This is what bliss must feel like.
Because Bangalore can suddenly surprise you with showers in summer, and make everything seem beautiful thanks to the steady drizzle. A steaming mug of south indian filter cofeee, brewed just right, music in the background (that is thankfully, and by some miracle, NOT death metal); and best of all, I finally raided the bookstore! After a too-long period of exercising tremendous self control, I finally caved. Thanks to a friend who did not stop me from being an uncontrollable over-enthusiastic almost-shopaholic. (He in fact egged me on. Thank you C, I owe the dent in my finances to your encouragement.)
I finally bought my copy of Eat Pray Love. I've read only about 50 pages and already love the style of writing to bits (I'm a girl after all, and chick lit is necessary once in a while). There is also Chanakya's Chant, and that book can cover an entire post, so I will let that be for now! And Alexander Mc call Smith, my current favorite, favorite Author. (Mma Ramotswe, I cannot wait to get to know you!) The man is a genius. And it is never a good day without a Calvin & Hobbes's the Lazy Sunday book.
I could not care less that I have to study for my French tests, that I have work to go to, come Monday and things to deal with once the long weekend is over. I do not care what new scams are brewing in the country. Or the bad roads. Or the corruption. Or the distant royal weddings. Or pesky arrogant auto drivers. It can all wait another day.
For now I just love that I am SO undecided on what to read first, I am going absolutely berserk and trying to read them all at once!
23 April, 2011
13 April, 2011
So after a long crazy phase with no time to read, I finally, finally, got my hands on Jeffrey's Archer's latest, the first of the Clifton Chronicles. And it feels like heaven to finally have a book that you enjoy every word of and you never want the book to end!
But this post isn't really about the joy of reading. (Heaven knows I go on about it worse than the school librarian, harping on about it here isn't going to win me any new followers)
And then I was reading the Clifton Chronicles, in transit, when i came across this stranger, who looked at the book in my hand, and snorted. Actually snorted. i kid you not. I did proceed to explain to him that yes, Archer can be predictable,that he writes almost entirely in cliches. but, he really is a master story teller, beacuse despite the cliches and the predictability, a reader is putty in his hands (?) the minute you pick up his book and start reading. I love stories, and unashamedly love his writing.was he convinced? Sigh. No. And of course that got me even more mad! Which of course led to a pointless argument where i resolutely stood by Archer's story telling and the other person refused to budge about his "awfully shameless" "pleasing the masses" style of writing. What right did a stranger have to snort at my book?
That is when I realised, would I be convinced if somebody pointed out the literary merits of Twilight? NO. We all seem to look down on other people'e taste in reading at some or the other point. And that cant be right! The morality of reading should say, read, let the others read, and don't judge!
And then of course there was this very insightful comment on my post Serendipity.
You can sing praises about love and patience and justice and all the other virtues, but really the hardest of all, is tolerance. Because it requires you not to judge. And that is second nature, to scoff at somebody's clothes, their views, their job. And why? Simply put, it makes you feel better. And fighting that is hard.
So there are women who like chick lit. Not everybody can devour a Gabriel Garcia Marquez in one sitting. Or appreciate the subtlety of Milan Kundera. There is a certain level of understanding and intellect you require for that. And not everybody can get there at the same pace, or even get there at all! But the right thing to do, is NOT scoff. Because it is easy to scoff and think how well read you are compared to a girl reading a perfectly cheesy chick lit, and it is hard to not judge a person by the book she reads and forego the ego boost.
Looking down at somebody engrossed in a Twilight book is easy-peasy. Tolerating the twilight mania and all the screaming enthusiastic girls going gaga over a frying pan faced guy, well thats easier said than done.
But that snort changed it all!
But this post isn't really about the joy of reading. (Heaven knows I go on about it worse than the school librarian, harping on about it here isn't going to win me any new followers)
And then I was reading the Clifton Chronicles, in transit, when i came across this stranger, who looked at the book in my hand, and snorted. Actually snorted. i kid you not. I did proceed to explain to him that yes, Archer can be predictable,that he writes almost entirely in cliches. but, he really is a master story teller, beacuse despite the cliches and the predictability, a reader is putty in his hands (?) the minute you pick up his book and start reading. I love stories, and unashamedly love his writing.was he convinced? Sigh. No. And of course that got me even more mad! Which of course led to a pointless argument where i resolutely stood by Archer's story telling and the other person refused to budge about his "awfully shameless" "pleasing the masses" style of writing. What right did a stranger have to snort at my book?
That is when I realised, would I be convinced if somebody pointed out the literary merits of Twilight? NO. We all seem to look down on other people'e taste in reading at some or the other point. And that cant be right! The morality of reading should say, read, let the others read, and don't judge!
And then of course there was this very insightful comment on my post Serendipity.
You can sing praises about love and patience and justice and all the other virtues, but really the hardest of all, is tolerance. Because it requires you not to judge. And that is second nature, to scoff at somebody's clothes, their views, their job. And why? Simply put, it makes you feel better. And fighting that is hard.
So there are women who like chick lit. Not everybody can devour a Gabriel Garcia Marquez in one sitting. Or appreciate the subtlety of Milan Kundera. There is a certain level of understanding and intellect you require for that. And not everybody can get there at the same pace, or even get there at all! But the right thing to do, is NOT scoff. Because it is easy to scoff and think how well read you are compared to a girl reading a perfectly cheesy chick lit, and it is hard to not judge a person by the book she reads and forego the ego boost.
Looking down at somebody engrossed in a Twilight book is easy-peasy. Tolerating the twilight mania and all the screaming enthusiastic girls going gaga over a frying pan faced guy, well thats easier said than done.
But that snort changed it all!
06 February, 2011
Cough Syrup-ed
These are the weird things that cross my brain when cough syrup is in the system:
Ben Ali's period of lording over Tunisia is exactly as old as I am. The Bofors scam is about a year older than I am.
