita are often engrossed in back and forth conversations about ads on TV, society, tasks to be done in the house, how much my father is suffering, and so on. It's amazing how long they both carry on.

Sometimes Kavita runs up excitedly to tell me she check mated my father or comes up in tears that my father didn't let her win the game. Other times, she comes up to tell me she got a lot of money from Aboo for doing all his chores. I love receiving these updates.