In praise of a Teardrop

“I don’t really remember when I last cried”, I have been often told. I don’t know whether I feel sorry for them or for myself.

Tears come easily to me. A beautiful movie moves me to tears. I still cry every time I watch ‘Stepmom’. I cry when people I love move far away. I may try to hold back those treacherous tears but they will come, eventually. I remember willing myself not to cry as I said goodbye to my Dad when I was moving to another continent. Ironically, I also cried the time when I was returning home; this time it was because I knew I would terribly miss my friends.

There are of course times that you feel this huge lump forming in your throat that threatens to explode any minute. Your tear glands may not be at risk then, but your heart surely is. It is a strange kind of hurt which does not affect you personally but breaks your heart nonetheless. This strange feeling comes to me every time I hear a baby cry. They may be tiny but you have to give credit to their lung power! Your heart goes out to that precious being and you feel a strange pain when you listen to its cries.

But this is just me.

It is not unusual for people to be tear-proof. More so with men than women. I honestly do not know if this is gender-defined or whether it is simply because women are more emotionally expressive. It may be both. I know of a friend who was narrating an incident from his childhood. He said, “When I was young, say about 10-12, I actually cried quite often. But then I remember my Dad telling me- You have got to be stronger. Boys must not cry”. And now this friend of mine is quite tear-proof. In all of the time that I have known him, I’ve probably seen him break down once or twice.

A lot of boys are brought up with the notion that men don’t cry. If it’s not advice given by fathers or elders, additional socialization with boys more than girls during growing years is powerful enough to drive the point home. When it comes to emotional expressiveness, girls generally take the trophy! Speaking about their feelings, lending their shoulder’s to cry on (and using other’s shoulders for a download of their own sob stories) is common amongst women. And hence, tears are not unusual with women. It is rare that men will sit around and discuss their feelings and want to talk about how their bicep-tattooed, beer-burping buddy is hurting. If you are an exception, you will most definitely be scorned by your male friends and mistaken by your female friends to be GAY.

I do have male friends (Straight!!) who are comfortable with tears. They are not ashamed to cry when they are hurt and most definitely do not mind sharing their sorrows. I have very often played the role of agony-aunt to several of my friends and I truly believe that a good confidante is not necessarily a good advice-giver. Advice is much cheaper than air! The secret is to listen and if you are genuinely concerned, judge whether to give advice or not. And yes, you have to know how to deal with their tears!

At the risk of sounding sexist, a guy who cries at the drop of a hanky is too much to handle. A guy who sheds a tear or two when he confides in you about his innermost demons is quite endearing. I was recently having a conversation with a guy friend and on asking him when he cried last, he replied after trying hard to recollect, “Ummm...it must have been three years back”. Apparently, it was at a funeral of a person he didn’t know too well but on seeing his best friend break down, he was moved to tears as well. Strange but something that I could perfectly relate to. Seeing your close ones hurt breaks your heart as well. If it doesn’t, you seriously need to ask yourself, “Do I have a heart?”

For that matter, girls who sob their eyes out as a hobby are annoying to say the least. I shall share with you an incident of a girl I once knew who got into a tiff with a guy in her college and was slapped by him when things got out of control. I remember standing there awestruck! Whoever has heard of a guy slapping a girl? Not cool LOSER!! Not cool!! But what happened next was even more unexpected. Instead of giving him a piece of her mind, the girl’s nose turned red first and she started sobbing in shame. Whatever happened to fighting out your battle? This girl was not the outspoken loudmouth that everyone had thought she was!

There are times when women automatically activate their tear glands when they find themselves in a sticky spot. Tears are not an excuse to avoid fighting the battle. When the going gets tough, the tough gets going!! I am not judging you if you cry. Just do it to relieve your pain and worry, not to solve your problems. And never in public for crying out loud (pun intended)!!! I myself have snivelled in the confines of my room when things are getting tough. And I value my tears- they have been cathartic. But I do not for one minute doubt my will and strength to get past whatever is troubling me.

