It's a big world after all!

Small talk, big deal

2011-03-26T23:43:00.003+05:30

There is a secret to surviving in every city. (Yes, coming up is a great piece of advice about global living from the girl who has lived in 4 cities all her life, including the current one.) In Bangalore, the mantra for content survival is compromise, referred to fondly by its citizens as "adjust maadi". A 2-hour traffic jam.. adjust maadi, some idiot's phone rings in the theatre.. adjust maadi, auto guy demands double rate.. adjust maadi, load shedding during a cricket match.. swalpa adjust maadi. You get the drift. Compromise is the name of the game. Once you learn to lower your expectations, forgive and forget, the city is actually pleasant to live in. Especially for a non-partying, nerdy person like me.

People mind their own business and except scary lechers, strangers don't even make eye contact. I spent 2 years going to work in a cab with the same bunch of my colleagues, but I barely knew them, except for some titbits like who read which part of the paper, how girls take longer to get ready on Fridays and things like that. But of course, that is more a result of my excellent skills of observation rather than any effort at socializing. In London though, the secret to survival lies in the opposite direction.

In just a few months into my foray of living in London, I have learnt that the art of small talk is terribly essential. People are unnecessarily polite, people look up and smile and expect conversation from you. It's not fine to keep to yourself. Go on and talk and people will be interested.

The three most common conversational pick-up lines are
1. Weather related. Eg. "Nice/gloomy weather, isn't it?"
2. Weekend related. Eg. "How was the weekend? / Anything exciting planned for the weekend?"
3. Welfare related. Eg. "How are you doing?/ You alright?"

I find the third one the toughest, because I just can't get away by replying "Not bad", which I usually do. It seems like people want to know why I don't feel any better. Is there anything wrong? How are you really feeling, girl? And on the other side of the dialogue, I have forcibly started asking people how they are and I find it extremely difficult to feign interest as they delve into a 5-minute soliloquy about their pleasant bus ride in the morning or their annoying co-passenger on the tube. Sometimes, it is just too much detail. "You alright?" is worse.. somehow. That question almost demands a justification to why I am not cheerful enough. Most of the times, the true reason is the weather, which gets us to the first line of questioning.

An average Londoner is stereotypically associated with an obsession with weather. And it's couldn't be more accurate. Unfortunately though, I'm getting there myself. Given that the temperature has a mind of it's own and the weathermen seem to have no clue how to go about their jobs, it is a topic on everyone's mind. You can almost sense the population turning out dark and brooding on a gloomy day. Lets just say that during winters, I look up to check if I can see any dementors hovering over the city. So I understand the obsession. And I'm mostly prepared for this line of discussion.

Of course, there are exceptions to this "small talk" rule. On the trains for example, no one acknowledge another's presence. I spend more time staring at the "Clearpill" ad than studying my fellow commuters, let alone meet their glance and feel awkward. It really is an odd anomaly to an otherwise talkative community. But it is just one of the very few. Grocery shops, beauty salons, bar counters, elevators, restrooms, gyms and the parks are full of people who want to talk. They want to know you better.

I found it very tiresome initially, but I'm getting into the groove these days. And I fell pretty proud of myself when I initiate small talk myself. If only more people spoke about cricket, I'd be doing much better. But that's a subject for another post.

My next focus on fitting in better is saying "Bless you!" when someone around me sneezes. That's a tricky one, trust me!

The Italian bad job

2010-12-22T22:52:00.003+05:30

My parents weren't exceptional in parenting. There, I said it. And I don't think it is a crime to say it aloud. They didn't have too much parental experience in my early years, so I suppose it was justified. I can remember a variety of events in my childhood where I think they could have done a better job. Despite all of that, here I am.. a model daughter and citizen, hmmph!

In hindsight, I especially found their modes of rewarding my good behaviour very funny. When I scored 95% in the 7th board (!!) exams, my parents decided it was a big enough occasion to take my cousin, my sister and me to watch Titanic at Urvashi theatre. And for some reason, we got to watch the full blown adult version. Watching Kate Winslet lie naked for a portrait before they made steamy, hand-printy love in a car wasn't by itself a bad experience. But watching that sitting between my parents in a dark movie hall was torturous for the 11-year old in me. My dad's head was down, trying to dig out the best looking popcorn, while my mom was just staring at the screen, shaking her head in disapproval. I shrunk in my seat, cringing, hoping that we wouldn't talk about this after the movie.

And we didn't. But the ensuing discussion on the ride back home was so artificial and pointless, it was worse. It was more than evident to us kids that the grown-ups were making every effort to ignore the elephant in the back seat. It ended with all of us agreeing that English movies were bad in general and definitely not worth watching at a cinema hall. Why don't we just wait for Star Movies next Christmas? Aargh! I made up my mind never to inform my folks of any academic achievements henceforth.

I did however tell them about a certain literary award I got when I was 12 or 13. This was when Pizza Corner and Pizza Hut were taking over sub-metros like Bangalore and I so wanted to have a pizza! While it seemed that my friends and their families had long accepted this culinary delight as a thing of their own, my family were slightly less enthused. I insisted that my creative writing skills deserved a pizza dinner for the family and they grudgingly agreed. Off we went - my parents, my sister, an aunt and an uncle with me of course - to get some pizza. On the way to Pizza Corner (which was more popular than Pizza Hut then) we passed by a few famous South Indian restaurants and my parents tempted me, but I remained resolute. I wanted Pizza.

The six of us were seated at a fairly large table at the centre of the place and given menus. I couldn't decide what I wanted, there was so much choice even for veggies! My aunt and uncle were the first to put their menus down. As strict vegetarians they wouldn't dare eat at a place that also served pork. My 18-year old sister gave up next and declared that there was nothing non-fatty available. And my parents gave up soon after, claiming that they couldn't find anything appetizing, but I should feel free to go ahead and order what I wanted. It was my treat after all! I could sense disgust, indifference and sympathy from the others on the table. But I wanted my pizza.

I still remember the confusion on the waiter's face when the six of us asked for 6 glasses of water and one small pizza. "What else? Anything else?", he asked. "Are you sure?", he confirmed. I had sunk below the table by then. And then it arrived, my first pizza ever! I ate in silence, regretting ever wanting it, as I felt every other diner looking at my table. I despised the rich kids, their cool parents and their pizza eating habits. And I wanted some coke, but I was too embarrassed to ask for it. This charade went on till I gulped the last piece of onion and washed it down with tepid water. We paid our bill and left. Quite a parade it was.

We crossed the road to the South Indian place everyone else wanted to go to originally. We got the table with a window view on the first floor. I refused to talk to any of them, but just sulked at the window looking down at the pizza place. I don't know what my parents had against pizza, maybe they thought it was too expensive. But still, that was no way of rewarding me, I thought. At the core of it all, I realised I had wanted a family dinner, having something new that I had discovered, while being at the centre of attention. Instead, I had my backs turned while the rest of them were eating the usual idli-vada-dosa cheerfully.

I didn't have pizza for a while after that, not by choice. I remember my next time was with friends, when I had earned my own money. And that, felt good.

I wonder what sort of mistake I will make when I am in that position. But that stage of my life is years away.

I feel list-y today...

2010-12-04T17:28:00.003+05:30

.. and hence, here is a list of my top 5 branded products that I use everyday.

1. My Philips GoGear music player - Before you read any further, you should possibly know this about me. I'm not really someone you might call a late or even a very late technology follower. When I find something good and like it, I stick to it. Even if there are trendier, better looking and more effective products in the market. (Shrik, you should know that this doesn't apply only to technology). It is not my fault if the world raced 6 years ahead of me. Not my loss. Anyhoo, I love my Philips GoGear music player. It is sleek, heavy (so I notice when I drop it, which I do sometimes, or often), and simple to use. A lot of people have seen it around me and thought it was a cigarette lighter (giving me a pseud impression) and of course no one would ever want to steal it! For the benefit of kids born in the 90's, let me clarify that this is an alternative to the iPod.. yes such a thing exists. Given that mine is only about 4 years old, I wish it a long musical life ahead with me!

2. My Titan (Infosys) watch - I have owned 3 watches all my life. The first was my mother's old one, my second was a bright blue Fastrack watch I won for a debate at JNC's cultural fest (sigh!) and my current one is from my sister. When her company, Infy, turned 25 years old, I think, they gave out mega-sized t-shirts and watches to every employee. My sister decided that a girl couldn't possibly wear such an ugly, bulky watch and gave it to me. I have obsessed over it for 7 years! I love it. And I recently found out that there others like me, people who are buying this old watch over the internet for some good money, so yay! It will watch me grow up for several more years, I hope.

3. Himalaya Kajal - Like most of you know, I'm not a girly girl. Make up has challenged me and I am not ashamed to say that I have lost, repeatedly. I believe the trigger point was during the wedding when I spent good money and 4 hours at a salon to end up looking like an ogre. Yes, an ogre. But recently, I discovered the magic of kajal. Simple and inexpensive to use, it makes me look like I have taken a tiny bit of effort to look better and it genuinely cools my eyes! Sometimes it makes me look scary too. Seriously, no downside so far.

4. Google Reader - The ultimate innocent fraxing tool at office. It lets me read a host of blogs, sites as soon as they are updated. It introduces me to diverse sources of entertainment and makes me seem smarter, all while looking serious and official at the same time. Thank you Google!

5. My Puma bag - My favourite accessory. It has carried my soiled clothes, my secrets, my gifts, my letters, my weight, my dreams, my books, my baggage.. and the list is endless. On my loneliest days, it has been my date on planned picnics, shelter when it rains, secret keeper when I need to hide things. Did I mention that I love my bag? Unfortunately, I couldn't bring it to London because of a last minute zipper issue. And I miss it! But we shall re-unite for many more years to come. I know that!

So there it is, my everyday branded sweethearts.
And condolences to Jockey, you just missed the cut.

New leaf, yet again

2010-06-07T22:05:00.001+05:30

I can’t believe its mid-2010 already. Didn’t we just celebrate new years? Didn’t I just get married? Didn’t I just start working? I give it some leeway and life just slips away. Milestones have come and gone and the months have rolled by. It’s just so unfair!

Today, I hit the pause button. I took a step back and thought of what I’ve really done in the last year. I’m so ashamed. I have written a sum total aggregate of 3 not-so-great blog posts in a whole year. No, no excuses to this. Coincidentally, I have also read exactly 3 books in the same period. I added one new blog to my Reader list. Sigh! In all this while, I visited just one new country and took one vacation to Pondicherry. I haven’t made any new friends. I gained one size and got a new haircut. And all this at a time when it’s never been more optimal for me to live the way I want. There is no more parental pressure, I have constant (and enthusiastic) company in the best boyfriend ever, I earn a lot of money and there are friends living all around me. A perfect time, wasted.

I would have wanted to read more. And by read, I don’t mean study, which I’ve been doing a lot. I want to pick up more books, follow more blogs, read more opinions. Isn’t that the best way to start writing again? Aaargh, I hope it’s not too late to start over. I want to go places. Weekend trips outside the city, work/non-work trips outside the country and discover more places within Bangalore. I want to play more badminton, TT and basketball. I want to run longer and faster, do a marathon. I want to watch more movies. I want to paint a wall in my house. I want to get some pots and get my hands dirty, in an attempt to make my balcony greener. I want to buy some interesting furniture. I really have to buy some make-up. (I’m 23 and I have never owned any lipstick). I want to sing more often, when I’m sober. I want to try more meat. I want to wear skirts more often. I want to do something charitable. I want to listen to music that I haven’t tried before. I want to meet new people, attend more quizzes. I want to cycle to work one day. I want to be able to do push ups. I want to cook a good meal for a bunch of friends. So much to do!

I can’t believe I let an entire year slip away, doing none of this. Sheesh! Ashamed I tell ya! But this ends here, now.

I’m putting up a list of thing I will do from now on. It’s out for you to see, so please hold me accountable.

By June 30, 2010 I will – Take Shrik to CTR, Malleshwaram and take a walk around Sankey tank, watch at least 3 popular movies that everyone seems to have watched, buy some make-up, start a book and update my mp3 player

By July 31, 2010 I will – Cycle to office on a pleasant day, buy some plants and start my own garden, get some nails and hang up pictures at home, blog more often, start using the make up

By Oct 30, 2010 I will – Get fitter and lose one size, paint a wall, cook a dinner from scratch for a bunch of people

By Dec 31, 2010 I will – Visit one new foreign country, visit Goa, run a mini-marathon, get a voter’s ID.

Hmm. Sounds good? Make sure I do this!

It's the beach

2010-01-23T18:19:00.005+05:30

There is something about going to the beach that I love.

The waves come at me incessantly. Never ending, never slowing its pace. I can relive my past standing there and I can foresee my future. What can it possibly be other than more waves? Some huge, some beautiful and some that are deceptively harmless. It's always the same rhythm, the same feeling. Eternally. Some waves approach me looking quite ferocious, but they still die at my feet. Some wash away my wounds or sea shells that I had held on to. Some bring me more goodies, sometimes others' filth too. Some shock me, but I always get over them. There is no time to waste, there are always more waves to counter. They thrill me, scare me and amaze me.

And when I walk away and pat myself dry, I always find strains of sand left behind. Sand that has crept into my hair unnoticed. Sand remains in my pockets, in the folds of my clothes, between my toes. It takes several washes to get rid off. And even when I do, it always feels like there is more lurking where I didn't check. The remnants of a good time, I don't always want to let it go.

There are two ways of enjoying the beach experience. I always first sit at a distance and watch the water. That seems pleasant enough, safe too. But then, there comes a time when I can't resist it further, I need to step in. There is just no other way.

How can I possibly get bored of the beach? The titillating view of the horizon, the certainty of the shore, the occasional dolphins and the endless feeling that I own the world?

How can I possibly get tired of life? I should step in and get my feet wet. I need to let the endless challenges and experiences splash at me, let life's sense of timing humble me. I want to collect my memories, but let them wash away when they have to. There are always more sea shells in the water. And then I can marvel at the gravity that gets me back to my feet when I think I can swim past the tide.

There is something about living this life that I love.

The good times

2009-11-21T00:13:00.000+05:30

Remember when you were 7 and splashed some paint on a huge piece of paper and cliamed it to be a masterpiece? Your mom put it up on the fridge and foresaw pure talent in you, while your sister guffawed and said you'd be useless? But you didn't care.. You continued to paint and finally became an excel sheet mugging analyst. No, didn't happen to you? What about the time you made a complicated sand castle on your annual beach vacation and your dad claimed you'd be an architect some day and you persevered from then on, only to grow up to sell diapers in Bihar? That didn't happen either? Lucky, you!

Well, it didnt happen to me either. But the reason behind that isn't that i followed my dreams and became what I wanted. It's because I never quite figured out what i was good at. I could sing a bit (until my sis shouted at me to stop), I could dance quite some (but my mom convinced me that's no future to pursue), I could write (but I give it up in breaks), I could play quite a few sports (but I succumb under the slightest pressure), I could speak (didn't get me anywhere other than a few GDs), but I didnt have any real talent. And so I followed my true calling.. and became a fin ghissu. I can still tally any balance sheet, given a few free hours!

But the point behind all this rambling, is that I don't remember a single memory of accomplishment from my childhood. This might be because my parents were slightly cynical about most things. But still, I can't remember a single instance of my folks nodding their head, their lips drawn in and patting me on my back.

Until recently..

It was a few weeks ago, when I stood back and stared at my achievement, amazed at the time, patience and energy that had gone into it. Awed by own sense of judgement and the symmetry with which everything had fallen into place and blended so well. I looked up at my partner in crime and I could see he shared the feeling too. We had done it. Our Channa Masala was perfect. True, that night we felt too tired after that effort to make rotis, so we stored the dish overnight and we pushed ourselves to make some rotis the nexy day. But still, it was fantastic. Over time, several other scapegoats have tried our cooking.. family, friends, innocent batchmates, scared juniors. I couldn't really read through all their contrived facial expressions, but I'll take them as compliments. Thank you, every one of you. Please feel free to take your seat while you applaud!

Ah, when your chapati comes up to a perfect *cough* oval *cough*, when your curry turns deep red, when your idlis don't stick to your fingers, when your chutney doesn't lack taste.. Pure bliss. It makes me so proud that I even cry sometimes, but that's only when I chop onions. And when we sit down for dinner at the end of it all, we tell ourselves that we might still be hungry after the meal, but so what! It's still our meal. It's made out of the tomatoes we squished with our own hands, the salt we sprinkled with our very own fingers, spices sent across by our own mothers. It's still our meal.

Life, as always, throws the most pleasant surprises, when you least expect it.
That's why it's called a surprise, by the way.

Note to reader: Do not consider the text above as an invitation to dine at our place. We're not into that kind of socialising.

