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!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Italian bad job
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.
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.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
I feel list-y today...
.. 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.
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.
Monday, June 07, 2010
New leaf, yet again
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!
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!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
It's the beach
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 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.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The good times
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
What I need
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.
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.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
It's here
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.
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.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Cold feet
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.
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.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Shoppers, stop! Please!
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 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.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
You drive me crazy!
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!
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!
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Head over Heels
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!
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!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
The greener grass on every side
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.
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.
Monday, October 13, 2008
The bulls and the bears
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?
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?
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Yay! Mine is a brilliant blog!
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.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Raindrops...
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
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Book your movie, now!
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!)
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Management of Brutal Aunties
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-
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!
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Updates
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.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Crappy Birthday to me
(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.
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