The author of this blog is currently mesmerized with the Paris Fashion Week -
Feb 29, 2008
Feb 23, 2008
Just this - B'Bay, Business and World
- Too tired and piqued to write in detail -
- I am obnoxiously unnerved with blunders, acquisitions, mergers and takeovers.
- The power to destroy also unfortunately gives you the power to create - Arch head, there are times when I want to wipe that arrogant 'Try me' smirk off your face, preferably with a fountain of habu poison.
I won't bend nor would I give-in this time, you 'make me'!
- I am obnoxiously unnerved with blunders, acquisitions, mergers and takeovers.
- The power to destroy also unfortunately gives you the power to create - Arch head, there are times when I want to wipe that arrogant 'Try me' smirk off your face, preferably with a fountain of habu poison.
I won't bend nor would I give-in this time, you 'make me'!
Feb 21, 2008
Stuck-Up Or Just Morons?
I am so pissed... mostly with myself. I remember mom used to tell me that writing with an angry head is the worst thing to do - it also came as a hind sight revelation from my grandfather's letters to his brothers. Ours is a weird family tree - functional only because we are dysfunctional, insane in ways that allow sanity to breath in peace.
It's not everyday that i realise i have the quintessential Dadhe 'fuck you' spirit (most of the time, as B'abyite - i am least bothered) but sometimes people just get on my nerves (my horse is bigger than urs - thing or as in Mbhai we call it 'meri laal'). Dadhes won't tolerate that - like grandada would say - 'Ashil Tujhya Gharcha' (whoever you think you are, are at your house, not in my face).
Androgyny and Moss got on to me in the most 'I can't tolerate you, so why don't you go brain-leak somewhere else' way. As mentioned above. It came after Androgyny purposefully interrupted a conversation with my colleague! i understand he likes being the center of attention and we all do give his 'la di daa' ways.
I don't have anything against a man who behaves like a woman born with stilettos - i have a problem with a man who is a woman in the head. For god's sake which 'man' worth his penny prances in an inner alley in Mahim, with blue aviator shades and a carton of Lassi at 2:00pm? Whom are you giving attitude - the Muslim Cafe Azad boys, the six bucks sandwich wala or the pan bidi seller?
He was asking to be mocked at - his U-ASS gyaan and his chick parties and his cousin's sex life... freak - why would I want to know about all this and his super Tuesday (I haven't a clue what it is and why it is called so) when i am clarifying an important misconception with a colleague. We all have 'I am above the sundry mere mortals' attitude but we do know where to throw it.
And I am so turned off with his use of Persian language and script everywhere (his hangover does not go... be it the chat tag or sticking up things on peoples cubes) - bottom line we are not on talking terms coz he doesn't like being mocked at and he won't 'get over himself'. I am relieved, Demeter liked him so much that i could never turn to voice what I felt! Now i am at the liberty of not being nice coz the people i like, like them.
Actually Androgyne is alright and all but some people are not just 'the long run people'; and what is the point in surrounding oneself with passing faces? Yes, I know I am unjustly critical and overly judgmental. Frankly, I am just bored of him and i don't wish to bother myself with himself anymore. Yup, That's it - and in the true Dadhe tradition 'how does it matter to me if you exist, darling? And when it doesn't matter, why spent my energy on you?
* this post is a strict ventilator for saturated frustration.
It's not everyday that i realise i have the quintessential Dadhe 'fuck you' spirit (most of the time, as B'abyite - i am least bothered) but sometimes people just get on my nerves (my horse is bigger than urs - thing or as in Mbhai we call it 'meri laal'). Dadhes won't tolerate that - like grandada would say - 'Ashil Tujhya Gharcha' (whoever you think you are, are at your house, not in my face).
Androgyny and Moss got on to me in the most 'I can't tolerate you, so why don't you go brain-leak somewhere else' way. As mentioned above. It came after Androgyny purposefully interrupted a conversation with my colleague! i understand he likes being the center of attention and we all do give his 'la di daa' ways.
I don't have anything against a man who behaves like a woman born with stilettos - i have a problem with a man who is a woman in the head. For god's sake which 'man' worth his penny prances in an inner alley in Mahim, with blue aviator shades and a carton of Lassi at 2:00pm? Whom are you giving attitude - the Muslim Cafe Azad boys, the six bucks sandwich wala or the pan bidi seller?
