So I leisurely sipping my morning coffee and trying to stop brooding so as to try to be in a good mood because I woke up early for once. Well, early as per my standards. Other people refer to it as 3 p.m. in the afternoon. Well, you say potato I say pohtato. Anyways, so the bell rings and none of the help or other members of the family are around and I suddenly have to answer it. (Don't worry. Everyone was very regretful later on. They solemnly swear not to abandon me like that again. I was still sleepy. There was so much that could have happened. What if I had hit my head somewhere and died? No one would have been there to hear and chronicle my last words. Which reminds me, I need to add a clause to my will which specifies that no body parts of mine are to be donated after I die. I don't want my eyes to see how poor people live and my liver is so drunk that it has hangovers of it's own. My heart is so tired from working that it wants to retire to the Bahamas and if they cut up and cook my stomach it could feed three small African nations for a week. As for my brain, most of it is just like my love life. Hypothetical.)
So I open the door and it's someone claiming to be the guy who checks the meter for all the water we consume. Now, I presume he's faker because as far as I know, water is a natural resource and one does not need to pay for it unless it's made by Evian and why would we have a meter for something we don't need to pay for?
As I was still in a bad mood and needed to take it out on somebody, I let him enter, made him close the gate behind him and then set my family's dogs after him. Since I am a fair person, (have I ever mentioned that?), I called the dogs back after a few minutes and let this guy him explain himself.
He simply refused to tell me the truth.
Or so I thought.
Turns out, he was telling the truth. I called and checked with my parents. We do pay for water which is not made by Evian.
Who wuda thunk it?
Also, we even have a water meter. Go figure.
So shit happens. Get over it.
After conforming the location with my parents, I took the guy to where the water meter was.
So far so good, right?
Suddenly, this guy turns to me and passes a snide remark about how "my generation" has no idea about a lot of things in the real world.
I was enraged. How dare he accuse me of not knowing how the real world works? Me??
So I lived in a house for quarter of a century and had no idea that we had a water meter. Or that we paid for our water. That does not imply that I am clueless. Not by a long shot.
I know how this world works. I watch Oprah. And once, during a school vacation, I read a back issue of Reader's Digest. What else does one need to run through life, really?
Anyways, at that time, right after he said those words, not only was I furious, I was seething with righteous anger. I was more angry than that poor kid from Vietnam who found out that he was being adopted by Angelina Jolie. To me, this jackass from the water department represented everything that was wrong with this world (fundamentalism, lack of tolerance, bad sitcoms).
So I did what any responsible and mature adult would do in my situation.
I "erroneously" pushed the stool behind him, he fell, and then I "accidentally" let go of dog's leashes, and they "sort of" mauled him. A "little".
Relax. Nothing happened to that guy.
Well, nothing-ish.
He got some bruises and a torn shirt. Serves him right, though.
Since I'm all about being fair and balanced, I had the driver take him to a doctor to get the bruise(s?) checked and I gave him money to buy a new shirt.
See, I did him a favor. The shirt he was wearing looked like it hadn't met any detergent grains in years. Thanks to my timely intervention, the shirt got to have a dignified end.
Of course, then the guy from the water department threatened litigation and my Dad had to send someone to bribe him to keep his mouth shut.
But hey, look on the bright side.
At least now I know where the water meter is.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
This post is very Zen about being err...umm... a post!
So a few days ago I finally went back to my ex-office one last time to finish the paperwork. It was weird to say the least. I didn't even get a chance to steal more stationary. Anyways, I was like Rockstar-ry and pointing and telling people that "Hey, you still haven't used the plastic surgeon I referred you to" or "Hey, you still smell like you haven't taken a bath since Elvis died." And they were all like "Why aren't you dead yet, asshole?".
Ah. I could almost feel the love.
Anyways, I finally managed to get all the paperwork done. It took me almost the whole day because that company had more red tape than a government office in a small Indian town in the hinterlands. And I also managed to visit the place where I spent more time while working than in my actual office, my favorite off campus coffee bar. They still remembered my "the usual" even after one and a half years. I would have cried if I wasn't cringing at the nose mole on the guy taking my order.
So while I was in the office I was looking at the people working there and to tell you the truth I have seen more cheerfulness at a funeral. The atmosphere was as tense as people coming out of the theater after seeing a Guy Ritchie movie. Maybe if I was in the rat race too I would have looked that sad. But thankfully I am not. I'm at the side, sipping big cups of coffee while I make snarky comments about everybody.