What I need

2009-09-09T21:20:00.001+05:30

Today was one of those days when I've looked long and hard at my computer screen, the political map of Europe on my notice board, the tree outside my window, a boring company's annual report and the TV screen. I alternated between all of these to ensure no one at office would think I'm sleeping with my eyes open. The conclusion? I need a vacation.

The past 6 months of my life have been ridiculous. I had to handle myself acting nuts about getting married to the love of my life. So many stupid decisions, harsh words, regrets. I ensured in every way possible not to enjoy the wedding, my parents helped me along the way. After that, when I heard office junta speculating about my impending drop in interest at work due to the change in my marital status, I overworked to prove them wrong. I went to work 3 days after the wedding. I went to London for a month and worked an average 15 hours a day. Additionally, I somehow lost control of myself. I ate and fed my boyfriend (yes, I still call him my boyfriend) quite a few low quality meals. We ate a lot more junk, I stopped working out, I returned my bike to my parents, I called up fewer friends. I haven't even been able to finish reading a book and of course, I don't write any more. I just don't write.

It's not that I'm unhappy. I love my new life.. It's fantastic, I've never felt better. But with the change, I gave up everything good about my pre-marriage life too. (When I feel guilty about having a piece of chocolate, I know I've been a slob.)

I need a change, I need a vacation. I need to be around people, in a different place. And I want to play mafia. I want to ride down a scenic highway, I want to have road-side tea. I want my phone to be unreachable, my blackberry to be untouched. I want to scream out bollywood songs, while I'm riding a bike real fast. I want to get drenched in the rain. I need a vacation.

Next post, immediately after I return.

It's here

2009-05-17T20:54:00.002+05:30

So it's finally happening. I did my very best to run away, to get over it, to deny it, to escape it, to accept it... nothing worked. I'm getting married in a week. And this is my last post as a single girl. Ah! Life is going to change.

I have wanted to write a lot of stuff over the past two months, but every post eventually ended with me talking about the wedding. So I stopped. It's a happy thing, there should be nothing negative on print. Right?

Anyway, as an update to nothing... I found a new place to shift into, I've packed up all my stuff, I've bought new things to fill up our new home and I'm already worried about financing a married life and cooking and waking up on my own and washing the clothes and.. the list goes on. I have no idea how I'm going to manage all this. Anyway, for now single Su is waving goodbye!

She'll be back with a vengeance.

Cold feet

2009-03-14T18:41:00.002+05:30

Things running in my head as of now:

The Pros of getting married
1. I’ll never have to wake up alone.
2. I’ll finally get out of my parents’ house.
3. That’ll be the end of lonely weekends.
4. I’ll have the best company to watch sitcoms with. (who else would sing theme songs aloud)
5. My social life will improve radically.
6. There’ll be a drastic drop in phone bills.

The Cons of getting married
1. I’ll have to start cooking soon.
2. I’ll have to find some girl friends.
3. I can never act on my crushes any more.
4. People around me will definitely start treating me differently.
5. I can no longer make fun of people who are older than me.
6. I might have to change my name.
7. I will never fall in love again.
8. House rent/ maid salary/ lunch at office etc. - lesser money in the bank.

Things I can’t classify yet
1. I’ll be married.
2. I’ll be married.
3. I’ll be married.

Either time should stop now. And I should continue living my single life till I’m sick of it. Or the next two months should race by, so that I get done with these stupid thoughts.

Shoppers, stop! Please!

2009-02-07T14:22:00.003+05:30

I stepped into the big hall. I thought I would be prepared for the sight in front of me, but I clearly wasn’t. I took a deep breath, before I took a further step.

“You can’t escape this”, I was told. I pleaded with my eyes. But to no avail.
“We’ve come a long way for this. So get it done with”, she said.
“But Ma, do I really have to be there for saree shopping?”

Unfortunately, the answer to that was a resounding “Yes!” and there was indeed no escaping. The start to 3 days of shopping torture… the beginning of extremely painful wedding preparations.

So, I’m getting married in 4 months. I’ve had my share of frozen feet and I recovered (hopefully). And I presumed it would fun and games from now on. But I was as mistaken as John Thain was, when he assumed he could get away with a $35,000 commode. My folks and his folks planned an elaborate trip to Chennai, converging from Bangalore and Mumbai in search of… Sarees! And we landed in the famed T-nagar area on a pleasant Saturday morning, loaded with pockets full of hard-earned cash and a bucket full of patience.

We started with shopping for the boyfriend. We spent 4 minutes and 700 bucks on a long white piece of cloth and he was done. For the rest of the day, he was sitting in a corner of the shop, playing Tetris on his phone. The lucky *bleep*! I, on the other hand, was dragged to every saree counter possible and mind you, they were endless. Each counter classified according to price range, borders, designs, places of origin, gender of the weaver and the colour of mulberry leaves that were fed to the poor silk worms which were eventually sacrificed for the pretty looking garment.

A typical conversation that took place at a given counter, with a highly enthu salesman went something like this:
SM: So, What kind of sarees are you looking for, Madam? (in pure Tamil)
Me: Pattu Podavai (Wedding sarees. I learnt that myself!)
SM: (Pleased) Oh! What range, madam?
Me: 3000-4000.
Mom: What nonsense! Show us sarees above 7000.
Me: MA! That’s a lot of money!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
SM: All these modern day girls, tch tch! What colour I shall show you madam?
Mom: Maroon/Red/Bottle green… temple border.. double-side.. pure zari.. blah blah blah!
(After like 20 mins )
Mom: Here you go.
Me: I’m never going to wear this!!!
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: If it’s my wedding, let me choose my own saree!
Mom: You just did. And a good choice! Let’s go to that counter over there.
Me: Shrikant!!!
Shrik: Ouch! Just missed the top score.

After 3 hours and 3 sarees, we took a break for lunch and headed to another saree shop. Another after that. I managed to escape with Shrik for some Watermelon juice in between, but was immediately called back on the cell phone. I never understood why though. It wasn’t like my opinion counted at all! Every time, I was asked what I thought of a saree and was shooed away when I gave my opinion. And when we were finally done, we headed to a jewelers store. And the torture was so unbearable that even Shrikant took time off his Tetris game to comfort me once in a while.

In front of an array of necklaces:
Me: Ma. I like this one.
Mom: No. What about this one?
Me: No way! I hate it.
Mom: You’re supposed to like it. It’ll look nice on you.
Me: I don’t like it.
Mom: It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!
Me: Shrikant!!
Mom: (wrapping up her pick) There. Good choice.
Shrikant: Tch tch.

Fortunately we were spared of this routine for the next two days and our folks shopped in peace. At the end of the weekend though, my parents ran up a bill close to what John Thain did in the end of 2007. Recessionary times, my frozen foot! I questioned the worthiness of the purchases. Was a one-time-wear saree really worth 5-figures? And I got the expected answer.

“It’s your wedding! Learn to enjoy it!”

At the railway station that night, looking at the enormous amount of luggage we were carrying back to Bangalore, a coolie quoted 200 bucks to help us out. My parents were alarmed. 200 bucks! For carrying luggage! Apparently this time, it wasn’t worth it. Being the youngest and the fittest, I carried back most of the stuff by myself.

A day later, with excruciating shoulder pain, I realized it was my wedding, after all. I just wish my parents would let me enjoy it.

You drive me crazy!

2008-12-30T21:26:00.003+05:30

And we're back to that time of the year again.. The FM stations are playing their best of 2008 songs, music channels are playing the best episodes of their reality shows, the city is abuzz with New Year parties thoughtfully named Temptation Island, Exotica, Hollywood Fiesta and so on. So, in keeping with the long long tradition of this blog, here's my annual list for this year. I hope it is as pointless and dull as the previous one.

The bottom 5 ways to impress a girl on the road:

1. Using one's helmet as a giant bangle on the hand, instead of protecting one's teeny head
2. Assuming that fellow riders are blind/deaf/dumb and hence honking as soon soon as the signal turns green, even if one is a mile away
3. Adjusting one's rear view mirror at a signal to get a better look at the girl on the black activa waiting behind
4. Thump thump thump!! Loud music blaring out of one's car with the bass turned up specifically
5. Using one hand to drive irritatingly slow, while the other one is busy holding the phone to one's head

Attention! Homosapiens of the male variety!
Gone are the days when having a vehicle meant you were the town's hero. Gone are the days when girls swooned when you revved your noisy bikes. And gone are the days when girls remained fascinated with the art of driving. In these trying times, everyone has a vehicle and everyone wants to get home.. calm and quick! So stop behaving like you own the place, because you don't. You are just another inconvenince that we need to ignore on our way back. You're not the only ones with horns and music systems! And being loud will not help you score! You're not the only one with mobile phones either, my 50-year old vegetable vendor has one too. If you really need to show off, get a wireless handset and talk your way to glory. But, if you think wearing a helmet would make you look 'uncool', you're probably right anyway.. You would look a lot better without that head.

The Secret Hot Girls on the Road Club has decided that morons who commit the above sins are.. well, morons! So stop! Personally, I'd be very impressed with a guy who rides/drives smart and safe. So get back into those helmets, get back some patience and drive safe. And the girls will follow...

A Merry Christmas to you and a Happy Happy New Year! May 2009 get you better bonuses, lower real estate prices and safer jobs!

See you in '09, porcupine!

Head over Heels

2008-11-05T07:43:00.003+05:30

At 5 feet and 8 inches above the ground, I'm reasonably tall and proud of it. My height has always defined who I am… in a lot of ways. Years ago, when we posed for a family photograph, I stood out (my folks are 5"4 and below). The photographer kept wondering where to put me and since then, I've always been standing at the back for all snaps, grimacing. I learnt how to ride a bike, I went on to play badminton, basketball and I refused to ever wear heels. All as a result of how tall I was... Defining me as an athlete, a tomboy, as the ugly ducking of the family. Except for my mom's occasional tantrums about how this would wipe out half of my consideration set for eligible men to marry, I'm glad about how I am. Still am.

But a couple of weeks ago, I did something stupid. I went and bought myself a pair of heels. My first pair ever! (weep, weep) I still don't get the logic behind my purchase. Why would I buy myself a stunning pair of 2-inch heels (yes girls, just 2 inches, baby steps for me, extremely-difficult-to-get pun intended), when I could get myself two pairs of normal comfortable footwear that I could wear on a daily basis for the same price? I don't know. Why would my boyfriend, who is the same height as I am, convince me to buy these heels, at the risk of looking shorter? I don't know. But I went through with it and was terribly excited as I brought my new shoes home. For the next two weeks, the box just sat there, unopened. I debated every morning if I should wear them to work, but I kept putting it off. Finally, when my mom started her sermon on how money has corrupted me, inducing me to buy unnecessary things, I wore them to work last week.

I wobbled to my desk, hoping that no one would notice. No one did. It was too early in the morning, I figured. And I was right. An hour later, when I got up to get some water, people sitting around looked at me with obvious curiousity, there was something different about Sumana today. I walked up to the water cooler, cursing the 'clickety-clack clickety-clack' blaring off my feet, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. But I did. Some chaps who were standing around discussing the stock market clash, suddenly all turned towards me. Hey, look! A giraffe in the department! Yes, I can read minds. I reached the water cooler and realized it was too low for me. I fidgeted for a minute, more heads turned. I then spilt some water, some people even got up to watch. I drank up what I had and walked back to my desk. My bay was more silent than usual. And then life went on…

… for a while. When we left for lunch, everyone was in a hurry as usual. I struggled to catch up, the guys looked at me incredulously. The women showed some sympathy. After lunch, I lost the rare foosball game to a couple of rookies. This was the heights! (I'm bad with this pun thing). I limped back to my desk, wondering why I ever bought myself these evil shoes.The view from up there was no different. All day long, I walked around like the floor was covered with broken glass. Careful, focussed and with a painful look on my face. I was being a girl! And I hated it!

When I finally got off work, I wasn't sure who was more relieved, my shoes or me! I went home and replaced the shoes in their box, staring at them for a while. I decided to not wear them again till I absolutely had to. I shut the box, locked it up inside.

But this morning I felt different. I thought about it. My heels made me a head-turner, I made people around me go speechless, I was for a while the centre of attention… why shouldn't I wear them more often? So, the shoes came out of the closet. And here I am, all heeled up! Today has been exactly the same as last week. I sit here, refusing to get up from my seat, to avoid the clickety-clack, and instead passing time by writing about it. But, somewhere in the corner of my head, this feels nice!

I like my shoes. I think I'm finally growing up.

Damn!

The greener grass on every side

2008-10-26T21:02:00.003+05:30

An old friend of mine called me up from Australia today to wish me a 'Happy Diwali', I guess it was an excuse to catch up with whats happening around us. He's somewhere near Brisbane doing an MBA in accounting and taxation, or something like that. The last time he had come down to Bangalore, I had just started working and he kept telling me how he was completely broke and might have to drive a truck to make a living. Then we entered a college-hang-out-place to.. well, hang-out. And we decided to drive our troubles away by material pleasures. Him with cigarettes, me with chocolates. (Hey! that rhymed)

Anyway, when he called today, after the usual pleasantries, I updated him on the highlights of my life. I told him I was engaged and I'd get married sometime next year. He then told me he had applied at a Pacific cruise company, for a kitchen-help job for 2 years.

A big pause.

He said that driving trucks around Australia had opened his mind. He had seen quite a few places, lived on meagre means and had quite loved it. He wanted to do more of that. He said he'd take the current financial crisis as an opportunity, he'd take up another job and then sometime later, he'd get back to the corporate world and blame his inexperience on the unavailability of good financial jobs. At least by then, he'd see the world, meet new people and get some extra skills.

A big pause.

I was jealous of him and I told him so. At 22, my life was all planned out. I knew what I'd do for a living, who I'm going to marry, where I'm going to live... everything! At 22.

"But you'll rake in a lot of money, mate", V said.
"But where will I spend everything, designer shoes?"
I didn't tell him that. But I admitted I'd be making more than him, atleast for the next 2 years.

V - "You're getting married, you've found the One."
Me - "You're going to see the world."
V - "You're going to be working in an air-conditioned office everyday."
Me - "You're going to visit so many different places."
V - "You're starting a family."
Me - "You can still *bleep* around."
V - "People say I'm a loser, I'm crazy."
Me - "Of course, you are. And I'm jealous."
V - "And I'm jealous of you."
Me - "You get to follow your dreams"
V - "You can do it too, just quit."
Me - "I can't quit, I love my job."
V - "You just don't want to do anything crazy."
Me - "Yeah, I'm not a risk-taker".
V - "Unlike me, you atleast you have a job."
Me - "Yeah."
V - "Yeah."

And that was that. We said "Happy Diwali" again and hung up.

I feel like I'm no longer passionate about anything. I've been through many phases.. Karate, Akshay Kumar, Linda Goodman, my college forum, yoga, Rahul Dravid, basketball, losing weight, French lessons... but now I have nothing. Currently, I'm in a no-phase phase. And it sucks.

I want to see the world too. I want to do different things too. But I'll never get off my butt. The rebel in me has gone to sleep.

Wonder when she'll get up again.

The bulls and the bears

2008-10-13T21:51:00.005+05:30

For the past year or so, there has been a queer sort of volcano brewing underneath the "everything is fine" face-pack that the world has put on. America's greed has finally imploded, leaving thousands of homeowners with nowhere to sleep. Firms after firms are announcing losses. Banks after banks are having a run on them. 160 year old Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy, Bear Sterns and Merril Lynch were gobbled up. The surviving firms are circling like vultures, looking for any decent meat left in the tottering banks. The Fed is to pump in billions of dollars to rescue its economy, governments in Europe are right behind them. Iceland, with debt more than 12times its GDP, is melting in its own deeds. Rising oil costs, painful levels of inflation. An extreme credit crunch, the financial world at a standstill. Thousands of jobs lost, wealth disappearing... The future has never looked this bleak.

This is serious enough for President Bush to stand up and give a speech once in a while.

This is serious enough for me to use it as an excuse for not blogging frequently.

This is pretty serious.
But apparently, not so much for Jamaica.

Anyone listening?

Yay! Mine is a brilliant blog!

2008-09-21T19:20:00.015+05:30

Dear Readers!
I'm more than delighted to annouce my acceptance of the "Brillante Weblog (Premio 2008)" award! All my hard work has finally paid off! I'd like to thank my parents for providing me with broadband internet access, Blogger for letting me write for free and all the 5,000,000 readers of my blog. (Give or take a few 0's).

It is especially nice to note, that it has been more than 2 years since I started writing, but I only got this award, when I hadn't posted a single thing in a long long time. And so, I guess my silence (read extremely busy life; actually read chronic laziness) is appreciated more than my incessant rants. But no complaints whatsoever. Thank you Multi Menon for reading my blog and giving me an excuse to post something. What would I do without readers like you!

