Big fat ten

Last Friday, The Dude and I completed 10 years of legal togetherness. It was a nice day. We took the day off and then went to our new house because the designers were to have a final look and collect the keys from us to finally start the interiors. And for once, they reached before us on time, which was like a gift in itself, because come on, who does that anymore anyway? So we met them, and were entering the building when we realised that we had forgotten something small – small in size and not importance (unfortunately) – the keys. So we drove all the way back through the traffic and got them keys. In the middle of all this I took a work call I had been anticipating all morning, and that lasted 3 minutes.

Then we went to this little cafe on the way, called the Driven cafe. It has like this bike/car theme to it, you know where all the decor is essentially from a garage? But it was nice. We decided to go sit upstairs because we assumed it would be nicer. It was alright. There was a guy sitting there scrolling through his phone with earplugs and a T-shirt with the cafe name on. So we waited for him to turn around and maybe get a menu or something because we have seen restaurants and cafes do that in the past. But that didn’t happen, so I sat and clicked pictures of the place and The Dude went down to find out that it was all self-service and the menu was on the blackboard, which I thought was very European, and also very lazy.

Then we ordered some coffee, I was about to order the regular Americano I prefer at cafes when I saw an ‘Indie-Americano’. I had to ask ofcourse, because this was 30 bucks or 45% more expensive that the former. The lady nicely told me that they would add haldi to the black coffee. I don’t know if you know that I am quite adventurous and a real risk taker when it comes to trying new food, but this was way too much for me. I mean 30 Rupees for a pinch of haldi in my black coffee is worse than that whole haldi doodh being sold as turmeric latter drama. So I refused it and went ahead with my regular Americano.

I also had red velvet cake and cream cheese in a jar, which was quite awesome but paled in comparison to the weather outside – grey and rainy. It was also absolutely peaceful – because we were inside. The place was playing the kind of music that kids these days listen to, but we were ok because the alternative was to hear the cars honking on the busy street. We spent a good 2 hours chatting and talking nonstop,  before we got back home to sleep for a while, which meant I slept and The Dude sat and scrolled through his phone, which is also the usual meaning of afternoon siestas in our household.

In the evening, we had decided on a nice place for dinner to celebrate. I had bought a dress for this, which is pretty much a lie because I had generally bought a dress which I do quite regularly because Online shopping is so awesome and it was just that I hadn’t worn it as yet. Just like the other few clothes I haven’t worn as yet, but this one made the cut and was deemed as my anniversary dress because we do things like that.

The place was nice, the food was good, though the portions were sort of small. I really didn’t mind it as much because that would mean 1) I would have space for dessert, something I miss every time despite my love for sweets because I am already too full by the time we reach the end 2) I wouldn’t end up with a balloon of a stomach destroying my ‘outfit’. Anyhow, it was a good evening, filled with a lot of talking and random discussions and before we knew it was almost 11 and time to head back home.

At home we sat for maybe another hour or so in our beautiful 19th floor balcony, talking and chatting about work, and the house and Zo, before we finally headed back to bed, content. The good part was that I felt it had been a happy day, one well spent.

The best part was that it felt exactly like every single day I have spent with this guy in the past 10 years.



June baraabar June

You have to believe me when I say that I have started a post multiple times in this last month and none of them ever got published because, well, because I can get moronic about what goes out on here. Before you even mentally make a any remark bordering on ‘this is what comes out after screening?’, I will quickly divert your attention to the nicer things that have happened!

Like this lovely award from the equally lovely Shweta! And might I add in a moment of immodesty, the second time it has been passed on to me, making it all the more precious!

So of course accepting the award had it’s set of rules to be followed, of which I only adhered to the questions bit last time. I thought of doing the same thing this time around as well, and when I started answering the questions, Around question no. 3 I realized that my post had started sounding very much like an inspirational speech by Mata Divyamayi and this point, combined with how my frequency here has dwindled to less than once a month, could be hazardous to my very existence. So I quit.

