So after what seems like an eternity, I am finally at home with nothing to do except the fierce determination to churn out a post on my barely read almost dying blog. I do not want to bore anybody with details about how I am dreaming about work. Oh, wait. That would be a nightmare!
There are about 5 drafts of the Cubicle Adventures III. But they come across as a frustrating rant of a really pissed off person (which sadly was my state of mind when I wrote it) so I decided never to publish them. Because I had one of those brilliant flashes at work one day (the ones where are supposed to be hard at work but suddenly an unrelated but brilliant idea flashes in your brain) and I decided my blog should have a point to it - to not have a point. To be only about non-serious observations. That will obviously, help nobody in any way and will not spread knowledge of any kind, or be intellectually stimulating. I should do what I do best. Be nonsensical to a degree and make as little sense as possible and add a little confusion for good measure. Yes, that works best.
So apart from work, I have been spending my weekends trying to master a foreign language. The aim is to speak like a native. So far I'd say I have been so successful that the only native I spoke to looked a little stunned at the funny sounds I was spewing out confidently, and got out of that cafeteria as fast as he could.
When you register you are put in a class of 25 people. The first time around I was thrown together with a motley crowd - a 65 year old translator learning his 5th foreign language, an exotic Iranian woman (who stopped turning up, to the despair of quite a few people) an Afghan journalist who was very passionate about Indian movies and music, the usual bunch of techies, couples emigrating to other distant lands and a few students. Since I am neither exotic nor a techie, and nor did I have a show-offy art-y job, I didn't fit in anywhere.
After what seemed like an eternity but what was in fact only three months the batch got done. And by some miracle I even managed to pass, and for the next level, I got thrown into a new batch with new people and a teacher just a couple of years older than I was. After a round of introductions I realised that most of the class was comprised of students, and not even graduate students.Some of these were kids in the XIth & XIIth. I prepared myself for three months of quiet boredom. What could possibly be interesting with a bunch of kids I had nothing in common with? I even came home and ranted a good bit about how everybody in my class was a kid and how old I felt.. (I don't think it made a difference in any case, I think my mother has now developed the ability to "hmmm" "haa" "ok" "oh really" at all the right places without actually listening to anything I say.)
And then I had to eat my words.
I basically spend almost my entire weekend (It's a six-hour session) with a myriad bunch of kids, their age ranging from 16 to 21. They are all mostly still in college, and use a vocabulary that I have had to consciously suppress the minute I set foot on "the floor" first day of my first job. But the minute i entered class and heard "daaaa"at the end of every phrase and sentence ... oh, music to my ears. The lingo came flooding back like it was never, ever forgotten to be replaced by polite-deathly-prim-sounding corporate dialogue that passes for actual talking.
We would finish class, hang about aimlessly and then, go have dessert on a whim. Or just muck about right there because the food is cheaper and everybody is broke. (They don't even pass judgement when I say I'm broke. I usually receive the "what-an-irresponsible-adult" look when it slips out that I am hard up a particular month and can't make it to dinner at that overly-expensive new restaurant). Remind you of something? Oh yeah! College. Back in the days when we made plans that were executed the next minute. Unlike now when I have to intimate people a couple of weeks in advance to have a measly cup of coffee at a strange sounding new fangled place, and all we would ever do is complain about how hectic work is and how "career pathing" is important and how bad our bosses are (I have GOT to meet some people who love their jobs).
It's a refreshing change to hear things like "so you're in e-commerce retail? I dunno what that means, but I think it's cool bro!" and even "hey you have a job?? cool bro!" and "bro I am just going to be this kick-ass musician in a few years and you can take care of all my public relations stuff, you know?" And yes. I'm now a "bro". Ha! (And just to clarify, gender does not matter. You are a "bro" irrespective of your gender when you are a part of "the gang").
There have been some other interesting additions to my vocabulary too. Like "Haw" for instance. "Haw" is a word that can be used as an adjective, pronoun, verb, as a question, as a response to a question, as a word to cover up a swear word, etc etc. Why say a sentence when all it takes is a word? Haw! Also "shahbash". And a bunch of other words that cannot be repeated here for decency's sake.It was also an equal exchange of knowledge. I passed on some defunct words from back in the days, you know, knowledge transfer, from one generation to the next?
We even made an attempt to study this one time. It went amazingly well. We gobbled down dessert like food-deprived 5 year olds, cracked jokes that were not remotely funny, guffawed at the silliest things. Discussed music, twenty minutes where I sat cringing, feeling like I belonged to the age when dinosaurs roamed the earth. And oh maybe picked up a phrase or two from the books lying in front of us.
So finally my weekends are normal again and I am finally in a state of mind where I can at least write without every second sentence being a rant about murdering my cubicle-neighbour or wishing the boss's boss's boss a painful stomach ache induced by "all that spicy eeendyan foood, ya know".
Some people turn to meditation, some to alcohol, some to kickboxing, most turn to this popular support group at all work places - the smoke group. What can I say, I prefer living in denial two days a week, pretending to be 16 again with not a care in the world. To each their own. Haw!
