Little specks of grey and light dance across my eyes,
Like shards of dark and bright across a window pane,
On a lazy Sunday morning.
Sitting with a cup of coffee, looking out of the window,
Waiting for the rain to come.
The earth is dry and parched and calling.
The coffee grows cold in anticipation of something…
Something.. Anything.
I tickle the ivories, rather, tinker on them.
Fingers falter, remembering old tunes.
The finger of the right move only when the left don’t.
What are they scared of, I wonder?
A mis-step? A lost sound? A piece of myself thrown away?
Sound of Music soothes me, always has, since I was 6 years old.
I can sing along to every song, I know every beat, every rhythm and rhyme.
“I have confidence in sunshine”…
“And somewhere in my childhood, I must have done something good”.
I find it harder now to believe, however.
Cynicism is a dangerous thing, makes you think dangerous thoughts.
Bright lights, splashes of colour, white oblivion.
Quiet thoughts, big dreams, my very own Bucket List.
Sitting in the Acropolis awash in moonlight,
Hearing music that comes from the stones, centuries old.
Diving in the cool Pacific waters, exploring hidden treasures,
While waves wash over me, and Nemo shows me the way forward.
Watching people read my book and love it, I need no other accolade.
The urge is strong, the soul is fast, but alas, the mind is weak.
Sitting peacefully with my dog gambolling around me,
All love, and eager eyes for long walks, and drool-ey licks.
Right now all I want, really, is a room somewhere,
Far away from mostly everybody.
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Hydrabad-ey Hottogol
Part III - Vici (though, more aptly titled - And I couldn’t believe my eyes)
My last day in Hyd and I throw hysterics (the wonderful thing about friends is that they actually let you get away with them). I want to go see what all the hoopla of Hyd being an old city filled with historical impact is all about, much to the dismay of Abhi who tries his best to dissuade me.
Again, a totally different picture of Hyd all over again - a city that resembles North Calcutta or Old Delhi in its flavor. More steeped in the past, than any other characteristic. What strikes us as we come to the old area, is that it is a predominantly Muslim city – masjids at every corner, women covered in black from head to toe, kohl rimmed eyes peering out into the world. When I see green flags with the sickle and star, proudly displayed every which way you look, I get a jolt of surprise and shock.
1st stop – Falaknama Palace
The name in Urdu means “Star of Heaven”, and it is supposedly one of the finest palaces in Hyderabad. Also referred to as 'Mirror of the Sky', it was designed by an Italian architect and took 9 years to complete. Needless to say, after hearing all about it from friends, I was excited to make a trip. Winding down thin roads, choc-a-bloc with traffic, people, juice sellers, cows, carts and cycles, we finally arrived after an hour at the gates of the Palace. Only to suffer a major anti-climax as the Palace is now closed to be made into Taj Group of Hotels. Which means, the next time I want to go see it, I will have to shell out 500 INR for a tiny cup of coffee.
2nd stop – Charminar
A massive square structure towers above us. The oldest mosque in Hyd, it is made of Granite. 4 minarets, one at each corner, ululate without fail at dusk and dawn. Apparently, once upon a time, each of the 4 arches faced the 4 major roads of the city.
Charminar is set amidst the bazaar – Laad Bazaar, Chor Bazaar and Begum Pet (pronounced how a Bong would say pet in Bongland :-D). Shops selling pearls, glass bangles and women’s shoes jostle for space between vendors hawking papaya, watermelon and green mangoes. There are people milling everywhere – Muslims for devotional prayers, families who are picnicking in the grounds below, foreigners with a gaggle of “let me help you sir, see this, fine building sir” behind them. It is crowded, colorful, chaotic, dirty and vibrant, all in the same breath.
Each minaret of the Charminar has a double balcony, which one is allowed to climb up to, to gaze in admiration at the panoramic view below. When I was taken to the stairs, I immediately had doubts. 149 step, set so steep so that one has to CLIMB rather than walk up the steps. Adding to that, they are through the minaret, so you are going round and rounds in tiny dizzying concentric circles with millions thronging before and after you. Woe betide all, if one person slips; it would be the domino effect performed live. After you climb down from the top, you have to pause for a bit before you can walk, as the legs, they are a tremblin!
Once up there, it was a different world. The sounds and smells below filter away, leaving you to gaze out over the city. Everything shimmers in a heat haze, imparting a distinctly dreamlike quality. There isn’t much else to see really, except for the beautiful carved frieze running along the entire inner walls of the monument. Pigeons nestle in the alcoves cooing away throatily to each other, fighting for space in the nooks and crannies. The sad part of the whole thing was that we, as a nation, don’t take pride in our History or Culture; there are “TV wanted- call Abbas” and “Bunty loves Bubli” pen marks carved out all along the walls. Total desecration.
3rd stop – Salarjung Museum
As we walk in, a cool breeze blows towards us from the gulmohar lined avenue; at least I think they were gulmohars, the pink flowers. It’s a breeze we welcome, after trudging all over Charminar, and the a/c ed atmosphere gently beckons us inside. Salarjung Museum is the 3rd largest museum in India, housing collections belonging to different civilizations dating back to the 1st century.