And instead thought of recording some stuff I am not allowed to forget.

In the facts category, June was an extremely happening month with the whole family stepping into a new routine because Zo, wait for it, started school. Yes yes, take your time to get over the initial shock. But yeah my itty bitty Zo wears a uniform and sits in class for 3 hours every day and ‘learns’ stuff. However, the school is one of those ‘we want the children to absorb at their own pace’ and ‘we believe each child is measured only against himself’ and ‘blah-di-blah’ kinds, so it works well for my Zo-who-gets-bored-easily. Anyway, the new routine took a while to kick in and still has hiccups but we are happy to report, it’s functional.

In the observation category, what is with the constant whining about childhoods being ruined by technology and internet and smartphones and blah? Really? Are we saying that our kids aren’t ‘enjoying’ their childhood the way we did because all this extra stuff is available? Reeeeallly? I mean so TV is available 24X7, so where does it say they have to see it all the time? I think we should thank our stars the content is good (Baby TV and Disney Junior have taught Zo better English than I can expect, plus all those counting and guessing games are fun), because when I was a kid I watched Ramayana and Mahabharata and then waited for that ONE hour of Ducktales and Talespin. In Hindi.

Also, about they getting their hands on smartphones and ipads this early, ok fine, then don’t let them have the stuff! The only time I am guilty of doing this is when I really need time off for something else like work or a quick nap. And honestly, she prefers play-doh to all this. Even when does watch stuff on the ipad, she is back in sometime wanting to play ‘Bat-ball’. In any case, I still see hundreds of children (literally) in the play area every evening playing exactly how we did. So please don’t share that picture of a Lama kid with a sparrow and that of a city kid with an iphone because YOU gave him the iPhone. Also, bullshit we played with sparrows (actually, I did, a lot, but that was before I kinda started disliking birds and the mess they create).

Anyway, I do have some rules like I haven’t taken Zo to the movies yet, because it’s too loud, plus she gets bored soon, also I hate being an nuisance to the rest of the people (totally judge people who get little kids along, sorry), so it isn’t that I am chilled out about everything. Just clarifying.

Fact point 2 was that the Dude and I finished 7 years of marriage! *Drumrolls* My company gifts us a dinner at a lavish place which is how we brought in the day. On the actual day, I had a holiday (which I thought was unfair because I had planned to take the day off anyway and the whole company got the day off. Hmph.) and so did Zo, but The Dude didn’t but he chose to work from home, so I spent my day trying to keep Zo away from the Smartcard through which The Dude had connected to work. T’was fun. I also cooked my first non-vegetarian dish, a baked cheese chicken thing I picked off the internet and The Dude conceded it was good. Like he had a choice.

Finally, The Dude closed June by gallivanting off to Goa with his college friends leaving me in charge of Zo. Fortunately, I developed a sudden interest in shopping online (the online part being the new thing) and wasted quite some time doing virtual window shopping with the Lil Sis trying to use up the 40% weekend discounts. I also tried real shopping at some sales that started, but I forgot that Zo and Sales do not go together, and it doesn’t really help if there is this little thing pulling you towards kids clothes aisles saying , ‘mera clothes dekho‘ all the time. It certainly helped her, because we only bought her stuff.

By that equation, June was a busy month. But it is over now. So is half the year. And as always, it’s scary how time passes. Eep. Sometimes I don’t like it. Some times I just want it to go by even faster. Sometimes, I really don’t give a damn.

And those days are my favorite kind. I just hope that every day in the rest of this year falls under this bucket.

What I learnt from the Mumbai trip

In no particular order –

Reading has potential to make a comeback in my life – Or, I still like reading. I know that is hard to believe, going by my pathetic track record recently, but I realized that give me a good book, and leave me somewhere Zo-less, and I go back to my old ‘Just-this-chapter-and-then-I-will-sleep-I-promise ‘self. That being said, I hate being Zo-less, and would never have such phases if given a choice, so not much reading is happening in the near future. But it did make me feel good when I finished my book in two days flat. Of which the first half I spent in shameless TV watching.