What that means is that I'm now OFFICIALLY unemployed. I'm not just a statistic. The best part about it is that I'm okay with it. I haven't had a single panic attack. I've even tried thinking about it while the two minute window of sobriety I had earlier today morning. And I got nothing. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Shunya. For the first time in my life, I am okay with not having a plan for the future. Not that any of my plans ever worked out. The plans I make have the same probability of working out that Paris Hilton has of becoming a nun.
I'm into my second gap year now. If I tell anyone that, they look at me like I've just drunk driven over their daughter's pet pony along with her ninety year old grandmother. So, if anyone asks, I say there are no jobs in the market for people like me (i.e. someone who wants to be paid without being asked to work) and I put the blame on the recession\George Bush\Working woman\China, depending on the person's intellect and political affiliation. It's not because I care about what other people think. It's because it's easier to explain and let's face it, when they offer me their unsincere support, it's quite entertaining.
*******
Last month, two NRI family friends came over to stay at our family home. By family home I mean anywhere in my house but my room. Now usually I don't like NRI family friends because most of them are douchebags in ethnic clothing. Nothing personal, but they pretend to be more white than actual white folks.
Anyways, I kinda got along with these two. Well, at least initially.
Let's call them K and M. I almost liked K until I found out that she is scared of "the gay". Therefore I ignored her for the rest of her visit for obvious reasons. It's not that I don't like to spend time with people who hate me for who I'd like to bore in bed, I already know too many homophobic people. Anyways, this is not about her.
Now, in a totally unprecedented scenario, I really got along with M. We hit of instantly and it was like we've always known each other. So me being me, I cracked a few jokes which kind of implied that I was batting for the homo team. Well, we never actually talked about it but I kind of assumed that she knew. We kept in touch even after she went back home. Yesterday, while we were texting each other, the following conversation happened:
So when I read her message, I realized that I had inadvertently told her. But I didn't come out to her per se, but it was just a given part of the conversation. And there was no regret, no panic attack, no afterthought. Nothing.
The reason why this is important because my gay self has finally been integrated into my sorry personality. They are not two separate entities anymore. No more secret shadowy life. I am not paranoid about people I know finding out. It's those little subtle changes. The other day I went book shopping and I didn't feel conscious picking up a book which talked about same-sex love in India and waving it to my friend on the other side of the crowded shop and showing it to him. Nor did I feel the need to talk to him about gay stuff like we were discussing cold war secrets when we sat in a crowded cafe. I was loud and obnoxious like I am when discussing everything else. In fact, there was this lady on the other table who was listening to our conversation and looking at us with disapproving eyes. I looked straight at her with my second-most angry expression and she turned away and started to disapprove the straight couple cuddling on the table in front of her.
Nowadays, I don't flip windows when someone walks in while I'm reading something "gay" nor do I clean my tracks on my own computer. I don't even stay silent about gay rights in front of people who are conservative, and believe in the the don't-talk-about-anything-related-to-sex doctrine. I know I said I'm comfortable with being gay, but this is a whole new level of oneness with the gay universe for me.
******
Now, in a related story, a few weeks ago, in conversation with one of my friends, I discovered that I'm fine with being 26. I don't get choked up when I'm saying it out loud. I'm not twenty something. I'm twenty fucking six. 26. tWentY SiX.
Saying that does not make me nauseous and giddy and my legs don't feel like they are about to fall off. (Well, that maybe because I stopped filling my Valium prescription from a guy who looks like the son of a deposed Nigerian prince. But still. Bigger picture, people. Bigger picture.)
So I'm okay with being twenty six, fat, single and alone. None of this makes me want to listen to Coldplay the whole day long. Nor do I feel like watching old episodes of Scrubs.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Does this mean what I think it means?
Am I growing up????
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Uh-oh. Suddenly, I don't feel so well.
Ah. I could almost feel the love.
Anyways, I finally managed to get all the paperwork done. It took me almost the whole day because that company had more red tape than a government office in a small Indian town in the hinterlands. And I also managed to visit the place where I spent more time while working than in my actual office, my favorite off campus coffee bar. They still remembered my "the usual" even after one and a half years. I would have cried if I wasn't cringing at the nose mole on the guy taking my order.