Here I have to admit, that this probably was the worst letdown of a museum that I have ever come across. Maybe I am spoiled by the wonderful Museums I have traipsed through in UK, which hold you spellbound the whole day, with the sheer amount of beauty and information put together.
Yes, the Salarjung collection is huge and has some astoundingly beautiful pieces. However, the very essence of what a Museum represents was lost - these are places which ideally are meant to impart and increase your knowledge base, not merely showcase wealth.
The artifacts weren’t marked, so one had no idea of knowing the specialty of the piece. Those that were marked went from the sublime to the ridiculous. Imagine a Ming vase, where the marking reads “Blue Vase from China 18th Century”. That’s it, full stop, end of information. Like we couldn’t tell the color.
In the European gallery were hundreds of chairs lined up neatly, with no idea of which was what period, came from where - France, UK or Spain, for example. It looked like a very uncared for furniture store, peeling brocade on jittery falling over chairs, the only signs displayed being “Please do not sit on these”.
All in all, a place I would recommend in a heartbeat, for any serious Museum aficionado never ever to go to.
Pit Stop – Paradise Restaurant
Lunch at 5pm. This was surely the highlight for all of us greedy, hungry, bone achingly tired people.
Paradise is known to all gourmets in India, if not by taste, then by name. I had heard paens sung in its glory and was determined to sample the food for myself. The most divine biriyani and succulent kebabs, aromas wafting through the doors as we alight from the cab. It was opened in 1953 or 63, and from those humble beginnings has grown into a 3 story gleamingly clean palace which occupies an entire street block, and has 3 other equally huge outlets all over the city. I only wish it couriered to other cities. Replete, we head back home to freshen up, pack and head to the station to get back home
Overall, a brilliant way to end a brilliant trip.
P.S.: so, the title is my way of saluting the master, Satyajit Ray. For the Bengalis who have read his books, this should be self-explanatory.
Hottogol is a Bong word which implies..err..shindigs, shenanigans, samba! :-D
My last day in Hyd and I throw hysterics (the wonderful thing about friends is that they actually let you get away with them). I want to go see what all the hoopla of Hyd being an old city filled with historical impact is all about, much to the dismay of Abhi who tries his best to dissuade me.
Again, a totally different picture of Hyd all over again - a city that resembles North Calcutta or Old Delhi in its flavor. More steeped in the past, than any other characteristic. What strikes us as we come to the old area, is that it is a predominantly Muslim city – masjids at every corner, women covered in black from head to toe, kohl rimmed eyes peering out into the world. When I see green flags with the sickle and star, proudly displayed every which way you look, I get a jolt of surprise and shock.
1st stop – Falaknama Palace
The name in Urdu means “Star of Heaven”, and it is supposedly one of the finest palaces in Hyderabad. Also referred to as 'Mirror of the Sky', it was designed by an Italian architect and took 9 years to complete. Needless to say, after hearing all about it from friends, I was excited to make a trip. Winding down thin roads, choc-a-bloc with traffic, people, juice sellers, cows, carts and cycles, we finally arrived after an hour at the gates of the Palace. Only to suffer a major anti-climax as the Palace is now closed to be made into Taj Group of Hotels. Which means, the next time I want to go see it, I will have to shell out 500 INR for a tiny cup of coffee.
2nd stop – Charminar
A massive square structure towers above us. The oldest mosque in Hyd, it is made of Granite. 4 minarets, one at each corner, ululate without fail at dusk and dawn. Apparently, once upon a time, each of the 4 arches faced the 4 major roads of the city.
Charminar is set amidst the bazaar – Laad Bazaar, Chor Bazaar and Begum Pet (pronounced how a Bong would say pet in Bongland :-D). Shops selling pearls, glass bangles and women’s shoes jostle for space between vendors hawking papaya, watermelon and green mangoes. There are people milling everywhere – Muslims for devotional prayers, families who are picnicking in the grounds below, foreigners with a gaggle of “let me help you sir, see this, fine building sir” behind them. It is crowded, colorful, chaotic, dirty and vibrant, all in the same breath.
Each minaret of the Charminar has a double balcony, which one is allowed to climb up to, to gaze in admiration at the panoramic view below. When I was taken to the stairs, I immediately had doubts. 149 step, set so steep so that one has to CLIMB rather than walk up the steps. Adding to that, they are through the minaret, so you are going round and rounds in tiny dizzying concentric circles with millions thronging before and after you. Woe betide all, if one person slips; it would be the domino effect performed live. After you climb down from the top, you have to pause for a bit before you can walk, as the legs, they are a tremblin!
Once up there, it was a different world. The sounds and smells below filter away, leaving you to gaze out over the city. Everything shimmers in a heat haze, imparting a distinctly dreamlike quality. There isn’t much else to see really, except for the beautiful carved frieze running along the entire inner walls of the monument. Pigeons nestle in the alcoves cooing away throatily to each other, fighting for space in the nooks and crannies. The sad part of the whole thing was that we, as a nation, don’t take pride in our History or Culture; there are “TV wanted- call Abbas” and “Bunty loves Bubli” pen marks carved out all along the walls. Total desecration.
