You are not invited...

Long ago just when the dust was settling over the pugmarks of T Rex s on this planet, there came up something called Google. And just after that they topped it up with something called Gmail. The marketing of Gmail was an awesome masterstroke. It just seemed to stroke to increase the desirability of a product, by providing it with an air of exclusivity. So not everyone had a Gmail account. You could only receive them by invites. And the invites could be provided by another Gmail user. Every user by his usability record of Gmail was provided with a few invites which he could distribute among friends and attain celebrity status. Crazy teenagers like you and me wasting ourselves in far flung tech institutes would knock on doors at unearthly hours and ask “Oye gmail invite hai kya?” and if not, flabbergasted we would blast away institute bulletin boards or on social networking sites a.k.a. the VA carnage.

Things had just come to such a pass, over the last week. With one of the gliterrati marriages in town and an even pompous birthday party in the neighbourhood, exclusivity was the sole buzzword even among celebrities. So where are you invited these days, are you in the A-team or the M-team? Are you dancing with belles or sweating it out on the cricket field? Are you in or out? These seemed to be the hushed discussions in the power corridors, boardrooms and even the underworld. Well if you were nowhere, you could even slit wrists and try your antics, to be rendered homeless the next day.

At lavish weddings you had roughed and bashed journos and even fanatic fans trying to get a glimpse of larger than life stars, but, no one seemed to care. Have your share of soft drinks and mithais and get going. But, hold on, just how do you go! The tried and tested BEST commuter services had come to a stop given the problems on allowances, with commuters often having to trudge back home. And as you trudged back through the lanes of Juhu, the bedecked Merc makes way with frantic security agents trying to get the better of pedestrians. I tried as long as my craning neck could allow, vintage positions on tree tops, banners. And when everything came to naught, I cried grapes are sour and went on a dharna with the journos in toe. Who really cares, I wasn’t even invited. Gives you such a left out feeling, huh!

And then when you reach home, your wife comes to you and says, “Look. I soon will not need you any longer. Scientists have found out ways for women to bear offspring without the help of men. And since anyways, this house is in my name, you are not invited any longer.” Bad dreams but they would become true very soon.