My family aka the CIA...

Why do I have to report everything in life to family - from brushing my teeth to going rafting? I went rafting a week ago and had people phone me indignantly. Apparently I was required to inform them! My cousin (the idiot whose wedding I went to) calls and says you went rafting with my friends, why didn't you tell me? I had to heard about it from my friend.

Didn't know I had to broadcast this info. Then my uncle got psyched out because my cousin showed him an ad on tv where these people are rafting and they go into the water. She told him, thats what S has gone for. And he started off about what is the child doing? Is she safe? Call and find out! She never said that it would be like that!

Family I tell you...

(Am certainly not telling him about the spill I took from my bike!)

Sperm mail...

On a lighter note...I got this email from some guy inviting me to personalise my google search page. This was sent to one of the egroups I subscribe to. And a bunch of others emailed to the group suggesting it might a virus laden email which the person didn't actually send. A couple of days later we got confirmation that our surmise was correct.

The chap wrote saying,"I am sorry about the sperm mail".

The THING lurking upstairs...

I had the utter joy (read sarcasm) of writing the cover this time (May 31st issue). And after a week of chatting up total strangers in the hot sun, the story was written and turned over to the copy desk who love to kill us because we write such bad copy. Anyhow, I was sitting with one of the desk folks going through the story and plugging the holes in it when this person - no that would be insulting humanity - this THING popped up and asked me if I was SS who was writing the cover. I said yes I was writing the cover and IT started berating me for turning in the story after the issue closed. This was a load of hogwash because I'd turned it in before and anyhow it must have been the quickest first cover ever, having been finished in a week. According to IT, I was in distinguished company in turning in the cover late, along with the famous N.S who is now with the TOI. What was the THING'S problem? I have 3 bosses and a half (the half is in the Wash Post) who didn't demur a bit about my deadline.

And then after a while the THING reappeared and started ranting about b*chod reporters who couldn't write and generally casting aspersions on our education level, reading skills, English knowledge and so on (I will spare you the graphic terminology). And IT kept directing this at me though IT has never edited anything I've written. So finally IT came to me again and said, " so S.S....rant...rant". I replied that wasn't my name and IT started yelling about giving IT attitude. IT then wandered away since I wasn't giving IT any fuel.

The worst part is that it is apparently acceptable for a THING to chew out people in front of colleagues when it was most unwarranted. All I got later was sympathy from everyone. Big help. No one had the balls to tell the scumbag to F* off. There should be rules on behaviour in public spaces. One cannot use words like b*chod at a colleague (or anyone else for that matter). It is so easy to yell at people junior to you, after all they can hardly swear at you. It is beyond the pale to chew people out in public even if they deserve to be chewed out(and in this case I didn't). And the THING comes after an hour and says it wasn't personal. This was said in private when I left the room on some work. If you can abuse in public then have the guts to apologise equally loudly in front of everyone. And anyway just saying it is not personal doesn't make it okay.

Can I scream and hurl the choicest of abuses and then after ten minutes say it wasn't personal? Why don't we all do that then. The THING is now beyond even acknowledgment. I sail past IT as if IT does not pollute my office space. Unfortunately that is all I can afford to do.

And we pride ourselves on our ancient society and culture?

what is it with weddings and coots?

The coots were out in full force. Silly bro got married and so I am next in line to get hassled. Every couple of minutes another old methane filled coot would stop next to me and say you're next; when are you getting married; why don't you get married and many such variations of the same theme.

I almost grabbed one of the lifesavers (the groom's friends who kept bailing me and M out of fraught situations with the coots)and paraded him in front of the coots. Actually M and I were going to pass him off as common property, a shared resource. But then we decided we didn't want the deaths of the coots on our hands.

Packets of every kind…

I made the ultimate sacrifice recently (and brother mine better appreciate it) by going for my bro’s wedding. It was a sacrifice because the old coots were being their usual cootish selves –more on that later.

But first enroute to the mehendi session M (aka P) were discussing sourcing of a certain plant material in Delhi. And I mentioned that A had got ‘a packet’ from Paharganj. When an aunt accompanying us asked innocently, "What was in the packet?" Ha, like we're going to tell you! We then got to discussing what to get the bridegroom and I suggested “a packet” of another kind – the Durex kind. At this point, another aunt sitting with us added, “The priests also give these packets out don’t they?” I will leave you with the image of a pot-bellied vadiyar with his kudumi handing out “packets”...