But not to cry at all!! What life are you leading if you have not known the soothing touch of tears trickling down your face? What heart beats in your body if you have not released hurt? It is Charles Dickens who said-

Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.

Learn to cry. Learn to shed a tear or two.

FEEL...alive!

The Traveller

With a bag on his shoulder and stars in his eyes,

The traveller proceeds towards his destination unknown

Bearing hopes in his heart

The traveller walks the earth

All alone

Blissfully he lies on the ground

With the sapphire sky above

Illuminated lamps glitter and gleam in the sky

He is gently blessed by the gods

Dwelling so high

His spirit is like the lighted candle

At the holy altar

He lends an ear to those who vent their sorrows

He brings to them a ray of light

 For tomorrow

Whenever he leaves, he leaves

A city of joy

He shares a vagrant’s happiness and joy

He gives the unfortunate a reason

To rejoice

He is a nurturer,

The spirit of humanity

He presses an old lady’s wrinkled feet

He gently carries the crippled urchin

Across the street

Nature has created few like him

Sprinkling of cheer wherever he goes

Without a worry for his self

He carries with him,

A burden of woes

He does not have a house

But he does not have a care

He will not serve as prisoner

Within the confines of cemented walls

The world is his, he who belongs to all

A philanthropist or an angel of God?

Warm smile, a compassionate touch

He murmurs a blessing as he passes on

He wins hearts and touches souls

As he walks this Earth, all alone

He treads unto foreign lands

The very Homes that he will bid goodbye

His calling in life is all that is his own

So much misery, so many to heal!

Of what use is a compass for a man whose destination is unknown?

Boy oh boy!!

A fairly common phenomenon in any Indian family is the search for a “suitable boy” for the daughter of the house. I come from a liberal family wherein my parents have always supported me in the pursuit of whatever I have been passionate about. They have been encouraging of my interests and supportive through all my personal battles. In fact, I have closely interacted with parents of many of my friends and I find myself very fortunate to have parents with whom I can discuss pretty much anything. I do not know of many friends who can discuss their relationships with their own parents with the same candidness. But like any other, my parents also secretly harbour dreams of my wedding (not similar to the stereotypical filmy-glitzy kind though; they are quite cynical such ostentation). I use the term “secretly” because they are rarely brought up for discussion with me.

Do not mistake me. I am not anti-marriage or anything. I would want to get married someday- when I am mentally prepared. Marriage must not be dictated by age. You could be 18 and make a great life-partner or fail miserably at marriage even when you’re 28. Undoubtedly, marriage is a function of mental maturity. It rarely is comprehended from this specific approach and parents by and large conform to the practice of groom-hunting when the daughter is 24-25.  

At this point in life, I have not even entertained thoughts of marriage. Hence, any thoughts of matrimonial nature are not something which I find exciting. Having been witness to the beautiful marriage that my own parents share, I would love to get married someday- when I am really excited about marriage, when I feel a relationship is special enough to metamorphose into marriage. Until then, I want to give due importance to enjoy and celebrate other things that are important in my life- my new job for instance. But this will not deter my parents from subtly slipping the M word during the most unexpected of times. Well, good luck with that Mum and Dad! 

I have become quite the pro at identifying these well-disguised hints by now and I have my own clever mechanisms to steer clear of them. But the pressure starts building and you may just crack! I have conducted my own analysis of sinister signs and I will share them with you. Here you go...