Shopping alone can be dangerous – Actually, letting me shop alone can be dangerous. Because apparently, I am a shopaholic, sans the Dude. What has happened is, within a year of me starting to work and making money, I started seeing The Dude. Now I distinctly remember making rash, impulsive spends in the first year. But since then, I have been alright. Not good, alright. And this Friday, when I was in a mall in Mumbai, with 4 hours to while away, no Dude, and empty trial rooms, I pretty much went berserk. It was like I was on a rampage and all I could see was clothes, clothes and more clothes and there was nothing I seemed to not like. So I shopped away. I however think it is important I mention that I do not regret any of the buys, which balances out everything else, not.

Coffee shops are overrated – This did not however stop me from buying myself an ‘indulgent’ (as a friend put it) Vanilla Latte, and later a White Café Mocha at the Gloria Beans Coffee outlet, sipping it and sitting for close to an hour, each time, reading a book and observing the people go by. Only the indulgent coffee was meh, not bad, but meh. And I do not sip coffee; I gulp it, because who wants lukewarm coffee? And also, there was no observing people go by, because I was diligently reading my book like my life depended on it, fervently hoping the café guy would not ask me to leave, and intermittently looking up to see how laughed so loud, or whose heels were going clippety-clop, or wondering how kids these days have so much time while away, and why all women in Mumbai seemed so impeccably dressed, for shopping, on a weekday. So, the experience was, I wouldn’t say bad, but not so romantic either.

Fish Fillet can be tawa fried fish (with extra salt) – Or, while in Rome, order Roman cuisine. Or a sandwich, that usually works everywhere. Don’t go about getting over-excited and saying ‘Oh, let’s try Italian aloo ka paratha and lassi man!’ It will suck. Like my Fish Fillet did, in my very basic, local official hotel. With its meh Lemon sauce; which was a lot of lime juice in butter. If you’re hell bent upon fish, order Fish fry, or Goan fish curry. And steamed rice. It might work better. Or better still stick to Dal Tadka, and Aaloo jeera.

Your Sabudana wada might not be what you think it is – It could be cutlet. Your second round, because you already ate cutlet in the first round when the guy from the Pantry was selling it. Now this new guy got in at this station and will get down before the next, so ensure that when you order sabudana wada, you open the packet and see it is that. Else it will be Cutlet, which is not bad, but you already had enough cutlets. And before you can protest, the guy would have disappeared. So you are left with Cutlet round 2. And since you don’t waste food, you will have to eat it anyway.

Train-rides are underrated – Because I love trains. And in good weather, there is no beating them. From the constant ‘Khatak-khatak Khatak-khatak’ of the tracks, to the continuous rocking, to the views from the window, to the inflow of yummy, unhealthy goodies, to the dim lights just enough for some reading, I like it all. The star of my trip this time has to be the ‘garama garma cheese toast’ which is a cheesy, oily, sinfully tasty ‘bread and cheese thing’, which I wish I could have gotten back for The Dude, who loves junk as much as I do.

Some friends are impossible – And crazy. Like this one, who travelled 3 hours, in the (stupid) Mumbai rains through all the nonsensical traffic to spend some time with me? I had long back given up on meeting her, and even told her she could go back, because honestly, that’s what I would have done. I might not have even started. But she didn’t. She came, we chatted, for a third of the time she spent travelling, and at the end it made me feel very happy, and also very-very selfish. But like I said, some friends are crazy, and I am very sane, and selfish.

Travels are experiences to cherish – However short, to wherever, even if you are alone. Now this is downright bullshit. Because I know that if I am travelling alone, it always sucks, however exotic the place, however short the trip. But I am saying this here only because it is possible that I read through this someday, and I am too busy to go into the detail so I skim the heads, and the first lines, and I am like ‘Oh look, I enjoy travel, even if it is alone’ and go ahead and live through the torture, and later get back and smack my forehead wondering what I was thinking. Because there might be travel (alone, of course) coming up in the near future and I need positive thoughts.

