I was grateful when at the start of the year real estate companies desisted from sending out season’s greetings — or maybe they no longer include me in their list of a member of the paying public. The neighbourhood spas gave me short shrift as well with their messages of seasonal cheer aimed at growing their businesses. My club, though, wished me a sedate new year and hoped to see me for lunch where, as usual, I was expected to pay. If the other companies decided I wasn’t worth an SMS, it suited me just fine, though I did miss the nagging reminder about losing some weight around the waist.
“That’s because all messages are being routed through some country in Africa,” my son explained. If mass SMSes succeeded in obliterating me from the address books, people I had no idea even existed bombarded me with greetings and messages clearly intended for others. Their graffiti arrived on the phone, no different from Sonu declaring his love for Monu on a big heart carved on the bark of the tree at Lodi Gardens, or Bunty loving Honey on the ancient walls of the Red Fort. I don’t know Sonu and Monu, though I wish them well, just as I hope Bunty will go on loving Honey, but when Archit Patel sent his “personal” greetings, I couldn’t help wonder why he was directing them at me, even though he couldn’t desist from asking ‘Whats the minimum amt we can invest?’ I was not sure I wanted to invest my money with a stranger, not least when he was inclined to use the plural “we” with respect to my money, so I did not bother to reply to Mr Patel’s personal message.
I didn’t wish Manan Singh Katohora either, even though he sent his greetings to Rani Mukherji and to “909,719+ souls” of which, presumably, I was one. It didn’t seem Mr Katohora would miss my response from among the no doubt several hundred thousand he received back, though I did feel that he might have chosen a smaller, more intimate group instead of an impersonal club of 900,000-plus.
Warm messages of a nurturing and prosperous year arrived from “Aanya, Alok and Karen”, clearly a tightly-knit family, but whose acquaintance I remain innocent of; from “Sanjay Datta and family”, whom I don’t know either, though I did go to school with a Sanjay Dutt; from “Sonal and Samir”, “Pawan & Shilpa”, “Hemant and Malvika”, and from singles Sukant, Shivam, Abror and Trianca. Since I did not acknowledge their greetings, presuming that they did not require reciprocation from a stranger, I nevertheless thank them now for warming my new year — and I’m sorry I was peeved then, even irritated, when they first clogged up my phone.
“Simridhi and Mrigyanka” decided to list the months with adjectives to describe them, so I got to read through their kindergarten ode to “Jovial Jan, Fabulous Feb…” and on to “Opulent Oct” which is when Diwali appropriately ends up costing a bomb. I might save their almanac for when I have grandchildren to help them memorise the months. As for Akshay, Ashwini, Ashok, Biswajeet, Charan, Dipu, Gyan, Himmat, Kalyan, Pant, Rishab, Shail, Tirath and those others who sent cards that, I confess here, I didn’t bother opening, here’s wishing you guys a happy new year as well — so what if I haven’t the faintest idea who you are.
