The conventional, the common, the obvious meaning of Nut and Bolt is simple. It’s parts of the screw that has saved many a day. As I said, simple. But it’s also very boring.
No good for me. My imaginative mind refuses to accept such cute phonetic words could be wasted so horribly. What I’d like nut and bolt to mean, and what they do mean every now and then, is a fun game. Let’s play!
Say you meet a nutjob. Notice the nut. And though you don’t like it, you spend half an hour with him with no escape. Finally, finally, there is a chance to escape. You think about the half hour this guy has frizzled your brain and played with your senses and you want revenge. Take a hammer/ rod/ any heavy stuff you find around/ your fists if nothing else, and bring it crashing down on his head. Logically, now run for it.
Nut the nut and Bolt.
Now, you meet two fast friends, thick as tar, who stick together so much and so often that one thinks they are really literally stuck, like with glue. They go together so much that you’ll call them bread and butter, thread and needle, pancakes and maple syrup or….
Nut and Bolt.
Some people in life are vulnerable. They were always there to be sat upon by the biggies. Others are the one who sit on them. Lightly maybe, but if a seat’s available, even dogs take it. This one’s tricky. Pay attention. The dumb servant is the nut. For obvious reasons. And bolts crack open, when something strikes them at the right place. Things like lightning bolts.
Nut cracked by bolt.
I can’t possibly finish taking about bolts without mentioning Bolt, the super dog. I liked that film. Now I don’t have anything against that girl. She’s smart and super cute. And I’ve always wanted my hair like that. (Yes, the colour too.) But, but, but, at the altar of consistency, she’s got to be called- ‘Nut’. And that shows that nuts may not necessarily be wacko.
BOLT (Frizzzzz, frrroommm…. craaaaaccccccck! Laser eyes!) and ‘Nut’.
That’s pretty much the list of common Nuts and Bolts. Except the real Nut and Bolt, the dullard one. There’s one more though, I realised some days ago and that set off this post in the first place. It’s this guy you know…
Yeah, it’s one of those types…
The dub-dub kind….
The heartbeat, you know…
I’m Nuts for him! But if you see very technically…. I’m the Bolt because he’s always in my mind and the nut is the part that ‘enters’ the bolt. Ok, lameness apart.
Ain’t my Nuts and Bolts better? I know!
It was dark. Infinitely dark. Disoriented, glazed, I sat back in the chair, the only thing I could feel present. Where were the walls, the steps, the ends? The dark hid it all. Sweat gathered on my brow. It was cold, yet I was sweating. In fact, it was so cold, the nape of my neck was chilling. I bundled up, the closest I could, but the silence, the dark and the cold were easily winning…
And then, far away, amidst sheer nothingness, some words popped out….
‘No animals were harmed during the making of this film.’
And the movie began. And you know what, I wasn’t so cold anymore. It was a light comedy, (which is a silent way of telling the directors that if it was meant to be anything else, it didn’t work.) called ‘Ferrari Ki Sewarri’. Now, since I have more foreign readers than Indian, which I’m pleasantly surprised to know, I will give you the English translation. It means Ride in a Ferrari. It was fun. I wondered in between, if the protagonists in my on-going story, Jacko and Jenny, would like a movie in their life… I decided against it. Jenny won’t sit still and Jacko wouldn’t give much response, and anyway, no one would take them.
So after all the medium size six inch Pepsi, and bag(s) of popcorn and laughing and crying and racing one-another in the hall (what, I was with my cousins!), it ended. I just love the way one grins after a movie finishes. You can’t help it, and it’s for no reason! I love it.
So that’s how my day ended. But I know you’re hardly convinced that my ‘full day’ was really full and this isn’t your time’s worth yet, so okay, I’ll say what all really happened.
Start with the breakfast. A VERY IMPORTANT THING. LISTEN TO THEM WHEN THEY CALL IT THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL. I had cold macaroni salad with, nothing else. Because that’s how a normal breakfast goes, not with rounds of milk and cheese and juice and berries as they say in them picturesque books, like Heidi. What, this isn’t a movie going on here, it’s a Real Breakfast. And yes, I did have water!
I’m guessing my dietary plan isn’t going to be very interesting any further so just wind the clock forward a few hours. It is late morning (that only sounds oxymoron-ish) and my mom, uncle and aunt, and me are off to a market to buy lights. Like wall lights and a humble chandelier (now this IS an oxymoron) for the house. I find it very important to mention here that the first shop we went in and the first set my aunt and me chose, was the one we eventually bought after one hour and a half of roaming around a chaotic, dingy and wet market, having climbed four flights of stairs and got down too of course, which makes it eight, and such stunts. (It was fun okay, but we had it in the first place!)
