Bard Speaks

The Art of Destroying...

2010-02-21T23:15:00.001+05:30

A rather startling statement was made the other day by an associate of mine with whom I happened to travel: “I wish all the tigers would die!”

This was in reaction to a discussion that centered around the fact that there were only 1500 tigers left in

India

out of the 40 thousand that existed at the turn of the century. The main cause: poaching.

I turned around and asked her why. To which she answered: “Because I don’t like them. They are man-eaters. They kill other animals.”

This, from a 27 year old came as a surprise to me. But then I surmised…she was not very different from the common person who thought the best way to deal with anything that posed a threat, even in the remotest area of one's mind, was to kill it.

Firstly, her reasoning is faulty. Tigers are predators, meant to kill. Going by this logic, should we exterminate all carnivores in the animal kingdom? Well, then, we must kill ourselves, too. We are the worst threat to earth and everything on it, after all! Secondly, the statement, ‘because I don’t like them…” reeks of extreme self-indulgence. Very human, what!

Must we really think we are the centre of the universe? This thought alone is responsible for our sorry state…even in everyday life.

The end of the road trip left me wondering…what are we? My liking or disliking a thing doesn’t make it right or wrong. Or does it?

Is mankind really that great, having destroyed and survived off that single thought…because I….

The art of destroying is unique to human beings.

Reflections of an Eye...

2010-01-27T19:41:00.013+05:30

Ah! That was one long hiatus!

WHERE was I? For someone who has a rare clue of whether she is coming or going, I know exactly where I was: in a limbo. Yeah, that very indeterminate state writers have taken pains to explain and gagged in the process.

Well, for one, I had an accident. Eye. Before you start imagining a jealous woman having a go at me with bared claws for – ahem!- certain reasons, pause. It was my doing. Those were my claws and that was my cornea I wounded. No, I was not my own scapegoat for a Nazi-esque experiment. I merely put my rather untamed nail bang into the centre of my cornea and busted it. Nearly. My doc cluck-clucked a great deal and examined me twice a day for nearly a month.

Somewhere between the first and second day of this trouble, I decided to have a jolly good time and make the most of the situation, as they say. I could not see. Of course. Which meant I broke a lot of things about the house. (once or twice on purpose just to check if my mother kept her silence out of concern for me or merely did not notice that there was stuff missing!:D )

On a serious note, I touched base with myself after a long time. Sigh. After the initial embarrassment, we got along pretty well, my self and I. I made a few resolutions, one of them being I’d be gracious and brave even in the most trying times such as these when I could only listen to the TV. Tragic. But I scraped through.

I tuned my radio(now, this, is an exaggeration. No one TUNES radios these days, you only tune in!) and listened to the general riff-raff doling out meaningless stuff most of the time. Well, here are my wise observations of those trying times:

Get to know your house. You only think you know your way around the house. You don’t. Try walking around with your eyes shut tight. Don’t cheat.
You can actually enjoy listening to the TV. You’ll realize you don’t really like all the programmes you watch. Not like the yesteryears where the programmes made sense even without any visuals.
Conversations that take place without the TV set in front of you help you bond.
It IS possible to have a good time sitting at home, doing nothing. When there is nothing to distract your attention away, you are forced to be your own company and get to enjoy it.
Feeling your food and clothes makes you super aware of the fact that you are capable of a hell lot more independence than you give yourself credit for.
You tend to take everything for a lot less granted. Especially your family.

I have at least 10 more observations. But, the windows of my soul need a break.

So, I am going to sign off for now, but not without a potential threat of “There's more to come!”

Cheers!

Revenge of the Shakespeare Hater

2009-09-25T19:01:00.009+05:30

A strange thing happened the other day at a restaurant I was eating out at. Munching at the delicacies laid out, I had kinda ignored the French-fries that came along with the other stuff. A boy-man came up, stood beside me and made a funny argha-ahem noise. When I looked up, he cocked his head at the other end of my table and moved his thumb in a look-there kinda obscene gesture. In turn, I raised both my eyebrows, stopped munching, questioning him with a you-talking-to-me look. (God! Had I done something weird again?) My eyes quickly darted around. Nah, all seemed well. The BM(boy-man) tilted his head and stared at the food. Now, I’ve always prided myself on understanding sign language but this wasn’t anything close. So, I asked BM what the matter was. He looked ruefully at my table, “you gonna eat all that?” Strange q. It took a minute to understand he expected a civilized reply from me. I yes-I-ammm..ed. He said, “well, you have an appetite, huh!” What a moron! Before I could um-hun, he said, “I don’t think you’re gonna be able to eat the FF, too. You’re gonna throw them away and I hate people wasting food when the rest of the population starves.” He made a grab for my precious FF and said, “there, lemme take care of that.” NOT SO FAST, MISTER! Gimme my food back! “hey hey hey!” goes the nincompoop, “what’s a little pack of fries to you?” Unbelievable. He also looked at me as if I was taking HIS food away from him. “Take it back for all I care!” said he. The kids at McD were watching me, the parents looked accusingly at me, too. Saying, “What’s wrong with you, man?” he walked away, leaving me with a torn pack of fries in my hand.

Before I could walk down to the counter and talk to the manager, my 15 year old nephew marched in and led me away. Yeah, 'twas a prank played by a pack of juvenile dolts. This was punishment, you see, for making him memorise entire passages out of Shakespeare’s plays for his exam.

I have forgiven him and his pals.

Of course, not a day goes by when i don't do a little ‘heh-heh-heh jig’ and rub my hands together in sheer, malicious pleasure, for special effects. If only the kiddo knew what’s in store for him around his next exam.

An Ex Chief Minister & Me

2009-09-11T10:56:00.006+05:30

What do you suppose happens to former Chief Ministers of State who are no longer in the good graces of the government?

I’ll tell you. I have one living on the floor below mine.

Now this X was a CM of a large state in India. During her hey day, she minted money, got apartments as gifts every year, had a minstrelsy singing paeans in her honour, a huge gaggle of dour-looking security personnel…the works. I think I must add, all this was in Delhi, which was NOT where she ruled. Our parking lot was hogged by her various cars, the police protection truck(not van) was perpetually parked in the middle of the lane with the cops sitting on chairs, playing cards, passing comments and lewd looks each time a woman/girl passed by. All in all, they had a gala time. My door bell would constantly ring, sometimes at 11 PM, by those who assumed her flat extended up to the last floor, and, if they’d climbed an extra floor by mistake, they may as well ring the bell at the lone flat there and seek entry. Walking down the stairs (there’s no lift, you see) was a task, maneuvering past those hefty, smelly, guards. X was very particular about people leaving their shoes outside the house; so if you went bumbling down the steps coz you’d stepped over a dozen huge shoes in trying to get past, well, it was your headache.

A huge sense of relief came over all the neighbours when a Mr. Nice guy gifted her with a hi-fi flat in another place. Well, this was not meant to be. X was soon ousted from her position (she’d made some rather rebellious and unforgivable comments against the party seniors). Hell! She came back to live in our vicinity again. The scene hasn’t changed much, really, except for the missing police truck.

Sometimes, I pass her by as she walks with a black dog she has recently acquired (an astrologer told her to feed a black dog for good luck). Her 6 guards in navy blue safari suits walk at a distance behind her, giving each other looks as they shift the weight of their heavy rifles from one shoulder to another. Even the common tailor in a little garage shop nearby wonders why the ex-CM of ABC state is living like a queen in New Delhi. She is a nobody, has achieved absolutely nothing. Why should the common man have to pay for her expensive tastes? Why should her security personnel carry her lapdog around for her? Why should she be even provided with security? Nobody in the world wants to harm her- she’s so shunned & unwanted! Why should everyone stop their cars to let hers pass? What makes this 60 year old renovate her house every 6 months at the cost of public money?

As for me, I refuse to acknowledge her presence. If I chance upon her on the stairs, I look down at my toes and admire them till the stout woman with oily hair, clad in a petticoat and a kurta is safely out of my sight.

I don’t know what I can do at a social level; but at a personal one, I ensure she knows she cannot impact me in any way. No matter what she does to catch my attention(yes, this is what she has stooped to now to get a sense of control), I will not fan her ego with any kind of acknowledgment!

I Don't Know What to do Anymore :-(

2009-09-03T10:15:00.007+05:30

I have been extremely clueless for the last one week. You see, I don’t know what to do, anymore.

My motley group of friends and siblings suggested the following, strictly keeping me in mind, as they emphasized:

Become a food taster

Open a clothes store

Rebel at work, scream at the boss, get fired just for kicks

Try gardening without killing the plants and watering the weeds

Learn pottery(the only sensible solution)

Renounce the world, get going to the Himalayas

Get a nose job done

Get another degree

Be different: think negative

Act profound and stare when someone approaches my work desk

Pretend I’m an alien(this shouldn’t be tough, they reckoned)

Get a t’scope, peer without a break into the neighbour’s house

Learn to type with my toes

Develop a complex & hone it (this, they calculated, should keep me occupied for the rest of my life!)

Wear tattered clothes to work & roll up my eyes, nod & sigh when questioned

Transmigrate

Tonsure my head

Ask “But why?” with a poker face each time the super-annoying HR woman asks a question/opens her mouth to speak

Wow.

Am I overwhelmed or what. With such well-wishers, do I need enemies?

Signs by Zoo Wardens

2009-09-02T11:49:00.010+05:30

Interesting Signs by Zoo Wardens!:-)

On Being Tagged!

2009-08-22T12:16:00.007+05:30

When Kasabian Girl number tagged me, I broke out in cold sweat. At first, I froze and then went into a nervous frenzy. At a particular point, I even contemplated killing my blog altogether! Yeah, that’s how daunting the task seemed to me!

Then, I decided to face it all, what the heck. So here goes nothing.

1. Let’s see now. Err…the beginning of it all…including impossible lists like this one here.

2. That’s how many siblings I have. (And, we’re always warring!)

3. Email ids. I have 3 of them for…just for kicks.

4. This is tough…my multiple selves. (I am a little like Sibyl…she of the 16 (split) personality fame.)

5. The number of bedrooms I’d like to have in my house.

6. This is how many times I munch on food, on an average day! (Drat!)

7. The day I get my salary! Damn! This one’s enormously boring! 7..7…ah! The number of lives I’d like to have before I get liberated!

