Kaziranga and Assam: Part 1

It was on a sticky boring Saturday that my colleague read out a mail about a tour in the north-east part of our country. Maybe it was the heat radiating from mother earth or maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t been on a tour for the past five years, but I was hooked. My friend Bindi and I decided to do us a favor and go on this trip.
I will confess that it was the last time I read that mail or the chain mails that were sent our way in hordes in the next two months. Therefore, I was blissfully unaware of the places that we were to visit or the people that I was going to be with. At that time a much needed break from the monotony called my life, some peace and a few known faces were more than enough for me to get excited and board the plane from Mumbai to Guwahati. Who knew that this journey will mark the beginning of some beautiful relationships and sear my memory with images unforgettable?

12th April, 8 A.M: I reached Mumbai airport with a brand new headphones of a new china phone dangling from my neck and a backpack killing my shoulders. I was standing outside when Bindi and her friend Mitali joined me. All three of us went inside and were greeted by a pair of twins called Dipti and Preeti. (If not for their names I would have been extremely shocked to see them use the loo with a girls face on it). There was also a middle aged uncle called Vachlekar who joined our party.

Speculating if the security guys will ask Deepti and Preeti to join the mens queue, we got our boarding passes and were on our way to Guwahati. The flight was not unique in anyway. However, the fact that the air hostess in her gelled hair looked like a bad version of TinTin made it a memorable one. After taking my luggage and becoming a caricature of a dwarf, I was all set to face the sweltering city of Guwahati.
However, we were forced to become a search party as Dhwani’s brother Shreyas, whom none knew and who boarded the flight from Kolkatta was to travel with us to the city. I decided to be the guardian of our luggage.
It was while I was simply staring around, when my eyes fell on this guy standing on the other side of the glass panel. A rather good looking chap. Curiously, he was also staring back at me. I, of course being the writer that I am started thinking of all the possible angles that I can construct with that one carless but somehow warm moment that passed between us. While I was busy with my would-be-story, Mitali started waving at the same person. Surprised, I looked up and heard Dipti telling Bindi that he was Shreyas, Dhwani’s brother. Now I really looked at him and saw some flattering similarities. Interesting, I thought.
Adding another male in our group which was at the risk of looking like an all girl gang, we sat in a supposedly AC bus that took us to our destination, Hotel Tibet. Yes, you can laugh away to glory. I did the same myself.
Luckily the Airport is in the outskirts of Guwahati and the ride upto the main city is long and not all stained by pollution. In fact the landscape is quite a view with all its long lazy pastures and houses the kind that we used to draw as kids. A slanting roof, one beautiful garden and a small temple right outside, with wooden fencing done in that exact same crisscross manner.
However, once we neared the city, it felt like these houses were being stripped off their beauty. The houses in this part looked more like ghetto with just walls. The beauty of those pastures was encroached upon by the newly painted buildings demanding development. The air was corrupted by too many vehicles and hoardings. Guwahati was in one word disappointing. Simply because it did not appreciate the beauty that it had and marred it by applying too much of concrete make-up.