3rd stop – Salarjung Museum
As we walk in, a cool breeze blows towards us from the gulmohar lined avenue; at least I think they were gulmohars, the pink flowers. It’s a breeze we welcome, after trudging all over Charminar, and the a/c ed atmosphere gently beckons us inside. Salarjung Museum is the 3rd largest museum in India, housing collections belonging to different civilizations dating back to the 1st century.
Here I have to admit, that this probably was the worst letdown of a museum that I have ever come across. Maybe I am spoiled by the wonderful Museums I have traipsed through in UK, which hold you spellbound the whole day, with the sheer amount of beauty and information put together.
Yes, the Salarjung collection is huge and has some astoundingly beautiful pieces. However, the very essence of what a Museum represents was lost - these are places which ideally are meant to impart and increase your knowledge base, not merely showcase wealth.
The artifacts weren’t marked, so one had no idea of knowing the specialty of the piece. Those that were marked went from the sublime to the ridiculous. Imagine a Ming vase, where the marking reads “Blue Vase from China 18th Century”. That’s it, full stop, end of information. Like we couldn’t tell the color.
In the European gallery were hundreds of chairs lined up neatly, with no idea of which was what period, came from where - France, UK or Spain, for example. It looked like a very uncared for furniture store, peeling brocade on jittery falling over chairs, the only signs displayed being “Please do not sit on these”.
All in all, a place I would recommend in a heartbeat, for any serious Museum aficionado never ever to go to.
Pit Stop – Paradise Restaurant
Lunch at 5pm. This was surely the highlight for all of us greedy, hungry, bone achingly tired people.
Paradise is known to all gourmets in India, if not by taste, then by name. I had heard paens sung in its glory and was determined to sample the food for myself. The most divine biriyani and succulent kebabs, aromas wafting through the doors as we alight from the cab. It was opened in 1953 or 63, and from those humble beginnings has grown into a 3 story gleamingly clean palace which occupies an entire street block, and has 3 other equally huge outlets all over the city. I only wish it couriered to other cities. Replete, we head back home to freshen up, pack and head to the station to get back home
Overall, a brilliant way to end a brilliant trip.
P.S.: so, the title is my way of saluting the master, Satyajit Ray. For the Bengalis who have read his books, this should be self-explanatory.
Hottogol is a Bong word which implies..err..shindigs, shenanigans, samba! :-D
Hydrabad-ey Hottogol
Part II - Vidi
One day of sitting about doing nothing is about all I can take. Saturday morning dawns late – around 11am – since the previous night is spent in talking away; Alka smiling sleepily at us while she listens to us ramble on, head nodding in part concentration, part contentment and mostly tiredness.
Abhi also arrives to partake in breakfast and “city darshan” plans, doing his best to dissuade us from going anywhere. He is the epitome of the quintessential Bong - lazy, friendly, loves friends and food, and generally fun to hang out with. He is going to make S’s home his “adda” for the next couple of days. After a brunch of the most fab parathas, we head out.
Our choice of locale – a mall called Inorbit ( mall names never ever make sense; its like all the marketing is targeted in giving it a name that a) rolls easily off the tongue, and b) sounds hip to the “cool brigade”. The choice is simple, find a place which is A/C and scurry into it.
As the city is carved out of hills, the car takes us through rambling roads and undulating plains onto our destination. I revise my initial impressions of Hyd on this trip. This is truly the Technology Sector, tall gleaming buildings, all chrome and steel and glass. Big names of IT MNCs litter either side of the roadways, set among beautifully landscaped foliage. There is an immediate “wow, impressive” factor for this part of the city.
This of course is what you would find anywhere you went - any Tier 1 city is India today has exactly the same IT landscape, with wide clean roads and huge buildings. What sets Hyd apart truly, from anywhere else, is the location and the scenery. Looking down from the Mall, where we sit sipping our coffee and taking the mandatory pictures, the eyes travel across to a huge lake/reservoir called DurgamCheru (Ma Surga Lake). On the other side of it, far away, rise steep hills, where one can see houses, resorts, offices dotted about, amongst the rocks. That is of course reflected this side as well, with all offices’ recreational spaces opening out on the lakeside. There is this tranquil air about the whole place, a moment frozen in cool serenity. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and I believe that anyone having the luxury of seeing it every day would be a happy camper.
In the evening we go clubbling. What with Blr closing shop at ridiculously early hours, the people of the once famous “city with best nightlife” now have to go to other places to enjoy themselves without being thrown out at 11pm. IPL, the latest buzz to hit Indian cricket is on. This is Season 3 of a format people laughed at, when it was first thought of – I personally liken it to “blink and miss” cricket in 20 overs. However, the excitement runs high in tamden with our drinking, with bets being placed in favor of your own team.
Thankfully, and much to my crowing delight, I win!
One day of sitting about doing nothing is about all I can take. Saturday morning dawns late – around 11am – since the previous night is spent in talking away; Alka smiling sleepily at us while she listens to us ramble on, head nodding in part concentration, part contentment and mostly tiredness.
Abhi also arrives to partake in breakfast and “city darshan” plans, doing his best to dissuade us from going anywhere. He is the epitome of the quintessential Bong - lazy, friendly, loves friends and food, and generally fun to hang out with. He is going to make S’s home his “adda” for the next couple of days. After a brunch of the most fab parathas, we head out.