8. Different kinds of rides I’ve taken: Bullock cart, tricycle, horse cart, cycle rickshaw, scooter, car, airplane, donkey (yes! This, too!)

9. Favourite characters/people, fictional or not: Lawrence Olivier, Shylock (no, Kasabian girl, I ain’t borrowing. He’s my fav, too!), Rhett Butler, Calvin & Hobbes, Sherlock Holmes, Elizabeth Bennet, Iago, Anne of Green Gables, The Cheshire Cat, Bertie Wooster…errr…I think I just exceeded the list.

10. 10 movies I like: Life is Beautiful, Death at a Funeral, Shawshank Redemption, Sound of Music, The King & I, Pride & Prejudice, Mackenna’s Gold, My Fair Lady, The Scarlet Pimpernel(the Anthony Andrews version), Dial M for Murder.

Wait. There’s more. I know it ought to stop at 10.

11: The number of times I have taken a resolution in the last one hour to not go deranged and loony making lists like these! I swear you’ll have to take my pulse to check if I’m alive, such is the vacant, glassy & cold look in my eyes.

Here are some of the other people I’d like to tag(why should I leave them in peace?): Eternally Distracted, Saad, Distant Reflections, Indian Pundit, Jeannie, Arjun, Freelancer, Queen’s Reveries, Rare Sparks, Lorrin, Rohini Prashanth, Sourav, AD, Snapping Panda, kaka.

People, please carry on the tag!

{Psst: K Girl: I really had a good time doing this!:)}

Why is a Boss the Boss?

2009-08-20T15:52:00.013+05:30

I don’t know what to do about my boss!

Of late, I’ve become progressively clueless about how to deal with my boss. You see, of late, she has become increasingly, impossibly, forgetful and difficult to figure out.

Boss, looking at her laptop, furiously typing away: Who the hell approved of this newsletter? It’s outrageously gross!

Me, shifting the shocked eyes from her to the wall: Don’t you remember?

B, spreading her palms heavenwards: Am I supposed to?

Me, diplomatically, failing miserably: Not unless it’s you.

B, smiling: Oh! Change the designer, darling. He’s got no sense of colour or design.

Moi, sighing: Err…ok. (Here, I must mention I'm a poor little writer.)

Now, this kinda stuff happens at least twice a day. Formats are thoroughly approved. Once filled in, they're sent right back. They suddenly make no sense. Eventually, after a frenzy of to and fro, what was dismissed 2 months back will need to be redone to suit the current needs. Can you imagine what kind of time we are wasting? At the end of the day, it ought to be ‘met/not met deadline.’ Maybe someone worked until they went comatose trying to work at night, maybe not. Who cares as long as your targets are spot-on?

She does. She-who-should-not-be-named.

You see, here’s the logic: if you are someone who performs, you’re good to perform in all other fields as well. So, there’s a poor team member who is punished for being bright. If she can write, she can research. If she can research, she may as well find out what the competition is doing. And, while she is at it, she should also find out which PR agency is the best. Here, I am told to pitch in my expertise. I should find a printer. Oh! She forgot, I first need to do a couple designs to show the publisher what goes where. Could we please decide upon a new marketing brochure? She’d like to see it on an urgent basis. And, it slipped out of her mind to tell both of us to hire a new graphic designer. This is too much, I say! Ok, I’ll tell her HR woman to look for new people. “Oh! Heavens, no! The poor HR woman is too busy with other paperwork.” Hadn’t we seen her go dotty already? My colleague and I exchange looks and are both about to say something when she adds, “And make sure this new bloke has common sense. I don’t want another fellow who confuses blue with brown.”

Right!

The thing here is this: the logic provided is so complicatedly confusing and convincing at that time, you find yourself staring ahead, certain it’s your job and no one else’s! The most you can muster, then, is a duh-I say-duh-course-yeah! And feel jolly good about being the chosen one.

Later, you can fume or spew fire or froth at your mouth in revolt, but the harm has been done.

I am going to go looking for tutorials on how-to-hedge/hypnotise/fox-your-boss.

Any ideas?

Facebook Status Madness

2009-08-17T10:26:00.014+05:30

A new madness has erupted on the scene: Facebook status updates. (As if the very in short-forms-(ab)use wasn't enough to drive one mad!) Looks like it has taken over the common sense and minds of a lot of people, some of them dear to me, yet others mere acquaintances. Even while holidaying, their status will change on an hourly basis, vividly describing whatever it is they may be doing. A coupla instances: “In Paris, enjoying the most delicious champagne and eating the best sizzlers in the world!” Hmm… well, if I were really enjoying all of that, would I be FB-ing my status thus or just getting soaked in that feeling? Here’s another: “Amazed by the way Italian people build their bathrooms! There are mirrors on the ceiling and placed in a way your lover can see you taking a shower from the bedroom!” Or this one here: “Going to get my son potty-trained. Any suggestions?” (!!! Why would anyone want to put up their son’s toilet-training rituals on FB?) What do you think of this one: “Losing at chequers!” Is it any wonder you’re losing, says me…you’re busy facebook-ing! Another one: “Waiting to soak myself in my fiancé’s parent’s hot water bath tub!” Wow! How exciting!

Come on! I mean there are limits, you know, to what you will put up as your STATUS! On a freaking HOLIDAY, what’s more! It’s as if you’ll gasp, choke, faint or die if you didn’t let it all out on FB.

I have tried and tried and tried some more…and yet, any kind of sensible explanation for all of the above continues to elude me. The only conclusion I can reach to is that it is an obsession. Had such status updates been done by someone unknown to me, I’d have reckoned they were trying to brag and showoff. But, no, this is pure and simple addiction, mania or a compulsion…and, at worst, a need to communicate to anyone out there.

Wonder how Freud would have interpreted this fixation. Would have blamed this, too, on the Oedipal complex, maybe!

10 THINGS TO DO AT WORK TOMORROW

2009-08-08T09:56:00.008+05:30

For all youse folks wanting revenge at work, at the cost of whomsoever-you-may-come across :-)

1. Ignore the first five people who say 'good morning' to you.

2. To signal the end of a conversation, clamp your hands over your ears and grimace.

3. While riding in an elevator, gasp dramatically every time the doors open.

4. When in elevator with one other person, tap them on the shoulder and pretend it wasn't you.

5. Finish all your sentences with "In accordance with the prophecy..."

6. Don't use any punctuation.

7. Interrupt your conversation with someone by giving a huge Dejected sigh.

8.Use your highlighter pen on the computer screen.

9. Shout random numbers while someone is counting.

10. Every time you get an email, shout ''email.''

Of Secretaries and Receptionists…

2009-08-06T11:16:00.018+05:30

Have you noticed how receptionists and secretaries have a way of being a really annoying species? Except, of course, to the boss.

I know one who is perpetually on the official phone through the day, gossiping and back-biting about anyone she cares to tittle-tattle about. Low voice, head turned towards the wall, looking serious…you get the picture. You tell her to hang up (partly because everyone around is sick to the bone transferring calls for her) and you get scowls, frowns and intense hate vibes…if looks could kill, you’d be burnt to ashes – and charcoal black ones at that! This one is very clever. You see, she doesn’t know her job. And, so, before anyone can point a finger, she goes on the offensive and reports it all to the boss, giving a real sob story. Wait, there’s more: she seems to be organizing people, giving them a dressing down each time the boss is in the hearing vicinity! What would the honcho think? That the woman is a conscientious, hard worker and the rest of the pack is like rats jumping around when the cat’s gone out.

Groan! The way everyone suffers! The phone is never available, her reports are done by another (tis easier to do them yourself than chase her and ask her to do them), she comes in late and alters the attendance time, calls are connected (if at all) to the wrong person, you want to be connected to so and so and that’s exactly when the person to be called will not take the call or his number would be busy, people calling in are treated like pests (they’ve disturbed her personal call, you see), their phone call is transferred without as much a please-be-on-hold-while-I-transfer-you to them or an xyz-has-called to you…the list is endless! Would you believe she deliberately makes mistakes so you don’t ask her to do the same work again? Oh! You are also asked deeply personal questions, rather nonchalantly in a group that could leave you redder than a beetroot and squirming and writhing in your chair. Worse: if you don’t answer, it’s repeated with a different style. THAT is something she never runs out of. Her love life is extremely happening and I doubt if there is anyone from the cantankerous errands boy to the dull accountant who is unaware of that!

The worst was last week when a manager was rudely told to “shoot me a mail” beforehand if they wanted to be connected on the phone to anyone! I wonder how much bigger this milk and food guzzling organism will become for her boots.

Sigh! The future sure looks bleak…

Customer Apathy

2009-07-25T11:58:00.010+05:30

I so hate it when a customer care guy says, “But no one else seems to have a problem…” Come on, GIMME A BREAK! You mean I’m calling you for cheap thrills? Do I look like I care if no one else seems to be having the same problem? I do!

A small example of a usual phone conversation with my mobile service provider call centre guys. “I haven’t got my phone bill/an alert SMS from you. I don't know how much I owe you. As usual” CCE: “Oh! I am sorry.” Silence.

Tell me, wouldn’t you wonder? So I mutter a care-to-tell-me-the-amount-due. CCE: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Silence. And a bored one.

Time to take charge, I think. “Look here, abc, it doesn’t matter if you are sorry or not. I need to know how much I need to pay!” CCE: “Well, we can make sure you get e-bills in the future, but we can’t do much about the past.” Man! He was daft!! He continues: “You WILL get your bill this time. Trust me.” Like hell I do! I bark at him, which gets me my answer, finally.

Ok…another thing, I haven’t been getting text messages from my friends for the last one week – none at all. Earlier, it’d be one-off, now it’s worse & frequent. CCE: “No? Sorry, but we haven’t heard of this complaint from anyone else.” Silence. A dead one, this time.

Was I wrong if I lost it? So, just because no one has complained to your oh-so-super-screwed company, does that make me a psycho who thrives on giving cc guys calls through the day? Snicker. Not mine. His.

I asked to be connected to his supervisor, complained(read: ranted) and got a whole load of promises. Out of sheer rage, I also lodged a formal complaint against the cc guy, sent a ‘VERY BAD’ as an option answer to the post-cc text message service they have, AND answered all the questions in a negative when I got a call-back from the company, asking about the cc guy. Sounds spiteful, but if this is what you are doled out each time you want a solution, so be it. And, it wasn’t a phone fault. I had my cell checked twice.

