It happened. I was invited to a birthday party where I knew absolutely no one but the host.


For the millionth time, I have missed my sister so much that day because when we were young and tailed along with my mom to various functions, boredom was the least of our worries.

We used to fret about losing our hunger and not being able to stuff our tummies with all the food on display since we ate those five almonds mom forcefully shoved into our gullets. We used to get stressed about which outfits to wear and whether we would complement each other instead of outshining one another. And when we couldn’t spot the ice cream; we used to get into a state.



Our mouths were always working so much so that people who saw us often wondered what we talked about nonstop. Most of our talks were filled with blather but that kept us from getting bored. That also precluded us from socializing since we always isolated ourselves from the rest of the humanity and were lost in our silly little games and gossips.


Hence, I’m finding it difficult to mingle with strangers all of a sudden because I was never used to that. I had my sister.

So yesterday, when I went to the party, I thought of doing an about-turn as quickly as I had walked into the door because a) I thought I was at the wrong party owing to the fact that not one . . . and I mean not ONE looked familiar. Obviously, what was I expecting? Being welcomed by my long-lost friends? b) The hall looked like a cornucopia of kids.

First, I was invited to a kid’s birthday party. So, it’s only natural to find toddlers streaming across the stage hovering near the birthday cake like houseflies around a gobbet of jaggery.

Okay, that was a mean comparison but I couldn’t think of a better one. Anyway, as normal as it is and as much as I love kids, I couldn’t bear the overload.


Before I could escape, the father, whose wife invited me, greeted and ushered me in, scotching my only chance of getaway. He pointed to where his wife was and I followed the direction dodging past the running and screaming kids to meet her on the dais. She said her hello with a bright smile and we exchanged pleasantries before a server brought drinks. I turned to pick a glass and when I spun back again she was gone. Poof. Vanished.

I looked around and found her on the other end of the stage, welcoming more guests with the same smile and sparkle, and I stood there, awkwardness shrouding me like a blanket. I waited for her to stop by me once again so that I could stall the boredom for a minute or two. But she busied herself with arranging the table, the cake, chocolates, candies, etc. all of which were already neatly organized. Her friends too joined her and I was the only one left there, feeling purposeless and wondering why they were pretending to spruce up the already shipshape disposition.


Then I debated walking over to the chairs and finding a space to ease my tense body on, since I was of no use to the ladies, lingering like an unwanted shadow, blocking the paths of the oncoming guests.

I finished the drink, put the glass on the tray and walked towards the chairs arranged in a semi-circle. I settled on the left side and to my utter dismay, most of the guests chose to sit on the opposite side.


I was alone in the whole line of chairs and I could do nothing but stare at the now empty stage like an idiot. The large two-tier cake, with the big “ONE” digit stuck in the center, was mounted on the fragile table that looked like it could crumble under its weight. Then there was a vase holding flowers that I mistook for cupcakes and even pondered sneaking one. There was another glass vase holding colourful lollipops, which I shamelessly admit, made me drool. A large bowl contained a mix of chocolates and candies, which were shunned by the kids, for they too, like me, instantly took to the lollies. I saw them holding those shiny things with swirly designs and felt the intense urge to climb the stage and grab one for myself. They looked so soft like jelly.

Then there were the balloons the children were playing with. Occasionally, a balloon would sway in my way and the more I swatted it, the more it came floating back towards me and stopping right in front of my face, probably making me look like a giant balloon-head to the people facing me.


I wondered how many of them laughed at me—the lone unwanted girl at the party. Then I remembered that this wasn’t freaking high school. Plus, I didn’t know anyone there so how could I socialize?

My friend, who must have watched my ordeal from a distance, came and asked me to shift to the right side where most of the human beings were. She introduced me to her friends and I thought this would be my chance to mingle and looked to sit beside one of the ladies.

Well, the amicable woman already had a friend by her side and it was her handbag. That’s right. She reserved a seat for her handbag and I was left sitting beside it, thereby slimming my chances of socialization. I couldn’t really talk to an unknown person, who was four feet away with a friend circle of her own. And the damned lady didn’t even look my way. So, I concluded that she was a cold woman who enjoyed the company of herself and her stupid white tote bag.


But I was relieved nevertheless that at least I was surrounded by humans and not balloons and empty chairs.

After the cake-cutting ritual, I scooted to the dining area, and hurriedly ate to just fill my stomach and flee the spot.

Well, this whole experience had sent me on a trip down the memory lane where I didn’t have to worry about being ignored, I didn’t have to panic that my companion would ditch me for another friend, and most importantly, I didn’t have to fear parties as much as I do now.

But next time I find someone securing seats for their beloved handbags or hair scrunchies, I’m gonna tear them apart and get some more chairs to accommodate their mangled remains.


Relax! I’m talking about the objects. Sheesh! I’m not a criminal.






I love not being bored. I see so many people putting up social media statuses about how bored they are, it makes me proud that I don’t get bored so easily.

Throw me on an island with no companion, no gadget, no book, no wifi, no beautiful sceneries; yet I can survive with my own thoughts for at least a month without sinking into the awful feeling of ennui. Even after one month, I would probably survive because by then I would have gone mad and would start hallucinating—I would be duetting with Zac Efron, bathing under gigantic waterfalls, swimming with dolphins, wearing leaf bikinis . . . alright, I’m digressing now.

The other day, I have spent three hours doing nothing. Just sitting there, staring into the blank space and letting my mind go wild. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed with the amount of action going on up there that I close my eyes, pause for a second and then resume but never stop. And the musings range from which shampoo I have to buy after the present one runs out to how I should tie up the loose ends of the novel I have written in my head. Although a good book is a great (nonliving) crony, I can do very well alone too because I am my best (living) companion.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t need people. Hell, no. I need my people more than I need myself. I’m just saying that boredom has no effect on me and I consider that aspect as a boon.

Two days ago, I got a call from a whiny friend of mine, who is married, working, movie buff, fitness freak. Yet, she’s always teetering through a constant state of tedium. I’m flummoxed really. Jeez, what else does she need to keep herself occupied? A bunch of kids probably. I’ll suggest her to think about it.

One of the dangerous traits of bored people is they assume that every single person in their contact list is as jobless as they are and would go into a rage over an unanswered call or irresponsive text message. Well, I’m starting to accept the fact that it takes all sorts.

Trust me, this blog post is not a rant against people who bore me with their stories of boredom. Though I must admit that if anyone calls me saying that they’re bored and start talking meaningless crap like—

‘Oh. My. God. I’m watching this movie called “Snakes On A Plane” and there are SNAKES on a PLANE! Can you believe it? Damn!’

‘So basically I don’t brush my teeth at night but today I’m so bored that I also flossed my teeth. Man, I’m so bored I think I’m gonna pick my pimples.’

‘Hey there! Don’t freak out. I’m talking from the bathroom. I’m taking a dump and I’m so bored because it’s taking so long and I crossed my Wi-Fi limit and I could do nothing but call you in order to free myself from boredom.”

—I would go as nutty as a fruitcake.

Oh, by the way, those things really happened, people. And the crazies who called me during odd hours in order to share their thoughtful insights and observations are no longer my friends because everyone has a breaking point. I’ve reached mine.

You can do whatever you want when you are bored but you just can’t bore other people because if there’s anything that’s more unwholesome than watching “The Hottie and the Nottie”, then it’s the company of bored people. They squander your time for their entertainment.

I mean you don’t have to talk anything at all. But if you talk stuff that irritates or grosses people out at odd times just because you have nothing else to do, then you’re gonna lose a lot of pals.

Perhaps the world’s second worst crime is boredom. The first is being a bore – Jean Baudrillard.