Some concerned readers have asked me about my silence. Reasons - my life and me. I'm an Investment Banker and I work for one of the biggies. Need I say anymore? There is just so much happening at my workplace, I'd rather not blog from office. Why give them a reason to fire me? And yeah, loads of work too. Weekends are usually spent studying for CFA level 1. Any other free time, I'm watching Desperate Housewives. So that pretty much sums up my current lifestyle. And, like it's been mentioned before, I'm lazy. So, there.

Now. More details about the award itself. My due appreciation to the chap who designed the image. Truly colourful. And hey.. diamonds are good to have. Even if it is just a picture. The shiny award will remain on my blog for a long long time. As I thought of how to best accept this, I did a little research. So, reader(s) think my blog has a "a gay, showy, and sparkling style". Interesting. Never intended it that way.

Now for some Ctrl C + Ctrl V
* When you receive the prize you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back
* Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or even more or sometimes less) that you find brilliant in their content or design
* Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing they were prized with ‘Brilliant Weblog Award'
* Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize (optional).
* And pass it on!

So here goes.

Multi Menon gave me this award because he thinks I'm a genius, I'm young, I'm lazy and I can literally write about anything under the sun. Well, I agree to all those accusations. Dear MM, I thank you for passing this on to me. I pass this award back to you because of your excellent taste and sense of judgement. Also, you have a brilliant blog and I love the way you write. I love your current template, hold on to it. I wish I could post as often as you do.

My junior Devika, is easily the best writer I know. And a great narrator too. I'm jealous of her way with the words. And she's still at XL, so her blog gives me some sort of update of XL from time to time. But thats not only why I like reading her blog. I love it because she can write beautifully at any time of the day or night. She isn't afraid of her putting her deepest thoughts on the net. She doesn't seem to care of what the readers' would think of her. I love it because she needs no reason to write. And frankly, I need to reason to read it. Devika, I wish I could be as frank as you.

Another blog I completely adore is Preeti Sharma's. I had no clue till I bumped into her page, that a dentist could be so much fun. Strangely, I don't know anything else about her. But I know she's a terrific writer. Very few blogs are genuinely funny. And her blog is right up there. I check for updates everyday and I'm thrilled when she has a new post. Woman, I'm proud of you. Preeti, I wish I could write like you. Period.

I have no reason to back this up, but I genuinely feel that B-schoolers write brilliantly. And I love reading those blogs. One of my favourites is by Arvind.C. Simply, fantastic. I don't comment on his blog a lot, I wonder why. But he has this simple style of writing, that takes a lot of effort to master. Again, most of his posts are about mundane stuff. And I keep wondering why I never thought of writing about that. And did I mention that he is extremely funny! Arvind, I wish I had as many readers as you do.

And finally.. I love Shrik. He's so funny, that only I get his jokes. He writes so well, but he writes about stuff that I can hardly appreciate. But he's awesome. And yeah, I know for a fact that he's my biggest fan. Shrik, I wish I could be as engaging as you are.

Thanks once again! I'll write more often, and I'm sorry about that.

Raindrops...

2008-08-20T21:23:00.008+05:30

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head

The days are slipping away at a pace faster that I can handle. The office routine. The late evenings. The relentless excel sheets. The formal-wear, diplomatic-speak professional me. The long rides that take me home to nothing. And the mornings again. Weekends get over in bed, the holidays stay stuck on the calendar. Life is moving on, as it always does.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothin' seems to fit
Those raindrops are fallin' on my head, they keep fallin'

It surprises me that after 22 years of rebelling against everything I didn't understand, I'm doing what the world deems good. MBA, gruelling job, a monthly spike in the bank account. I'm just one among thousands of people who walk into buildings like mine. I never thought I'd be this way. Never thought I'd have a CV to get me here. Growing up, I wanted to be a cop. Then I wanted to play a sport, represent India in something. Then I wanted to give the IAS. Later, I wanted to be a teacher. Now I just want to get over with the day, impress some seniors, get into a good team and earn my way into a good material life. I don't belong at home, any conversation with my folks is ruled out. There is no one to talk to, no one to snuggle up with. Life is, but a drill.

But there's one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me won't defeat me
It won't be long till happiness steps up to greet me

Frankly, I do have a decent job. The money is good. I eat home-made food everyday and sleep in my own bed in peace. It’s a life a lot of people want to live. But, there is still that emptiness in me, because I've seen a better life for 2 years. A place where I could work hard, choose my line, live with friends, play all I wanted to.. And generally be who I really am. Where I didn't have to pretend to fit in. I now know a place like that exists. What the hell am I doing here? I just know I have to get there, or be with someone who'll make this life similar to that.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red
Cryin's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain my complainin'
Because I'm free
Nothin's worryin' me

I'm glad to know that the magic has survived. I'm glad to know that we think differently from when we were younger, but we think the same now. Finally, I have something to look forward to. The change maybe months away, but who says one can't start anticipating it. I'm still going to complain… but now, I'll crib about how the days just don't pick up speed. I've realized that I'm the one who lives this life, I get to change it. Or accept it, for whatever it is. I'll have to move on too, maybe even grow up a little. I'm going to travel and see the world, call and catch up with old buddies, learn new things, do more stuff... even enjoy work. This is just a lull before better times. A necessary depressing phase when my questions are unanswered. I still have no answers, but I'm sure they are coming.

It won't be long till happiness steps up to greet me.

But it'll still be a while.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red
Cryin's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin'
Because I'm free
Nothin's worryin' me

Book your movie, now!

2008-07-24T11:06:00.003+05:30

Finally, I'm done.

Surprisingly, it took me just about 3 weeks to finish reading the 'Lord of The Rings'. And incredibly, my biggest complaint, like the author himself mentions in the preceding notes, is that the book was too short. I conveniently finished it on a Friday, so that I could put the LOTR movie marathon over the weekend, which brings me to the question that I have been unable to answer for a while now. So, I'm asking you the same… Based on the many books that have been adapted into cinema, which do you prefer? The book or the movie?

I'm neither a compulsive reader nor an avid movie watcher, even though I'm working towards both and hence, my opinion would really not have any meat in it. There are very few stories that I've read and watched as well. My favourite movie of all time is 'The Shawshank Redemption' and inspired by it, I picked up its source 'Different Seasons' that includes the novella. Stephen King is a fantastic writer, but I still prefer the movie. The prison, the escape, the main protagonist.. Everything appealed to me a lot more in the movie. On the other hand, the movie versions of the Harry Potter series have been a terrible disappointment. The movies seemingly limited my imagination and made the books far less enjoyable. Voldemort was way scarier in my head, Hermione was much less hotter. I feel that books and stories about school are best read, because you tend to imagine them in your old campus and classrooms. As much as I love the books, the Harry Potter movies are at the least avoidable.

A very rare case, where I like both the book and the movie immensely was ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’. Easily, one of the best books I have ever read, the book was inspiring and thoughtful. But the movie was brilliant too. Atticus Fitch seemed to have been created to be played by Gregory Peck. This is the only case, where I have been unable to choose one over the other. The movie and the book, brilliant! The Godfather has been a queer case for me. More than one friend has advised me against reading the book since I have already watched the movie. I have read other books by Mario Puzo, but I haven't got to The Godfather yet. The reason? Quite frankly, I didn't like the movie. I like the genre, but something about the movie turned me off. So on one hand, there are several brilliant movies that I don't want to read the book versions of - Jurassic Park, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Sorry, but chocolate has to be seen). And books that I don't want to watch movies of - 1984, Apt Pupil, et al. And horror stories? I try to keep away from both the books as well as the movies.

And I'm not yet done thinking up questions. Just in case a story is good enough to be experienced in both formats, what should one do? Read the book or watch the movie first? Or should one skip either? And is it ok for movie directors to skip some parts of the story or tweak with the plot for their convenience? Characters being left out, new ones introduced... What about all that?

Coming back to the Lord of the Rings - I loved the movies, they are simply brilliant. Yet, I was very apprehensive about reading the book. But enough and more free time at my office motivated me to attempt reading it and frankly I am glad I did so. For the past 3 weeks, Frodo, Sam and the others have been in my head constantly. Yes, I knew how the story went, but the book was a great pleasure to read. And one has to appreciate J.R.R Tolkien for the level of detailing that this epic tale encompasses. And more so, Peter Jackson deserves applause for staying (almost) true to the book.

(Whew! For all the hyperlinking!)

Management of Brutal Aunties

2008-07-09T20:06:00.001+05:30

Years of attending numerous weddings, betrothals, naming ceremonies, anniversaries and other such random traditional occasions have taught me little. And I felt least qualified in the area of managing the ‘nosey aunties’. This particular area needs special talent, because there are multiple dynamics affecting the situation. One needs to be polite, quick, smart, diplomatic and highly slimy to get out of the situation untouched. I have countered such challenges on so many occasions that I can describe a typical scene effortlessly.

Usually this happens when the festive mood in a big bright function hall is at its peak. I'd generally be sulking in the corner, cursing the day, having had to get up early and get involved in the decked-upness. I'd be looking forward to lunch, but waiting for all the oldies to finish first. Just when I'd consider calling a friend/playing the snake game, a small group of aunties (referred to as 'The Aunties', from now on) turn up out of nowhere. Typically, The Aunties are middle-aged, slightly rotund (being very polite here), jobless and gossipy. And all they want is to have a conversation with an innocent youngster, like me. I'd try a quick getaway after shooting a fake 100-watt smile. But one can never underestimate The Aunties. They'll always get a firm grip on my hand/shoulder and say, “Oho! You are (My mom)’s daughter no!”. After confirming my lineage, The Aunties would proceed to ask a set of highly irritating questions. Of course, these questions have changed in proportion to my age.

“How did you grow so tall without anyone noticing? Why don’t you ever come home? What sorts of clothes are you wearing? Why didn’t you do engineering? Why don't you ever wear a bindi?” and such others. More recently it has been, “Ah! Marriageable age, huh? So.. so.. when are you planning to… eh?” I have always reacted to such interviews by giving ridiculously unthought-of answers, bordering on being rude and offensive. When enough and more is-this-how-you-raise-your-daughter complaints reached my mom, she forbade me from attending any more functions with her, which worked to my benefit too.

But The Aunties still get a way to reach you and desperate to save face, Mom finally let me in on her secret of managing The Aunties. It is simple and effective – "Smile, be irrelevant and smile again”.

And today I tried it out for the first time. I came out on the balcony this morning and neighbour aunty was waiting for me.

“Ey! Waiting for office cab?”
“Yes, Aunty.”
“You never gave me sweets after you got a job? Forgot about me, heh?”
(Smile) “What is this Aunty? So many people have diabetes now.” (Smile)
(Awkward pause)
“So, when are you getting married, eh? Ready to settle down now?”
(Smile) “Everybody reaches this age someday. It all depends. Am I not right?” (Smile)
“Errm. Yes, yes! So, where is this office?”
“Airport Road”
“Ah! Very far.. You can’t possibly work for very long there. Family life is more important. Have you started cooking?”
(Smile) “But the Airport shifted and anyway, the weather is so nice nowadays. It will rain today, no?” (Big-ass smile)
“Yes, yes. Ok, you go to office. Bye.”

And, that’s that. I got rid of the Aunty. Mission accomplished, I can now be called a champ in Aunty-handling. The art has been mastered. Throw me bunch of Aunties, I say!

Updates

2008-06-28T23:23:00.004+05:30

Alas! My past plans have gone down the drain, my hopes of any productivity at office have been flushed out! My desk is in clear view of all those who are in charge of keeping an eye on the ‘newbies’ at office.. So blogging, is slightly out of the question.

Yet, I have been at my slimiest best and I have tried to keep upbreast of most of what is happening in my little blog world. But I have to confess, I have been a little biased towards blogs that look innocent, even to a keen eye, like this one. Which reminds me, this has been the funniest news article I have read all week! Amrita Rao and her fan following in Peru! Hahaha! I am pretty sure there was one person who recognized Amrita Rao and said, "Hey, isn't she.. someone?" Fan following, indeed!

It now is officially ages since I touched a basketball or since I played badminton. I miss Bschool life like hell. My friends are all away and not completely fine. It pains me that life has to move on. But office is good fun too... new people and good food! And my daily dose of sport comes from Foosball! This Thursday, I played till my fingers bled.. and this is not an exaggeration!

Among other things, I have finally mustered enough courage to pick up "The Lord of the Rings". The sheer volume of pages and the microscopic font have together kept me away from the book for years now. I'm moving at a baby snail's pace of around 20 odd pages a day. Someday, 3 years from now, I'll blog about finishing the book. Sigh!

Big presentation coming up this week, after which we are new joinees no more! Hopefully, after that, life will get back to normal.

Crappy Birthday to me

2008-06-16T21:26:00.004+05:30

(Warning : Major rant-level post coming up. Leave now if you can.)

People who know me well enough, know that I'm essentially a kid. And hence every year when May finishes up and the month of June sets in, I get visibly excited. After a wait of 365 days, my day would arrive soon. My birthday. But every year, I am disappointed. I have stopped convincing myself that bad birthdays are a coincidence. June 17th just seems jinxed for me every year. I always prepare myself for the worst, yet my birthday always fails to cheer me up. I guess that is why I still haven't grown up. I'm still waiting for my elusive happy birthday.

And don't think this depression has anything to do with growing a year older. As such, I have always been the youngest wherever I am. So, that has never mattered. It is just a mix of bad luck, bad timing and high expectations.

School : Invariably, school always used to start on June 15th. And hence, any hopes of getting new clothes would get quashed by my mom saying, "I got you a brand new uniform for your birthday." The general excitement of new books, disney labels, boring time tables and meeting long-lost friends (after 2 months) always used to take over my birthdays.

7 years ago : First day of college. Somehow after, "Hi! My name is Sumana", "Today is my birthday, wish me!" sounded inappropriate. Spent the whole day feeling down.

6 years ago : Vacation. Spent birthday alone at home.

5 years ago : Application time for B.Com. Was too busy filling forms to notice that my birthday flew away.

4 years ago : For a change, it was a nice birthday, until it promised to get even better. Just when I was walking out of college, a 'someone special' ran up to me and said, "Hey Su! I'm hungry, treat me!" I most willingly took him to a nearby eat out, let him order more than I could usually afford and sat silently across the table in anticipation. Maybe a gift, a card.. or a surprise! And then, he finished eating, I paid the bill, walked up to my bike and looked at him expectantly. "What!?", he asked. I started my bike and after one last look, I sped away. I waited till 12, no call... no message. He had no idea it was my birthday. He got the worst shouting of his life the next day, but that didn't change the fact that he completely ruined it for me.

3 years ago : My college scheduled "Personality Development Day" on June 17th and I spent half the day staring at a candle, performing breathing exercises and listening to Sanskrit mantras. But my friends had a surprise in store for me in the afternoon... which was... hold your breath.. "Booking a table at a not-so-good restaurant!!". So they asked me to walk in 15 minutes after they went in, just to make sure the table was free and voila! I got to sit at the head of the table and order food! Just when my bowl of noodles came in, I got a call and walked out to take it. By the time I came back, my food had disappeared into an unknown tummy. I called the waiter to order again, but he said that the kitchen was closed. My friends had planned that they would go dutch on the lunch and so I didn't get gifts. And I ended paying for the lunch as well. So came back home hungry, gift-free and penniless. I cried myself to sleep that night.

2 years ago : It was our 2nd day at XL. People hardly knew each other, but thanks to orkut a smattering of people wished me. So we went out for dinner, preceded by some shopping. At the end, I naturally asked for the bill and paid for it. That when someone asked, "Why are you paying?" "Errm, it is my birthday, I thought this was my treat?" ... Some silence. "Ok, your wish!" Bah! Terrible terrible birthday!

1 year ago : How I wish I was at XL! Instead, I was still 'interning'. But conveniently, it was a Sunday, so I spent half the day with who it mattered. But then, after a mishap of a lost train ticket and driving around on unknown roads searching for the elusive railway station to make it just in time for the train, who knew it was my birthday! (But still one of my better birthdays)

This year : New joinee at a new company. People hardly know my name, let alone my birthday. I'm spending the day in front of excel sheets, when my friends are in Mumbai, Mumbai, Delhi, Chennai and more Mumbai.

Another year, and I'm yet to cut my first birthday cake. Life sucks...

Happy Birthday to me.

Jobless, no more!

2008-06-08T21:08:00.003+05:30

That is it. My last few hours as a jobless person. From tomorrow I join the Big Bad Corporate World. For the rest of my life (or at least for some years into the future), I shall be groaning to wake up every morning, crying as I wear uncomfortable formal clothes, limping with pointy heels, pretending to be a polite person and clambering up the steep organizational ladder. I have pressed my clothes, washed my hair, practiced my fake laugh and learnt to be diplomatic. But, I am still not prepared to start working. My last hopes of clinging on to being a kid are fast slipping away.

No more all-day-sitcom-watching, no more sleeping till noon, no more movie marathons, no more showers in the evening, no more reality TV shows till 2 in the night… no more blogging from my laptop at home.

From now on, I shall blog from my office. A new era beckons!

