Thoo!

How many times has one said that curse or wanted to say it? At times I have said it in pure jest when kidding around with friends, and at times I have muttered in under my breath wholly intending to do if suitably provoked. But would you ever really, given the opportunity to spit on someone’s face, spit on their face?

I did. Yip. Yes Siree.

I woke up on Moving Day to find Bhumi missing, and I eventually figured out that Madame’s run away. Imagine that! The fucking bitch after all the goody-two-shoes act she pulled on me for 7 months, after treating her like a fucking choti sister, ran fucking away. Just like that. Needless to say, my temper was at an all time thermometer-breaking high. The fucking moron never imagined that I'll go hunting for her, file a report with the police and come show her what PISSING me OFF means. After 3 hours of locating the crappy police station, dealing with crappy policemen who really really sincerely ought to be castrated with plastic kid-safe scissors, hunting down the placement agency in the galli's and nukkas of Badarpur Border, I stormed into the Agency, screeching like a banshee.

TeeHee. In retrospect, the reactions all round were both intensely satisfying and funny as hell. Bhumi was beyond shocked, stunned speechless as I screamed abuses at her in both Hindi (Yes... including the C-word. Yes. Me. Yes. I said the C-word. Just once tho) and my spectacular, albeit wasted on the retarded fuckwits, English. In hind sight, some of the things I said to her are admittedly whacked! My throat was parched (from the hunting expedition and all the screaming) and yet I managed to scrounge around in my dry throat and scrapped enough spit to hurl it smack dab in the back-stabbing bitches face.

Not once but TWICE!!

Later as I sat in the car, I looked within myself at wonderment that I could lose control to that extent. That my rage would drive me to such frenzy. Point to be noted though here is that I didn’t for a nanosecond feel bad. Nope. But what concerns me is the exultation spasming through me at her reaction... stupefied fear. It felt awesome watching her cower in fear, in utter bewilderment, trying to grapple with the fact that her asinine act of just running away would drive me to insanity.

I felt betrayed. Completely and utterly let-down, disappointed and disillusioned. I counted on her to stand by me cause I stood by her. I didn't chuck her out the minute I discovered she couldn't bloody well cook to save her scrawny ass, I cooked and fed her, I let her eat fucking momos whenever she wanted, I gave her my clothes, my perfumes, let her watch DVD's on the TV at home, she fucking ran up my phone bill more than the bitch earned in a month, listened to her non-stop narrate fucking BORING stories of her friends and neighbors as if I'd really have ANY bloody interest in them... and then the screwup hippty-hops out the door cool as can be thinking she's fucking Jackie Chan of Darjeeling and no one can touch her.

GAWD! The only thing I restrained myself (mighty proud of my restraint btw) was not to beat her to a bloody pulp, red-belt-in-karate-kiss-my-ass. Gah!

Now I'm stuck with a temp maid who talks too fucking loudly but likes the dog and cat (or pretends to! Allah hi jaane), can't cook, has ZERO sense about most things and how to do them, yaps constantly about her previous Madame and how balls-out-fantastic she was (YET she left her!) but I tolerate her cause I have to.

HATE it.