Telling a Tall Tale

But before I tell it, here is a bit of hilarious trivia. Well, not so trivial for me actually. For all my "hard work and commitment", my office has given me a "Best Performer of the Month" award for the month gone by. When I got the email about it, I laughed so hard, my head hurt. Anyway, what it means is that I get 3 additional days of leave, free stay at an Oberoi of my choice anywhere in the country to spend those 3 days in, and the return air fare. As I said, not so trivial for me... Now, if they only let me take those 3 days off...

On Monday morning, I couldn't be bothered to go to work. A dear friend of mine had been in town and had spent the night at mine and I had been up all night and blah blah. So I called in sick. I try come up with different excuses, just to keep the creative juices flowing, you know.

So I told them that I had gone to donate blood, didn't sleep enough or eat anything before I did, and so passed out a minute or so after they pulled the needle out of my arm. I figured I would have to furnish more details when I went to work the next day. So I utilised the help of my maid's deceased husband who happily agreed to go through a by-pass surgery and to have his blood group as A+ve. I also invented a conversation with the doctor who told me about facts of blood donation and drug consumption, specifically marijuana. It was actually quite good I did that, since it also served the noble purpose of dispelling the surrounding myths among my colleagues.

In case you are delusional too, here are facts. it doesn't matter whether you smoke pot or not. Donate all the blood you want so long as you are not stoned at the time of donating. And even that concern is for your health, not the recipient's. THC is a fat-soluble substance and leaves the bloodstream in less than a week on its own. So nothing to worry about, you tree-hugging hippies. You can still save the world with your good intentions, stupid plans and stoned blood.

But yes, the point is that my excuse was very well received. No one even bothered to look for the tell-tale puncture marks on my arms which I couldn't be bothered to paint on. Now I hope that someone from work will see this.

March of the Dust Biters

I spent most of last month out of town. A week spent in Delhi, a life-changing one. Then another between Mirzapur and Varanasi for my first cousin's (on one side of the family) wedding, a very unusual affair insofar as family weddings go. Then another 2 days in Calcutta for another first cousin's (the other side of the family) wedding, a more or less typical affair with aunts desperate to seem me tying the knot too.

A common streak in both the weddings I attended though was my extended family's general reaction to my appearance which attached itself to the word 'hippie'. My well-crafted moustache was sacrificed to escape the interminable conversations it was being made the centre of, quite literally even. Many would have been the faces that would have lit up had I also shortened my hair.

But its all good. I have secured invitations to and places to stay at in at least 10 different countries and made my favourite younger cousin try charas as per her wish. Plus, it gave me a much needed break from work.

But before any of this, while still in Delhi, I took what is perhaps the biggest step in my life so far. So I am going to be one woman's man from now on. Give it a serious shot, if nothing else. No reason why I shouldn't be able to do it, eh? In the end, it better fucking turn out real swell, damnit!. Ah, the long march towards uncertain times... :P