Matrimonial meetings 1
Warning: Some sentences in the following account are in an obsolete form of English which went out of India along with the last Englishman on the ship).FRIENDLY ADVICE TO READERS: A minute description of my disastrous meetings with two prospective matrimonial candidates follows. Kindly refrain from gagging and please maintain decorum of body and mind. Second meeting will be described in section 2 .
SECTION I - MUMBAI MASALA
Candidate A : For purpose of convenience he will henceforth be referred to as Mr.Mumbai since he has the fortune of hailing from the glorius city.(and the city has the misfortune of being his hometown). First initiation of contact occurs on the eve of the meeting, at night. I happen to be slightly out of breath since I have just arrived from my weekly jumping session which is addressed popularly as Salsa. Mr.Mumbai asks me after all niceties, (I admit, I am impressed that people can be nice at an hour before midnight. There is one small nod of approval as one item on my fastidious list gets checked) about the venue for the aforementioned (Godforsaken) meeting. I skip all niceties, since it is against my very disposition, and as is my character, tell him a convenient location. Again, by default, the location I have mentioned is convenient for me, but I refrain from asking about the same for him. (NOTE: Justifications: If he lives in Mumbai, he should know the places better than I do. Knowing does reduce a modicum of inconvenience. Plus, as a woman, I am entitled to chivalry privileges which are extinct (erroneously labelled dead) in the audacious modern world but are very crucial to me nonetheless) After that self dialogue, as I realise that the irritating crackling sound which I mistake to be static is his voice, I gather my reserves and reiterate the location once more. (Further details omitted to maintain reader's interest). The hot steamy afternoon gathers all its strength to increase my already heightened crabby feelings of irritiation. I reach the appointed venue about 15 minutes late (for justifications refer to above note, part 2.) He calls on my cellular telephone which has suddenly assumed the dimensions of a hangman's noose in my exhausted eyes, and I look around trying to find a vague resemblance to the photographic paper which has been shown to me the previous day. A fat man waddles out of a car and tells me my name. I shrink at the audacity and I mutter " How can he tell me my name? He is supposed to ask". But popular etiquette has me behave otherwise, and I shake his outstretched hand with all the warmth of Siachen, the melting glacier. The pattern continues throughout the afternoon. I have seldom come across such open, frank expressions of the suppressed brute in our civilised society. He exhibits a distressing and annoying propensity to rush inside doors first without holding them open for me, to order all the food himself and to not allow me to use anything resembling words. The last straw comes when he does not even open the car doors for me. I conclude with unshakeable finality that I would not choose him to be my mate even if I had been prehistoric myself.(NOTE TO READER: I do not pretend to be the soul of niceness either. You cannot be nice when lunch conversation is peppered with how your (imbecile) lunch partner topped school and college and won debates, AND all the food is also ordered by the imbecile in question. Sharing the same sunsign also adds no glory to the conversation).
[That will be all in this part. Section II, which contains explicit details of a similar second meeting, will follow by email approximately at an interval of 48 hours. Thank you for exhibiting exemplary patience throughout the reading.]
posted by Anupama. @ 2:26 pm
1 Comments:
It seems that you have a passion for all things bright and blue, but it is difficult to read few posts including this one. Please change to read-able colour. Try red. Thanks.
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