I come from a family of book lovers - people who literally devour books by the dozen. It is at home that I have always come across books of all kinds - paperback, hardbound, autobiographies, classics, books on history, books on warfare…the list is endless and so when I stumbled upon a well thumbed copy of ‘Vanity Fair’ by William Makepeace Thackeray gathering dust on our rather rickety book shelf, I was not surprised. This, at a time when I was preparing for my impending trip to a far far away land and warnings regarding how lonely one tends to get in a strange country (doled out in large portions by well meaning friends) were still ringing loud in my head, ensured that the battered manuscript found a place in my 'to be shipped' carton. Last week when I finally put down this brilliant piece of work after being at it for almost three weeks, I couldn't help drawing parallels between the characters described in the book and the people I have had to deal with in today’s world. This series is thus a result of this comparison and is dedicated to certain individuals from my everyday life who rarely fail to amaze as well as amuse me with their vanity.
Chapter 1: The General Saahib's daughter
When I ran into a fellow fauji kid on my first day at work in a new city, I felt a surge of relief flood over me. Just so that you know, the fauji-kid club is a tight knit fraternity which nurtures a great sense of camaraderie amongst its members and finding one of my kind in an unknown unfamiliar workplace was a stroke of luck, or so I thought. A rather effusive round of introductions rallied between us in the usual vein - 'Which regiment is your father in, which cantonments have you lived in…Oh, so you must have studied with so and so, which APS did you pass out from….' and on and on we went trying to find as many common threads as possible. As the months rolled by and my interactions with the aforementioned lady became more frequent, I realized (much to my consternation) that she was a compulsive show-off.
Over the next few months, I had the misfortune of enduring her vociferous rants concerning her brilliant brother who had an encyclopedic memory and could spout scientific and historical anecdotes ad infinitum, her super-mom who not only was a university professor with an overly broad minded outlook towards life (she apparently encouraged her daughter to try everything in life including cigarettes, pot, sex etc.) but could also whip up exotic cuisines in a jiffy, shop like a fashionista, design their house along with the architect and fix anything and everything under the sun. As far as Daddy dearest was concerned, there were entire monologues dedicated to him as the charismatic ex army general who could outwit anyone on planet Earth was her absolute favourite. She would bite off your head if you were callous enough to suggest that after retirement Lt. General-Daddy could have transformed into well, a general Daddy and might be relaxing in their multi-roomed mansion possibly spending his retired life playing golf. (Note: Mind you, if you mention the number of rooms in her parents’ house in each conversation, you would qualify for the post of her best buddy). “How could he afford to do that?”, she would screech. After all the world cannot continue to exist without him and his brilliance and so, for the benefit of the world and it's intellectually challenged lesser mortals he had conceded to be on the board of directors for not one, not two but several organisations. While discussing a particularly difficult boss, who happens to be a Senior VP in the 125 year old organization for which we work (imagine how ancient he is), Lady Braggart couldn't stop herself from mentioning how the gentleman in question should not boast about leading a 50 member team in front of her, especially when her own Popsey (father) has commanded 2 lakh Indian troops as a General in the Army. Oh, how my ears bled each day after being subjected to such brutality!!! It was insane how she could chatter on and on about anything remotely related to her.
Her divine self was also nothing less than perfection personified. She had dabbled in everything: all kinds of sports, music, public speaking, dancing…you name it and she had done it. 'We fauji kids can do everything' she opined in public, making me cringe each time the rest of the crowd rolled their eyes at us. I did not want to be blanketed in the same category as her. This is not what I was brought up to believe. There is no doubt that I was always pestered to be an all-rounder but I was also taught softer qualities like humility and modesty. She continued to bore me by regaling stories which invariably ended with her being the toast of the town. Now, something that she was born with was good skin and the looks of a little girl. This was what she used to pull off one 'damsel in distress' act after another to get her work done. I must give her the credit for mastering the art of feigning innocence and helplessness. Many specimen from the male species were ready to slay dragons for her when she batted her eyelashes and spoke in a child-like tenor. Such was her obsession with her trouble free skin that when a lady colleague posed a question about how to treat acne, madam braggart gave a wide eyed, disgusted look making the poor victim conclude that 'pimples' were a revolting disease which struck only the extremely ugly and un-cool people on earth (and maybe the green coloured unattractive aliens from planet gabberdashook).