I have, since, changed my service provider.

Unfortunately, this one’s worse. I can’t even begin to tell you how dead they sound. Sigh!

Shoe Trouble

2009-07-20T17:20:00.007+05:30

A couple of friends were discussing their annoyance over shoes that just wouldn’t last.

Sigh!

Mine just don’t break! Yeah, I know. It IS a unique problem. Do what I may, my footwear just refuses to allow me to throw it away without feeling guilty. I am rather fed up. And, believe you me, I am not somebody who walks gingerly or carefully. Which is what makes it worse. More often than not, I find myself giving away practically new shoes, which makes my family wince. They have little idea of how old they are and I am so unable to explain my predicament to them! What looks new, is new. Period.

I think the time is right for a second sigh.

A lot many people have wondered at my jam. In fact, a few have even tried to help me out of this pickle. Run on loose gravel. Keep them out in the sun for a couple of days. Soak them in water. Dip my feet in tar. Moonwalk. Right.

As I write this silly little post, I marvel at those who are able to buy new footwear “because the old ones gave way.” What wouldn’t I do to be in their shoes!

Ugh! Somebody Shoot Me!

2009-07-17T11:12:00.016+05:30

Egad!

Yes. I’m quite exasperated. With educated people who have scant sense of manners. Here are a couple of things I am fed up with:

People sticking to you in a queue.(Holy mother of god!)
People borrowing pens and miscellaneous stationary stuff from your desk without asking.
People peering to see who’s calling when your cell phone rings, or, alternately, answering your calls in your absence.
People leaving their plates or glass behind on the table for someone else to pick up and put into the sink after they leave.
People reaching out across you for something on the table instead of requesting you to pass it to them.(I ask you!)
People making sudden turns on the road without signaling and staring at you as if it's your fault you couldn't read their mind!
QUALIS call centre drivers who think they can shrink their vehicle on the road and drive under this delusion.
People driving in the middle of the road at 30 kmph and not letting you pass.
People who are noisy eaters and talk while chewing food! (YUCK!)
People peering over your shoulder to see what you are reading/doing on the computer.
People barging into a/your room without as much as an ahem (knocking? What’s that?)
People who don’t return borrowed books/CD’s.
People rushing inside a movie hall even though their seats are assigned (Gawd! Why do people do this?)
Men opening their woman’s bag to take whatever out.

THE WORST:

People (educated, at that) thinking nothing is wrong with all of the above and wondering why you are making such a row about it!

What annoys you to the point of tearing your hair out, brandishing your teeth, banging your head against the wall, stomping your feet till the earth gives way and such like?

A Discussion on a Small Aspect of Social Hypocrisy

2009-07-13T11:35:00.014+05:30

A rather thought-provoking discussion took place the other day: why are people in

India

so obsessively crazy about Bollywood stars? A lot many of them don’t know how to behave, are criminals, hypocrites, no-gooders. They get drunk and drive over people, hunt when hunting is banned, carry around unlicensed weapons, beat up women, have little or no moral or social values. Why, then, are there long queues in front of their houses? Why do people listen to them when they campaign for various political leaders? Why do they appeal to people in spite of being rogues? Is it because people love rebels?

Well, why is it that people look down upon prostitutes (their children are denied admission in schools) and adore actresses dressed in hard-to-find-clothes, strutting around doing whatever it is that the movie “demands,” hugging and doing what not with a different “hero” each time? Most of them don’t even know how to act, for crying out loud! What special skill makes them ‘respectable?’ It is a well-known fact (remember those millions of sting operations?) that a lot of wanna-be actresses and top models have been known to be high-end call girls and escorts. What separates them from a regular prostitute? Beauty? Good PR?

Why must people be so hypocritical? What is it that a Salman Khan (he, of the drinking-and-running-over-people-and-beating-his-girlfriends-to-a-pulp fame) of the country will have to offer? How does he become a “hero?”

Whose Line is it, Anyway? Arbitrary Thoughts on My Many Faces.

2009-07-10T11:55:00.013+05:30

Absurdly, a statement from a desperate wanna-be set me thinking. A very belligerent woman, she said she was soft at the core but had to pretend to be brash to save herself from being mangled by the “wolves” of the industry.

Hmm. I realized I had a coupla faces myself. One for home, another for work, one for friends, yet another for strangers. I must be leaving people pretty befuddled. Imagine a group of people comprising a family member, a chaddi friend, a colleague, an acquaintance, an ex-flame, a stranger (to me, that is), and a person I don’t get along with. If they were to discuss me, they’d probably all have different things to say, quite like those 7 blind men, all touching different parts of the elephant and having totally varied and diverse things to conclude about the poor animal. Each, of course, positive that their unique experience was THE one; that the others didn’t know any better.

You get the drift.

Obviously, one can’t be the same with everyone one meets. Some would say it’s hypocritical. I’d say it’s essential. There is no greater pleasure than to be yourself; and of course, that’s the real you coz you don’t have your antennae up. You aren’t worried about being judged. That said, again, there is no greater pleasure than being a total mystery to the one you can’t tolerate! :-)Let ‘em keep guessing. The minute they conclude I am a snob, I belie that and do something sweet! Keep 'em on their toes!

Mean? Maybe. But when people are out to walk all over you, you have only so many options. Become a doormat, try to change their way of thinking, care a fig or confuse them. Actually, confuse-if-you-can’t-convince seems to work pretty well.

Well, most of the time.

When it doesn’t, I take the “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!” route. Believe you me, it works.

The Best of P.G. Wodehouse!

2009-07-08T11:52:00.011+05:30

Snippets from PGW for all you PGW lovers!

* Bertie Wooster; "Well Jeeves, this gentleman who just visited me, was he a fellow with a belly like a boiled potato and face like a cauliflower?"

Jeeves, the perfect butler, with a poker face: "Certainly Sir. There is much resemblance to the vegetables that you mentioned."

Bertie: "A rather stout and fat party, eh?"

Jeeves: "Well sir, I wouldn't attribute the same adjectives myself, but certainly a gentleman with generous proportions."

* My Aunt Dahlia has a carrying voice... If all other sources of income failed, she could make a good living calling the cattle home across the Sands of Dee. She fitted into my biggest armchair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing armchairs tight about the hips that season.

* Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing-glove.

* You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.

* Scarcely had I entered the sitting-room when I found ... what appeared at first sight to be the Devil, A closer scrutiny informed me that it was Gussie Fink-Nottle, dressed as Mephistopheles. (can you imagine saying this about your own pal?!!!!)

* We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.

* In build and appearance, Tuppy somewhat resembles a bulldog, and his aspect now was that of one of these fine animals who has just been refused a slice of cake.

* Aunt Agatha is like an elephant—not so much to look at, for in appearance she resembles more a well-bred vulture, but because she never forgets.

And, one of his best:
It was a confusion of ideas between him and one of the lions he was hunting in Kenya that had caused A. B. Spottsworth to make the obituary column. He thought the lion was dead, and the lion thought it wasn't.

And, some more...

* She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say "when."

* The Duke of Dunstable had one-way pockets. He would walk ten miles in the snow to chisel an orphan out of tuppence.

* The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.

* It is a good rule in life never to apologize.

* The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them.

* I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that . . . just loafed, I suppose.

*As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.

* Marriage isn't a process of prolonging the life of love, but of mummifying the corpse.

* The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea!

* There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.

* He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.

* I always advise people never to give advice.

* Wilfred Allsop was sitting up, his face pale, his eyes glassy, his hair disordered. He looked like the poet Shelley after a big night out with Lord Byron.

* She wrinkles her nose at me as if I were a drain that had got out of order.

* The Aberdeen terrier gave me an unpleasant look and said something under his breath in Gaelic eye swiveling round stopped me like a bullet. The Wedding Guest, if you remember, had the same trouble with the Ancient Mariner.

Section 377: Time to be Gay

2009-07-03T10:30:00.019+05:30

A rather animated discussion was taking place when I walked in to my workplace. Topic: the revised Article 377 of the Indian constitution that makes gay rights legal, simply said. 5 men said it is not moral, 1 woman said it had nothing to do with morals.

The guys said now they’d have to go in burqas…afraid that any man might ask them to marry them on the road! Ridiculous. They also said one may as well legalize drugs, robbery and poison. They said it was unnatural, immoral and just not right. Gays ought to be sent to jail!

In this case, the eunuchs ought to be killed! Because that, too, is not natural, yes? But, then, that was different, they said in a chorus. Ah. And, how was that different, may I ask? Just because they were “different” physically? Is that all? So, just because a person looks different, it is natural. But, if he feels differently because it is natural for him/her to feel that way, it is illegal! Drugs, poison are harmful to life…being gay doesn’t kill…it’s just a sexual inclination, for crying out loud! What if YOU did not feel naturally attracted to men/women, as the case may be, however hard you tried? How can you force someone to be attracted to a particular sex when they feel absolutely nothing? Imagine asking such a person to get married to a ‘normal’ person! It’s atrocious, unfair …for both the individuals. In fact, it may even amount to rape.

I am aware of people pretending to be gay because they are bored or turn gay for the sake of shock-value, money, favours or attention – that is another matter. The discussion, here, is about people who are inherently different, not for the sake of kicks.

Every individual has a right to be themselves, as long as it doesn’t harm or injure anyone in any way. Why should we accept and consider only physical differences as normal? Just because it is obvious? Should I be considered a freak because I think, feel, react differently? Or, because how I am, is not ‘common?’ Am I to be not accepted because in your experience, I act contrarily to a system of universal or personal belief? How hypocritical, insensitive and lopsided a perspective/belief is that? Going by this, corruption should be legalised…isn’t it common? That is immoral. Pedophiles and rapists ought to be sent to jail, not souls who cannot bring themselves to feel the way ‘straight’ people do.

I think it is time we looked at things from a different angle…take a more comprehensive look; accept and recognize that people can be different, singular and unlike us…and just because they cannot feel the way they are supposed to "traditionally" feel doesn’t make them any less of a human being.

Fame mongers! I ask you!

