Before you read this, read Episode 74: The Name Shall Be - I
“Lunch?,” repeated an aunt who sat closeby, “It's only 1:30!”
“Ah, it's too early” I said, realizing that in Borivali, 1:30 was the new 10:30 in the morning.
So, with no dish to criticize while I while away my boredom, I then pretended to be quite interested in the balloons that looked all set to sleep. They looked pretty stale and the white ones were in no mood to even mingle with those in blue. So, though I had a beer, I knew quite well that this was the dullest mix of balloons that were forced into each other’s company.
Of course, I did not blurt that out. Instead, I smiled, behaved as if I was quite impressed, and said: “Good balloons.”
“Oh you have no idea,"the grandmother began in a tone quite explanatory, "how much these guys struggled.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, they were at it for hours!”
“But all they had to do was blow!”
“But you know, it's quite a chore.”
“Chore?!” This was Father Dearest. “Oh what luck I arrived in the nick of time. Or else, they'd still be blowing. They don't even know how to fill a balloon with air. I showed them.”
Of course, this was unwarranted information. And it would have remained buried had it not been for my good balloon statement. So, I had to endure an icy laugh followed by which Father Dearest has to weather an “Oh yes, you're such a help!” said in so deadpan a manner, even the dead would have turned in their graves.
Gravely then, we were left to talk to the rest around while the grandmother left to talk to another batch of relatives whom she knew would pamper her ego.
“Good Lord! Mother this is so boring!”
“Haha,” laughed Mother Dearest as if she did not want to, “we'll be done in an hour or two.”
“An hour or two!,” I exclaimed much to the annoyance of the glass in my hand that cringed at my tone, “Did you say hour or two?”
“Yes, dear, and don't make it look so bad! The food's good you know - especially the chicken starters.”
“Mother, really! You expect me to lunch on starters?”
“Really now, do have some patience dear. It's so annoying.”
“Oh so you find it annoying too eh?”
“Yes; your behaviour that is.”
Now if I had to respond to that, I knew I would be asked to behave. So, I ignored the withering look Mother gave me and concentrated on the couple sitting right in front of me.
The man was frighteningly fair, had a glassy look in his eyes, and looked more a wise child than a man. The woman accompanying him had worn a smile merely for the occasion and I was quite sure she would throw it into the bin the moment she was on her way home.
The man and the woman I realized were my ex-colleagues who had a nauseous habit of thinking themselves to be the authority on whatever they chose to give an opinion on. Be it the meaning of a word, or an innocent song, they just had to dole out a view and stamp it with a determined look that shot down any opposition.
“What’s this?” I remember the woman asking me once about a page of lyrics I had put up on the board near my desk.
“Oh it’s my favourite song.”
“Ahh! Let me read! Let me read!”
And she began to read: “Are we really happy in this lonely game we play,
Looking for the right words to say!”
“Good God!” She exclaimed as she stopped reading, “this is so depressing!”
I was new to the organization then. So I smiled and let it pass. Were I old, I would have slapped this Miss Big Mouth so hard, her teeth would have shuddered at the thought of ever letting her talk that way.
As for the man, he had reviewed my work once. He is a good reviewer – that I do not dispute. But he hated it if he did not know a thing or two and would never admit he can be wrong too. Which is why I slapped him with a nickname: I called him the Ice Maiden.
So anyway, here they were, Miss Big Mouth and Ice Maiden, making every attempt to not notice me. They looked at the black tiles below, then they shifted glances towards the buffet table, and finally when they realized my gaze followed them everywhere, they let their guard drop and smiled and waved.
I waved and hinted at a smile, but didn’t let my lips show my 32 horses. They really did not deserve to see how white or yellow they were. And since they guessed what I was upto, down went their hands and they began to search the floor for their sense all over again.
My cousin brother then came under my scanner. He had withered into a figure only worthy of Kate Moss and had decided to dress like a ghost from the 1900s. Talking to him is like enacting a ballet on ice close to a defunct furnace. One wrong word and the furnace comes alive and you have to forget about your ballet! So, I treaded on familiar territory: I congratulated him on being asked to become the godfather, and just responded with a smile to whatever he said.
Half an hour later, I was tired of this too, and it was then that the grandmother announced lunch...
