Lapses of lingy…

Good ‘friends-management’ skills are pretty essential these days. More on this concept in a wee bit.

Update:

On Friday night after work, it’s conversation time with good friends. Any place you can hear yourself think. The last thing you need post staring at your PC all day is to have to shout over the din. So, you pick a lounge, or a restaurant or someone’s house. You talk about the week that was and the weekend that will be. And you go home satiated by good conversations, knowing that you aren’t too hung over or exhausted to attend work the next day.

On Saturday, there’s a spring in your step cause tomorrow is Sunda. And today, you can really let your hair down. It’s a good idea to choose like-minded people with a bit of a wild streak AND the will to party, come rain, hail or storm. Last minute cancellations because one is feeling to tired after a hard day of work, etc are the pits. Damp squibs who won’t dance, prefer deep conversations to casual chit-chat or want to hit the sack at bed-time, are not good Saturday-night material. There’s a nice flirty nip in the air.

But pay heed.

There’s no point in shaking a leg or clinking glasses with those who have only one thing in common with you – the will to party (some people do it all the time). After all, who takes you home safely, when you drink yourself silly? These days, though, it’s mostly vice-versa.

On Sunday it’s quiet time in the first half. Cook, clean, shop for groceries, get a hair cut, and other such mundane, essential tasks. And then in the evening watch a play, a movie, or coffee and a walk down the promenade. Rejuvenate. Collect. Soul-search.

I was outlining this strategy to few close friends. One vehemently insisted he only fit into the Friday and Sunday category. Another insisted that she could fit into all categories. I raised an eyebrow and ask her when she partied last? She could not remember.

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The HR folks organised an antakshari contest in the cafeteria today. Now, desperate times call for desperate measures.

The tone-deaf with good domain knowledge, ‘said’ the lyrics in a bizarre monotone.

I overheard one young damsel cutting a deal with the iT- guy-turned-DJ — half the prize, if he snuck her the songs. He looked at her sheepishly and went back to playing his music. 

My knowledge of Hindi music is disgraceful, but I teamed up with one chap who claimed to be a Hindi music whiz, and it turns out he was rather good. I realised that the damsel was rather good with her music knowledge too, so I switched places to answer the call of nature.

I hear they are still fighting over who gets the prize.

Update:

Damsel and my erstwhile antakshari partner won. Now, they get to participate in the finals.

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When the going seems crappy as hell, a sweet SMS from the mother, helps:

Be calm and composed. Take one day at a time.
Give your best and you will shine down the line.
Have a nice day. Mom.

Rhymes too. 

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The BIG New IT Bag

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Last night we set out to watch Loins Of Punjab Presents, post the frenzy of the match.  But my friend got her movie information wrong, and at 10.30 pm at night we did our best to convince the guy in the gang to watch No Reservations. He had serious reservations about watching a chick flick, Catherine or no Catherine.

The concept of French Fries per se, I detest, because they don’t have the type of nutritional content that is meant to be consumed by someone like me – you know, sit on your fat arse all day, cause you type for a living. However, having said that, it is better to polish off a plate of well-made French Fries, rather than soggy excuses for carbs deep-fried in fat.

Meanwhile an old friend from school joined us for burgers and diet coke. Her twin sis, she and I went to school together in Muscat. We began reminiscing about how when we were five, all three of us, along with four other little girls from kindergarten had to doll up in bright pink dresses with frills, and rouge up the cheeks for the school play.
If I remember correctly, there was a king and we were part of his court.

“I think we were meant to be his keeps,” my friend observed.

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On friday evening, I popped over to a friend’s place, to watch what turned out to be a very forgettable formulaic Hollywood film on DVD.

Two miniature-Doberman-look-alikes, Twinkle Toes and Chiquitita, entertained us instead. They are both jet black. One is the epitome of affection, with ears that perk up every now. The other one is a ferocious like package. One must never make the mistake of petting her, for fear of being swiped with those miniature-doberman-like fangs.  

I lounged about on the sofa with Friday fatigure, and realised that these two are always looking for something to snuggle up to. And they are rather clever about it. They sneakily manage to make one reorganise the geography of one’s anatomy to suit their favourite snuggling-up positions. So cute!

My older cousin is expecting the pitter-patter of little feet of April, which would means that the new addition is going to be a fiery arian like moi. I mentioned this to the mum-to-be. And her reaction was not-so-enthusiastic!

Attended this (kosher) house-warming party on Saturday and the main highlight was the India-Australia match. Besides a 4 and a 6, they ought to award a 10, for any batsman who manages to send the ball zipping right out of the stadium. Think it happened once during that fateful match.

In office they have deviced a smart strategy, to keep people from conjuring up terrible excuses like ‘I have a bad tummy’ or ‘I have to take my mum-in-law to the dentist’ and make like a tree to the nearest Sports bar or multiplex, to guzzle beer or stuff themselves with pop-corn, whilst watching Dhoni’s Devils and Malik’s Maniacs (corny epiteths probably coined by a TV news channel editor) at play.  

Post erecting a plasma TV and a projector, there’s a very Chak De India nip in the air. We stood up for the national anthem, clicked pictures, ooh-ed and booed, together. 

The design team revved up the ambience by playing ’celebratory music’ (dhol) during the high-octane India moments, and music remniscent of the soundtrack of a tragic film, during the high-octane Pakistan moment.

Nothing like a game of sport to crank up the team spirit quotient, whether on the field or in the office.

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When everything goes well, we feel bored (and by we, I mean the average singleton living in the city, who earns reasonably decent and is well, single). When a crisis springs up, we have something to chew on and self-pity dissipates into thin air.

Maybe a good crisis is a quick-fix for that phase when we have no worries, and hence, ‘think too much’. Only thing is, once it blows over, there’s a possibility that we will feel a bit of a void. 

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Sheesh!

I am just recovering for a long and tedious interaction with the supernova of all geeks. Not that I have anything against them. In fact some of the most interesting people I know around are top-notch geeks. And by interesting, I mean attractive too.

However, this one was monosyllabic, which isn’t a crime. But in a professional context it is.

An iota of social skills is a must when two people interact (in a win-win context) for work. One (and by that I mean me) cannot beat a hasty retreat, or give washing one’s hair as an excuse to bail.

The agony increases many folds, when a third party is to join you (soon they promise @ Indian Standard Time), and all possible constructive topics of conversation (which you have initiated), have been exhausted.

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Mom and papa finally flew away to Goa, today. 

Yesterday I felt a tinge of sadness. We have been through the goodbye grind many times. Yet, we never say really goodbye. Just a ‘talk to you in one hour’s time’. It’s been like this since 1992, when I first left home.

Other than that, the roomie is moving out cause her dad (who’s in the army) is now rellocating to Mumbai. Yet another grind begins.

Suddenly, home seems empty. Yet for a change it is very serene. And mom leaves behind what can only be described as a mother’s touch. Food in the fridge (fried fish and coconut curry), and a sqeaky clean room.

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2 chaps swooped up out of nowhere, and began quizzing us on who we think are the hottest stars behind bars.

In Andy Warhol-speak here’s a peek at my 5 seconds of fame: http://www.buzz18.com/news/videos/whos-bwoods-best-behind-bars/15861/0 

They were in journalism school together. “What is he doing now?”, my friend asked. Since, I don’t know, I have to scope out this loo boy and get the low-down.  

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