2009-07-01T14:02:00.019+05:30

Rakhi Sawant...sigh! The woman who, despite multiple plastic surgeries, enhancements and what-have-you, still looks like a distorted mask, claims to become an “ideal wife” on national television!

Gimme a break! For a C-grade someone, she sure has gone overboard in acting demure and pure! The struggling item girl-turned big-boss-celebrity-turned-virginal-actor will now get married on TV! What will people not do for publicity and eyeballs! First a bhartiya-nari charade on being kissed, then a sob story about her life, a coupla third rate minute-long appearances in bhojpuri films and now this! Come on, she doesn’t even sound convincing!

Remember what happened to Rick Rockwell, the silhouetted multi-millionaire figure, in 'Who Wants to Marry a Multi-millionaire?' It so turned out neither was the man a multi-millionaire nor was the marriage real! The woman was paid to act along. They all got what they wanted: spotlight. By the way, the so-called marriage was annulled 2 months later.

Alas! There are some who think people like Rakhi are great. Haven’t I heard the “at least they are honest” dialogue a million times? Honest about what? The stories are “leaked” as media hype. One knows the truth is bound to come out sooner or later. Remember Mallika Sherawat? Turned out she was married and had concocted all those crazy stories of supposed ill-treatment.

Poor MJ’s not even buried when his ex comes up and reveals the goriest of details about their bedroom and what not. Is this the time, I ask you!

What IS the matter with people? What will they not do for a bubble reputation! One has to achieve higher goals, but at what cost?

MJ: More Sinned Against than Sinning…

2009-06-26T11:55:00.028+05:30

No, I am not a fan. But, I still think MJ was a man more sinned against than sinning. And, now, he shall sing no more.

A celebrity hounded. It’s unfortunate that a lot of people remember him for the wrong reasons. Enduring physical and mental abuse by your own father for years is not a simple thing. Growing up branded in a cruel world that thinks nothing of you if you ain’t white or rich can be psychologically devastating.

But, MJ not only made it, he made it like no other! His was THE breakthrough. He is the reason other African-American singers were noticed and recognized.

Not for nothing was he described as, “an unstoppable juggernaut, possessed of all the tools to dominate the charts seemingly at will…” He had star power and that fact is undeniable. Remember him for his music, his songs, his voice, his dance moves…forget the rest…he was human, like us. So what if he got a nose job/other surgical treatments? Don’t forget – he grew up believing black was not beautiful. Isn’t that something the society needs to feel responsible for? What’s wrong in wanting a better nose anyway? He was just another human who wanted to look better than he thought he did. Is that a crime? Any one else would go unnoticed; but, just because it’s “MJ,” people badger, attack, stab, gibe, mock, twist, distort.

Limelight does strange things to people. Maybe he was weird or a rebel. So what? He was a man who could not only hold but arrest your attention. And, for decades! How can you forget his path-breaking work?

Let him be…let's not judge...he made mistakes…we all do. Life is complicated. Let’s celebrate him for what he was: a singer, a dancer like no other, a song-writer. The rest does not matter. As Auden once wrote for Yeats, so it is for MJ:

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all;

Sing of human unsuccess

In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart

Let the healing fountain start,

In the Prison of his days,

Teach the free man how to praise...

Of the Divine...random thoughts...

2009-06-24T13:22:00.016+05:30

A rather controversial and interesting topic: the Divine. Is it essential to bow down to a higher power? Different takes, different strokes, some pale, come coloured, few accepting, many severe…

I, for one, cannot believe that the Divine doles out scrolls of punishments and rewards according to what it thinks is right or wrong. That, indeed, is a VERY human behavioral pattern. If it is the DIVINE, it should be without ego, pride, wrath and other human attributes, if you know what I mean. After all, that’s what makes it divine…that’s what gives it power. I cannot believe the D is divine because it has the power to strike plagues and smote people out of sheer vengeance. Anyway.

The point is, the yogis’ (NOT THE HINDUS!) standpoint has been this: optimize the body to reach to the highest level a human can reach physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. From nothingness to nothingness. With a world of a difference, of course between the two.

Coming back to the main topic, given the divinity of the D, would He/She want servile, subservient, begging, toadying, apple-polishing, cowering 'devotees' or would the D want each soul to rise to its own height and scope, irrespective of praise or censure? I think, tis the latter.

Leads me to another aspect. Think it’s easier for people to act subservient, grovel and denigrate themselves, be so-called sinners than to take charge, sit themselves down and ask: what went wrong/is the problem, what can ‘I’ do to change it. Was I responsible for it in any way? I think very few people are brave enough to take complete responsibility for their actions, words and life. We'd much rather live with passing off responsibilty on another force than accept the harsh, brutal truth. Juvenile, but there it is.

I personally think the D would like a human more in tune with itself, more wanting to be 'in-charge' despite the given condition, work/slog it out than give in to the ‘kismet’ bit. I go to a dentist, he screws up my mouth coz he didn’t have enough expertise/right knowledge about the medicine…that ain’t kismet. It’s a human fault, not justice meted out by the D for a probable past life. The doc should have been more ethical, he should have made me aware about the possible side-effects of the medicine before venturing into treating me. Control what you can- each one, not just me.

Kismet ain’t punishment. It’s learning. Learn and you grow, fail and the patterns will keep repeating till one learns.

Returning to the point: prayer isn’t asking…it’s a dialogue between you and your higher self, which is the Divine. The D ain’t a separate entity…we have separated Him by moving away from the Centre…

Life in Transit...

2009-03-07T19:52:00.010+05:30

How does it feel to be in a place that may best be called transit? Has your life been in transit, ever? When you knew you had moved away from the past, were waiting for the future, not yet there? Life in transit can be dull…or not, depending on the perspective you choose to carry.
I have seen a lot many people getting frustrated coz they want to move to the next destination but can’t. A lot others eventually move on but wistfully look back at the time they were in that in-between situation of life. What is it about that state that bothers people? Is it the ‘don’t-know-what’s-in-store’ factor? Impatience? Or is it fear? I think it’s a pretty decent place to be in, if you look at it from that angle. You have left something behind, something you can never go back to, for better or worse. You have this life ahead about which you have very little clue. So what? Can’t the present be enjoyed without perpetually singing the I wonder what’s in store for me jingle? Remember what what’s-his-name said…
What might have been is an abstractionRemaining a perpetual possibilityOnly in a world of speculation.What might have been and what has beenPoint to one end, which is always present.

If all it boils down to, is the present, then will fretting and worrying do much other than send you down a mental disquietude lane? Life in transit ain’t that bad, after all. Look around you…people are moving about doing things they always do. They’re either working, or married, or raising kids, generally. They are all there somewhere. But again, are they? Maybe that’s not what you’d like. Maybe, just maybe, life has a different route set out for you. Isn’t it worth the wait? It’s important to just live the moment, even if it means watching others do the dance of life. You are at a vantage point…all-seeing, as it were. An observer in the grandstand of life. Not bad for someone who is, technically, nowhere. :)

You know it all better- having seen it all objectively. You know where to pull the strings, where to draw the line.

So, nowhere man, please listen, you don’t know what you’re not missing…quit fretting and start enjoying the place you’re in! … Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

Invictus...

2009-03-02T10:29:00.004+05:30

Here is a fav poem of mine by William Ernest Henley. Check out the last lines ine each stanza:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods there may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet, the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

"Break, Break, Break....."

2008-12-31T09:56:00.006+05:30

This is one of Tennyson's best & my fav:

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

How Much?

2008-12-26T22:19:00.009+05:30

How much? Kitne ka? WHAT! Are there diamonds in there?
This cacophony of shrill and crass voices brought my attention to the source of the sound. I turned around to see two youngish women, identically dressed in jeans so tight I wondered how in the world they'd got 'em on, streaked hair, make-up & what have you. (Ah! No, I have nothing against the D&G bags...and the rest of it either)They stood there, pouting. I turned back to look at the artisan who looked at them with the kinda benign patience only a poor man can have.(Oh, by the way, I was in a tribal art & craft fest)If you were to look at this potter's wares, created outta mud, wrought in fire and sweat, you'd feel the same way I did: horrified at the words of the women. What he'd created in a remote village of Maharashtra was mind-boggling. Creativity, beauty, art at its ethnic best! What these women found "expensive" was a foot scrub, a curved fish shaped as if it were in the last throes of death. Rs 50. That's all. The younger of the two then looked at other stuff, found it ridiculous and moved on to the next stall. The potter and I exchanged looks. It was an odd moment. I plopped down next to him. He sighed and said nothing. I let him be silent. After a bit, I asked him about his work. This chap comes all the way from a tiny hamlet in a Godforsakenplace, travels for 2 days in a general compartment of a messy train, all the while wondering if his goods will reach Delhi intact or not, pays a huge amount of money to be in a place like Dilli Haat and is not even entitled to earn a few pennies as profit? His hands are magical...they create such beautiful shapes outta the shapeless mass! He even has fridge magnets moulded into exaggerated heads of animals, people...even tiny V-shaped chappals! All these are glazed and in different colours typical of India. He's also got miniscule cups and saucers, threaded to be hung on a kitchen door...I mean his goods are so NOT run-of-the-mill. But then, how can a woman who lacks imagination, wears what the others wear, carries bags that are supposedly carried by the elite(shucks! people are so dying to be 'like' somebody!)and probably buys stuff only from the malls, ever know what it is like to appreciate the smaller things of life? She is running after the west so blindly that she has no time to "stand and stare" (Wordsworth said that?) at the beauty that is there in the 'unbranded' things of life.
Hmm...I looked at this potter's dark face, white teeth, silver hair, knotted fingers, bare feet,, bent back...and his life kinda flashed before my eyes. I felt deeply touched.
As the old man sipped tea, a gaggle of giggly teenagers passed us, tarried for a bit, and moved on, exclaiming...eee...didya see that or what!
It was time to move on. My bags and I found our way back to a small bench, where I sat down and wondered...I don't know what this woman must have bought( I have serious doubts if she managed to buy anything at all...she wouldn't have liked to buy a banana-skin bag, a coconuthusk tray or mugs made out of lavastone) but I do know this: with all the education and the frills, if one cannot appreciate the unpretentious things of life, it can't be called life...it's merely a semblance of it...and one, then, is not living, one is hurrying on to finish up life.

A little note on Jack...

