Working the Social Circuit
As someone who chooses to live on the periphery of ‘home’ crowds—avoiding ‘women’s associations’ get togethers, the more-than-necessary dinners and most importantly the brain draining ‘ladies parties’ that are comities, one is at something of a disadvantage when it comes to ‘common knowledge’.
A) It is common knowledge that EVERYONE has exhibitions. When you work the circuit, the circuit works you. You meet, rub shoulders, buy silly clothes that don’t suit you and which you’ll never wear…and voila, you are in.
“Nosheen had an exhibition”
“Did you buy anything?”
“No…terribly expensive, but lovely things.”
And thereafter follows much enthused conversation running two and fro.
Meanwhile, I’m still stuck on Nosheen who?
On average there are some 3 odd exhibitions every week.
The Little Me still in the Convent frock vying to make friends quips:
“Why didn’t anyone invite me?”
B) Insider information.
It turns out there is a guy who comes to your house to fix electrical appliances. One doesn’t need to brave the nerve-wracking traffic of the inner city to get the iron fixed. You should have called the circuit to find out.
Now why didn’t I think of that?
Tailors…you can get the best clothes stitched here.
Really? No need to take pile loads of things to harass mom back home.
And…best of all: the upholstery guy’s number, which so many people I ask seem to have lost, is common information on the circuit.
However, it still remains that there are very few people one gets along with. Children still remain the biggest conversational assets, and there are only so many times when one can use a brother younger by 12 years as comparison in a ‘kids’ conversation. After a while is just seems to emphasize your age difference with the party and makes one look more precocious than wise.
I mean for Gods sake! Stop talking about your BROTHER. Their kids are as old as him.
OOPS!
Damn that man for taking a child bride. Look how far behind I am.
I tell you, it’s just cruel to have a generation in between.
The men are his contemporaries. The women used to be ‘loves’ their own age back in college. Now they are just wives.
And then there’s me. Lying about my age to sound and look older! That is so against the norm that it’s almost like revolting against the innate nature of women.
Of course it’s not to say that I can’t ‘work’ it. I can. But more often than not, you really don’t give a shit what Bombay-based friend so and so has called in to exhibit at the round-the-corner pool at the compound. Forgive me, but I’d still rather compare notes on a nice movie. But I have to show up. “No man is an Island”. Especially ‘no man’ whose husband is out of town fairly often and a life of ones own needs to be fostered.
What a conundrum. Dressed and situated in the comfortable role of the Middle Eastern suburban housewife I am duty bound to work and be worked by the circuit. Am still stuck in the swooning over music age, where you really truly don’t mind eating cereal six days straight because S is out of town and you have no meat in the house and no inclination to get some. So bloody what. Screw meat. Enjoy reading on the sofa till your eyes water because of bad lighting.
But the downside to my ‘enlightened’ philosophy in life is that all conversations tend to be meaningless. No one opens up or talks about anything real. We keep exchanging notes on the same bit of information until we have stretched and torn its meaningfulness to tatters. And then from the carcass we start afresh with another person, talking about trivialities and mundane things. It becomes especially harder to go with the flow—so to speak—when those with whom you don’t need to meander through conversations move away from the common ground that you grew up on. Then, realities like time zones, little children, husbands and other responsibilities pose hurdles to a meaningful … anything.
We stumble and fall, and yet, somehow manage our way through society and life with some kind of etiquette…and some friends.
Then we move cities…and struggle to start anew!
A) It is common knowledge that EVERYONE has exhibitions. When you work the circuit, the circuit works you. You meet, rub shoulders, buy silly clothes that don’t suit you and which you’ll never wear…and voila, you are in.
“Nosheen had an exhibition”
“Did you buy anything?”
“No…terribly expensive, but lovely things.”
And thereafter follows much enthused conversation running two and fro.
Meanwhile, I’m still stuck on Nosheen who?
On average there are some 3 odd exhibitions every week.
The Little Me still in the Convent frock vying to make friends quips:
“Why didn’t anyone invite me?”
B) Insider information.
It turns out there is a guy who comes to your house to fix electrical appliances. One doesn’t need to brave the nerve-wracking traffic of the inner city to get the iron fixed. You should have called the circuit to find out.
Now why didn’t I think of that?
Tailors…you can get the best clothes stitched here.
Really? No need to take pile loads of things to harass mom back home.
And…best of all: the upholstery guy’s number, which so many people I ask seem to have lost, is common information on the circuit.
However, it still remains that there are very few people one gets along with. Children still remain the biggest conversational assets, and there are only so many times when one can use a brother younger by 12 years as comparison in a ‘kids’ conversation. After a while is just seems to emphasize your age difference with the party and makes one look more precocious than wise.
I mean for Gods sake! Stop talking about your BROTHER. Their kids are as old as him.
OOPS!
Damn that man for taking a child bride. Look how far behind I am.
I tell you, it’s just cruel to have a generation in between.
The men are his contemporaries. The women used to be ‘loves’ their own age back in college. Now they are just wives.
And then there’s me. Lying about my age to sound and look older! That is so against the norm that it’s almost like revolting against the innate nature of women.
Of course it’s not to say that I can’t ‘work’ it. I can. But more often than not, you really don’t give a shit what Bombay-based friend so and so has called in to exhibit at the round-the-corner pool at the compound. Forgive me, but I’d still rather compare notes on a nice movie. But I have to show up. “No man is an Island”. Especially ‘no man’ whose husband is out of town fairly often and a life of ones own needs to be fostered.
What a conundrum. Dressed and situated in the comfortable role of the Middle Eastern suburban housewife I am duty bound to work and be worked by the circuit. Am still stuck in the swooning over music age, where you really truly don’t mind eating cereal six days straight because S is out of town and you have no meat in the house and no inclination to get some. So bloody what. Screw meat. Enjoy reading on the sofa till your eyes water because of bad lighting.
But the downside to my ‘enlightened’ philosophy in life is that all conversations tend to be meaningless. No one opens up or talks about anything real. We keep exchanging notes on the same bit of information until we have stretched and torn its meaningfulness to tatters. And then from the carcass we start afresh with another person, talking about trivialities and mundane things. It becomes especially harder to go with the flow—so to speak—when those with whom you don’t need to meander through conversations move away from the common ground that you grew up on. Then, realities like time zones, little children, husbands and other responsibilities pose hurdles to a meaningful … anything.
We stumble and fall, and yet, somehow manage our way through society and life with some kind of etiquette…and some friends.
Then we move cities…and struggle to start anew!
Comments
And please dont ever bow down to the pressure of the circuit and don their ways.. let our generation redefine the coffee morning crowd and revolutionise the "circuit" with more meaningful banter like what latest flick Peter Jackson's directed and what latest album bruce springsteen's released!