Kaziranga and Assam: part 2

I was thinking these thoughts when Bindi showed me my first glimpse of Paltan Bazar, where our hotel was. It was like any other Bazar. Crowded with people and vehicles alike, full of voices and shops that prop out of nearly everywhere. One word of advice for all the fellow travelers. In case you want to pick up handmade wooden show pieces, Paltan Bazar is the place for you. Do not be under the impression that you will get better and cheaper goods further down, cause then you will end up like me. Buying things for your friends from the Airport as the last desperate resort and in the process forgetting your mother’s sari. Yes, the understanding yet pointed ‘ohhh’ of my mother is still ringing in my ears.
Coming back, our hotel was one of the cheapest hotels available in the town, literally and figuratively. However, since we had to spend just one night there and it wasn’t a part of the official YHAI tour we fought all our instincts and settled down peacefully. I am sure that the boys will have something else to say on this but we did sleep in that hotel ultimately.
Before going off to bed we of course had to spend our first evening as a group together. So, when we gathered down, the boys started walking and the girls followed. No introductions done or efforts made from either group. Dhwani who was a common factor was in her words being ‘sandwiched’ in between.
13th April 2010: We checked out of the hotel and were ready to leave for Kaziranga. However, our driv-ers weren’t. Another group was to join us and their train was running a little late. We prayed, we com-plained, we begged, but the sun turned a deaf ear on us. So we bought Bisleri after Bisleri from the nearby stall, proving our belief in supporting the local industry. Finally after winning the best customer of the day award, we sat in our cars.
Scorching heat, dusty road and too many stops marked the first half of our journey from Guwahati to Kaziranga. The transition period from first half to second half was played in my dream. However, when I did get up I realized that something more beautiful is being played outside my window. Never ending pastures with cows painted here and there. Tea estates with a green mountain posing in the backdrop. Brick houses springing in the middle of a palm tree conglomerate.
The blue gray sky with a hint of black was casted overhead as well. The sky must have been as overcome with emotions as I was, for it opened its arms and welcomed my arrival. Ahh! Raindrops on my palm, and the green in my eyes. A road between two mountains felt like a secret shared between friends. The shadows of night slowly falling around us made the black of the road more contrasting with the deep green of the mountains around it. Right then I realized that for me, Kaziranga will always be defined by this wet contrast.
It was night by the time we reached our hotel. It was in the middle of a tea estate. The location made us forget the disaster called Hotel Tibet and the rooms made us squeal in joy (at least the girls). Our rooms would have complimented the needs of a princess. The garden was as huge as my entire school area, and hotel staff was an ever smiling face. It’s a miracle that I didn’t sprain my ankles while expressing my excitement.
I took my bath lavishly and headed downstairs for a Bihu dance performance specially organized for us. Bihu is a festival celebrated from mid-April till mid-May in Assam. It marks the celebration of the new harvest and is also a season of love. Couples dance and express their affection for each other in the most melodious way possible. In fact the male uses a drum to call out to his lover who might be surrounded by her elders. The girl if not already headed for the Bihu dance will reply by playing her gogona and let the man know that she is still at home. It’s always said that love doesn’t require words. Well, Assamese seem to take that thought to their hearts.
The dance starts and unknown words start playing on my ears. The girls in their white and red sari look like a whirl of colors and the men become a synonym for music. One of the dancers was also a waiter in the hotel obliged us by explaining about Bihu. We, like all tourists clicked away every word he said and then some more. By dinner time everyone was talking about charging their camera batteries. Our second dinner together, the girls were all on one side, boys on another. One sentence here and one sentence there by each sex and that was it. We went up; we talked, and then slept.
Our reverie of jungle safari which started from that first mail flowed into our second day in Kaziranga. We all ran towards our open jeep and got seated as fast as humanly possible. On our way to the Kazi-ranga park, we saw tea estates breaking away from those heavy clouds of last night into yellow sunlight. The roads were like those in Bollywood and we felt no different. We climbed on every possible space on the jeep and got our pictures clicked in the oddest positions possible. We smiled our way through the gate and were busy discussing the youtube video on Kaziranga.
It took one hour and many sighing from us before the forest ranger finally graced us with his presence. Once he was seated next to our driver-cum-guide, we started our foray into the depths of the jungle. Ironically it was not until our first ride was over that our guide Salunkhe Uncle actually thought of telling us that the Rhinos and Deer’s that everyone was trying to spot in their zoomed in cameras will be as near as our hand the next day on our elephant ride. One reason I wasn’t much bothered about the 4x only zoom in my camera on our next jeep safari in the evening. Also why I enjoyed the butterflies and the canopy of trees more in these rides.
By the time our second night in Kaziranga was over, we all at least started putting up names across fac-es. Maybe it was the ‘Mayapuri’ style story-telling session taken by Sudhir, or maybe it was the magic weaved around us by the fireflies in that quite night. I don’t know. But the ice was definitely if not bro-ken, made a dent upon.
Next day we were up and about on our elephants wondering excitedly if we might come across any tigers. We did not but we did see our share of Rhinos and Deer’s. However, we also saw the inhumanity that is allowed in the name of tourism in Kaziranga. How else does one explain the cruel beating of the very elephants that bring in these tourists? The riders are mere teenagers who understand the power of force better than the companionship of a relationship, because force doesn’t take much effort. “How else do we control these animals?” was the statement made by one of the forest ranger there, when asked about this. Controlling the wild in their homeland and selling that to city sleeker’s like us. I might be sounding harsh, but I can and will never forget the wound near the elephant’s ear that I rode.