Nursery Crimes

2008-05-21T10:40:00.005+05:30

The stress of joblessness, the effort in laziness and the weight of an empty wallet… so many times I yearn for something to take me back to the good ol’ days… of nothingness, of no worries… of nursery school! I don’t remember how my classroom looked, which fellow kids I kicked and which bullies made me cry… I don’t remember what I finger-painted, which stories I loved, nothing! But that was the best part about nursery school, wasn’t it? There was nothing we needed to remember.

Except the nursery rhymes, of course… our introduction to another 20 years of learning lessons by heart! Learning nursery rhymes and narrating them countless times at school and then at home and occasionally to entertain guests on weekends, meant that our young brains were programmed to learn historic dates, chemical formulae, mathematical equations and Dr Ambedkar’s life history in our future years. And yet, I stutter and stammer, trying hard to recollect the lines, when occasionally I have nothing better to do.

So when my 3-year old niece visits, my family’s favourite way to spend time is to make her speak and nowadays, narrate rhymes. And what rhyme to start with, rather than “Twinkle Twinkle..” So last week, my niece started in her squeaky little voice…

“Twinkle, twinkle traffic light,
Round the corner shining bright.
Red means stop,
Green means go,
Yellow means go, but slow!
Twinkle, twinkle traffic light,
Round the corner shining bright.”

Whatever happened to little stars shining like diamonds in the sky! Whatever happened to the tiny spark that brightens up the night! Whatever happened to imagination, nature and fantasy? Shockingly, my niece has never heard of the original. And most of her rhymes are now New and Improved! No hot cross buns, no ring of roses, no Jack and no Jill! The 21^st century rhymes are here! And they are depressing..

If not now, when else would kids learn to let their minds roam free? Why curb creativity when they are 3? Rhymes about traffic lights? They probably would have stuff about paying their taxes next! One way to look at this would be that, it is probably to ensure good traffic sense in the next generation. But that’s a long shot… and such “reality show” versions of nursery rhymes are definitely not worth it!

Soon the same rhyme may go…

“Twinkle, twinkle traffic light
At every corner, a useless sight!
Red means honk,
Yellow means go!
Green, errrm.. we really don’t know!
Twinkle, twinkle traffic light
At every corner, a useless sight!”

New age rhymes, buh!

The French Connection

2008-05-16T11:55:00.004+05:30

Nothing is more fun than learning a new language, especially when one is old enough to be fluent in several others and is subconsciously averse to the idea of learning something new. And this especially applies to a language like French. So when a bunch of adults (and some young ones like me) come together, every morning, and attempt to speak this alien language, it is as good as joining a laughter club.

This language is easily the biggest waste of paper and ink. Its random usage of alphabets to fill in even the simplest of words has puzzled me. Why? Why would one put in so many alphabets, if one has no intention of pronouncing them whatsoever! For example, “many” translates to beaucoup, which is pronounced as ‘bow-cu’. As an unwritten rule 40% of the alphabets in any given word are silent. Learning to speak French is more like, learning what not to speak in French. Hence, ‘Au revoir, tout le monde!’ (goodbye, everyone) is pronounced as “Aaar-wha! Thool-mo.” No wonder, half the Indians think Aishwarya Rai is attending the “Khan” film festival.

One little thing, that could have made this language much simpler for thool-mo, is the inclusion of a neutral gender. But no, every item in the universe is segregated as male and female… including articles, prepositions, adjectives and adverbs. Hence cars, bikes, houses and windows are all feminine. And Monsieur (miss-yore) Leo Tolstoy has apparently written ‘Guerre et Paix’, yes, both are feminine. What the rules for such segregation are, no one knows! The problem with this approach is the multiplicity of words in the dictionary. Hence, ‘big’ can be grand (grao), grande (grao), grands (grao) and grandes (grao).

Another area that absolutely stumped me was the numbers. The guy making up this language was so obviously lazy, he could only think of words up till 69. After which he decided to use multiplication and addition, instead. So ‘75’ in French is literally, ‘60 +15’ and '98' is… ‘4*20 + 10 + 8’. Yes, quatre-vingt dix huit. I’m not even going to tell you how to pronounce it.

And even with such a huge vocabulary, the French have decided that they have to pronounce every word like it has an invisible sex appeal. So a set of 5 words, all meaning radically different things can be pronounced the same way – dous, deux, de, des, du – all these spoken rapidly, sound identical! In the past, when I went to a café, with the crème de la crème and ordered a la carte I thought I was superior. But these are after all words we learnt within a week in class.

This morning, in a reading exercise, when I crossed my eyebrows in concentration, pursed my lips and confidently read out “foh yoh an-foh-may-cee-ohn” and looked up apprehensively at my instructor, she said, “Oh! Dear! That is English. It is pronounced, for your information”.

Clearly, French is not for everyone.

My wonderwall

2008-05-06T10:29:00.002+05:30

He is definitely the only man I’ve been loyal to, since I was 12. The last person I look at before I hit the sack, the first person to greet me in the morning. It seems like he’s been there forever. I’ve shown him admiration, respect, shock and even disgust sometimes. In many ways, he is my God.

Various posters of Rahul Dravid have always adorned my walls. His pictures stuck haphazardly, some lying among closed pages in old unused books. His biography stands dusty, yet proud on my bookshelf. It seems like his ups and downs, matched mine several times. What began as a juvenile craze has grown into devoted admiration. Many years ago, my mom gave up on clearing my room off his presence. The Sachins and Sauravs of this country can pass. At home, Rahul Dravid is revered as no other.

When I was 9 years old, my Dad took me to a local state match. And apparently that was where I first saw him bat (claims my Dad). In the beginning it was probably just his good looks and that soft spot for a fellow Bangalorean that got me to watch him. I was too young to understand his game, to appreciate his finer skills. But over the past 12 years, his growth to the top and events after that is a tremendous story. Always in the shadow of the others, considered an underdog, pushed to unwanted roles by other captains, accused of being boring, blamed for many losses as a captain… he hasn’t had it as rosy as he should have. But his obvious determination, focus and skills are worth appreciating. Unquestionably, the best Indian batsman on foreign soil, the coolest mind in the harshest circumstances… and above all, a gentleman, both on and off the field, Rahul Dravid deserves praise of the highest level.

Watching him struggle with probably the weakest team in the IPL is disheartening. It’s a format that so obviously does not suit him. Losing in front of his home crowd, losing to his juniors from the national team, this could well probably be one of his toughest phases. But like every other time, I know that he will get through it. At some point, he will rise from where he is right now. And then I shall yell, “I told you so!” Don’t you dare write him off!

My hero, my inspiration… Rahul Dravid.

Endangered

2008-04-28T10:54:00.003+05:30

Is my life in danger? I live a normal boring urban life and have a corporate job. I hardly take risks. My life is just a routine, nothing new. Does that mean I’m safe? Does that ensure that I hit my bed alive each night? Am I going to live a long life?

According to palmistry, the length of the lifeline on our palms does not indicate our lifespan, but rather how well we live our lives. Nothing can actually guarantee us a long life. Just looking around, I can think of several ways that I can die today. Why! Within the next ten minutes there just might be a huge bomb crashing over my roof. Bangalore apparently is a recent target for some extremist groups, they are probably jealous of the weather. At any time, on any day there might be an attack on my city. I am certainly in danger right now.

Out on the roads it is even riskier. Making my way through all that traffic, especially amongst the most undisciplined drivers and potholed roads in the world, I can never actually say what is going to happen next? A speeding truck, an invisible hole, break failure, an accident waiting to occur.

Taking another human being’s life also seems much more convenient nowadays. I watch stuff on TV, I read the news, I’ve heard horror stories and I’ve seen incidents in front of me. A contract to kill apparently costs some Rs 5000 in Bangalore nowadays. Inflation, obviously has not affected the cost of such services. At home when I’m sleeping, or on the roads, I just might be killed intentionally. For some money, for being a woman… it seems so easy nowadays.

My unhealthy habits can strike at any time as well. The average age for a heart attack, for diabetes and several other maladies that I can’t even think of, has been coming down over the decades. The articles in the newspapers and the internet scare me everyday. The ice creams and chocolates that I innocently hog can come back and kill me, anytime. And even if I get myself to a safe place and ensure that none of these ever occur to me, nature always has a way, doesn’t it. It might be improbable for a Tsunami to strike my city or even a deadly volcano. But what about earthquakes? Floods? Nature’s fury is the deadliest of all. It spares none, nowhere.

Do I want to die? Of course, not! There is so much to do, so many places to see and so much life to live. But am I going to live as long as I want? That’s the million-dollar question.

If God was a Banker

2008-04-16T13:36:00.002+05:30

Two months before I start my career in a multi-national bank, just out of XLRI with a fin specialization, a long journey to Chennai and back… why wouldn’t I pick up a book called “If God was a Banker”? But several long hours later, when I finally forced myself to finish this book, I was left deeply disappointed.

I chose to read this book because I absolutely love Chetan Bhagat’s writing. Surprisingly, not only is the publisher the same, the author is from a similar background, as well. The books look alike, the font is the same too. What I expected from the book were some insights in to the author’s profession, coupled with a decent plot and some pleasant writing. But that was not to be.

The plot is like any typical hindi movie’s storyline. There is a hero, who is the epitome of good things. Then there is an anti-hero, who is everything a man should not be. There are other characters to fill in the gaps. And then, there is the God of banking. As usual the initial 95% of the book goes on to explain how evil goes unnoticed, but at the very end, everything unravels. The villain suffers, repents and gains forgiveness. Bluh. And in between all this is the theory from the introduction chapter of my Commercial Banking handout – how old banks functioned, liberalization, entry of foreign banks, innovation and sales. There was also a little from the several placement presentations I’ve been through – organizational structure, career growth and job descriptions.

What I expected from an author who is obviously accomplished in his field, was something that only experience could provide. But various painful stereotypes are flung at us throughout the book. A Tam Brahm called Swaminathan, influenced by early family tragedies, extremely poor, swears by filter coffee, reads The Hindu, extremely ethical, soft-spoken, shy with the fairer-sex, a teetotaler , exceptionally faithful. He does not take a single wrong step throughout the story… so ideal, that he becomes tremendously boring. On the other hand, the bad guy is Sundeep, overtly aggressive, steals ideas, gets sloshed at every occasion, flirtatious, disloyal, sleeps with everyone, unethical in all his ways. He does not take a single right step throughout the plot… so wicked, that he becomes extremely predictable. No shades of gray!

And such stereotypes don’t stop here. Relationship managers are always good looking women who are ready to cross any limits for their own benefit. Every woman in the book seems to be super-hot, with a great body and a willing mind to sleep with strange men. The secretaries always entertain their bosses in more ways than one. The good subordinates stick to the good guy, the bad ones unquestioningly try to bring Swami down. Most chapters end with lines that try to revive interest. Too many names right in between kept me confused. And way too much drama in some parts!

The characters have no depth, the story has no twists and even after I finished the book, I failed to understand the title. “If God was a banker…” Other than being a line in the book, I don’t see why it should don the cover. Who is the hero here? Sundeep, Swami or Aditya? Was Aditya that important that the book is named after him? Or is the title just a way to grab some attention?

I liked the simplicity of the narrative, the pace as well. Ravi Subramanian has given some thought into timing of the entire story too. But I still don’t think it’s worth a purchase. MBA aspirants and banking amateurs might find it interesting, but beware of its flaws.

Thanks to this book, I did have an interesting conversation with a guy next to me on my return journey. But he wasn’t that good looking, so… naah! Definitely not worth it!

Chennai

2008-04-12T22:01:00.000+05:30

The excuse given was a friend’s wedding, the intent was that and much more. One-and-a-half juice, an evening at the beach, a hilarious movie and several hours on the crowded roads under the scorching sun… if nothing else, a welcome change from long lonely days. Visiting Chennai after 15 long years was worth it.

Thanks to my neighbour/friend/sister/pseudo-mom who decided to get married and trouble only one man from now on, I got my chance to revisit my childhood city, my first home and lots more things. Places that I heard of, like Fruitshop and The Roxburry Chiller, Tea at Cup & Saucer, Corn on toast at Eden, Juice on Nugambakkam High road, shady burger at shady burger place… and people I had missed. The only disappointment being, that after some 20 minutes of searching and looking around, when I finally found the place, I absolutely could not recognize it… my childhood house, the place that saw my first 7 years.

Well, that aside this trip definitely made for some great memories. Bangalore seems so boring already…

Goodbye’s a bitch

2008-04-01T21:27:00.002+05:30

I sit on the grass… alone. Four floors of people in front of me, smiling faces eating merrily on my right. A bunch of people sitting on the bench under the tree, laughing. I used to be one of them, not so long ago. But my time is up. This place has tolerated me enough. It’s time to leave.

Leaving XLRI is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. XL has given me more than anything I could ask for. Tonight, I leave XL, hoping that I could return some time, knowing that it wouldn’t be the same. Knowing that I would never be the same. I tried to absorb as much of this place as possible. I stayed here for two weeks in a virtually empty campus and then stayed back after convocation. But it’s never going to be enough. I wish I could write down the things that are running in my head right now, but they’re all stupid. XL has left an indelible mark on me, but I’m just another student from one of the 50 batches here. Yet, I am attempting to leave a record, so here goes.

SUMANA MANOHAR
Roll number : B06115
Youngest in the batch of 2006-08, the only one to enter at 19.
Lived in rooms 206 and 103 at TMTWR, had great neighbours.
My daily schedule included an hour of basketball, gymming and lots of tea.
Played, lost, won and enjoyed to the fullest in XL-IIMC.
One of the few genuine Library lovers at XL.
Scared of the third staircase in the acad block.
A regular at the badminton court, lost so many TT games in GH-3.
Loved Bishu Da’s fried maggi and egg roll, Daadu’s chutney cheese sandwich and nimbu paani.
Didn’t drink at a single wetnite, but danced my heart out every time.
Made some great friends, learnt some great things.
And I’m taking back a big piece of XL with me, intending to hold on to it forever.

I shot my last free throw and took my last lay-up on the baski court, walked my last walk around the football field, visited the library for the final time, ate burgers at HongKong, drank my last glass of nimbu paani at Daadu’s, played my last TT game, took my last shower… everything seems to be moving in slow motion. But these two hours will pass. And soon, I’ll be on my way home, from home.

People are scared of heights and water. I am scared of growing up.

I don’t know if any phase in my life can beat this. The fun I’ve had… the good times. I don’t want to work, I don’t want to go back home. I don’t want to stop writing. I don’t want to look at the time.

But I have to. Goodbye’s a bitch.

Signing out. My last post from XL.

- Mus

An island… and a man – 2

2008-03-22T23:55:00.002+05:30

Genuine apologies for the second part coming in so late. But I really couldn’t help it… it’s been a pretty hectic week, whew! Over this week I’ve seen over a thousand snaps of our vacation, reminiscing the great week at Andaman! The places, the water and the beauty of the trip is surely recorded in its own limited way, but the other side to it, the good times with my fellow vacationers isn’t that easy to remember. But here goes my feeble attempt, the much awaited sequel to part 1.

A bunch of 21 XLers in a faraway land, with little else to entertain them, decided to play something. But what could you probably play with no skills and no equipment… just loads of people, an empty hotel room and a lot of time to kill? MAFIA!! (If you didn’t know that… well, go drown yourself!) An addiction that followed us everywhere at all times, we played mafia in crowded little rooms, on the beach, in the car, even on a volcano site! Pretending to be innocent, strategizing, accusing friends, killing enemies.. surely, this is the most fun game ever !

For the ignorant, here’s a crash course. A bunch of people sit around, preferably in a circle. One guy is appointed God, the rest of us live in a ‘village’. We start the game at ‘night’, when everyone is asleep. Some of us are appointed Mafia (by God or by chits) without the knowledge of the others, the innocent villagers. Hence, there are two sides, the villagers and the mafia, each trying to eliminate the other, those who manage to stay alive, obviously win. There are also two parts to the game. During the ‘day’ everyone pretends to be villagers and they ‘discuss’, (accusing and defending) and finally vote out one person, by a majority of votes. This brings the ‘night’ where the mafia kill one person of their choice. And then it’s day again. So basically, the game depends on how the mafia fools (or fails to fool) the villagers. Certain complications include, ‘Vampire’ and ‘Doctor’, played by choice.

When there are 16-18 people playing, one game takes 2 hours or more and it’s exhausting! People are surprisingly talented, loud, intuitive, vociferous and attentive. The seriousness of the game is hilarious in hindsight. Stupidity is immediately punished, silence is misunderstood. The most tactful players eventually survive. This game teaches you to talk, listen, defend, summarize and be strategic. Nowhere else have I seen such appropriate GD practice! And RG’s points, Mafia 101, Sushant’s plight and mostly Reddy’s brilliant moves, made the infinite hours we spent on this game, great fun!