He was asking to be mocked at - his U-ASS gyaan and his chick parties and his cousin's sex life... freak - why would I want to know about all this and his super Tuesday (I haven't a clue what it is and why it is called so) when i am clarifying an important misconception with a colleague. We all have 'I am above the sundry mere mortals' attitude but we do know where to throw it.
And I am so turned off with his use of Persian language and script everywhere (his hangover does not go... be it the chat tag or sticking up things on peoples cubes) - bottom line we are not on talking terms coz he doesn't like being mocked at and he won't 'get over himself'. I am relieved, Demeter liked him so much that i could never turn to voice what I felt! Now i am at the liberty of not being nice coz the people i like, like them.
Actually Androgyne is alright and all but some people are not just 'the long run people'; and what is the point in surrounding oneself with passing faces? Yes, I know I am unjustly critical and overly judgmental. Frankly, I am just bored of him and i don't wish to bother myself with himself anymore. Yup, That's it - and in the true Dadhe tradition 'how does it matter to me if you exist, darling? And when it doesn't matter, why spent my energy on you?
* this post is a strict ventilator for saturated frustration.
Feb 16, 2008
My Time
There is something seriously wrong with the boys of my generation - a year ahead and a year later - and I can't stand the ones born in 1982!
Grrrrr.... :(
Grrrrr.... :(
Feb 15, 2008
Yes, Yes; Love To You Too!
This post may sound like a paradox. Though, I am a romantic beyond repair, Mills and Boon is not my idea of romance, so is Valentine's day or the epic play Romeo and Juliet for that matter. Guess what did i do on the V-day? Absolutely nothing! I ducked Drama King's invitation for the fear of being compelled to meet and wallow in the deluge of love songs. I ignored Beach Boy's calls, for I could not cough up a good excuse to avoid meeting him.
In the afternoon, Demeter and I got talking about love and sex in B'bay. {The city is divided into the colorful evil and the colorless evil - B'bay and M'bai respectively. It remains evil though and I love this devil of a reclaimed land!) The B'bay part loves to party, make love, romance, fart with art, cry in the opera, eat smelly cheese, work as if they would get fired, and live like today was their last day on the planet. Though most of us shuttle between the two worlds, I largely grew up in the 'duh and dude land', so my sense of morality is convenient, confused and chaotic - almost like the usage of the word 'fuck' or 'whatever'.}
Demeter on the other hand has her world divided into 'I believe and I can't fathom'. Love for her should be penguin-like, so Byron's loves are not love at all. Chilmom was raised on the diet of 'one man, many wolves', so for her, 'her man' is the only man she'd every give any thought to. For Childmom, love is duty, a moral responsibility.
Demeter and I got on into a heated- 'love is not this - not this either' discussion and concluded that love has many faces. Each face is as true and honest as the other one.
I can't really define love anymore. For Demeter it is her unconditional trust in the penguin. She was lucky to find her soul mate at an early but I am unsure if I will settle for that 'soul mate' thing. (Though I definitely believe in it and desire one too.) I am wary of the magnitude of compromises that one has to make to sustain all this. She gave up her study scholarship to be with him.
The G-girl gave up her 'full bright' South Hampton scholarship for the donkey she is now married to. Does love demand all this? Is it worth it, in the end? G-girl was my biggest disappointment - I openly jilted her, when she broke the news. I only remember her sad helpless face, pleading me to 'understand'. I wish I had drowned her then. And later when I received her wedding invitation, I wished I had done it instantly. Surrender was her definition of love, she had risked it all, for a disheveled man she wanted to wake up with for the next 50 years of her sordid life.
Control is love for V, he believes that love is malleable and the person in love like a swaying blade of grass - Control the wind and the grass will bring you all the fragrance you seek. That is V's definition!
Adventure for Style Icon is what love is meant to be - he enjoys that edge, the tight rope, the second guessing, the mind game, the 'daily crises management' situation. 'Now, that's love' is how he often puts it -
For the Wise capitalist it is barter, equalization. Love is something that completes you, you must seek and be with a man that fills in all your blanks and vice-verse.
For Black Pearl it is madness - a violent madness that surpasses every emotion.
For Mushy it is solitude, he'd often say, ' You know you are in love when you share your silences in perfect nudity of emotion.' I have come to understand that, the skin and the barbs do not differ for most devotees of this form of love.
