Some pressing matters

I am not convent educated, unlike many of the leading ladies of Chennai. In fact, I was ruthlessly pulled out of a famous missionary school when I was barely six and enrolled in an extremely serious, very studious school. It was because my parents valued “no-nonsense”, “nationally accepted”, “rigorous” education over chaste English.

Ah well! That is quite some drastic stereotyping. No? Not my fault, blame my parents!

Though not convent-based, the school I studied in did teach me really good English. Or, so I have prided myself in thinking thus far.

However, of late, I have had some serious doubts about my mastery over the Queen’s language. What else could explain my confusion when I am repeatedly subjected to phrases such as these:

• Looking forward to meet you – I have always thought that it should be ‘Looking forward to meeting you’. But, the sheer number of people who use the former has intimidated me into believing that I might perhaps have been wrong all along.
• You can be rest assured that – This I know is completely wrong. You ‘can rest assured’. Or, you ‘can be assured’. How the hell can you ‘be rest assured’?
• Historic growth has been around xx% – How can all growth be of historic significance? For that is what ‘historic’ means. It is something out of the ordinary that happened when we were not around. Otherwise, it is simply ‘historical’.
• Between x to y – This used to be my Dad’s favorite. Every time he received a wedding invitation that stated that the reception would be held ‘Between x p.m. to y p.m.’, he would start arguing very excitedly. You either say ‘from x to y’ or ‘between x and y’, he would say. I do agree whole-heartedly.
• Forecasted – This is my latest problem. Would any of us have the nerve (or even the heart) to say “I putted everything in order before leaving for the day”? Then, how can one make a statement like “It is forecasted to be low”?
  

Please do clarify my doubts; right now, despite a round-the-corner vacation, these pertinent and perhaps, elementary questions seem to be weighing heavily on my heart (or is it mind).

Seven

My kid cousin turned 18 yesterday. Which means she is not a kid any more. Or that is how she must be feeling right now, am sure.

That is how I felt when I turned 18.

The whole ‘becoming a major’ part was a big turn-on. Just imagine! I could vote, drive, tell off people with an “I know what am doing” look. The opportunities were endless. And, my silly mind waited and waited for grand 18 so that I could finally be free of those undefined shackles of childhood while my friends plotted behind my back to make it special. Special it was, I remember vividly. It still remains special, though I wonder whether life would have been a tad different and perhaps much better had it not been special.

But, that is not a story for this blog. Let’s move on.

Today, when I am 25 and have still not figured out life, I look back at those 7 years – 7 long years. And, I want my 7 years back.

No, I don’t want to reverse things, however good or bad they might have been. In fact, I am quite OK with how ‘life’ has turned out.

In these 7 years, I have run around like mad, chased behind things of no consequence, been rude and impatient and angry over little events, fretted over that which would never have been mine for eons together.

I wish I had not been so hard on myself, I wish I had taken it a little easier while I still could have. I wish I had been happier than I was with all the things I had, and not been consumed with bitterness over things that I did not.

I wish I had enjoyed the chocolate without worrying about how to dispose the wrapper.

My not-so-kiddish-anymore kid cousin would never read this. At least not presently. She is way too impatient and consumed with her life right now. Just like how I was then. But, perhaps, she would handle her 7 years much better than I did mine.

Perhaps, I will handle my next 7 years better than I did this. Or, at least I won’t write about it like how I have.

Maybe, I won’t be writing anymore then. After all, this blog did not exist in the last 7.

Geeks, nerds and... some normal people

I am a geek, I have been reminded more than once. All engineers are, apparently. Even former ones.

Yes. I do the geeky talk once in a while, the theoretical geeky talk that is. Like theoretical computer science as against information technology. If you have lost me already, you should stop right here and head out to celebrate with some wine. You are NOT a geek.

To elucidate, just in case you are still around, I am a theoretical geek who can think algorithms, talk shortest paths and mull over integration to infinity at the best. I can appreciate geeky shows and plays, laugh over geeky jokes, and stand some geeky talk as long as it makes me a little intelligible on Nokia E5s, Blackberrys, Kindles, Nooks… whew! However, the minute someone gets into nerdy bits about software, middleware, upperware and some such, they have at best lost a friend, if not an acquaintance, for life.

I digress today, significantly from what I really wanted to write about. Which is about the latest Samsung Galaxy advertisement*.

There is nothing wrong with the advertisement itself. Well, almost. If only I were that gadget freak I would never be, I might be writing this post from there. The ad is that tempting.

Nevertheless, whether or not I acquire a Galaxy or an iPad (tech geeks would find that debatable, but I have a thing for the Apple brand), I would ensure that I never date a pest like the one shown in that ad.

No, really. Who wants to hang out with a guy who will photograph my handbag and web search the brand. How embarrassing for me if I were carrying a cheap replica of a Hidesign or a Chase (I am told they are dime a dozen on the lanes of Dharavi). And, who wants to go around with a tiresome bore who figures out how many calories I have burnt at the end of a dance. I have enough trouble avoiding the ugly truth from weighing machines. And, why on Earth would I be impressed with this smart-ass if it is not his own GK but Google that helps him figure out what song is playing on the disc.

In fact, I did not mean to crib about the ad. It is just an illustration to give a piece of advice to my male friends and acquaintances – geeks, nerds, normal – all of you.

Buy your androids. Give even a demo to your girlfriends. Women like “geekiness” in men, to some extent at least. Be geeky, crack some puzzles. We might actually be impressed. But, for heaven’s sake, don’t ever use your gadgets to tell us how many inches we should lose in order to fit into the latest Ritu Kumar creation on the display window.

