Eating away to glory …..

Yesterday was a holiday for the rest of Maharashtra. We still worked. We believe in (forced) hard work. The conservatives may frown upon our definition of work. But being in office for 8 hrs is a big burden in itself. In an office situated at the dead end of a less crowded street with all char bachon ke baap types male force and a dispensary for the 60+ people on the other floor, what incentives do two single and hunting girls have, even though we are the rare representatives of the female community in the office? Yup, there are some more people from that community. But they belong to the ladies sub-category. Not the young and happening gals category we represent.

Let us face it. Office is boring. The only thought that makes this less traumatic an experience is when I remember having slept during movies like Phir Bhi Dil Hein Hindusthani and Hero No 1. The very thought of those movies still makes me shiver with anger for having spent 60 Rs each at a time when my monthly pocket money wasn’t sufficient to buy even Pani Puri. I can eat, drink, sleep office but spare me of Govinda and David Dhawan. And I can throw the entire salary into the arabian sea. (I know our thornyrose will be at the other with open arms to catch it). But just can’t spend a single penny on those weird imitations of human species.

Our sole ray of hope, our God sent angel in this office is a decently tall, clean shaven guy in an all white dress with a cute thilak on his forehead. The moment we step in, we would be waiting for him. With our eyes fixed on the door through which he steps in, we would be counting milli seconds. Usually, he appears around 11.30.

Me: Kya hei bhayya aaj?

He: Aloo ke Parathe and Veg Biriyani

Me: Or Sweet mein?

He: Kheer

From then, we would be day dreaming about aloo ke parathe, veg biriyani and Kheer. We would be in a trance. The plates would be rolling round and round in front of our eyes. By that time the only consolations we had had would be the light break fast in the morning and sandwich at 10.30 soon after getting to office.

The longest of time of the day is the hours between 11.30 and 1.00. We check our mails as many times as humanly possible. Have tea 3 times. Go to the ladies’ room 2 times. Make phone calls 4 times. And it would still be 12.50. The rest 10 mins ………. my good lord ….. we only know how we manage to spend.

Tring Tring. My phone rings.

ThornyRose: Khana laga hoga kya?

Me: Ek nahi baje. Lets go chk.

Damn guy is punctual. He says he is getting it.

Tring Tring. Her phone rings.

Me: Ek baar phir dekhke?

TR: Chalo. Dekhthe hein.

Tring Tring. Pantry phone rings.

He: Madam, leke aa rahein hei.

We: Bookh se marne ke baad laoge kya?

The only thing on earth, that unite me and thornyrose is food. Food of all kind, race and sex. We devour it with the purest form of dedication. It is a pious activity. We don’t even talk during that sacrosanct act. And the precision in sharing things exactly by two cant not be beaten by any super computer.

All this slogging in the office, traveling in the local train and staying at unreachable distance from family, are all justified at that moment. Everything that men do is, after all, for a day’s food. (Whatever is left after that can be spent on clothes, accessories and make up). I am sure we will enter the Hall of Fame with Kris, Shukla and our very own Rafeeq.

There are very few occassions when thornyrose cooperates with me. One of such occasions is while placing our order for the day. (The other occasions are choosing between chicken and mutton and having mysore masala dosa at Phoenix mills). Whether it’s done by her or me, we choose different dishes so that we enjoy the entire gamut that day offers. And yes, she is ofcourse jealous of me. I eat I eat and I eat. She eats she eats and she would soon look like she had just swallowed a baby elephant.

After lunch we take a break till 4.00. A one hour tea break. Then dinner sharp at 9. (The snacks at 6.30 before going home is negligible, right?).

Next morning ….. here he comes ……. will catch you guys later ……….

Simply Besty

What makes Betsy a real Betsy is that she is simply Betsy. Now if you ask me why, even after you knowing her for so long, I would be forced to conclude that you just read some article from ET that your head is spinning and you are seeing all those sensex charts and Tata Birlas going round and round.

May be ‘cos I don’t usually include her in my mailing list or ‘cos this doesn’t damage her hard earned reputation of Simply Being Betsy, she opened up this morning. We should appreciate her spirit. ‘cos confessions are hard to come by(except for the I lied to Mummy and I went for movie with D types John makes in the confession box, to the poor vegetarian priest :-))

I have all my sympathy. Its not the first time in human history that people mistake somebody else’s very personal possession to be theirs. That can be entirely unintentional at times. (Now you know the philosophy behind 3 Nokia chargers becoming 2 all of a sudden). That was all that happened. For that matter even I have noticed, my tooth brush was gullibly same to that of my moms at one point of time. When I bought it, it had that look of the ones they show in TV ads. The next week it looked like it went into an ever chewing cows mouth for 2 hours at a stretch. Between these two time fames, there were a day it looked just like a twin brother (or sister) of my mom's brush. It was sheer sense of inner strength that helped me in choosing the right one (whether it was mine or hers).

I know you hypocrites would make faces as if a silly mistake would attract capital punishment by IPC section ABC. But I whole heartedly understood her feelings when she told me between her sobs that hers and Reema’s has only one difference (whatever it is, the poor thing couldn’t even recollect). But as every other good girl she also brushed her teeth every morning. (I skip it these days ‘cos I think I kept my brush at Reshmi’s place. I will resume once I go to her place next week). Now it is upto you to blame her for being hygienic. Thing were going well till this morning when Reema woke up earlier than usual. Usually she is up only after we leave. Her boss knows that she always has appointments with clients in the morning so he expects her in office only in the afternoon. And today, for a change, she wanted to brush her teeth!!!!!!!!! She really wanted to!!!!!!!!!!

Now, after the enlightenment that the only brush in the bathroom is shared by those two lovely roomies (and three as per Betsy. I thought of joing in her misery than revealing I simply don’t use one) for the last one month or so, I am not sure if she did brush or not. They usually wear each other kurtas and T Shirts. So I don’t think that was a problem. But still, a toothbrush is a little too personal. People tend to get senti over such things.

The world out there is a cruel bloody world. They preach you the list of things to do that’s beyond the original call of nature and when you finally give in, they point their finger at you (no, not that finger). Now you know it is not her fault that she is Simply Betsy.