I wouldn't say you're nothing without me.

You would though.

sadistics

thats supposed to be a clever play on Statistics.
I've been told I don't leave anything for interpretation. That I like to remote control everyone's thoughts and actions.
I believe that is spot on correct.

Fab, just Fab.

It was, 'I love Fab India furniture'. 

Anyone who knows me would tell you (well, depends really, if you know them as well. If you’re a complete stranger they may not be so forthcoming with the me-facts and fun trivia) (just saying) that I love Fab India furniture. 

What furniture, forget that, I love Fab India. Simple.

Well, now that has become: 'I love most Fab India stuff, over-priced as they are and I love the furniture designs, but I hate Fab India furniture'.

Why.

I’m someone who needs my house, my living space, to look exactly as I choose. Which is why when my current flatmate and I went looking for houses when we got to this city, I was absolutely stubborn about not moving into houses which are already furnished.

Why­(1):

Well, a number of reasons really:

1. I don’t like feeling like I live in a cheapo medimix hotel (please refer earlier post here to see what I mean by that).
2. People only leave furniture they Hate. They detest. Or that which may be possessed.
3. What, its true, it could be possessed. Or worse. We saw a fridge (yes I know fridge is not ‘furniture’ but it is a part of a ‘furnished house’) in one of those houses which I refused to let my flatmate open and check because I had this not-so-fun-tingly-tingly feeling that something (like a dead body, of a rat or person) may fall out at us.
4. I imagine all the oily stinky heads that may have rested  against that sofa. Or the activities the previous tenants might have gotten up to on said sofa. Ahem. Need I say more.

If you live in a pre-furnished house, well. I’m not apologising. You should have thought things through.

Back to Why

So. I love having my house look like I’d like it to, and as mentioned earlier I used to love Fab India furniture. As soon as we moved in – I ran to the nearest Fab store and picked out my bed and book shelf.

Touchwood. Literally. Pun Intended. Whatever you call it. 

Those two have mostly behaved. Well, except that lying down on my bed breaks my back. Ok, there I’ve admitted it. Everyone I know warned me about that damned Futon. But no. I loved it. I bought it. I suffer.

The book shelf is alright.

So, egged on by the great victory of the good bookshelf, I ventured into Fab again. This time with my parents. They kept saying, buy a dining table and chairs. I said no, no need. I just need a small breakfast table thats all.

Why (2)

Well frankly, a dining set would’ve cost a lot. 

I loved the cool fold up breakfast table which I’d already seen at a friend’s house. And my tam brain was thinking – wah, not only could I use it to ‘Comfortably’ eat an entire meal, I could also use my laptop on it, and maybe it would serve well when someone decides to bring me a romantic breakfast in bed. Ooh, and with flowers. Maybe, there would also be some chocolate milk. 

Mmm.

Back to Why

So, I got carried away. Spent 3.5k on that breakfast table. Went home happy.

Needless to say, I used the breakfast table all of Thrice.

Why (3)

Because I got too lazy ok. 

It used to be folded up inside my room. 

And I'd already have gotten my breakfast and settled comfy on the diwan-bed outside in the hall, in front of the tv, just minutes to go before I absolutely have to get out of the house and get myself to work. The idea of moving myself, getting to my room, dusting off the table, bringing a cloth to put on the table so that my cold juice doesn’t leave a mark on the wood. Etc. Etc. (ok maybe not too many etcs more.) 

I just could not.

Back to Why

So the table was in my room all folded up. Against a wall. 

So one day I was sitting at the edge of my bed, blankly staring at the space occupied then by the folded table, thinking nothing about the table, when suddenly I notice  - A giant crack.

What.

Where did that come from. I haven’t even used this damn thing.

Ok, ok. I call my boyfriend. Whine. I calm down. I will speak to the sweet Fab people who sold me this. They will replace it.

REPLACEMENT 1.

Well, after some persuasion that the crack was always present – I got a new table within two weeks of having returned the older one.

Life went on. I decided to open it out and place a small coffee mug on it. For looks.

You know, just, make my room look like its from a sexy Homes R Us kinda magazine (I KNOW there is no such magazine).

After that I went to Chennai for a week. Came back

Well, how better to put it than – It was Broken. Splintered. Like my mug had magically called all its mug friends and had a jumping party On the table. (ok that does not make sense)

The damn table had collapsed. From the weight of my mug. Well, there was no better explanation. So I immediately sprung into action. Called my boyfriend and whined.

Whined some more.

He told me he’d come with me. Speak to those people. They’d somehow replace it.

REPLACEMENT 2.

This one wasn’t as smooth. Given that one side of the table was pretty much splintered wood. The shop fellow sweetly asked me if I had sat on it.

I didn’t reply.

But somehow, I have a feeling the look on my face gave me away.

He took the table back.

Long story short – well, shortening a long story and fast forward –ing three months from then. I take a colleague of mine and go to Fab. This is my tenth visit since the fateful day when the table was returned.

They see the black cloud hanging over my head and miraculously present a table just like mine from somewhere.

This time I had the good sense to examined the damn thing from all angles before taking it home. As suspected, there is a crack under one of the legs.

So i politely point out the crack which has so evidently been glued together.

Shop guy: What crack, I don’t see any crack.

Me: Um, there it is.

Shop guy: No.

Me: What do you mean! Its a large crack. Its the size of my thumb (I don’t have tiny thumbs).

Shop guy: No no, thats just the wood.

Me: I can see glue. Look, feel this man.

Shop guy: *feels the wood*. Feels fine.

Colleague: *breaks off the leg*. See. It broke.

Me: Give me my money back.

Shop guy: Stammer. What. You broke it.

Colleague: It was broken. Just give her her money back.

Manager: Ok, here you go.

The end.

Many months later .

I venture into the same Fab India. Everyone eyeing me warily (yes they remembered me). I spot an awesome dining table. I buy it.

Why (4)

....

Back to Why

I was so bloody excited about my dining table and two chairs. Cost me a bomb. But I felt it was worth it. That it was time to give Fab another chance. Anyway, who else would I turn to in my time of (furniture) need?

I even bought a giant lamp that goes with the table.

.

The chair broke. The leg broke. Followed by the seat.

(Alright, I'll admit. A few tears were shed along with the Whining this time.)

RETURN

I call them up. Tell them I’ll pay them to take the whole thing back.

Told them, Yes. Someone Did sit on it this time. But it was a Chair. It was to be expected. Don’t Push me. I’m a lawyer (Though I’m never sure why thats a valid threat given that I’m too f.ing lazy to file a case against them or take any such action anyway. And one look at me would tell them that I’m no Palkiwala yet).

They agreed.

Well.

Thats why. 

And I have learnt my lesson. From now, I shall visit Fab, note the designs and get a friendly furniturewala to make uncannily similar stuff for me.

I tried Fab.

I really tried to be fair.

To do right.

But.

Bleddy.