My Best Friend(s)

Friends are everywhere, just like pigeon droppings. But true friends are very rare.

And what is this concept of best friend? A best friend, inasmuch I understand, is someone with whom you are most comfortable, and who is amenable to adjustment to accommodate your eccentricities, much like underwear.

You can talk to him/her on anything, everything. Crushes, love, music, porn, poop, politics... the list goes on and on endlessly. He/she will stand with you through thick and thin. ‘High’ and low.

But is it necessary to have a single best friend? For me, for the time being, the answer is no. There are, in fact, loads of people around me with whom I share the same level of retardation. I can talk absolute crap in front of a multitude of friends, and have that bullshit appreciated, thought upon, and discussed.

Perks of being a teetotaler

I don’t wish to claim that being a teetotaler makes me a resolute person. I mean, when people all around you drink the shit out of themselves all the time, it’s pretty difficult trying not to give a fuck. In fact, resisting temptation, Cadbury or otherwise, hasn't been my forte. With alcohol, it has been more like SONY broadcasting CID, read ‘for no particular reason’.

And if someone asks me why don't I loosen up, or that one drink won't hurt, I just tell them that untying kachche ka naada while sleeping loosens me up alright. I, therefore, find alcohol redundant.

(well, obviously)

My mom used to tell me, in fact she still does, that those who don’t abstain would end up in narak. It is only now that I realize that ‘narak’ might have meant Bigg Boss.

Most of my friends indulge themselves twice or thrice a week and those of us who don’t, well, our number is falling faster than an-imagined Dolly Bindra in free fall. Nevertheless, I partake in these daru-parties, barely having any idea as to what I am doing at a place where I am not supposed to be. Sometimes, I feel more out of place than Avika Gor essaying an adult, married woman.

Saas, Bahu, and Nonsense

(This first appeared on AmreekanDesi)

Finally, I am home after what seemed to be an eternity.

Well, I do have doubts as to whether 47 days qualify as an eternity. But the burgeoning pile of untidy clothes (which warranted the purchase of a room freshener to help Set Wet’s cause) that threatened to bury me alive in my own room failed to suggest otherwise. To Mom and her washing machine then!

Nothing much has changed in these intervening 47 days save the state of my wardrobe.

Apart from the fact that onions now cost almost the same as underwear, and that the PM talked (yes he did, about the most ideal candidate to be his successor as a puppet), things have remained the same more or less, especially on the soap opera front.

These soap operas have become the raison d’etre for many news channels too that provide news feed about a popular TV actress indulging in manicure, or the latest development in a soap dealing with child marriage. Well, Syria can wait.

(Continue reading here)