* - I searched on YouTube for the advertisement with little success. If someone finds it, please provide the link as a comment. Thanks.

When God came visiting

It was a sleepy Friday afternoon. The sun was hard in giving audience to his subjects, starting signs of a Delhi winter.

Aromas of South India wafted from the kitchen while she pinched moments in between to catch updates on the television. Somewhere in the middle, she realized that she was not alone in the drawing room. There was a faint shadow across the television. She turned back in trepidation, only to encounter Him, sitting there patiently right at the balcony door, staring at her intently. She was dumb struck for a second but quickly collected her wits about her. Not knowing what to do, she quietly opened the main door and walked out, latching the grilled door behind her. He sat there wondering why she was behaving so strangely while she, along with the neighbors who had collected there by then, stared back at Him incredulously. He looked around for a few minutes, by this time bored with the not-so-happening drawing room and its memsahib, who seemed not to want to spend time with Him.

She realized by then that He must have been attracted to the balcony because of the smell from the kitchen. He walked, sure-footed, towards his destination. He stood at the kitchen door, with arms stretched up, like He was about to practice ‘Yogasana’ and inspected the dishes with a critical eye. He turned back, perhaps in disdain, and opened the refrigerator. As the spectators on the other side of the door wondered what He might loot from inside, He picked up a packet of flattened rice and quietly walked out through the balcony.

She has been convinced ever since that it was a sign from God asking her to visit her usual Hanuman temple. Though He has visited countless other apartments ever since that day, she prides on the fact that He has never ever gone up so many floors ever to visit anyone and pick up, of all things on Earth, flattened rice which is a favorite offering to God, apparently.

The only question I had for her was this – Did He close the door of the refrigerator before walking out?

The aura that is first love

I was with you for hardly a week, but fell madly in love.

Perhaps not in the same way as I did with your distant second cousin who is a thousand times faster and a million times more attractive.

But, yes, I did fall in love with you. Well, almost; with your bright and lively countenance, with the twinkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips, with the breeze with which you welcomed me in, and the ease with which you warmed up to me.

At this moment, I am compelled to pause and rationalize that this sudden spurt of emotion could only be because it has been a good decade and a half since I set foot on foreign land of any kind. Sadly, I know only too well my rationalization is flawed, if not completely, at least terribly completely.

For, it was not your sky scrapers and impeccably smooth roads that made me fall for you. Nor, was it your dust free pathways and Americanized accent.

No.

It was actually your wonderfully sweet people who would literally slow down their cars to let me jaywalk happily. I am a sucker for sweet people, you know. It was your clear blue sea which, in its purest form, is so inviting I just wanted to plunge in and loll around forever and ever. I am a sucker for the sea too, yes I am.

Well, well! Let’s not get all excited already, shall we? If you think you are all rosy and right and flawless in sight, wait a minute. And, listen to what I have to say.

Though I lost some calories thanks to you, I did not like the fact that you fed me only with leafy salads. Though I am a compulsive shopper (yes, unfortunately :(), your multitude of uber-rich malls ran the risk of making me a pauper had I more time than the paltry 2 hours I did.

Alas! I am also painfully aware of the fact that that these two points do nothing to weigh down your radiance.

How I wish I had spent more time with you, how I wish I could come back to you and spend the rest of my life in your loving hands.

But, you know what? I think I spoke a little too soon. I can never spend the rest of my life with you, Philippines.

Unfortunately for both you and me, I fell madly in love with your distant second cousin, much, much more madly, and much before I set foot on your soil. He is noisy and crowded and swift to a fault. He does not have your lane discipline, he does not have your sense of cleanliness in him. He has little or no regard for people who cannot keep up with his pace. But, he has a vibrancy that makes me fall for him all over again every time I see him - truly, madly and deeply too!

Distressed, rather

I have put this off for too long. It is high time I did it else my whole life will be in doldrums, not that it already isn’t.

Well, that sounds a tad too dramatic, even by my standards.

Without digressing further, what I need to do at the earliest possible is hit the send button on this very important e-mail.

Dearest Olay,
Can you please come up with a pro-ageing formula as soon as possible? I need something urgently that can accelerate my ageing specifically on the face.
Regards,

What may have prompted this outburst, you would wonder. Ladies and gentlemen, this is no outburst. This is a much planned, calculated, thought through, analyzed, sane (please feel free to add some more such adjectives at your whim and fancy) decision, not influenced by any person living or dead. Or maybe, it is.

Am sure anyone in my age group would be in seventh heaven hearing people tell them, “You look really young. Perhaps, you graduated this year.” And, what if different people in different situations and different environments tell this repeatedly? Isn’t it precisely what one wants to hear when going through this over-hyped quarter-life crisis?

However, I belong to a profession where women selectively color their hair so that grey strands are visible at strategic interludes and men wear spectacles to give them the ‘look’. I am surrounded day in and day out by people who perennially pray for wrinkled skin and grey moustaches.

I guess everyone has heard of those wise sages of epic fame, whose names I fail to recollect right now. We are a people like that. We need to, if not grow flowing beards and wear saffron robes, at least have sagely looks and stately manners so that we can advise wisely.

Wow! ‘Advise’ contains ‘wise’, in some convoluted form. It also contains ‘vice’, in a more straight-forward form!

Digressions apart, that is the long and short of it. Hence, I need to age soon so that I can join the bandwagon of wise sages and not stay young and foolish.

Before my boss voices it out some day, let me pre-empt my youth from becoming a ‘career-limiting’ move!