There is that strong smell of rebellion in the air, or maybe it is just my neighbour's maniacal midnight cooking-fest.
Most status updates on social networking sites are relationship/love-related.
People seem to hate Justin Beiber. A lot. So much that there is now a Rajnikanth-Beiber joke. Isn't it more effective to completely ignore him?
The list of Books-to-Buy is disproportionately growing. My salary is not.
Then again, why is my theory of Lets-Go-Back-to-Barter-System laughed at? I could have traded some of my stuff for the books I want. (No, we cannot go into the economics of that)
Anarchy. Is it good? Is being an Anarchist "cool"?
Alexander McCall Smith is by far my greatest accidental-discovery.
Ideas always come to you when you least expect them: in the middle of the night, when you're desperately jabbing on the keyboard at work, when there are serious parental-lectures underway, when pen-paper/electronic devices are not within reach, when you are most likely to forget them in about 30 seconds.
So that is why i'm typing bleary eyed, because I did have an idea that needed to be put down, but by the time it reached Blogger, it is now forgotten.
Sigh.
Good Night?
Ben Ali's period of lording over Tunisia is exactly as old as I am. The Bofors scam is about a year older than I am.
There is that strong smell of rebellion in the air, or maybe it is just my neighbour's maniacal midnight cooking-fest.
Most status updates on social networking sites are relationship/love-related.
People seem to hate Justin Beiber. A lot. So much that there is now a Rajnikanth-Beiber joke. Isn't it more effective to completely ignore him?
The list of Books-to-Buy is disproportionately growing. My salary is not.
Then again, why is my theory of Lets-Go-Back-to-Barter-System laughed at? I could have traded some of my stuff for the books I want. (No, we cannot go into the economics of that)
Anarchy. Is it good? Is being an Anarchist "cool"?
Alexander McCall Smith is by far my greatest accidental-discovery.
Ideas always come to you when you least expect them: in the middle of the night, when you're desperately jabbing on the keyboard at work, when there are serious parental-lectures underway, when pen-paper/electronic devices are not within reach, when you are most likely to forget them in about 30 seconds.
So that is why i'm typing bleary eyed, because I did have an idea that needed to be put down, but by the time it reached Blogger, it is now forgotten.
Sigh.
Good Night?
04 February, 2011
Little brothers can be a HUGE pain. Especially when said "little" brothers are over 6 feet in height, 7 years younger, but are somehow experts at bringing reality crashing down all around your poor unsuspecting head.
First, you begin to understand that in trying to keep surroundings neat, clean and habitable for humans, you are, in fact, fighting a losing battle. The highest record so far is about 30 seconds. 30 seconds that a a floor was clean and unoccupied until a pair of stinky socks landed there.
Survival skills. You can run, duck, zig zag around most types of surfaces, reflexes are much quicker than those whose lives are devoid of younger brothers. And all that escaping from flying objects (sometimes flying object is the brother itself) makes you so agile, don't be surprised if the armed forces come recruiting.
And, I will believe in miracles the day my brother and I like the same song.
Also, you might sit through an explosion, and not blink an eye, because you will assume that your brother is just playing his music somewhere close by.
Younger brothers make you stronger. Really. It starts with fights for comic books, novels, remote, computer, bandwidth, and then moves on to Apple-is-stupid-No-it-isn't. And since you learn never to take it lying down from a little twerp, you will never, ever, take it lying down from anybody in the world! And also, those fights over the remote might just give you arm-strength.
Then there are those moments. When said little twerp tells you that his music is "against the system", doesn't stop there, and goes on to give you a lecture about exactly what he thinks is wrong with the "system". You don't know whether you should feel secretly happy that your younger brother, by some strange mysterious unexplainable accident, has the exact same views as you. Or if you just smack him on the head and say "stop that damned loud music and get outta here".
But nothing, nothing, brings reality crashing on your head, like when in that routine fight for the computer, you pass a routine comment about "....blah blah it's just Facebook!". And without even looking up, in a very matter of fact way, you are told that "maybe you don't get the whole Facebook concept because you are too old for it."
The next step is obviously a fight that is the stuff of nightmares, but it is also the beginning of a very depressing thought process about growing up and all the related nonsense that will haunt you for a long, long, time. Until of course, you decide to write about it because there really is nothing else to write about.
First, you begin to understand that in trying to keep surroundings neat, clean and habitable for humans, you are, in fact, fighting a losing battle. The highest record so far is about 30 seconds. 30 seconds that a a floor was clean and unoccupied until a pair of stinky socks landed there.
Survival skills. You can run, duck, zig zag around most types of surfaces, reflexes are much quicker than those whose lives are devoid of younger brothers. And all that escaping from flying objects (sometimes flying object is the brother itself) makes you so agile, don't be surprised if the armed forces come recruiting.
And, I will believe in miracles the day my brother and I like the same song.
Also, you might sit through an explosion, and not blink an eye, because you will assume that your brother is just playing his music somewhere close by.
Younger brothers make you stronger. Really. It starts with fights for comic books, novels, remote, computer, bandwidth, and then moves on to Apple-is-stupid-No-it-isn't. And since you learn never to take it lying down from a little twerp, you will never, ever, take it lying down from anybody in the world! And also, those fights over the remote might just give you arm-strength.
Then there are those moments. When said little twerp tells you that his music is "against the system", doesn't stop there, and goes on to give you a lecture about exactly what he thinks is wrong with the "system". You don't know whether you should feel secretly happy that your younger brother, by some strange mysterious unexplainable accident, has the exact same views as you. Or if you just smack him on the head and say "stop that damned loud music and get outta here".
But nothing, nothing, brings reality crashing on your head, like when in that routine fight for the computer, you pass a routine comment about "....blah blah it's just Facebook!". And without even looking up, in a very matter of fact way, you are told that "maybe you don't get the whole Facebook concept because you are too old for it."
