...it's only words

  • Home
  • Profile
  • Why (the hell) do writers write?
  • Image gallery
  • Readers gallery
  • Blog - Khanabadosh
  • Iqbal Bano and Faiz (music for you)
  • Travel - Ladakh
    • Valley of flowers >
      • Leicester
      • Lake District
      • Shakespeare's birthplace >
        • Pulao Langkawi
        • Singapore
  • Published work
  • Visitors' diary
  • Contact me

Most embarrassingly yours,

1/4/2012

21 Comments

 

Prelude: We writer types have a room inside our heads where we like to spend our time when the real world is not giving us our money’s worth. That is the only excuse I can give for these embarrassing disclosures. Though if you feel I have some screws loose in the head, you are entitled to your opinion
Picture
The shopping
Only last Sunday, at the Army canteen (which now looks like a posh department store; just in case you’re visualizing a room full of Hercules rum cartons), I had finished settling a big box of cereal into the shopping cart and was tossing in some wafer packets when I noticed the puzzled look of the officer standing nearby. Ignoring him, I had just chucked in a shampoo and a moisturizer when he startled me by having a coughing fit. “Ma’am, excuse me! You’re filling up my shopping cart”. I spotted the husband shaking his head gravely at me from a few feet away. Turning a deep shade of red, I apologized to the guy, retrieved my goods and made my way to the cart that my mate had wheeled away, leaving me alone to face the world. Or rather, vice versa.

Rahul
Many years back (in my Indian Express reporter days in Pune), I would sometimes run into a quiet, stubbled sub editor who I always greeted with a cheerful “Good morning Rahul.” He would smile and nod back. That was all the conversation we had in three years. The day I was leaving I ran into him in the corridor, having a drink at the water cooler. Rather sentimentally I said to him: “Bye Rahul, I’m leaving Pune. Won’t be seeing you from tomorrow.” “I have to tell you something before you go,” he said. “My name is not Rahul.”  Extremely embarrassed, I asked him why he hadn’t corrected me earlier. “Since Rahul is a nice name too, I thought I’d just let it be,” he said. He did tell me his name but I’ve forgotten it again. I remember him affectionately though as this nice guy with a cute smile and no ego.

The day time stopped
 More recently, on my way back from a trip to Jakarta, I had four hours to kill at KL airport before boarding my flight to Delhi. The earlier plan had been to lunch with the glam diva - my cousin Noopur (who lives there) and have a sizzling exchange of family gossip but luckily I noticed that my visa had expired and called to stall her in her tracks. No doubt, midway stuffing ringgets in her StellaMcCartney bag to give her sister a jolly good time.

Instead, I decided to spend my time loitering around the various counters, using up left over currency. Just when I had the last few dollar bills in my hand, I was hypnotized by a beautiful pair of white shell earrings and promptly fell in love with them. The sales girl was nice enough to get me another pair in a delicate pink and I spent a lot of time discussing with her which one looked prettier. I was holding one earring next to each ear and staring into the mirror trying to make up my mind when I noticed the wall clock. It was showing the time as 5.30 pm, which was departure time for my flight. “Wrong time,” I told the girl, smilingly. “Right time,” she nodded emphatically. I pointed to my watch, which was showing the time as 4 pm, which meant I still had an hour and half to kill. “Your watch stop,” she smiled disarmingly. Dropping the new found love of my life on the counter like a hot brick I picked up my backpack and sprinted down the terminal. I have never run so fast in my life and made it to the aircraft almost sliding in sideways through the closing doors. In my nervousness I also spilt some water on the shiny white pants of the Japanese guy sitting next to me, which upset him so much that I had to assure him I had not given him a deadly Indian incurable disease. When I finally leaned my head back on the seat and closed my eyes, he was still dabbing desperately on the wet spots with a napkin, with a worried air hostess looking on.