Our choice of locale – a mall called Inorbit ( mall names never ever make sense; its like all the marketing is targeted in giving it a name that a) rolls easily off the tongue, and b) sounds hip to the “cool brigade”. The choice is simple, find a place which is A/C and scurry into it.
As the city is carved out of hills, the car takes us through rambling roads and undulating plains onto our destination. I revise my initial impressions of Hyd on this trip. This is truly the Technology Sector, tall gleaming buildings, all chrome and steel and glass. Big names of IT MNCs litter either side of the roadways, set among beautifully landscaped foliage. There is an immediate “wow, impressive” factor for this part of the city.
This of course is what you would find anywhere you went - any Tier 1 city is India today has exactly the same IT landscape, with wide clean roads and huge buildings. What sets Hyd apart truly, from anywhere else, is the location and the scenery. Looking down from the Mall, where we sit sipping our coffee and taking the mandatory pictures, the eyes travel across to a huge lake/reservoir called DurgamCheru (Ma Surga Lake). On the other side of it, far away, rise steep hills, where one can see houses, resorts, offices dotted about, amongst the rocks. That is of course reflected this side as well, with all offices’ recreational spaces opening out on the lakeside. There is this tranquil air about the whole place, a moment frozen in cool serenity. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and I believe that anyone having the luxury of seeing it every day would be a happy camper.
In the evening we go clubbling. What with Blr closing shop at ridiculously early hours, the people of the once famous “city with best nightlife” now have to go to other places to enjoy themselves without being thrown out at 11pm. IPL, the latest buzz to hit Indian cricket is on. This is Season 3 of a format people laughed at, when it was first thought of – I personally liken it to “blink and miss” cricket in 20 overs. However, the excitement runs high in tamden with our drinking, with bets being placed in favor of your own team.
Thankfully, and much to my crowing delight, I win!
Hydrabad-ey Hottogol
Part I - Veni
The journey starts like all journeys do..with anticipation. I’m going to catch up over a long weekend, with some of my closest friends in their new house. I even baked a cake for the occasion (it’s a perfect present - one can indulge in it with alacrity). Wriggling around to achieve the maximum level of comfort in my Volvo A/C ed bus, on an overnight journey, I find myself wishing “why can’t they make a damn A/C bus colder, for chrissake?”
Oh well! No one ever said there’s gain, without the add-on pain in the posterior, literally.
My first impression of Hyd is caught behind half closed eyes, peering sleepily out of the window. It’s nice, quiet.. peaceful; dawn light weaving in through lazily floating wisps of fog. The roads are almost totally empty, with a few lone-wolf trucks rumbling on ahead.
The city leaves behind an impression of aridity, a veritable dustbowl sitting in the midst of huge rocks strewn haphazardly everywhere. Immediately, it strikes me that it is as far from Blr as it can get..less people, less traffic, less hi-fi places, less buildings in general. It probably reminds me in a way, of what Blr might have been like 30 years ago, a small sleepy town on the eve of “development” rather than smack dab in the middle of chaos.
Sachin’s house is almost near one end of Hyd.. a place called Kondapur which is near the Tech City. There isn’t much junta around here, the hustle and bustle of the city is left far behind. Chatting with him and his wife, over a cup of adrak chai made by Alka, it is a good moment. We never realize how much we are starved for our closest, till we are face to face with one.
Catch up with A., once S. goes off for work very reluctantly. I do try to do my duty as a best friend and try to persuade him to stay, of course. A. is the perfect hostess; she packs me off to freshen up and rest, while she goes off, oh so competently, to whip up breakfast for the 2 of us. Then it’s time to chat about all and sundry – life, love, marriage, work, hopes and wishes, highpoints and failure – we are really getting to know each other “properly” this time around, rather than as the “best friend” and the “wife”.
Hyd is HOT..a dry heat that settles into your skin and leaves it parched and cracked. Water almost sizzles on the body and disappears while taking baths, giving me to reflect on all the Physics I studied ages ago. It leaves one inert to do anything the entire day, unless you have forced yourself to escape the cool confines of the house already. In the afternoons, a lassitude sets in among people, they buzz lazily like drones searching for food in the hot sun.
S’s house is huge and carefully thought out and built; but as he dryly mentions, not constructed by a very intelligent man. The halls and bedrooms are huge, the kitchen almost even bigger. The loos are tiny, in comparison. Since they are in the process of still acquiring furniture, most of the house stands empty, reverberating with sound when we speak. Opera singers would have a blast singing here, I wonder.
The whole house is pink..a delicious frothy pink with white pillars. It reminds me of a strawberry shortcake, lovely white cream drizzled with threads of pink color in it, and folded neatly to make sweet sweet icing. As a child growing up in Cal, I seem to recollect our own house walls being a pale pink at a point of time. Thankfully, post that, we have moved into a more neutral all-white color scheme, with the occasional large muddy pawprint left as a decorative statement of valor by our overly energetic dogs.
The journey starts like all journeys do..with anticipation. I’m going to catch up over a long weekend, with some of my closest friends in their new house. I even baked a cake for the occasion (it’s a perfect present - one can indulge in it with alacrity). Wriggling around to achieve the maximum level of comfort in my Volvo A/C ed bus, on an overnight journey, I find myself wishing “why can’t they make a damn A/C bus colder, for chrissake?”