Cherrapunji

Cherrapunji was the last stop of our North-East trip. After this the softness of the mountains in our eyes was to be replaced by the brightness of streetlights. I was told not to expect too much from Cherrapunji. That it wasn’t beautiful anymore and it doesn’t rain too often. I was told wrong. It rained enough during our stay to remind me of my geography lessons in school, which gave this place ‘the rain capital of world’ title.

Cherrapunji was 56Kms from Shillong. The sun was shining boldly above our heads when we started our journey. However, the heat was not biting but rather a pleasant sensation on our skins. I was gladly reading my Nora Roberts when I heard the pitter patter of rain on my window. I looked up and realized that the mountains that I had taken for granted as my travelling partners were bowing down to small hills and flat plains. The sun had also disappeared behind the veil of dark clouds. The soft yellow of the day was thus transformed into the light darkness of a young evening.

I put my hand out of the window and felt the sting of a hailstorm. I smiled at my friend and we both put our heads out, literally hanging out of our cars. Soaked till our bones we arrived at Nohkalikai Fall, near Cherrapunji. It’s a different matter altogether that we weren’t able to even get a glimpse of the fall,  as the fog was wrapped around like a thick white blanket around us.

Although, we weren’t able to see the fall, its history we did hear. Local lore spoke about a mother’s love for her child who was killed by her second husband. The mother driven by her grief jumped from the fall.

The mist, the dew drops sticking on my face and the quietness of the place was instrumental in bringing out the most repressed feelings of my being. Contrast presented itself when I also felt peace. I was wet; I was walking in the fog and was lost in my thoughts. Smell of tea and a friendly smile across the road caught my attention. I walked over and after having a cup or two we were again on our way to Cherrapunji.

The outskirts of Cherrapunji felt like it was frozen in time. The landscape was green, the roads were fresh and the weather was always pleasant. Your eyes would fail to capture the vibrancy of the flowers but your heart will feel their gentleness. The houses stand alone and proud, not too far off but enough to mark their own place in that world.

‘Yeh raaten yeh mausam…’ was being played in my car when we arrived at Mawsmai caves. We were told to take off our shoes and fold our pants up, as there was water inside. I being a little claustrophobic immediately started getting images of too many people, water, no space and darkness. My friend nudged me from behind and I started moving in.

The cave was well lit but as we went in deep, crouching, we realized that at some places only one person can enter at a time. The stones were covered with moss and thus quite slippery as well. I will confess that I was terrified for at least a moment. The fact that I shouted ‘mummy’ must have been a clue for my friends for they helped me out hurriedly.

Well as hurriedly as possible with the queue waiting to leave.

One of the best ways to fight your fears is to concentrate on something else. I did the same and my point of concentration was the stalagmite and stalactites all around the cave. As I had never seem them before they seemed quite fascinating to me. I smiled remembering how I used to struggle to pronounce their names as a kid and walked out of the cave.

We ate a sumptuous meal at a dhaba of sorts next to the caves and continued our journey. We reached Cherrapunji Hotel resort by mid-afternoon. The place is tucked away at the edge of a hill and one can see Bangladesh on the other side. The flowers are blooming around the house, there is a small half- broken wooden bench in the front of the cottage where one can sit and look at mountains and clouds and butterflies.

With a cup of tea in our hand we all looked as if we are posing for Fredrick Williams, the famous painter. Once we were done posing we set out to see ‘The Living Root Bridge’. With shafts in our hands and no clue about the path we started following each other. The following was transformed into a full fledged trekking in about 20 mins. Considering I have never trekked before, it was surely an experience. It took us nearly two hours to reach the bridge and yes it was worth every aching bone in my body.

Although these bridges are natural, there is a human hand in their growing. According to Oddity Central (http://www.odditycentral.com/videos/the-living-bridges-of-cherrapunji.html) The Khasi tribesmen, using hollowed-out betel nut trunks, are able to direct the roots in whatever way they like. When the roots grow all the way across a river, they are allowed to return to the soil, and over time, a strong bridge is formed. It takes up to 10-15 years for a root bridge to develop, but it becomes stronger with each passing year and is known to last for centuries.

The one we visited was right at the start of a waterfall. I never imagined myself standing at the starting point of a waterfall and that was quite a thrill. But to see something so beautiful and strong also made me aware of the insurmountable strength of our mother nature.

Drinking some water from the stream we made our way back towards our hotel. Moon graced us with his presence halfway up the trek and dark shadows of the trees were then bathed into shimmering moonlight. The jungle sang its nighttime song and the light rain played the music. I forgot that I was tired and smiled at the unknown melody around me.