I discovered some fun things on the way. The market we went to, Bhagirat Place it’s called, is not a very hep place. Now everyone has their definitions but it’s a part of Old Delhi so the things are basically old fashioned and have a pace of their own. It’s actually like a masterpiece, you can’t TRY and create such places as are in Old Delhi. Like, I counted one temple, TWO Guru-dwaras (holy place for the Sikh), a mosque AND a church. All on the same road, even sharing walls. Now that’s National Integrity. And they weren’t just ordinary buildings, one of the Guru-dwaras was where a Guru was martyred. The mosque is THE mosque of the nation. The temple is super duper famous, and has a Bird Hospital next to it. And yet, you won’t call the place religious. And you won’t call it patriotic either but that’s where a national flag is waved 24x7x365 on one of the country’s most important monuments- the Red Fort. That’s how amazing this place is. ‘Just no words’ has a meaning.
There’s lottttts for which the area is famous. And no one in the country has yet been able to shake the popularity this rural joint has. Like there’s this Paranthe Wali Gali. This is something like a Pancake Street. I read somewhere that you could describe a Parantha as a deep-fried pancake of wheat and stuffed vegetables which is optional. I had never been there. It’s not a place for hygiene freaks but it’s THE place for people who know TASTE. Melting, delicious and yumm are not just words anymore.
And then a surprise. Even in the most ‘modern’ places in Delhi, there are soo many places where the simplest of spellings (English) are painfully wrong. Like ‘slacks’ become ‘slex’ and what not. But here, in a minuscule sari shop, the words ‘Georgette’ and ‘Crepe’ were spelled perfectly right. Take that! All the rave about education and modernization and city better than town! Huh!
The notions people have about Old Delhi! You call it unsafe? I didn’t ONCE feel threatened and I was wearing shorts. Dull? Have you ever FELT the rush of that place? Boring? I went into this street, where mostly silver was being sold, and in this window, there was a piece of lingerie hung up, of thin silver chains. The point I’m making here is creativity. Don’t laugh.
And then I felt what a wonderful day it was, specially with my three super-cool super-smart super-fun and super-etcetra family members.
Now I can’t stay long to tell you about the superman game later on, or about the race where if I lost I would be tickled to death, or the heated Mahjong tournament, but I think you get the idea. Just another day in my life when my cousins are here and it’s vacations!
And lastly, I recommend anyone who hasn’t done it yet to go and watch Madagascar 3 RIGHT NOW because it’s one hell of a joyride. And very well worth your time, if you did read THIS blog to the end! (Madagascar, I just came back from. :))
When my dad got an 11th hour project, a seminar to teach to chartered accountants, I didn’t think I would be needed beyond editing the power point presentation. Little did I know that he would require an “assistant” for the en devour and when I did, all I had in mind was that black, formal skirt I was itching to wear, wear, wear! And then, as we sat in the car, the bomb fell.
I wasn’t going as my dad’s daughter….I was his ‘trainee’ for the next six hours.
Ask a fifteen year old to act her dad’s trainee in the field of finance when she knows nothing close to the matter but what shares are, and she would faint…. but me, I had that gorgeous skirt on and it was windy, so I just decided to go on with it! So I sat my fake-accountant rear in the car, and for the hour long drive assessed my position. When we finally realised it, my dad could just NOT STOP laughing that I would be calling him ‘Sir’ for the remainder of the day!!!
I had a beautiful skirt to flaunt. I had recently lost two kilos so I was looking feminine enough. I have good communication skills and can think up any wild story if needs be. And after all, I do have an excellent poise and winning smile 🙂
Anyone who observed for a few seconds would know that I was PEERING into any mirror I passed! All the time before we reached the center, I was yelling at myself to “ruddy, wipe that stupid grin off my face!”
And then there I was, just in time to find the ‘students’ (from 20 to 40 years!) file out for tea. Gosh, how I enjoyed the gazing- from skirt to face to skirt, with a pause at the slit! and then as it got very beautifully windy, I found myself just starting to swing ( ! ) and I went, “Geez Ruchika, pro conduct! ”
Obviously, I stood, walked and sat at the most strategic positions in the hall. Now that I had made the effort, I wanted the look, and skirt, to be appreciated! And after all the posing and smiling and evading personal interactions, and creating the mystery around ‘that girl in the skirt’, the seminar finally began.
Now I know how boring finance can be, so I’ll spare you the details. But I just sat my fifteen year old rear for the entire four-hour course gazing at the frolic audience, the instructor who was supposed to be my familiar dad, and the car keys. With the painted ‘winning smile’ on my face, I wondered how good dad’s name looked in print, how well the ‘J’ enveloped the ‘U’. And then daddy’s girl got nostalgic.
I slipped into thousands of good skirt-poses, and wished for the Nth time that I had not left my camera at my last vacation (but that’s another tale!) and played with the car-keychain-joint-doll and doodled to my heart’s content. And late as he was, a man walked in after an hour, to my absolute excitement as he looked so much like a long lost friend, I wanted to hug him for making my day! (But with the attire came the formality, thankfully!)
I am proud of my little stunt today! And though I had to make up a fib story just once, I did pretty good. I’m proud especially to evade a mishap, like the Angelina Jolie leg-jut at the Oscars, in my formal skirt excitement!
Because COME ONE, how often does a 10th standard kid go and sit with 30-40 year old chartered accountants and call herself a pro, and NOT GET CAUGHT!!!