Oh well! No one ever said there’s gain, without the add-on pain in the posterior, literally.
My first impression of Hyd is caught behind half closed eyes, peering sleepily out of the window. It’s nice, quiet.. peaceful; dawn light weaving in through lazily floating wisps of fog. The roads are almost totally empty, with a few lone-wolf trucks rumbling on ahead.
The city leaves behind an impression of aridity, a veritable dustbowl sitting in the midst of huge rocks strewn haphazardly everywhere. Immediately, it strikes me that it is as far from Blr as it can get..less people, less traffic, less hi-fi places, less buildings in general. It probably reminds me in a way, of what Blr might have been like 30 years ago, a small sleepy town on the eve of “development” rather than smack dab in the middle of chaos.
Sachin’s house is almost near one end of Hyd.. a place called Kondapur which is near the Tech City. There isn’t much junta around here, the hustle and bustle of the city is left far behind. Chatting with him and his wife, over a cup of adrak chai made by Alka, it is a good moment. We never realize how much we are starved for our closest, till we are face to face with one.
Catch up with A., once S. goes off for work very reluctantly. I do try to do my duty as a best friend and try to persuade him to stay, of course. A. is the perfect hostess; she packs me off to freshen up and rest, while she goes off, oh so competently, to whip up breakfast for the 2 of us. Then it’s time to chat about all and sundry – life, love, marriage, work, hopes and wishes, highpoints and failure – we are really getting to know each other “properly” this time around, rather than as the “best friend” and the “wife”.
Hyd is HOT..a dry heat that settles into your skin and leaves it parched and cracked. Water almost sizzles on the body and disappears while taking baths, giving me to reflect on all the Physics I studied ages ago. It leaves one inert to do anything the entire day, unless you have forced yourself to escape the cool confines of the house already. In the afternoons, a lassitude sets in among people, they buzz lazily like drones searching for food in the hot sun.
S’s house is huge and carefully thought out and built; but as he dryly mentions, not constructed by a very intelligent man. The halls and bedrooms are huge, the kitchen almost even bigger. The loos are tiny, in comparison. Since they are in the process of still acquiring furniture, most of the house stands empty, reverberating with sound when we speak. Opera singers would have a blast singing here, I wonder.
The whole house is pink..a delicious frothy pink with white pillars. It reminds me of a strawberry shortcake, lovely white cream drizzled with threads of pink color in it, and folded neatly to make sweet sweet icing. As a child growing up in Cal, I seem to recollect our own house walls being a pale pink at a point of time. Thankfully, post that, we have moved into a more neutral all-white color scheme, with the occasional large muddy pawprint left as a decorative statement of valor by our overly energetic dogs.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Up, up and away..
The amount of times, I have shifted around in Bangalore… would put people to shame. And no, the shifts are not personal (new home) shifts.. they are due to office spaces. In PharmARC, we shifted 5 times in 5 years – quite a feat, that!
I just joined my new company.. that was in August of last year. This April, we moved bag and baggage and shifted.. from Diamond District (6km from my house) to MG Rd (double the distance).
And oh god.. it’s a pain in the ass, and all other wrong places. Right now, Bangalore governments are frenetically digging trenches wherever they set their happy sights on, to build the Bengaluru Metro. What were one beautiful serene tree lined avenues in various parts of the city, now look like the Rann of Kutch.. flat dusty plains, billowing dust storms. And since dear aforesaid govt. is digging with a damn spoon.. it looks like we will be stuck in this grimy, cement-sand-floating-in-air limbo, forever.
I’m taking 3 hours per day, on the road.. which means that the rest of my life almost peters out, over weekdays.
Who am I kidding!! As if I was a party hopping freak when I was living 5 minutes from work. Still, do give me my moment to gripe, people..
MG Rd has been dug up completely. All scientists.. please don’t bother observing moon craters..we have them right here. Walking is a problem, as there are now no roads and no pavements anymore. So one totters over piles of dirty and mud and sand, smiling apologetically to vehicles who are waiting for you to pass, and maybe fall, face first, into the ditch beside.
One doesn’t just ride an auto in BLR, one careens. Merrily, capriciously, blindly… the autowala doing his version of being Michael in the Grand Prix till I tell him, “hello bhaiyaa, bhagwan se itna pyar toh abhi nahi hai, theek se chalaiye”.
Lurching through busy traffic, this guy decides he wants to overtake..an Innova no less. So we caper along, till aforesaid misbegotten vehicle nudges us, oh so gently, into a mound of cement. So there I am, trying desperately to look calm and poised and serene, while sliding slowly but inexorably, down a seat with suddenly, a 45 degree slope. And in the middle of all this, the auto stalls with a choke and a sputter. My auto wala quietly says, “Shit!”
What else can I say, really?
I just joined my new company.. that was in August of last year. This April, we moved bag and baggage and shifted.. from Diamond District (6km from my house) to MG Rd (double the distance).
