OhmigodIdidit!!

You know there are certain things you think you would NEVER do or are in the realm of the unthinkable. Small things, not life-altering, nevertheless it’s stuff that you think is, well, simply, not done. But we all surprise ourselves. This weekend was my turn to be surprised! Here's how!

Episode I:
So here I am, in my jeans and kurti with my signature earrings – which in common parlance would translate into ‘those massive danglers and chunky junk jewellery I oh so love to hate or so hate to love’. I had my colleague’s wedding to attend. And being her boss, it was mandatory I attend. (Mandatory? My foot! Who the hell sets the rules? This is what I meant when I mentioned about certain things you would NEVER do, and in similar vein, you'd do because it's manadatory…well, you get the drift).

It was a Friday evening. It was meant to be a ‘different’ kind of wedding reception. Not the ‘mandatory’ flower bedecked backdrop with ‘Ravi weds Nisha’ in marigold and rose and god alone knows what other flowers. The bride and groom grimly grinning at the queue standing grimly to wish the couple ‘congratulations on a happy married life’, the mandatory photo-op and video lights blinding you as you are supposed to look your best when actually you are worried about the warts on your face, the blotched mascara and eye-liner and the all too visible tiered mid-riff that’d the camera’d be only too glad to capture. Ugh! No siree, this was to be a different wedding. All drama et al. I wanted to go. Did I?

Well, I had ironed out my Christmas tree look alike attire in red and gold and was mentally prepared to come home, change, and look suitably ‘dressed for the occasion’ – the occasion being the ‘Great Indian Wedding Tamasha’.

Then work happened. Just like shit happens. Everyday. Work always happens. I was through with cursing beneath my breath. Was there a point in cursing? Life goes on and so does work. Anyway, the other ‘heee heee ooooh…aaaah’ girls at office had brought their change and of course as is mandatory, showed it to their other girl friends. I being a senior, and not disposed to mingle with the hoi polloi (yes, am a snooty B), almost curled an evil lip at these mere mortals. I was beyond all this – I was sure they’d get a shock to see me in my changed avatar and go eye-popping mad. Yo, yo, yo! Sigh! If only I’d listened to my instinct and got my clothes to office and kept them in the car instead of having some brain-dead brainwave of coming home 12 km from office and driving again another 20 km to the wedding venue and back. Now I know why we’re called ‘dumb brunettes’. Sic!

So work happened and it was on a roll. And I mean a roll like those manufacturing units where the bottles keep coming at you on a conveyor belt, relentless, non-stop, for you to label,if you were a white collar worker, right? You just keep going at it, mindlessly till the quota for the day is over and done with. But here, it’s not even a mindless job. It’s high-pressure that freaks me out. And to deal with red haired, fat bottomed, aggressive, miss know-it-alls kind of gets to me. Help me please, I need rescuing! And when stressed out, my voice goes up a few notches. This chick (I hate the usage of this term, but in this case it's just so apt, forgive me O Lord!) and I got into an argument where I raised my voice and she kept telling me, ‘don’t raise your voice, speak normally’ and I (hilariously) kept insisting that ‘I’m not raising my voice, am just telling you to back-off’. It was funny only on hind-sight. Anyway, bottom line is I was up to my ass in work. And I so wanted to go for the wedding. And even though my head was splitting and my back which has been sore for a week now was sending me shooting twinges as signals saying, ‘not ok not ok not ok’….aaaaaaargh!!! I still wanted to go. And I could feel my plans, my enthusiasm all dimming by the minute like the rise of the moon in the night time.

Then strangely at around 6.15 pm or so, my boss comes up to me and asks me about plans for attending the wedding. I tell him with what I hope is a really pissed off tone that I won’t be able to make it and named all the others who I thought were going to go. He just said, ‘I’m ordering a taxi and you can come along with me or I’ll get lost in that part of town’ and that was that. Won’t get into details of what happened between 6.15 pm and 7.30 pm. The taxi came and 2 of my colleagues and I went in the taxi to the ‘and they lived happily ever after’ wedding of the season. In my jeans, kurti, big danglers and scruffy keds, not a trace of make up and none of the bling that is so necessary at the ‘Great Indian Wedding Tamasha’.

OhmigodIdidit!
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Episode II:
Went to pick up ma at the railway station at the ungodly hour of 5.00 am. Got up at 4.30 am, dragged on my jeans and pull over, grabbed the car keys and cell and headed for the station 6 kms away. Notice the sequence. Jeans, bra, t-shirt, pull over, cell phone, car keys, wallet, slip-ons, house keys and out of the house. Something missing? Of course!!!! I didn’t brush my teeth. And then I committed the ultimate blasphemous act. At the station I sipped on a large Styrofoam of hot chocolate. Without brushing my teeth!

OhmigodIdidit!!

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Episode III:
As if this isn’t enough, I surprised myself yet again. It’s bad enough to work on a Saturday. It’s worse when you’re me and can’t suffer hunger pangs. My mind’s warped anyway, and then when hunger calls at my innards, the alarm bells jangle my nerves with their pitch and I’m ready to bite anybody’s head off.

