Fairly Bookish, Bookishly Dull

,

I am infamously addicted to books. My roommate used to be very upset with me being engrossed in some book, ignoring her presence entirely. She connived with the other girls and they tried ganging up on me to get me to stop. Then they just gave up, she got used to it and i was free to go zombie on them for hours again. So just like any other self professed lover of books i make it a point to visit the annual book fair in my city. It's almost a ritual. I visited this year's on Sunday. Much of it was deja vu. Same smells, same sights, same crowd. I

wandered quite purposelessly, wasn't hunting for anything particular. I followed my parents just like an obedient toddler, seeing what they wanted me to see. But it wasn't all dull. Mortification awaited me when my father led me to the NCERT bookstall, showing me the books i "hadn't read". He made a few loud observations as well...someone in the other end of the city might not have heard if they were showering at that time with their music system on full blast. The drive back home was long and urghh bumpy. My brother had got his headphones on and i resorted to exchanging smses with my friend. She wouldn't believe that i hadnt found a book to buy. Atypical, she wrote. That annoyed me so i spent rest of the journey, concentrating on not bumping my head and drowning myself in thoughts. The only thing that stops me from wearing a helmet when Papa drives, is that he might not take it too well. I was much amused by a recent newspap

er report about this supposedly dead man in one of the villages in Bengal. En route to the burning ghats, he sat up, asking the pallbearers for water. He was much angry at his son for all the fuss. It cracked me up as i played numerous versions of it in my mind. I was really tired when we finally reached home, and then Papa informed us that we would have to go with him on the doctor's club picnic with family(I say informed, well he actually had posed it as a question creating the illusion of a choice, but there was no opting out )

Ah PICNIC- such a silly, funny little word. Lunch baskets, mats, badminton rackets, a mild Jan afternoon, an idyllic setting, and people.Picnics are much too contrived to be any fun. So we reach there(after another bumpy ride and my father nudging me to concentrate on the route) and Papa introduces and i hear my brother and myself mumbling shy namasteys and stuff. When i was younger, i used to find it difficult to namaste people i hardly knew, with age hypocrisy becomes easier to

adapt to. The place was a splendid village, a beautiful afternoon straight out of a Jane Austen novel. There also was a Snake House,the "vishesh akorshon(special attraction)". After the namasteys and fake smiles, we entered their abode, more like invaded their listless afternoon. They all looked stoned, perhaps they had a

rave at night.Some hissed at the guide, who was picking them up with a large rod, forcing the otherwise uninterested reptiles to show some sign of movement. I was thinking of course of Harry Potter and the Philsopher's Stone, but the Brazilian Boa Constrictor was not in the house and the other snakes were not well versed in Parseltongue.I didn't miss the irony- the inmates of the "house" caged while the "intruders" moved about leisurely. The funny thing was that the Snakes were sharing their apartments with birds. They had separate rooms of course. It was the first time that I had seen love birds.

They were pretty. But i liked the blue finch better. I also saw a Turkey(pic on the left) for the first time. He was a show off through and through. My brother wondered aloud how people could eat the bird. I was pretty clueless myself. As we took their leave, i had little inkling that the best part of the day was over. The spot that had been chosen for the picnic was a lovely garden. Not very ostentatious or exotic, kinda just right. I would have loved to just lie there with headphones in my ears and a P G Wodehouse infront of my nose but there wasn''t much chance of that happening. So instead i found myself miserably trying to hit a plastic cock, against the wind while my brother kept smashing it mercilessly at the other end. There also was an exclusive ladies special round of musical chairs, unique in that, at times everyone stopped moving altogether. The "gents" had a football match. The duration in commensurate with their stamina was decided to be of fifteen minutes. Uncoordinated was the buzz word. Most members of the "gents" teams looked like they had a football tucked under their tee shirts(it was hard to tell whether they were playing in two teams, cause everybody was aiming for the same goal post) but i hadn't seen such energy in my father. He looked so alien in a football field, his face flushed with energy. It's funny how we can't see our parents to be anything other than our parents. After the match one of the kids sneaked off the microphone and started singing songs from behind a tree. That sort of inspired the other kids as well and they all took turns to singing. The sort of thing we were supposed to go all awww and ooooh and aaaaah and hahaha about. Only i couldn't. Croaky children with microphone is a bad idea. After that, we had run out of things to amuse ourselves with. The we being the "family". The doctors had a booze party going on side by side. No boredom there. The remaining hours were excruciatingly long and slow. The aunties were having the same oft repeated conversation i have grown up hearing. My brother, my sole source of entertainment failed me too. It took too long for the thing to come to an end, too long to reach home and too long for me to write about. The good thing about the Sunday- Federer won the Australian Open in straight sets. Yay!