Ganesh Chaturthi

“Suresh, stop watching that cricket match and go buy a Ganesha idol  for Ganesh Chaturthi.”

“I am not stopping. You go buy.”

“You are watching too much cricket. Get up. Go. We must have Ganesha in the house tonight.”

“I am not going… What are you doing!?”

“I will plug it back in when you return.”

“You are back so soon? Unwrap. Did you get a beautiful one like I told you to do?… But wait! What is this?”

“It is Ganesha with the World Cup Champions of 2011. You see? MS Dhoni the captain? Virender Sehwag. Ravichandran Ashwin… The whole team is here.”

“Did you never think, Suresh, that when the festival is over and we take Ganesh to Mahim Creek and the clay dissolves and Genesh returns to Mount Kailash to Parvati and Shiva, the champions will dissolve also, but where are they to go?”

Photo: Lavanya

148 words

For FFfAW Challenge-February 13, 2018

Haiku Challenge: Character and Affection

vixen leaves the den
in heavy rain bringing a
mouse to her snared cub


for Colleen’s Weekly Challenge


You have to lecture your kids. You also have to lecture your husband — and sometimes your neighbors or the mailman or a solicitor or the Jehovah’s Witnesses — or even, on a very bad day, Jehovah Himself.

That’s just the way it is.

I use a lectern. Lecterns have one purpose and lecturing is it.

I have an indoor lectern on wheels, for moving around the house, and an outdoor mobile lectern for trips to school, where my kids sometimes need my advice or a good scold during classes or recess. (Props to SNL and Melissa McCarthy for the outdoor mobile idea. That lectern is especially useful for following older my kids on their dates.)

The workers in my husband’s office are well familiar with my lecterns. The indoor lectern attaches to the larger outdoor lectern so that once I get to the skyscraper, I can just roll on in.

The White House has the most famous lectern, with a big seal on its front representing the President or the U.S. or whatever. My seals are nothing fancy like that one. Just my face with a stern look on it.

The main thing about lecterns, and you should remember this in case you’re ever standing behind one, is that you don’t necessarily have to tell the truth to your audience while you’re there, whether it be your family or anybody else. You’ll notice this with the Presidential Lectern, for example. There is something about fielding tough questions from your listeners that requires an occasional slide into fabricationhood.

How many times, oh Lord, have the kids or the hubby called out, “Yeah, but what about you?”

“What about me?” I reply. “Let me tell you how much I love you. I have been teaching you, guiding you, explaining things to you, badgering you, threatening you,  reporting you to the police and other authorities, snitching on you to your best friends, and posting embarrassing homecam shots of you on Facebook since the day you were born, or in the case of Frank, since the day we were married, and have I ever asked for thanks? No. This lectern is three inches shorter than when it was new, from me pounding on it.”

But I’ve got to go. I’ve had the bathroom door widened so I can get this thing through it when a family member requires a lecture while using the facilities.

For Daily Prompt