Great Expectations

He was an amazing driver. I used to get floored by his driving every time I got into the car. He was so passionate about driving that I suspect sometimes he loved his car more than he loved me. I would be lying if I said I didn’t mind it much. I used to get mighty jealous of 'em cars, oh yes I did.

He hated the times he was forced to be the cause of jerky turns, screeching brakes, inconsistent accelerations. He loved ‘smooth driving’, as he would call it. He hated drivers who overtook from the left, constantly honked (half-baked honking, he would say) with no rhyme or reason, had their headlights turned on to an irritatingly unnecessary proportion of brightness.

He did not mind any road; I don’t remember ever having heard him complain about roads. He could manage bad roads brilliantly, avoiding the potholes by centering the car over them with no lasting damage to either the tyre or the car or me.

He never got tired of long drives, never got tired of my constant looping of the same songs on the CD player, never got tired of the constant chattering. In fact, he is one of those few men I have known who could multi-task brilliantly – drive, talk, analyze music, observe everything on the side roads and comment on them. Perhaps, driving was so much a part of him that it never amounted to being a ‘task’.

He was a stickler for symmetrical parking. However, I never had to get down from the car to check how much space there was to fit the car or whether the angle in which the car was getting in there was right enough. He was way too intuitive about it. And, he almost always got it right first time around.

Someday, I would own a car and drive it too. Someday, I would have his favorite songs looping on the player while I attempt the task of driving. Someday, I would drive smooth irrespective of ‘minor’ externalities like roads.

Never would I be as perfect as him. But someday, I would have this undying and un-fulfill-able urge to ask him, “Dad, do you think this qualifies to be in your league of driving?”

Monotony, a world order

Every evening I look out of my balcony at the creamish-white moon on the backdrop of a deep blue sky. It is surreal; for an instance, life seems almost perfect.

Then I hear a drone in the kitchen. I snap out, as if from a trance. What I thought was the moon is actually a tube-light from a top floor apartment. Reality comes back into focus, complete with concrete walls and high rises, routine schedules and to-do lists.

Over the years, I have learnt that life is just like that illusory moonlight out there, full of quixotic moments and banal realities.

There are those flashes of pure bliss, those seconds when I feel on top of the world. Like when a kind old lady in a car offers to drop me at the taxi stand ‘cos it is pouring like mad, when people I have long lost contact with ping me on GTalk to say that my latest post struck a chord with them, when a group of friends decide to surprise me with a birthday gift I would never have been able to imagine, when my many-day yearning to catch Haji Ali at sunrise is finally fulfilled.

The here and the now, the quintessential elements of my existence just then make me ask, “What if time was to freeze at those moments? What if I could stay with those moments eternally?”

However, the mundane takes over the fantastic, for that is the world order. There are rains and flooded roads. There are days of unexplainable and self-inflicted loneliness, days of never-ending work and piled up responsibilities. There are choice-less times with only one way to take, the tried and tested one way.

Sometimes, I wonder whether it is too much to ask for more than my fair share of stay in seventh heaven, whether moments of serendipity could be stretched into hours, perhaps days, perhaps years. But, then, it would not be serendipity any more. That is why fate doles it out in small doses, like single shots of chocolate every fortnight, not enough to satiate the longing, just enough to crave for more.

A childhood long forgotten

He was 15. I was 10 then. He introduced me to Scrabble, like how he had introduced me to Moneyply and Ludo and Bingo before that.

Those were days when computers still ran on DoS, STD / ISD calls cost a bomb and post offices were stretched beyond capacity. I was an egoistic verbose writer, he was a pathetic correspondent. Letters were not us, neither were postcards. We were not in need of them. He and I, we met once a year, sometimes once in two years, for a brief 10 day period. Our board game was our bond, far stronger than emails and Gchats and Blackberry connectivity.

He was the rules analyst, the Moneyply banker, the game administrator, always. I was just the player, always. I trusted him blindly; his judgment was the last word, his rule the rule of God. He was just.

He knew that I was no sport, that I would refuse to play further if I did not win. He never lost for my sake. He was unwaveringly just. He would coax, tease and force me back to the game, very justly, as was his wont. I would make a jig when I won. He would look on unperturbed, sometimes a tad amused too, as if he was 60 and had seen it all in life.

We were not major TV watchers, he and I. There was nothing much to watch on TV those days. We would hit the Moneyply board at 9 in the morning and be at it for as long as 12 hours at times. Sometimes, my parents would have to literally tear us away from the board to take us to the beach. We would play with the sand, collect sea shells, and eat ice cream. But, we would come back to our board like we had never been away. We would pass through Texas and Dallas and JFK Airport and Boston. We would buy and construct and mortgage and sell. He would keep track of all of it. He was a spectacle-wearing nerd, the kind who should have grown to become a banker in real life.

We would make up words in Scrabble, fair and square. One for him, one for me; one more for him, one more for me. He would note down the scores on paper, doing the additions and subtractions. We would play again and again and again, till we had no more rough paper to note scores on.

He and I, we never made small talk. He was 15, I was 10. We had no reason to make small talk. He would have a book in hand sometimes, a huge academic one. He would read his, I would read mine. And, then we would take a break to read a non-academic one each. He and I, we were not major outdoor players. Perhaps, he thought I would not be interested in outdoor games. I was not. Sometimes, we would play ‘Bombay, Delhi, Madras, Calcutta’. I do not remember now what it was. Just that it was played outdoors.

He and I stopped playing board games a decade back. He was 20, I was 15. We had grown up. Perhaps, we had better things to do. I don’t know.

