NOT A DESI UNCLE

My apartment mate has been tasked with feeding and looking after the downstairs cat while our landlady is on a trip. She has developed a very good relationship with the animal. Which is a middle-aged tomcat. It is quite the best relationship with a male person in years.
Which proves that there's hope.

Ladies! I too am a middle-aged male!
And I regularly clean myself!


In all fairness, I should point out that many of the people I know are also middle-aged and male. And are reasonably cleanly, to the best of my knowledge.
So the competition is out there.


I also nap frequently. As I did this afternoon after returning from Chinatown. A little lie-down because my legs ached. During which I dreamed. Brushstrokes on a large canvas, sharp lines and sweeps of misty cerulean blue, plus faint pale pink in the distance.

It was considerably better than the dream involving a youngish female pipe collector from Uttar Pradesh connivingly trying to get black mail material at a pipe show.
Good lord. Horrible woman. Quite unethical.

Uttar Pradesh is Hindu Nationalist heartland, so I have scant interest in ever going there. Although as a foodie, Awadh is very much on my bucket list.
The nawabs had fabulous kitchens.



Fly in. Have breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Warqi paratha, tunde kabab, galawati kabab, shab degh, sheermal, yogurt drink with mint and salt, dam bhindi, kaju ka katli.
Smoke a pipe, chai and makhan biscuits, fly out.



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