When Lady Braggart followed me to the far far away land that I spoke about earlier, I was certain that God was trying to punish me for the sins I committed in an earlier life. I was now to be subjected to her inane self-appreciation in a strange foreign accent which she had suddenly acquired during her 2nd week here, perhaps to fit in. This was simply lovely (can you read the exasperation in my voice?). It is during one of these unending monologues of hers that I drifted off and began to wonder what could be the pimples in her life which she was so desperately trying to powder puff ? There were definitely creases which she was trying to smooth by relentlessly trying to prove to the world and herself that her life was perfect.
The answers to my questions hit me one after the other with lightening speed in the next few months. To begin with visiting her house was like visiting the government zoo in India. The place stank!!! Not just that, I challenge you to find one clean surface inside her house to park your backside on and if you do I will give you a standing ovation. Noticing the disdain writ large on my face, she immediately started rambling about how they have always had sahayak bhaiyyas doing all the menial jobs at home and as a result she is not used to doing these chores on her own. It was also a mystery to me why she had the most unhealthy lifestyle and habits even though her father was such a steadfast army man? Aren't people and families of people from the forces supposed to be extremely disciplined in all respects? Her refrigerator offered nothing healthy and I could only spot tins of cheese, cakes of butter, frozen pizza, ice cream and other nightmarish food stashed in it. An hour later as my bladder demanded, I gingerly made my way to her bathroom hoping against hopes not to come across any more horrors. As I surveyed the bathroom, I spotted something that made me sad. There standing tall on her shelf were endless anti hair fall products along with a hair brush jammed with already martyred hair strands. This was the final answer to my questions. I was now privy to a lot of secret holes in her personality that she was trying to gloss over.
I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Here was a poor soul who would give an arm and a leg to ensure that people outside did not perceive her as a normal human-being with flaws. How I wished she could understand that No one is perfect! The art of being able to laugh at yourself is worth learning as humour is most certainly the best medicine. I hope someday she would be able to let her guard down and enjoy who she already is rather than trying to be little Ms. Perfect. Till then, my advice to all those who are unfortunate enough to be associated with her in one way or another, please buy good quality ear plugs…This would be an investment you wouldn't regret :))
Chapter 1: The General Saahib's daughter
When I ran into a fellow fauji kid on my first day at work in a new city, I felt a surge of relief flood over me. Just so that you know, the fauji-kid club is a tight knit fraternity which nurtures a great sense of camaraderie amongst its members and finding one of my kind in an unknown unfamiliar workplace was a stroke of luck, or so I thought. A rather effusive round of introductions rallied between us in the usual vein - 'Which regiment is your father in, which cantonments have you lived in…Oh, so you must have studied with so and so, which APS did you pass out from….' and on and on we went trying to find as many common threads as possible. As the months rolled by and my interactions with the aforementioned lady became more frequent, I realized (much to my consternation) that she was a compulsive show-off.
Over the next few months, I had the misfortune of enduring her vociferous rants concerning her brilliant brother who had an encyclopedic memory and could spout scientific and historical anecdotes ad infinitum, her super-mom who not only was a university professor with an overly broad minded outlook towards life (she apparently encouraged her daughter to try everything in life including cigarettes, pot, sex etc.) but could also whip up exotic cuisines in a jiffy, shop like a fashionista, design their house along with the architect and fix anything and everything under the sun. As far as Daddy dearest was concerned, there were entire monologues dedicated to him as the charismatic ex army general who could outwit anyone on planet Earth was her absolute favourite. She would bite off your head if you were callous enough to suggest that after retirement Lt. General-Daddy could have transformed into well, a general Daddy and might be relaxing in their multi-roomed mansion possibly spending his retired life playing golf. (Note: Mind you, if you mention the number of rooms in her parents’ house in each conversation, you would qualify for the post of her best buddy). “How could he afford to do that?”, she would screech. After all the world cannot continue to exist without him and his brilliance and so, for the benefit of the world and it's intellectually challenged lesser mortals he had conceded to be on the board of directors for not one, not two but several organisations. While discussing a particularly difficult boss, who happens to be a Senior VP in the 125 year old organization for which we work (imagine how ancient he is), Lady Braggart couldn't stop herself from mentioning how the gentleman in question should not boast about leading a 50 member team in front of her, especially when her own Popsey (father) has commanded 2 lakh Indian troops as a General in the Army. Oh, how my ears bled each day after being subjected to such brutality!!! It was insane how she could chatter on and on about anything remotely related to her.
