It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon. Pom has recently risen after her afternoon nap. We are sitting holding steaming mugs of tea in companionable silence, till…
Me: (on the young Bangalore crowd after a rare Saturday night out)
I feel like an old woman with a decent grasp on youth.
Pom: (pulling her hair irritatedly, frowning)
I want mud pie.
Okay, when we go out next, we will. Gosh, it’s about to pour!!
Pom: (frowning more intensely than before)
Do you want mud pie?
Me: (looking out worriedly at the overcast sky)
No, Pom. Don’t you think we should get an umbrella for the car, Pom?
That’s it. I am ordering aglio olio!
It’s only 6, I can make that at home tonight! I thought you wanted mud pie?
Pom: (pacing around kitchen while I continue my worried survey of the sky)
Hmm. I want to eat something sweet. I wonder what.
Err… we could go out for mud pie?
Pom: (licking a spoon recently heaped with almond powder)
Nah! Not today. Today I want pizza.
And that is one of the saner weekend conversations we have had in the last two months.