I was playing online Scrabble with a friend last week. I missed him. He is 30, I am 25. The Scrabble sleeps peacefully at home, maybe it misses him and me.

He and I, we never celebrated it. Not when he was 15, not when he was 20, not when he was 25 either. Maybe, in his 30th year, it is time to tell him, “Happy Rakhi dear V :)” A tad too early, so you would say. However, it is a tad too late, I would say. 25 years late in wishing him a very happy Rakhi and a beautiful life ahead.

Desi mentalities

My passport has not seen day light since time immemorial. Oh, well, except on those rare occasions when my myriads of identity proofs fail to prove that I share my face with the one in the photograph. In other words, it has been ages since I set foot upon a foreign land, even the near shore likes of Nepal and Sri Lanka. Before I go into a limbo state where I can revel in an endless dream of all those foreign locales showcased by Karan Johar, let me get to what I was trying to get to.

A few posts back, I had mentioned this term ‘desi mentalities’, coined by Denzil. In all fairness to the general public, considering I am the possessor of a brand new passport which has remained brand new for many years now, I should be the last person to comment on sticky topics like ‘desi mentalities’. However, since I had promised Denzil that I would write about it, I am just putting across a random set of things here, wondering which of these would make it to an actual ‘Chronicles of Desi Mentalities’.

Inputs from holders of no-more-brand-new passports welcome; rather, much in need.

Wait your turn
Long queues? Cutting through long queues? Cutting through long queues imagining them to consist of translucent objects (a la Nearly Headless Nick) with little regard for other queuees’ hands, feet etc.? Doing away with ‘em long queues by running a random sprinting algorithm?

A pack, a cram, solpa adjust maadi
Crowding into trains? Crowding into overcrowded trains? Crowding into overcrowded trains with heavily laden suitcases? Crowding into overcrowded trains with heavily laden suitcases and bestowing murderous glances on fellow crowdees for having occupied an INCH instead of an mm of space?

Dynamic optimization solutions
Hey, random woman out there! I don’t know you, you don’t know me. We are standing in the same queue. If we both bill this together, our combined bill amount of INR 3,000+ would fetch us two free make-over sessions at the make-shift spa out there. What say?

Masala nahi dogi toh life barbaad hogi*
Is Deepika Padukone coming along with the Mallya dude for today’s RCB vs MI match? Forget the match, but what has Octopus Paul got to say about it? Reminded of octopuses, predictions, swamijis, oh damn! I missed the Swami Nityananda video footage on news last night! I am all for ToI, news is represented in such an interesting manner, unlike this boring Hindu.

I convert, you convert, all happy, I unhappy
That dress costs USD 600. Oh my god (chuk chuk tak tak - mind calculator), that works out to INR 29,100. I would not buy something so expensive even for my own wedding (loud thud). Faints!

* Am not completely sure whether masala-attraction is a completely ‘desi’ phenomenon or just human by nature; have added it here primarily ‘cos this was the focal point of contention between Denzil and me.

The train

I sighed. 8 hours left, 8 long hours.

I was restless, excited and had absolutely no concentration on the BGS class (despite the CP* carrot). I had no worries in my mind, at least none that could not wait. The world was sunny, bright, blooming with the spring flowers and inviting in general. I was full of love even for my most detestable adversary, for, in my mind’s larger picture, the cause for such hatred was, at that point of time, as insignificant as having one button missing in an over-buttoned shirt.

As the hours trickled past, my excitement grew further. I had to explain to every single soul I met on the way back from the class to the mess the reason for my glee. Everyone seemed happy for me, or that is all I wanted to believe in.

In the next few hours, I packed and re-packed my bag several times. Did I pack the charger? Did I take my iPod? Does the ticket state the right date and time? Millions of such important (now innocuous) questions were running through my mind as I tried to keep it clear and concentrate on the clock instead. If at all there was any way I could, being the fighter I am, I would have willed the clock to hit 9 p.m. then and there. However, the art of waiting could be a beautiful thing too, I deluded myself into believing.

And, then, the magical hour arrived, when I could finally hail down the auto rickshaw and head towards the railway station. Had I known Eric Cartman then, I would have said, loud and clear, “Screw you guys, am going home.”

This was 4 years ago, when I was still new to the concept of being away from home. Having just then joined B school, I had grown home sick in less than 2 weeks, and in much rush, had booked tickets back home for the weekend.

As I look back at this incident today, I do not have answers to whether I acted overtly silly. Perhaps yes, perhaps all those people who seemed happy for me were actually making fun of my dimwitted behavior. Or, perhaps, it was very natural to actually want to feel like going home.

I tried searching for such a desire a few days back and found myself in want of the emotion. Then did I realize that I miss missing home. I can only hear logic such as ‘Home is where the heart is’, ‘That which has your people in it is home after all’ in my mind the minute I start thinking of home. Net result, I have no strong urge to go to that place I called home for more than a decade.

I am waiting, this time with no eyes on the clock, but with all eyes on my heart, for that train, which would urge me to take it back home and hoping that it would just be a very beautiful wait.

* CP - Class Participation, carrot - marks for participating in class

Color, color what color do you choose?

Thank you very much, Sony Vaio, for coming up with such a brilliant concept. It makes me feel special every morning I turn on the television and experience the ‘vivid’ness that is me, in the myriad colors of green and red (or is it pink?). And, may I add that you would have done a great disservice to mankind had you not roped in the symbol of femininity, the size zero queen, Her Highness Kareena Kapoor herself to endorse the series.

