The clock ticked softly, subdued by the sound of birds slowly tapping my window pane. I found myself on my smooth wooden ledge, strumming away at the cold, metal strings of my guitar. My mother hurriedly rushed into my room; ‘twang’ went my guitar; I looked up at the disgusted look that she bore,”Why are you not ready yet? Get ready at once!” she barked at me. Before I could even muster up a reply, she ordered, “And please clean up this room sometime, I cannot stand looking at it.” I could not build up the courage to be my usual ‘smart alec’ self and I promptly nodded, following which she exited, and complied. I wore the least creased shirt and jeans that I found in the mess I called my cupboard and moved towards the door and once again encountered my beloved parent. “Have you brushed? Put on deo? Please put down your sleeves, you look ridiculous!” she said; once again not awaiting a reply, she set off, “Uff, you are taking too much time, you always delay my plans. Let’s go now.” I stood expressionlessly, not knowing how to react. I followed her to the car and we headed to the restaurant where we would we lunching with her best friend. Seeing two monstrous bags placed in the back seat, I enquired as to what their purpose was and was subsequently informed that they contained slippers or ‘chappals’ that my mother had to give to her best friend, whom I had always called ‘masi’.

We shortly arrived at the restaurant which boasted about the quality of its Asian food and were ushered to the table allotted to us. The restaurant was famous for its ambiance, which included, but was not limited to, lush plants with the prettiest of flowers of red and blue, black stone tables, gentle, soothing tunes that filled up most of the area. The restaurant was also renowned for the absence of any protection from wind, therefore the diners were often joined for dinner by the slight breeze creating a wholly enjoyable experience. My masi emphatically waved at us and the niceties ensued coupled with basic chit chat. We ordered a few starters that had been recommended to us and sipped on vibrant mocktails. All was going well, then the trade convention began.

The two gigantic bags which I had been commanded to lug to the restaurant made an ill-fated appearance, and it did not stop at that. Soon, the contents of the bags – mainly slippers were categorically arranged by size and colour on the table. My jaw dropped, I was aghast, perplexed and quite frankly did not know what in the world was going on and it didn’t seem like I was the only one of that temperament. The waiter in charge of our table too was visibly intrigued and took his place behind a pillar and peered at us. My masi and mother were not fazed by all the attention and continued with their dealings; with the inspection and trial phase soon to occur. My masi picked up each slipper, examined it and put it on. She then paraded the restaurant to check for comfort and also educated herself with the opinion of the serving staff on said footwear. My head was in my hands, my face went pale, I wanted to be disintegrated into small particles which could be carried away by the wind, I wished for the ground to split open and engulf me, anything to get me out this mess. Once my inner damage limitations mode switched on, I attempted to perform strange yoga poses with outstretched arms in order to cover up our table and to prevent any passerby from being able to gaze at the sight. One could argue that my attempts were more comical than the happenings itself but they seemed to do the job.

Finally, the slippers resumed their original positions in the bag and I resumed mine and let out a huge sigh of relief. I took a bite of my delicious food and before I could enjoy another, my masi took out her monstrous bag which was filled with clothes. Oh well, at least I could practice my yoga a little more… 

P.S. – This is a highly dramatized and exaggerated recount of a real life instance, and should I post any other articles in the ‘funny instances’ category, they would follow the same. Furthermore, since this is my first foray into humour, I would greatly appreciate some feedback. 

 

 

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “A Trade Convention at Lunch

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s