Happy Diwali and other rambles

Hello, kind readers and Happy Diwali! Since I get supremely bugged with the long-winded "Happy Diwali and have a crappy new year full of prosperity'' kind of messages, do know that I mean the best for you. Just don't make me say it. :P

On a not-so-side not, this year's 'Foot-in-Mouth' Award goes to me. Why? Because I was a part of the following conversation:

The cleaning lady from the gym (called Mavshi) saw me in the gym after quite a hiatus. She stopped by for a chat, reproduced below:

Me: Hello Mavshi, how's you?
Mavshi: Fine. Long time no see!?
Me: Arey haan. No time. So Diwali preparations in full swing?
Mavshi: You know I won't be able to this year, since I lost my son five months ago.

After looking suitably ashamed of self (but horrified in the inner depths of my mind), I wondered why, at such time, the earth doesn't open up and swallow me up whole. Alternatively, someone gagging me with a wet, smelly sock at the precise moment wouldn't be such a bad thing, either.

If God was sitting up there and distributing traits at the time of my birth, I'd like to have acquired some proficiency in knitting sweaters or gardening or making paper hats or something. Why such copious amounts of skills in asking a woman who has lost her son (and knowing about her loss) whether she's going to be partying hard this season?

It's like asking a student who's failed his exams if he's bought his text books for next year.

Why do I do this? The fact that it was unintentional is no excuse.

In fact, I have no excuse.

Sorry, Mavshi. I really am. But I sincerely hope you have a good Diwali. Wherever your son is, I know he will want you to. You owe this to yourself...