So while I was in the office I was looking at the people working there and to tell you the truth I have seen more cheerfulness at a funeral. The atmosphere was as tense as people coming out of the theater after seeing a Guy Ritchie movie. Maybe if I was in the rat race too I would have looked that sad. But thankfully I am not. I'm at the side, sipping big cups of coffee while I make snarky comments about everybody.
What that means is that I'm now OFFICIALLY unemployed. I'm not just a statistic. The best part about it is that I'm okay with it. I haven't had a single panic attack. I've even tried thinking about it while the two minute window of sobriety I had earlier today morning. And I got nothing. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Shunya. For the first time in my life, I am okay with not having a plan for the future. Not that any of my plans ever worked out. The plans I make have the same probability of working out that Paris Hilton has of becoming a nun.
I'm into my second gap year now. If I tell anyone that, they look at me like I've just drunk driven over their daughter's pet pony along with her ninety year old grandmother. So, if anyone asks, I say there are no jobs in the market for people like me (i.e. someone who wants to be paid without being asked to work) and I put the blame on the recession\George Bush\Working woman\China, depending on the person's intellect and political affiliation. It's not because I care about what other people think. It's because it's easier to explain and let's face it, when they offer me their unsincere support, it's quite entertaining.
*******
Last month, two NRI family friends came over to stay at our family home. By family home I mean anywhere in my house but my room. Now usually I don't like NRI family friends because most of them are douchebags in ethnic clothing. Nothing personal, but they pretend to be more white than actual white folks.
Anyways, I kinda got along with these two. Well, at least initially.
Let's call them K and M. I almost liked K until I found out that she is scared of "the gay". Therefore I ignored her for the rest of her visit for obvious reasons. It's not that I don't like to spend time with people who hate me for who I'd like to bore in bed, I already know too many homophobic people. Anyways, this is not about her.
Now, in a totally unprecedented scenario, I really got along with M. We hit of instantly and it was like we've always known each other. So me being me, I cracked a few jokes which kind of implied that I was batting for the homo team. Well, we never actually talked about it but I kind of assumed that she knew. We kept in touch even after she went back home. Yesterday, while we were texting each other, the following conversation happened:
M: hey how goes? I have the snuffles :( ..
Me: Wha hpnd? .... *hugs*
M: sore throat etc, btw I saw luck by chance yday and it's good and farhan akthar is a really good actor
Me: Oh yeah, I so have a crush on Farhan Akhtar!! :P
M: Oh, I can totally see why you have a crush on that one he's a hottie!!
So when I read her message, I realized that I had inadvertently told her. But I didn't come out to her per se, but it was just a given part of the conversation. And there was no regret, no panic attack, no afterthought. Nothing.
The reason why this is important because my gay self has finally been integrated into my sorry personality. They are not two separate entities anymore. No more secret shadowy life. I am not paranoid about people I know finding out. It's those little subtle changes. The other day I went book shopping and I didn't feel conscious picking up a book which talked about same-sex love in India and waving it to my friend on the other side of the crowded shop and showing it to him. Nor did I feel the need to talk to him about gay stuff like we were discussing cold war secrets when we sat in a crowded cafe. I was loud and obnoxious like I am when discussing everything else. In fact, there was this lady on the other table who was listening to our conversation and looking at us with disapproving eyes. I looked straight at her with my second-most angry expression and she turned away and started to disapprove the straight couple cuddling on the table in front of her.
Nowadays, I don't flip windows when someone walks in while I'm reading something "gay" nor do I clean my tracks on my own computer. I don't even stay silent about gay rights in front of people who are conservative, and believe in the the don't-talk-about-anything-related-to-sex doctrine. I know I said I'm comfortable with being gay, but this is a whole new level of oneness with the gay universe for me.
******
Now, in a related story, a few weeks ago, in conversation with one of my friends, I discovered that I'm fine with being 26. I don't get choked up when I'm saying it out loud. I'm not twenty something. I'm twenty fucking six. 26. tWentY SiX.
Saying that does not make me nauseous and giddy and my legs don't feel like they are about to fall off. (Well, that maybe because I stopped filling my Valium prescription from a guy who looks like the son of a deposed Nigerian prince. But still. Bigger picture, people. Bigger picture.)
So I'm okay with being twenty six, fat, single and alone. None of this makes me want to listen to Coldplay the whole day long. Nor do I feel like watching old episodes of Scrubs.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Does this mean what I think it means?
Am I growing up????
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Uh-oh. Suddenly, I don't feel so well.
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