And oh god.. it’s a pain in the ass, and all other wrong places. Right now, Bangalore governments are frenetically digging trenches wherever they set their happy sights on, to build the Bengaluru Metro. What were one beautiful serene tree lined avenues in various parts of the city, now look like the Rann of Kutch.. flat dusty plains, billowing dust storms. And since dear aforesaid govt. is digging with a damn spoon.. it looks like we will be stuck in this grimy, cement-sand-floating-in-air limbo, forever.
I’m taking 3 hours per day, on the road.. which means that the rest of my life almost peters out, over weekdays.
Who am I kidding!! As if I was a party hopping freak when I was living 5 minutes from work. Still, do give me my moment to gripe, people..
MG Rd has been dug up completely. All scientists.. please don’t bother observing moon craters..we have them right here. Walking is a problem, as there are now no roads and no pavements anymore. So one totters over piles of dirty and mud and sand, smiling apologetically to vehicles who are waiting for you to pass, and maybe fall, face first, into the ditch beside.
One doesn’t just ride an auto in BLR, one careens. Merrily, capriciously, blindly… the autowala doing his version of being Michael in the Grand Prix till I tell him, “hello bhaiyaa, bhagwan se itna pyar toh abhi nahi hai, theek se chalaiye”.
Lurching through busy traffic, this guy decides he wants to overtake..an Innova no less. So we caper along, till aforesaid misbegotten vehicle nudges us, oh so gently, into a mound of cement. So there I am, trying desperately to look calm and poised and serene, while sliding slowly but inexorably, down a seat with suddenly, a 45 degree slope. And in the middle of all this, the auto stalls with a choke and a sputter. My auto wala quietly says, “Shit!”
What else can I say, really?
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
I’m back folkses!!
All of us have times when we want to sink, and almost disappear. And I was going through that, last week. I think the shock of never being able to see Sasha again, hold him close, hug him tight till he yelps in discomfort, smell that doggie smell.. well, I can go on endlessly on this.. was too much to take and auto-recover from. So everything in life became tinged with this dirty gray tone, murky and dark.
And then… there are times when one jumps back on the proverbial bandwagon. when u dust off the, well dust.. and say “enough is enough”, and get back among the living.
I’m back, people!! And heck, it’s about time. Enough moping and whining and feeling sorry for myself. Enough of having expectations from certain friends, who don’t deserve all the time and thought wasted on them. And time to look around at all the ones who have reached out to me, and comforted me in so many ways, through these bleak moments. And thank god they are such a part of my life..
As for Sasha….let the beautiful, and they are all beautiful, memories remain…
And then… there are times when one jumps back on the proverbial bandwagon. when u dust off the, well dust.. and say “enough is enough”, and get back among the living.
I’m back, people!! And heck, it’s about time. Enough moping and whining and feeling sorry for myself. Enough of having expectations from certain friends, who don’t deserve all the time and thought wasted on them. And time to look around at all the ones who have reached out to me, and comforted me in so many ways, through these bleak moments. And thank god they are such a part of my life..
As for Sasha….let the beautiful, and they are all beautiful, memories remain…
Monday, May 04, 2009
Death is a lonely feeling
My sister died 3 weeks ago. She was a very distant cousin, living alone in Bombay, quite cut off from everyone. She was also 2 years younger than me. And while I’m not very traumatized by her gone, vis-à-vis if it had been a favorite cousin; I’m still rather shaken up by the fact that she’s GONE. And that suddenly among the 6 cousins, there is a blank space forever.
And my doggie passed away, as all those read this blog will already know, a week ago. And to say I’m facing this huge void right now, would be an understatement. I definitely prioritize my babies over my family, kya karein..
And when I have friends who I thought of as very very close, who don’t even bother to sms me when I’m at my most down, and then tell me that she contacted my mother because, I quote, “I thought she needed comforting more than you did”, I think something inside me dies a little bit.
Maybe people think that I’m that strong that I don’t need a shoulder to howl on, or that I don’t need anything, period. And it makes me wonder… did my sister feel just as lonely in Bombay? That when she looked around at family and friends there wasn’t really anyone there for her..
I wish I had the chance to talk to her once..now it is too late..
And my doggie passed away, as all those read this blog will already know, a week ago. And to say I’m facing this huge void right now, would be an understatement. I definitely prioritize my babies over my family, kya karein..
And when I have friends who I thought of as very very close, who don’t even bother to sms me when I’m at my most down, and then tell me that she contacted my mother because, I quote, “I thought she needed comforting more than you did”, I think something inside me dies a little bit.
Maybe people think that I’m that strong that I don’t need a shoulder to howl on, or that I don’t need anything, period. And it makes me wonder… did my sister feel just as lonely in Bombay? That when she looked around at family and friends there wasn’t really anyone there for her..
I wish I had the chance to talk to her once..now it is too late..
