So some lame-ass in my college class of 2004 has suddenly decided that it would be an awesome idea to find the phone numbers of 57 other class mates (two dead, may their souls rest in peace away from all social media) and form a WhatsApp group. The poor dear has convinced some of his other friends to go through the painful task of collecting all the phone numbers, with the sole intention of forming another WhatsApp group that we could all rudely exit from.

But this time, I’m pressing pause on that exit button. And I’m watching the damn ball game. Or very soon, this will escalate into a full-blown cocktail party invitation.

There are the usual two-person conversations that happen with a 58-strong audience.

“Hey, Mark. How’s Oregon?”

“Hey, Jude. Oregon is amazing. But tell me about Portland. Because I’m sure that the 50 member audience mostly stuck in India would love to know the temperature there. After all, it is our duty to play geography teacher to all of them.”

If you want the temperature of a US state, kindly use this amazing app called Google.

Then the lame photograph. Where the loser who created the group is in the pic with the one guy he never got to hang out with except in that pic.

You know what….I have a lot of questions I’d like to ask.

“Kishore…do you still have a dick up your ass? Did you manage to operate it out? How’s your replacement wife? Oh…did you know that Krithi is on her fourth kid? So happy for her. They could all have been yours, had you not been an asshole. Well, it’s partly my fault. I whispered into Krithi’s ears. And boy, isn’t she happily married without you.”

“And Jeena? Are you still trying to call Jack after so many years? You’re both married else where. And for God’s sakes, you have a kid. And don’t tell me about true love. You were always a bitch. Which is partly why Jack loved you. Anyway…you dumped him. I wouldn’t say ‘your loss’. You two were best away from each other.”

And please…please…please…don’t flood my WhatsApp/phone storage with your cute baby pics, or your pot belly posing on view point of wherever-land.

Yes, yes. You have a lot of questions to ask me….I know. Hows my divorce going? Do I really want to pretend to be a writer? Am I sleeping with anyone? Am I still cranky as hell?

You want to ask John if he is still unemployed. Isn’t it time he got back on his feet. You want to ask Shane how his erectile dysfunction is going for him. Why else does he not have kids? You think Jill should get married again. A girl shouldn’t stay single for that long. She’d turn into a whore you know. That’s what happens to single women. Who else do you want to pick on? Mary and Mark, the marriage that is going sour? Sagar, who got fired and thrown out of for malpractice?  You want to ask Simon if he is actually gay in Australia? Why else is he hugging a guy in his DP?

So you all think I just have a stick up my own ass? Which is why I’m raging on? Divorce is turning me into a bitter woman? Some kind of raging feminist? Maybe? I don’t know. I can tell you one thing. Alumni groups are the stuff of cotton-candy hell. Where the clowns are your tormentors. Studies show that self-esteem is often connected to how well you perform over the years with respect to your college mates. A very bad measure of self esteem, but that’s how our fucked up minds work. Thats why we have alumni groups.  To compare, contrast, and feel terrible. Tell me why should we stand, dressed up in our cocktail bests, clinking our delicate glasses, telling each other how great we are? We all have our shit, we hide it as best as we can, and we parade around the small tiny bit of our lives that’s kind of going well, hoping it would be enough to make the rest jealous enough of us.  Then, and only then can we all go back to feeling slightly better having ruined another’s day.

I just don’t think this is helping anyone.