Blogs are fun – This was not something I learnt from Mumbai, this is something I learnt right now. No seriously, not that I did not think this before but it has never been more relevant because I mean, if not for you readers, who else do you think would sit through so much hogwash? For that alone, I hope you have a short week ahead. Also because I already have one.

Let them eat cake

Today, The Dude turns *beep*.

Ok, fine, it’s his birthday. We shouldn’t be concentrating on numbers and other such nuances now, should we? So we stick to wishing him a very Happy Birthday.

We brought it in a half hour early, at 11 30 PM, because that was how long I could convince him to stay up for cutting the cake. Now we have this whole ‘Surprise’ cake cutting every year, for our birthdays and anniversaries. The quotes are justified by the fact that this was in fact, every year. The logistical arrangements were managed by my brother in law. You only had to tell him what flavor, and that too became redundant once the picks were known, and he would get them on time.

But as time passed, the surprise bit went deeper into quotes. By default, we would know there was going to be cake. In fact, The Dude for my birthday, started doing a pre-drama of ‘Do we have to do this anymore’ to ensure that I was worked up enough and actually at least a bit surprised when the cake arrived. It worked too, I think once. And then we ran out of ideas.

The last I remember is our anniversary, where my Mother-in-law asked my Brother-in-law to pick up the cake, and he walked to our room and asked us if we wanted anything from outside, since he was anyway going to get our ‘Surprise’ Cake. And I thought the concept of a surprise couldn’t evolve further

Yesterday, it did, like the Dude said. So I was supposed to pick up the cake on my way back from work. I knew The Dude was home early thanks to Lord Ganesha. I managed to leave an hour earlier than my usual time, and was met with villainous glares from those in the team who had to stay back. But I had good reason.

I walked down to the bike stand, while rummaging my bag for the key. It wasn’t there. It happens with me often, so I was convinced it would still on the bike. It wasn’t. After a panic stricken 10 minute search I called the Dude and asked him to get me the spare. He did. I then asked him to carry on and that I would follow.

‘Why?’ He asked.

‘I have some work’.

‘What Work?’


Now at this point, I knew that he knew that I wanted to pick up cake. But he wanted me to say it. So I did. And then he did a bit of a coy drama on what was the point. Anyway, I finally asked him to go ahead and said I will get the cake.

But no sir. If that’s how our life worked, wouldn’t we be, well, we would be in the same position, so scratch that. He slowed down the car mid-way and said, ‘let’s try the new cake place; we can walk to there after parking the vehicles.’

I agreed. We went home, parked, he again did a drama of ‘Let’s cut the choco-pie at home’ and I threatened him saying I would order cake from some fancy delivery place which would cost a helluva more and we finally walked to the ‘Bakers Basket’ and got what was available.

And, he swiped the card. So basically, he bought his own ‘surprise birthday cake’. And he has mentioned it a couple of times despairing what the world has come to, if the birthday boy is made to pay for his own cake. I think he believes this is how far it can go.

And just to prove him wrong, I am thinking I will already put a reminder on his phone for next year

“Order and pick up your birthday cake. Check what flavor with the wife”

Come to think of it,  that might actually bring back some bit of the surprise.

Of hope, optimism and Monday morning mails

I have very meticulously, and for the first time in my 8 years of work life, made folders in my mailbox. They look nice, alphabetically arranged, tiny yellow rectangles. I did this on Friday afternoon, when I had a good hour of nothing to do, because we are back to the ‘My work depends on your work so do your work and give it to me no don’t stick to your end of day deadline because then that means I have to sit beyond mine’ days. Anyway, not only did I do that, but I also created rules, which auto forward mails from specific senders into the respective folders. Neat stuff. And I don’t care if these features have been there forever. What matters is I know them now, and they are super cool.

