The GFC gathering

BY AVIJIT SARkAR

Many social breakfasts, lunches and dinners have come and gone, like the months and years. Infants have started walking and three prime ministers have ascended the Australian throne. But certain topics of discussion never seem to change. So profound is the situation, that these days my old eager anticipation has been replaced with a new predicable expectation at most of the eating orgies.

At social gatherings, other than the usual suspects grazing voraciously on the calories, I usually foresee the customary “heated” topics to emerge. Most occasions like Diwali, Holi and Christmas not only bring forth the spirit of festivities enhanced by strong spirits, but also expected idiosyncratic behavior from unexpected quarters.

The most popular topic that has gained immortality thanks to the American fat cats is the ‘global financial crisis’ or GFC, as the regulars call it. This theme has the commonality of an alley cat at social gatherings, and to me, it is the ‘inevitable’ GFC forum.

The ‘G’ word is dropped at every single gathering and I have already met a few local Warren Buffets heralding the advent of non-festivities at festive occasions. Strange as it sounds, I am often impressed because these newborn Warrens seem to know more about the global economic weather than the original Buffet! Before the economic meltdown, the only ‘Buffet’ I knew was culinary.

I have made a study of the essential foundations of this undying subject.

To start with, every person has an expert opinion and after a couple of tight serves of whiskey, some will even table solutions for the entire GFC. Past facts and figures will emerge with the deepfried entrees, doom and gloom will be served with the elegant and heart-warming mains, and the inevitable final solutions will be laid out together with a vast array of colourful caloric desserts.

Now I tend to first settle down with a glass of white and let the warmth hit me, brought on not by global warming or the wine, but by the discussions around me. Pretending interest, I pull my chair closer to one of the more garrulous groups and find the usual suspects.

Like Mr. Doom, who will always be at the forefront.

“Every person here is doomed… finished,” he will lament, while Mr. Gloom sitting next to him will nod wisely. The GFC always varies between two perennial groups at these occasions – the male and the female (and I am so glad that we don’t have a third group). However, the objective and perspective of the discussions within these two groups will be vastly different.

The females will use this moment to crucify their partners.

“Ajee, woh sab kuchh khokar baithe hain…” (Oh, he has lost everything…)

“Arey jaane do, pucho to kehte bhi nahin hain ki kitna gayaa…” (Forget it! He won’t even tell me how much he has lost)

“Han Jee, mainay to pehele se kaha thaa ki jaane do ye share vair…”

(Yes, I had forewarned him about these shares…)

The males on the other hand will use this as a platform to firstly, display a complete knowledge of world economics – past, present and future; secondly, duck away from the wives (their own, of course); and finally, fantasize about assets (of the monetary kind, of course!) that they wish they had.

Next, comments will be thrown into the air by Mr. Optimist who will say, “Lakhon chale gaye… par koyee baat nahi”. (I have lost millions, but it does not matter.)

Followed by Mr. Fantasizing Optimist, “Lakhon chale gaye… par koyee baat nahi. Karodo banaa lenge!” (I’ve lost millions but it does not matter – will make ten fold again!)

Mr. Buck Passer will comment, “Pataa nahi kyun itney ghar le liye maine! Meri missus ki vajah se ye saara kaam bigad gaya”. (I don’t why I invested so much money in properties, it’s entirely my wife’s fault!)

Mr. Curable Pessimist will air his view, “Iska ab koyee solution nahi raha. Aage ki pidhiyan iskaa dukh jhelenge”. (Now there is no solution, but future generations will pay for this.)

Followed by Mr. Incurable Pessimist who will say, “Kahin aisa

“Lakhon chale gaye… par koyee baat nahi. Karodo banaa lenge!” (I’ve lost millions but it does not matter –will make ten fold again!) na ho ki sub kuch khokar ab desh vapas jaana pade”.

(Hope we don’t come to a state where we lose everything and need to go back to our country of origin).

Frankly, it often needs an incident or an accident to stop this flow of gibberish. Like at the last dinner when the hostess came rushing out of the kitchen screaming, “My tenderloins are burnt!”, which brought conversation to an abrupt halt.

Past facts and figures will emerge with the deep-fried entrees, doom and gloom will be served with the elegant and heartwarming mains, and the inevitable final solutions will be laid out together with a vast array of colourful caloric desserts.

Some who understood that the beef tenderloins have been overcooked sympathized with the hostess, but the other slower ones who had split ‘tenderloins’ into two words, looked down in embarrassment and sympathized quietly with the host.

But although these outbursts are meaningful in halting further comments about the GFC, they could start up the next expected channel of conversation – either cricket or Anna Hazare. And this scares me. Not the topics, but the ensuing boredom. Maybe Bertrand Russell was spot on when he said, “Boredom is... a vital problem for the moralist, since half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it.”

I love the warm, gooey, melting chocolate feeling the endings give me, and I love swooning over the handsome, yet sweet and sensitive heroes.

But more on that torture later….