2008-12-24T10:57:00.003+05:30

Someone close-by made a comment about someone: such a jack of all trades and master of none!
Hmm…and what, may I ask, is wrong in that? We all can’t be the Da Vincis, Diors or who’s-who of the world. So, for us common mortals, is it really wrong to be jack of all trades? Not really, I think. In fact, I think Jacks are at a better advantage given their sheer expanse of experience in multiple areas. Now, imagine, can a master architect, in really severe times, do clothes, dabble in paint or fix a doorbell/leaking faucet? You get the basic drift. Now, our Jack has tried his hand at banking, electronics, cooking, sculpture…a little bit of it all. Maybe he ain’t the best, but his is a better perspective. He understands more. Appreciates more. He is wiser. His is not the judgment of the frenzied one-sided, blinkered old horse. When he gives opinions, they are more the valuable for their rounded angle. His life is more varied, he has more opportunities. In times of need, he is the one person who can multi-task coz he’s been-there-done-that...no tiny thing, he. Imperfect, yes; out-of-work, never. Now, this is not to deny a master his due. This is just in favour of the Jacks who feel it ain’t good till you’re a CEO of the blah-de-blah.
Times are a-changing. No longer is there a need to feel ashamed, Jack if you ain’t somebody. You can always make yourself useful. Remember Mr. Ashley who couldn’t do anything other than be a soldier in Gone With the Wind? I’m afraid, I’m not much good at anything, Scarlett. Sigh! Whatever you may be, Jack, you sure ain’t a loser. You can always paint or teach.
Or, maybe, write a blog? :)

Of Gentle Reminders...

2008-12-16T09:51:00.007+05:30

A couple of days ago, I went to a remote region in Haryana with a friend who wanted to buy an agricultural tract of land. After several twisty roads (if you may so call ‘em) we reached a place where two roads met. Obviously we took the more travelled one. Once in the village, we met up with the village head of land affairs. In case you're worried, this write-up is not about benefits of agriculture, la “krishidarshan” on Doordarshan.
Well, hesitatingly at first, we had to hop on to the local vehicle available (read: bullock cart) coz the car from the city would not be able to bear the harshness of the rough & severe path that’d lead to the site or what everyone in the village called a “ploat” (plot). Several meandering, dusty, umm…in-ways…(dunno what else to call a no-road kinda road)later, suddenly came upon one of the most arresting and pleasant sites I’ve seen in a long time: a vassssstttt undulating area filled with sarson…bright & green & yellow, swaying in the wind. A real feast to the starved eyes. While X (let’s call my friend that, for the sake of simplicity) conversed and discussed and discussed some more with the main farmer, all I could think of was…nothing. My mind did not, could not, race or flit from one topic to a disconnected another. Suddenly, X & the other chap stopped talking. The silence in the fields became positively overwhelming. All I could hear was the musical interplay of the delicate sarson, rising and falling; see the entire area change hue as the yellow heads ducked and the green became more prominent. It was magical. It was picture perfect.
Pop.
I was being asked for my opinion. Oops…err, yes, X, it’d be perfect. Eh? An acre? Buy the whole area! Yes, I am sure…BUY! What more could you want? This place was perfect…build a little cottage and surround yourself in this sight, this smell, this sound of silence. Your concrete jungle will never take you to this...this... heightened sense of well-being, tranquillity and harmony.
Once back to the “oppice” (office), we were offered a most delicious cuppa masala tea and a box of sweetmeats. Whoa…why sweets? We hadn’t struck a deal yet, not even spoken about it. My antennae were up, trust factor plummeting to zero. What was he trying to get at? As if sensing my discomfort, the man offered, “We can’t let you go empty-handed.” His bronzed face, missing teeth and humble voice left me feeling that somewhere, I’d become a victim of the cruel, calculating, modern times that have repeatedly taught us to never trust anyone.
I was humbled.
I’m back to the concrete jungle. Surprisingly, each time I am weary and tired, in vacant or in pensive mood the dancing fields flash upon that inward eye;
Then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils…
It is a totally underdeveloped, unsophisticated little hamlet that provides me with comfort when my “modern,” urban, fast life sets my being in a tizzy. Ironic or what.

Sis, Perspective & Me...

2008-12-05T10:11:00.014+05:30

My sister just left for the States. I'd known for more than 5 months that she'd leave around the last quarter. Yet, when the moment actually came, it hit me hard. You see, I'm the sort of person who can distance herself emotionally. Sometimes it is a hard, conscious effort, sometimes self-suggestion, at times escapism, and many a time logic. Therefore, outta-sight-outta-mind. I thought I'd apply one of my usual techniques this time, too. My sis stayed for 3 days, we had a blast, trying to enjoy every single moment before she'd leave with her husband for a good 4 years. We chatted, gossiped, visited people, and yakked some more till our bodies revolted. Hmm... why wasn't I happy? All through her packing, (which is an on-the-face sign of "leaving," I wasn't affected.) I mean, I'd decided to be happy. Half the time, we think of ourselves, how we are going to feel and base our judgment or opinion on that. Ergo, since I was not going to have a skewed perception, since I was going to be logical and reasonable, I was glad she was going. Oh, another thing you ought to know about me...I've never been a conventionally good elder sister. I know I've missed playing with her when we were kids/teenagers, missed being close to her because of a most crazy, psychologically stupid ...imbalance of mind. This is how I can best describe myself as far as my relationship with kid sis is concerned. It's only lately I've realised how important she is in my life, my thoughts, my emotions...& I so hate myself for being mean and outrageously cruel to her...for spoiling the best years of my life being idiotically distant from her.

And now, she's gone.

On our way back from the airport, mom had tears, dad was talking a little too much & I listened to a Jethro Tull number...or was it Jones? Perspective. Angle. Logic. No emotions. She's happy, I'm happy. Period.

Why am I wearing the oversize slippers she left behind, using the purse she couldn't carry? Why haven't I as much as glanced at her room? Why couldn't I sleep? And why was I silent at work? Why can't I stop my tears each time I think of her? Why am I writing this?

Perspective be damned. I as hell can't help missing her. She means more to me than I'd realised, more than anyone else ever can. And, yes, I am happy for her. It's just that I am totally miserable without her physical presence, her silly smile, her one-liners, her comments, her jokes...This time, I am not going to get rid of my emotions. I am going to allow myself to feel. After all, she's my sister.

And I love her.

Of Yoga & Peace...Journal of the Journey

2008-11-16T12:07:00.027+05:30

Ok, so I decided to join a yoga course. Normal, you'd say. Yeah, so I thought...some light floor exercises, a coupla deep breathing techniques & voila!Ha! Wasn't I in for a surprise! Lemme just provide a brief history of 30 days. (Oh, by the way, you must remember I am someone who had a most divine habit of waking up at 8 in the morning. Going for yoga meant goodbye to that.)
Day 1: Yikes! Overslept! Hop, skip & jump out of the bed at 6.15 a.m. Run into the door of the bathroom(it takes time, you know, for the brain lights to come on & I ran before my brain could register I'd woken up.)Steady, ol' girl! Ah...brush etc, run down a long flight of steps, bundle into the car, honk, honk...(I didn't need to, actually, but I was in a state of panic & that's how I vented.) Reached the sprawling studio at last, tiptoed into the silent room, took off my shoes, grabbed a mat & lay down next to an over-proportioned aunty who gave me you're-disturbing look with her bulbous eyes. Striken, I lay down quietly. The instructor's voice was calm, collected and sonorous. Close your eyes, now mentally imagine your toes are reelaxxeedd....Oh hell! I'd forgotten to send an important email! Bring your awareness back to your body, now breathe easy..inhale to the count of 4...Man, I sure hope Rakesh doesn't send me a stinking reminder...Gently open your eyes & sit up slowly...Bloody Hell! Why am I so forgetful? Now, let's get ready for Suryanamaskar. Wha...? Oh ok...ATTTENNSHUUN! Ok...I'm back. Now, Suryanamaskar can be a very gruelling task, esp when you have to stay in 12 rather trying positions and inhale/exhale exactly when the instructor tells you to. Post SN, we had to do coupla asanas that looked easy but were tougher than floor gymnastics when you got down to doing them. By the end of the one & a half hour session, I was bruised and battered in my soul. I could neither touch whatever it is I had to in most of the asanas nor stand on one leg for more than half a second, or pretend to be a bird. It was all so slow, so steady...why couldn't I do it?
Day 7: Groan, darn...Still wake up with aches & pains. Nothing but a will to succeed takes me to the class, only 5 mins late this time. The Kapalbhati kriya is in progress & in my keenness to follow them, Gak! I choke. I don't believe it. I have managed to disturb the entire class! Raghavan manages to put the session back on track & becomes my personal instructor for that hour. I see the rest of them doing it all so well & me....shoulders tense, spine bent & a face purple with all that effort. SN isn't that tough although I do feel the strain on the hamstring muscles. You see, I am a survivor & I don't like to give up. So, several twisty postures later, I am sure I'll get it all one day ... and, till that day arrives, I am going to continue.
Day 15: I reach just as the rest of them have finished the opening prayer. Not bad for a lazy bum, what! Well, the aunty is back & if looks could kill, I sure would be singed. I cannot place the 6 feet long mat without russling it, now, can I? I try, though. Anyway, I start the breathing exercise, trying to relax & not contract my shoulders with each inhalation. Oh boy! I've spent 5 grand this week just on clothes...R seems ok with me today although each time I half open an eyelid to peer at everyone else, I find him looking at me with a lot of apprehension. Close your eyes...concentrate on the breathing count now...4 in and 8 out. Darn! He'd seen me peep. He looks quite benign, though and a good sport at all this business.
Day 18: I am on time & R seems pleased. Aunty hasn't passed a glance in my direction today. Whew! Kbhati doesn't seem so bad now that I can flush the breath out without going blue in the face. SN, however isn't all that easy as it looks. Push-ups, V's, cobras, curling of the toes in/out with each change of pose...& this has me confused. I dip when I should be a mountain, I use my shoulders when I ought to be using my back... R displays massive patience & does each asana along with a panting me. It's more than a fortnight & all I am great at is shav asana!
Day 20: I have downloaded all postures of SN & mugged them up. I go to the class, place my bright pink mat with a swish next to the aunty, smile sweetly when she shows me the eye & start the kbhati kriya. Thundering typhoons! Why can't I blow without sucking in air? I wade through somehow. Time for SN. It's a day of test. I am looking like I've already won, that's coz I have have memorised the entire book of do's/dont's & what's next. I stand, ready to take on all 12 postures with finesse. R smiles & reminds me of a complacent cow, chewing cud. With my eyes closed, I go through the first Herculean round. Humpf...inhale, swing hands up ...haaraah...exhale touch toes, inhale...running pose, palm flat on the floor, foot as far back as possible....ohmigod! Suddenly, I feel the proverbial heebie-jeebies. What number was I on? What's next? I open my eyes, look at the smug, canine-looking aunty, then at R who looks like he hasn't seen me before. What's next? A million hands go up & I untangle myself & retire in a corner, hurt, looking like someone who's cross, brave & beaten, all at once. What's worse, the buxom, barrel of an aunty got all her postures right. Oh well, she's been learning for a month now, maybe.
Day 21: I haven't slept the night, deciding whether I ought to walk through that yoga studio door ever again or not. I take a negative decision with a loud thump of a turn on the bed, hands folded across my chest. You know what's strange? I find myself before everyone else in the yoga studio. I'll show her, won't I! Everyone streams in & we all go through various asanas, composed & calm. All, except me. Coz I am not doing yoga, I am making a show of it. Today, I neither stumble, nor fall. I don't need to peep, be told to inhale/exhale, stay still on one leg with my hands above my head, bend forward like a bird about to take flight on a single leg, etc. I am flawless. I look at protudy-eyes & vainly smile with a bet-you-couldn't-have-learnt-so-fast look. R seems very pleased at a 2 hour long display of all the 24 asanas & SN & tells me so. And me? Well...
Day 30: I reach the studio just as R is unlatching the main door. I push the heavy door & walk into the room, place my mat, help R throw open a zillion windows & wait for the others. It is exactly 6 in the morning, the lark's singing & all's well with the world...Browning said that? All the 18 people arrive & we begin. Today's Sunday, the last day & this would be a long half-day session with the last few hours as part of the final test. I am silent through it all. No, I mean SILENT. My mind neither wanders on money-matters, nor on forgotten deadlines. I feel filled with a strange energy, a kinda thrill, as I realise I don't want to show anyone anything. I'm going to do this because I want to be fit, healthy & at peace with myself. Isn't that the purpose & end of yoga?
Have I achieved it? Well, I have understood it. Today, I am perfect. Not because I haven't made a single miscalculation/error but coz today, I don't need to prove...not even to myself. The asanas & I are one. At the end of the extended class, I find myself asking a question. Everyone turns to look at me. Without flinching, I ask, Hey Raghavan! Do you think I could enroll for the next course? R smiles verrrry meaningfully. From my place at the back, I as hell don't miss the twinkle in his 60 yr old-young eyes as he says, You bet!
Did he KNOW? mmmm...

