The painters are here. The who? The painters? In our house? Which hasn't got painted ever since its inception? Something is definitely on. But whether you believe it or not, the painters are here. In all their glory. Paints and brushes. Varnish and putty. Something called primer and masking tape. With the Man and Girl 1 out galavanting in Kerala and Brisbane respectively, the woman and Girl 2 are left to hold forte. We the two sillies. To manage hordes of paint-splattered varnishy men. To listen to the rotund, jovial Mr. Rawat who has verbal diarrhea and has adopted us as his sisters. I can safely say that I know all about him and his Punjabi clients in Dwarka sector 9 and their spoilt hot-pants wearing smokes-like-a-chimney daughter, the political intricacies of the Asian Paints hierarchy, the inflation in paint prices, the difference between Bihari and Rajasthani labourers, why he has kept a Janmashtmi fast etc etc etc. Then we have to bear the MBA girls, the surveyors. They'll stride around with their files and heels, knocking at walls, sipping at the water, nodding in a manner they think is comforting. The poor painters stiffen up, fervently trying to look sufficiently busy and dusty. The kitchen contractor arrives just when we sit down the lunch, the carpenter wants a day off, the kabadi wala doesn't have money, the maid is thorwing tantrums.
And this is all before I actually recovered from a very action-packed work/holiday/I don't know what to call it trip. Before I could unpack (which implies I am still living out of my rucksack). Before I could catch up on all my sleep.
Cribbing about not having a bed, not finding my slippers or a working pen or a nailcutter or a comb, drinking water which smells a lot like something that is gracing my newly painted door, having unknown men trudge into the house any time of the day. Yes that sums up my existence. So we decided to break the cycle. To shake off the paint and the fatigue. We set off for a shopping spree and a dinner.
We waited for a table for as long as it takes for the mere pet mein choohe kood rahe hain chappies to faint in fatigue. Ofcourse we ordered way too much for two people and got slightly tipsy on our breezers (I am too tired to figure out how we managed that). There was a highlighted hair tip top body squeezing suit wearing aunty on the next table complete with paunchy moustache mouse-like uncle and spoilt I want king prawn only waaaaaa beta in tow. Both the adults were on the phone throughout their meal (why did they have to come to a restaurant if they had to talk on the phone? Defies logic if you ask me) and the son made disturbingly frequent trips to the loo. Anyway we had a hearty meal and naturally forgot to avail of the 30% discount coupons which had made us choose the place in the first place :
And then people pester me about not blogging/mailing/phoning (EGAD!!!)/socializing/blah blah. I am an excessively disoriented/disorganized/confused person these days. Someone's got to understand that.