Now that we are done with the pleasantries, can we please get down to brass tacks?

I want to bring to your kind attention the simple fact that it does not exactly sound very cool to walk into a workshop or a meeting armed with a pink laptop. And, this holds true for all populace, gender disparities notwithstanding.

In layman terms, what it translates into is this. We women do like our pink dresses, the occasional pink footwear, and the pink umbrella on a nice, bright, sunny day. Pink is a pleasant color, it definitely goes well in a bedroom setting. So, we also like our pink curtains and pink bed sheets. Some of us even like our pink teddy bears in our bedrooms. (Although I do know of some women who hate pink, at the risk of sounding stereotypical and, more importantly, to appease the male of the species, I am considering them outliers). However, that does not mean that we love parading the roads like pink fairies (ugh! sounds repulsive), with pinked gadgets.

I remember the time when my Manager was gifted a pink mobile phone by her husband of 7 years. The phone became the butt of all office jokes instantly. She is a strong woman, stood it for a full 2 days; and, then, had the panel changed to blue.

The other day, I saw a Beetle on the road, in a shocking yellow color. My colleague was most certain that it would be a woman driving it. Unfortunately for him and fortunately for me, it was a guy.

There! Now you are getting the point, perhaps? That women may not actually like weird colored gadgets but are assumed to like them because of the whole gender thingy.

I hereby humbly request the product development and marketing teams at Sony, Apple, and other geeky companies to spare us of the vividness please. We already have enough trouble trying to decide between types of gadgets, not to be burdened with the extra load of having to run an elimination algorithm based on colors.

Ruminative remembrances

As the years whiz past,
I look back at my acts, small and big
The follies, they seem to be vast
The feats just a minor swig

I rue over missed chances,
Fret over one too many a blunder,
the good fortune and time’s advances
That slipped past me in a flicker

Perhaps am being hard on my soul
A little cynicism, some more pessimism
Has made me cruel
And left me in a chasm

Some day I will reminisce
Those feats, worthy of much adulation
And hail them for my life’s bliss,
good fortune and gratification

Some day, my friend, I will reminisce
Those sweet memories and acts of innocence
That had caused much of my bliss
And bountiful joyance

But, even then, I wouldn’t understand
Whether it was folly or feat
The silly exploits of a child-like mind
That were cause for many a glorious fete.

Ramp walk model

The other day I was chatting with my friend Denzil, about my now-favorite topic, football. One thing led to another and we ended up discussing the ‘desi mentality’ of looking for masala in every situation. Well, my unwarranted interest in Octopus Paul and not the game was his single point of reference. Sigh!

Anyway, I digress, right in the beginning of the post this time.

Soon after that enlightening discussion on ‘desi mentalities’ (which I hope to dedicate a post to, some time in the future, completely credited to Denzil), I ended up asking him the quintessential ‘What’s up?’ question. Before he could even think up a reply substantiating his existence on Earth, there I was, typing away to glory, giving a detailed account of what he had done the past five days.

No, there is no correlation between my obsession with the occult octopus and my dete(du)ctive skills. Only that I have been following Facebook way too regularly, knowingly or unknowingly stalking people’s minute by minute updates on their life stories.

It is scary, at two levels so to say.

The first is to realize the level of vulnerability I am exposing myself to. All of us, am sure, have at least some 300-400 ‘friends’, most of whom we have not met in ages, who are perhaps just acquaintances, or those we met for once in our whole lifetime. Merely because of an insane need to satiate the networking hunger, we are ‘friends’ and would be aware of everything about each other on a dynamic basis.

What’s news here, so you ask. Despite knowing this, our illusionary returns seem to outweigh the risks, life goes on. And, that is why FB is such a hit anyway.

That brings me to the next fear, my biggest one about being way too well connected. It is the fear of being misunderstood with that single random update or comment that I post up there. It is as if Big Brother is watching me. Eternally. The world is following my every word on FB (I do tend to exaggerate :D). And, as I have mentioned elsewhere on this blog, it is a heterogeneous world that is following me. So, each one who sees my words up there arrives at his / her own conclusion about what is running through my mind. Now, I cannot really blame anyone, for I do the same – getting judgmental based on otherwise innocuous statements that flourish out there.

The world, thanks to FB, has become one big masala newspaper, where each of us tries to figure out what is up and about in the other’s life, who has hooked up with whom and who has broken up, who has quit their jobs and who has got a transfer. Sleaze and jazz, a la filmdom, does not seem to have spared the otherwise 'aam aadmi' FB world too.

Or, perhaps, we like all the attention, being the center of attraction, be it positive or negative. And, there is some sense of purposefulness we seem to achieve out of our own little celebrity statuses, without exactly having to do a ramp walk or act in a movie!

What's the good game?

Now that Brazil and Argentina are already out of the game, Germany has lost royally to Spain and the fever is finally going to end this Sunday, am heaving a sigh of relief.

Oh my! What a season it has been.

If you are expecting me to write about the season and if that happens to be the sole reason why you are reading this post, I would suggest you stop right here. No such ‘useful’ things happen on this blog. Ever. Resume your search for WC analysis elsewhere on the web.

On the other hand, if you are one of those people who know for sure that I have jack of an idea about any sport in the world, welcome. You are on the right page.

Getting back to the point, it has been a disappointing season for me. Of rejection that is. My friends have refused to meet, pick up calls, or go for movies because ‘QFs are happening this week’ or ‘SF is happening tonight’. They could have just listened to Mr. Paul’s prediction and saved themselves a lot of precious time, me thinks!

I know what’s running through your mind right now.