Motherboard, Me & the Daily Humdrum

2008-11-12T09:30:00.009+05:30

OMG!OMG!OMG! My comp went blank just as I was sending a stinker to a person I most detest! I'd just about reached telling him to ...you-know-what & my machine gaped at me with a dark face. Sigh! No amount to plugging in/out, rebooting etc helped. It had decided to die on me & that was that. According to a greek-latin speaking techy, my motherboard had gone blink & there was only so much he'd try to retrieve. Comps had a mother or a board?
Well, anyway, so there was I...at work & no machine to work on. What would I do? What about all my deadlines for the day and the mailing and the...blah-d-blah? Hmmm, while the techy was trying to find a method in the madness, la-Lear, I thought of calling up a most dreaded client & catching up on a project. Oh well, he wasn't available & would I please call back later? Sure, dude! Just thought I'd let you know we are at it. Humdedum, what next? I called up a couple of old cronies I'd not called in ages, called up my siblings...everyone on earth I could think of & still no sign of a temporary comp for me to work on. Well, such situations umm.........call for a meeting! So I collected my team members & pushed off for a long, long meeting. Poor souls, I bet they cursed me just the same as I curse my boss when she calls for a boring, dull meeting. Ok, so we decided to work faster, harder, raise the bar a little higher & all the jazzy I do/will bow-wow promises people make in meetings. Half a day still remaining. Ha! I knew what I could do! Fill out the hateful productivity sheets that I'd ignored for the last half a month! Darn...those who have to do this will have complete, undivided sympathies with me when I say filling out these PS' is one of the worst tasks a company can make an employee do. Trust me, if you've done this everyday for a month, you can do almost anything else in the world, except produce a baby, maybe.
5'o clock & at last I get to see a spare machine. What's the point anyway, in an hour, it'd be time to go home. And, hell, what about my motherboard?It'll take a good 7 working days to get it back. What about all my work saved on it? What about all the crazy articles I've penned for the ga-ga & the dotty in the other part of the world?
Hmm, maybe I'll just take a holiday to the Himalayas & look for the infamous, elusive Yeti. That seems to be an easier task than getting a sick computer to work.

Disconnected Thoughts on the Remains of the Day

2008-10-24T11:12:00.012+05:30

I just finished reading Philippa Gregory’s The Other Boleyn Girl. Little did I know it’d turn out to be so much more than just a historical account of the lives of a motley group of courtiers in one of the most turbulent times in English history. What a very engaging & thought-provoking novel! It follows the lives and fortunes of the 2 Boleyn girls, one of whom was the mother of England’s finest monarchs, Queen Elizabeth I.
I devoured the book within a few hours of laying hands on it. Honestly, I couldn’t care two hoots whether it followed facts or not. It got me thinking about a lot of stuff, some that I’d consciously relegated to the back of my mind. I became absorbed more by what the book threw subtly at you, more than the story itself. Hypocrisy. Rivalry. Deceit. The Boleyn family will stop at nothing to acquire wealth, achieve status and find favour with the King, even if it means converting their daughters into the King’s whores. 16th century human world wasn’t very different from our so-called modern world, what! Human beings haven’t changed very much since the time of the Aryans now...or have they? On our moral landscape, insincerity has inevitable acceptance. As has treachery, sham and deception. We are pretty cool about it, in fact. We teach our children to be ‘realistic,’ don’t we? We say things we don’t mean, do things we don’t believe in. What are the remains of the day, after all that we do to live? Or, is it a semblance of life?
Food for thought, even if it ends along with this full stop.

Of Christie & Wodehouse Haters…

2008-10-23T12:00:00.004+05:30

I am a compulsive-Agatha Christie-reader.
No matter how many slew of books I may read, tomes, some of them, but tis an AG I need by my bedside at night. This whole bit of writing is because someone made a comment the other day about how juvenile one had to be if one read AG’s beyond their teens. Well, all I’ve got to say to this sort of comment, in defence to AG, is how delinquent one had to be to comment thus.
To those of you who may have read/still read AG’s, I am sure this will sound totally dotty. Who can deny not having found these novels with the old but sharp Miss Marple or the clever Poirot entertaining and diverting? Don’t you remember having an oh-I-miscalculated-again look at the end of the story as the villain/vamp is brought to justice in a most unexpected and startling logical manner? Among a whole host of reading stuff, this is one book I can always pick up and read without feeling guilty or wondering why Life is so/not so etc. You get the drift.
Oh, wait, there was another rather daft observation on another, one of the world’s wittiest authors, P.G. Wodehouse. The person said Wodehouse never made sense to him. Well, alright, understandable. But, the footnote that followed was something totally baffling…that Wodehouse was NOT witty/humorous from any angle, but was rather puerile and trivial (Gak!). Now, this leaves me having very strong hate-vibes. Oh, no, not because he doesn’t like the same books that I do, but that these conclusions were like the word of God, final. Also, to me, it displayed an unperceptive mind! No one sensible'd ever put their thoughts in this immature a fashion. One may not like an author or a book, but, does that mean you hold it in contempt? Not liking a colour does not make it universally distasteful or bad, now, does it? Buddy, if you don’t comprehend satire & understated British wit, wry and all, you probably need to ease up on the double, not call Wodehouse dumb!
These remarks betray a ridiculously infantile mind that cannot conceive of the truth that a true mark of a good critic is that he does not condemn an author as established as maybe, Shakespeare. Personal liking is one thing; & to say the Bard is useless, is to say Heck, I cannot ever understand the intelligent use of the language and its myriad nuances or styles. In short, it’s like saying, Hey, everybody, look I’m dense!
I am so sick of pretenders to intelligence and un-perspicacious(if ever there is such a word) people that I zimbly had to pen my thoughts!

All in a Daze Work!

2008-10-23T09:40:00.009+05:30

Now, you'd wonder what is it about observations of a bookstore? Read on...it's all in a daze work. I had half a day to myself and a very quaint little bookshop and its rather old-fashioned banner arrested my attention. I was pulled toward it, as it were. My little nephew was with me and knew his fate was sealed for a good one hour the minute he observed my striken appearance. Resigned to his fate and trying to blend in with my mood, the poor chap followed me in darn good spirit, if you ask me. Well, I opened the door... thud, doink, thuddddd... yes, that's right, I fell through half a flight of steps. Ah! But you ask me, why the hell didn't I look! Well, I did! But, at the most cruelly placed ad poster of a new book I've been dying to read. I am sure many others had preceded me in their embarrassing fall owing to the highly inappropriate placement of Brisinger's poster. Never mind, thought I. A fall is a fall, as long as no bones are broken. While I was thus reasoning, I happened to notice the rapidly changing expressions on the faces of the security guard and my own blood (read:nephew) that betrayed me rather vengefully! The former tried his best to be helpful, look sorry & guilty...all at the same time. Actually, come to think of it, he looked like he was dying to laugh but the thought of his dismissal made it impossible to. The latter, in the meantime, looked cheerfully avenged and at ease. Imagine this: me fallen pitifully with 2 bags full of things, my nephew at the top of the steps looking at me with a who're-you look looking elsewhere and the guard extending his hand for help. This was the decisive moment. I could be either angry and be laughed at behind my back, or laugh myself and allow the other to let their snickers loose...or, I could get up full of grace and dignity. Err...difficult choice, if you ask me! So, what did I do? In my most polite tone, I asked the nephew if he could please manage to descend, help me with the bags, smiled the sweetest smile ever at the guard(boy! did he feel miserable after that) and collected myself, brushed my jeans off any traces of dirt and with nephew in tow, walked into the shop, totally forgetting my very reason for being there. Ah! There was the book I was looking for...As You Like It. Or, was I? Nephew, in the meantime, decided to buy the most expensive book in the store and make quite a noise about it, too. (It suddenly dawned upon him that he was in a quiet, public place and he had a one-in-a-million chance to make the most of it.) Okkk...so what was I supposed to do? Another moment of decision...either I could yell back or I could give in and buy the book. Here is what I did. Picture me limping gracefully to the most annoying chap in the world(at least it seemed so at that moment). Our conversation was as follows: Hmmm...lovely book!(smile). Can you read? (The tiny face fall here rather dramatically. Don't think I'm mean or something...he loves to act, rather overact.) Now, would you be good enough to put it back? I must say one positive thing about Nephew: he knows when he is defeated. A mild but-you-can did rise from his mouth, but I was already on my way out(truth be told, I couldn't hide my pain anymore!). Looks like Brisinger will have to wait for one of its most ardent devotees to come and pay obeisance to it one day. That day will not arrive soon, I'm sure...can't walk with a leg in temporary cast, now, can I?