The grey car
 One last story about cars. Don’t know how you do it but since they look so similar, I identify them by colours. One evening on a long walk, I realized it was getting dark. Since the husband drove back from work that way, I called to ask him if he would pick me up. He said he would be at the crossing in five minutes. I hung around and soon a grey car screeched to a stop at the red light. Making a dash across the road, I opened the front door and jumped in. Fiddling with the seat belt, I looked up and nearly died of heart attack. There was a stranger in the driver’s seat. He looked equally terrified and no sooner had I leapt out of the car, darted off like a frightened rabbit. Most certainly richer by a horror story to tell his grandkids in his twilight years. By then the old faithful grey Santro had cruised next to me but for many days I had to suffer insulting dinner table conversation about “people” who couldn’t  differentiate between a Santro and a Wagon R (the make of the stranger’s car). That story has, however, taken a back seat ever since I tried entering a locked Santro after a quick dash to pick up eggs and bread from the grocer forgetting completely that my husband was waiting for me in his Scorpio, and was wearily watching his wayward wife trying to unhinge the door handle of another car.

The lunch guest
I have on other occasions, managed to lock myself out of my car in the vegetable market in my pyjamas and bathroom slippers; greeted a visiting general sahab in a kurta worn inside out and startled a family of tourists in Sikkim by getting into their taxi and making myself comfortable in the window seat. If you feel I’m a bit loony then it just runs in the family. Nothing beats the story of  Pranay’s Nanaji (my mousaji) who you probably know from my earlier blog. He once came home from work, washed his hands and sat down at the dining table for lunch, wondering why Subodh Nimkar, the neighbours’ son, was eating in his house. It took him five minutes to register that he had got off on the wrong floor and was actually sitting at the Nimkars’ dining table. By the time the gentle Mrs Nimkar could emerge from her kitchen, he had quietly got up and slunk up another flight of stairs to relate his embarrassing tale to his horrified wife. 

Prithviraj Banerjee is a cartoonist and writer. You can visit his blog at http://pbnerge.blogspot.in/
21 Comments
noopur
1/4/2012 08:55:41 am

and since then Subodh Nimkar taking his chances has ended up marrying Pranay's nanaji's daughter and becoming a part of the loony bin family :)

Reply
Mahendra
1/4/2012 09:58:55 am

I have an equally impressive list of goof ups, though now that I look at yours, I feel there might be some genetic connection here - For instance, I also managed to surprise the hapless inhabitants of C-602 MS Apartments, when I got off at the wrong floor, and breezily entered their apartment (thinking it was 502) - Because of the (small) size of the apartments, by the time I realized that I was in the wrong 'un, I was already in the living room - right in the middle of (what was till that moment...) a pleasant family discussion.

An interesting period of my life was when I was struggling with the Japanese language. In the early days, since I could not speak or read, it was very difficult for me to explain to a cab driver where I lived - But I soon discovered that there was a hotel near my house, so I would simply tell the cab driver to take me to that hotel. Arriving at the hotel I would then get off, and walk back home (much to the consternation of the doorman, who would politely bow and hold the door open, only to see me turn around and walk in the other direction). Things got a little more complicated on the day when I had an extra-helpful cab driver, who assumed that my lack of knowledge of the language (and presumably basic faculty of reasoning - I suspect some Japanese think they go hand in hand...) was hindering my ability to figure out where the entrance was. So when I did my usual about turn and started walking away from the hotel entrance, he actually got off the cab and ran up to me, gesticulating "The hotel is over THERE! OVER THERE!!"

But you know what was really the embarrassing part? Not wanting to ignore the well-meaning entreaties of the cab driver, I actually turned around and entered the hotel. The doorman looked destroyed ("What is it that I failed to do so far, to make this person realize where the entrance was??")….and I guess he never was the same man again….

Reply
Prithvi
1/4/2012 10:14:09 am

Befitting piece for early April :)

Reminds me of college days when I drove off on my scooter, before Anisha could sit on it ...