No, I am not that nerd who just studied and studied all the way through school and college and B-school. It is just that I never got around to doing all the fun sports that I should have ideally done, or followed at the very least. Today, it would have stood me in good stead at office cafeterias and friends’ meets.

Alas! (ruing missed opportunities)

However, is it ever too late to learn? To learn without watching a single match or even TV for that matter (though I am told one doesn’t need a TV to watch these things)?

So, I have consciously started collecting snippets of information through chat conversations with ever-willing-to-impart-knowledge football fans (when they are not busy following ‘em matches). That is how I know that “Del Bosque needs to do something upfront to ensure that Spain wins the WC” (I initially thought he is a player, not a coach :P) and that “Torres has not found his rhythm till now” (I did not even dare to think who he might be, 0.99 is the probability that I would be wrong).

So, there! Now, I too can talk the Cup talk, don’t you dare try scaring me away from coffee table conversations any more with all your ‘football’nical jargon!

P.S. I am really feeling bad for Paul, looks like he won’t survive the season.

Fear of GOD

I have many a time wondered how easy it is to scare people.

Terror strikes, bomb scares, kidnapping, homicides – all these sure put fear in to people’s heads. But, they are coupled with in depth planning or extensive damage to public and private property or both.

What is the easier way to put that fear in to people? To keep them on tenterhooks, not knowing what would happen next? To make them look around with stricken eyes, restless thoughts and a readiness to bolt and run at the simplest sound?

Call a strike.

In a span of two years, I have had my fair share of strikes in this city. The reasons have been many – fuel price increase, arrests of noted political personas, regional disfavors. However, the result has consistently been the same.

Fear and panic.

So, whenever I have got into a vehicle during any of these occasions, the driver has always asked me, in rare concern, ‘Akele jaa rahe hai aap?’, and then proceeded to bolt all the doors from the inside and roll up the windows – even those rickety old taxis where locking is of no use and the windows no longer roll up.

I very badly need to digress here to provide some unwarranted information.

I hate dependencies. For instance, I hate having to wait for someone to pick me up and drop me. I would much rather prefer getting out of my house and finding some public transport that would take me wherever I want to go. That is one big reason why I love Mumbai much more than, say, a Gurgaon.

On a similar note, I hate having to curb and foil my plans, ‘voluntarily’ of course, because someone decided somewhere that normal life should be disrupted. I become fiercely defensive at such times. Wanting to rebel and prove a point to no one in particular, one of these days, I might just step out despite all warnings and go wherever I am scheduled to go, as if nothing is wrong with the world at large.

Today, despite not being crazy enough to do something like that, I had some other reasons and more importantly, the right support systems, to venture out and, as a result, got a chance to write this –

The roads were empty, sunny and wide
But, there were policemen on the side,
And, a bandh with no taxis to ride,
And, a bandh with no taxis to ride.

I also got to see that fear again in people’s eyes, the same one I saw on television during 26/11 days. Yet, it did not take much doing. No guns, no bombs, no terrorists taking the sea route, no demolition plans. Just one simple ‘Bharat Bandh’ to show “solidarity”, a solidarity that would ensure that stones are pelted on transport systems, shops are shut down for no rhyme or reason. And, that 10% of Mumbai's populace which has traveled defying all odds would be shivering inside office cabins, not knowing how it will get back home.

Then again, we need to be rational and reasonable. Life is full of trade offs and we get only an assorted deal if we want to enjoy the luxuries of a developing, democratic country. Like how we are entitled to elect our favorite candidates, write and speak whatever we want to and migrate freely across the country, unlike some of our dear Asian neighbors, we are also at liberty to call our own bandhs and strikes and ensure general disruption of life.

Crisis, crisis!

As I sit in a café reading ‘English August’, I come across this line in one of the initial pages. “A bureaucrat ought to be soft and clean shaven… and if a Tamil Brahmin, given to rapid quoting of rules.”

It sets me thinking.

How stereo typical is the typical Tam Brahm?

Curd rice loving, non smoking-teetotaler-vegetarian? Curd rice loving, feigning to be non smoking-teetotaler-vegetarian? Non Tam speaking pseudo English wannabe? Docile, soft spoken, hard working, bespectacled dead bore?

Keeper of clean houses, drawer of kolams, chanter of Upanishads, analyst of the Gita, upholder of Sanskrit & Sanskriti, lover of the city of Chennai and its temples?

However, before we get on with that list, I have to rephrase my question. How stereo typed is the typical Tam Brahm? Quite a bit, in my opinion. I would know, for I happen to be one too, but of the other variety – the variety that does not fit in with anyone’s idea of that “ideal” Tam Brahm they pride themselves in knowing.

It is funny to see the reactions on people’s faces when they realize that I actually am a Tam Brahm. The expressions range from surprise to shock to disbelief. Maybe they expect to see someone else, some image in their mind that the real me does not conform to. I feel gravely apologetic during such occasions, sometimes ashamed, for not being able to live up to that conjured up picture of who I should have existed as.

Nevertheless, I can live with it; perhaps even enjoy all the unwarranted attention I get.

The genuine trouble I have lies elsewhere.

I am scared of the fact that I parade the face of this Earth without an identity, especially one that I am supposed to have. For instance, how would it be if, one morning, you walked in to history class, only to be rebuked for not looking retro and archaic enough to fit in there? Scary. No?

I suddenly feel the urge to ask myself the indispensable “Who am I” question.

