Analysis of the Awkward
A brief guide to uncomfortability
“A bleak figure tumbled into the room. Its hair was all messed up, one eye bleary and the other half-closed. It stood dizzily, partly shimmering under the broken lamp. All of a sudden, a middle-aged man entered into the picture, running around the room in panic, clutching his head and screaming in a wild kind of frenzy. That’s the kind of effect Quarantine had on my family. With each passing hour, the tension in the air was shooting up like the pressure in a rice cooker. Time slowed down. It seemed to contemplate and enjoy a fresh breath of air.
Meanwhile, with all that time in hand, WhatsApp was literally on fire and phones buzzed non-stop. Mothers turned into teenagers once again. Favourite food recipes were dug out and rooms were done up. Even fathers grew happy, proud and inwardly expectant.
Eventually, the fizz died out, and all that remained were the dark, awkward moments. Everyone’s lives took a back seat to the boredom lurking around, causing seemingly inconvenient and unpleasant situations at home.”
The conversation was flowing like wine, freely yet fluently. The Tamil was in its full form, finding its whole wide range with all its associated aspects — the energy, the extreme emphasis on certain syllables, the grunge noises, the volume, the exuberance and the numbing impact it had on lesser mortals.
Extraordinary, little-known words ricocheted off the walls and bumped into one another, morphing into new words. The furniture, unused to anything but a stodgy silence, vibrated gently as if caught in a tremor that would register at least a 4.3 on the Richter scale
I turned my head from one person to another, trying to keep up with the conversation. But it was a futile attempt. The words were fiercely proud and unforgiving — they cared only for the true-blooded, leaving others flustered. I followed a few bits of the conversation but most of it passed over my head. Frequently, a wave of laughter erupted and rang out like temple bells. I too then smiled, not wishing to be left out.
But I remained on the sidelines, like a puppy on the beach entranced by the waves but wary about wading right in. When suddenly asked a question, though, I gulped with uncertainty and fear, as if the pup had just seen a huge wave racing towards it.
I stared at my family members, flabbergasted, as my mom came to my rescue and translated it into a makeshift Tanglish which I could comprehend. I then came up with a reply in my own soft, drab tone that stuck out noticeably.
Soon, however, a lull began to brew amidst the dying conversations. It wasn’t long before the awkwardness struck home, causing the talks to be resumed with a falter, but this time with renewed vigour.
‘Good morning!’ chirped Amma, smiling sweetly in my direction. My eyes popped out in amazement.
What was happening? Why this morning, this milk and honey?
I stared at her, nonplussed. But I couldn’t just stand there blankly.
One had to be civil and respond suitably. I had barely opened my mouth when a voice flat and hard as a stove lid responded from behind me.
‘Good morning, madam.’
It was the maid, the real intended recipient of my mom’s greeting. How blessed was I that I had not actually replied!
I cringed as I visualized my mom cocking her head and remarking, ‘I was not talking to you, I was talking to her,’ possibly accompanied by the maid’s giggle.
Even as the main players of the day fraternized, I shuffled my feet and sidled away, heart pounding slightly but feeling immensely relieved. Thus I kept counting my life’s little blessings.
This afternoon, I was woken up by the incessant ringing of the doorbell. I climbed out of the cottony paradise, walked groggily to the door and opened it. There was no one outside. I slammed it closed and stomped back to the bed. A few minutes later, it rang again and I heard the sound of footsteps receding hastily. As I stormed to the door once again, I noticed that my mom and sister were also up by this nasty little prank.
Annoyed, we lay in wait. Just as the bell rang again, we opened the door and saw the ugly brat scampering away to his big brother in the lobby. I charged after him and complained to his brother, who then enquired about his mischief.
The pesky kid shook his head vigorously and pleaded innocence.
Perfect. A liar and a nuisance, I thought to myself.
As much as I would have liked to clip the kid on the side of his fat head, I had to leave it like that.
It is said that Lord Shiva had a third eye on his forehead which could spew fire and turn the unlucky into ashes.
My family and I took a vow that day that every time we spot this notorious kid lurking, we would turn our two regular eyes into Shiva’s and focus destruction on him.
For a brief moment, I contemplated and pondered over life’s unanswered questions, science’s unexplainable theories and society’s unneeded restrictions, just to find some meaning amongst all this purposelessness.
This constant urge to be free from boredom eventually leads to boredom itself. This blend of boredom and occasional wisdom is what all our lives have been so far. One such kernel of wisdom being…
There is immense happiness in not being someone, not wanting something, not going somewhere, but to just live and love the everyday.
These little insignificant moments help us break from the routine, enjoy each passing second and appreciate this beautiful journey called life.
This article was written in collaboration with K Shreyas Mahesh
