Graciously Fake

I’ve always been fascinated by the fake. Yes, those who seem outwardly thrilled at something they wouldn’t care less about, and go around kissing the air surrounding people’s faces. And need I mention the heart-wrenching concern and the incurable amnesia?

I first encountered a fake in the family. Years of life in the US, a fantastic job and a fantastic house later I saw her sometimes on her yearly visits. She was thrilled, of course, to see us. After making all the appropriate sounds and saying everything that sounded so very “propah,” she settled down amidst several cushions and asked questions that made her seem interested in us.

“So, what are your future plans Reeba?”

Trying hard to ignore the slip she’d made with my name, I replied politely. I replied to all her questions about my course, the job I was looking for, my dream man blah blah.

And when she returned the next year or the year after that, I found myself in the same situation.

“So what are your future plans Reeba?”

But by then I had practiced the art of correcting her without sounding too miffed.

“Its Roopa”, I’d say laughing and remind her that this was a mistake she made every year.

“Aww, I’m getting old you know”, came her quick reply.

As much as I disliked this fake, I made another a friend. I met her when I was doing my graduation. After the initial round of introductions, we went on to introduce ourselves to the others in class. After a week after that, she smiled and asked for my name over and over and over and over again. And I calmly repeated it over and over and over and over again. But by then, the teacher found a way for everyone to get better acquainted. They gave us 10 minutes to get to know details about the person sitting next to us. After those 10 minutes, we would be asked to stand in class and introduce our neighbour. And it so happened, the fake was sitting next to me. We asked each other questions about family and friends, hobbies and pet peeves. And when it was time to introduce her, I introduced her as someone with partial amnesia. She never forgot my name after that.
But she didn’t change. Her favourite pastime was hugging and kissing people. And she had a good day when she found someone crying or depressed, because that gave her a chance to play counselor. And when a teacher crossed her path, she would whine “Woah Ma'am, what a wonderful saree. The colour suits you.”

She made these proclamations about how she could relate to me. “You are so easy to talk to”, she said and I went home feeling mighty pleased. Of course, soon afterwards she asked to borrow some money. She’d played the same tactic on a more experienced fake that she looked up to. But that fake had spoken sweetly and blown her a few kisses before saying no. At the end of three years, when we passed out, I had come to believe that she was completely fake. And I was actually proud that I was so frank and so true to the world and myself. But when the juniors made speeches about us, she turned out to be the most popular. Few got up and owed their existence to her (Do I sound jealous?) and I came to realize that it wouldn’t hurt if I tried faking a few things as well.

So then I began practicing on people who came home. I carried their babies with fake enthusiasm (I detest it when mothers imagine I ought to like their babies because I am a girl and hand me their babies), made promises of visiting them often and laughed at all the jokes. It worked on some, while the others looked amused. So I decided it was better to be myself.
Now I am immune to the fakes I meet wherever I go. The come in all shapes and sizes, from different corners of the world. Some come armed with fake accents, while others are overly demonstrative in their supposed affections. They are uninhibited and confident, enjoying the reactions they evoke in people. And they use a more fancy label, by calling themselves PR people. They show interest, give you details they want to give, pamper your ego, flatter you and get what they want. Good PR, they say!

A little diplomacy could never harm anyone, I’ve convinced myself. And now I’ve taken my place as an amused observer, as I realize there is no point in being annoyed at the fakes of the world. So now, I derive my entertainment from this lot. God bless the Fakes!