The next step is obviously a fight that is the stuff of nightmares, but it is also the beginning of a very depressing thought process about growing up and all the related nonsense that will haunt you for a long, long, time. Until of course, you decide to write about it because there really is nothing else to write about.
15 January, 2011
Falling Apart
Anger and sadness
bleary eyed madness
candid shots
Story of love priceless junk
relentless berating, finding and feeling
believing, hating
Bonfires and terrace trains unbearable
laughter, monkey on the window's
broken leg,
and a broken heart. Falling apart.
bleary eyed madness
candid shots
Story of love priceless junk
relentless berating, finding and feeling
believing, hating
Bonfires and terrace trains unbearable
laughter, monkey on the window's
broken leg,
and a broken heart. Falling apart.
14 January, 2011
The Cubicle Adventures (Part II)
So there is a cubicle. And every work-day confined to its mind numbing space, is a whole new (mis)adventure. Part 1 (I honestly din't think this could run into a Part II, but I also din't know a whole load of other stuff that is "corporate culture", so, ha.) was mostly about a routine day at work. Part II, is what NOT TO DO in your cubicle. These are the words that are a product of learning the hard way. It's stuff I have to remind myself everyday as i inch closer and closer to that blasted cubicle. And having it written down somewhere might help, i thought.
DO NOT leave chocolates lying on your desk. the cubicle maybe yours, but there people that eat your chocolate without your permission, as you watch, too shocked to react. And pretend like it does not matter , is no big deal at all. It is. A very big deal. But apparently only to me. Goodbye dark chocolate, i'm sure you would have been lovely, had i known you.
DO NOT log in to any social networking site from the cubicle. People will feel free to gawk at whatever pictures are displayed like you are a freak alien and not an average human. They will also feel free to comment on how "weird" you look, making you wonder if it is advisable to leave any pictures of your(weird) self on any said site.
DO NOT leave your ID card on your desk. Your megalomaniac superior will hide it. (juvenile behaviour? haha. Leadership qualities you see.) And upon realising that you do not care two hoots that your id card is missing, will give it back, and give you a lecture (throughout which you stare flabbergasted). Icing on the cake? Hiding the ID card was to show you that your ID card needs to be on you and not on the desk.
Corporate India, I might depend on you for a job, but you don't own me, and i refuse to wear something around my neck because I am not your slave. Megalomaniac superior or not.
DO NOT, even think, that you can have a phone conversation without people listening to you the whole time, and intently at that, without even blinking. I didn't think me telling my sister where the house keys are, can make for such an interesting conversation that people ignore work and give you their whole undivided attention. More than 5 people. For more than 5 minutes. It can be very disconcerting. It is advisable to text anybody who attempts to call you.
And DO NOT, ever , try to have a conversation, via IM. Or if you do, be prepared to have peeping toms look intently at your screen, blatantly invading your cubicle-space. And then ask you a billion gazillion questions.
I haven't yet found out a single good thing i can do in the cubicle. And no, work does not fall in that category.
DO NOT leave chocolates lying on your desk. the cubicle maybe yours, but there people that eat your chocolate without your permission, as you watch, too shocked to react. And pretend like it does not matter , is no big deal at all. It is. A very big deal. But apparently only to me. Goodbye dark chocolate, i'm sure you would have been lovely, had i known you.
DO NOT log in to any social networking site from the cubicle. People will feel free to gawk at whatever pictures are displayed like you are a freak alien and not an average human. They will also feel free to comment on how "weird" you look, making you wonder if it is advisable to leave any pictures of your(weird) self on any said site.
DO NOT leave your ID card on your desk. Your megalomaniac superior will hide it. (juvenile behaviour? haha. Leadership qualities you see.) And upon realising that you do not care two hoots that your id card is missing, will give it back, and give you a lecture (throughout which you stare flabbergasted). Icing on the cake? Hiding the ID card was to show you that your ID card needs to be on you and not on the desk.
Corporate India, I might depend on you for a job, but you don't own me, and i refuse to wear something around my neck because I am not your slave. Megalomaniac superior or not.
DO NOT, even think, that you can have a phone conversation without people listening to you the whole time, and intently at that, without even blinking. I didn't think me telling my sister where the house keys are, can make for such an interesting conversation that people ignore work and give you their whole undivided attention. More than 5 people. For more than 5 minutes. It can be very disconcerting. It is advisable to text anybody who attempts to call you.
And DO NOT, ever , try to have a conversation, via IM. Or if you do, be prepared to have peeping toms look intently at your screen, blatantly invading your cubicle-space. And then ask you a billion gazillion questions.
I haven't yet found out a single good thing i can do in the cubicle. And no, work does not fall in that category.
12 January, 2011
10 January, 2011
monday morning blues kick in big and bad, the cubicle adventures are a whole big misadventure, and to top it all falling sick somehow sneaks into the agenda.
when you cannot breathe through your nose, you're shivering like a leaf, the computer decides to test your patience, people decide to see how many of those snide remarks you can endure, when cooking is not therapeutic anymore but a really tough chore, and auto drivers pick that particular day to be ruder than usual, the electricity board decides there has been enough light in your life, you run out coffee, and you want to simply run away...
you listen to dave matthews band,
you listen to "crush" a million times, soak in the music..breathe as deeply as you possibly can...
and then you say screw it all.
and sing out loud till you drown out the world.
when you cannot breathe through your nose, you're shivering like a leaf, the computer decides to test your patience, people decide to see how many of those snide remarks you can endure, when cooking is not therapeutic anymore but a really tough chore, and auto drivers pick that particular day to be ruder than usual, the electricity board decides there has been enough light in your life, you run out coffee, and you want to simply run away...
you listen to dave matthews band,
you listen to "crush" a million times, soak in the music..breathe as deeply as you possibly can...
and then you say screw it all.
and sing out loud till you drown out the world.