1. Sincere advice: If possible, stop attending weddings altogether! You meet your relatives at social do’s and they wink at you knowingly and ask your parents, “Sooooo...she has finished her education no? Now what plans?”
2. All your close friends start getting married off. You share the news with your Mum and she over joyously starts off with, “Oh so nice!! Good only! See...” That’s your cue to scram!
3. Your parents increasingly start inviting other families with “eligible” sons to join you for dinners/lunches. And dare you absent yourself under the pretext of meeting friends!
4. Suddenly, you notice that your mother’s friends start calling from all parts of the world to talk about their nephew/godson/neighbour that is looking to get married to a “well-educated Indian girl”
5. Your Mum almost chokes on her food when you announce that you are seriously considering doing a PhD. Her eyes will look like huge saucers as she retorts, “You have two Masters already and you want to study for another 3-4 years? Why don’t you settle down in your job...enjoy your newly-earned money?”
6. Your younger sadistic brother who has overheard your parents discussing your marriage stops harassing you and actually starts getting freaked out on your behalf.
7. You are at your close friend’s wedding and you find the wedding photographer stalking you as he blinds you with flashing lights. You are almost about to slap him hard when he cowers in defence and says, “Madam! Madam please! Your mother only asked me to take good photographs of you. For showing...you know...”
8. (After event 7) You catch your Mum taking the photographer’s calling card, “just in case”
9. When you have been hanging out with this guy friend an awful lot lately and your parents try had to sound casual when they ask you, “Soooo, is it serious?”
10. When your Mum is on the telephone with her friend and the minute you walk in, she starts talking in hushed tones
11. Your friend’s mother who is excitedly making arrangements for her marriage starts offering free matchmaking services to your own parents as a philanthropic gesture
12. When your Mum gives you long hopeful looks on receiving any wedding invitation
13. When your Mum comes back from this wedding she has just been to and excitedly describes the wedding to you while she stealthily adds, “...I am thinking we’ll get it done for your’s as well”. Sneaky huh?
14. If you are one of those who do not like wearing jewellery and you happen to complement the new earnings that your Mum is wearing, she looks at you in mock disbelief and then with teary eyes tells you, “All of this is yours only. Why don’t you wear something on your ears...at least once in a while? It will look nice you know...” And this will eventually lead to a lecture of another nature! So your work is already done and you will not have to rack your brains to get yourself out of this one. (Maddy 1: Mum none!!)
15. When relatives inquire about your age and the answer is almost always followed up with, “Aaaah...Right age!”
16. When your parents ask you about your boyfriend and you discreetly and vaguely mumble something; your parents continue with their interrogation, “But have you met his parents? Are they nice?” No Mum! I’m sure they are plotting to set me on fire so that I don’t corrupt their son’s life!
17. Your Dad actually asks you outright, “So what are your plans on marriage?” This is one that is quite hard to dodge. It’s right in your face!! (Ding ding ding* Dad one : Maddy none!!)

P.S: I love you Mom and Dad for trying so hard! Here’s to whenever I’ll finally stop dodging....

Technical GLiTcH = Gastronomic miss

Picturesque Scotland! A perfect piece of heaven. Expansive lakes whose ripples are the hues of blue- the breathtaking blue of morning glory, tiny bluebells, of the exotic edelweiss, of sapphires and jade. And the exquisite emerald green mountains that are spotted with globules of fluffy cotton that are the most adorable sheep! And I was Heidi. I could see myself in a flowered dress racing down the green hillock with a pail of creamy frothy milk in one hand and a stick in the other to chase the fat sheep.

Johanna Spyri conjured Heidi amongst the Alps but anyone who watched Heidi on Sunday mornings courtesy Cartoon Network will get the idea.  Only hiccup being Heidi was a chubby girl with rosy cheeks (Seriously!! Who has cheeks that colour?) and she seemed to have a stomach for milk- the full-fat double toned cream kinda stuff. Anyone who knows me will probably suspect that I probably suffer from anaemia (somehow calories have taken a strong aversion to my body). Anyone who probably knows me will also know that I have a strong aversion to milk. Moreover, I do not like flowery prints on my clothes. And God only knows how Heidi sat with the sheep on her lap. Those creatures are adorable but that does not give them the licence to weigh a million pounds! Man...Are those fat-ass balls of fluff heavy or what? Basically Heidi and I cannot be any dissimilar. But I am sure she loved Scotland as much as I did. The place is too beautiful to be true.