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
In Memoriam
The First Family: Tara (mom), Mishka (daughter), Sasha (son)
..and Leo (the beginning of the Second Family)
Sasha passed away last night
1992 – 27 April, 2009
17 years of beautiful memory
Tum Ho Toh
Tum ho toh, gata hai dil
..and Leo (the beginning of the Second Family)
Sasha passed away last night
1992 – 27 April, 2009
17 years of beautiful memory
Tum Ho Toh
Tum ho toh, gata hai dil
Tum nahin, toh geet kahan
Tum ho toh, hai sab hasil
Tum nahin, toh kya hai yahan
Tum ho toh hai, sapno ke jaisa hasin ek samaa
Jo tum ho toh, yeh lagtha hai
Jo tum ho toh, yeh lagtha hai
Ke mil gayi har khushi
Jo tum na ho, yeh lagtha hai
Ke har khushi mein hai kami
Tumko hai mangthi yeh zindagi
Tum ho toh, rahein bhi hai
Tum nahin, toh rastein kahan
Tum ho toh, yahan sab bhi hai
Tum nahin, toh kaun yahan
Tum ho toh hai, har ek pal meharban yeh jahan
Jo tum ho tho, hawa mein bhi
Mohabaton ka raang hai
Jo tum na ho, toh phir koi
Na josh na umang hai
Tum mile toh mili yeh zindagi..
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
To all the Moms of the World
From ALL the children.. the tales would be uncannily similar, I believe…
This one was inspired during a chat with a friend of mine. His parents are here, and as with all of us living “out-station”, parental visits bring with them, their share of love and irritation, guilt and glory.
Parents sit and hatch the whole week during such visits. It makes no difference whether they are going Calcutta to Coimbatore, Amritsar to LA..
A parental visit has its own rhythm.. an unbroken cadence.
They come; they exclaim; they clean; they cook; they nag about health and marriage; they feed the friends who all suddenly descend on you with much love (it’s a lie, its all about the food, people).
They drag you out all over town over weekends to shop (like there are no stores whatsoever in the heartlands of Calcutta) - since they have gotten bored sitting at home waiting for you to get back from office, the week through (and all you want to do is sleep).
They give you breakfast in bed; and hot dinner at night; plenty of unwanted advice about life, work, men, health, friends, food, bosses, work, health, life… you know what I mean..
The other common factor of parental visits is GUILT. In dollops. You feel horrible that parent is here, yet work can’t stop. So, all you can do is pray that they will find something to do, while on their trip.
Moms, of course, get a free pass to “Harass Heaven”, as soon as they become MOMS. I suspect Dads would too, if they could be less immersed in the newspapers and cricket. Mine is a little afraid of my volatile temper, so that’s another plus. :-D
Ma, thankfully, brings her work. So, after she has finished flailing her arms about, and exclaiming about the state of my house, she potters around cleaning. Yes, this one is a REGULAR. And it makes no difference even if I have run around like the Whirling Dervish a day before, and collared my roomie also to help clean up the house.
Once she has happily checked expiry dates on every damn thing in the house, and thrown out most of it, she settles down to do her work.. finishes it too, by the time the trip is through. One visit, it wasn’t just her, but my other 2 aunts as well. Between the three mothers, my fridge started resembling Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard in half hour.
“O my god!! Look at that mayonnaise, its 3 years old!
“And see this!! 3 bottles of the same sauce…all expired!!”
In my defense, milord… it was a busy three years.
Every trip is the same. Ma wakes up at the CRACK of DAWN...potters around a bit.. peers at my face... says "Am going for a walk, won’t u come?"
If I mumble back...pillow over my face, she’ll say "U sure? Sure na, that you don’t feel like it?"
And go off.
Then she's be back in an hour.. and say "Eesh, ki je shob raasta tomar barir shamney, haantai jai na”
The lady is used to power walking for an hour, each day by a lake back home.. what can I do, manufacture one here?
Then she's again peer at me and say "Chaa khabey?"
Of course, I’m STILL at the mumbling stage..and really cross by now
So I say no.
Off she goes.. makes her tea (Darjeeling, that she packs and gets from home, cause she cannot bear my Dhaba chai)
She also make my coffee, brings it to the bed (this is a really nice part, I must say) and says "Ei nao, coffee khao"..
Oblivious to my no-s..
But there's more.. the story doesn’t end there.
Now, willy nilly, I’m about one-fourth awake. She gets all excited and tells me “Ebar change korey treadmill ey uthey poro” and “Eki, eto kom walk korey ki laabh!!”
Once satisfied that I’m huffing and puffing away to her liking on that damn treadmill, she starts to cut fruits. Here, all people who know me and love me, and even those who don’t, know that I’m NOT a health food person. I have to "gird my loins and go forth into battle", when to have fruits.
So, there is Mom, looking at me with piteous eyes... and saying things like.. "Ami eto koshto korey kaatlam, tumi ektuuu o khabey na?"
By which time, one is goaded enough to walk out of the house, at a far earlier hour than you would, if u were home alone.
Amazingly though.. and yes, really, its amazing me too… I wouldn’t change her for the world. Well, mostly! Can I ask for some minor, teensy weensy modifications, though? :-D
This one was inspired during a chat with a friend of mine. His parents are here, and as with all of us living “out-station”, parental visits bring with them, their share of love and irritation, guilt and glory.
Parents sit and hatch the whole week during such visits. It makes no difference whether they are going Calcutta to Coimbatore, Amritsar to LA..
A parental visit has its own rhythm.. an unbroken cadence.
They come; they exclaim; they clean; they cook; they nag about health and marriage; they feed the friends who all suddenly descend on you with much love (it’s a lie, its all about the food, people).
