Banalities

You know what happened a few days back? I was lazing around and browsing Twitter and seeing celebrities shower their precious gyaan upon us lesser mortals, when I mentioned off-handΒ “Why’s Sachin Tendulkar still not on Twitter?” Just like that. Like a passing thought. And the husband replied with an equally half-felt “Well, I guess he has a life.” And the next morning, there it was. “Sachin Tendulkar joins the Twitter celeb brigade.” It was rather surreal. Chuck took back his having-a-life comment quickly – he worships The 10dulkar. He also maintains that he is certain that I must have read it somewhere. Naansense! I was zapped. And confused. With a sad knowledge that nobody will ever believe me, except my blog readers (one of whom, btw, came here searching for a “punjabi wordpress theme”. I’m flattered but sorry to disappoint you with a normal language and culture neutral general theme, paaji). So yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am telepathic with Sachin Tendulkar πŸ˜€

Anyway, the last weekend was quite something. Friday was an absolute nightmare, with work being a total bitch. One client crying somewhere, one proposal begging to be finished, one review being done in 15 minute yelling sessions. And a flight to catch at 9 pm. I was going to Bangalore for the weekend where my in-laws stay, because it was their wedding anniversary on Sunday and a college friend of the husband’s had invited us for his wedding reception on Saturday. So I was wrapping up the proposal, calling the crying client and the worried manager on two separate lines and printing out my ticket at the same time. Imagine my disappointment then when I reach the airport, I find that the flight was delayed by almost 3 hours already, IF it was to leave at all. “Ma’am, it’s coming from Guwahati.. blah blah.. bad weather.. blah blah.. diverted to Agartala.. blah blah…not sure what time it will depart… Sorry!” I toyed with the idea of staying on at the airport or going home and coming back in time for the flight, but the situation looked quite bleak. Also, even I am scared of the idea of a groggy me trying to fight the tiredness of the day, getting on a flight at an ungodly hour, landing in another city at a worse hour and then having to embrace the one-hour ride home. I’m almost sure to snap at someone or the other. I’m not a night person. Or a morning person. Or a life person. Naturally, I did not want to subject others to such a me. So tickets were cancelled, re-booked for the next morning and I went off home. Inexplicably, that made me very sad. I hate travel plans being spoilt or cancelled. Or missing flights or trains. It’s not a good feeling to walk out of a airport you wanted to be flying out of.

The next morning dawned early, very very early and I was in Bangalore at home by 8.45 am. That’s quite something, no? I was idling my day away well aware of the reception in the evening, very smug in the knowledge that I packed a lovely blue sari. Small glitch here: I know not the first thing about draping saris. To me, it’s no less wondrous than that the Leaning Tower of Pisa balances itself that a sari should stay in its place for 3 hours without a single safety pin. So yes, I had a plan. Of going to the nearest parlor and asking them to get me into the sari in a way that it stays put. However, much laziness transpired and I decided I’d just ask the MIL to do the honours for me. She very gracefully agreed to do the needful, and I went back to gallivanting aimlessly about the house. Now, the thing about my MIL is that she can tie a sari and carry one with her eyes closed, much unlike me and 33 previous ancestral relations of mine. True to her promise, she tied the sari for me and left for the airport to pick up the SIL and her daughter. She entrusted me with the job of pinning the requisite parts of the sari for the foolproofness that I wanted – the rest was done. What happened after that resulted in the sari looking like a gown and a bunched up gamccha in parts as I tried to pin it, me having a meltdown, a panic attack, admitting defeat and changing into a salwar kameez and finally leaving the house amidst controlled under-the-breath curses by Chuck, because I had delayed us by 1 whole hour. I wanted to cry but really I could not risk looking any worse than I already was. And I HATE being late. It was damn embarrassing. And I really will never wear a sari again. It’s decided.

Just maybe though, it was for the better because it was a rather backslapping and pulling each others’ legs kind of scene, than being all ooh-I-grew-up-and-started-wearing-saris. The newly weds made a lovely couple, and the other friends were very keen on asking the already-married us to share some tips with them on how to “survive” it. Thankfully, by the time we got back, I had emerged from my sad and embarrassed state. Except when the MIL and the SIL asked alarmed “What happened to the sari?”, I had to cook up a cock-and-bull story on the spot. This is all so embarrassing, I will have to perform a shift-delete function on my brain to erase this incident forever.

The next day was the ILs’ anniversary and also Mother’s Day. We were all going to go and meet some of Chuck’s parents’ friends for lunch. Guess who was going to wear jeans nomatterwhat? πŸ˜€ Off we went for what turned out to be an afternoon of a scrumptious lunch, a drool-worthy coffee cake and meeting with interesting people. We met a couple, almost the same age as us, one a Bengali and the other from Nagaland. It’s almost like I see us when I see such couples – not understanding each other’s native language very well, trying, observing, being confused, amused, getting along, being awkward but managing it all because it’s our choice. Which got me thinking of Nirupama Pathak. A young girl stepping out of the confines of her home and village into the big city, bright and smart, making a career and falling in love with an equally bright classmate. This sort of news tells you that maybe it’s not such a bad thing that someΒ children don’t have parents. Also, very selfishly, in such news, I find an answer to what do I have in the world to be thankful for. I have my and my husband’s family, who held us and our decision to spend our strange lives together, much much above all differences of region, caste, language and other such things! For all our ideas of a rising India, how many couples have that happiness of making a choice and being supported wholeheartedly by both their families, their special days celebrated with so much love. I never quite appreciated it, I feel. There are so many days to be an ingrate but today, let me shoot up a prayer to thank thee, Lord. It was rather appropriate that this bout of god-thanking and parent-worship should come upon me on Mother’s Day you think? Don’t worry, I balanced it out with a phone argument with the mother.