The Drama King's love is an acetic mix of horror and plight - he is a freak magnet to begin with and that defines his love. All his women are a little off the hook - be it the bald artist who is making an ice boat and will sail in it in the Arabian sea, or the cold, crazy Cat-woman or the pimple infested health expert, or the twangy ' i think i love you - but hang on, maybe i don't' woman (I can go on ...).
I can't point out a singular common aspect amongst their loves or lovers. They all are so different, so unique and its still 100% love.
Torch and I had our ways of loving and getting over. It doesn't take much for love to happen or fizzle; and it doesn't mean that the way we felt about 'the' person before that sublime moment was not genuine. The Metrosexual concurs with us. We three are as authentic as any human can be, just that we stop feeling the 'feeling' when we cross a certain threshold. We are yet to figure out why?! Our excuses often are ' I'm a whore, I'm a bitch, I'm a man' - respectively.
The V-day was a disaster for Torch, she was packing when I called to inquire if she needed some chores to be done. On her cuss word marathon, she was audibly upset and desiring to put up a garage sale - of the men who thought they loved her. "I can sell each one of them, and what is worse, they want to be sold by me! Almost begging. I hate this day, I feel I am so unfair, a heartless whore. I'm so F-ing harassed by this love business!”
In sync, we wanted to burst the heart-shaped balloons, feed fancy cakes to street urchins, rob every ones dinner and wine money, and save them the heart burn of 'fuck me - fuck you' aftermath that would follow months later. Love for Torch is in freedom, in the wind in her hair and no backpack on her back.
For me, as I am yet to figure - I often feel love is slipping under someones skin, more comfortable than yours and leaving a little of you that can never be claimed, rejected or pulled out. Like diving in a rising wave, at that 3-second magical moment, much before it caresses the shore and sucks itself back in, to dissovle into the sea.
In the afternoon, Demeter and I got talking about love and sex in B'bay. {The city is divided into the colorful evil and the colorless evil - B'bay and M'bai respectively. It remains evil though and I love this devil of a reclaimed land!) The B'bay part loves to party, make love, romance, fart with art, cry in the opera, eat smelly cheese, work as if they would get fired, and live like today was their last day on the planet. Though most of us shuttle between the two worlds, I largely grew up in the 'duh and dude land', so my sense of morality is convenient, confused and chaotic - almost like the usage of the word 'fuck' or 'whatever'.}
Demeter on the other hand has her world divided into 'I believe and I can't fathom'. Love for her should be penguin-like, so Byron's loves are not love at all. Chilmom was raised on the diet of 'one man, many wolves', so for her, 'her man' is the only man she'd every give any thought to. For Childmom, love is duty, a moral responsibility.
Demeter and I got on into a heated- 'love is not this - not this either' discussion and concluded that love has many faces. Each face is as true and honest as the other one.
I can't really define love anymore. For Demeter it is her unconditional trust in the penguin. She was lucky to find her soul mate at an early but I am unsure if I will settle for that 'soul mate' thing. (Though I definitely believe in it and desire one too.) I am wary of the magnitude of compromises that one has to make to sustain all this. She gave up her study scholarship to be with him.
The G-girl gave up her 'full bright' South Hampton scholarship for the donkey she is now married to. Does love demand all this? Is it worth it, in the end? G-girl was my biggest disappointment - I openly jilted her, when she broke the news. I only remember her sad helpless face, pleading me to 'understand'. I wish I had drowned her then. And later when I received her wedding invitation, I wished I had done it instantly. Surrender was her definition of love, she had risked it all, for a disheveled man she wanted to wake up with for the next 50 years of her sordid life.
Control is love for V, he believes that love is malleable and the person in love like a swaying blade of grass - Control the wind and the grass will bring you all the fragrance you seek. That is V's definition!
Adventure for Style Icon is what love is meant to be - he enjoys that edge, the tight rope, the second guessing, the mind game, the 'daily crises management' situation. 'Now, that's love' is how he often puts it -
For the Wise capitalist it is barter, equalization. Love is something that completes you, you must seek and be with a man that fills in all your blanks and vice-verse.
For Black Pearl it is madness - a violent madness that surpasses every emotion.
