My Fan conked off...again...about a week back. Of course, this time I knew the tricks of the trade - deep breathing, keeping the doors and windows open, greeting and entertaining all who entered and enquired and mocked the situation.
It took just 3 trips of complaint registration.
The repair-men fortunately came at a time when I was in the room. Orrr...I stayed back in the room long enough so that they would be able to do their job. There was the stunning chinky guy with a stunning red tee; and the morose bengali man with the dingy bengali kurta. When the chinky dropped a washer, it hopped on the floor like a juvenile, rolling down to an unreachable part under the bed (Of course in a 3m X 4m space, you can't have many exasperating cases of Murphy's Law). As a contrast (I am sure you are enjoying the similie), the scotch tape that the senior passed looked so sad, stretched and plastered over a knife, all sticky. And we all know how that feels...
Ever wondered how dreadful a workshift they have to put up with ? In every room they enter, the fan / light has crumbled. It is like they are living in a parallel universe, where the gamut of electrical gadgets refuse to function. What a life !
A quasi profession would be that of the house-bai. At home, I make a face every time she enters the room for 'jhaadu', because it means a temporary lacuna in fan-ning. For her it is a permanent state - every room is a static space. She glances bashfully at the television and sweeps at a slower pace, while I lie prostrate, flipping at 2 ch/sec. We follow these little etiquettes - like not opening Kurkures and hogging food when the Bai is around. I wonder if it makes any difference to her.
My fan is working now (again), and even the tiny bit of pity/concern/sympathy (fake or real) has now abated. Guilt for lack of altruism is unbearable...
It took just 3 trips of complaint registration.
The repair-men fortunately came at a time when I was in the room. Orrr...I stayed back in the room long enough so that they would be able to do their job. There was the stunning chinky guy with a stunning red tee; and the morose bengali man with the dingy bengali kurta. When the chinky dropped a washer, it hopped on the floor like a juvenile, rolling down to an unreachable part under the bed (Of course in a 3m X 4m space, you can't have many exasperating cases of Murphy's Law). As a contrast (I am sure you are enjoying the similie), the scotch tape that the senior passed looked so sad, stretched and plastered over a knife, all sticky. And we all know how that feels...
Ever wondered how dreadful a workshift they have to put up with ? In every room they enter, the fan / light has crumbled. It is like they are living in a parallel universe, where the gamut of electrical gadgets refuse to function. What a life !
A quasi profession would be that of the house-bai. At home, I make a face every time she enters the room for 'jhaadu', because it means a temporary lacuna in fan-ning. For her it is a permanent state - every room is a static space. She glances bashfully at the television and sweeps at a slower pace, while I lie prostrate, flipping at 2 ch/sec. We follow these little etiquettes - like not opening Kurkures and hogging food when the Bai is around. I wonder if it makes any difference to her.
My fan is working now (again), and even the tiny bit of pity/concern/sympathy (fake or real) has now abated. Guilt for lack of altruism is unbearable...
good concept of parallel universe fa an occupation.. fear ur occupation doesnt end up being another one working in parallel universes..
ReplyDeleteglad to see you havent lost your touch... :)
ReplyDeleteHey, fundoo blog. Really liked quite a few articles. The one on Fiat, the sn hall day, the latest one. Had heard a lot about ur writings, read them for the first time. Good work man. You just added another fan to ur fan's-list.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
ReplyDeleteI am glad that for every person who knows it is bad, there is another who thinks it is good :)