It has been a long weekend. No scratch that. It has been a very very long weekend. I donot like long weekends unless they involve me, in a hammock, sipping a margerita, in room serviced luxury. This long weekend, unfortunately, was nothing like that. For one, I had back to back meetings Saturday morning. We had the mata ki chowki and dandiya nite in the building complex I live in and me being me, has itchy feet until I jump right in and take on more work than I can handle. So here I am, part of said cultural committee organising these events, ostensibly to educate the kids about Our Glorious Culture, but in reality, ensuring the quickest way to grey up and have my hair fall out in stress induced patches. So I spent the second half of the day running around like a headless chicken, and by the time the music system began roaring with dandiya beats, and folks were jumping into the arena, their dandiyas in hand, and their mirrored outfits a twinkling, I had collapsed into a fragile plastic chair that was complaining ominously about dead weight inflicted and my feet had just about handed in their resignation letters. And were hunting around for alternate placements, where owners could be counted on to have their calcium regularly, and ensure that occasional footsoaks in warm salts were indulged in, apart from the fortnightly pedicure. I believe I even wafted off into deep snoring, but thankfully kind friends shook me awake before the drool from my mouth landed on my sequin embroidered churidar front. I had to be propped up and walked home by the husband. So dead was I on my feet. Of course, some nasty things had happened to the BP, making the world spin around in psychedelic colour and such like but will not get into the sordid details here. The moral of the story? Nine days fasting is all too well, if you’re sitting at home and downing ‘Fast Food’, you know what I mean, the Farali approved stuff that is allowed during said fasts. If you plan on fasting at a stretch and running around like Superwomen without her chudds on the outside, be prepared to collapse on day Nine of said stretch in a public situation and make a complete fool of yourself.
The Dandiya nite by itself went by. It did not go too well. Many factors at play, including the sad fact that when a bunch of women sit together to get work done, the ubiquitious rotten apples in the bunch will proceed to demolish any good work done. Remind me the next time I shoot my hand up whenever volunteers are asked for, that volunteering doesnt necessarily mean only working to get things done, it also means pandering to egos, playing control games, and power equations. And kick me right back into my seat and warn me to stay put and zipped until all volunteer positions are taken.
The next day was a Sunday. Went to the maters. Slept like a log while the child was cared for by a responsible adult. It is a dark day in hell when this happens so I milk it for all it is worth, i.e, catch up on zzzs.
Dusehra. Being a festive day, the menu was extensive. The cook is on leave. Yes. Yes. Yes. The horror, the horror. Let me not even get into the details. Let it be enough when I say the memory of that day ranks on the shelf along the memory of the C-Sec, the endoscopy for PCOD, and 26/7 when I walked barefoot from Dadar to Kandivali.
I have a long weekend coming up. Friday, Oct 2, Gandhi Jayanti. Saturday, holiday ostensibly but meetings scheduled, Sunday, I propose to strike work in the kitchen and demand that lunch be ordered in. I need to stay sane. Too much cooking is injurious to my mental health.
So how was your long weekend?