There are about 5 drafts of the Cubicle Adventures III. But they come across as a frustrating rant of a really pissed off person (which sadly was my state of mind when I wrote it) so I decided never to publish them. Because I had one of those brilliant flashes at work one day (the ones where are supposed to be hard at work but suddenly an unrelated but brilliant idea flashes in your brain) and I decided my blog should have a point to it - to not have a point. To be only about non-serious observations. That will obviously, help nobody in any way and will not spread knowledge of any kind, or be intellectually stimulating. I should do what I do best. Be nonsensical to a degree and make as little sense as possible and add a little confusion for good measure. Yes, that works best.
So apart from work, I have been spending my weekends trying to master a foreign language. The aim is to speak like a native. So far I'd say I have been so successful that the only native I spoke to looked a little stunned at the funny sounds I was spewing out confidently, and got out of that cafeteria as fast as he could.
When you register you are put in a class of 25 people. The first time around I was thrown together with a motley crowd - a 65 year old translator learning his 5th foreign language, an exotic Iranian woman (who stopped turning up, to the despair of quite a few people) an Afghan journalist who was very passionate about Indian movies and music, the usual bunch of techies, couples emigrating to other distant lands and a few students. Since I am neither exotic nor a techie, and nor did I have a show-offy art-y job, I didn't fit in anywhere.
After what seemed like an eternity but what was in fact only three months the batch got done. And by some miracle I even managed to pass, and for the next level, I got thrown into a new batch with new people and a teacher just a couple of years older than I was. After a round of introductions I realised that most of the class was comprised of students, and not even graduate students.Some of these were kids in the XIth & XIIth. I prepared myself for three months of quiet boredom. What could possibly be interesting with a bunch of kids I had nothing in common with? I even came home and ranted a good bit about how everybody in my class was a kid and how old I felt.. (I don't think it made a difference in any case, I think my mother has now developed the ability to "hmmm" "haa" "ok" "oh really" at all the right places without actually listening to anything I say.)
And then I had to eat my words.
I basically spend almost my entire weekend (It's a six-hour session) with a myriad bunch of kids, their age ranging from 16 to 21. They are all mostly still in college, and use a vocabulary that I have had to consciously suppress the minute I set foot on "the floor" first day of my first job. But the minute i entered class and heard "daaaa"at the end of every phrase and sentence ... oh, music to my ears. The lingo came flooding back like it was never, ever forgotten to be replaced by polite-deathly-prim-sounding corporate dialogue that passes for actual talking.
We would finish class, hang about aimlessly and then, go have dessert on a whim. Or just muck about right there because the food is cheaper and everybody is broke. (They don't even pass judgement when I say I'm broke. I usually receive the "what-an-irresponsible-adult" look when it slips out that I am hard up a particular month and can't make it to dinner at that overly-expensive new restaurant). Remind you of something? Oh yeah! College. Back in the days when we made plans that were executed the next minute. Unlike now when I have to intimate people a couple of weeks in advance to have a measly cup of coffee at a strange sounding new fangled place, and all we would ever do is complain about how hectic work is and how "career pathing" is important and how bad our bosses are (I have GOT to meet some people who love their jobs).
It's a refreshing change to hear things like "so you're in e-commerce retail? I dunno what that means, but I think it's cool bro!" and even "hey you have a job?? cool bro!" and "bro I am just going to be this kick-ass musician in a few years and you can take care of all my public relations stuff, you know?" And yes. I'm now a "bro". Ha! (And just to clarify, gender does not matter. You are a "bro" irrespective of your gender when you are a part of "the gang").
There have been some other interesting additions to my vocabulary too. Like "Haw" for instance. "Haw" is a word that can be used as an adjective, pronoun, verb, as a question, as a response to a question, as a word to cover up a swear word, etc etc. Why say a sentence when all it takes is a word? Haw! Also "shahbash". And a bunch of other words that cannot be repeated here for decency's sake.It was also an equal exchange of knowledge. I passed on some defunct words from back in the days, you know, knowledge transfer, from one generation to the next?
We even made an attempt to study this one time. It went amazingly well. We gobbled down dessert like food-deprived 5 year olds, cracked jokes that were not remotely funny, guffawed at the silliest things. Discussed music, twenty minutes where I sat cringing, feeling like I belonged to the age when dinosaurs roamed the earth. And oh maybe picked up a phrase or two from the books lying in front of us.
So finally my weekends are normal again and I am finally in a state of mind where I can at least write without every second sentence being a rant about murdering my cubicle-neighbour or wishing the boss's boss's boss a painful stomach ache induced by "all that spicy eeendyan foood, ya know".
Some people turn to meditation, some to alcohol, some to kickboxing, most turn to this popular support group at all work places - the smoke group. What can I say, I prefer living in denial two days a week, pretending to be 16 again with not a care in the world. To each their own. Haw!