The Cubicle Adventure
For months I sat home, scoffing at people who complained of Monday Morning Blues. Little did I know that it would hit me too, and how. Sunday is gone way too soon and as the dreaded monday morning approaches, i'm beginning to realise that my cursed cubicle awaits me. I can always picture those chairs, and in my imagination, they always seem to have an evil sneering smile plastered across their seats, for having me trapped there monday through friday.
There are quite a few hard workers where i work, diligently slogging to earn their bread and butter, loyal to the employers, reverential in their attitude to work. But MY cubicle adventure isn't anything remotely like the above.
This is how a regular work day would go:
Anywhere between 9.20 to 10.10 : Walk in like a zombie, throw stuff down, turn on computer, stare, curse the day you signed the offer letter. Fill water bottle.
10. 15 : Trudge upstairs and get that wonderfully energising cup of south indian filter coffee. (If anybody asks me what the absolute best thing about my job is, i would very unhesitatingly say, filter coffee.)
10.30 to 11.30 : Now this one needs a bit of a recap. You see most evenings, i invariably begin to contemplate just WHERE I'm headed with this job deal etc etc, and conclude that I should not complain, and its not the job i'm in, but how good i am in the job i'm in etc etc blah blah bleh; you know how those "pep talks to self" sessions are! So 10.30 to 11.30 is the time I actually put it to good use. Jab those ancient keys a little harder, squint at the monitor some more, try to be the diligent employee. I even have a maniacal look especially for this time of the day. Ha!
11.30 to 12 ish : anticipate lunch. fidget. fill the water bottle.
12 ish : Lunch! Yay!
... to 1 something : nobody works, and it is SUCH a put off that i just sit and stare at the computer and curse some more.
1 something to 3 : The alt-tab period. N, a good friend, and a genius work ethics expert, taught me this very valuable lesson very early on, first week at my first job. "hitting the alt-tab keys multiple times makes it look like you're hard at work. Do that for a bit and meet me at the TT table." I send him chocolates at regular intervals even now, although the days of hours spent at foosball n TT tables are long gone. The "alt-tab move" saves me every time the hawk eyed megalomaniac superior makes the routine (and VERY creepy) over the shoulder checks.
3 to 4 : This is the time when i actually feel like earning my pay, and therefore, this happens to be the time that i absolutely cannot. I am forced to go on a "break" despite repeatedly pleading and pointing at the computer. Another shot of caffeine. Fill the water bottle.
4 to 5 : work.work.work. sigh. rub eyes. look for people online. work.work.curse.
5 to 6 : fidget. look at clock. curse. fidget some more. fill water bottle.
"fill water bottle" appearing too many times in this post is not a typo or disorganized writing on my part. It is the best excuse to walk out of the cubicle, head held high, water bottle in hand. Having a water bottle is the smartest investment you can make. Carry it around so you can go to the pantry and "bump into a friend" for a chat. Needless to say, I treasure my sipper more than any other work-accessory (?).
6 PM : fidget. fidget. pick up bag. run.
Monday through Friday, the cubicle adventures continue.
There are quite a few hard workers where i work, diligently slogging to earn their bread and butter, loyal to the employers, reverential in their attitude to work. But MY cubicle adventure isn't anything remotely like the above.
This is how a regular work day would go:
Anywhere between 9.20 to 10.10 : Walk in like a zombie, throw stuff down, turn on computer, stare, curse the day you signed the offer letter. Fill water bottle.
10. 15 : Trudge upstairs and get that wonderfully energising cup of south indian filter coffee. (If anybody asks me what the absolute best thing about my job is, i would very unhesitatingly say, filter coffee.)
10.30 to 11.30 : Now this one needs a bit of a recap. You see most evenings, i invariably begin to contemplate just WHERE I'm headed with this job deal etc etc, and conclude that I should not complain, and its not the job i'm in, but how good i am in the job i'm in etc etc blah blah bleh; you know how those "pep talks to self" sessions are! So 10.30 to 11.30 is the time I actually put it to good use. Jab those ancient keys a little harder, squint at the monitor some more, try to be the diligent employee. I even have a maniacal look especially for this time of the day. Ha!
11.30 to 12 ish : anticipate lunch. fidget. fill the water bottle.
12 ish : Lunch! Yay!
... to 1 something : nobody works, and it is SUCH a put off that i just sit and stare at the computer and curse some more.
1 something to 3 : The alt-tab period. N, a good friend, and a genius work ethics expert, taught me this very valuable lesson very early on, first week at my first job. "hitting the alt-tab keys multiple times makes it look like you're hard at work. Do that for a bit and meet me at the TT table." I send him chocolates at regular intervals even now, although the days of hours spent at foosball n TT tables are long gone. The "alt-tab move" saves me every time the hawk eyed megalomaniac superior makes the routine (and VERY creepy) over the shoulder checks.
3 to 4 : This is the time when i actually feel like earning my pay, and therefore, this happens to be the time that i absolutely cannot. I am forced to go on a "break" despite repeatedly pleading and pointing at the computer. Another shot of caffeine. Fill the water bottle.
4 to 5 : work.work.work. sigh. rub eyes. look for people online. work.work.curse.
5 to 6 : fidget. look at clock. curse. fidget some more. fill water bottle.
"fill water bottle" appearing too many times in this post is not a typo or disorganized writing on my part. It is the best excuse to walk out of the cubicle, head held high, water bottle in hand. Having a water bottle is the smartest investment you can make. Carry it around so you can go to the pantry and "bump into a friend" for a chat. Needless to say, I treasure my sipper more than any other work-accessory (?).
6 PM : fidget. fidget. pick up bag. run.
Monday through Friday, the cubicle adventures continue.
