A law ought to be passed, whereby no one should ever be woken up before 10:30 on a sunday, at the very earliest, punishable by a good lashing. Last Sunday Riddhi called me at the ungodly hour of 7:50 am, for which she should have been whipped twice. I hastily sneak out of bed, whispering a hello into the phone, so as not to wake the slumbering beast, but after about 30 seconds all my considerations went out the window and I began yelling and swearing, both of which were accompanied by some disturbing heart palpitations.
An article I was stupidly convinced to write had been published, and I had assumed even more stupidly that when they said it would remain anonymous, thats what they meant. This was not quite the case and I had also seriously underestimated my parents.
She tells me, in a voice sounding as panicked as I feel, that my Dad had just messaged her and requested she call back urgently. She assumed it must be the contents this article.
“No no I insist,” ever the optimist, “it must be something else. Call him back and then call me immediately.”
Within 5 minutes she does.
It is not good news.
I extremely carelessly okayed one of my drawings along with the article. If I had waved a big rainbow flag while yodeling loudly I could not have made the whole damn thing more visible to my folks.
Soon after Riddhi calling, my brother sends a text saying it was a good thing they already sent my fees since my father was going to jump off Rajabai towers. For some reason I assume its from Riddhi and reply back saying “Don’t joke I’m freaking out what the f*** do I do??”
For the next few hours I had a very rotten morning. I wrote a stinker to the editor, yelled at Riddhi some more, and paced around a lot while intermittently re-reading my article again only to propel myself into a massive panic attack.
My parents eventually called, I ignored their calls until I had a few cups of tea under my belt and some more pacing. Anyway good news is, a heart attack was averted and all has calmed down.