Even before I attempt to introspect, I am rudely jolted out of the trance by other more pressing issues. For, there are malls to visit, clean houses to set up and pigs to observe. And, when all that is done, the beautiful Worli sea face to drink in. So, I park that absolutely non crucial issue for now, and get on with my questionable, stereo typed life.

Me. And, me.

Don’t go so fast for life is short

Stop and stare with a child’s heart

Stop and stare at the greyish – blue sky line

Streaking through the sky scrapers of our time

Why should I have time and patience

To stand and stare at the beauty & brilliance?

For, ain’t I the chosen might

To lead this world from darkness to light?

Don’t feign ignorance, of life’s beauties

A welcome respite, from thy duties

Remember, my child, life is short

Stop and stare with all your heart

Life’s beauty lies in

Being the kingpin

Why should I stand by and ignore

As others race ahead for more and more

Take it from me, oh little one

I who have endured life, lost and won

Small and big, the events are many

Life is short, enjoy the journey

Yes indeed, oh wise one

You enlighten me with your wisdom

But, life is short, the pace is brisk

Let me enjoy the kick and the risk.

Yet again

It is high summer, that time of the year when the sun beats down on Chennai like a mad man out on a rampage to drain our brains out. But, more importantly, it is that time of the year when campus joiners infest our office space or whatever little of it we have at as early as 9 in the morning. 9 in the morning. Not having fixed seats in office does have its problems, doesn’t it?

However, having new people around provides much needed fodder for this blog (that’s my selfish avatar with the evil laughter intact).

Sample this conversation one of them (N) had with our HR Manager soon after joining. “Can you please send us the welcome mail?” Now, get this straight. We, like other normal human beings, do feel a little jolted when bestowed with the presence of new faces in humongous numbers. Nevertheless, we are not evil enough to make someone feel so unwelcome that they start demanding for written proofs of how warmly welcoming the firm feels towards them.

So, I rechecked with N whether I had heard it right. She said, “Yeah, we need to have the welcome mail to finish other joining formalities.”

Processes, processes and more processes. That’s the challenge with huge organizations. We need to get a welcome mail in order to receive the access card. We need to have the access card in order to enter the firm and log in to the network. We need to log in to the network to receive the welcome mail in the first place. Quite a vicious cycle, ain’t it?

But, I am no one to crib about huge organizations. I like them so – large, widely spread over the place and hyper networked. The plethora of choices, the might of the fun, the number of faces one meets day in and day out.. it’s bliss.

Then again, small organizations sound exciting too. The comfort in knowing everyone, almost like family, is hard to pass off as non beneficial.

Ok, you can see that am ‘see-sawing’, or rather, what is that word, yet again? Oh yeah, I am swinging (thanks Shift+F7) like a see-saw! ‘Cos it is Sayonara time yet again.

And, unlike last time, this once, I am quite apprehensive, senti and majorly excited, all at the same time!

P.S. I know it is quite an irony, me cribbing about new joiners, when I am going to be one really soon. As an aside, I heard there are fixed seats over there.

P.P.S. One more label joins the list of city labels with this post.

Spare me the details

There was a time when I did not know that Microsoft has an office in Seattle and Google operates out of Mountainview (or Mountain View or Mountain-View).

For that matter, even now, I have absolutely no clue about which visas mean what to Indians in the US. H1 reminds me only of the H1N1 influenza.

Don’t drop down dead yet. I do not know whether Texas is on the East or the West (of the US that is) or how many hours one might take by road from Pennsylvania to Pittsburgh (or whether they are even connected by road).

I can hear you going “Oooh how could she! Bring on the highest degree of corporal punishment, for this crime deserves nothing short of the IPC 302.”

Meanwhile, as you prepare the noose and related entities, let me flaunt off my limited wisdom on certain things that actually make a difference to my life.

I do know where the companies that I keep track of have their offices in India. It is actually quite straight forward, you know. I can just say ‘Mumbai or Delhi’. 9 out of 10 times I would be right.

Also, I seem to know about the existence of something called the Schengen visa – the only visa that might ever matter to me, as a Euro Trip is there on my ‘Things to do before I die’ list.

Despite my in-depth lack of expertise in geography, I know that NCR stands for National Capital Region and Mumbai is almost an island city. That is because I have traveled to or intend traveling to these places quite often.

In order to set the context for all these self imposed confessionary statements, I need to go back a little in time.

A few months ago, I had a slightly amusing conversation with an acquaintance of mine who had wanted to connect with me over some social networking site. I, out of courtesy, asked her the customary “Where are you working?” question. She said, “Of course I work for Microsoft, why else would I be in Seattle.” I was not aware then that it is such an obvious thing to know. Incidentally, those were the days when none of the people who matter to me had yet started working for the mighty Microsoft or the great Google.

That conversation set me thinking. My friends who are currently in the US have always spared me the painstaking operational details about life there, except for vague mentions of “I need to get something something stamped by some some time.” I retain only the dates in memory and follow up on whether they have been successful with doing the ‘something’ that they have wanted to do, nothing more. For my part, I too spare them of unnecessary details like how there is always a long line of flights waiting for take-off at the Mumbai domestic terminal.

So, there! It might not be that big a crime for me to not know about how certain things work in the US, except as part of a “Learning how things work for Indians in the US” course. Fortunately for me, that is not going to be part of my to-do list any time in the near future. When I am faced with such a dire need, I solemnly promise that I shall place a call to all those people who are dying to share their two pence on those nitty gritties and why I should be living my life there rather than anywhere else on Earth (or maybe the Universe). I also promise that I shall not Google up for such information as that and thereby deprive those well meaning people of the honor, pride and what-not they might derive out of providing it to me themselves.