The rest of the trip was always spent in Mafia’s shadow. The post-game discussions went on for hours! On the last day, when the volcano had brought down our spirits immensely, I thought to myself that only a game of mafia could cheer us up. But one man proved me wrong! Standing tall, with a cowboy hat on his head, sipping a drink and looking at the water in deep thought… what was running in RG’s head then, we don’t know. But a certain someone sure found his butt pretty attractive. ‘Slurp’! In front of a sizeable audience, ‘consult boy’ got his butt licked, by a beautiful black cow! The wet patch might still be evident on his pants. Starved for entertainment, everyone seemed jump on this momentous occasion to pull this great man’s leg! A series of jokes.. everyone laughing our heads off. A small part of me felt sorry for him, but it did seem like it was a part of Great design! Just a sample of what we came up with…

Qn : Which bike would RG ride?
Ans: ‘Cow’asaki!

Qn: What is RG’s favourite Indipop song?
Ans : ‘Bull’a ki jaana main kaun

Qn: Why is RG scared of cows?
Ans: Because he is a ‘cow’ard

Qn: How would RG greet all of us?
Ans: “Hi, Gaays!”

This list is never ending, but it sure brought the trip to a great end. With everyone headed off in different directions, it seems pretty unreasonable that we’ll ever get a chance to have such fun. But, as a great man once said, “Such is life”! Thanks for making it a great trip, guys!

An island… and a man – 1

2008-03-15T16:22:00.004+05:30

As a part of the traditional post-CRP pre-convocation vacation, a bunch of us went to a tiny ignored part of India. And that week turned out to be one of the best trips I’ve ever been on. Two reasons – the place and the people.

THE PLACE
As our flight started descending on our destination the view from the tiny windows was breathtaking. It seemed like the God has dropped little pieces of heaven on earth. The little of bunch of islands that were together called the Andaman Islands was indeed welcoming. A quick ride to our hotel, a few hours of sleep, lunch and then we were finally ready for our first beach.

10 mins by car, we reached Corbyn’s Cove. A cozy beach tucked in to the far end of Port Blair. The water seemed like it was calling out to me. And when I stepped in to it, it was ice cold. Did I need a better reason to stay in it? I don’t know how to swim, but that made no difference. Just splashing around was more than sufficient. But we had to leave at some point and so we made our way to the Cellular Jail for the ‘Light and Sound show’. I was looking forward to roaming around the premises, peeping in to the cells and in the meanwhile discovering the story of ‘Kaala Pani’. But instead, we were made to sit and listen to Om Puri narrating the story as a peepal tree, in orthodox hindi. My best efforts of following the narrative were of no use, the nap was refreshing though. Some dinner at the dingy little Gagan Hotel followed by shopping meant that we were tired enough to sleep well through the night.

We started Day 2 by taking a boat to Havelock Island. The ride itself was fun! Staring at endless water around you makes one pensive (and others sea-sick). But even after loads of snaps, no monster popping out of the ocean and yet, no land in sight, the ride got a little boring. But we did reach Havelock at the end, and the journey seemed worth it. Crystal clear water at the harbour was just a teaser. A 30 min ride in a dinghy took us to Elephant Island beach. And wow! The tsunami apparently left only a fraction of the beach intact and yet, what a place! Clean sand, clear water, a cool breeze… boats bumping in to each other, huge trees providing the much needed shade. Just floating around, looking at the blue cloudless sky, it was the best beach I’d ever been too. (At that point I thought nothing could beat it, I was to be shocked later). And then God proved His knack for beauty in the smallest things on earth. We went snorkeling. Fascinating fish, colourful corals, stunning stones… I discovered previously unseen shades, colours, shapes! I stepped on live corals, touched orange fish… it was a dream in slow motion. Too bad it had to end.

As I had a lip-smacking lunch at a small place called ‘Nala’s Kingdom’, I thought to myself that the highlight of the trip was surely over. But this was before we went to Radhanagar beach. Known for its sunset, this beach was selected by TIME magazine in 2004 as the best beach in Asia. And it was mind-blowing! Too scared to be a blemish on the perfect shoreline, I couldn’t convince myself to get into water. A never ending walk next to the bluish-green water, waves tickling my ankles, beautiful sand patterns, a hundred tiny crabs running around my feet, an elephant which for once didn’t look that majestic next to the magnificent beach, a green forest encircling the coastline, smooth white sand, turning around just in time to see the sun disappearing behind some clouds… heaven cannot be better than this! No way! I had to return, come back here once more…

… And I did. The next morning some of us ditched scuba-diving plans and the beach in front of our resort to come back to Radhanagar beach. Lying down on the sand, reading a book, chatting up with friends and then I couldn’t resist it any more. The water was fantastic! Playing 20 questions as the waves hit us with amazing consistency was simply brilliant! I don’t know how long we were there, I don’t care. That place made me genuinely happy. No worries, no issues. Quite simply, heaven on earth!

We had to leave Havelock that night. Dinner at Gagan, a late night walk next to the shore, yet nothing could get rid of the memories of a still perfect shoreline in my head. The next morning we visited Ross Island (of interesting historical significance), Viper Island (of a building, boredom and nothing else) and a beach (with some name, dirty water and mafia). Perhaps the best part of the day was walking a mile at night looking into the sea. On the penultimate day we went shopping, looking at a drab aquarium skipped several other non-water places. The last day was interesting though.

We got up at 3 in the morning, having been promised of a scary ride through a tribal reserve. Errrm, we saw 3 tribals looking at us with such indifference that it hurt my little ego. And then we had to cross over in a huge boat to go to the next island. Some of us could have swum faster, but the area was apparently ‘crocodile-infested’. Errrm, we didn’t see a single fish. An interesting motorboat ride through canvassing mangroves lead us to see some sterile limestone caves. After which was supposed to be the ultimate destination – active-mud volcano! We trekked our way to the site, only to see a bucketful of cold mud and the occasional plop of a mud-bubble. Yeah yeah! Not so much of a great day! That’s what we thought, until… you have to read this in the second part of this post! Just have to!

We wrapped up the trip by a second visit to Corbyn’s cove where we ran around playing chain. Our last dinner at Gagan, a good night’s sleep and the next morning we were on a flight again, looking at the same islands. As I sat back in my seat, I thought of the good times. My most memorable moment though had to be sitting on a bench at the edge of Dolphin resort at Havelock with a friend, waves crashing at our feet, a conversation about the past, the future and innumerable bollywood beach songs.

Go to Andaman… someday! You might just run in to me, because I’m definitely going back.

Farewell, XL

2008-03-03T20:00:00.003+05:30

Two years gone past,
Too soon, too fast
My time on heaven,
Has come to end, at last.

The place that let me be me
And taught me how to see
Oh! I don’t want to leave
The place that set me free

The place that let me grow
A chance to let me show
The world that I am here!
It’s so hard to let it go.

A place that gave me friends
More in the future, it intends
Why should I still be around?
When my time here ends?

A place where I had my say
Lead me, shown me the way
Why should I leave XL?
When I so badly want to stay?

Yet I depart with no regret,
No worries, I shall not fret
Except I know inside my head
It shall be so very hard to forget

Glad to have been here
A place too special and dear
Very far though I may go,
XL! You shall always be near…

No Man's Land

2008-02-02T01:11:00.000+05:30

This piece of writing won the Best Movie Review for the Drac Movie Festival

"I am always wary of watching an Oscar nominated movie or reading a Booker prize nominated book. They seem to be meant for intellectuals of a higher level, packed with themes I don’t comprehend and characters I don’t understand. Hence, on the second night of the DRACULA movie festival, I hoped to watch a simple Tamil movie. A movie I had watched 3 times before, a movie that I knew would not disappoint me. A common man’s movie. But due to some “technical” difficulties they screened No Man’s Land instead. And I am glad they did.

No Man’s Land is a fantastically written movie that goes beyond boundaries, languages and cultures. Based on the incidents of one single day, the movie has no excuses to digress from its main story and characters. Two soldiers of opposing countries at war, Serbia and Bosnia, are stuck in a trench, situated beyond both boundaries, in no man’s land. Initially each is out to blame the other and ensure his survival, but soon they realize that it is essential that they work together to get out of the place, alive. Complicating the situation is a third soldier, who survived a shooting spree only to lie alive on a mine, that stays unexploded till he moves away. The movie depicts the impracticality of human behaviour when saving three men takes a backseat to bureaucracy, mistrust and self-created enmity.

The UN gets involved in the crisis after a sergeant uses a British pressperson to initiate critical media glare on the UN. But their men are unable to defuse the mine under the wounded soldier. The other two who do make it out of the trench, let their emotions take over their mind and get fatally shot in the process. The movie ends as strongly as it began. The problem still unresolved, a man still stuck in the trench and the hostility set to continue the next day.

The futility of the war is stark in the background throughout the movie. Perhaps, the scene that sets the tone for rest of the movie is the one with the first two soldiers arguing about which side initiated the war, each blaming the other, while their armies are firing overhead. The reluctance to befriend each other, even in the face of death makes the viewer truly feel for them. The French UN soldier is helpless, yet eager to help and makes us question the necessity of red tape even in such dire situations. Yet, the show stealer is the third soldier, lying down. Even though he neither moves nor talks a lot, he depicts the message of the movie powerfully.

What sets this movie apart is the steady tone of humour, that makes it unnecessary for us to understand the language or even the background of the situation to enjoy the movie. Director Danis Tanovic deserves a big hand for delivering this undeniable classic. I believe that it deserved the Oscar for the Best Foreign Language Film in 2001, above Lagaan, for not only conveying a vital message, but for remaining a common man’s movie."

Detestimonial

2007-12-25T01:24:00.000+05:30

Ah! Its that time of the year again when we make 'the best of 20xx' lists. And why should I be left behind? And yet, why should I stick to the rules, eh? So here it is... the typical, yet hopefully unique list of my own.

The bottom 5 ways to start an awful testimonial to the ones we call friends :
(The examples are real and surprisingly frequent. For our convenience lets generalize these friends and call him 'Tarzan'.**)

1. Well, what can I say about Tarzan?
2. Hey Tarzan, I have finally decided to write you a testimonial.
3. The 26 alphabets in the English script are not enough to write about Tarzan/ The 1284 pages of the Advanced Learners Oxford Dictionary are not enough to describe the goodness of Tarzan.
4. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....
5.
T for Tacky
A for Affectionate
R for Ravenous
Z for Zebraish
A for Amazing
N for Naughty

People!!! The art of writing a testimonial is.. well, an art. Let your creative juices (only) flow. Use your imagination. And write about the person. Everyone from long lost friends to potential life partners look at your friend's profile page. Think before you write, please!

With this rude and pointless critique, I hope to have been of good service to my fellow fellows on earth. With this, I shall go back to further researching unknown testimonials on orkut!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! 'Hic!

**Tarzan is a fictional name and any resemblance to a person living, dead or pornographic is purely coincidental.

Bollywood calling

2007-11-29T02:43:00.000+05:30

Second year at a business school means that all the movie screenings, grax sessions, sitcoms and sports, are interrupted by classes once in a while. Even then, I have by far stayed true to my resolution of watching more movies and understanding life better. Pursuing this aspiration, I watched quite a few Hindi movies in the past few days and the insight I have got from them is worth blogging about. My first movie review post! In the order of viewing…

OM SHANTI OM: The good - Deepika Padukone, The bad - the second half and The ugly – A 42 year old Shah Rukh Khan doing an item number. Lets start from the beginning. Deepika… ah! This pretty lass from my home city has lived up to the reputation of her college. And she knows how to act! With her wearing unnecessarily low-necked clothes, I think I was one of the few people in the audi paying attention to the story line, at least in the first half. After which, there was none to follow anyway. And I lost all hope when Shah Rukh decided that showing off his skeletal body and spraying water at the camera is hot! Puhlease! The pace of the movie suddenly picks up and ends rather weirdly after a promising start. But, this is entertainment - A superstar, a hot girl, some comedy, some tragedy, songs and a climax. Predictable, yet tolerable. To bolo Om! Shanti Om!

JOHNNY GADDAR: Honestly, one of the best Hindi movies I have ever watched. Johnny Gaddar was thrilling, fun and kept me on the edge of my seat. Absolutely unpredictable, intelligent and precise, it was time well spent. The script was super and the director seemed well in control of the movie. It has borrowed from many sources, but it has credited its inspirations too. The right mix of everything and a great music track to listen to as well! This movie is a must watch, no excuses please. You’ll thank me.

JAB WE MET: In case you are looking for an intellectually stimulating movie watching experience, then stay away. But if you are looking to pass time and can do with a no-brainer movie, then this is the one. Trying hard to be a ‘romantic-comedy’, Jab We Met almost makes it. The first half is simply nice and a pleasure to watch. The second half gets sentimental and gooey, but is tolerable. Songs are used well and the movie does not assume that the viewer is stupid. For someone who is expecting to watch a fun movie, the beginning will be shocking and that, I believe is where the movie scores. Overall, its definitely a good pick. This coming from someone who watched it twice, on consecutive days :D

DON (2006): Easily the worst movie of the lot. I could not understand the end at all and decided to watch the original movie immediately for some help. Don (1978) is better by a huge margin and I watched it with all my heart even though I knew the plot. Don (2006) only makes sense in the parts that it has directly lifted from the original. Wherever it digresses, the movie loses absolutely all traces of logic. If you do want to invest some time, watch the original! Priyanka Chopra is hot, but so is Zeenat Aman. And Shah Rukh Khan is great, but he can’t match up to the Big B. No way! I warn you, if you are sane, do not watch this movie!

There you go, that is my two cents’ worth. I am in no means qualified to judge movies, but what the heck! Its my blog!

Any suggestions for my next spree of movies?

Food for thought...

2007-10-15T16:01:00.000+05:30

When I went home for the term break, this September
I had the best vacation, as far as I can remember.
"You look wonderful", said my gleaming Mummy,
"Except you seem fat, just look at your tummy!"

I heard those words and made up my mind
I would run the miles, I would hit the grind.
I resolved I should be better than what I had been
The next time I should be thinner, fit and lean.

So, from the next evening, "To the gym!", it was,
My body was the slave, my mind the boss.
I gave it my all, I gave it my best.
It was all work and toil, no sleep, no rest.

I ran on the treadmill, I cycled at one place,
I twisted and turned till I was in a daze.
I realized in my quest to reduce one size,
That there is nothing better than exercise.

From my fit friends, I asked for nutritious advice.
They said, "Put down the ice-cream, cut down on rice!"
So within a month I started feeling good,
I loved the workouts, but hated giving up on food.

Finally I cracked, when I saw a burger on screen.
It looked like the most delicious thing I had ever seen.
Ah! The huge chunks of beef and the melting cheese!
I had to have it. It was more than just a tease.

I forgot about the calories, I chucked the boring diet.
I ate like a maniac, my plate was a riot!
I had a cheesy burger, lots of fries I ate.
I devoured my lasagne, finished with chocolate.

The food was delicious, the dinner was great.
I felt no guilt, I cared a damn about my weight.
What good is life, without chocolate and cheese?
And what good is food, without a little bit of grease?

So, Sorry Mom! For I can't get any thinner!
I really need my grub. I am, but a sinner.
So, the next time you see me, don't be surprised,
If I am 70 inches broad and 40 inches wide!

- Sumana Manohar
(A productive Ethics class, 15th Oct)

25 Random Elephant Poles

2007-10-03T01:46:00.000+05:30

I am an ordinary person with extraordinary dreams. And I have always believed in working towards making them come true. But the problem with this approach is that I tend to sleep so much, that I can hardly keep track of what I dream of. Nowadays, my dreams have just gotten too bizarre. And then there have been rare occasions when I can clearly remember my dreams when I wake up in the morning. Today was one such day. Except, morning was 1330 hrs.

Great researchers have always said that no dream is meaningless. They speak out secrets from our innermost conscience that we are usually unaware of. Deciphering a dream may be tough, but it is usually worthwhile. We can interpret hidden sources of guilt and deeply buried feelings for a second guy, among other things. Even though I completely disregard publicized research for personal reasons, I could not help but decide that I needed to act on today’s dream. It was so shockingly clear that I know I should not let it go without trying to interpret it.

This ‘morning’ I dreamt of XLRI and an arbit award ceremony. Clouded faces were getting super shiny trophies, while I waited, standing in the Fr Enright Hall. And then finally, my name was called out for writing the best book. I lifted my trophy high and gleamed at the noisy crowd, and then I was given a copy of my own book. It was called “25 Random Elephant Poles”. At this particular instant, I woke up with a start.

For a couple of hours I could not get the image out of my head. It seemed so realistic. All day I thought of this dream and tried to comprehend it. I understand Fr Enright Hall, I spent most of last night there, till the wee hours of the this morning. I understand a noisy crowd too. An award ceremony is weird, but a reward for writing a book is more than acceptable. But what has completely taken me by surprise is the title. ‘25 Random Elephant Poles’. It was bright, shiny and shocking enough to wake me, out of a 5 hour slumber. What could it mean?