So I along with 6 of my guy friends had planned a road trip to Scotland (Yep! I honestly believe you can have the most chilled out time with guys: no clothes/shoes talk and no never-ending bitching sessions). We were driving from Manchester and had stopovers in Edinburg, Inverness, Ben-Nevis, Loch-Ness, Isle of Skye and other locations in and around Scotland. So we had driven for almost 4-5 hours and were on our way to Inverness. It was almost 6ish by the time we reached the lodge. This place was a neat wood and glass structure that was situated away from the commercial complex. The drive had churned up a good enough craving for the edibles.

So Prady, Nishant, Parjanya, Sameer, Ankit, Sahil and I made our way to a locality some miles away where we learnt was a McDonald’s. Now McDs in India is just some fast food joint for cheap grub. But in the U.K., the sight of the orange haired Ronald will make any vegetarian eyes light up in glee. When you are a student in the U.K. and your purse strings are strained, McDs will gain more respect from you than any Shangri-La or Mainland China. Moreover, if you’re one of those meat-eaters whose preferences for food are not as expansive as to include any crawling/moving object, McDs is a much viable option.

We were informed by the lodge administrator that a few eating joints including McD’s (Phew!!) was some distance from the lodge and we thought we’d walk the distance, especially after the long-ish drive. So off we went in search of our very own manna- cheese burgers and greasy fries! We walked on enthusiastically, going Oooh and Aaaah at every pretty sight, putting on the perfect touristy act. Funnily, it seemed that the Scots in this interior region were already indoors, doing the re-fills of the scotch and whisky. The area was strangely quiet and scarcely populated. And somehow the road-signs weren’t of any great help either. So on and on the 7 of us walked, in search of food.

Now let me tell you something about my pal Ankit. He is one of those techno-savvy people who if he could, would probably buy the new popular shiny gadget even before it was out in the market. So with his precious Blackberry clutched in one hand, Ankit sauntered ahead all of us with an air of self-confidence. Come on!! After all, he was a ‘Blackberry Boy’. Flanked by Nishant and Prady whose savoir-faire in technology was impressive enough to mingle with the likes of Ankit, the three of them were trying to figure out the way to McDs with the help of the BB (now who is going to waste all this energy in saying Blackberry; BB sounds more hep). While Parjanya pretended to look interested; Sameer didn’t even bother; and I was busy batting away Sahil with annoyance as he tried tripping me over (his idea of fun always almost involved getting me annoyed).

This craziness went on for a while till I snapped out of my reverie-like state (it happens naturally when you have such a beautiful mesmerizing landscape) and realized that we had been walking for almost half an hour now. The small quake like rumbling that had commenced in the pit of my stomach had now become loud enough for everyone to hear. I tried to control my irritation and asked the techie-threesome, “Don’t you think we must ask someone? I don’t trust that BB map”. And that was it for Ankit. He took offense to his incapability to comprehend the map that his beloved Blackberry had spread out for him and he said rather pig-headedly, “NO! I promise you my BB shall get us to McDonalds in the next 15 minutes”. Grrr...PIG-HEAD! I resigned to dismally scanning the landscape. What was so special about Scotland anyway? It all lakes and hills! Big deal.

By now, Nishant and Prady had lost interest in the BB as well. So as we all trudged along like nomads, Ankit kept mumbling to himself like a mad scientist while he feverishly worked his BB. We were crossing a small field when Prady exclaimed, “Oh! Look at this rabbit!” So we stopped to check out the rabbit that was the colour of chocolate...but not quite. It was the brown of fudge but with streaks of white...the white of vanilla ice-cream...Damn!! Stupid hunger pangs!! So while we watched the tiny furry creature nibbling on a vegetable of some kind, from a burrow nearby scampered two more rabbits. We watched as the three rabbits chased each other around the field. In the meanwhile, there was an argument whether these were rabbits or hares. As a close inspection of anatomy was being conducted, I stared forlornly at the piece of veggie that the rabbit/hare had dropped. DO NOT JUDGE ME!! When you can almost feel acidic juices in your stomach eating away at the insides of your stomach crazy thoughts do take shape in your head.