For Mushy it is solitude, he'd often say, ' You know you are in love when you share your silences in perfect nudity of emotion.' I have come to understand that, the skin and the barbs do not differ for most devotees of this form of love.
The Drama King's love is an acetic mix of horror and plight - he is a freak magnet to begin with and that defines his love. All his women are a little off the hook - be it the bald artist who is making an ice boat and will sail in it in the Arabian sea, or the cold, crazy Cat-woman or the pimple infested health expert, or the twangy ' i think i love you - but hang on, maybe i don't' woman (I can go on ...).
I can't point out a singular common aspect amongst their loves or lovers. They all are so different, so unique and its still 100% love.
Torch and I had our ways of loving and getting over. It doesn't take much for love to happen or fizzle; and it doesn't mean that the way we felt about 'the' person before that sublime moment was not genuine. The Metrosexual concurs with us. We three are as authentic as any human can be, just that we stop feeling the 'feeling' when we cross a certain threshold. We are yet to figure out why?! Our excuses often are ' I'm a whore, I'm a bitch, I'm a man' - respectively.
The V-day was a disaster for Torch, she was packing when I called to inquire if she needed some chores to be done. On her cuss word marathon, she was audibly upset and desiring to put up a garage sale - of the men who thought they loved her. "I can sell each one of them, and what is worse, they want to be sold by me! Almost begging. I hate this day, I feel I am so unfair, a heartless whore. I'm so F-ing harassed by this love business!”
In sync, we wanted to burst the heart-shaped balloons, feed fancy cakes to street urchins, rob every ones dinner and wine money, and save them the heart burn of 'fuck me - fuck you' aftermath that would follow months later. Love for Torch is in freedom, in the wind in her hair and no backpack on her back.
For me, as I am yet to figure - I often feel love is slipping under someones skin, more comfortable than yours and leaving a little of you that can never be claimed, rejected or pulled out. Like diving in a rising wave, at that 3-second magical moment, much before it caresses the shore and sucks itself back in, to dissovle into the sea.
Feb 14, 2008
Words
Words are sometimes literal, metaphoric or invisible; they have texture, feeling and sound. Most people do not realize that words breath as individuals do and if you observe, you may even feel their breath. Sometimes they are jumbled up, sometimes they are different from the effect they have, and sometimes they mean nothing close to the way they sound. Words amaze me, when they casually fit in one mouth and are uncomfortable in another, or when they surface suddenly and make a sound that is familiar to a fragrance.
Recently, I unconsciously squirmed when I heard a man say 'I will ping you', or 'Tinkle me when you are free' - the words Ping and Tinkle don't sound weird otherwise, but from a man (with a raucous voice) they sound funny - almost like they had gender preferences. Maybe words do have gender preferences.
Words are also elitist and denote a certain temperament - like the words cantankerous, moribund, absolution, obliterate, ophidion, penumbra, runic or simply the word waif. Often in the Monk's text I find words that sound like vespers warning a dying sun - daring him a revenge - “deviant humor ventures forth, unassuming koalemos in unfortunate range”. Or Wasabi's, following of the fundamental meaning in the word fundamentalist - or my usage of the word chauvinist. Talkathon treats words like doodles on a page - and in ways they turn out to sound and look interesting. She would write something on these lines - 'What was once when, then they forgot when, why, which, how, and everything became what - I am tired of the 'what' in USA.' Or the way Mush writes - 'Can a man ever challenge his future without reclaiming his past? Can glory ever come to a fraught mind? Is this why Alexander failed? I ask you if you can forgive my smelly socks and my unsavoury stew?' Like the paradox laden Black Pearl's work , “I stand strong on weak knees.” Or the love element in every sentence that Drama King weaves - 'the love is in the loathing my dear, I want to burn, burn, burn - par ab intejzaar aur sahi (however there is still some time for that).
The word unconditional is attached to one abstract concept - love, and another process - rearing.
Language is often like a river that takes the qualities of the land it flows on. It moulds itself according to the terrain, words come to life and disappear. They form and move into oblivion, and finally they take on a different meaning altogether. However, the text is always a little less important than its context.
The word separators wheel power, actually 'separators' wheel power. Power lies with the hierarchy, hierarchy decides the base, the base decides the super structure and the super structure decides the codes of a language, which in turn decide facts, truths and popular realities; moulding history, myth and culture.The separator is a stupid long space bar, a forefinger's space between clustered letters.
