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.