I (think, I) had an altercation with Anisha . She used to give me a cold shoulder (meaning no leaning on my shoulder) after these events.

After no verbal conversation with non existent her for 10 mins , I realized that was not there !

Was actually sure that she must havae fallen off at the last speed breaker and spent a lot of time looking for her there... You can imagine the rest ....

Reply
Dipti Nair
1/4/2012 04:45:24 pm

hahaha...and you forgot about the time when we thought Gangadhar was the editor.

Reply
anju
1/4/2012 05:34:16 pm

hilarious article ..enjoyed every bit ..
well an embarassing / amusing one from my side ..its from my internship days when my neighbour of hostel came and asked ..anju have something to read ..i showed her the few magazines i had ..well she was not happy ..u lousy girl ..no fashion-washion stuff :)) lets go n get ..so we went to the local vendor in the campus area where i was regular n who knew my taste ....since i had to choose for my friend ..i just casually said .."koi dhang ki dikhayeeye na ..inme kya dekhe " n without any change of expression he bent and dived through magazines hidden in a carton .....even as i turned pages i turned red with embarrassment ..my image had taken a beating :)

Reply
Ros
1/4/2012 06:06:59 pm

I was standing at the checkout till behind an old lady who seemed intent on dropping her small change on the floor. Playing good Samaritan I picked it up and handed it to her (poor soul). She seemed puzzled but grateful. Only later did I realise that the small change wasn't hers at all. It was mine.

Reply
Jhoomar
2/4/2012 12:43:52 pm

Fast forwarding to a decade later when Subodh Nimkar was happily married to Pranay's nanaji's daughter.....on his way back from a trip, he picked up a beautiful bouquet of flowers from Changi airport and handed to his wife with a flourish...not realizing they were artificial, silk flowers.

Reply
subodh
4/4/2012 01:57:20 pm

Pranay's nanaji that time, at least, noticed me and realized something was a'miss. On another occasion, yes there was one more, I am not sure he did. Because, he had walked in half way to the dining/living room area, I saw and said namaskar. At almost the same moment, he basically turned around, said "arrey" and started walking out. Curious and to greet him again, I followed him to the front door and saw him going down, instead of going one floor up. Not sure whether he really wanted to go down!

Reply
Ritha Hegde
4/4/2012 08:52:58 pm

Good one :) The thought of putting together these incidents only brings a smile :) I surely have a lot of them...but right now not remembering anything other than that I had also once worn my chudidar inside out!

Reply
RITEN
4/4/2012 08:57:42 pm

Now that you have come to Nuts & Bolts//Mrs Sakhre was holding Sakhre's hands and looking at the huge Departure/Arrival Board at the huge Railway Station//totally lost in those Up/Down Trains,she moved laterally and forward/somewhere she left the hand and then she marched to another Board dragging someone with one hand and then she said,Sakhre! This Train will be the best//and suddenly she
spots Sakhre in front about 40 metres away//imagine, Sakhre You are there then whose hand am I holding//she looks to the right, a cute fellow just smiling holding her hand//the stranger just bows and goes away.
And the other Embarrassing moment, my Mom a Shantiniketan Graduate(God bless her soul), yelling from the balcony while I am walking away// Beta, it is cold ,apna Brassiere pehen ke jao.I thought the entire market place must have been dumbfounded// it took me a couple of seconds to realize Mom means my NDA Blazer.
A hilarious story indeed// From Brick walls to Dropping Bricks,You are simply Original,Rachna.

Reply
Ritha Hegde
4/4/2012 09:01:41 pm

Btw forgot to mention, that the link for another blog that you have given is also good....just going through it now :)

Reply
BIG B JB
7/4/2012 12:27:06 pm

wow...another good article....ha ha life is like that so many times we feel such experiences..specially when we feel we are very correct but when face the realty...its very amusing...once I was filling air to my cycle...after sometimes I realised air is not getting filled...so again I started...and there is a big bang....reason another cycle of a pretty gal was standing next to mine and instead of filling air in my cycle...I latched her cycle.......so its life ....lovely article......