The disturbing visual of my insides disappeared as I heard Ankit shout, “We are on the right lane! Up ahead is McDonalds”. I could have almost fallen to my feet and kissed his BB with gratitude! Suddenly all of us felt this spurt of energy as we half-walked half-ran up the road with hope in our eyes and joy in our hearts (and noises in my tummy). If I recollect correctly, we also hummed some song on the way as well. As we reached the end of the lane, we noticed a junction that was forked and both the lanes went on without any sight of a food joint. We stood in disbelief as we stared at the deserted lanes. Now I am anything but patient. I could feel the vein near my temples throbbing as if it could not contain the hot red blood that threatened to spurt out any moment. I turned slowly to face Pig-Head who had led the pack of hungry wolves with an arrogant smirk on his face. “ANKIT! YOU-SAID-WE-WOULD-FIND-MC-DONALDS-AT-THE-END-OF-THIS-ROAD.”

The other five who had been about to lunge at Ankit’s throat some seconds back, re-evaluated their decision and decided to come to Ankit’s rescue. My short fuse was something that everyone had had the misfortune of witnessing in the past. So in order to prevent a scuffle, Prady quickly grabbed the BB from Ankit and said, “Now now...let’s figure this out”. After much collective analysis, Ankit explained to me apologetically, “Maddy...actually the BB showed McDonalds right in this location. Only that “McDonalds” is not the food joint...it is the name of this lane. That is why we have been walking on the same lane for a while now. I thought we would find the food joint down this road but...ummm...” What followed was a string of expletives and obscenities that were as long as a song. But aaaahhhh....did I feel good or what!! Ankit almost withered under my glowering gaze. After having vented out my frustration, I grunted, “the next person we see, we WILL ask for directions”.

So we walked back the McDonald’s ROAD in search of any inhabitant. I hate Scotland! No wonder the people don’t step out of their homes. Stupid lazy Glaswegians!  Don’t they have a life? They’re probably drunk every night in the four walls of their own homes. So anti-social!! Bumbling rustic idiots!! Soon, we noticed a Glaswegian couple walking in the opposite direction. Like a mirage! Sahil almost frightened them off as he ran towards them in wind-force. We asked for directions from the couple and turned out McDonalds was a 20 minute walk from the lodge and we had been wandering for the last hour. I was so happy I swear I had to hold back tears. It was almost 7:30 now and dark already. As we hurried to the location as directed by the locals, I could see Ronald’s orange hair and broad inviting smile from a distance. Oh my gosh!! That joker was so damn handsome!

We were practically the only other customers in the joint apart from a couple of other tables that were occupied. The till-attendants sniggered with amusement while we looked like over-excited foreigners who had never had the privilege to eat at a McDonalds joint. We waited for our glorious food to arrive. I drove everyone crazy as I tapped my foot impatiently. McDonald burger and fries!! I promise I shall never make fun of you!! I hereby pledge to treat you with the utmost dignity and respect that you truly deserve. I shall never ever shrug the suggestion of eating at McDonalds and ‘Eh’ at you in an off-handed manner. I love you!! I love you!! I love you!!

Our food arrived. Eating at McDonalds that day was almost an orgasmic experience for me. I sighed in gastronomic bliss as I happily tucked into my chicken burger and slurped my Oreo shake. I caught Ankit’s eyes once as he watched me gobble down my food. I shot him a dirty look which made him rather uncomfortable. While all of us revelled in the satisfaction of chomping down fast food, no one noticed as Ankit looked over to me, quickly hid his BB in his pocket and patted it protectively for fear of its possible “mysterious” disappearance.

A twisted game of Twister

It started off as any normal evening. Uneventful. Banal. Mostly Blah!

So I was at my cousin’s in Bangalore. I had decided to visit my extended family during the last few weeks of December. Just the last few weeks...New Year’s night was only reserved for like-minded people who shared the same interests as I did; with whom I could welcome the New Year with the right level of excitement and bang. I refer to the age group who DO NOT have white hair, wear dentures, is in toilet training phase or whose idea of a good time is discussing family politics in their flower-printed nighties.

