So I was mortified when a totally unanticipated spurt of monsoon weather last week conspired to put me in a situation where I was forced to dabble in this most awkward of social customs. One of those freakish rain bursts last week forced me to park my bike on the side of the road and take shelter in a small space amongst others waiting out the rain. It was here that my monsoon misfortune was compounded when I discovered a former acquaintance amongst this motley crew of fellow sufferers. He was the sort of barely known acquaintance that is hard to clearly bracket into family, friend, or work circles and to make things worse the rain didn't look like it was letting up anytime soon. It was time for small talk!
We shook hands and he started off with the most common and frankly most irritating social nicety that we indulge in. 'Have you had your lunch?' Yes. 'Have You? Yes. Thank God! Believe it or not I've never had anyone say no. I'm not even sure why I (we) ask this question? What difference does it make? It's not like we ever feel obliged to feed them if they haven't had their daily bread. I mean, there are other things I might care about but being concerned about the feat of speaking to someone on an empty stomach certainly isn't one of them. Anyway the conversation subsided after this initial exchange, and after a few seconds of an uneasy bilateral silence I found myself getting anxious and thinking what next?
I had just cause for alarm because in Nepal most cases of small talk will inevitably begin with either a flattering or embarrassing observation followed by a remark on your appearance in general and/or your girth in particular. These, often intrusive, observations can come even from acquaintances and there is really nothing that is off limits. Even if conversations do not follow the above mentioned template then they will eventually meander towards it, if the awkwardness persists.
A loud bugle call went off in my head calling me to action before I was subject to embarrassment over my love for unhealthy food and indifference to exercise in front of these keen eared people. I didn't want to be told in a social setting, what is blindingly obvious in my case, which made it necessary for me to initiate a topic. It was stupid talking about the weather seeing that we were in our current predicament due to it. Sports was no good as the cricket hadn't started yet, and in the political sphere our 'netas' were actually showing some real intent on the constitutional front.
So I got around to the topic that has – quite ironically – emerged as a lifesaver of sorts. 'Where were you during the earthquake?' Ah! Now finally there was something he could talk about while I simultaneously faked my enthusiasm and hoped that the rain would let up by the time he was finished. I could finally just be the good listener that the Mrs always hoped I would be. All that was required of me was to nod my head and occasionally go 'Tyei Ta'.
I could pose three open-ended questions (one for each big tremor) and hope it would take him till the rain stopped to go through his anecdotes. But to my surprise his uneventful experiences made mine look like something out of Indiana Jones. So it all finished rather quickly for my liking. This was getting really tiresome now and I contemplated the ridiculousness of grilling him on his personal experiences of each and every aftershock (in a descending Richter scale of sorts) when respite came from a very unlikely source – the government.
A person, who had been slowly gravitating towards us since the start of our earthquake theme chimed in with a statement about something that would be an instant icebreaker in any part of the world: the government. This brought the rest of the sheltering fellowship to life and soon all of them were suddenly part of the conversation with each person vying to get their two cents in. Phew! Just like that, the pressure was off and I could once again just be a good listener to some good, old fashioned government bashing. No amount of time could possibly do justice to this topic and the citizenry's litany of grievances against any government could easily outlast an entire monsoon.
Mercifully, that wasn't necessary because the rain eventually subsided like the nursery rhyme that implored it to go away and come again another day. Everyone went their separate ways and he parted with the usual 'Bhetdai garum na'. Yeah, Right! I'm either buying a car or donning my raincoat, helmet, shades and my mask when sheltering from the next downpour. I suspect it's going to be the latter and if you see someone dressed like that it might just be me. And as the saying doesn't quite go 'Please be a stranger!'
gunjan.u@gmail.com
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