I might take several years to understand that, but I felt it was necessary to do something about it. This gave me a vision, I’ll probably end up writing a book called 25 Random Elephant Poles some day. Anyway for a start, here is what I have envisioned for the back of my book.

““

“A superbly written tale with heart wrenching scenes and stomach crunching comedy”- Outlook.

“A must read for everyone, no one should miss this story” – Times of India.

“The intricacy of words blends with the simplicity of ideas, to make this book a page-turner till the end” – India Today

This is a story of a little girl who leaves her protected home to enter the real world of ruthlessness, danger and love. She entices 25 men by the time she’s 25 and then leaves her country for an incredible adventure. Among other things, she hikes to random locations and experiences random cultures. A near-death experience compels her to be compassionate to elephants. She finally lands in Poland to realize that her heart belongs to the Poles. And then, her life takes a stranger twist. Will she survive this one?

To fit in to her shoes may be impossible, but the walk by her side is sufficient. This journey from an innocent girl to a woman with wisdom is a fresh breath of literature to this fast moving generation. ””

It may seem highly unlikely, but if you ever come across this book, well… err, do buy it. It is award winning after all!

Beauty lies...

2007-09-14T00:49:00.001+05:30

... somewhere in a crowded Beauty shop. Also called a parlour, salon, stylist and a hundred other creative names, this is one experience that only the women in this world would understand (hopefully). My mom always used to take me to places such as these when I was a little girl, for my semi-annual hair-cuts. I loved the place, because I always left looking better. I hated long hair, so any trimming was good. But ever since my mom 'permitted' me to go alone and get 'stuff' done, this place has changed phenomenally.

A typical small, hidden beauty parlour would have the following characteristics. The walls would be plastered with posters of yesteryear bollywood heroines. And I don't know if this is a result of some unspoken cult agreement, but one of them has to be of Madhuri Dixit, from her 'dhak dhak' days. Other posters would include a 16-photo collage of a small girl who has got all sorts styling done to her hair. Bob-cut, boy-cut, military-cut, step-cut, umbrella-cut, straight-cut, French braid, something-with-shiny-thingies-all-over cut, front-cut, American girl-cut and the rest. Right next to it would be a poster of a slightly older girl, (let's say they are sisters). She would have pictures of different colours of stuff applied on her face, a steaming sequence, hair wash, and some complicated hair-do. (Which insane mother would let her daughters be exploited this way!). Of course, there are no pictures of any girl older than 25. Customer perception, obviously. The shop rounds it off with some casts that resemble heads and weird wigs sticking on top.

Once you enter this place, its breathtaking. Well, literally. In a room of dimensions 3m x 2m, there would be approximately 6 'beauticians' and 18 customers at any given point of time. (I am not exaggerating, I counted this time). Non-living things include full length mirrors on two walls, a bed at the corner, a stove next to it, useless curtains, three huge chairs, a couple of smaller ones behind and a waiting bench with Stardust issues from 1997. And to add to all of this, put in a couple of whining kids. Wow! This is management.

A customer walks in approximately once every 7 minutes and surveys the small room. She first makes note of the number of fellow-customers in the room and judges how much time they would take. Then she looks for a place to sit. This is usually the time for drastic decision making. In case, there is no space, she would try and leave, usually saying that she would return later. That’s when the owner acts. She says that within 5 minutes she would be attended to and have some patience, its festival season after all. When those two women giggle, I'm usually guffawing in my chair. 5 minutes! Yeah, right!

But its a miracle! Just to ensure that the customer doesn't go to the next lane parlour, she is attended to... somehow! And the drill continues. Scissors snap, threads roll, combs brush, water sprays and women screech. Body-hair removal (anywhere it comes from) is the most painful procedure, yet necessary. Then you have massages, hair dos, steaming, facials, pedicures, manicures, mehendi... you name it and they've got it.

Overall, it may sound horrendous. I agree, its hell painful. But otherwise, women tend to enjoy it. Most of the times, the local beauty shop is the centre of all the area gossip, movie reviews, speculations and general sharing of opinions. Without men, this is the place in which women tend to unwind. Its irritating mostly, but sometimes listening to women talk about their mid-age crises can be fun.

Yesterday, when I walked out of the place, after nearly two hours, I felt rejuvenated. I felt fresh and pretty, I could breathe freely at last, I saw management in practice and I learnt who exactly was having issues with her marriage, in my locality.

Hmmm, why should boys have all the fun?

The not so Economical Times

2007-08-14T14:43:00.000+05:30

The various uses of The Economic Times that gets delivered to my room each day:

1. A swatter to get rid of random bugs that enter my room later in the day.
2. A psuedo carpet when I need to keep my laptop on the floor.
3. An instrument to catch up with the current date and day of the week.
4. A base for all my shelves, to keep my more important stuff clean.
5. Something to stuff the spaces between the window ledge and the wall.
6. A weapon to drive away lizards in Aditi's room and my room.
7. A decoration item to fill up empty rows in my plastic shelf.
8. A hand fan, when the power goes off.
9. Paper balls, a way of showing appreciation during the juniors' Maxi Bazaar's Ad spoofs.
10. A plate, while I eat biscuits and really hot night-canteen goodies.
11. A way to show people who visit my room that I am fin-focussed.

And still not worth Rs 3 a day....

So long, Harry...

2007-07-22T12:55:00.000+05:30

One meal, a couple of bathroom breaks and less than 19 hours after I first opened it, I finished reading the very last chapter of the last book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. As any true fan of Harry Potter would assure you, the following lines give away no plot details, I do not support spoilers. The end was predicted, argued upon and expected. But what I absolutely did not foresee was my reaction as I closed the book at 3.30 AM this morning.

My Dad being in the book business, I got introduced to Harry Potter very early, much before the hype reached India. I was handed the first two books of the series sometime in late 1998, when I complained of boredom. I picked the second book, since it sounded more interesting. And since then, my journey ensued with the world's most famous fictional character. He has journeyed with me through high school, through college and now my MBA. I started off with a one year lead as a twelve-year old, but I have grown up sooner than him, at least on paper. I convinced so many to start reading about him, I read each of his books multiple times, but very strangely I did not own a single copy. Not even the Chamber of Secrets, the book I read first, then went on to read it again at least 6 more times, my favourite of the lot.

So when the date for the release of the final book approached, I decided to shell out 800 bucks to purchase a copy, my very own. The one week preceding the release was exciting and I was jumping inside myself. On 21st, I woke up at 6.30, went with two friends for a sumptuous breakfast and then collected three copies of the coveted book. I reached my hostel room at 8.30 and started reading immediately. It wasn't as fun as the first four books, but everyone knew it wasn't meant to be. I hesitated to move at meal times and refused to access the net for the fear of spoilers. But the book had to finish, I read the last chapter excruciatingly slowly, not wanting it to end. But it did.

As I placed the book on my desk and lied down on my bed, there was a rush of strangely mixed up emotions in my little head. I was relieved with the happy ending, but it only then struck me that the magic had truly ended. No more early mornings with Dad or my friends, waiting for the delivery truck to bring us the sweet smelling volumes. No more speculations, no more deciphering hidden clues and messages. I would miss all this. I was probably expected to read bigger, grown up books now. But I know for sure that none of them will bring back the flight of imagination that Harry brought so easily to my mind. Harry Potter let me be a little kid, waiting for a story to be told and retold every year. Knowing that there would be no more such mysteries has brought me the cruel realization that I have grown up, quite unlike Harry. And the future is scary.

I went to bed, thinking of the night as an end of an era. I got up in the morning feeling extremely weird and I looked at the book I had kept aside a few hours ago. And I flipped through it, reading snippets, and I felt myself getting engrossed yet again.

The magic remains and will remain. Whenever I need to get out of this mundane world and be a kid again, I know I can rely on Harry Potter to take me back to his world. I know the destination, but that is hardly the point of this journey. The adventure may have ended for Harry, but it is recorded for all of us to revisit again, again, again and yet again.

Thanks for the magic, Harry.

The Three Investigators and the Case of Relentless Lizzie

2007-07-14T19:17:00.000+05:30

Date: 14th July 2007
Location: Headquarters (the left corner, first floor, girls' hostel, XLRI)
Investigators: Diti, Shrik and Sumana
Suspect: Lizzie
Motive: Unknown

It was an unusually eerie night. Shrik and Sumana were just returning from the nearby ice-cream parlour, after having immensely enjoyed what was a satisfying dessert session. But as they walked back to their headquarters, they could sense the uneasiness in the air. There was a group of terrified female spectators staring with pure horror at Diti's room. Diti had just finished off her previous case, a 'batty' one in fact. But she had got on to the next mystery and was glad on Shrik and Su's arrival.

"There is a huge fat lizard in the room", She said.
"Where?", whispered Su.
"Behind the curtain", she pointed out.
Taking all that she had in her, Sumana approached the blood red curtains and pulled them aside. What she saw behind it, got a collective gasp from the room.
"Ewww", she said. "How did it get in?"
Diti then explained the case facts until then, stressing on the route taken and the approximated time of entry of the lizard.

The three of them watched the unsuspecting lizard from a distance, trying simultaneously to get more information on the suspect and at the same time draw a plan to get rid of it.

"It is on the window ledge, all we need to do is drive the lizard towards the top and then open the window and let it out", said Shrik. It sounded simple enough, but there was something about the lizard that made all the three of them consider that the task would be tougher.

"It is unusually fat", said Diti. There was something definitely weird about the physical characteristics. It also seemed to move slowly, or to be frank, not move at all.

"Maybe it's pregnant", suggested Su. "Wait a minute I know who this is, it's Lizzie".
Diti observed the lizard and confirmed the suspicions. "What if it lays eggs tonight? There will be little lizards swarming all over my room soon", Diti frantically exclaimed. It was time for some action. They needed to act fast and ruthless.

"Bring the broom", said Shrik "and all the newspapers you have". Once that was arranged, Shrik started prodding Lizzie to drive her up. She was at first reluctant, but moved slowly, casting threatening glances at us. Once she moved above the window ledge, the tougher task came to fray.

"I need one of you to help me open the window", said Shrik, "I can't do it alone"
The stakes? Any more jiggling than required would mean Lizzie would drop right on one of their palms while they were holding up the window. It was time for desperate measures. Su stood up to it, "I'll do it". But the window was harder to open than expected, thanks to dry paint on the latch. "Get a hanger", screamed Shrik. Once that was arranged, the window was soon opened. They stuffed the bottom with a huge pile of the ever useful and untouched editions of the Economic Times.

Shrik continued prodding with his broom, this time to get Lizzie to come down. She obviously didn't want to. She was too busy snatching at flies. After all, it is quite tough to get a pregnant lady to move a lot. But Shrik did not give up hope, he prodded with unmatched perseverance. Lizzie finally moved further down, skipped the open window but landed on the Eco Times.

At that instant, Shrik knew it was then or never. In a smooth sweeping motion he shoved the newspapers out of the window, and with them went Lizzie, desperately clinging on.

It was yet another sweet success as they hugged each other and wiped the beads of sweat from their foreheads. Perseverance had paid off and they retreated victoriously, looking forward to the next adventure.

Case solved. Chapter closed.

Top 8 at 8

2007-06-26T11:19:00.000+05:30

The title has only partial relevance to the post below, but I loved the show on Radio City (I think it was two years ago). Continuing...

I was watching Season 9 of Friends for the 16th time yesterday and the episode in which Chandler quits his Tulsa job got me thinking. (See, I need a reason to think!) That resulted in a very productive way of spending time at office, which in return resulted in this list.

THE WORLD'S BEST JOBS!

No 8: Wine taster

Drink the best wines in the world, for free! Get treated like a celebrity, lest you give a bad opinion. Also, once you start judging wine quality you directly get the license to act like you are a member of the top most stratum of the society. And you get paid to drink, voila! I know a lot of people would probably place this designation higher up in the list. But I would never apply for it anyway. Hence, its a number 8. (I qualified a week ago though).

No 7: 7-star hotel Valet

You get to work at one of the more expensive places in the city, drive the best cars, not only get a good salary but also some hefty tips for trivial tasks like parking the car. Perks of the job include getting to watch rich teenagers shamelessly make out, looking at drunk women, a peek at celebrities staying there blah blah. Its a good life.

No 6: Movie critic

No queues, no lines, no multiplex charges... nothing! Watch every movie on its release day, write a rude version of your opinion, get it published in national newspapers and get paid well for it. For the rest of the week, chill! These days you also get paid extra by producers to write a diplomatic version of your opinion to make the review sound nice. Stuff like "Tusshar Kapoor's performance was above expectations." Never mention how low your expectations were in the first place. Perks include invitations to all parties and release cermonies (with dinner, woohoo!) You also get to hand over trophies at million award cermonies. The reason this great sounding job is still at No. 6 is because it involves watching movies like "Kya Love Story Hain" and "Aap Mujhe Achche Lagne Lage".

No 5: Oprah

Star in your own TV show for 20 years, influence lives, get maniac celebrities to jump on your couch, promote your favourite books and give away cars to every single person in your audience! Visit the best places, get makeovers and talk to famous people! Its a dream job! And you not only just get paid for it, but you become the richest female entertainer in the world. Kudos,Oprah. (I read somewhere that Simi Garewal wants to be the Indian Oprah. Ooops! .....Sorry, err, I just fell off my chair laughing!)

No 4: Accident tracker

This is an actual job. A guy I know works for an auto company and his job description includes riding a bike (provided by them) all day (with petrol paid for by them) looking for accidents involving their cars and make sure their customers aren't too hassled. And he gets paid almost as much as I do. He freaks out every single day, (he can stay at home if he prefers to), bills the company for all his expenses and got a more-than-happy girlfriend within 2 months. Wow!

No 3: Weather reporter

You get to come on TV some 10 times a day, pointing at redundant national maps and occassionally mentioning the pollution levels in different cities. Unlike other news readers nobody relies on your piece of news, you can sing "Babuji..." for all that matters. Since you're the most attractive part of your 20 second report, you get better clothes than your colleagues. You don't have to work too hard, you get most figures from the computer/weather department. In case there are some facts missing, you can always make up predictions and reports. (Morning: It looks like its going to rain this evening. Evening: Though it looked like it was going to rain, it didn't.) There! Job done! Start applying..

No 2: Censor Board

Yeah, yeah... go watch all the shady movies and then cut it off for us. You, sadistic well-paid morons. Why is it that only you are allowed to look at Mallika's belly button and Udita's cleavage? Why can't we listen to what Sunil Shetty actually wanted to shout at the balding villians. Advantages of this job include getting your son the National Award for Best Actor. Hmmmph!

But the Number One Job in the world has to be (drumroll!!!) - Samantha Brown's.

No 1: Host of Great Hotels

Job description includes travelling around the world and visiting the best hotels in the world. Not just an insignificant report on them, but she gets to stay for a couple of days in the most expensive suites, eat in all their restaurants, enter their kitchens, jump on the beds, go shopping and run in to famous people. She has to make a weekly TV show on every hotel, gets to fly business class to the most exquisite places on earth, gets fundoo clothes to wear, gets paid liberally.... I see absolutely no flaw in this job!

Placecomm, are you listening?

Homecoming

2007-06-23T17:49:00.001+05:30

All my bags are (almost) packed,
I'm ready to go...
I'm jumping here, inside my home.
I hate to leave my folks,
And say goodbye.
But the term is starting
It is late June.
The classes will start,
there will be quizzes soon.
Already I'm so clueless.
I can sigh!

So miss me and pray for me,
Tell me that you'll comment for me.
Drop me on time, when I have to go.
Cause I'm leaving on an Indian plane,
Dunno when I'll be back again.
Oh! Babe! I can't wait to go..

Tam Techie Question

2007-06-20T17:29:00.000+05:30

I was deep in thought for a long time today and thought I'd put this up. Please leave your reactions as comments. What does the picture depict?

Pen Drive :)

Can anyone find my nerves?

2007-06-20T10:33:00.000+05:30

I have a project presentation in exactly an hour. The Final One. My PPO, next year's CRP, CV hike, everything depends on these 20 minutes. It can decide my future. There will be no looking back from now on. 10 weeks on non-stop slogging comes down to this! I can feel the nervous tension in the air. My fellow interns are rehearsing and taking prints and timing themselves and everything.

I am blogging.

I am not worried if I'll exceed time limit, if I'll stumble and stutter or if I turn out to be clueless in front of the VP of the division. I'm worried that I am not feeling nervous. I have felt more nervous during Pondi's class tests, for heaven's sake! Hence I am calling out,

"Where the hell are my nerves?"

If you find them please give me a call, if not just call up and wish me. Lets see what happens.

Happy Birthday!