Back to the folders, I have typical ones, one for the team, one for the clients, one for the bosses, one for Org announcements, and one personal. Now this is a very useful feature especially in my context because I am known for my panic attacks. Especially Monday mornings, when I have been away from all things work for a whole 2 days. So when I login, the first thing I check is just how many mails have I received while I was away. Now Outlook is not that fast also, so I keep staring at that ‘updating folder’ status bar thing at the bottom, until it says ‘All folders are up to date’, and then I look up. And usually, that’s the cue for a panic attack.

Any big number of mails, the definition of which changed from job to job, role to role, situation to situation, and I am like ‘Oh God how do I read it all at once and respond before they come back saying I am slow doesn’t matter they are in the US and fast asleep‘. Only to realise as I scroll through that 80% of it is chain mails between my group of friends from college/blogs/old job/old team etc. You get the draft. And then I am like ‘Phew Ctrl+Alt+Del’, let me get a coffee.’ No, green tea.

So yes, back to the usefulness of these folders. Now that my personal mails are nicely forwarded to my personal folder, as are the rest, I can panic in moderation. I mean, have an updated set of upper limits for each folder, and then decide whether or not it deserves panic. While I do feel it kills the presence of hope (where you see a 100 mails but there is still hope most are not work related), here you know exactly what they would be. But while I keep trying to defend myself against the common perception of my pessimism and cynicism, in this case, I am better off with the hard facts served to me in a platter, rather than having to pick my way through all the condiments before arriving at the concealed reality, which will be there anyway.

Also, as a firm believer in signs, one mail in my personal folder, would pretty much balance out 5 mails in the Client folder. Now this is just psychological, for all you know, eventually the personal mail could be from my some of my friends dis-owning me, and those from the clients could be mails sharing their baby’s pictures, but I am talking mainly of the first impact. So I kinda judge my day based on how active which part of my inbox is.

So, today morning, I was as always greeted with a truckload of mails when I logged in. A lot of them from the Onshore team, and some from the in-house team, and some even from the big bosses.  I had a medium criticality panic attack, before I quickly got down to business, met with the team, we discussed what to say to who, and how. Then I attacked the mails I was expected to respond to, and took my time handling those, by which I mean framed the mail, read it, re-read it, re-framed the mail, and finally saved it in drafts because this would be the response to the response I could get to the mail I just sent. Once done, I got myself a mug of green tea, mailed a couple of my friend groups and felt better.

The day’s been busy since, interviews, meetings, calls. But the personal folder remains highly inactive, not lighting up like it’s counterparts. When I got my second mug of green tea, and settled down, I finally see the Personal folder highlighted and a little (1) next to it. It brought an instant smile, making me wonder what a little thing like that could do to your mood.

The smile became a grin, when I saw who it was from. The Dude. Now he is not much of a mailer. In fact, he is quite a lazy responder too. He hardly calls at work, and when I do, it is usually answered with a hushed ‘I’m on a call will call you back. Click’. In short, we are devoid of any communication at the work place, but I have grown used to it in the 7 years we have been together. But today, the day I was a little blue, one because it’s a Monday and only aliens (and people who have Monday-Tuesday as their weekly offs) can feel bright and happy on this day, and two, because work was really pulling me down, here was a mail, from him, in my personal folder, without me having to say anything to him. And just like that, my Monday got as happy as any Monday can possibly be.

What did it say?

Make Vodafone payment

I know, how romantic, but I choose to look at the brighter side of things. It could be worse, you know, like what if one day God mails me, and I open it all thrilled, and it says ‘ Due to a technical error, this week, we will have two Mondays instead of one’. Just imagine.

And people don’t believe it when I say I am an optimist.

