Mistress Of Vices: Confessions Of An Idle Mind

Hey you down there, hunched over your smartphone typing out a work email in the middle of a movie – yes, I’m talking to you. Is the fate of the world resting on your immediate mail response? Will World War III finally erupt if you keep your cell away for just 2 hours and pay attention to the snogging onscreen, or maybe indulge in some of your own with that splendidly long-legged girlfriend sitting next to you? I reckon not.

I used to be one of your lot once, with a constant need to stay connected and the reassurance of being in greater demand than a bomb diffusing specialist. Then I decided to give up that lifestyle and become a part-time freelancer and a full-time people watcher instead. Uh, not in a voyeuristic way though… I mean I’m not a keyhole peeper or anything. Okay fine, it was just that one time. And in my defense, I stumbled into the boy’s locker room at the gym by mistake and the hottie I’ve had a massive crush on just happened to be taking off his clothes at that particular moment. Jesus, the third degree I get from my mirror turns this column into Sunday confessional. In which case, that makes you my priest and you are thus bound by the confidentiality clause. So let’s call it our little secret.

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But in all seriousness, not being consumed by work stress at all times and getting to watch a movie in its entirety or being able to drink coffee without one eye on the laptop and even actually going to the gym for something other than stalking, uh I meant using the steam and sauna room is equal parts refreshing and amusing. Since you aren’t obsessing about triviality and rushing past everything, you tend to observe others more closely. So that’s when you notice the PBA (Pretty Botoxed Aunty) who applies eyeliner before going to do cardio and let out a not so silent chuckle or keep a vigil on the lurking lone man watching a chick flick and wonder if that pepper spray wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It’s like holding a magnifying glass up to the world and no one else except you are spared by its judgmental glare.

This wonderfully fruitful period is also when you go on more first and/or blind dates than legally advisable and take to social networking and its associated communication tools like it was going out of style. The former is injurious to your parole terms and the latter is hazardous to any semblance of a human relationship you did, could or ever hoped to preserve. I’m joking about the parole bit, since India doesn’t have restraining orders just yet (thank god for small mercies).

The dating bit is incidental. After crossing the age bracket that leads you to ticking the same column on official forms as the 40-year olds, even the hint of a less than jam-packed professional calendar rings certain bells in your parents’ collective consciousness. They suddenly develop a newfound interest in monitoring your choice of male companions and throwing dinner parties for “family friends” with eligible sons. Sometimes you get arm-twisted into going on a lot of set up dates and wreck vengeance by suggesting the costliest restaurant to the unsuspecting bloke and then proceeding to order lobster and foie gras. At other times, you go on a rampant dating spree. I’m currently indulging in both. At last count, I’ve met 4 new men this year. One of them started out as an escape route, but turned into a wonderfully pleasant surprise. The other three didn’t survive the ordeal. May their hearts and wallets RIP.

Then comes the new-age communication part. If it wasn’t bad enough that the death of articulate conversation came with the birth of the 140-character slang also known as Twitter, Facebook made it a personal mission to keep changing layouts, popping up old photo albums and suggesting friends, events and pages that you might like to make it impossible to leave their url in haste. Then came BBM to make matters worse, while Foursquare jostled for attention and finally Google Latitude ensured all hell broke lose. Thankfully, the increased spamming and forwards on many of these have now discouraged me considerably. But not before it became utterly important to send out every inane half-baked thought, non-ideas, random musings and daily schedules out into their enigmatic world. The collection of likes and comments on updates and the numbers of retweets and replies soon replaced the boss’s approval and annual bonuses. What more, I could now track every step of my journey and even announce my location to the world at large. Might as well call it – the dummy’s guide to being a pervy stalker. Sheesh!

There is also the pan-ultimate mash up of people watching through social networking, but in fear of the fact that this is a very public forum and the gym hottie now probably knows who I am and could possibly out me, I shall refrain from elaborating. Let’s just say I’ve become quite a pro at appearing to be the busiest non-gainfully employed person around.

So the next time you see a woman playing witness to a potentially awkward situation that others are involved in with apparent glee and an evil grin, beware cos’ it might just be me.

From the May 2011 issue of FHM India.