The separator is no larger than an inch of space - empty space, that holds ransom an entire body of work.
----
Language
A, aa
La
Lang
Gauge
Language
Languish
Anguish.
Stolen
Borrowed
Fused
Language
A scream
A silence
A voice
A meaning
Langue
Parole
Gross;
language double crossed.
Formless, spineless
Repressed, aggressed
Words.
What was –was, is – is
Can be…would be
Maybe…must be.
Language
Can’s
May’s
Must’s
Voices, words, meanings
Language: one’s identity.
I
Dent
Ity
Entity
Ity’s, Ism’s, Question marks.
Language--- claustrophobic
--- Anarchic
Hermo, Hetro, Homo, Trans, Bi: Hinglish
Lan(g)uaged
Borrowed
Stolen
Fused
Language- scent of black earth in white snow
Space. Time.
Chance. Power.
Politics of Power.
White, heterosexual, pure-bred, capitalist, hegemonic words…
Ah!
Anguish
Languish
Language
Gauge
Lang
Our tongue:
A double edged sword.
Mother tongue---father wars
Father tongue ---mother land.
Mind, a dumb dadaist.
Used, clichéd, hackneyed,
Language yours and mine.
Like a stray set of alphabet on a deserted page
Blank in a mob is language.
----
I miss PIES - I want to go back to class :(
Recently, I unconsciously squirmed when I heard a man say 'I will ping you', or 'Tinkle me when you are free' - the words Ping and Tinkle don't sound weird otherwise, but from a man (with a raucous voice) they sound funny - almost like they had gender preferences. Maybe words do have gender preferences.
Words are also elitist and denote a certain temperament - like the words cantankerous, moribund, absolution, obliterate, ophidion, penumbra, runic or simply the word waif. Often in the Monk's text I find words that sound like vespers warning a dying sun - daring him a revenge - “deviant humor ventures forth, unassuming koalemos in unfortunate range”. Or Wasabi's, following of the fundamental meaning in the word fundamentalist - or my usage of the word chauvinist. Talkathon treats words like doodles on a page - and in ways they turn out to sound and look interesting. She would write something on these lines - 'What was once when, then they forgot when, why, which, how, and everything became what - I am tired of the 'what' in USA.' Or the way Mush writes - 'Can a man ever challenge his future without reclaiming his past? Can glory ever come to a fraught mind? Is this why Alexander failed? I ask you if you can forgive my smelly socks and my unsavoury stew?' Like the paradox laden Black Pearl's work , “I stand strong on weak knees.” Or the love element in every sentence that Drama King weaves - 'the love is in the loathing my dear, I want to burn, burn, burn - par ab intejzaar aur sahi (however there is still some time for that).
The word unconditional is attached to one abstract concept - love, and another process - rearing.
Language is often like a river that takes the qualities of the land it flows on. It moulds itself according to the terrain, words come to life and disappear. They form and move into oblivion, and finally they take on a different meaning altogether. However, the text is always a little less important than its context.
The word separators wheel power, actually 'separators' wheel power. Power lies with the hierarchy, hierarchy decides the base, the base decides the super structure and the super structure decides the codes of a language, which in turn decide facts, truths and popular realities; moulding history, myth and culture.The separator is a stupid long space bar, a forefinger's space between clustered letters.
The separator is no larger than an inch of space - empty space, that holds ransom an entire body of work.
----
Language
A, aa
La
Lang
Gauge
Language
Languish
Anguish.
Stolen
Borrowed
Fused
Language
A scream
A silence
A voice
A meaning
Langue
Parole
Gross;
language double crossed.
Formless, spineless
Repressed, aggressed
Words.
What was –was, is – is
Can be…would be
Maybe…must be.
Language
Can’s
May’s
Must’s
Voices, words, meanings
Language: one’s identity.
I
Dent
Ity
Entity
Ity’s, Ism’s, Question marks.
Language--- claustrophobic
--- Anarchic
Hermo, Hetro, Homo, Trans, Bi: Hinglish
Lan(g)uaged
Borrowed
Stolen
Fused
Language- scent of black earth in white snow
Space. Time.
Chance. Power.
Politics of Power.
White, heterosexual, pure-bred, capitalist, hegemonic words…
Ah!
Anguish
Languish
Language
Gauge
Lang
Our tongue:
A double edged sword.
