Being Bitchy

Ah! The bliss of it all. When you get an itch inside you to share a particularly bitchy scoop, the agonizing feeling that takes over the itch immediately is what if the person you want to share it with isn’t around to pick up the phone, or worse is busy with some chore and cannot talk to you for a few hours at least, and then finally, the mind numbing relief of being able to get through and spill the beans...sheer relief. More potent and addictive than any drug known to man (or woman), being bitchy is a state of mind that should be celebrated.

There were two such instances today. Once when I was bored with the brain-numbing essay I am editing, and desperately needed a break, so called my best pal, Saswati, currently living and working in Bangalore. We talked for twenty minutes or so, cribbed about every man on this planet who has ever been a part of our joint or individual past, poured poison over every wrong (imagined or real) meted out to us, cackled over every sin we have committed or abetted in our life, and took solace from the fact that every bit of all our conversations over these last twenty-two years have been worth their while in gold.

Interestingly, Sas and I have a theory about why life decides to treat us badly every now and then. It is because once, about three years ago, when she and I had gone to Rishikesh, we had sat on the calm, peaceful, sacred banks of the Ganges and bitched to our hearts’ content. Don’t ask me the whys and the hows! We did it because it was fun! And because life as we knew it was perfect then. Since then it hasn’t been so. Wrong men, wronger circumstances have taken their toll but we are still at it. We haven’t learnt our lesson! We spoilt the pavitra vatavaran of a dharmic place like Rishikesh with our venom, and that’s why life is the way it is!

The second bitching session today was with Richa. Frantically hoping that she wasn’t saddled with any friend or work or anything else, and instead could give me the 100% concentration that I so needed, I called her. She was fortunately free, and we talked, and bitched and laughed hysterically. Babe, you are a lifesaver!

By the way, before the men who read this blog decide to leave comments to the effect, “Why do WOMEN bitch all the time?”, let me hasten to add that some of my life’s most pleasant bitching sessions have been with men. It’s an art after all...either you have it in you or you don’t.