Basically, the enlightened company I make a mention of is the reliable gang with whom I will undoubtedly consume ridiculous amounts of alcohol and with whom I will enjoy the antics of smashed party-crashers who make complete fools of themselves (Come on...the least they can do is amuse us after having come uninvited and then they have the bloody audacity of glugging down OUR cheap liquor! Hmph!).

In all fairness, my crazy cousin and I get along like a house on fire. She is one of those characters that will entertain you with her crazy exaggerated stories- more interesting than her stories are the added dramatic gestures and sound-mixing. But even then, there inevitably will come one day of lull. And it came that evening. I cribbed about how we need to do something fun. Her Dad was out of town, we had the house all to ourselves and a cabinet stocked with all the best liquor (can’t let the glorious stuff just sit there...I swear it was practically begging for attention).

So phone calls were made. By eight, we had at our residence, Sahil (my drinking binge-buddy and long-time bum-chum) and two new chaps- Varun and a guy whose name I simply cannot remember. What I vividly do remember is his blood-shot red eyes (which was not because of the vice that we are so infamous for) but because of some allergy that made his eyes itch- a LOT.

After the customary introductions, were the initial minutes of silence.  Polite conversation followed. Then the drinks arrived and all was good!

Everyone started loosening up as the potency of the poison worked its magic, and we were funny and boisterous. We decided to kick off the evening with a session of karaoke. Now without sounding too la-di-dah, I come from a family in Bangalore that is well-known for the personalities it has produced. We have them all- the actors, cricketers, musicians, classical dancers and artists. So it comes as no surprise that my cousin and I are pretty decent singers. As Shivi sang like a nightingale of sorts, I just hummed in a pitch that only dogs could hear. When it comes to public singing, I am shy that way. But not the guys! They bleated like goats with all the enthusiasm they could muster.

Once all the rock stars were done with their uh...singing, we decided to play a game of ‘Twister’. Now anyone who has played Twister knows that it requires a LOT of flexibility and kinesthetic intelligence. The Twister board has coloured circles and by spinning a wheel, you are required to place your hand and leg in the position that the wheel specifies. You can only imagine the jumble of limbs when there are 5 people playing! Now before I narrate what followed I have to stop and warn you.

Cautionary Note:

If you are a non-drinker- Skip this portion (There is a very good chance you will find it hard to digest the levels of stupidity that will follow)

If you are a Drinker + Never played Twister when drunk- Please do try this at home

If you are a Drinker + Played Twister when drunk- Learn from us and then try at home (elevation to stupendous levels of stupidity is guaranteed)

So now Varun, Sahil, Itchy and me stood by the Twister board to receive our first round of instructions from Shivi who volunteered to spin the wheel. Shivi calls out, “Varuuuun. Left leg green. Right hand blue”. And so Varun positions himself. “Itchhhhy. Left hand blue. Right leg yellow”. And so Itchy positions himself (I was quite impressed that Itchy’s colour perception remained intact considering his deteriorating eye allergy). “Saaahiiil. Left hand green. Right leg red. And so Sahil follows. “Maaddy. Right leg blue. Right hand yellow”. I take my position.

This went on for a while till Sahil was sitting on his haunches, much like a street urchin would. Sahil takes his position and looks up to......ITCHY’S BUTT!! Sticking right up his face. Itchy was bent over in a way that showcased his posterior to Sahil. Surprise suprise. “Ooooh CRAP!!” said poor Sahil (Given the situation, a very inappropriate choice of words if you ask me). Anyway, while Varun lost his balance and went to spin the wheel, Shivi joined in the game.

Now Sahil and I were the leanest of the lot and it turned out, the most flexible as well. It was the battle of the mean machines (Boohahaha!!).  If there is one thing I pride myself in, it is my ability to bend over backwards...literally. My doctor actually claims that I suffer from a case of ‘hyper-flexibility’. What better reason to twist your body in unimaginable postures than to win a game of Twister? Aaah...I finally find meaning in my life. A truly profound moment, eh?

