Forward, march

Sunday, March 18, 2012

I love myself for the title.

*shows some lovin'*

Seminar's over. I slept for over 36 hours during the weekend. My math is bad. It could be more but it was all for good. Seminar was possibly the best I've seen in three years, our department to come up with. I don't know modesty. Our union is the best. Period.

We had a Cambridge doctorate student (white skinned-tall-unhygienic firang) drop by and that session was quite enjoyable. First session was brilliant except for the alumna- our final, last minute replacement of the writer crush. Major fail, her. Rest of it was good- I'd say good because we had people turning up, people listening and in general, I was happy. :)

Now I have withdrawal symptoms about department, college, seminar and other such.

During this whole seminar planning, I lost my cool more than Siberian cranes loosing their trail here. On one such night, I decided to get myself some alcohol to calm my nerves. Drunk text story coming up. Time for commercial break.

(If you thought Japs were weird)

I don't know if it's just me and my elitist circle but SMS forwards have become redundant now. From personal experience I could say, on an average, say if I was receiving some 10 forwards an year ago, now it's reduced to 2. This includes your pleas, donation of 1$ per forward crap, chain letters etc. Now ofcourse, I receive most of them via BBM as opposed to traditional sms, also cause most people who use non BBM phones don't text/talk to me. I mean, school and college friends are equipped with What's App and BBM and those who kick it old school way, don't bother sending me these forwards anymore cause I rarely reply to any. You remember those lame puzzles, number games, mystery solve text? Yeah, I don't get them anymore. I rarely pay attention if I do and hardly ever bother to reply.

Why do I establish this premise? Because you'll know in time to come that my drunken text saga was initiated by one such forward. For which I composed an entire paragraph claiming I don't give a flying fuck, you'll know what one forward can do to you. It's almost like you can donate 1o grains of rice by the means of a click. Yeah, by the means of a forward, you can see a drunk me, loose my marbles and show the public what drunk me is capable of.

It started off with beer and telling the self-'Seminar will be a fine, just fine.' Two hours and a considerable amount of beer down, I was still the same. Cranky, pissed and very much burdened by the idea of pulling this off. I began having doubts about doing this and the futile outcome, much like the previous year's festivals. In between this, I was coordinating work with the secretary and treasurer. Very much in my senses, I declared it on the dinner table that the free beer (Mum won two crates, Again!) is farce and that it's hopeless cause it didn't hit me.

"Give it some time.", last few words that I could recollect next morning at 5, when I realised what mess I'd created, uttered by father, who has very poor capacity for beer.

From here, the account that I post is vague recollection- almost like pieces joined together by concious memory.

I remember getting back to my room post dinner, almost swaying after washing hands with orange gel in the bathroom, that smells terrible. My phone record verifies a call made to secretary, over which I declared to her, my love for couple of people including writer crush (or not?!). During this phone call, I was actively talking to another friend of mine, apparently telling him about some new range of diet beer that kingfisher launched and managed to convince him that it actually exists. All this, when poor bugger just wanted to talk about something important and all I said was 'Beeeeeeerrr. Moaaar beeeerrrrrrrr'. Right.

In the midst of phone call and diet beer, I got the coveted forward on the college group chat from a friend. The forward still gets me laughing. Tell me if you don't find it funny and I'll say you are pathetic.

'Why do Gujju kids drool while watching spongebob square pants?
Because they think he's a Dhokla :p '

Now, for most people, this text forward from my side, didn't initiate a response and why would it? I mean, who replies to forwards? So the first fault comes to the person who actually bother to reply back to this. Which was quite a few of them. From there on, I kinda lost control and text a lot of crap to a lot of people.

Next day, when I was slightly better, I was reciting the stupidity to Sinner when I met Pea. Pea is semi Gujju and as luck would have had it, she also replied to my forward. She showed me snippet of the conversation that I had with her claiming my phone's drunk. Right then. Not the best thing to know when you're in queue to buy Bhel. Awkward.

The morning after this drunken revelry, I woke up at 5 and spent one hour reviewing the drunk activities and devising the damage control plan. So, I'd crapped up with a whole lot of people- thankfully, not the writer crush but I did happen to send some text directed for him- to another friend which basically talked about not wearing a saree (?) because writer crush wasn't coming.


There's a saying that goes by, "It's better to be awkward in the morning than be lonely." 5 am, Wednesday morning, I was more than embarrassed. My damage control plan was nothing but making a polite, 'Er, hi, sorry, I was pissed drunk' call but I decided against it. Because apparently one of the text that I received in the drunk state read,

'Don't be sorry so easily man.'

I gave that damage control plan up and went back to sleep.

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