04 January, 2011
To be fair, to the cab-driver community, cab rides are not half bad on the way back. Especially when I used to travel at 2 in the night, everyday (or is it every-night? even when your day began at 4 PM?). And something about late nights seems to bring out the absolute best in cab drivers, they are an enthusiastic and happy lot post midnight, belting music out those wonderfully tinny radios they all seem to have (consequently making me raise the volume on my ipod to ear shattering levels; i do NOT want to listen to "chitranna chitranna" in the middle of the night.)
Blissfully empty roads, music on the ipod, the wind trying to pull you away into the night by tugging at your hair, and it always seemed like the cab driver was navigating the road to the tune of the music in my head. Heady stuff that.
But then, those were the days, when midnight jaunts for pastries and ice cream were routine. Heady midnight cab rides are now a thing of the past, sacrificed for the sake of the 9 to 5 grind. The 7 PM cab ride back home with the snarling traffic, angry as hell cab driver and the honking and even the occasional snake-spotting, simply does not compare.
If only i knew that those rides were not going to be a lasting affair. And if only you never had to grow up.
Blissfully empty roads, music on the ipod, the wind trying to pull you away into the night by tugging at your hair, and it always seemed like the cab driver was navigating the road to the tune of the music in my head. Heady stuff that.
But then, those were the days, when midnight jaunts for pastries and ice cream were routine. Heady midnight cab rides are now a thing of the past, sacrificed for the sake of the 9 to 5 grind. The 7 PM cab ride back home with the snarling traffic, angry as hell cab driver and the honking and even the occasional snake-spotting, simply does not compare.
If only i knew that those rides were not going to be a lasting affair. And if only you never had to grow up.
28 December, 2010
Plugging in the headphones, I edged closer to the bike and looked at my watch. Late. Again. And this time by more than fifteen minutes. She knows. She knows that I hated waiting Especially there. People would stare like I was one of those random boys mothers warn their daughters about. A woman walks past, and looks at me suspiciously. I stare back at her, hoping that my stare conveys what I'm thinking, not every guy standing on a lonely road is going to make a pass at any woman walking by.
I text her again. "twooooo mins" she says. For the tenth time. Really,I think, this girl just takes me for granted! The number of times I have told her to not keep me waiting because it is the ONE thing I hate! And all she can do is stick out her tongue at me like it didn't matter to her. Like I din't matter.
But not this time, I think fiercely. This time I'm going to tell her in no uncertain terms that i do not like to be kept waiting on pavements and freezing myself to death while strange women throw me murderous glances.
Ten more minutes, and still no sign of her.
"Look, I think I'll just leave" I text her! "My god, just give me ten seconds...i'm almost there! Honest!"
Sigh. that means ten more minutes, at least, just me and my angry thoughts, wondering just WHAT it is about this girl that makes me want to protect her, and scream bloody murder, all at the same time.
And that's when I see her, looking happy as hell, not a care that a man was kept waiting, jumping out of an auto; she laughs at something the auto driver says to her and then hands him the money! "bye uncle!" she waves as he starts counting the money.She walks up to where I'm standing. Smiling apologetically and looking up at me with those beseeching eyes. And I cant help myself. My anger is slipping away,even as I try hard to hold on to it.. And i laugh. "What??" she says. Exactly, I'm thinking, just WHAT?
As she's getting on to my bike, the auto driver whizzes past, looking at her and smiling. And then, he looks at me. In the moment that it takes for that look to pass I know what's running on his mind. Yes. I know. That's MY girl.
I text her again. "twooooo mins" she says. For the tenth time. Really,I think, this girl just takes me for granted! The number of times I have told her to not keep me waiting because it is the ONE thing I hate! And all she can do is stick out her tongue at me like it didn't matter to her. Like I din't matter.
But not this time, I think fiercely. This time I'm going to tell her in no uncertain terms that i do not like to be kept waiting on pavements and freezing myself to death while strange women throw me murderous glances.
Ten more minutes, and still no sign of her.
"Look, I think I'll just leave" I text her! "My god, just give me ten seconds...i'm almost there! Honest!"
Sigh. that means ten more minutes, at least, just me and my angry thoughts, wondering just WHAT it is about this girl that makes me want to protect her, and scream bloody murder, all at the same time.
And that's when I see her, looking happy as hell, not a care that a man was kept waiting, jumping out of an auto; she laughs at something the auto driver says to her and then hands him the money! "bye uncle!" she waves as he starts counting the money.She walks up to where I'm standing. Smiling apologetically and looking up at me with those beseeching eyes. And I cant help myself. My anger is slipping away,even as I try hard to hold on to it.. And i laugh. "What??" she says. Exactly, I'm thinking, just WHAT?
As she's getting on to my bike, the auto driver whizzes past, looking at her and smiling. And then, he looks at me. In the moment that it takes for that look to pass I know what's running on his mind. Yes. I know. That's MY girl.
26 December, 2010
The Really Terrible orchestra!
Before I go into the Really Terrible Orchestra, (!!!), I'd like to get into how I actually came across this wonderfully imaginative idea and thereby became a fan.
Alexander McCall Smith was accidentally discovered. I walked into the library one day to look for a mindless, easy-read, chick lit read, and randomly picked "Love over Scotland". Titles can be more deceptive than appearances. It was anything BUT mindless. And was part of the 44 Scotland Street series. But what a good mistake it was because I went back and picked up the series. And I was hooked.
Although McCall Smith's style of writing, content and the tales he weaves so beautifully make for another post altogether, The Really Terrible Orchestra makes an appearance in "The Sunday Philosophy Club" series. Which I then promptly Googled. And realised it actually exists and McCall Smith was a founder.
In their own words :
"The Really Terrible Orchestra exists to encourage those who have been prevented from playing music, either through lack of talent or some other factor, to play music in the company of similarly afflicted players. The policy of the orchestra is to make no distinction between the various grades of ability and the various forms of music, or time signature. The RTO looks forward to a further lowering of standards, in order to underline its commitment to accessibility and relevance."
How WONDERFUL.
