Monday, 26 January 2015

Thought Picnic: From the village with love

Longer than usual
These conversations never last long, at least not for as long as he can remember. 3 minutes would signal a rather long exchange that had pleasantries, an expression of concern, some laughs, always some laughs, a prayer or two and a closing.
That was deed done, duty done, even if there was desire to have a longer engagement, just because engagement and conversation is good.
Yet, this time, the conversation went on for much longer than one had anticipated, they caught the 20 minute mark before any semblance of closing materialised. Interesting is the word that came to mind.
Ambushed at noon
On a topic she had not broached for nigh on a decade, it became the burning issue, a funny deployment of older smarts came in to play, after opining about not seeing a recent picture it leapt to seeing a picture of the grandchild will be recent enough.
Quite an ambush that was that he reared before he caught himself, not so much in agreement, but there are things that were never on the agenda regardless of yearnings of others and this particularly, never was.
As she weaved and waned between the suggestion of promiscuity and lack of choice, she offered her own unique and quite funny solution.
A parcel to bear
To the village she shall go and obtain for herself a prospective daughter-in-law, green and untouched, she will embark on adventure to arrive abroad passing through border checks, the name of the son emblazoned across her bosom for the sole purpose of procreation.
This is the stuff of stand-up comics, something that should have people laughing until their tears flooded the auditorium. At once the whole idea can be both amusing and repulsive.
Some parents just cannot let their children live their lives if that life does not conform to a norm or some expectation. In this, fantasy and reality will never unite in the fulfilled desire of another and for that, he is saddened for the disappointment others will just have to live with. C’est la vie.

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