So, all said and done, however much I exaggerate, I do have amazing control over myself and my inner calling. (That’s one of the reasons I’m the failure I am, have never listened to my heart but have no qualms about masterfully advising young friends about always following the call of the heart, hah!) Anyway, had to go to one of those malls that now dot the city and have somehow become the panacea for all those at a loose end and don’t know what to do with their free time. Now Brigade Road is passé. Malls are so hip and in and happening. The chicks (that’s the 2nd time I’ve used this slanderous term, what’s with me?) and the hunks, the wannabes and the aunties and uncles with cantankerous children and the rest of humanity nowadays hang out at the malls. The place to be seen at. Ahem!!

Right! Having said that, I had to go to one of these very same malls that I’m so happily denigrating to the bin, to pick up a pair of trousers which I was hoping would be altered and ready. Again in a decidedly brain-dead decision to go on a Saturday afternoon at 3.30 pm when the ‘sale’ was on, on an empty growling stomach, on a fuel tank that was beyond ‘E’, I seemed set on the road to hell. After waiting for 35 mins., yes, 35 f$#%ing mins. for parking, mind you, my car suddenly sputters on the sloping gangway of the basement parking. What the …!!! Why the…!!! What am I…!! I don’t panic, because I’ve realized that at such times, my mind seizes up and a certain calm clutches my heart. I shrug my shoulders and ask the ‘am going mad’ parking attendant ‘what do I do, my car won’t start’ and he asks me the same bloody question in Kannada. ‘Your car won’t start madam?’ is his plaintive query and I’m ready to get out of the car and hit the klutz. Poor fella! Not his fault. I’m beginning to think of the stares, the honks, the angry mutterings, whom to call for help to push the car, and the jam that this is going to cause, how to get the fuel, and all the myriad things associated with a car that won’t start on the sloping gangway of a basement car park with 30-40 cars behind you. Normal day eh? Miraculously the car starts and I get parking and am inside the mall. Hallelujah!

Then I collect the aforementioned trousers, and head for the food court. It’s 4.30 pm by then. Buy the coupons, and get ignored by the guy at the counter as I wave the coupon under his nose, am on the brink of grabbing his collar over the counter, with my back-side in the face of the other gawking hungry shoppers, and am actually amused by the thought of ‘what a picture’ and seems like it’d be a scene straight out of ‘Desperate Housewives’, continue to bide my time, and finally get my order billed, numbered and now it’s time to find a place to park my oversized butt, tired feet, grumbling tummy and screaming mind.

I look at the grubby children, the families with platesful of stuff and I’m silently asking them, ‘do you really need to eat so much’ and ‘can’t you see I’m tired, don’t I look like an angel and don’t you want to give me a chair’, ‘can’t you finish up quickly instead of looking lovingly into his eyes, and he doesn’t even have nice eyes and yes that dosa is dripping with oil, ugh,’ and on and on and on. I finally see a table emptying itself of its 4 occupants, but there are 3 guys who’re sitting by that very table and hoping to occupy it. So I go, ‘oh ok, you can take it, not a problem’ while I’m actually gnashing my teeth and wondering ‘where the hell is chivalry and why the hell don’t I look fragile where they would’ve gone, oh please, not a problem, take the chair, take 2…’ damn damn damn! So much for being the modern, independent, ‘I need no help and can take care of myself’ 21st century woman. Hrmph!!! But to be fair to them, one of them did make the right noises and offered me the table. Anyway, while they shifted their butts to the relevant chairs with one chair still empty, I cheekily remarked, while placing my bag with the trousers in them, ‘Now that I’ve been so sweet to you, why don’t you watch this bag for me while I get my order?’ and traipsed off to get my tray leaving the 3 dudes slightly bemused. Got back, and after parking my butt in the empty chair, I asked them, ‘may I, hope you don’t mind and thanks’ and dug in. Would I have had the audacity to do this if I was a few years younger? Not a chance! Age has its advantages.

OhmigodIdidit!
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I’ve written a blog of gargantuan proportions. And I got back after a mini sabbatical. I had a massage today, but my back is still sore. I got some pleasant surprises in the form of messages from friends. I’ve known all along that my mother rocks. Had Bacardi breezers with her today and she’s just got back from a ‘holy’ trip which meant a visit to 33, yes, three three thirty three temples! Phew! And topped by Bacardi. What a..er..breeze!
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Some of my friends and their messages:
‘It’s good to be alone sometimes.” S

“Friendship doesn’t occur with special people…people become special when they become friends.” J

“Dream, work hard and have faith in yourself – leave the rest to God!” A

“Absolutely unconditional always with you…” R

“We’re an amazingly strong sex. Think of all the shit we handle and how we still manage to keep going…” B

“One is what one wants to be. So one can be surrounded with people and still be alone. Boundaries are imaginary. You are not alone. There are 7 billion with you.” (Wow!) Ashu

“Life after all is maya. Nothing stays with us. Even batteries die.” Ashu

“…gunning for what I want to do in life..nothing else matters. Have ice cream and say hello R beautiful….” Asif

“I love the way you laugh and your great sense of humour. Don’t ever lose it.” J

And all the umpteen messages that my friends send to keep me going and give me motivation and inspire me, that mean so much to me. I bow to thee.

Er…did anyone miss me while I was gone? (I’m hoping, I’m hoping…I’m a hopeless romantic and I live on hope, however hopeless I might feel or be and however much people grin knowingly about my display of vulnerability and well, yeah! I like being missed. Am I not human?)

OhmigodIdidit!! (I wrote the blog which has been in my head all day. And now it’s time to go back and burrow my head in the sand and disappear in the deep gorges of a befuddled mind).