I'm in trouble. Big trouble. No I'm not pregnant with the immaculate conception. Christmas is over people! Enough with the falalalala spirit, already! Ok-hey….this is how it goes.
Recent events have seriously jeopardized my status as chief family rebel. Okay maybe not chief… but certainly vice-president rebel. i, who was supposed to make people gasp their entrails out by doing something scandalous is now being looked at askance by the younger lot. My parents are just waiting for the cue to breathe their sigh of relief. Well they have been holding their breaths for three years now. And now, with some people doing the i'm-a-rat-i-desert-this-ship act, my folks have all the reason to see hope in me. OH NO. how does that make me feel? it makes me feel THREATENED. Like a tiger who's misplaced his dentures. What will they expect me to do next? Jump over hoops of fire? Oooh ..that appeals to the dramaqueen in me. Like you know, hoops of fire being a metaphor for arranged marriage, into which I'm expected to make the leap of faith …..ooh too much! And then what? Fall flat on my face? WHAT THE HELL! JesusMaryJoseph..what have i become? There's every chance that I could wind up being a shining example!! Like the conduct-chart superstar I was with. And that is quite mortifying you know! Mum holding the ex as an example to be emulated. Suddenly the enemy is the golden boy? "See look at him. Such a nice boy. Listening to his parents and giving them no grief" Ooohlalallala….rub it in my face like it's a facial, won't you? See the thing is, when a boy or a girl comes across as a family boy or a family girl, there's every chance that they're a HIS FAMILY guy or a HER FAMILY girl. Which means D.U.M.P.E.D for those foolish enough to be in a relationship with them.
So what went wrong here? The person or the event that was supposed to make my dad turn around and glower like the armless dude in Sholay (with the requisite jang-jang-jang music in the background) and make my mum put her hands to her head and cry out "Naaaahi" like Hema Malini, turned tail and chickened out. Squawk Squawk. And is now brand ambassador for the matrimonial columns. Soon we might be subjected to the privilege of seeing his mug (with the missus, of course) with curly-wurly fonts proclaiming them to be a success story in the newspaper. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Mr. and Mrs. Dutiful son. Such a story for a film! NOT.
Things have come to pass that even my friends have dared to mention the "A" word to me. Not adults-only, you dimwits. ARRANGED MARRIAGE!!!!! and some more exclamation marks, if you please. My little cousin, she asks me straight out, "Are you going to embarrass us all by going for a typical manoramamatrimonials marriage? Nanakaedu. (which translates into For Shame! Only thing is, in Malayalam, like most things in Malayalam, the effect is multiplied by the gazillion - that it's strong enough to peel paint) Arranged marriage are for wimps, man. Marriage should come with plenty of drama. "No certainly not" "She's older than you" "He's younger than you" "I won't consider it..not with someone who doesn't belong to our faith" "Whaaaaaat? you want to marry an infidel?" "Are you saying you want to marry a terrorist?" "But she's of a lower caste!! Certainly not..especially when the sun shines out of our caste's ass." "Out of the question..she's a she and you're a she!! HAVE YOU LOST IT!!" (I don't know why, but as i'm writing this, I've got this eerie deja vu. I suspect, that it COULD be because this has been my pet subject for a while now… nah i don't think so.) So my problem is…. I have a reputation to maintain. The scalp scalloping red indian CANNOT turn into a missionary priest. the very thought gives me diarrhea. All of you dear people..appeal to the gods and the forces that be…that such a cruel and mortifyingly embarrassing fate will not be mine!
Sorry about bringing up the tiger example again. It IS getting a little repetitive, I know. But as long it doesn't lead to more dwindling tiger numbers, I don't see what's the harm in using its name in vain…which by the way, isn't in vain, cause i'm making a parallel to myself. That would make me vain, wouldn't it….. eerrrr…where were we? Oh yes, the tiger. So all these years, I've made a lot of noise and gung-ho and played the you-can't-tame-me-cause-i'm-a-feral-feline act. And now after all that dolby-effect, mighty roaring and show of claws, if I meow like a little kitten and jump on someone's lap waiting to be stroked? How am I supposed to live that down? (Speaking of which, I wonder if a grown cat ever gets over the childhood trauma of being a playful little kitten)
So if i do end up this way, this post is my anticipatory penance slash bail. Cause, like they say, Que. sera sera! damn you sera..whoever you are.
P.S: And yes, after a brief sabbatical, the sarcastic bitch is back!