I have an astoundingly large number of stupid people in my life. Its the reason I appear so calm.
I can stay calm or I can auto-combust. Most of the time I choose calm. Sometimes I write.
“What time did you get back home today,” she asks me over the phone from another city. She knows that I have been away today. There are house-guests in my home (from the village) and I was not home to receive the children from school either. My husband handled the home front today.
“I reached Noida by 7:30pm in the Metro,” I say. “Then Af came and picked me up from there.”
“It must be so convenient for you to have the car,” she says.
“Yes, that’s true,” I say. I have no clue what she means.
“Do you have to go tomorrow again?”
“No, tomorrow I have to write my column so I will be behind my computer at home.”
“Hmmm. That’s the same as not being home,” she says. “If you have to write that means you are not really at home.”
In case I had become delusional that she might be interested in my life and work, she clarifies that all she is doing is counting the no. of hours I am “not available” in my primary role as bechari, susheel, pareshan nari whose life must be dedicated to suffering boring guests, husband and children. So that I can be a bonafide card-carrying member of the bechari, susheel, pareshan naris of India and
hold meaningful conversations (exchange sorry notes) with others who are my type of bechari bitches.
Hoo haa. This is why I don’t use the phone to call family. I don’t take calls, I don’t return calls, I don’t whatsapp-facebook-tweet with the relatives.
Cos what to do baby, I got the agency! I’m in love with myself. I’m even in love with her and if she had been my mother, I would have given her an impromptu scolding for the loaded way in which she was framing all her questions. Followed by a big badass hug!
But she ain’t my mother, so I expressed my bhadaas right here, right now.