On an elder sis...

2008-10-20T11:38:00.002+05:30

Honestly, I am not clear about my intention in writing this. All I know is that I felt a need to pen something about my it. Technically, the one I'm writing about is a cousin. In reality, she is one helluva sister! Well, to begin with, I did not always feel this thick with her. I always looked at her as someone really cool, sweet, nice and I had breezy conversations with her. It is almost after 2 decades that I found MY relationship with her. No, I cannot define it...she isn't my best friend or a guide or a cousin...she is different. Or, maybe, I discovered my own relationship with her only recently. Maybe, she discovered it, recently, too! In the last one year, I've had the deepest and the silliest of conversations with her not because she's an elder sis who is always willing to talk/in the same town, but because she is like a delicious pina colada...a blend of several thingies that makes a drink enjoyable and memorable. The point is, I call her names, I insult her, hit her with ill-meaning words, you name it and I do it...and she thinks nothing of these barbs. Instead, she welcomes them, and, with a perfect return serve, waits for more to come from me! Nothing unusual, you think? Maybe not. But, in an ever-expanding extended family, she is the only one I can call up anytime of the day or night and not feel unwelcome. She doesn't just do it out of politeness...she actually doesn't mind being disturbed! I do have other elder cousins I am fond of, but none with whom I share a great, near-perfect rapport. I am never judged, never told something that differs from the truth...I just don't have to worry about being good or bad or witty or sombre! She lets me BE! And, the best part about this is that not many know this about us! It's like an arcane thing we share...and it's beyond anyone's understanding, too. What I like the best about our relationship (apart from the boring, obvious ones!) is the back and forth of the most inanely humorous sms', hitting each other with repartees(quick, witty retorts...in case you were wondering!!!) until we're both rubicund with laughter! Not many people can laugh at themselves...she can. I've heard others tell her that she was their model...I've never felt this way, unfortunately, about her. But, I do look up to her for the fortitude she has, for her caring spirit and for the fact that no matter what she's facing, she never loses her sense of humour. This is what I hope I'll have some day. I have very little clue about the possible arrival of that day, but this much I know: when it does come, I'll know I have fulfilled a large part of what's spoken of as being a good human being.
The whole point of this article is this: people will forget the things you say, they will forget your name, and the things you do. But they will never forget the way you make them feel. Kudos to her for never failing anyone in this department. Given the extreme, grave, depressing and really trying situations she's been in, it is really amazing how this woman continues to be such a sweetheart...especially towards me!

A Trip to the Station With Mad Hatters!

2008-10-12T13:18:00.002+05:30

There were multiple yelps of loud Yay's as our group got a positive response from the department head for an official two-day off together. (The Chief thought we'd do well to bond...not that this company of assorted mad hatters needed any more of it!) Plans began to be drawn and after a lot of bow-wowing and not-there's, the group decided to go to a sweet old hill station. There was just enough time to book tickets and pack bags for a two day trip. Well, at the appointed time, the taxi...nope, did not arrive. It was one of those monster-shower days where the entire city comes to a standstill with a few cms of rainfall clogging the city's roads. Well, did this dampen the spirit of the chaingang...oops, jing-bang? Au contraire. The maddest of all hatters decided to get rickshaws for a motley group of 20 people. Ya, right! 10 very shaky mins passed before the man came back with a decided...nope-no-luck look but an extremely determined stride. He went straight to the phone and dialled a number rather resolutely. It was now or never. We barely had an hour before the train'd leave --with or without us! 19 people crowded around this being and followed every nod of the very round head and every flicker of his chinky eyes as if our life depended on it. If ever there was "pin drop" silence, this was the time. He hung up and breathed deeply. 2 cabs had been arranged but they could take time. O, how could cabs not be available? We were so ready to pay a ransom for it! Well, a taxi did arrive and this wave of 20 pairs of hands and feet rushed out. Yes! It was, indeed a yellow and black cab! Who cared if it was more than a decade old jalopy? What about the other one? Broom...hyak...hyak...the second cab sort of, well, drove in. So now we had 2 cabs and 20 people. Not bad! 9 people were bundled off(thank god for ambassadors!) into the first one...you get the picture, 3 in front, 6 behind. Had it been possible for this scrap of metal to burst at its seams, it would have. But, as it was, it merely shook on its underbelly, occasionally, side-to-side. Suddenly, there was a whrrr...whrr of a rick. Someone had just gotten down of a rick! Divine intervention, what! 4 people quickly hopped into the three-legged vehicle and threw their bags into the second amby's backside. The remaining adjusted quite well and started merrily towards the railway station that was about 25 kms away. As the taxi chugged along, we sat with bated breath. Why bated, you ask? Well, there was little choice! When someone weighing 50 odd kgs is perched on you, you can't do pretty much else, can you? Oh what a ride twas! You couldn't see the road in front of you. The traffic you see, blocked your view. Every second counted. Just when the indivuduals had managed to begun to cope, 3 phones rang simultaneously. No, there couldn't be a scurry of hands trying to reach to the phones. The phones were buried deep inside pockets and no amount of groping could bring them out from their safe haven. (Damn the ringtones...especially those that have ascending laughter. It sure sounded maniacal). Imagine this repeated cacophony of ringtones: batman joker laughing insanely + gamcha bichayi le + arre o samba. You get the picture.
If this wasn't enough, the 3 sisters of Fate(sorry, can't recall their Attic names right now) decided to unleash some more of their dark humour. The rick containing 4 very wet people did a hurrrum-bhaaack and then died. Ah! but we didn't know this then, did we? We couldn't reach our cellphones, remember? Well, the Fates sure were having fun! At the Chandinichowk redlight crossing, 2 two-wheeler scooters drew up and a pair of very fast-moving arms waved at us. At first, we looked away in disgust assuming they were eve-teasers. But, when the arm-waving became more rapid, we looked more closely. The faces seemed vaguely familiar! Indeed they were! Two out of 4 wet figures had managed to get a lift. There were kind people left in this cold city, afterall! Err...the other two? Well, a little behind us was a tempo van carrying someone's furniture. Yeah, you guessed it. There was much hee-hawing about this and other senseless stuff in our cab. Not for long, though. The cabbie, who'd had to tactfully maneuver changing gears from between two very thick pairs of legs, had had it! A most disgusted sound emanated from his dark lips. Wouldn't be prudent to reproduce what he said, but the gist(you may even call it quintessence) of it was to shut up, quit squiggling and let him drive on if we wished to reach the station. We felt like Moses(soon after he must have been hit by the Commandments, that is!). 10 more mins and we managed to arrive at the un-pearly gates of the station! AH!
The cab spat us out in utter revolt. The passengers of the tempo and the scooters also arrived soon after. We met each other with renewed joy and camararderie. But,oh! had we made it on time? Someone (of erstwhile 'marching captain' fame) hollered run. The gang made a run for it(except, you can't pretty much run when there is a crowd of several thousand people, with stray dogs interspersed, around you) and managed to reach platform number 6. The blue train was more than ready to leave and had begun its pronounced chug-chug. The pack bundled into whichever bogie they were closest to. After managing to reach the correct, alloted seats, 20 black, wet, tired, but happy faces acknowledged each other. Right.
Our journey had begun!

On Self- Importance & Other Blah Blah...

2008-10-09T09:39:00.001+05:30

Hmm...have you noticed how some people are so filled with self-importance that they have nothing to think or worry about except how other people react to them? There is this most absurd woman who thinks that the entire world is conspiring against her. Every word spoken has to have a double meaning. I mean so insecure is this person that the other day I saw her standing near the entrance, straining to listen to what a couple of us were talking about! Wait...there is more! Later, we heard things we had spoken about her. I don't even remember talking about her remotely! She presumed we were talking about her! Self importance has no limits, I tell you! Then there is this older man who walks about with a false air of being somebody. In his hay days, he used to be a model of sorts. Today, he is no more than a local businessman(I think!) who will concoct such viscious stories that even the most innocent comment of yours would appear malicious. The worst bit is he believes in his own tales and lies so much that there is no truth for him other than the one his own perception projects. This means a perfectly blameless person will become a villian/vamp just because in his mind, this person is so! Ridiculous, isn't it? How many friends...I mean FRIENDS, do you think he has? Not many. Those who call him their friend are just colleagues or neighbours who will have no more to do beyond hello-dahling-how-are-you-doing-oooh-such-beautiful- little- children-you-have! I mean who'd actually want to spend more than a couple of hours with such a twisted mind? I'll tell you who. Those who have no other choice (relatives, etc.), people he calls over for parties (read:forced to smile and say how lovely!)or those who are so good that they will not believe he could be mean. Sad life, what! I can't imagine living in a world where I have no one to really have a heart-to-heart with beyond my spouse! Imagine being unable to trust anyone! Brrrrr!
I'd rather be open and be on-the-face and steer clear of such creeps than wonder hell, did I say anything that could be taken personally without a reason or rhyme? Man...it sure takes all sorts to make a world! I'm sure better off outside this world than in it and look a 100 yrs old and probably have several nervous disorders and mental blocks(or, alternately, make others go dotty).
Goodbye, self propellers and insecure nitwits! Now on, me is strictly vegetarian!

