The naming ceremony

"It looks like a pig from the front"

When split second reactionary impulses of the human brain are instantly transcribed by the tongue into audible creatures without fear or falter of post-transmission hostilities, you can be sure my wife is around. It's a completely different thing that what actually is blurted makes complete sense. It's about the fact that every unexceptional, ordinary, pedestrian mind is given to a phenomenon called "instantaneous juxtapositioning". Your nervous system considers various real, live and incarnate impulses affecting you like, mood, temperature, libido, hunger, pain, anger, presence of friends, bosses, in laws, bowel condition, bladder condition, etc. and makes corresponding adjustments to your world view. Consequently, this canvas, projected by your mind becomes decently palatable by every other unexceptional, ordinary, pedestrian mind around which also processes similar inputs. So, most views settle around the best average mean that is most acceptable and sensually comfortable. The problem is here is that "most acceptance" and "sensual comfort" do also bring in factual contamination and conceptual scum that alters the absoluteness and actuality of the fact in front of each of those unexceptional, ordinary, pedestrian minds.

This makes my wife, an un-ordinary representational genius, also an impromptu evaluation-cum-sentencing apparatus with a live- with-my-judgment-or-act-deaf attitude.

It was the usual eat-work-eat-work-eat-sleep routine. A silent, peaceful, floater-ed evening walk to the neighborhood store. We didn't have a vehicle for ourselves. So we were carrying the vegetables back home. Man proposes and wife disposes if the prevailing and customary convention in our family. I didn't want to act crazy and break the rule. So I said, "Why don't we put in a lakh and a half more and go for the Ford Ecosport?" 

Disaster Ensued.

Next morning, we were traveling to Office in our employer provided car, when I caught sight of the vehicle I was talking about last night. The white flag - waving doctor, sitting in the left side of the brain was telling me, "brother, to recover from yesterday's disaster, you need tantric healing and psychological counseling, permanent damages have been made to your psyche. Why do you want to rake up the issue again? Want to be beaten in to beetroot batter?" The blood - sucking opportunist in the right side of the brain was telling me, "Beetroot and Batter are not more important than your libido and lust for that car. Go ahead. Convince Her. Your bones might be served tonight like almond cookies to the neighbor's dog by your wife today. But doesn't matter. You might end up being awarded the "Death for having tried to convince wife - Best Sacrifical Goat" award, posthumously. Be a martyr, man. Be passionate about your convictions!" The opportunist's ideas sounded unsafe, unhealthy and threatening. But they also showed hope. So, I went for it. 

"That's the Ford Ecosport! Doesn't it look good?"

There was silence through out. The quiet rumble of the engine beneath our butts and the stifled honks of scooters outside, were my only companions. The driver was blissfully disconnected from the developing spectacle. I was caught within a four walls and a few inches of a hungry hallucination that seemed civil and sympathetic till now. The sweet smell of a tempting dish met her. I was getting ready to be devoured, when the  impromptu evaluation-cum-sentencing apparatus comes out, "It looks like a pig from the front. If it ends up in our garage, we'll call it Piggu." I breathed.