A lip-smacking, home-cooked Christmas dinner comes to an end as I belch ceremoniously!
Burp! That felt good!
Belching is an art form- Crafted by nature, perfected by Man.
A lone eastern star hangs in our balcony as the colorful miniatures on the six-foot Christmas tree at home twinkle to a ‘silent night’ musical.
I inhale deeply, as my pot-belly wobbles in unison. Holding the corners of the dining table, I arch my back as I let go of another long, loud and relaxed ‘heat-seeking’ torpedo into the night. Guided missile technology! The dinner table trembles on all fours ?thanks to ballistic intelligence.
Burp! This felt even better!
“You horrible and gross man” my wife screams, from the far end of the dinner table as I watch transfixed at those tiny bubbles from my oesophagus merge into the lights. ‘Tyndall Effect’, that Old loony Physics professor had taught us in college.
A Commerce graduate would never understand Physics and Colloidal Theories, let alone the physiology of Eructation (that’s scientific nomenclature for belching). Hence I choose to ignore her tirade. As an afterthought I ask her, “Sweetheart, why do you get so cheesed off when people claim belching is a gourmet’s ode to the Chef?”
Meanwhile, she hasn’t heard me let out another small one. Or so I thought.
“You are the pits”, she yells at me, sounding disgusted, as she stomps into HER kitchen. It has always been HER kitchen, strictly out of bounds for the connoisseur she was married to.
A loud clatter of vessels in the sink! “Boy, she is angry”, I say to myself, amused and rather pleased at my Act One.
Act Two- At the wash basin, for my post dinner ablutions.
I let the faucet blast into my palms. The water temperature is just about perfect. A little jab at the Hand-wash squeeze. This month’s flavor reads Orangine, another of that 2+1 marketing ploys my wise-shopper wife has been fooled with. A thick slimy orangine (I am not sure if that makes for an adjective) lump wriggles out of the squeezy before exploding into a soapy, bubbly mess. My hands now clean, I bend down at the basin, as a humongous tongue dangles in mid air. I scrub it vigorously with my three fingers (Index, middle and ring only, never try the thumb rule here).
This ritual invariably brings about a Roar like regurgitation, without fail, every time. The decibel level adds to the symptomatic relief.
The vessels in the Kitchen sink clatter even louder!
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…Another of those, ‘I-didn’t-achieve-anything-substantial?this-year’ has come to a screaming halt…
Next, with a slick movement of the index finger, I brush out the masticated remnants of tonight’s dinner from my pre-molars and molars. Meanwhile, I have managed to palm some water into my mouth and spit out a ‘thick, gooey mess’ right into the outlet of the basin. I watch, in awe, as the slime slithers into the nadirs of the drain. This is a ritual, mind you!
I am not finished yet. A few roars and a couple of mouthfuls of gooey later, I cup another palm of water. I am not going to mouth it this time, what follows next is a sheer Yogi’s delight.
I inhale the water, all the while ensuring that the water does not reach the air passage (This requires years of practice). In a split second, holding my nostrils with two fingers (Index and middle only), I expel the water from my nostrils, one nostril at a time (The two fingers at play again).
I hoot musically as Lumps of brackish pay dirt hit the ceramic white. An artist at work here! From a Clarinet to a Trombone, the maestro can play anything.
Looking up into the mirror, I smile at the other guy who looks very much like me. Must be me!
The kitchen, in the distant corner breaks into a crescendo as I dab my face into a clean hand-towel on the wall ring.
“You are so sick. Can’t you be a little civilized?” madam wants to know for the 3610th time in 5 years of unadulterated marital bliss.
I smile sheepishly as I fail to answer that, yet again. May be next time, I assure myself.
Married, 5 years, and now a Father too!!!! The realization is almost divine. The devilish streak in me yodels “What the heck”? (I am sure it said HECK).
I have a few other likeable attributes too; I would rather not list them down here for want of space and legal content on the column.
Have I sounded you folks before, of my numerous wind and water ‘jugalbandis’ (Indian medleys) in my self?styled ‘sound-proof studio’? My wife doesn’t think so; she still prefers to call it the ‘bathroom’ and she labels my solo acoustic performances ‘vulgar’.
The wind instruments are results of Divine Providence, while the gushing water sounds are man-made; together they strike a symphony that would do put a Chaurasia-Hussain performance to shame. Well! That’s enough explosive matter for another write-up. Some other day folks!
Meanwhile a **** ing year has passed by, like a stranger making obscene gestures. It’s high time I changed my lousy habits, or at least some of them.
Another of those, ‘I-didn’t-achieve-anything-substantial?this-year’ has come to a screaming halt. For the sake of my wife, our son and that of my riddled ear-drums, I promise to be civilized in the year to come. I have always wanted to be an achiever. Can I do it this coming year?
My son loves my bed-time tales. Can I write a Children’s novel, replete with a little spectacled hero, a funky hip-hop spooky, a wicked old witch in that castle by the woods and hope to win the Booker next year?
Or at least start a little blog on the Internet and give that ‘King of Blogs’ a run for his money?
Maybe I could start a little community website of my own, soon I would be hob-nobbing with the kaar-bhaaris of the world; loads of people would wish me on my birthday, write paeans for birthday rhymes. A fire-man’s scaffold approach to celeb-dom.
How about stopping smoking? That should be easy. I wasn?t a smoker by birth you see.
I am sick of having pushed on to that bathroom scale after every meal. I pity myself and the poor little contraption under my feet that groans every time I step on it. Ever since I saw those fancy fluorescent Tee shirts that read “Lose Weight- Ask Me How”, I have wanted to sport one of them. I have enough flab to lose; at least my hour-glass figured wife thinks so.
Now what has belching got to do with New Year resolutions? You just read my mind!
A piece of Time management ‘gyaan’ for all those who read this far, “Spend your time wisely; you could do much better than read these stupid write-ups”.
Make your New Year resolutions now; however foolish they may sound. I have mine written, laminated and pinned up. What’s yours?
To the Year ahead and the resolutions to follow- Cheers!
Author: Amarnath Bantwal- Kuwait
