The Most Awkward Office Party Ever. EVER.

Today was the last day of work for a coworker, Tarachand. I think he found another job somewhere else, so he's leaving after a year and a half here. To thank him for his service and contributions, our organization threw a farewell party for him.

I had assumed this would be like TERI parties. There would be food and drinks laid out on a desk or table, and we'd all stand around in small groups schmoozing. You know, like a normal office party.

I was wrong. So, so wrong.

Everyone walked into the conference room (which is where I work because it's the warmest room in this freezing building) and sat down around the table. And everyone was completely silent. They didn't talk to me or each other. Not even a hello or namaste. This is strange, I thought. It's like they're coming to an execution, not a farewell party. Then the director and his wife walked in, and everybody stood up. Well, this is oddly formal for a party. Is this a meeting now? Or are we paying respects to the executioners? The director gave some brief farewell speech that lasted no more than 20 seconds. Everyone continued to sit in silence. You could taste the tension. Finally Bhim, the office cook, brought down some chai and pakoras (check my glossary if you don't know what this is), which taste significantly better than tension.

But the tension did not disappear. After 6 minutes of complete silence--no, I'm not exaggerating, I checked my watch--the ridiculousness of the situation hit me (a party of endless awkward silence sitting around a conference table?! qlwkasjdoarslkcs!!) and it took every fiber of my being to control myself from bursting into a giggle fit. I took my tea cup, though it was now empty, up to my face in an attempt to hide my toothy about-to-laugh grin. I had trouble breathing, it was so difficult to control.

Shreshtha, who was sitting next to me, noticed my suffering and passed me the plate of pakoras, just so that I would have to move the cup away from my face. I glanced at him and shook my head, keeping the cup in front of my mouth. "Kuch lena [take some]," he whispered, his voice dripping in sweetness. Switching into English, he continued menacingly, "You know you want to." It was a cruel joke. If I put down the cup and reached for pakoras, I would lose all control and crack into obnoxious cackling! And that would be beyond embarrassing in this room of deathly silence! Luckily Harsh saved me and broke the silence by posing a question to Tarachand about his experience at our organization and what his next step in life would be. Once Tarachand started talking, the awkwardness decreased slightly and I could regain composure. Sort of.

As soon as the "party" ended (by the way, it lasted all of 15 painful, painful minutes) and everyone left, I finally let the laughter pour out of me. I'm fairly certain my coworkers in the next room heard my chortling.

This story was probably neither entertaining nor funny to you. BUT THE AWKWARDNESS WAS SO INCREDIBLE. A new feat of awkwardness has been achieved today, and I think we should all be proud of ourselves.