Special species

Special species

One mid-afternoon, an acquaintance dropped in unannounced for tea.

Liars are a species by themselves. This trait, from time immemorial, has helped fulfill many a financial goal, achieve ‘success’ in an endeavour, to betray someone or just serve the primal purpose of saving the homosapien skin. White lies have been told for a noble cause. There are a rare breed of people, however, who lie for no ostensible reason. It many be worthwhile delving into the terra incognita psyche of such by sharing a few anecdotes.

One mid-afternoon, an acquaintance (businessman by profession) dropped in unannounced for tea. Launching into a monologue, our visitor went on to brag that he earned several lakhs per day, had dined with the PM and the President, was the right-hand man to many a big-wig, regularly catered to the sartorial requirements of a leading business tycoon’s and glitterati. The very next minute, his flourishing star-spangles business was so pathetically floundering that he expressed doubts as to whether he’d be able to pull on any longer. ‘My wife and offspring will be on the streets’, he rued. Pray, what was this? — Delusions of grandeur counterbalanced by delusions of destitution?

‘What about your lands, uncle?’, I ventured anxious to help, ‘Perhaps you could sell them.’ ‘How can I, beta? They have been confiscated by my unscrupulous brother’. ‘All?’. ‘Yes, all’. In an educational institution that I attended, we had a guru whose mode of dispensing gyaan was digression at best and balderdash at worst. Scheduled special classes would sometimes be cancelled because a friend of our professor’s (invariably some vociferous MP or a high-flying songster) would have very conveniently landed at his door.

There was a gentleman whose gracious hospitality we had the pleasure of partaking on one particular occasion. Champagne flowed, an exquisite book and art collection were shown while soothing strains of the sitar emanated in the background. All was well until names began to drop like obedient meteors -- a pastiche of top movie stars, industrialists, artists, musicians, writers, musicians and danseuses all of whom happened to be a ‘dear friend’ of our host’s. We, non-celebrity  non-entities, then left leaving the esteemed gent to contemplate (and lionize) his famous chums.

Certain friends actually call to say that they are so busy that they don’t even have the time to breathe. ‘Lack of time owing to many responsibilities’ constitutes the dominant theme of conversation of these great mortals who obviously seem to possess enough of it to waste one’s humble moments.

This piece of writing has to reach denouement at this point, for you see I have to rush off to seal a very important deal that could have far-reaching eco-political and social repercussions of behemoth proportions, buy a Prada or a Versace (all in my Doddakammanahalli vicinity, of course) and get ready for my dinner date with the veritable Brad Pitt (minus Angelina Jolie, of course) who is flying all the way from LA exclusively to be with me.