She's at it again.
The music is a barely audible whisper through her headphones. It wants to escape. And so does she.

"Mama I'm working out!" She had yelled twenty minutes ago.

The treadmill sits dusty in the corner of her makeshift gym. The floor length mirror fixed to the wall near an ironing board, is perfect. She lip syncs to perfection now.

Don't even get me started on her air guitaring. She is Kurt Cobain reincarnated. With less pretty hair.

I wonder if I should cough. It's not like she can hear me. I howl with mirth inwardly.

She whisper shouts, "'....you look so seattle, but you feel so L.A...Aayyyaayaa!..." Her eyes closed as she adds the accompanying guitar riff.

"Baji..." I begin.

".....and I looveee the way you hurt meee...."

"O Baji jee!" I try louder.

"...it's irresistable. Ohhh ohh!" The hands are imaginary-drumming now. I watch mesmerized.

Somewhere through my open-mouthed fascination, she opens her eyes. Blood floods her cheeks. Music device thingie clatters to floor, headphones dangling uselessly from her ears.

"Ohmigosh, ohmigosh. Awkward!" She mutters, hiding her eyes.

I smile broadly, not bothering to hide my smirk.
"Baji, room ki dusting karni hay. Aap thori dair baad workout karlena. Ok?"

A/N:

Word Count: 205

Inspired by that infinitely embarassing moment, when your masi/maid walks in on you doing something that could easily win you a ticket to the loony bin. :P #TotesRandom #JustCameToMe
#NotRealFolks

Baji, is a respectful term for "Older sister.

Translation of the last line: (Baji, I have to dust this room now. You can work out later. Ok?)