Finally we reached our hotel, took a bath and settled down for the local music sitting arranged specially for us. It was interesting to hear familiar tunes tangled with foreign language. After this we ate our food and settled down for the last time as a group, for this trip was over.

Queens Street

It was the middle of the night. The road was deserted and dogs were howling. The trees that lined both the sides of the street, looked like they were deciding the best way to devour it up. The zari on her red sari was the only thing that gave her away. She was walking alone with a cigarette in her mouth. She didn’t want to work tonight. She needn’t work tonight. She had enough on her to allow her these moments of solitude and peace. She loved this street as it was more deserted than the rest of them in the city. The occasional cars passing by always gave her intense excitement and fear. She walked behind the trees so that she was invisible to anyone not in quest of another soul. It made her feel like she was playing hide and seek. Only that she didn’t know who was seeking her.
It seemed to her that the trees have slept under the blanket of that darkness. The music of that silence was amplified by the drizzle in the air. Suddenly the soft and soothing was transformed into fast and moving. The silver baubles glowing on the darkened form of the leaves could have put the brightest diamond to shame. Surrounded with such riches she felt like a queen.
It was the beating of another heart behind her. It put a stop to the journey of her smile ,from her lips to her eyes. She turned behind and saw a strong form standing there. For a moment she thought the sound of his voice has overpowered her own heartbeat.
“What are you doing here at this hour of the night ? That too in the rain?” he asked. “I am a prostitute on a break. Do you mind?” she responded. He raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. “Do you need a lift? I can drop you somewhere”. “Do you offer strange women lift at this time in the night?” “Depends, if I am in a mood for company, I do”. “Is that you car?” “Yes. It is”.
She walked towards the car and sat inside. The moment he entered, she wished that there were no lights inside the car. His features that looked human in the moonlight, looked goodly and still much more real in them. Her own ugliness that had sprung up like a wall between the two forced her to look outside. Funny, that what I see outside is what I feel inside, darkness, she thought.
However, this thought was a mere fleeting one. She didn’t bother to catch it either. In her profession it was too easy to fall prey to such self pity and loose oneself. She had lost too much and too soon already.
“Do you work hard?” “Yes, occasionally”. “Do you like what you do?” “If the man is handsome, yes. If not still yes because then I charge him for his ugliness too,” she said and turned towards him.
His jaw was set and he stared ahead. He was driving at 120 and wasn’t much aware of the heavy veil of rain clouding his vision. She looked away. She didn’t want to know anything about him. He was for her a dream she didn’t want to give a name to. She simply wanted to live it. She could smell him. That was enough for her to create his image the way she wanted to. She had his voice as well. What she didn’t want were his thoughts. Because they didn’t matter to her.
She closed her eyes and sat back. He looked at her and commented, “You look so peaceful”. “I am at peace right now”. “I wish I could say that”. She remained silent and smiled at him. “I like your smile. It is full of hope”. “Don’t you like hope?” “Hope can be deceiving. It can make you believe in things that are nothing but mirages”. “There is such a thin line between a mirage and reality. It really is all about your perception”.
“I am not a great fan of reality either. It’s ugly”, he said swinging his car. “But true,” she said with her eyes still closed. “How does it matter?” he asked. “You are right it doesn’t”. They both fell silent for some time. “I hate lies too,” he said. “Yes same here”. “Don’t you want to know the truth about me?” “I don’t think it will be much of use to me to be honest”. “How can you be so self-assured and confident? ” he asked in a calm and thinking voice. She just smiled at him.
Headline: A man killed his wife and three year old girl last night and set the house on fire. He then drove away in his car and was killed in a car crash near queens street. There was a woman in the car with him who died on the spot. The police still haven’t identified her.

The terror called resignation letter

It’s an epidemic. And it’s contagious. Also it brings along with it other diseases. Diseases that recent study has shown can kill one. Yes, I am talking about none other than the most dangerous illness of all time, RESIGNATION. And that too not by you but by a very close colleague of yours. It makes you feel as if you have been left behind in quicksand and you are disappearing fast.

