I woke up at 10:30 this morning. I could feel a cold draft hit my head. Had I left the aircon on again, I wondered? Turned out that the chilly weather which had hit Mumbai recently had hung on.
Last evening it was so unusually cold that I was about to take the thermometer out to check if I had fever, but then decided to tweet first.
@finelychopped Is anyone else feeling cold in Vandre?
Turned out that it was not just in Bandra. People tweeted back from Sewri, Goregaon, Andheri and Vashi saying it was indeed chilly... ‘Chalo, not COVID’, I concluded and had some m ‘special papdi’ Bengali chanachur, my favourite savoury snack, from the jar kept in the kitchen to ‘celebrate’. As if I needed a reason to have some! I am addicted to it.
The scales said 86.4 kg this morning. Four kilos up, from the nine I had lost after I went on a diet due to a post-COVID blood sugar hike. ‘What a shame My daak naam as we say in Bangla, my nickname) What a shame!’ I told myself, though I knew that the Hershey’s creamy chocolate bar that I had the previous night had a role to play in this. As did the Whitakers almond chocolate bar that I had the night before. And the Fabelle hazelnut mousse bar the night before the night before. This is going to be your and my secret Sam.
I did not mean to eat the whole bar but it is the same story every time I take out a bar of chocolate from the fridge and open the wrapper. I start off planning to have just a block. Then two or three block more to finish the row. Then the next row. Then I go to the bedroom. Do an about turn. Back to the kitchen for one more row. Then, what the heck, there’s just a row left. Why hurt their feelings?’ Boom, boom, bye bye chocolate.
Chocolate is my crack. Chanachoor my Ecstasy!
I never finish them at one go. I am disciplined you see. I believe in portion control. Then the portion takes control of me. I return repeatedly to the kitchen. This goes into the deep hours of dawn. I know that I have to stop this post dinner binging. But the struggle is real! Tell me you have never done it. What? You have not. Of course, you have not. You are a diary. That’s an unfair advantage. Stop judging me Sam.
The thing is that Baby Loaf and little Nimki are usually awake when this happens. They follow me when I go to the kitchen and settle down on the floor to watch me. As if it’s the next episode of Game of Thrones or Homeland.
Wait, is that why they feel compelled to eat again and again at night? They usually wake up K. Correction, Baby Loaf wakes her. He gets up on her side of the bed and meows in front of her. When she does not wake after two or three loud meows, he taps her on the face.
‘Hello, I am Baby Loaf. THE Baby Loaf. How can you ignore me mummyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?’
K groans and gets up. I am told the odd un-ladylike word is muttered before she accompanies Loaf to the hall where their cat bowls are kept. She fills them if empty. Sometimes there’s food in the bowl. Loaf just wants the company. That gets K’s goat. Little Nimki follows them and happily munches on the refills.
I am smarter you see. If K is travelling and I am alone at home, I do what Teddy (my mom-in -law) does when she comes to look after the boys on our behalf. I keep a jar of kibble with me on the bed and cat bowls beside me on the floor. The moment I sense one of the boys coming up to me, I open the jar, pour some kibble into the bowls and shut the jar. All this without even opening my eyes.
‘You should feed them only twice a day,’ said a vet to us. ‘A fistful of food in a day, that’s all. Do not overfeed.’
#NoorBanuCooks (our cook): Saab bari billi ulti kiya hai. Woh do bar khana khaya abhi uske pehle. (The elder cat has thrown up)
I got up from the chair and saw the puke. Cleaned it up. Earlier in the day, I tweeted about how I felt I should take up the moniker ‘Poop Daddy’ when I cleaned the litter in the morning. ‘Puke Daddy’ now?!
I spotted Baby Loaf lying in a cat loaf position below the bed. Looking a bit sheepish and lost. ‘My little babyyyy. I love you.’
The bell rang. Of course, it does. I am writing now. How can it not ring?
I shut the door and sat by Baby Loaf. He doesn’t runas often as he used to, but why take the risk of him running out?
I brought my index finger close to him and he booped it.
‘It’s ok sweetheart. It’s fine to throw up. Occasionally.”
Little Nimki jumped out from below the bed beside my desk where he hides when the bell rings. It’s usually a bit of Laurel and Hardy tableaux when the doorbell rings at home. Baby Loaf runs to the door and tries to run out for some ‘masti’ as Erika (our neighbour and his godmother) says. Little Nimki darts inside and takes cover.
He has perched himself now on the platform by the window in front of the desk. I feel that the boys feel assured when they see me write. It is as if they have taken it upon themselves to look after me with K out for a ten-day shoot.
Or perhaps they are vetting the copy? I did tell them about the book last night.
Baby Loaf followed Nimki. He sat facing me and looked meaningfully at me. He then sat down on my keypad. He has never done this before. I had to give him a few gentle pecks on his back before he got off. Maybe he is happy I am finally writing a book about him. Wonder what he will think when he finds out little Nimki is in it. As are the Kitty Blinders. My gangsta cat kids from the Almeida Park.
Later someone told me that he must have felt cold and hence sat on the keyboard. I prefer my explanation.
Eaque ipsa quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt explicabo.