To not care if you're tone deaf, sing, play music for the love of it! And nothing more! I was beginning to think "for the love of doing it" was a dead thing. How often do we see a bunch of people, who get together in this incredible manner, to simply revel in the joy of doing what they love. Each of these not-so-talented individuals have jet setting careers that they take time off from to be in RTO, and to entertain wholeheartedly.
To sum it up:
"The name was carefully chosen: what it said was what you would get."
And if you think the audiences they pull are terrible in number, they absolutely aren't. Their performances are so incredibly sought out that they play to a full house each time!
Here's a sample!
And this the RTO seems to have inspired amateur musicians all over the world! this one is the Really Terrible Orchestra Of Triangle, TOOT for short, and they're a hoot! And not half terrible.
If this is terrible, then it's good fun to be terrible.
Alexander McCall Smith was accidentally discovered. I walked into the library one day to look for a mindless, easy-read, chick lit read, and randomly picked "Love over Scotland". Titles can be more deceptive than appearances. It was anything BUT mindless. And was part of the 44 Scotland Street series. But what a good mistake it was because I went back and picked up the series. And I was hooked.
Although McCall Smith's style of writing, content and the tales he weaves so beautifully make for another post altogether, The Really Terrible Orchestra makes an appearance in "The Sunday Philosophy Club" series. Which I then promptly Googled. And realised it actually exists and McCall Smith was a founder.
In their own words :
"The Really Terrible Orchestra exists to encourage those who have been prevented from playing music, either through lack of talent or some other factor, to play music in the company of similarly afflicted players. The policy of the orchestra is to make no distinction between the various grades of ability and the various forms of music, or time signature. The RTO looks forward to a further lowering of standards, in order to underline its commitment to accessibility and relevance."
How WONDERFUL.
To not care if you're tone deaf, sing, play music for the love of it! And nothing more! I was beginning to think "for the love of doing it" was a dead thing. How often do we see a bunch of people, who get together in this incredible manner, to simply revel in the joy of doing what they love. Each of these not-so-talented individuals have jet setting careers that they take time off from to be in RTO, and to entertain wholeheartedly.
To sum it up:
"The name was carefully chosen: what it said was what you would get."
And if you think the audiences they pull are terrible in number, they absolutely aren't. Their performances are so incredibly sought out that they play to a full house each time!
Here's a sample!
And this the RTO seems to have inspired amateur musicians all over the world! this one is the Really Terrible Orchestra Of Triangle, TOOT for short, and they're a hoot! And not half terrible.
If this is terrible, then it's good fun to be terrible.
23 December, 2010
....and its 'Mary' Christmas time!!
That's what I was told today..."wish you mary mary christmas time!" (priceless)
It's officially winter in Bangalore, and it is just beautiful to wake up to mist that makes everything look delightfully wintery! Sweaters are out, red noses are in, and flushed faces everywhere, I wish it was winter all year through!
It's officially winter in Bangalore, and it is just beautiful to wake up to mist that makes everything look delightfully wintery! Sweaters are out, red noses are in, and flushed faces everywhere, I wish it was winter all year through!
And THIS is the stuff that makes my day! From the eighth floor at work, I honestly had no idea what I was clicking and was wishing I had a camera and not the crappy one on my phone! And I still have absolutely NO idea how this picture turned blue! Ah the joy!
22 December, 2010
facebook and all that jazz
Ok, I know, but how could I NOT have a post about this?
First of all, you're considered an outcast if you don't have a Facebook account. And then it promotes voyeurism. Which is very hard to resist unless you're a saint in the Himalayas. But then last I heard, even highly reputed spiritual organisations have Facebook pages-to promote culture. Oh the irony.
Second, it is very, very disturbing to see little girls of twelve and thirteen change their "relationship statuses" every few days. Honestly, just how "complicated" has life gotten for a thirteen year old? I can already see anthropological studies in the future named "Social changes and stigma - The Facebook Era", or "Effect of networking - how Facebook transformed behavioral trends of a generation".
There is a barrage of statuses: moods, locations, love life (eeekkk!), blah, blah and more blah. Since when did we develop the sudden need to publish every single thought, action and non-action? Or did we always have this major craving to let the world know what brand of toothpaste we use, and couldn't, and then Zuckerberg gave us just the way out?
I still find some of the stuff pretentious. Sworn enemies being so courteous on Facebook they could put Michelle Obama to absolute shame-
"yes dah-ling, you have SUCH a beautiful baby, it must feel great!" (I hope you never lose all that unwanted weight),
"Gorgeous babe" (Wait till you see MY pictures b****)
"very nice pic" /"you look great" / "wow" (I have nothing to say, but am obligated to because YOU said that to ME)
The Facebook wall, is simply, a way to advertise just who you are, where you go, and what you do. Therefore the "My feet are killing me with all the dancing (million !!!'s ) that was such a killerrr parrtyyy yaarrr such-and-such place is very happening".
There are tons of things that are great, too. Who would've thought that the best way to advertise your candle-making skills, and increase your sales without having to pay a consultant, was a social networking site? At least I never thought that an author who's book I read would be my "friend". Also, there are some geniuses out there who make my day by posting some unbelievably hilarious links that get me through a very monotonous workday. And whether you are an entrepreneur, small business proprietor or a big time retail outlet, you just have to have a Facebook "presence". Social Media Marketing, is the next big thing, apparently.
I guess you have to take the good with the bad, but how does "liking" Save The Tiger page, save the tiger? Or putting the colour of your un-mentionables help women with serious illnesses?
Food for thought : A newsfeed on my Facebook homepage read " Socalled Somesuch Likes Children With Disability"
First of all, you're considered an outcast if you don't have a Facebook account. And then it promotes voyeurism. Which is very hard to resist unless you're a saint in the Himalayas. But then last I heard, even highly reputed spiritual organisations have Facebook pages-to promote culture. Oh the irony.
