It's Party Time - II

The Fortune is not in my favour. I would suppose this has to do with my quite recent obsession with homicide. But, then Fortune must also know that I have been driven to that by desperation. Or it could be because I was coward (or in this case, lazy) enough not to throw those stones last night. Or this morning. Or this afternoon.... and seeing that this has been a never-ending party... I haven't even screamed across from my balcony, "Shut Up." Fortune, after all, favours only the brave.

Yes, I was invited to the party again. And even though I didn't RSVP, I was, of course, in attendance — although not so much physical present. (Does it become another party if it only took a small commercial break and started again at 11 am?) Strangely enough, there seemed to be lesser number of 'guests' over this time around. I am certain the number was halved from last night.

And, did I mention about the host's taste in music? It's horrible. I will rescind my statement from last night, when I complimented my host for his eclectic collection of good old English rock. I speculate, the music, last night, was rather to impress, than a show of his taste. Today, as of this afternoon, I am sure is the true presence of his very unimaginative .... likes in music.

Please forgive me if I restrain from mentioning the songs... there are too many and I am trying not to be any more irritated than I already am. I am trying to concentrate over the blare and blast of those drums and boom-booming woofers.

I have, of course, discussed homicide with a friend. Asked him if it would be alright if I killed this ... psycho DJ-in-the-making. He said I should invest in sniper rifle, or bazooka. Sniper rifles are really really looking quite attractive right now.

This, after I have tried stuffing Megadeth and Sepultura into my ears — through headphones. I will not be uncouth enough to inflict death metal on any of my neighbours. And definitely not after midnight and continue the torture in daylight.

Once, long time ago, my boss had yanked the earphones out, saying I should be listening to the ... noise of everyday. Sorry, boss. No can do. If this is the everyday noise, I wish I could get my earphones glued to my ears. I do not want to hear extremely irritating dhinchak songs — Chiggy Wiggy? Oh Please! — while I am trying to work.

I am, right now, contemplating how to get across to this .. this... nincompoop... that his preference in music is not shared by everyone. I can, of course, scream it across: My vocal chords are evenly matched with his crappy music system. But that would mean waking up the other neighbours. I know I am loud in the daytime. At nights, that loudness can be positively thunderous.

I could use the brick. Only problem is, I know I won't be able to hurle it that far.

Oh how I wish his crappy amplifier was capable of spontaneous combustion. It would solve the problem in the long run.

Sigh. I am definitely going to dream of ways to kill someone, without getting caught.

It's Party Time

Have you ever been to a party that you were not invited to? I have been. In fact, I am still there, (not quite) enjoying the music. After all, what is there not to like right? The party is happening in a house nearby, which, I might add, is not even in our apartment complex.

Oh, I quite enjoy the music. I do. I really really do. After all, the host does seem to have a good taste in music, Floyd, Beatles (at times) and Aerosmith. It's a welcome change from three-year-old played-within-an-inch-of-its-shelf-life Bollywood tracks at the usual regular DJ dos. Blaring through really crappy amplifiers....

But not at 2 am. When I am trying to concentrate on a book, which given a chance will be quite the death for me. Oh here it is again. ....Chandigarh kare aashiqui.... Really? Chandigarh? At 2 am? I ought to pelt stones at that house. The window is miraculously open in this bitter cold wind.

But there are two problems staring me in the face:
1. I don't seem to have a stone — not even a small pebble — at my disposal at this time.
2. I just remembered why I was not on the cricket team: My throw is pathetic.
and well...
3. I will have to get out of my cozy little quilt and do all the work...

Seriously. Can a woman not have a little peace and quiet? Even at 2 am? At 2.30 am if I am inclined to be a bit finicky about it..

Now there is the laughter of ... one, two, no ... five men (could be boys, but as I am in attendance, although not in person, I think I could be pardoned if I don't know my host and his friends).

There... they have changed tracks again.... Teri Deewani.... I am almost longing for English tracks again. Almost, but not quite.

Now there is a impromptu karaoke happening. Disgustingly off-key. I should know. I am just as bad: (But only when I have actually inflicted my singing voice on polite company, which I might assure everyone, I DO NOT. At least not usually.)



Sigh. And, sigh again. There goes those awful drums.

Okay! That's it. I am going to throw that stone. I wish I could throw a brick with a letter wrapped, but stone will have to do... It really will have to do!

.....

It seems like I didn't have to bother after all:
There is blissful peace. I can only hope that the house caught fire. Or at the very least, one of the neighbours were irate enough to commit homicide. Multiple homicide.

You see, I don't want a repeat invitation to the party tomorrow night.