To be continued.
“Lunch?,” repeated an aunt who sat closeby, “It's only 1:30!”
“Ah, it's too early” I said, realizing that in Borivali, 1:30 was the new 10:30 in the morning.
So, with no dish to criticize while I while away my boredom, I then pretended to be quite interested in the balloons that looked all set to sleep. They looked pretty stale and the white ones were in no mood to even mingle with those in blue. So, though I had a beer, I knew quite well that this was the dullest mix of balloons that were forced into each other’s company.
Of course, I did not blurt that out. Instead, I smiled, behaved as if I was quite impressed, and said: “Good balloons.”
“Oh you have no idea,"the grandmother began in a tone quite explanatory, "how much these guys struggled.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, they were at it for hours!”
“But all they had to do was blow!”
“But you know, it's quite a chore.”
“Chore?!” This was Father Dearest. “Oh what luck I arrived in the nick of time. Or else, they'd still be blowing. They don't even know how to fill a balloon with air. I showed them.”
Of course, this was unwarranted information. And it would have remained buried had it not been for my good balloon statement. So, I had to endure an icy laugh followed by which Father Dearest has to weather an “Oh yes, you're such a help!” said in so deadpan a manner, even the dead would have turned in their graves.
Gravely then, we were left to talk to the rest around while the grandmother left to talk to another batch of relatives whom she knew would pamper her ego.
“Good Lord! Mother this is so boring!”
“Haha,” laughed Mother Dearest as if she did not want to, “we'll be done in an hour or two.”
“An hour or two!,” I exclaimed much to the annoyance of the glass in my hand that cringed at my tone, “Did you say hour or two?”
“Yes, dear, and don't make it look so bad! The food's good you know - especially the chicken starters.”
“Mother, really! You expect me to lunch on starters?”
“Really now, do have some patience dear. It's so annoying.”
“Oh so you find it annoying too eh?”
“Yes; your behaviour that is.”
Now if I had to respond to that, I knew I would be asked to behave. So, I ignored the withering look Mother gave me and concentrated on the couple sitting right in front of me.
The man was frighteningly fair, had a glassy look in his eyes, and looked more a wise child than a man. The woman accompanying him had worn a smile merely for the occasion and I was quite sure she would throw it into the bin the moment she was on her way home.
The man and the woman I realized were my ex-colleagues who had a nauseous habit of thinking themselves to be the authority on whatever they chose to give an opinion on. Be it the meaning of a word, or an innocent song, they just had to dole out a view and stamp it with a determined look that shot down any opposition.
“What’s this?” I remember the woman asking me once about a page of lyrics I had put up on the board near my desk.
“Oh it’s my favourite song.”
“Ahh! Let me read! Let me read!”
And she began to read: “Are we really happy in this lonely game we play,
Looking for the right words to say!”
“Good God!” She exclaimed as she stopped reading, “this is so depressing!”
I was new to the organization then. So I smiled and let it pass. Were I old, I would have slapped this Miss Big Mouth so hard, her teeth would have shuddered at the thought of ever letting her talk that way.
As for the man, he had reviewed my work once. He is a good reviewer – that I do not dispute. But he hated it if he did not know a thing or two and would never admit he can be wrong too. Which is why I slapped him with a nickname: I called him the Ice Maiden.
So anyway, here they were, Miss Big Mouth and Ice Maiden, making every attempt to not notice me. They looked at the black tiles below, then they shifted glances towards the buffet table, and finally when they realized my gaze followed them everywhere, they let their guard drop and smiled and waved.
I waved and hinted at a smile, but didn’t let my lips show my 32 horses. They really did not deserve to see how white or yellow they were. And since they guessed what I was upto, down went their hands and they began to search the floor for their sense all over again.
My cousin brother then came under my scanner. He had withered into a figure only worthy of Kate Moss and had decided to dress like a ghost from the 1900s. Talking to him is like enacting a ballet on ice close to a defunct furnace. One wrong word and the furnace comes alive and you have to forget about your ballet! So, I treaded on familiar territory: I congratulated him on being asked to become the godfather, and just responded with a smile to whatever he said.
Half an hour later, I was tired of this too, and it was then that the grandmother announced lunch...
To be continued.
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