Till then, spare me the horror of it all. There is enough information over load in my life already.

Gone are the days when...

A proposal,

Was one of marriage

An engagement,

A promise to marriage

A delivery (under pressure),

Had to do just with childbirth

And,

Everybody lived happily ever after

These days...

We

Propose to clients

Execute engagements

Deliver under immense pressure

And, with no time to lose,

Start proposing all over again.

It's a funny world!

Caveat: The observations made in this post are based on limited experiences during a limited window of time under certain limited circumstances. These are not meant to be generalizations though they might “sound” generic.

I have ranted extensively on this blog. After all, I am an SME* on that, there is even a label named ‘Cribbita’ on this blog. My rants have ranged from vending machines to “name calling” conventions to professionally acceptable language. However, I have consciously steered clear of never ending, debatable topics. Save this once.

At the risk of sounding contentious, here we go!

The fact that one is a woman does not mean that

1. One does not know the first thing about numbers – Gender has nothing to do with being marketing pro or finance pro. Personal preferences have. And, as an aside, the two need not be mutually exclusive, there are people who like and know both Finance and Marketing.
2. One can talk only the supposedly ‘girlie’ stuff (like shopping) – One knows how to hold a reasonably interesting conversation (interesting to all parties concerned); or, one does not. Period. One need not be of a particular gender to be stupid enough to talk about subjects that do not appeal to everyone in the group, when in a group.
3. One has no career aspirations – This is what beats me the most. Beyond a point, gender has very little to do with aspiring for an interesting career. How can being a woman be so much of a barrier at this level that it is even taboo to “desire” things, which are quite common place and not too out of the ordinary otherwise?

It is quite hilarious to note how easy it is to stereotype. And, ah, well, to generalize too.

* - Subject Matter Expert

The great Indian employers' struggle

The news came in today morning. Yet another was poached by a rival. This is the second time it has happened this quarter; and, by the same rival.

Tempers have been flying. It is so unnerving it’s not even funny. After all these days of sharing, caring and working together, how could employees turn disloyal over night?

There was no clue of it, no signs of the bad times to come. Everything was normal; life went on as usual, and we were blissfully ignorant of the developments happening behind our back.

But now this big blow!

We are crippled, till we find a worthy substitute. The amount of training that needs to be given, the time that the new one would take to settle down and actually start working… It is going to be toil, a painful tussle, a fight till the end, by when the poaching would start all over again.

Oh God! If not for sneaky neighbors and unfaithful servant maids, the world would have been a much better place to live in.

Uninteresting & hyper random truths

I have been tagged, for the first time in blog – life. And, with due respect to the tagger, S, I hereby present seven random truths about me. I don’t think they fit into the ‘pearls of wisdom’ bill. However, I have consciously tried to avoid stuff that might already be apparent from this overtly descriptive and painfully personal blog.

Starting with the benign, moving slowly towards the more random and ending with the scariest, that’s the idea for today..

1. For a long time in life (read till 12^th standard), I dreamt of graduating with an Arts degree in English Literature. I wanted to go on and on and on.. up to a Ph. D. in English Literature. I still dream of doing it someday.
2. Despite being touted as a pure blooded multi-tasker, I still cannot smile when I am concentrating on playing the Veena. Family & friends who have graciously attended my performances have given me major grief over this. Really, I am working on it. Well, actually not. How does one work on such things?
3. I am an avid bathroom singer. Just walking in to the loo is enough cue to my vocal chords to start off. I sing everything ranging from classical to filmy to advertisement to ring tone level music in all languages once inside the loo, much to the chagrin of co workers.
4. When I was 10, I got very excited by the idea of having a personal diary. Two months in to it, I stopped abruptly. ‘Cos my cousin took it without my permission and read it. That day, I lost belief in the possibility of privacy, be them in hard copies or soft copies. From then on, my private thoughts have always stayed only in my head, nowhere else.
5. I totally love the fact that I am a Leo and consider it the best gift life could have given me. I have still not been able to figure out whether I identify myself with being enthusiastic, courageous, fiery, faithful and bossy & intolerant (a couple of negative traits, just to not appear pompous :P) because I am a Leo or whether knowing the fact that I am a Leo has made me want to identify with these character traits.
6. I forget to eat and sleep when I am in the middle of something important. No, really. There have been times during IIMB when I was working on this paper (which had weekly sectional deadlines) when Nefertiti had to actually come up to my room to remind me to have food (by then I would have missed breakfast, lunch, dinner and one night’s sleep in a row without having realized it). These days, it does not happen so much, firstly because there is nothing so earth shatteringly important that I am up to and secondly because Mom polices me in to eating and sleeping. If not for Moms!
7. I have this (not so ugly) habit of talking to myself. Cannot be such a bad thing, can it? It all started when I was gearing up for my 10^th Boards. A counselor gave us.. hmm.. well.. some great counseling on the effectiveness of reading out loud when studying for exams. I got so totally sold on the idea that from that day on, I started talking out loud – definitions, problems, solutions, analysis – pretty much everything. I have imported the habit in to office as well where I talk to myself for hours together, fighting out with myself on the look, feel and content of my story boards and excels. My colleagues have got so used to this randomness (initially they used to think that I was psychologically affected, perhaps they do so even now) that they no longer respond when I actually try talking to them!

And, I tag:

Manage & Katrix – they don’t seem to be wanting to update their blogs at all!

Nefertiti – curious to know what those 7 random truths might be

Jo – to just satisfy my ego that I already know all those 7 truths, whatever they might be J