Just-Another-Pub Day

Last week, Lahsiv forwarded an email to the group:

"Guys, it's International Day in New York this Saturday, let's all go for the parade!! Remember to dress in national costumes, and be there ready to have a great time!"

Of course my mind went wild. There would be a street fair, hundreds of people milling around, all sorts of international food stalls, and varieties of musicians and performers. It would be a sensory kaleidoscope of colours, sounds and scents. It was the very essence of New York, and of course we should be a part of it.

In my excitement, I pulled out the only traditional Indian wear I had, and rushed that off to the tailors for some alterations (no, I wasn't having it taken out). My mind was abuzz with the excitement of getting all dressed up. That Saturday, I rushed home after my bike ride, full of anticipation for International Day.

"Guys, what you wearing? Doobs, what do you think I should wear!!"
"Erm, you know that was a joke, right?" said Doobs.
Eh.
"Ficali, there's no International Day Fair, silly. It's just a Lahsiv and his mates going out for a few drinkies at an Irish pub not far from here."
"Oh."

"Now put on some jeans and a t-shirt and let's head over."

And as always, (well, sometimes anyway), Doobs was right. There was no street fair. There were no musicians or performers or (most importantly!) food stalls. Infact, when we got there, it was a tiny little pub, and a bunch of friends downing a beer bong. International Day indeed.

All I can say is, thank gawd I hadn't donned the whole Indian garb.