Ennui is IN!

2008-10-08T20:51:00.003+05:30

Ennui! Well, learning how to pronounce it right might take away a bit of it but that will not eliminate the need to do something and something, well, different. However did the older generation manage without videogames, T.V. or cell phones? Very well, if you ask me. Creativity was the name of the game and one either was born creative or learnt how to entertain oneself. No whining but, mummy, what do I do kids. You went out to play and invented games. You managed with a whole gang who was out to PLAY, you know! You split into teams, made friends with real people and played real games, not move thingies called 'joysticks' all over the place to win. One ran, fell, got dirty, came back home with scratched knees and bruises. One climbed trees in stealth and plucked ripe mangoes much to the anger and loathing of the local chowkidar. One looked forward to watching a movie in the only theatre in town, wait for that one copy of record...One...well, bonded, made lasting relationships and friendships. Girls looked forward to having their first Barbie doll and boys to the first GI-Joe or He-Man. One talked, shared tales, joys and sorrows. In short, one was social, never got bored and was totally kicked about life and how to find more time to fill it with more fun and meaning.
I see small kids today and teenagers feeling lost without their ipods, psp's, computer games or DVD's. Whatever happened to all the Nancy Drews and Malory Towers? Books, anyone? No? Oh well! Never mind. Looks like this generation doesn't know what having fun is. All they are busy at is getting bored. How ironic...just when the world is moving towards making life more entertaining and easy, we seem to be moving away instead of solving one of the simplest of all concerns: ennui. The more we have, the less we seem to enjoy it. Less was definitely better.

Stray Notes on a Place Called the Mind...

2008-10-07T15:59:00.001+05:30

The mind is its own place... in itself it can create a heaven of a hell or a hell of a heaven...Milton was so right when he said that! I see people with everything they could need and yet complain. A woman I know of, for instance. She is as beautiful as they come with very little to complain, actually speaking. The more I look at her life, the more I wonder what makes her such a compulsive cribber. A doting husband, two beautiful boys, a perfect job and a happy home, a supportive family on both sides...the works. And, yet, this woman perpetually complains! If it's not her in-laws, it is the gardner...I mean, come on, she is looking for something to bow-wow about. In her mental make-up, people are forever scheming, plotting and gossiping. Sometimes, I feel people need this to remind themselves they exist! Maybe, this is where they get their sense of belonging or strength from? Perhaps, the sound of their own voice gives them a high! Or, could it be that their laments give them a sense of feeling alive and busy? Simply put, some people just don't know how to count their blessings. Oh! then there is this woman...she screams, shouts and generally thinks she is the Sun around whom all the planets revolve. She would rather that everyone around her work according to the flavour of her mood of the day...and don't miss the fact that she is ''pious''coz she makes it a point to let the whole world know how she had been to the temple that morning or how she had fasted and the next minute you know she screams her head off at a poor office boy who may have forgotten to say good morning to her! I mean haven't you come across people who feel the need to make an impact with every breath they take? They love it when the ripples of their emotional acts affect someone else. How fragile such people, and utterly sordid their lives, must be. Imagine waking up in the morning and wondering how best to make people take note of you by say, making a startling entry at work or announcing their arrival by plunking down loudly, or running about when you may as well walk, moving about with a look of purpose even if it's a trip to the coffee machine!
Hell or heaven are what we make of it. What! And you thought it was a place?

Desultory Thoughts on Yakity Yak Yak...

2008-10-05T22:06:00.002+05:30

Have you ever been an observer? No, I mean REALLY observed people? Imagine sitting in a crowded room, watching people come and go, talking of Michaelangelo as Eliot says. Look at the way they can go on and on and on with inconsequential chitchat! Why do people talk so much? Ever wondered? Could it be because they are uncomfortable with silence? Maybe silence forces them to turn inward and think about deeper matters? Silence...is it a vaccum? A dreaded empty space where one doesn't know what to do? A place that compels one, as it were, to come to terms with who one truly IS? Yes, silence helps one confront one's own conscience, acts, thoughts and what-have-you. No escape from reality. No looking over the shoulder...plain confrontation with one's own self. Brr...scary or what! Talking, well, talking helps you get away from the gnawing that goes on within. It helps one cope, so to speak. Ah! well, everyone needs to cope, after all! So much simpler to let things be, suppress and kill the little voice within than to sit with boring talks with oneself. One could achieve so much with another person instead! Bond, for instance. Have you noticed how everyone wants to bond these days? Whatever happened to the ancient cry of Gnothi Sueton or 'Know Thyself?' Well, who knows and who cares? There is so much to talk about! So much needs to be accomplished...who has time for all this thought?

Silence can kill, did you know that? Ever wondered why they have solitary cells in jails?

Talking also helps one to put ourselves in perspective. Yes, the other person's. Were it not for our talk, however would the other person know who we are, for crying out loud? (Sarcasm intended)

Hasn't talking lost its meaning in all this...umm...talk? Talks meant communication, understanding, discussion... Where has all that disappeared in mouths uttering words that have no meaning? Has knowledge been lost in information? Has communication been lost in yakity yak yak? Indeed, have we lost ourselves?

Waiting for Godot

2008-10-05T13:15:00.002+05:30

Waiting can be an extremely painful process. Especially if you are sitting outside an ICU, waiting for the medical practitioner to emerge out of the cold, impersonal room and declare a verdict with an even tone.
The area was much like a typical hospital, smelling of nothing but, well, a hospital. Four people were seated with backs hunched, eyes looking at their toes, fingers interlocked and resting in their laps. It had been three days since the boy had been in the ICU, in a coma, probably breathing his last few breaths. But, the waiting family did not know this. He'd been hale and hearty till three days back, looking forward to fatherhood and listening to his favourite numbers. Suddenly, there was an entry. A loud woman announced her arrival with a heavy plonk and "what do the doctors say?" in between munches of an apple, quite without feeling. Who was she? "He'll be fine, beta, don't worry," said the aging man kindly to his son's wife as he got up and walked toward the window overlooking the hustle-bustle of life outside. LIFE! Were to God his son would live...images of his reticent, handsome son came to him like a whirlwind of colours. He turned abruptly back and went up to his daughter asking her to walk along with him. The loud woman's voice reached their ears as they walked away...I'd told him na.. but he only...The man who was the father gently put his hand on his daughter's shoulders and said, "Don't worry, he'll be fine. I've spoken to the doctors...he'll be fine." The daughter's imploring eyes wanted to believe. She went up to the only idol and began to pray. The father sat down and one of the many conversations he'd had with the doctors came rushing back to his mind. Sir, your son has no more than two days to live. Oh! How he wanted to silence the voicepounding in his head...if only...but miracles seldom happen. It was night now and he had opted to stay the night at the hospital. He looked at his son, lying so calmly, breathing evenly. Who could tell there were poisonous acids ruining every single organ inside his body with every passing minute? The doctors had been amazed at his tolerance level...patients only scream in this condition with pain and he doesn't utter a single complaint. What a man his son was! The bed was too small for his tall, lean frame. Just a year ago, the boy had got married to the only girl his parents had suggested he meet to see if he would like to be with her. He had married her because he couldn't bear to hurt a person's dignity by saying 'no.' The old man paced the floor up and down through the night, hoping for a flicker of an eyelid, a sound...anything. But nothing happened. The morning was as usual, the Sun rose up in the silent sky, cars went by, the family arrived with a hot steaming cup of tea for him. The doctor arrived for the usual check-up and took the old man aside. I am going to try a new medicine as a last effort. Could you please have it brought up from the pharmacy? The old man, dignified as always, spoke gently to his loyal driver, asking him to get the injections and the medicine and went back into the ICU along with the doctor. The man ran down. It was exactly noon when the old man came out of the ICU just as the driver came panting up with medicines in both hands. Papaji, ye lijiye bhaiya ki dava. The old man looked at him very gently, Ab khel khatm, beta, and walked over to his stunned wife to put an arm around her and help her down to sit. The daughter walked away and the daughter-in-law started a loud wail, dropping the biscuits she was eating on the floor.
Yes, the game gets over sometime or the other. But how many people have the fortitude to accept it? This man is a hero, if ever there was one. He knew while the rest of us waited for Godot…

Random Thoughts on the Tring Tring

2008-10-04T20:18:00.003+05:30

"OMG!" "LOL" "BRB!" are some of the few words that had me rather foxed when I was first greeted with them over various chat sessions. It took me a while to get used to these short forms. And longer than a while to accept them as part of the gen y's (or is it gen z,now?) regular lingo. Nah! no harm, really as long as it stays away from verbal, face-to-face communication!
The cellphone sure has changed the world picture with more than just a loud bang...it has done so with a reverberating blast, the effects of which can be felt in the remotest corner of the world. Remember those huge black boxes with thick, twirled wires that had the power to wake up the dead from their graves with their menacing "Tring trrring?" Ha! One was forced, as it were, to pick up the receiver and holler a 'Helloow'(especially if twas a 'trunk call.') Why did they call them 'trunk calls' anyway? Dialling a number was even more painful...the eternal wait for the dial to roll back down. Gosh! It'd have been so much better to use it as a hypnosis tool instead, so long was the waiting time. Well, wasn't this black box(let's call it BB for now, no sarcasm intended regarding the short format) more of a family get-together forum than a phone? The entire clan used to rush near the phone to hear what the caller had to say. And, oh, don't forget the 3 minute limitation a trunk-call had...what's worse, having an operator listening to a private conversation! What DID lovers do in those days? Imagine having a heart-to-heart with your sweetheart with a giggly operator throwing in a 'thee-hee-hee' with every "I love you, dahling!" And what about the P.P. calls? How annoying for a neighbour to have to scamper each time there's a call for Chopraji across the street! On second thoughts, it may have been interesting to know about the lives and the goings-on of others. Did the son of the family fail? What happened to the mausiji who'd been nearly kicked out by her daughter in-law? Do sit down for a cuppa chai and Britannia biscuits...hmm...was the BB responsible for good, social mingling? Cut to the current times. Individual numbers, private calls. Personalised ringtones. Oh, and not to forget caller tunes. Who knows what's happening in the next room, leave alone the neighbour's house. Neighbours? What's that?
Not long ago I heard them say that the world has become smaller. They also say technology is bringing people closer. Hmm, I wonder.