Her divine self was also nothing less than perfection personified. She had dabbled in everything: all kinds of sports, music, public speaking, dancing…you name it and she had done it. 'We fauji kids can do everything' she opined in public, making me cringe each time the rest of the crowd rolled their eyes at us. I did not want to be blanketed in the same category as her. This is not what I was brought up to believe. There is no doubt that I was always pestered to be an all-rounder but I was also taught softer qualities like humility and modesty. She continued to bore me by regaling stories which invariably ended with her being the toast of the town. Now, something that she was born with was good skin and the looks of a little girl. This was what she used to pull off one 'damsel in distress' act after another to get her work done. I must give her the credit for mastering the art of feigning innocence and helplessness. Many specimen from the male species were ready to slay dragons for her when she batted her eyelashes and spoke in a child-like tenor. Such was her obsession with her trouble free skin that when a lady colleague posed a question about how to treat acne, madam braggart gave a wide eyed, disgusted look making the poor victim conclude that 'pimples' were a revolting disease which struck only the extremely ugly and un-cool people on earth (and maybe the green coloured unattractive aliens from planet gabberdashook).
When Lady Braggart followed me to the far far away land that I spoke about earlier, I was certain that God was trying to punish me for the sins I committed in an earlier life. I was now to be subjected to her inane self-appreciation in a strange foreign accent which she had suddenly acquired during her 2nd week here, perhaps to fit in. This was simply lovely (can you read the exasperation in my voice?). It is during one of these unending monologues of hers that I drifted off and began to wonder what could be the pimples in her life which she was so desperately trying to powder puff ? There were definitely creases which she was trying to smooth by relentlessly trying to prove to the world and herself that her life was perfect.
The answers to my questions hit me one after the other with lightening speed in the next few months. To begin with visiting her house was like visiting the government zoo in India. The place stank!!! Not just that, I challenge you to find one clean surface inside her house to park your backside on and if you do I will give you a standing ovation. Noticing the disdain writ large on my face, she immediately started rambling about how they have always had sahayak bhaiyyas doing all the menial jobs at home and as a result she is not used to doing these chores on her own. It was also a mystery to me why she had the most unhealthy lifestyle and habits even though her father was such a steadfast army man? Aren't people and families of people from the forces supposed to be extremely disciplined in all respects? Her refrigerator offered nothing healthy and I could only spot tins of cheese, cakes of butter, frozen pizza, ice cream and other nightmarish food stashed in it. An hour later as my bladder demanded, I gingerly made my way to her bathroom hoping against hopes not to come across any more horrors. As I surveyed the bathroom, I spotted something that made me sad. There standing tall on her shelf were endless anti hair fall products along with a hair brush jammed with already martyred hair strands. This was the final answer to my questions. I was now privy to a lot of secret holes in her personality that she was trying to gloss over.
I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Here was a poor soul who would give an arm and a leg to ensure that people outside did not perceive her as a normal human-being with flaws. How I wished she could understand that No one is perfect! The art of being able to laugh at yourself is worth learning as humour is most certainly the best medicine. I hope someday she would be able to let her guard down and enjoy who she already is rather than trying to be little Ms. Perfect. Till then, my advice to all those who are unfortunate enough to be associated with her in one way or another, please buy good quality ear plugs…This would be an investment you wouldn't regret :))
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