Skip to main content

The Bucket List


 

Stupid Mayans holding us all in suspense. For all we know, it was some loony prehistoric guy who simply got bored midway through his calendar making and decided to leave it at that. Or a sadist, maybe, who thought it would be creepily hilarious to leave his descendents awaiting the ultimate apocalypse—eyes shut, fists clenched, sighing, and all okay bye-byes done and settled, only to find they still had college at 8:59:59 the next day.

If its true, though, what a waste of a brilliant life would that be, a December 2012 end would mean I’d have spent all my (conscious) life slogging it off at some padhai centre or the other. Sad. Calls for immediate salvage attempts, running to a four month deadline.

1.       Background Clearance.

In the little time that I have on earth, and before the next set of inhabitants arrive, it is essential to wipe off all traces of embarrassing pictures of yours truly, and other textual details. Thus, all the diaries, the letters, the break-up analyses, the evidences of bitching, the nagging, the gushing must now be crumpled into balls and set on fire. We cannot risk the bins. All photographic proof that I was once upon a time dressed up in the most brilliantly fluorescent clothes accessorised with long bead strings and flowery hairclips must be meticulously wiped clean with a particularly toxic mix of Vanish and Colin. I don’t want to come across as a butterfly with legs the next time someone sees my pictures. Even if its 20,000 years later.

 

2.       Future Insurance.

Considering there’s going to be quite a deluge of recently dead people at heaven’s gates on ‘THE’ day, these four months must be judiciously, efficiently and smartly utilised to build up a fair amount of credentials to be offered a priority entry through the Pearly Gates. The plan is a genius in its simplicity, even if I say so myself. A temple to Lord Yamraj needs to be built quick and fast. Milk abhisheks twice a day, lavish feasts, a Hagger horned helmet, and a fat black bull are essential. I wish I could grow royal moustaches in support of Yamraj’s, but that (unfortunately) is slightly hard. I could probably rent one, though. What’s a little buttering if it lands you a nice Jacuzzi suite in heaven?

 

3.       Aah, Sweet Revenge.

Even though I like to believe I’ve lived a happy, content, fun life (no, really!), there’s no denying I have a ‘stab-before-I-die’ list of my own. And while stabbing may adversely affect my chances of landing that Jacuzzi suite up there, I’m sure a little harassment would still be in order. A late night prank call or two to that crazy high school teacher, a bit of punching that annoying classmate, some sly hair snipping, an occasional anonymous letter to their parents, a little sabotaging—all to make up for the peaceful, enduring face I’ve put up all these years. For what’s life without a little payback?

 

4.       Carefree Gluttony.

And finally, as the past, present and future concerns have now duly been taken into account, I move to indulge in my favourite sin. If I’ve got to face death anyway, I might as well face it a healthy, plump girl. So I’ll just order in some seekh kababs, mutton biryani, chilly garlic noodles, drumsticks, pav bhaji, chhole bhatoore, galauti kababs, bournville, lindt, and a Belgian dark chocolate waffle sundae, and settle down in peace to wait.

Note to self: If India TV maintains its record of unshackled insanity, and the world really doesn’t end in December 2012, I’ll be left to face an angry mother, a lot of furious enemies, a bewildered fat bull, a Yamraj temple, unpaid milk bills, and an obese persona to handle it all.

Ah well.

Worth the gamble, I’d say.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Loving Vir

Have you ever felt real reverence, true-mad-deep reverence that it almost reached a point of worship? Where the other person could never be wrong, simply because it was HIM? I, for one, have known this sheer devotion. And it happened to be for the man I’ve idolised since I don’t even remember when. I fell in love with Vir Sanghvi. For those of you who don’t know, Vir Sanghvi is an advisor with Hindustan Times, and used to write a weekend column in the paper by the name of Counterpoint. I don’t remember who made me read my first Counterpoint in Sunday’s Hindustan Times, but my Sundays were never the same again. At first glance, Sanghvi impressed. At a second look, he left me in awe. The man was a genius. I hadn’t known anyone like him before—I’d never read a newspaper so unfailingly before. Then came the Sunday Brunch, and Sanghvi shocked me yet again. What in the world did he NOT know about?! All this time I’d spent thinking of him as a purely political writer, and Rude Food gave me a...
5 comments
Read more

Straight from the Heart..

There's a column in the entertainment supplement of Hindustan Times, "Dil Se..", that allows Delhiites to send in their messages to their, well, loved ones, or to the world at large. For many, Dil Se.. is a genuine, heartfelt mode of contact. For me, Dil Se.. has been, for quite some time now, my daily dose of entertainment and anti-depressant. Its what i read to feel worthy when I’m feeling down in the dumps. Just to give you a tiny hint of what’s in there, here’s what you’re most likely to find in there if you flip to the column on any given day. 1.       Hi I’m a 21 year old lonely good looking male boy from Dehli looking for girlfriend who understands my emotions. Wanna make fraanship with me? Lonely boy. The fraandship seekers are most popular, probably offshoots of a now dead Orkut movement. A lot of lonely male boys and female girls (and female boys and male girls?) launch their hunt for fraands through this column. More often than not, they even end up...
6 comments
Read more

My dadu

My grandfather was diagnosed with Parkinson’s two years before he passed away. The final years of his life were a constant struggle—not just for him, but also for us who took care of him. Slowly, but steadily, we could feel his memory slipping away like sand, until it finally gave way almost entirely. It hurt us every day to see him in pain—medicated, unaware, and unconscious. He would refuse to eat, be angry at all of us, and show signs of aggression that he never had before. All of this, coming from a benign gentlemanly professor, was a huge shock to everyone in the family. Perhaps you can read all you want about the symptoms of dementia, but nothing can ever prepare you for when it happens to your own family. I was the only lucky member of the household my dadu recognised, until the end of his days. I was his favourite grand-daughter, the only one he listened to, the only one he allowed to feed him. For months on end, he would refuse to have dinner unless I wa...
Post a Comment
Read more