Monday, September 27, 2010

My, my self and I

“Two years. Two years. They don’t mean anything to you or what?” she asks me, sitting at the bar. She’s a few whisky’s down and it’s almost closing time. I’ve just recently joined the table and the people around me seem a wee bit offended that I was at the same bar with a different group of friends. These people are my colleagues, people that I spent 40 hours a week with. They see me from Monday to Friday between 10.30am and 6.45pm. We don’t mind each other. We share our lunches and we share stories about emotional mothers who are intent on us getting married and we sometimes go out and get good and drunk together.

For the most part, I’m the person that is part of the let’s-go-out-and-get-wasted gang from office. When I was seeing my ex-boyfriend, most of my time was spent hanging out with him and he didn’t think much of women drinking (it hampers our bodily capability of bearing a child and hence harmful for us and hence should not be a habit he said. I had some very serious issues with someone trying to make a decision for me because it had implications for my body. Especially because the person who gave me that reason hated children!) The few times that I did go drinking with my friends, he’d pick me up from wherever and lecture me until he dropped me home. But that is never going to happen again, so I’m not going to sit and waste my time bitching about things that happened in 2008.

Ever since I announced my resignation, the inclination that I feel to hangout with the people I work with has dropped drastically. Earlier, I would mind when only a certain few people would constantly attempt to bond after work, but off late, I’d rather not inflict on myself the nonsense ritual of having to deal with people and their mothers who have gone to my boss with things like – she doesn’t work, she’s rude, she’s difficult to work with, etc. I mean what kind of person must you be if you are oblivious to any and all forms of bitching and carry on with the people who have bitched about you? I, for one, cannot fathom that. My so-called self-pride is way, way too prickly about these things. I don’t hangout with people I bitch about and I don’t hangout with people who bitch about me. That being said, there has been more than one occasion where this rule has been overlooked for the sake of someone else only for me to realise that I should have just said no and avoided the accompanying headache.

Growing a year older takes me closer and closer to a more obstinate version of myself. When I was in school, I couldn’t care less about what the hell was going on. I knew that being the teacher’s daughter meant that people would comment on the fact that I was painful. (Considering that my mother taught English, it was a claim that I found stupid on many levels. How in the hell does one get to be a know-it-all with CBSE, school-level English? How?!) People who had a sincere lack of occupation went to the extent of spreading the Gospel of Shruthi to more people in Stella Maris College, to the point where some girl, who I met while rehearsing for an inter-year dance competition, came up to me and said something along the lines of, “I’d heard so much shit about you, you’re nothing like the rumours” (!!!). My one year in Delhi eased some of my own hang-ups and I’ve reached a stage where you’ll be the last person to know if, and when, I want to ignore the nonsense out of you. I have this ridiculous capability to let people ramble on and on about inane things. I also smile a lot at such junctures, which leads some people to believe that I’m friendly and such an awesome person. For instance, when I was at Mad Uni and drinking tea in between classes at the canteen, some random man walks up to me and goes on about his daughter’s application form and how no one was being helpful. My friend J was ridiculously amused and was barely holding back her laughter at my rendition of the attentive nod-smile routine. I just stopped him and directed him to the enquiries office and went back to drinking tea. J of course was like, why do you let these people ramble on? I just shrugged. That conversation was done. There was tea to drink and class to get back to. I was never going to see that man again. I’ll never know if I helped him at all. Nothing to lose.

Epiphany of the day? I like having this blog to talk to incessantly about myself. I do enough of it in the real world, but I can’t get enough of me!

-The end, for now ;)


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  2. Have I already mentioned your high tolerance for inane comments already?

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