Monsoon Wedding

The day of my Wedding, it rained. It did not rain the day before, or the day after. But on the day of the wedding, it rained like that was the purpose for which this world came into existence in the first place. It started raining in the wee hours of morning, when I struggled to ensure that my freshly washed hair dried enough by itself for it to be twisted into a French plait in time, because a hair dryer would only make it frizzier. It rained as I got into my pattu saree and fretted about how awful the drape was and almost burst into tears that nothing was working fine. It rained as the huge melee of relatives in the house took turns to have a bath and hogged the only mirror, while I was left glowering that no one cared if the bride got ready or not and hello, no bride meant no wedding, so what were they all in a hurry to get ready for themselves?

It rained as we quickly piled into the cars that would take us to the venue. It rained the whole way, while I worried that we would be late for the muhurat, forgetting that we had decided the muhurat to be ‘when the Bride and Groom would be around and ready’. It rained when I got off the car and started walking towards the mandap, and the photographer chose to protect his equipment from the rain so there are no pictures of that.

It continued raining as my aunt fixed my hair and the drape and I was secretly happy that the groom got delayed, but made up my mind to give him a talking to when he arrived. It rained as we sat through the 2 hour ritual, most of which had me grinning madly, or giggling away at The Dude’s incoherent rendition of the shlokas the priest was reciting. As the smoke from the agni got into my eyes, and the groom escaped the tears thanks to his glasses, I looked out of the window to our right, and it was still raining.

Once we were done the official wedding, all that remained was getting decked up for the Reception in the evening, something I had really planned to do, but the rain hadn’t stopped. The lady from the parlor I paid quite a bit for arrived late, because of the traffic jams in the city, thanks to the rain. The beautiful garden setting we had decided upon had to be hurriedly moved into halls because it wouldn’t stop raining. And since everyone else decided to delay their arrival to the venue until it stopped raining, the groom was running around doing all the work as it rained. The lady finally arrived and started her work, only to announce that my hair wouldn’t settle down because the rain and humidity had made it too frizzy to style.

It rained as I went through the whole make up ritual only to realise I hated it. It rained as we walked around the hall, and even across the wet gardens to meet the guests because the groom wanted an atypical reception. It rained as my heels dug into wet earth, and my frigging expensive lehenga was dampened on the edges. It was still raining when I took one glance at one of the photographs in the camera and immediately went to wash the goop off my face. It rained as we posed for photographs, the groom bright and happy, the bride glum, make-up less, plain and frizzy haired.

It wasn’t raining as much as we wrapped it for the day, and the guests were leaving. It had completely stopped raining by the time the family left for home loaded with the gifts and the bouquets, the groom settled the bills, and I finally sat down to remove the heeled shoes which had blistered my feet.

Ever since that day, every year I would look out to see if it rained on the day of our Wedding. It never did. Anniversaries came and anniversaries went, and however much we were in the midst of monsoons, on that particular day, there would never be a drop, not one single drop.

Until yesterday. 6 years since that day in June, yesterday,  it rained. Continuously, heavily, the whole time. Just like that day. And it was beautiful.

Just like that day.

On being Marshall and Lily

Everyone wants to be thought of as cool. Yes, everyone. You might disagree. You might scrunch up your nose at the very thought and say “ Not me! I am not one of the wannabe kinds who are forever trying to do what the world deems ‘cool’. But me? Never! I have my own way of life, and I give a damn about what others think.” But.

But, the fact is that it is not the idea of being cool, or being thought of as cool, which you, or anyone is ever against. What you might differ upon, is actually the definition of the term cool.  For some people, doing something that has been deemed cool by a certain person, or group defines the term. Be it a magazine which says skydiving is cool. Or a movie, where all the cool protagonists go on a road-trip in Spain, thereby deeming that cool. And for you, ‘cool’ might be looking down upon all these deemed cool things with unmasked disgust. As simple as that.

Anyway, this post is not about the various interpretations of ‘cool’, though I wholeheartedly agree that I made it pretty much impossible for you to think otherwise. This post is about ‘How I met your mother’.

