These Adults

I’m older than you so I know better. Experience is what counts. These grey hair count for something you know. You learn from your grownups.

I grew up being indoctrinated on this. From school textbooks to morals of stories and even random gyan dropping by the grandparents, everywhere I went, this is what I heard.

Today, I question that. Ok, so I questioned it a long time back, but today I think I want to write about it.

Even as I type this, I’m witness to a society meeting happening in my living room – the only neutral place in this set of apartments. 15 minutes into the meeting, the decibel level went beyond the legal limit allowed in a gentleman’s house. And in the one and a half hours that followed, not only did the yelling increase, the language worsened. At one point I was afraid these 45 plus men were going to resort to physical violence. If not broken bones, a couple of slaps definitely. The youngest member of the society is maybe 32 years old. He kept being slammed by the building bully as a “balak”, a child. The oldest member, an octogenarian, periodically reminded people that all the stress would kill him sooner than his time. The bully’s ally used his lung capacity to the fullest obviously thought that the best strategy would be to out-shout everyone. And the aunties who came along just sat there nodding whenever their husbands spoke.

And the conclusion? Nothing. Why? Isn’t it obvious? Everyone here is an adult. They’re all experienced. They all have grey hair (even if it is under Godrej hair dye). And they all think they’re grownups. So who will listen to whom? They’re all convinced that what they know is best. Of course, it is also obvious that a lot of them are operating from insecurity and stupidity – making them more obnoxious, annoying and dangerous than anyone else in the room, simply because not only do they not understand anything, but they also don’t shut up.

So here I am. Keeping a tight check on my tongue and my tendency to say the right things at the wrong time (or the wrong things at the wrong time). Otherwise I would love to tell the fat uncle to get off the pure silk, hand-embroidered cushion he was sitting on, shut his trap, pay his dues and remember that being the size of two men doesn’t give him two votes.

Or the right to drink two glasses of the mango shake I served.

That Elusive Ice-Cream

I talk. A lot. And this is an understatement really. If you know me beyond this blog you will have no problem believing me. And if you don't, well, believe it. Talking was something i've done well all my life. As a 4 yr old, i was introduced to my best friend's extended family as the girl who taught her how to talk. Go figure. And when the family went on a road trip (which, for an 8 yr old me was the hour long drive from the suburbs to *town*), i had a captive audience in the parents and sister.

Of course, dad would decide to use the opportunity to help me build some character, and of course, learn to hold my tongue for at least a few minutes (if not for the entire drive). What would he do? What any parent with a modicum of common sense would. Bribe me. And so dad would promise to get me ice-cream if i could stay quiet for 5 minutes. Not difficult you say? It's just 5 minutes after all right? Yeah well. Let's just say, 5 minutes is quite a lot of time, and back then, it felt like *ages*.

And now. Almost like the universe is making up for all those 5 minutes i never managed to keep quiet, i find myself forced to keep quiet as prescribed by the doctor. Ok so the entire left side of my face is killing me and not talking is making it better. But still. No one who knows me can imagine a quiet me. Even people who've met me once for a couple of hours are finding it difficult to believe. And my dad is just tickled at the idea and takes immense pleasure in going sshhh if i open my mouth to say anything.

It's been 3 days of no talking (10 minutes in 72 hours doesnt count) and i think i'm ready for that ice-cream now. With interest.

The Way The Universe Works

For months now i've been complaining about how i need to get off my ass and work some weight off. And i was all set to start next week. Really. I was out of excuses and the will to procrastinate and postpone was fading quick. But then the universe decided to run out of patience and take things into it's own, mostly bitchy hands.

It messed my jaw up. Ok, so it might have nudged an already dormant condition to the surface, but the result is pretty much the same - i have to keep my trap shut. And you know what this means right? Yes. Look shocked. Even i dont think i can do it. But i sure am going to try. Maybe i will be successful in resting my jaw and wont see the need to talk for the whole week that it is likely to take for the swelling in my temporomandibular joint to subside. Oh stop laughing. I've gone through almost one whole day of talking no more than 3 minutes. I might just be able to manage 6 more days (at least).

In the mean time, not only do i have to go without talking (which anyone would think was punishment enough), i have to give up food also. At least food that has any taste (read: unhealthy food). Instead, i have to make do with liquid/semi-liquid foods. And you all know what that lists reads like. No? Khichdi, porridge, juice, soups, and maybe milkshakes.

Well, as the sister said, at least i'll lose some weight at the end of these 7 days.

You see how the universe is working here?