Why Me?

I have no dignity left. The craziest things happen to me and to make light of them I tell my friends all about my stupidities and embarrassing moments, making them laugh with me so it doesn't hurt to laugh alone!

This is an account of one such incident.

Flash back to the year 2000. A trio of giggling girls enters an elevator in an Andheri building in Bombay. The elevator (going down) has 2 serious-looking boys, perhaps 2 years our senior, who look down their noses at us, because we are friends of the summer intern, Alka, also staying in their building. Alka does not exist for them. She is therefore meant to be looked through, and, if looked at, to be looked down on. Alka nudges us silently to behave in the presence of the morons.

We continue to laugh about some random joke. Inviting more frowns in the process.

The elevator empties out at the ground floor and we all go our separate ways.

Later that night, Alka, Gauri and I return from a visit to the grocer, with essentials such as bread and chips in our bag. Being unstable, slightly crazed 21-year olds, who, to make things worse, are on vacation and away from parental supervision and discipline, we are laughing a lot at rather nonfunny (to the mature world) things. We enter the building and Gauri heads for the lift. Alka and I, in a Chariots-of-Fire moment, decide that we will race her, taking the stairs as befits young hotbloods like us. The lift is for losers. Gauri doesn't mind. She trudges her loserly way into the lift and Alka and I dash up the stairs.

We race up as the lift creaks its way up. Gauri can hear our taunts each time we meet the lift. The stairwell resounds with our comments. The flat is on the 4th floor. It's a long, steep, high-paced climb, up a spiral stairway, straight out of a Bond flick. Except, instead of a bag of chips, Bond would be carrying a gun. And instead of rain-resistant chappals, he'd be wearing gleaming leather shoes. And instead of tattered Sarojini Nagar pajamas, he'd be wearing a tux. Which would make the upcoming events look much cooler than they did when they happened starring us.

We reach our door a crucial 30 seconds before Gauri's lift clicks into place. We ring the doorbell like maniacs, trying to break down the door so that Alka's flatmate lets us in before Gauri gets here. The door starts to open and we push it aside, dashing in and shouting "We're here, we're here, we're here."

Of course we are. And guess who's here too? The boys from the lift. The TV is on. There's food on the dining table. This is Alka's senior in his boxer shorts. This, too, is Alka's senior, in his pajamas. This is an unfamiliar environment. On cue, we hear Gauri yell (from one floor above), "Where are you?" This is the boys' apartment, not Alka's.

I whirl around to see an Alka-blur dashing out of the apartment. I slowly turn my head, start to say "Sorry, we..." and decide that no explanation can make me look good right now. I can't even say "The name's Bond, James Bond." I whiz out too. As I leave the flat, I hear loud laughter behind me.