Its symptoms itself are killing. First when this word is uttered in the company of your group, which by the way is the rope that is keeping your head above that quicksand, you will feel numbness. Cold numbness. Then you will start counting how many are left with you to bear the oppression of stale coffee and bad food? How many are left who see the man responsible for all your pimples and hair loss? How many are left who understand why even the thought of buying a dress worth 5oo bucks makes your mind a super computer (a brain that had difficulty passing math exam in school)

When one is done counting those who are still left to bear the burden of earning money, one starts wondering about that lucky contestant who has won the ticket to freedom. That one person who has broken from the shackles of comforting chairs and a pay slip every 30 days. That one person who just might get up and do what he or she really wants to do in life (that of course doesn’t happen often as once an office goer always an office goer). Anyway there is always a chance that this one person will make you feel like a mill worker for the rest of your life. There is a chance that he or she might become what you wanted to be, but could never ever save enough to say the words ‘just do it’.

Why does this happen? It’s very simple. Office is a synonym for a ‘dead mans world’. Wherever you look around there is a blank stare which is a suggestion that no one knows what they are doing here or even why? That is why terms like ‘deadline’ were coined by corporate workers. It really is a deadline. If you work in accordance with it, it’s like walking your death row, and if you don’t then even god can’t save you. So, it’s simply a matter of choosing your death really. One can either die in peace or in chaos.

And as we all know, those who suffer similar miseries make best of friends. And when one of these friends even suggests that they might just leave you alone to deal with the wretched game of earning, they inevitably pass on the burden of their misery on you.

In the past 6 months, I had to bear this additional burden twice. First time around, I had Bindi (who by the way is the BBC world of network 18 and thus have contacts all around), who helped me deal with the towering sensitivity that I had developed towards my colleagues behavior, after Bharti left. Now it’s Bindi leaving and along with her goes my daily dose of wittiness by Gayathri.

My reaction? HELP!!!! The worst part was that I couldn’t even discourage them from leaving. It’s because I have been cursed with a good heart and I knew that they were really UNHAPPY (yes in bold letters too). So, I of course had to be all supportive and understanding, when actually I just wanted to tie them in their chairs and make them stay. Till I save enough to leave with them at least.
However, since the ball is not in my court anymore, I guess all I can do is wish them the best in life and count the days till I can leave this constant pain in my shoulders and that blank stare behind.

Some of the sweet and funny moments of my life

I was in my ninth standard and had a major crush on this cute guy because I found out that he also had a crush on me. (At least I was led to believe that by my friends) So, one fine evening, after our algebra class was done (in tuitions, he was in my tuitions as well. How else do you think I got through those horrifying algebra lessons, which didn’t make sense even when I was paying an obscene amount to learn them), I walked out and stood at the entrance gate, putting my books away. He used to ride a cycle to classes everyday then. That day, without realizing I sort of bumped into his cycle while trying to put my books in the bag. He looked up, smiled and then did a 'dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge' on me. That is he circled on his cycle around me two times with this sweet plaintive smile on his face. And now the twist in the ishtory. Instead of blushing, I laughed out loud (literally) and shook my head disdainfully. Needless to say he never tried that with me again. But that moment is still one of those few precious ones that I hold within me.

Another one such moment was when I was in my 11^th grade. Three years later I again found myself fantasizing about this really cute guy, who was a friend’s friend (my friends have always been my savior. I never could become friends with good-looking guys on my own) One day, there was apparently a bomb blast somewhere in the city. We were all let off early by our college authorities. Quite unexpectedly, he had to catch the same bus that I had, to as he was visiting some relatives near my area. So, we decided to go together. However, when the bus arrived he got on it, and I wasn’t able to because of the crowd suddenly anxious to reach their places as soon as possible.

Imagine this, I am running behind the bus and he just realizing that I am not with him anymore, leans out of the bus to see what happened. He sees me and gives me his hand, again in a dilwale dulhaniya style, I take it and fall into his arms (quite literally) and he catches hold of me with both hands. As if this wasn’t dizzyingly embarrassing (in a good way though) enough, our common friends start singing, ‘Baho ke darmiyan…do pyaar mil rahe hain’. Times like these I wonder if it really would be a sin to kill friends. Anyhow, it was another one of those precious moments of my life. The fact that the guy turned out to be a complete bore now withstanding.