Oh, and on the way back, we saw Katrina Kaif at the airport with Bangalore junta mobbing her. Poor girl couldn’t buy a coffee and drink it too πŸ˜€ I tried helping her distract the mob by announcing I’m telepathic with Sachin Tendulkar, they just wouldn’t believe me. Sorry, Katrina! 😐 And if you haven’t had enough of my hobnobbing with celebrities or being telepathic with them (remember?), Jimmy Shergill – the man I love since his Maachis days, despite his lame acting – is following me on Twitter. You say it’s an impostor?! Could you please let me dream big now?

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24 thoughts on “Banalities

  1. Not a night person. Or a morning person. Or a life person.

    I totally and officially love you.
    Just found this blog – came over from OrangeIceCandy.

    I’ll be haunting this space.

  2. Don’t let a mere saree defeat you, my dear!
    Yes, freedom of choice is a luxury in India, unfortunately. Some pay for it with their lives. We truly have much to be thankful for.

    • Exactly. Ideally, it should be not be made into a big deal. I recognize it as my right, but once you see stuff like this, you can’t simply take it for granted.

      And well, sarees will be conquered only once this current hate-phase is lived out.

  3. “It’s not a good feeling to walk out of a airport you wanted to be flying out of.” – Damn smart line!
    By the way, I totally agree. Many of us have quite a bit to be thankful for – having been born into a particular family at a particular point in time has ensured that we can crib about hazaar things in life, with no need to spare a thought for hygiene issues like a good education, supportive family members etc.

    • Exactly, part of me argues that this is my right. But it’s hard to claim your rights without being thankful for being born to OUR families and not any other, when such ridiculous things happen all the bloody time around us.

  4. that was such a fun post.
    sarees are evil beings when they want to be.
    poor katrina, i’m sure she appreciates your efforts πŸ˜€

  5. LOL. You are funny, you know that? That’s such a rarity these days. So I’m just going to say thank you for the laugh. I really needed it.

    And oh. Ditto on the ‘not a night person, morning person or life person’, saree draping and love-hate relationship with mom. First, you ditto me about the not-being-a-phone-person thing, making me feel more human. Now, this. I think I love you already.

    • I love you too, Sistah! You had me at the love-to-be-a-pottymouth thing though πŸ˜€

      And oh yeah, I’m funny when the brand of humour is self-depreciation. It comes from watching hours of Tom and Jerry as a child and always imagining yourself to be Tom, I guess.

  6. Finally a sari non draper like me! I can’t drape one for the life of me either. For the b-school interview many moons ago I went looking like one of those ammas in the 70’s mallu movies with the sari draped four inches above the ankles. One coconut in each hand and the look would’ve been complete. And now, many years, one husband and one baby and three wedding receptions later I STILL can’t drape it. Long live the salwar kameez!

    • Your comment brings me that tiny speck of light I’ll surely need the next time a (dreaded) sari-draping event comes around. Gotta love blogging for this. It assures me I’m not the rarest of rare when it comes to things like these.

      LOL@ the B-school interview πŸ˜€

  7. I don’t mind the sari, only as long as I’ve to wear one occasionally. But for the life of me, I can’t drape it myself. I’ve been married two years now and know only the pinning bit. This means that for the last two years, everytime I have to drape a sari, I rush to my mother (who lives eight kilometres away). Parlour ladies is a good idea. Will try next time!

    I think Katrina will send you a thank you card my snail mail πŸ˜€

    Twice so far I have dreamt of Sachin Tendulkar (in the sense that I was somewhere and happened to meet him) the day before a match and both times he has performed brilliantly. One of those was when he scored his double century. Between us, I think, we could be responsible for most of his accomplishments πŸ˜›

    • Also, very selfishly, in such news, I find an answer to what do I have in the world to be thankful for.

      Yes, that was my comment on another blog – The more I read about such things, the more I appreciate my parents for supporting all my choices.

      • True. Even though I have always acted like everything my parents do for me is my birth right, and I don’t think I have ever actively thanked them, I see this very clearly these days. Ofcourse, I’ll still never let them know. Don’t want to shock them with out of character behaviour in their old age πŸ˜€

        I was nodding my head with you over the sari thing.. till you said you know the pinning bit. Traitor πŸ˜€

        Also, dude, you can’t steal my Tendulkar thunder like that with your actual dream-and-make-him-score-big skills! There are rules on this blog!!

  8. Pingback: In Which We Inflict Boredom Upon Thee « Snippets from a Dark Comedy called Life

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