Dear God Almighty
Stand-Alone Dreamer | 13 May 2008, 10:27pm
Dear God (or whatever Your Holiness is calling Him/Her/Itself these days),
I know I’ve made you a considerable number of promises for a variety of things before.
I still vaguely remember back in high school, I did promise you that I would go work in Africa and teach the natives to read the Bible, and that I would always take precautions, if I got an admit into a good college.
Personally, I think we’re square on that one. Sure, I got into CET, but I’ve labored for four years over a degree, which only qualifies me for positions wearing a corporate monkey suite, asking the well-dressed CIO's and investment gurus who drives Lamborghinis and Tri-Star’s of the world, whether they “want a free management software with the car.”
Then there was the time I promised you I would dedicate my life to the orphans in Calcutta if you would make that cute blue-eyed Anglo-Indian thing amongst the junior batch talk to me. Three weeks, a restraining order and a fairly public ragging case later, I was finally free of her.
Did I forget to say a “Thank You” for that?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. You work in your own mysterious ways. I get it. You’re hilarious.
And, God, I won’t pretend that I don’t remember those early college times when I promised you I would never EVER drive even the slightest bit intoxicated again if you got me home safely…
Damn. I guess you got me on that one.
But, seriously this time, O Lord, I promise - cross my heart, needle in the eye, yadda yadda yadda - that if you can somehow make it so that I'd always live alone (like how I'm living now!!) and never have a roommate again, I will stand on a corner of each temple in the city, one-by-one, on all weekends (including Saturday Nights) proclaiming your holiness and distributing cheap sweets to all and sundry.
Don’t get me wrong here, I’ve really enjoyed living with my old true-blue roommates. Well, except for Tall Bose (*names changed in fear of life; their and mine!*) who told the same three super lame stories over and over and over again. He was always using my laptop too, which I didn’t mind except when he downloaded three and a half gigs of Creed and Iron Maiden MP3s on my computer. Then there was that time he tried to record my video under *highly compromising circumstances* using "MY" webcam. Creepy!!
Except for his huge collection of Axe Deo bottles, Jacs was a great second roommate. It didn’t even bother me too much that he played Backstreet Boys for 24 hours. Again… creepy, but not too bad.
Paddy was a great roommate except for his abnormally little-girlish fear of spiders. He called me frantically from the side of the road once:
Padz: Hey, Abi, whatcha doing?
Me: Umm about to hit on some random chic across the building.
Padz: Do you think you could do me a favor?
Me: Can it wait?
Padz: Not really.
Me: Well what is it?
Padz: There’s a spider in my car and…
Me: Sigh...I’ll be right there.
Bros before hoes, Dear Almighty - I think you said that first.
Sid, of course, was my favorite roommate ever. He didn’t mind that the chocolate muffins got ants in it and that I refused to throw them away and just scooped them (the ants) out and ate (the muffin). In turn, I didn’t mind that he got drunk and broke the huge French window and voided our security deposit. If heaven is half as cool as sitting in our living room (without the windows) with the paper-thin mattress eating Sunday Night Special from the nearby Dhaba and watching F-1 in a 15” black ‘n white TV, then I’m going to stop being such an asshole, so maybe I can make it in there.
My last set of roommates, when I freshly moved into this new city lately; God; are something of a different breed. As you know (since you know everything), I was always the messy roommate. It was always MY clothes lying around the room. It was always MY desk that was covered in wrappers (all kinds), biscuit bits and *stuff* that people generally deposit in dust bins. If there was a funky smell coming out of 101, chances are it was my fault.
But these guys here, whom I used to live with... they’re unbelievable. I don’t really mind that I always overpay for cable, but the cleanliness of our apartment is a totally different issue. Basically, it doesn’t happen unless I do it; and I never do it!!
The kitchen is downright disgusting. One of my roommates routinely used to cook full course meal for himself and then throw the stained dishes into the sink. The gas stove invariably has enough food residues on it to feed the population of Zimbabwe and Ethiopia combined for months. I refuse to clean it anymore; the residue is forming a union.
The sink...oh my dear God, I use the same dishes over and over, because honestly; burgers, biscuits and dry fruits don’t really make too much of a mess. Therefore, I figure that I should only have to do dishes a couple of times a week. But my roommates use them; I mean the entire cupboard every 18 hours. The ENTIRE cupboard!!! I know I sound like a woman now, but I wouldn’t mind so much if they f**ing rinsed them off ever. When I finally break down and do the dishes it smells so bad I’m gagging for an hour.
Every once in awhile, one of my roommates used to take five of his precious minutes to clean four or five plates and a disgusting yellow-colored plastic bowl. I almost wish he wouldn’t. I can always tell which ones are “washed” because when I pull them out of the cupboard they still have food on them. God, I wish I was kidding.
Apparently, I’m the only one in this tinsel town who knows how to wash a utensil where milk is boiled; again, I know it sounds like I have sand in my snatch, but I consider it a well-honed skill.
We have real summers here in this metro city. It routinely gets into the high 40's. I came home one day in the middle of the afternoon and the heat was on. I literally ripped the thermostat off the wall and embedded it in the head of my retarded roommate and told him to put on his pants. I mean, holy shit, Your Holiness, I couldn’t afford to pay for heat in the winter. I’m tired of bartering my best swimmers to keep his no-sweatshirt-owning, shorts-wearing ass warm.
I guess I should thank You that I had my own bathroom. I once poked my head into the one that they shared and I almost passed out. Again, I confess that I am no cleanliness freak, but I for sure had a nice little conversation about the discoloration of their bath tub 'coz of wet clothes accumulated in there for months altogether without being washed and they’ve named the sentient pile of hair in the corner Tommy; synonymous to our neighbor’s hairless dog.
So anyway, if you could somehow find the time to grant my request, I’ll up the ante. I promise to pass out brand-new cassettes of devotional songs and a copy of Gita (in English, Hindi and Sanskrit) to every woman I manage to sleep with.
Oh yeah, by the way; can you help me out with that too?
Amen
Current Mood: Relieved
Current Music: Unforgivable Sinner
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