Psuedologia Fantastica

3rd February,2008
"...and so I'm a little confused about what to do. I mean, he loves me, I know, but he cheated on me, for God's sake..yeah yeah, hes still in college.Our age only. Xavier's.."
Sympathy, Time,Pressure, Attention.

22nd February,2008
"...and I feel so LOW! I'm not even sure if I'll make it through this year..the doctor says I might not..maybe chemotherapy is an option..dont worry, okay? You guys are already have it upto here with Sheila's chronic depression and all..I know you guys are with me.."
Sympathy,Time,One upmanship,Attention.

10th April,2008
"...and the car just CRASHED! I'm in the hospital now, I think I've got broken bones..nai, dont bother coming to see me,I dont think I'll be allowed visitors yet..I'll be fine..All good"
Attention,Sympathy,Time,Attention,Sympathy..

15th May,2008
"Dude. Hey, listen. I was talking to a friend in Xavier's, Bombay. I asked if he knows a Prashant Verma. He didn't. So I told him hes a friend's boyfriend, and that hes in his batch only..our age... Anyway, he called back today. Said it would interest me to know that there is no Prashant Verma in his batch, or the either of the two batches senior and junior to his..."

"Are you kidding me? Her boyfriend doesn't exist? That is inSANE. Shes been lying to us? Attention seeking bitch, man. We need to avoid her. And tell the rest, too.. dude..shes been putting all of us through all that emotional shit for nothing? I dont think I'll ever get over this."

"What? Seriously? Then she must've lied about everything else as well, right? You know..her bloody cancer and that accident she'd had and all that jazz. Thats why she doesn't want us to visit her. How can we trust her now?"

"Yeahhh. I was wondering how anyone can be in the hospital for this long anyway. Its been a month, right? And she hasn't been in touch ever since. Must be afraid we'll want to visit her in the hospital. So shes been lying about everything. I've heard of this condition, you know. She must be a pathological liar. Dude. Creepy. Cant believe anything she says, I guess."

"Yeah, she hasn't called ever since. Ah..right..they do it for attention. Well, we wont give her any. It all fits, you know. I mean, Preeti broke up, so she broke up too. Sheila got diagnosed with depression, so she got cancer. And then she went and had an accident also. What shit, man. I was so worried about the stuff that kept happening to her. Its all crap."

"Im not taking her calls from now on, man, even if she does call. This is hell creepy."

22nd May, 2008
"Hi. um. Listen. We know you've been lying about everything. We asked Vibhor, your Prashant doesn't exist. Whatever, okay..dont give reasons..its over..just..lets not talk? Dont talk to any of us, okay? We haven't told anyone else, but when college reopens, we dont wanna hang out, yeah?"

25th May,2008
"...really sorry auntie..if theres anything we can do, please let us know..we're all here..time will heal, auntie.."

"...doctor had warned us, beta..hamari galti hai..we were told the cancer diagnosis could make her take drastic steps.. she was only 19 after all.We didn't take care..still..thank you all for being with her..maybe if she had realised that you are all there she wouldn't have.. but after she broke up she was already mildly depressive, and then the accident..she was in a lot of pain.. anyway, maybe this is for the best, theres no pain where shes gone..bhagvaan ke saath hi hai meri beti -"

Silence.

Xavier's Kolkata..

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A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal. - Oscar Wilde

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Fairly Foriegn?

Sitting on this rather hard chair, I'm attracting several stares, some curious, some questioning, all unceasing. I can almost see what that crabby old lady at the door is thinking while she impatiently waits for her turn. Her red lipstick annoys me. So does her propreitorial expression as she catches my eye and continues to stare unabashedly, giving me a highly undeserved appraising expression. I know shes thinking darkly about 'my generation'..how badly brought up we are..or where we learnt to eyeball our elders the way I'm eyeballing her right now. I dont care, though. I sit tight, even though the chair is a pain in the ass, quite literally. The air in the small room is heavy with the smell of nail paint, soap, astringent and shampoo, and for a person with a nose my size, it isn't hard to detect traces of sweat and coffee as well in the local brand of atmosphere. I'm the only woman not treating myself to a pedicure here. Although how much of a treat it actually is is a moot point, I think, staring at the twenty odd women cooped up uncomfortably on chairs similar to mine in a room that was probably built to accomodate a maximum of 7 people. The only thing I can say with conviction about the pedicures they're getting (apart from the fact that they will probably cause the women to die of some foot disease or the other soon..the equipment is visibly dirty..) is that they're vigorous. The staff seems to be trying to compensate for lack of skill or hygiene by displaying an undeterred enthusiasm, as though all their dreams come true everytime they scrub a (usually middle aged) matter-of-factly, housewifey foot that is attached to an equally matter-of-factly, houswifey, not even remotely sexy calf. Which, by the way, is 99% of the time. But today is different. Today falls in the remaining 1% of the time. Today, much to the awkward stiffness and visible displeasure of the regular clientele, two unlikely customers, both American women, have walked in in their typically American working class boisterous manner, creating a small sensation in the otherwise mundane world of the beautician population.The easy, natural superiority complex of the former complements the servility of the latter, making for an afternoon of healthy entertainment that I settle down to enjoy.
"Madam, thoda adjust kariye please", an agitated young manicurist (is that what they're called?) requests my nemesis, the crabby old lady, who is blocking the doorway. She shuffles aside, managing to look as though shes doing the americans a favour as they trail into the room behind the owner of the parlour who, in his demeanour and inclination to excited conversation, resembles a tour guide. Four women, midway through their beauty treatment, are displaced from their chairs to make space for the fair and lovely customers, who are then seated with all the ceremony of a coronation as 7 out of the 10 staffers in the room flock respectfully around them, trying to decipher their accented drawl to figure out what they want. Once that is settled with the accompaniment of several determined, 'born to serve' expressions on the faces of the beauticians, the two women sit back to enjoy pedicures and manicures, the likes of which no customer has ever experienced here. Both have one person tending to each hand, and one each for both feet. Other, lesser mortals, who have gotten only one beautician for all four limbs sit gruffly in the background, pretending not to notice the contrast in treatment.
I look on, bemused. Have things changed at all? Is this the effect of centuries of slavery? Or is this an attempt to forge ahead in the hospitality industry? I dont know..

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"Being powerful is like being a lady. If you're trying to prove you are, you're not."
- Margaret Thatcher