Reply
BIG B JB
7/4/2012 12:41:23 pm

wow another very good article.......life is full of such events we make mistakes when we are very confident.....enjoyed this article and reminded my silly mistakes when I made such mistakes...likewise..once I was filling air in my cycle watching a beautiful lady.....checked the tyre..still it was flat..so again started to fill and there was a bang....found I was filling air in her cycle and tube bursted....so embarassing....ha ha but its spice in our life.....to good article ma'am....

Reply
anjana
9/4/2012 01:11:08 pm

So I am not the only absent minded professor. Reminds me of my cousin who reached Heathrow airport with hubby and kids and realized ,kids passport had expired costly carelessness. To err is human to get a kick out of is even more human.

Reply
anjana link
9/4/2012 01:31:20 pm

Hilarious.So many anecdotes on absentmindedness.My sis had to board her flight on 10dec : realized the air tickets were for 10 Nov.A costly mistake.So many errors of judgement ; funny for us, tragic for the victim.

Reply
ather
9/4/2012 09:35:28 pm

To err is human- tales of our falliability provide us all with a reassuring message that our egos are misplaced. Loved the collection of mishaps. On my part I recall:
1 Going round a room introducing myself-twice. One kindly guest was good enough to stop me

2 Handing out business cards that others had given me to people I met- I must have been a different person to each person I met!

Reply
MAITREE
12/4/2012 01:57:38 pm

"What we say is not that important but we present matters a lot." Good piece of work, beautifully expressed.

Reply
Tanu
18/4/2012 10:26:34 pm

You forgot to mention how we mistook sprite for champagne at fufaji's retiremrnt celebration,, forgot which railway station we were supposed to catch a train from and nearly missed my engagement party and several other incidents that must not be missed out from your memoirs when you finally decide to pen them.

Reply
Tanu
18/4/2012 10:27:53 pm

Like the cartoon

Reply
Anisha
26/4/2012 06:12:36 am

Thanks for the laugh Rachna :-)
Well written. Best piece was the one that also has the cartoon to go with it. Love the cartoon's cartoon ;-)
Its really good to know mostly everyone does these errors some time or another.

I once washed someone's pant with his very expensive cell ph..
I once drove few miles before i realized my bag was on top of the car! Thankfully it hadn't fallen off else I would be in so much trouble

Reply
Anima Pundeer
7/5/2012 01:19:01 pm

Today i caught up with all the blogs that i missed recently, and now my stomach is all cramped up with laughing... :)...

Your blog really does lighten up(as in less heavy, as well as brightened state) my day... thankyou!

Reply

Your comment will be posted after it is approved.


Leave a Reply.

    Picture
    Rachna Bisht Rawat is a full time mom and part time writer. She is married to an Army officer whose work takes the family to some of the most interesting corners of India.

    RSS Feed

    Archives

    March 2020
    April 2018
    June 2016
    September 2015
    February 2015
    December 2014
    September 2014
    April 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    September 2013
    June 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    March 2011

    From the archives: (click on pictures to read)
    Home alone
    The jeans she had just stepped out of were lying on the floor. She was peeling the sweat-wet T shirt off when she noticed a man's shoes peeping out from behind the curtains.
    Picture
    Picture
    Just another day; just another life
    It is day two of the (wo)man-animal conflict, and I have just finished kicking the little green frog out of the kitchen who has been jumping over my feet and jeering at my nail paint.

    Picture
    A fishy tale
    Chust had Durust and Ikki had Duggi but Sust didn’t have anybody, which is probably why he was the way he was: sad and sluggish and forever hanging around the bottom of the tank

    RSS Feed

    Picture
    Face-off
    Mark Zucherberg may sputter and wipe the foam off his mouth but fact is that Facebook has found its destiny with the 30 plus guys - Deccan Herald

    To read more of the author's work you could google 

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.