Mother tongue---father wars
Father tongue ---mother land.
Mind, a dumb dadaist.
Used, clichéd, hackneyed,
Language yours and mine.
Like a stray set of alphabet on a deserted page
Blank in a mob is language.
----
I miss PIES - I want to go back to class :(
Feb 7, 2008
Not Just Images
Every image has a story to tell. Every ray of light was waited for to be captured in order to make the image immortal.
These are some of my favorites - by very talented photographers.
These are some of my favorites - by very talented photographers.
Credits: Ankur Aras, Annie Leibovtiz, Danilo Lex, Greg Gorman, Hans Neleman, Helmut Lang, Lillian Bassman, Micheal Grieves, Rafiq Ellis, Robert Freeman, Sam Abell, Tarun Khiwal, Tasar Qureshi and Zubin Shroff.
There are many more, just that I don't know them, yet.
Feb 3, 2008
Terrible Child
The monk called me that last evening – I can’t deny that I am not one.
however, when is the right time to give up your childish dreams, forsake the teddy bear, or stop reading romance? “Either you dream about the real world or live in it.” - Monk's ‘get out of the box and get real’ gyaan, made me reflect,in its most serious definition.
however, when is the right time to give up your childish dreams, forsake the teddy bear, or stop reading romance? “Either you dream about the real world or live in it.” - Monk's ‘get out of the box and get real’ gyaan, made me reflect,in its most serious definition.
I have fought it ferociously for years now, a certain part of me never wants to grow up, never own responsibility, be needy and remain a leech – something in yesterday’s conversation changed all of that. Between espressos, the vacuum sucked me in, causing a lonely space that I am not sure if I could live with – but I knew I wanted to be friends with that confinement.
I am not Jaw- breaker and I can’t get away by saying, “U know me na, main asi hi hoon. I know it’s terrible and I hate it too but I am super needy and cribby. What to do, I love u na.” I can’t be that – I am not that.
If I am not that and can’t be happy with this – what is that I am seeking? I need to choose my side now. And as i did today morn, I only pray that I don’t do a bad job of it.
Too Much Text?
Moss made a comment that ‘certain people write too much on their blogs’. Moss is inconsequential in the judgements he makes because they have a tendency to evaporate, like a la Chameleon's. However, he teaches me two things – where to retain ones child-like nature and where to absorb your spiritual self (no, he is none of the above – but people teach you either way).
weekend - taunts and touch
Something very weird is happening to me. It is happening and I am just watching from faraway – unable to decide whether I want it to happen or not. It’s a new feeling, a new experience.
Recent observation had me jumping on to my defence instantly – be it with the Crankyhag, Moss or even Androgyny. My vitriolic tongue spews counter attacks with unimaginable accuracy. For one, I wasn’t like this; secondly I am not too sure I like it. It goes against my principles of non-violence. And for propagating the same, I am seriously violent. I reflected on the way everything was happening and realised that I am unconsciously deciding what I want; but I am unable to convey what I don’t want. That frustration comes out in unappreciated smart-ass comments and physical violence against the people I don’t like. Then again, its not that I don’t like them – some of them are my closest buddies, colleagues and family – what I am unable to tell is that, “dear Soandso, this trait of yours affects me, it makes me uncomfortable and I think I am beyond ignoring it; so please refrain from behaving like that with me henceforth.”
It’s been a while that tears rolled down my eyes. Say probably a year or so. Today I finished the book and the moved to watching a movie on sorority. The rules were same: independence, happiness, courage, grab the reins of your life, respect your desires, stand by your decisions, live life, etc… the loss, gain and absolution of fears and hatred had me sniffing. Then came the boo hoo hoo - why are people the way the are and how can they be so cruel, etc... the usual drama.
As we parted ways, Cranky made another comment and that too before Wisecap, monkeybaby and childmom, I was on my best behaviour and returned it with a plastic ‘ya, right whatever’ smile. What pinched me was that my friends didn’t say a word. Next day morn, I pulled up Childmom for the same and she acknowledged her mistake, "km on everybody was there, what was the point of picking a fight. He is older to u na, ignore baby, ignore. And he means a lot to Chameleon, so forgive him. Ps. I can’t tell u how much he got on to my nerves; I had to spend my entire evening with him, before you guys arrived.’ Serves her good!
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