2007-06-17T17:35:00.000+05:30

My last few hours as a twenty-year old, I guess its time to sit back and just list down a couple of things I learnt this year. I’m guessing you (in most cases) would be past this age, (Ha! Losers), but what do you know, you might still benefit from it!

1. How to ride a bike! (I’m quite an expert)
2. One needs to stay away from people, if they don’t make one happy.
3. Geeks are the most fun people in the world!
4. Drunk people are extremely funny to watch, especially at 4 am on a wetnite.
5. PJs are enjoyable only to those who crack them and their girlfriends. (ahem!)
6. One tends to speak like another one, if one spends hajaar time with the other one.
7. I can still dance.
8. With experience, one can get up at 8.50 and make it to class (at 9) well in time.
9. Air Deccan completely sucks.
10. Your first salary/stipend changes the way you look at malls and brands.
11. One pack of potato chips is equal to 1 hour in the gym.
12. You can get away with extra luggage on a flight, if you can make Puss-like face.
13. Linux rocks, especially Shisen-Sho.
14. There are 20 different ways to make maggi more delicious, especially late at night.
15. Cheese cake is just unbeatable.
16. Northies just can’t make sambhar.
17. You can have the best year of your life and the most painful one at the same time.
18. Case study analyses aren’t as bad as they sound.
19. There are unlimited ways to pass time in office, even if the internet is restricted.
20. Its amazing to be the youngest in the batch.
21. I can actually sing!
22. Ctrl C + Ctrl V is the solution to half the B-school problems, unfortunately.
23. Coming to XL was the best decision I ever took.
24. Time flies, when you are having the most fun.
25. Most night outs aren’t for assignments, but for arbit conversations with friends.

Things I still haven’t managed to learn
1. How to tie my shoe lace.
2. The importance of Business Research.
3. The art of stress-free shopping.
4. Which is left and which is right, without my watch.
5. How to survive the one-way fundae in Bangalore.

Size does matter!

2007-06-09T19:49:00.000+05:30

I had heard that some 76.93% Americans are overweight. I had also seen parts of some obese Americans on TV, you can’t expect them to completely fit on screen! I just assumed that all the cheesy pizzas and McDonald burgers had finally conquered their race and I flipped channels. Little did I know that one day, it would come back to bite me, when I least expected it.

Different teams at my office occasionally get team T-shirts from the department and I really liked them on the others. I used to wonder when my team would get them and two days back, when I finally got an e-mail "requesting" me to accept the T-shirt, I almost fainted with joy! The next page asked me to specify the size I wanted and very innocently mentioned that these T-shirts were standard American sizes.

Now, I would be kidding myself if I even thought of 'small'. Not that I am 'large', but at 20, I am quite err.. fit. (internal guffaw!) I graduated to 'medium' two years ago and I am struggling to stay there. So I naturally selected medium and in the next page I was informed that I could collect the T-shirt the next day.

So at the scheduled time, I walk up to the guy in charge, sign on the sheet and pick it up. "Here it is, the coveted piece of cloth", I thought as I rolled it down and what I saw, left my lower jaw painfully away from the rest of my face. Was it supposed to be joke? Three full Sumanas could fit in there and could probably live comfortable lives. Medium? For what, a hippo? I regained what amount of composure I had refused to let go and asked the guy if I could get another shirt, small if possible. He showed me an-already-booked 'small' one and frankly there was not much difference. Resigned, I have to decided to sleep in this T-shirt when I'm 40 and well, fuller.

What’s with the Americans, seriously? They can't make these standards universal for heaven's sake! If they are screwing around with their lifestyle, why ask us to suffer too? Come here to India and look around, you'll find paunches on every alternate person, but they wear 'large' clothes, not a standard small. Its one thing to make your consumers feel nice about themselves, but blatantly lying? Not fair!

Coincidently, I today went to a mall to shop for a much needed pair of jeans. I walked in to one of the branded counters and asked for a size $@ (obviously I won't reveal that!) and the guy had the nerve to tell me that his company does not make jeans that size. I checked again to see if the brand was Chinese or something, who wouldn't make size $@? Do they expect the entire world to be skimpy? I moved to another counter and which thankfully had a few pieces in my size. I tried them on, and wow! They were really loose! Finally after a couple of trials I walked out in a size that I had absolutely given up any hope of fitting in to, ever! I actually got in to a size 30! Yay!

Damn, these Americans are creepy! For them, it is normal to gain weight, but a huge thing to lose it though. If an American lost some 100 odd pounds in three odd years, he/she gets to come on Oprah (one guy even got a Porsche), but when Indians lose weight they usually end up with grooms. Bah!

Get off your couches, get some exercise! Do everyday things! My office, I guess like most other MNCs, does not have a staircase! We only need to use elevators! No wonder their idea of ‘small’, is like a full fledged swimming pool! (which reminds me of Ana Ivanovic, ok… deviation alert!). If nothing, have more sex!! Get thinner! (This advice holds for an average American, not an almost invisible Paris Hilton. There is no way she can get any thinner! Or have more sex, for that matter.)

Shady American companies, size 30 it seems! I guess one of them must have read my request in my previous post!

Koffee with Rohan*

2007-06-05T18:26:00.001+05:30

A few weeks ago, I was having coffee with an old friend of mine, Rohan* at office. I had just found out that he too was working there and I mailed him, we decided to catch up. In fact, I'm glad we did because we hadn't spoken to each other since we left college (a year back).

After the usual, How-are-things-at-home and I-heard-he-broke-up-with-her, he asked me the question I was waiting for. "So, How is life at XLRI?" I immediately started a rant on how its the best place in the world, the most fun experience ever and how we somehow land up with fat packages at the end of it. He took me over the moon and reminded me how I was always the most brilliant person, I totally deserved to get in there and that he always knew I would make it.

Now, I don't understand when people say they don't like flattery, because its the best thing that I ever get to listen to. It lifts me up when people say nice things to me and for my own listening pleasure, I tend to believe them. In fact, I boast of modesty only in being modest. So, I nodded along, as listened to him call me a genius and how I should give his little sister career guidance.

Thats when a colleague of his walked in and my friend immediately called out to him.

"Hey, Rahul!* Come here!"
"(approaching) Tell me."
"Remember, I always used to talk about this friend of mine, Sumana? She topped my college and she got in to XLRI when she was 19! Remember??"
"(clueless, irritated, yet confidently) No!"
"Oh! (hesitantly) Meet Sumana" (pointing at me)

I don't know who was most embarrassed at that point. I got up to shake hands with him, but we never actually got to doing that. The three of us somehow found other people at the cafeteria interesting and hence started looking at them to avoid further awkwardness.

Ah! So much for what I thought was a good day for my ego. I'm still feeling down, I could do with some buttering. Anybody else has something nice to say about me?

Disclaimer: "The story you have just heard is true. The names have been changed to protect the guilty."

'Intern'al issues

2007-06-03T14:58:00.001+05:30

Ah! Just another Sunday morning I thought to myself, as I woke up to the persistent alarm ringing next to me. But as I rubbed my eyes and sat up, wondering why I had kept an alarm in the first place, it flashed. Damn! I need to go to office today, at 8 in the morning!

It felt weird walking into my office in jeans. But who cared! The 15 km ride on my bike had been pleasant and quick, and I walked in to my room feeling pleasant. I had a good feeling about my project presentation, as I waited for my manager's phone call. She called on time and the first thing she said to me was "I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours, Can we rush through this, please?"

Well, not a great start, for a presentation that was planned to stress on the details. I began, thinking if I rushed she probably would miss any hidden flaws. The second thing she said to me "Don't take this personally, Sumona. But your accent is a bit of a problem. Would you mind going a bit slow? I don't understand anything that you say!" I have a problematic accent! What would you call 'Sumona' then?

So far it hadn't gone well, she made me skip all the parts that I believed were results of the pure genius in me. I went on anyway. At the end of it, (rather she cut me short), and said "Sumona, there are a few loopholes in your project. With the given information, you have done quite a great job! But I'd really like it if you were more detailed and did a deeper analysis."

In the split second of silence that followed, several thoughts ran through my head. I had put in a great deal of effort! She never guided me in the first place! Did I really think that an internship would be this easy! Why couldn't she just accept what I had done! If nothing, couldn't she consider the fact that I was in office, early Sunday morning!

"So Sumona, you can take another week to work on the project. Can you present again, same time, next Sunday?"

All I can say is that I was glad this presentation was on the phone. Glad that she couldn't see my face at that precise moment. Tough work for another week, Sumona.

Alter blogo

2007-06-03T14:35:00.000+05:30

Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine. ~Robert C. Gallagher

Well, following the above said wise words, I have changed around a lot of things on my blog. The template, the frequency of writing, the links, the side bar blah blah. I have even brought out new lists and what I call "Pic of the week". Hopefully I'll be able to keep this updated regularly.

Do let me know what you think of this!

Big innings...

2007-05-31T17:21:00.000+05:30

June 2006
A final admission in to one of the biggest business schools in India, new friends, a new place, an MBA, I had so much to look forward to. But the nagging thought in my head reminded me that it would not be easy staying apart for two entire years from my parents, my bike, my room and a thousand other things I was addicted to. I was so going to miss home, I wondered if I'd be ok staying away.

June 2007
An impending end to a summer internship at Bangalore, my home city, and another year waiting at XLRI. I feel terrible that I just have a year to go, after which I need to come home. I yearn for the stale mess food, the late night maggi, the sleepless nights and all the things that make life normal at XL. I so miss the place and I don't need to wonder. I am definitely not ok staying away from XLRI.

Yes, I am the same person. But things change, you know...

Small piece of life!

2007-05-29T14:14:00.000+05:30

You know a day has gone well, when you go to bed smiling. But when you wake up at 6 am with the same smile and look forward to Monday morning as well, it's definitely more than just a good day. It's a phenomenal weekend!

To a much awaited weekend, add two scoops of (death by) chocolate, a bowl of wierd-named noodles, two glasses of milk shake, three hours of shopping, an hour of mall-hopping, some long conversations, 50 kms on the bike and just a hint of late night dancing. And top it all up with some magical company. What you get is a brilliant weekend!

Thank you! Thank you!

PJ Puram!

2007-05-24T15:26:00.000+05:30

I was having a completely arbit conversation with Shrik last night and it was one of those 'rare' occassions when both of us had completely lost all sense of logic. We were cracking the unfunniest jokes and yet laughing like Russel Peters was performing on stage. My jokes are of course unmentionable, but here is a tough one from Shrik.

What would you call a cylinder with radius 'z' and height 'a'?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
A pizza!

For the uninitiated (those who don't hang around with people like Shrik), check your 12th std text! Go figure...

P.S: Thanks for making me laugh all the time Shrikant! What would I do without you?

Ta Daa!

2007-05-18T17:27:00.000+05:30

I sit here everyday, with restricted internet access, a lot of time to kill, no supervision and with an intention to write. But as soon as I do so, something in my brain constantly tells me that I just haven’t got the flow today, the subject is boring, I am writing for too long and maybe I should just try doing something else. And everyday I tell myself, who cares! Nobody visits this page and even if they do, who cares! But I generally lose it somewhere and I close the page without saving it.

Today I have decided to blurt out everything I want to. After all, if I am the only one reading this, then I have a 100% fan following. I have an interesting life, I have cool friends and I have brilliant opinions too. So…why not?

Speaking about an interesting life, I have an adventurous job. Each day I battle for my life, clinging on to the few inches of safety I am (fortunately) provided with. I travel far away on mountains and rivers, scream my lungs out, battle it out with my deadly enemies and look forward to doing the same the next day. Yeah yeah, in between I work on excel sheets for 10 hours in an AC office, but the ride from home to office and back is indeed scary. And yeah, only if you want to, replace the mountains with road humps, rivers with gutters, screaming with silent prayers and the deadly enemy with my suicidal driver. And looking forward, to absolutely not!

I also hang out all the time with two of my grooviest friends. Both of them are unusually interesting, intellectually brilliant and the most fun people. We spend most of our time watching South Park or movies like, ahem, Pirates of the Caribbean, and the like. We zoom around on bikes late night and eat out everyday. It is a good life! I accept that most of our hanging around time is inside the classroom, we study quite a bit, occasionally eat right-outside-campus dosas and that the 3 of us struggle on one bike, but we do have our share of good fun. Our intellectual talks are mostly useless arguments on movies, non-vegetarianism and coming on time for mess dinner. But the two of them are studs, they each have a girlfriend of their own! You can’t take that away from them. (I know what you are thinking, yes, both of them are guys).

While I am getting old, I am mostly involved in activities that include trying to write, pretending to work, sleeping with my eyes open and copy pasting excel sheets. I used to love watching cricket, (I still do, actually) and I completely worship The Wall on my wall. I do have my opinions and thoughts, but we’ll save it for another time, shall we?

Dad and daughter talkies

2007-05-15T11:25:00.001+05:30

When I returned home at 8PM last weekend I was dreading a backlash from dad. He instead just asked me which movie I’d been to. I looked at him cautiously.

“By any chance did you go to a Kannada movie?”
“No Dad, I don’t have any kannada friends.”
“But you could have taken them anyway. You could have translated for them”
“Err... Dad, I am not a big fan of Kannada movies”

There have been numerous occasions when my Dad has uselessly tried to convince me about the goodness of kannada movies and why I need to give up all the other recreations, to support my mother tongue. (Unlike my dad, my mother doesn’t actually support the language lividly, but still I am supposed to call it so). When I glare back at him at every statement, he resigns to the fact that the 70’s will never be back again and gives excuses for the TlQM (Total lack of Quality Management). Some of them make sense, but there are others which are so senseless, that they can be mistaken for kannada movie plots. Read on…

1. The multiplexes have come in and movie watching has become more expensive. Kannada cinema has been forced to raise its standards. It has to be given some time. Now is just the churning time, hence movies are crappy.

2. When Rajkumar was reigning, there were no other movie stars. Hence, now there are no sons of movie stars to take the legacy forward. Hence movies are crappy.

3. There are hardly any kannadigas in Bangalore. Kannada movies are trying to satisfy the needs of the “Indian-movie-goer”. Hence movies are crappy.

4. All these Tamil and Telgu movies are stealing our stories, actors and songs. Hence movies are crappy.

5. With all these one ways in Bangalore, it is tough to get to a decent movie hall in time. Nobody gets to watch movies often, hence movies are crappy.

6. There are basically two markets for kannada cinema – the software engineers in America and those who couldn’t make it there, living in Karnataka. It is tough to please both. Hence, movies are crappy.

7. When a kannadiga goes to a theatre he sees a poster of Titanic and a local movie. It confuses him. All this computerization… Hence movies are crappy.

8. I know the movies nowadays are bad, but Rajkumar just passed away. Give the movie fraternity some time to recover… it’ll take a couple of years. Then see the difference.

Every time he does this, I sympathize with dad, and give him a fake smile. This time I plopped down next to him and said, “I agree, Dad… I just watched Spiderman 3.”

Contingent nuptials

2007-05-15T08:41:00.001+05:30

It is scary how the time spent at one's job is proportional to the level of craziness one adopts. I like my job here, but I am scared to like it too much. Especially after I heard a colleague talking on the phone a few days back.

"No! No! I am going onsite only for a few weeks. I'll be back here soon. I am getting married next quarter!"

Never mix work and domestic life my friend, don't go down that road...

A journey from the unknown to who cares...

2007-05-05T10:18:00.000+05:30

Coupled with the fact that my Prof gave me a poor grade in the subject, I hereby declare research as the most useless activity, business or otherwise. I don't think anyone learnt much in the 30 hours of low-volume droning. I apologize Sir, but I definitely did not "Get the point!". But I am not biased towards funded research only because of the course. I picked up these three studies, reported today in the paper (the one that has more scantily clad ladies than heinous crimes in it).

Are women more into toyboys?

"The days of seeing a woman on the arm of a man old enough to be her father might soon be over, for an increasing number of the fairer sex are ditching sugar daddies for toyboys, if a study conducted by the Office of National Statistics, in the UK, is to be believed"

Ok, seriously, why would anybody want to spend money to find out the above "fact". Plus, like the topic of the research isn't compelling enough, they show a picture of a non-bald Britney who forgot her pants, with the guy she apparently first did it with. And they promote the findings of the research like they have discovered the true meaning of life - Women are attracted to younger men, because they are more fun, better in bed and make them feel confident. Bah..

Nemo can find his way back home.

"Scientists studying pristine coral reefs in Papua New Guinea found that 60% of clownfish journeyed back to their tiny home reef after being swept out to the ocean as babies. They injected female fish with a trace of isotope which finds its way into their eggs, and can later be observed in baby fish"

Why?!? Why, oh why! Why would you follow those tiny little fish in that wierdly named country, to see if they went back home? Hasn't Pixar informed us of it anyway. Why would you inject artificial liquids into the supposedly 'funny' fish to find out something so not worth it? What would your tell your wife that night?
"Oh baby! I found out today, that baby clownfish can find their way home."
"Really, honey?"
"Oh, just 60% of them though"
There are btter things to do in the world, get up, get going!