Yeah, the popular Sitcom, which I consider awesome, and which some cynics deem a copy of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (I will vouch against it, I love that series and pretty much can mouth every dialogue in it, and they are NOT the same) and slightly repetitive (to which I say, seriously, go write your own screenplays with super-original lines that make everyone crack up, and then talk, ok?). Ok enough diversion, let’s get back to today’s topic.

The characters. If you follow the series, you will know who I am talking about. If you don’t, well, I hope the post gives you some idea. Now in this group of friends, I am going to do away with Ted, who I find an extreme character, tough to identify with. And I mean, that of the guys that I have come across in life, I have come across a ‘Ted’ just once. Always in search of Fairy tale love, dreaming of getting married, having kids, falling in love within seconds, earnest, clear in what he wants, and ok to go to any lengths to get it. That kind. Oh by the way, that ‘one’ guy reads this blog, so if you read this, yep, I am talking about you!

Coming to the ‘cool’ characters in the series. Definitely Barney and Robin. Why, you ask? Well, Barney is the quintessential Joey (with brains, evil brains, but in plenty, money, and funny lines!) who gets all the women he wants, and believes in having fun. No commitment, none of the mush, he just does his own thing. A super cool apartment, a screen which is basically one whole wall, and a weird job which pays him for all this luxury. Cool, if you may.

And Robin. The independent woman, with thoughts similar to Barney’s when it comes to commitment. Career oriented. Adventurous, sets out to see the world on her own. Hot, has men vying for her attention. Has her own studio in Central New York. Oh, and has five dogs. If this doesn’t define cool, I mean what does? And as if all this was not enough, the last season reveals that the two end up together! What a story! I mean, two people, who never wanted to be tied down, eventually give in to love and get married. Wow. Cool, or what!

And then, there are the protagonists. Of this post, not the show. Lily and Marshall. Now these two are the Monica-Chandler of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. But only because they are only with each other throughout. The characters are hugely different. There is no Monica’s OCD and Chandler’s incomparable wit.

What is there, is funny. There is cute. But the thing is, they are definitely not the ones you would want to identify with.They are goofy. Their story is way too straight forward. They meet, they fall in love, they want the same things from life, they have small differences which they take in their stride, and they end up where you think they would right from the first episode. Together. Their lines make you laugh not for their wit or sarcasm, but more in the “Oh God, they are so funny, they are practically duh!” way.

They make fools of themselves over and again. They are definitely not the best looking in the gang. They are average as people, and so is their story. The routine. They are considered the “boring” ones. The ones who would rather stay home and watch TV than go meet new people, or see new places. They have regular jobs, aspirations which have been sidelined for the more practical things, like mortgages, or planning a baby. They have troubles, I mean, come on, they actually buy a house with slanted floors!

They usually spoil the fun by being the sane ones. The want to grow up, cannot believe that they are growing up this fast, and then they don’t want to grow up. In the end the accept things as they are, and just let life go on.

And last Saturday, while doing a rerun marathon of the first few seasons, this epiphany struck me – That we , i.e. The Dude and I, we are Marshall and Lily. Despite what we want, what we think, or what others think of us, as a couple, we are them. Regular, average, growing older, with practical responsibilities, not very adventurous, lazy, loving our Saturday nights at home with beer, thinking of how to pay our next EMIs, doing our routine jobs, living our routine life. And honestly  it is tough to accept that the characters that actually match you, are the “uncool ones”.

But when you think long enough, what comes with routine and average and uncool is “real”. And content. And happy. Marshall and Lily do not have the most “fun” as the world defines it. What they have is each other. Like us. And with that, the comfort of knowing that whatever we do, we have each other for company. The relief of having the regular jobs which pay for the needs, which we deem important. The dreams and aspirations that we know if, and which we would work towards, when the time comes. The convenience of choosing to be home, and relaxing, while the world finds ways of having “fun”, because it’s not that we don’t want to have fun, it’s just that fun has a different definition for us now. Because, now, in a weird way, our routine is our way of enjoying ourselves, because after all, it is just ours.

And really, what could be cooler than that?