Harry Horror

This Sunday I had no plans to go and watch a movie. However, just when I was settling down with the idea of being completely alone with my novel, the wretched phone rang. I would here like to add that I have a very strong sixth sense, and this incessant ringing of my phone was screeching premonition in bold letters in my head. Still, I picked up the phone and had the pleasure to hear the voice of a very dear friend of mine. After the much rushed into pleasantries, my friend asked me in a pleading voice, “Will you accompany me to watch Harry Potter?” For those who are my mere acquaintances, please note that I am a BIG Harry Potter fan. The mere mention of the name can get me started for hours. And the sound of those words, by even Hitler would make him a personal favorite of mine. However, if any information of the above mentioned epic is tampered with, it makes me see red and little demons of fury start dancing behind my eyes, shooting little thorny spikes at the ignorant git. To say that earlier conversions of this novel into a movie had this effect on me, would be an understatement.
So, although I was quite sure that this again would be an assault on my memories of the magical world of J.K Rowling, I gave into my better side and agreed to accompany my friend. As we all know, misery only brings along more misery with it, I had another thing coming at me. The theatre in which we were supposed to watch the movie only had the Hindi-version of it. I personally love Hindi as a language not just because it is my mother tongue, but also because it is so beautiful. However, hearing Gryffindor being referred as ‘garud duar’ is taking it too far. So, anyway I went in, hoping against hope that the script would be in tandem with the novel and will at least try to give the main fraction of the novel a lead.
However, not only was I disappointed in that area, but I also had to endure kids who had no clue about the book or the previous versions of the movie and a couple in making as well.
Let me first present my views about the movie. David Yates (director) and Steve Kloves (writer) either tortured J.K Rowling into agreeing with this version of her book, or they bribed her. How else could she watch in silence the brutal killing of her imagination?
The director was apparently more interested in showing Daniel Radcliff as a wannabe Casanova and not a teenager on his way to adulthood, struggling with feelings like love, unknown to him till now. This is the part in the series where Harry realizes the burden of his responsibilities while desperately trying to hold on to the feelings, which an average teenage boy of his age has. In the novel he has to constantly choose between being the 17year old and the one who is suppose to kill the darkest wizard of all. The fact that he kills Voldemort in the next part is a clear indication of what he chooses for himself. The Harry in the movie, however lacks any such complexities and is more interested in dating a girl he meets in a restaurant, than going with Dumbledore to help kill Voldemort.
Why so much of importance was given to Ron and his love life was beyond me. Rupert is good at making comical faces. However, to see the same emotion on his face from different angles, for more than an hour, hasn’t made him anymore popular with me. Emma Watson has once again succeeded in reducing Hermione to a sad looking, no expression, and no depth girl whose only aim in the movie was to crib about Ron and his love interest Lavender Brown.
The role of the potions book, which is the inspiration for the name of the novel and the movie as well, has suffered the blink and miss syndrome, thanks to the director. Tom Felton a.k.a Draco Malfoy who should have been the protagonist of the movie, came across as nothing more than a guest appearance. The story of Voldemort, his childhood, his rise to power and his apparent flaws which formed the crux of the novel were shoved under the carpet. David Yates must be mercifully in nature, for he shot a few scenes which at least suggested that Voldemort was still a part of Harry’s life when he was in his sixth year, and did not actually consume the love potion (which seemed to be on everybody’s mind, on the sets at least), thus falling in love with Harry and sparing his life in his show of love.
All in all it is a movie which can give new meaning to the phrase ‘self-inflicted torture’. Even as I was going through this torment, there was more in stored for me. A few kids sitting behind me were translating the Hindi version into Marathi and somehow they got into a discussion of Dumbeldore’s broom (something even J.K Rowling hasn’t thought about). So once the discussion on his non-existent broomstick died down, a row over whether pop corn is better than samosa started. I was already having a hard time getting over these conversations, when the guy sitting next to me started nagging his friend (whom he hopped to make his girl friend), about her family and life in general. The girl was quite uninterested in the guy, which was apparent from her nonchalant behavior, but I guess was sitting with him because he paid for her tickets. Not that she was interested in the movie. The fact that she talked to some other guy discussing every problem of her life over the phone for the next 20 minutes, was a proof of the above mentioned fact. My loud comments on how people, who talk on phone while watching a movie in a theatre defined insensitivity, went unheard. Finally I had to butt in her monologue and show her my ticket, confirming to her that even I paid for the ticket and that I would like to at least see without any distractions how badly the movie has been made. That shut her up fine.
Finally the movie ended, and I had a chance to give my friend a cold stare in the light outside, which she was very cleverly ignoring in the dark of the movie hall. She looked at me and said that she will treat me to a sandwich from my favorite joint. Deciding that I needed to sit down and eat, I forgot about the three wasted hours of my life and went for it.