Doing good makes you feel good: study

"Pat Tillman left the NFL to enlist in the Army and fight in Iraq and Afghanistan (where he was killed), but socialite Paris Hilton continually pursues 'a public life of shallowness' What makes people more happy?"

First of all, I'm sorry Pat, you had to share the same paragraph with the hotel waitress. Secondly, these people actually quizzed 65 undergrads for several days on the internet to figure out that meaningful activities, such as helping others, listening to friends and pursuing one's life goals make people happy. Do I need to say more?

Prof Nuclear Country, are you still going to try convincing me that research is worth the journey?

Focus Su! Focus..

2007-04-20T14:32:00.000+05:30

A month ago, with the second year at XLRI looming we were asked to pick our electives. I sat in between the two idiots I hang out with at XL and thought I'd get some quality advice from them. It was too late to stick around at sqaure one and I had to get somewhere. One of them is an ardent systems focussed fellow and the other one refuses to look in any direction that does not have discount rates and stock prices floating around.

Heh, I thought. I needed to first pick a focus, only then could I pick electives to specialize in it. I asked around, thought deeply, bugged peers and finally decided that I wanted to be a "fin girl". Hmmmm... it sounded interesting.

Now, I am currently sitting at my desk at an ultra fin company, doing my highly interesting summers. I came here expecting to burn, learn and earn. So far the only productive work I have gotten around to do is writing this blog. "But I am now fin focussed", I thought, "I will get in to the flow, start understanding things soon".

All went well till an incident at a training session last evening. After that I dread not only the next 8 weeks here, but also the next year. I was staring groggily at some CEO level person giving a CEO forum level talk, and paying little attention. He turned to a slide which said, "You matter to us" and I decided to listen to him. He started about how compensation is linked to our performance and then said "business analysts are hence like short-cap stocks!". The entire room burst into laughter and I looked around in shock. I ckecked the slide again and realized I understood nothing of it. What the hell was so funny that people were almost in tears!?! I sunk back in to my chair wondering where I have ended up.

So I am back to sqaure one. Fin is not my thing and it will never be. I look forward to 2 more months this summer to reinforce these opinions and I hope I won't be even more muddled up by then. Damn, I need to choose a new area to focus on. Sigh, first year... come back...

World Cup Blues

2007-03-25T01:19:00.000+05:30

A good friend once told me that I manage to write decently, but I need to write more often. But i swore to myself that i wouldn't write until a topic calls out to be illustrated. (in short I have a writer's block made up of birla cement). But I guess now is the right time to scribble away my thoughts.

The most spoken about issue currently is that the Indian team and the Pakistani team are competing against each other to see who gets kicked out of the World Cup sooner. Well, as usual, the rivalry among the two teams deserves appreciation. Just as Pakistan proved themselves to be worse than Ireland, India rose to occassion and lost to the Bangladesh team. (Bongs, of all people!! God save us!). When the Pakis realized that we were close at their heels in this race, they decided that they had to try something below the belt and hence hired someone to kill their coach. (due condolences), hoping that they would be sent home after that. Unfortunately they were asked to play against Zimbabwe and they even won the match somehow. (they even dedicated their 93 run victory against Zimbabwe to Woolmer. Common... He deserved better!) And India grabbed the ripe opportunity, and lost shamelessly to a country one fiftieth its size. Hah, Pakis lose in this challenge too. Losers!

But seriously, who are the biggest losers here. The Indian Team members? They earn lakhs of rupees for flashing their teeth for twenty seconds for a meaningless television ad. A short search exercise on google tells me that Virender Sehwag annually earns 1.83 crores a year (wtf!) only to play cricket. Please note, this includes Rs 5o lakh as retainer fees. i.e. The BCCI is paying Viru half a crore a year to just stick to the team. (Muhahahahahaha!!! Like any other team in the country is going to select him anyway). And if you take into account his endorsement revenues (for lines like "make the world in your fist"), his annual earnings would suffice the next 5 generations of the Sehwag khandan to live comfortably.

Are the sponsors losing?? Thats quite a debate. Well, the corporates who really thought that backing the Indian team this World Cup was a good idea, will have to rethink their strategies again. Are we, as Indian fans losing? Well, again true Indian cricket followers would know the team is going to the dogs. I wouldnt know the opportunity cost of watching the matches on television since my hectic B-school life doesn't let me do so. Heh. I just pity those who had pinned down their hopes on seeing the Men in Blue life the heavy cup. Well guys, cheer up. You can still cheer your nieghbours who made it through to the second round!

Considering the fact that I am writing this immediately after my strategy end term paper, I do think that it would be a good idea to apply the "strategic models" on the coveted team itself. Lets start with the VRIO model.

Does our team possess VALUE? Consider top players like Rahul Dravid, Sachin Tendulkar, Dhoni (who was once the top ranked batsman in the world, heh), Sehwag (whose comeback was a century, after a two year drought, against Bermuda, heh heh), and the others blah blah. So do we have the essential "V"? Well, yes, it seems like we do.

Are the team resources RARE? Hmmmm... considering Hayden, Ponting, Kallis, Gayle, Pietersen and the likes... maybe not. But also considering that the 11 men inthe team are selected from a cricket crazy country of a billion, lets give them the benefit of the doubt and do agree that these cricketers are a 'rare' resource.

Are these resources IMITABLE? Well, if you ask me, I think it would be in the best interests of any team not to imitate the Indian team. Hence I refuse to analyze this aspect any further.

And finally, how good is the ORGANIZATION? (I never understood this concept. so don't blame me if i don't do justice) From an outsider's point of view, the team seems to have all the individual talent in the world, but clearly lacks the skill to perform as a team when the situation asks them to. Well, why should they? Sehwag not only gets to stay in the team for scoring binary scores, but he also gets paid for it. Sachin will continue to get paid millions for drinking Pepsi, Agarkar will keep getting recalled to the team till he announces retirement and Dhoni can still afford to drink his daily dose of milk. And hence as an organization Team India fails once again, not a very big surprise.

The solution?? I am no great cosultant, but I would only say, stop watching cricket, stop paying these cricketers. But I am a true fan too, and I know that like everyone else, I would be screaming for India in the very next tournament :) Hence like any strategic analysis, this one is pointless as well. Thanks for reading though...

Sumana Manohar

P.S. I wanted to do the Porter analysis, but I couldn't decide on what the industry exactly was.
P.P.S I have been saying this for the past 4 months, but I will never get the heart to pull out Dravid's poster from my hostel room wall.

My Room!

2006-12-02T15:34:00.000+05:30

When I was in Std 3, I dreamt that when I'd be 20, I'd somehow land up in XLRI. My dream was so full of detail that when I woke up, I actually remembered every minute feature of the room I was supposed to be living in. So much so, that I immediately grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a poem about it. 13 years down the line, I miraculously found that sheet of paper and in it was scrawled my thoughts about my future abode. And believe it or not, it matches perfectly!! I knew this miracle should not be kept in secret any more, so I have decided to share it with the world. So here goes...

"I love my room, it is really cool
It is the best room, in the entire B-School.

I love my room, it is really airy
when it gets dark, it doesn't get scary.

I love my room, it is pretty high,
when I look around, I just go 'sigh!'

I love my room, it is the best on the floor,
It has a lovely window and a funky door.

I love my room, it has a smiley poster,
I have a kettle in it, but I don't have a toaster.

I love my room, it is really great,
it keeps me company when I have no date.

I love my room, it looks really bright
Not because of the lighting, but its painted white.

I love my room, because its pretty big
There is so much space when I want to do a jig

I also love my roomie, with whom this room I share
because she is a localite, and she's never there.

I love my room, it is extremely nice,
I like it better when it’s filled with guys.

I love my room, because I live here,
It is my only home in the northern hemisphere.

I love my room and it loves me back,
It feels so amazing everyday, when I hit the sack."

Hmmm.. Now that I live here, I really do feel the same way. I wonder where my poem about my room in the second year is... hmmm.. need to search for that. Just one clarification though. I really do like my roomie.. She's a sweetheart :)

Puppy Love!

2006-10-21T02:58:00.001+05:30

It was a weird scene at XLRI. Milo was lying on the ground, and Fluffy was on top of him, licking him all over. Cartman, as usual, just stood and watched from a distance. Cleo was slightly disturbed and he shivered away in a corner, while his brothers and sisters were just indifferent. On the path that connects the two hostels, we all stood and watched them...amazed at the sight.

Ever since these cute little pups arrived on campus, life has been quite different. Previously I used to just run between classes, too fast to smell the flowers or look beneath bushes for pups. But somehow now, its a daily routine just to stop by the path and have a look at them.

It all started the day I discovered six little pups, cuddled up in a despicable rug below the huge transmitter device that haunts my hostel's ground floor. Even in the midst of bricks, tools, stones and cardboard pieces these little creatures looked completely at peace. Looking at their satisfied faces as they lay there, on top of each other I fell in love with them.

In the next few days, there was another litter and before we knew, we had pups running all over the place. 13 of them in all. I dont think even their moms can differentiate among them. And since the same dog fathered them all, I don't think he has issues recognizing his little ones. Shifted to a new location, these pups now live off a path that connects the hostels. These pups inhabit the staircase at the entrance of the old girl's hostel, and wiggle in and out of the pots that keep them warm, according to their convenience. I still haven't seen all the 13 of them together, since quite frankly, its quite impossible to get a hold on all them at one go.

Since the days have gone by, I have learnt a lot about the pups in general. As I stop by atleast twice a day to trouble the little angels, they have eased up to me too, and what I have learnt isn't exactly Organizational Behaviour, but it comes close to it. Some of these pups just welcome you when they see you approaching and some just try to hide better. There are others that are indifferent, and a few that are curious and think that the bottom of your jeans is doggy heaven. Some that snarl as you lift them up, some that just stare at you with deep clueless eyes.
Some that prefer the shadows, and some that want the same attention that their fellow pups are receiving.

Thinking of names for them was a tough job! First, there are so many of them, second, once you name a pup, you dont really remember which one is which. We thought of naming them after the seven dwarfs...the lucky ones who got to live with one beautiful woman together. We also thought of naming them after the seven days of the week. Somebody suggested names of companies...I don't blame him, we are all suffering from SIP fever. But none of these names seemed to fit. So we all adopted a pup each and named him as we wished. So now we have Cleo, Cartman, Fluffy, Milo, Dog (yeah, just Dog), Donkey, HLL, Pepper and many more.

Its been a month and I feel that these pups are growing up, just like us. Except that, they get sufficient sleep, they don't have to attend classes at weird times and they don't expect a surprise quiz every session. As I look at them running around JLT, I sometimes feel slightly envious. They aren't bothered about COMA scores or Marketing presentations. They haven't been asked to wear sarees and get humiliated in class interviews. Grades and summers don't exist in their proirities. But they'll still be asked to leave the campus one day, just like us. 13 grown up dogs in the campus would create quite a mayhem. They'll have to make way for the new litters, just like we have to make space for later batches.

How much better would we be when we leave this place, a year and a half from now? How grown up would the pups be, when they are taken away from here? Will we be able to face the world without spoonfeeds? Can we handle the real world when we are all alone? The pups will definitely not ask these questions on any blogs, but I can, so I will. They'll be answered in a long while from now, and when they are answered I shall definitely look back and remember the little pups.

But for now, I shall just look at these pups and remind myself, that life isn't about grades and jobs. Sometimes, its about rolling in the grass on JLT whenever you want to...

sheesh!

2006-08-26T15:32:00.000+05:30

hmmm.. there are just these times when you wish you were dreaming.. or you just wish you could go back in time.. and when you are studying in a b-school, these thoughts tend to occur a bit too often. read on..
some 13 hours ago (2.30am), i went to bed.. peacefully. pretty early for my standards. the reason: i had a major math exam this morning and i wanted to get sufficient sleep before it. 6 hours was enough i predicted... i'd probably get up before hand and revise a bit before entering the dreaded exam hall. (rather, i was clueless as to what i was studying and i needed an excuse to get away from my books last night). as the alarm started screaming in my ear this morning, i got up dazed and thought to myself "2 and a half hours to go, i dont have that much to study.. i need more sleep, lest i sleep during the exam". and i dozed off again.
the next time i saw daylight was 11.35!! some 35 mins after the exam started! damn!!!! i just woke up.. shocked!!! out of my senses.. this was probably the most important subject of the term. i had messed up my previous quizzes and this was my last chance to make up. ah, forget about the marks, i just had to attend the exam.
well at that time, none of these thoughts actually entered my head. i was just shell shocked. hoping that this was a dream. i jumped out of bed and yanked my door open. and i tentatively peeped out.. hoping for some sign of life.. hoping that some other idiot on my floor had overslept and had got up at precisely the same time.. hoping that she too was looking for company in distress, like i was.. tough luck.. the others in my hostel were sensible enough to get up on time.
i screamed out loud! somebody should hear me. and i then realized that there were girls on my floor who had not taken this suibject. i barged into one of their rooms. and there she was.. sleeping! i tried to wake her up. but i had no voice. i shook her and she woke up with a start, and i just started blabbering. "i missed the QT quiz.. i missed QT.. it started at 11, and i'm still here!!" she probably took a second to comprehend what was happening, then she looked at me from top to bottom. exam at 11 - its 11.35 - i'm wearing pajamas - i'm hysterical! ...and then it dawned to her!!! uh oh!!
"why dont you just go to the exam now?" she shouted.
"now? i overslept QT!!"
"just go now!!!!!"
"NO!!"
"Common.. just go!"
"But then, i probably could go now.."i realized. i had no clue how the examiner would react, but it was worth the try... she dragged me to my room, thrust the calculator in my hand and pushed me out..
and then i ran.. ran.. ran.. the exam hall just seemed so far off! and bewildered seniors were giving me questioning looks. "why would a junior be in her night clothes, running like a freak, when she's supposed to be writing an exam!"
and then i barged in to the hall and tried to look as calm as possible... i went straight to my lecturer and admitted the truth (with a sprinkling of "not so true"s).
"Sir, i wasnt feeling well (nst).. and i kinda overslept....."
"do you want to write the exam now?" he asked.
he was actually considering letting me write. i was pleasantly shocked.
"of course, can i?" i asked.
"well, yes. take your seat..." he replied.
heaving a sigh of relief i dropped into the nearest empty chair and i looked around. everywhere people were peeping into their notes and trying fervently to make some sense of their notes. and then it hit me.. 'this was an open book exam, i had no books to look into!!'
"Sir.." i started again. "well i forgot to get my notes..."
"how could you not get your notes to the exam?" he yelled.
"Sir, i got up at 1130 and i freaked. i didnt get your notes." (exact words spoken)
"well...." he considered..
"Sir, can i please go get my material? i will take just two minutes." i prodded.
before he could reply, i was running out of the exam hall again. and then the marathon... back to my hostel, the run up to the second floor, grabbed the books that were fortunately visible and the run back again. except for a few trips here and there i was still in one piece. as i entered the hall breathless (within 2 mins), my classmates lifted up their heads.. wondering what i was upto. and hour and a half was not enough for his paper. what the hell was i doing, running around with just over half an hour left.
i ignored all their scary facial expressions and sat down again, thinking "this is it!" how the next 45 mins went (he gave me extra time) i have no clue. i just did what i could, thinking all the while "how could i oversleep QT, how could i oversleep QT!!" i dont remember what my shivering hands managed to write when my brain was clearly out of place, but as i returned my scribbled answer sheet i felt relieved and yet all alone. well, that was obvious, everyone else had left 15 mins ago...
as i walked out of the exam hall questions came pouring in from all directions. where the hell was i? why was i given extra time? why did i look like i had just gotten out of bed? (some people consider such a look to be sexy, but in my case it was just out of context). as i explained my situation to my friends they gave me reactions which was completely unexpected.
i was suddenly the heroine of the moment. i actually got up late and i had the courage to walk into a QT quiz 45 mins late, then leave and enter again, all this in my crumpled t shirt, chappals and stinky mouth. man, that did require guts!!!
i walked out and stood in front of my hostel. and while people were running helter skelter, i drenched in the rain, just stood there hoping that the rain would wash off my stupidity. hoping that the situation would just wipe itself off, hoping that people would stop staring at me (either with disgust or with admiration). just hoping that it would all end!!
i managed to get back to my room, think about the whole thing again and consider what went wrong... and then this sly smile just materialized on face.. "damn! these are the things that i'm going to take along with me for the rest of my life! ah, these stupid, but unforgettable moments..."

P.S.
1. my lecturer just rocks! and i'm giving him roses this Teachers' Day.
2. thanks to my floormate who managed to put some thought in my head.
3. KITAs to all my friends who were too worried about their paper, to realze i wasnt there at 11 and hence did not bother to wake me up. (KITA: kick in the ass)
4. life rocks!!!!!