Since the other less capable contenders were all out, it was just Sahil and I left to fight out the battle. While I am showing off on the Twister board, Varun says, “Sagar, right leg blue and left hand red”. Sahil and I slowly look up. Who Sagar? “Oh!” says Varun realizing he had accidently referred to Sahil as Sagar. Sahil looked offended. “It’s Sahil”, he says stiffly. I wonder why people with names like Sahil, Sagar, Ankit, Shalini, Puja, etc get all worked up when their names are oft-forgotten or confused. It’s a pity that ten thousand Indians share the same name already, and then to top it off, parents go ahead to name their own child Puja or Sahil. What lack of creativity! Chach!

At this point, I am quite impressed with Sahil’s persistence to stick through the game. But Sahil always HAS to win. What else can you expect from someone who played tennis for his college and nearly worships Federer? So while the mêlée on the Twister board continued, different people took to spinning the wheel and Itchy at some point referred to Sahil as “Sohail”. What was hilarious is that people were getting too drunk to remember Sahil’s name.  He went through the agony of squatting through several Namkaran ceremonies presided by three very drunken priests.

About 20 minutes through the game, while ‘Sandeep’ was required to change his position, he bumped me hard and as I fell out the board. Bloody clumsy oaf!! While Sahil knew this meant victory for him, he realized that he was the reason for my ousting. But I put on my most gracious-loser face and said to the apologetic oaf, “Never mind.”

We decided to play one the last game. I took to spinning the wheel and Shivi, Sahil, Itchy and Varun re-entered the game to play. Varun was too drunk to stand let alone perceive colours so he admitted defeat. And I was back into the game babyyy!!

Varun took to spinning the wheel. Now Itchy’s red-eye was errrmm...producing some gooey sort of gloop. Out of sympathy (Read:  grossed out), we offered Itchy a dignified exit from the game. So when Shivi eventually tripped herself out of the board, it came down to Sahil and me. Again. We stared at each other and I tried to intimidate him by staring at him real hard. He looked concerned and whispered, “Uhhh...You’re not going to throw up, are you?”  Wiseass!!

So while our turns were called out and Sahil and I kept switching from one awkward position to another, I noticed Sahil losing his drive. I knew I could make it. If only I could psychologically break him. A plan formulated in my mind (I did my evil laugh and winked deviously in my head). So I said loudly, “Dude...Sachin is taking too long man”. That did it. All three drunkards who were witness to the game started spawning one name after another to unnerve Sahil. Shivi who was sprawled on the couch with another drink screws her eyes as if to concentrate and wonders aloud, “What do we call him tomorrow morning?” And I reply immediately, “SAMBAR”. And as Shivi rolls off the floor and goes completely nuts, I feel flattered. I am sooo funny. And smart.

So egged on by Shivi’s loud laughter, I said, “Ooooh...and in the afternoon, SPAGETTI. And later at night- STEAK!!” This brings on more laughter. As I write this, I realize that the SAMBAR SPAGETTI STEAK joke is not close to funny but you must appreciate its humour in its context.  When one is sufficiently sloshed, even the unfunny loser next door will sound like Russel Peter. I don’t know whether it was the laughter surrounding Sahil’s name or the fact that he had been squatting for some 5 minutes now, the purpose was served. Sahil went “Plonk” on his ass. Sweet victory! I looked blasé as I dismissed his bruised self (and bruised ego) that lay on the floor; I stood up gracefully and took a bow.

Next morning, as we all woke up from much-needed sleep; we looked at each other rather shame-facedly. The memory of last night was still fresh in our minds. We bid our dignified goodbyes like 5 mature adults, promised to keep in touch and thanked Shivi for a wonderful time. As Sahil dropped me of at my grand-dad’s place, I sat in his car, glancing over rather sheepishly at him thinking of a way to apologize.

But that’s the advantage of being great bum-chums....even if you end up making an ass of your bum-chum in order to earn public appreciation (I am NOT proud of what I did last night), you can always count on him to forgive you and hold your hand the next time you end up making an ass of yourself. We hugged each other and as he drove away, I made my way to the house reminiscing, “Suprabhat is my one true friend”.