Second, it is very, very disturbing to see little girls of twelve and thirteen change their "relationship statuses" every few days. Honestly, just how "complicated" has life gotten for a thirteen year old? I can already see anthropological studies in the future named "Social changes and stigma - The Facebook Era", or "Effect of networking - how Facebook transformed behavioral trends of a generation".
There is a barrage of statuses: moods, locations, love life (eeekkk!), blah, blah and more blah. Since when did we develop the sudden need to publish every single thought, action and non-action? Or did we always have this major craving to let the world know what brand of toothpaste we use, and couldn't, and then Zuckerberg gave us just the way out?
I still find some of the stuff pretentious. Sworn enemies being so courteous on Facebook they could put Michelle Obama to absolute shame-
"yes dah-ling, you have SUCH a beautiful baby, it must feel great!" (I hope you never lose all that unwanted weight),
"Gorgeous babe" (Wait till you see MY pictures b****)
"very nice pic" /"you look great" / "wow" (I have nothing to say, but am obligated to because YOU said that to ME)
The Facebook wall, is simply, a way to advertise just who you are, where you go, and what you do. Therefore the "My feet are killing me with all the dancing (million !!!'s ) that was such a killerrr parrtyyy yaarrr such-and-such place is very happening".
There are tons of things that are great, too. Who would've thought that the best way to advertise your candle-making skills, and increase your sales without having to pay a consultant, was a social networking site? At least I never thought that an author who's book I read would be my "friend". Also, there are some geniuses out there who make my day by posting some unbelievably hilarious links that get me through a very monotonous workday. And whether you are an entrepreneur, small business proprietor or a big time retail outlet, you just have to have a Facebook "presence". Social Media Marketing, is the next big thing, apparently.
I guess you have to take the good with the bad, but how does "liking" Save The Tiger page, save the tiger? Or putting the colour of your un-mentionables help women with serious illnesses?
Food for thought : A newsfeed on my Facebook homepage read " Socalled Somesuch Likes Children With Disability"
Of cab rides and the internet.
Cab rides can change your life! Believe you me!
There is a certain thrill in riding a cab. It's definitely not as simple as boarding a cab and then un-boarding it.
It in fact involves : Run for cab like your life depends on it / wait on road for cab while a bum appraises you critically and a random jogger feels free to peer at you weirdly. Then you listen to the cab driver give you an earful in the local language that always starts with "eeen madummmm yake.....". Then the ride. Can be harrowing the first few days. The cab driver will show you skills that make you feel stupid for ever thinking Fast and the Furious was, in fact, fast and furious. Any cab driver believes that fighting against time comes with the job description. And then, two days, later, you don't think twice about letting the cab driver be the owner of your life and limb for the entirety of the ride.
Honestly, listening to Vivaldi, while the human race is rushing past you in all its glory (bumpy roads, cows, jaywalking men,overflowing buses, the driver consequently shaking his fist while miraculously driving the whole time) is a thing of beauty.
And then the internet has me possessed like never, ever before! It is beginning to take a toll on my social life, and my reading. It's amazing, having been off it, to realise just HOW much of a change you can affect. From leaking cables to fixing your leaking pipes. Although I have my reservations about the lack of control this generation (dam, I feel old) has about keeping private things private. (I honestly don't want to know what you ate where you went and how your broken heart can never be fixed, OR the colour of your shoes today.)
But then again, changing with the times is inevitable I suppose. And discovering a new and awesome website gives you almost as much of a high as the afore mentioned cab ride does! Twitter?
There is a certain thrill in riding a cab. It's definitely not as simple as boarding a cab and then un-boarding it.
It in fact involves : Run for cab like your life depends on it / wait on road for cab while a bum appraises you critically and a random jogger feels free to peer at you weirdly. Then you listen to the cab driver give you an earful in the local language that always starts with "eeen madummmm yake.....". Then the ride. Can be harrowing the first few days. The cab driver will show you skills that make you feel stupid for ever thinking Fast and the Furious was, in fact, fast and furious. Any cab driver believes that fighting against time comes with the job description. And then, two days, later, you don't think twice about letting the cab driver be the owner of your life and limb for the entirety of the ride.
Honestly, listening to Vivaldi, while the human race is rushing past you in all its glory (bumpy roads, cows, jaywalking men,overflowing buses, the driver consequently shaking his fist while miraculously driving the whole time) is a thing of beauty.
And then the internet has me possessed like never, ever before! It is beginning to take a toll on my social life, and my reading. It's amazing, having been off it, to realise just HOW much of a change you can affect. From leaking cables to fixing your leaking pipes. Although I have my reservations about the lack of control this generation (dam, I feel old) has about keeping private things private. (I honestly don't want to know what you ate where you went and how your broken heart can never be fixed, OR the colour of your shoes today.)
But then again, changing with the times is inevitable I suppose. And discovering a new and awesome website gives you almost as much of a high as the afore mentioned cab ride does! Twitter?
The week that was, and wasn't.
The week that was: (Well technically last week, I left it to rot in drafts)
Hectic. I didn't get to eat on time, missed out on sleep, generally went crazy with the demands of a job on the suddenly (unsatisfactorily) employed! (but the details of that are the story for another post altogether)
Boring. When it boils to it, work, is, simply put, mind numbingly boring. I wish I could find a job that involves a lot of reading, writing and surfing the internet and pays well. (Dream on, I hear?) Sigh.
Hard hitting. Julian Assange was in and out of jail. I admire the people who were able to dig out such obscure Swedish laws to put this man in jail. (there is something very very irresistibly appealing about a man like Assange, with his eccentric mannerisms, just like there is something irresistible about Arundhati Roy)
Nostalgia-inducing. A dear friend I've known since kindergarten is now engaged and is going to be tying the knot. Nothing brings reality pouring down on you like a bucket of ice, like knowing your best friend's life is going to transform beyond your comprehension.
Expensive. Onions are expensive. A friend took a dig at it by posting pictures of a cheap bag of onions from the UK
What it was not:
The much anticipated nerd attack, Anonymous's horde of nerds fighting back (enlisting the help of the common computer-owning man's support, of course) did not have a great outcome. It was definitely not a week where the freedom of speech won. (for everything else, there's Mastercard?)
It was not a week to blow up cash, the new job hasn't paid (off) yet!
Was a terrible week, nation wise, accusations hurling like nukes from Ratan Tata to Rajeev Chandrashekar, scams galore, raids, more accusations, more scams. Just another day in India
Definitely not the week to consider joining Twitter.
All in all, the mundane in this country is anything but. sigh. And here I was dreaming about Change. What a lot of *&^%%$@##$.
06 December, 2010
Spewing Bullshit
This title came to my head, unbidden, as I sat through a deathly-stupor-inducing "Induction"
After all the hype, hoopla and general confusion that is a big part of my life usually, I finally, (somewhat unenthusiastically) began to get adjusted to being "employed" again.
So, the induction happened. At this supposedly super retailer's super organisation that is going HOT in India! (not my words, I have completely different views on the matter).
And, as always, rather than really listening to the speaker, I gave my whole and undivided attention at observing everybody from my super vantage point at the very back of the room. If it was up to me, believe me, the girl in the Green Salwar would get brownie points for nodding her head oh-so enthusiastically and looking earnest for about 8 hours without ever looking tired with the effort! Wonder what was running in her head...the terrible lunch? her green dupatta...? boyfriend??? Her phone kept vibrating annoyingly, disturbing my keen observations. Must be boyfriend, girls don't generally text back furiously if not involved romantically.
Back to the topic. The woman, an extremely beautiful one, with an IIM tag to boot (bloody!!) was going on and on and on....about how LUCKY we are to be in THIS country (A Raja is too) at THIS time of booming economy and great development (Bhimmamma, domestic help extraordinaire, would run after her, broomstick in hand) and with the wonderful opportunity to work for THIS company!!!! (sigh.) And that's when my mind went, she earns big bucks, for spewing bullshit. THAT is the job I want, then. I can spew bullshit! That, and how I'm collecting wonderful fodder for the blog. (Note : Unemployment bad for blogging. Cynicism towards Employer good for blogging) They must've mistaken that deadly gleam in my eye for genuine enthusiasm!
And then the videos. They cannot ever get sued, not if you looked through the videos shot by shot with a microscope, you cannot find one damned politically incorrect shred of an image. Every shot had one Caucasian, one African American, one Far Eastern, one Asian, one Hispanic, one VERY conspicuous Indian . EVERY-SHOT. Constructing the previous sentence took me a while! Imagine HOURS worth of videos! phew!
Also, it doesn't take a dumass to realise that all those zoomed in faces with those huuuuge happy billion dollar smiles are NOT employees. Yes, they're wearing your colours and your uniforms, but come ON. I'm not buying this every employee is happy with us every single day nonsense!!
While we're on the videos, the background music gets a thousand points! Apprently they're supposed to make you feel good and believe in the "inclusive" culture of the great big brand we are "soooo LUCKY" to be a part of. (I don't know if they have some brainwashing stuff beneath all the music, I vaguely remember something like that happening in some random chick flick. Then there'd be zombies all around campus, everyday, beaming like those people in the videos while they walk around and while they work, smile ALWAYS in place). They totally achieved what they wanted...because next to me Red Salwar and Pink-Blue-Yellow Salwar just ERUPTED. I mean, really, jumped up and started clapping! Those hidden cameras they were talking about, if they'd captured my movements when the twin-salwar-volcanoes erupted, I would've looked like someone dropped a bomb next to me.
I don't have an impressive resume, au contraire. But one thing that i noticed is how HARD they try! I mean, they'd put the average college-lover-boy to shame with all that trying!! They go out of the way to tell you how they're the absolute BEST at what they do, give you a headache with the awards they've won, how you can grow and grow, and (God!!) how LUCKY you are, oversell the brand name, spew out meaningless jargon at the rate of ten a minute. What I find even more surprising than this shameless over-selling, is how easily everybody around me lapped it up! Clapping, laughing at un-funny nonsense, answering as though they're giving away millions to the one that answers first about what the current share price is, and looking so...SOLD.
Oh yes, well, what AM i doing there then?? Well SOMEBODY has to make these observations. You know, so there are different opinions floating around on the blogosphere and all that jazz. It doesn't hurt that I'm making some money on the way!
29 November, 2010
So!
So! I start blogging again. I must be the only blog-lunatic to have deleted a blog so many, many times. But unlike before, there is a difference-I no longer say "that dreaded 'C' word", instead I say "commitment" (I didn't even get the shivers this time, I tell you!), and a commitment is what I intend to make to this blog!
I am a shameless rant-er. A news flash could get me so angry, you'd think someone poked me in the eye with a pin. Or a very random song can make me so ecstatic I'd go about writing poems of my own. You know. The general lunacy that random happenings bring on. But this time, I'm going to let these random things be.
I have more or less grown up, in a sense. Graduated from Rowling to Marquez. Change is not so bad, when I realised it was great graduating from Blyton to Rowling, so this could be great too. But still, I'm taking baby steps, starting with the blog.
Cheers I say! For now!
I am a shameless rant-er. A news flash could get me so angry, you'd think someone poked me in the eye with a pin. Or a very random song can make me so ecstatic I'd go about writing poems of my own. You know. The general lunacy that random happenings bring on. But this time, I'm going to let these random things be.
I have more or less grown up, in a sense. Graduated from Rowling to Marquez. Change is not so bad, when I realised it was great graduating from Blyton to Rowling, so this could be great too. But still, I'm taking baby steps, starting with the blog.
Cheers I say! For now!
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