They drag you out all over town over weekends to shop (like there are no stores whatsoever in the heartlands of Calcutta) - since they have gotten bored sitting at home waiting for you to get back from office, the week through (and all you want to do is sleep).
They give you breakfast in bed; and hot dinner at night; plenty of unwanted advice about life, work, men, health, friends, food, bosses, work, health, life… you know what I mean..
The other common factor of parental visits is GUILT. In dollops. You feel horrible that parent is here, yet work can’t stop. So, all you can do is pray that they will find something to do, while on their trip.
Moms, of course, get a free pass to “Harass Heaven”, as soon as they become MOMS. I suspect Dads would too, if they could be less immersed in the newspapers and cricket. Mine is a little afraid of my volatile temper, so that’s another plus. :-D
Ma, thankfully, brings her work. So, after she has finished flailing her arms about, and exclaiming about the state of my house, she potters around cleaning. Yes, this one is a REGULAR. And it makes no difference even if I have run around like the Whirling Dervish a day before, and collared my roomie also to help clean up the house.
Once she has happily checked expiry dates on every damn thing in the house, and thrown out most of it, she settles down to do her work.. finishes it too, by the time the trip is through. One visit, it wasn’t just her, but my other 2 aunts as well. Between the three mothers, my fridge started resembling Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard in half hour.
“O my god!! Look at that mayonnaise, its 3 years old!
“And see this!! 3 bottles of the same sauce…all expired!!”
In my defense, milord… it was a busy three years.
Every trip is the same. Ma wakes up at the CRACK of DAWN...potters around a bit.. peers at my face... says "Am going for a walk, won’t u come?"
If I mumble back...pillow over my face, she’ll say "U sure? Sure na, that you don’t feel like it?"
And go off.
Then she's be back in an hour.. and say "Eesh, ki je shob raasta tomar barir shamney, haantai jai na”
The lady is used to power walking for an hour, each day by a lake back home.. what can I do, manufacture one here?
Then she's again peer at me and say "Chaa khabey?"
Of course, I’m STILL at the mumbling stage..and really cross by now
So I say no.
Off she goes.. makes her tea (Darjeeling, that she packs and gets from home, cause she cannot bear my Dhaba chai)
She also make my coffee, brings it to the bed (this is a really nice part, I must say) and says "Ei nao, coffee khao"..
Oblivious to my no-s..
But there's more.. the story doesn’t end there.
Now, willy nilly, I’m about one-fourth awake. She gets all excited and tells me “Ebar change korey treadmill ey uthey poro” and “Eki, eto kom walk korey ki laabh!!”
Once satisfied that I’m huffing and puffing away to her liking on that damn treadmill, she starts to cut fruits. Here, all people who know me and love me, and even those who don’t, know that I’m NOT a health food person. I have to "gird my loins and go forth into battle", when to have fruits.
So, there is Mom, looking at me with piteous eyes... and saying things like.. "Ami eto koshto korey kaatlam, tumi ektuuu o khabey na?"
By which time, one is goaded enough to walk out of the house, at a far earlier hour than you would, if u were home alone.
Amazingly though.. and yes, really, its amazing me too… I wouldn’t change her for the world. Well, mostly! Can I ask for some minor, teensy weensy modifications, though? :-D
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Delhi Belly
(I’m plagiarizing movie names left, right and centre.. maybe I should go ask Anu Malik for a job)
Of course…Delhi is not all bad. As a matter of fact, it’s a wonderful trip…magical in snatches..
P. picks me up at the airport.. and makes me wait more than an hour for her before she lands up. Its old old friendship that makes me forget wanting to bonk her on the head with my heels, and makes me envelop her in a bear-hug of delight. Her hubby, S., is a very cool guy… this is my 1st meeting with him, but we are comfy around each other right away.
That night, they bundle me into their car and we zoom off to Defence Colony, appropriately called Def Col by the Punjs.. after 26/11, a lot of people are saying that all our Forces are deaf and dumb to the needs of the country. M. and V. have come down from the good ole USA.. I’m meeting them after 4 years, I think. Other assorted friends are also there, so it’s a big party/reunion of sorts. N is pouting.. he refuses to speak to me for all of 5 minutes.. because he was the only one of the lot who DIDN’T know I was landing up. I tell him it was supposed to be a surprise, I was supposed to jump out of a cardboard cake..but P. ruined it.
Nothing ever beats old friends.. the ability to catch up exactly where we left off..not a beat missed. We have known each other since Junior and High School..just counting the number of years that makes, makes my head reel. The whole night is tinged in my memory in shades of “warmth”. The lovely cream of the walls, a playful but bhishon bheetu (darpok) Lab gamboling in and out of the room, deep maroon couches we sink into, with out whiskeys, wines and paneer on sticks. And laughter, and hugs, and the old affectionate digs at each other’s expense.
The next day, I move into R.s house..she had sworn she would come after me with a knife if I didn’t stay with her - given the fact that she is a Jat, however much she protests she is not - I take no chances. R is glowing with what I can only call “newly wed happiness”.. a lot of that glow is attributed to her finally having her own house.
M. and R. are friends from my previous job, we were a group of 5 people who have managed to weather time and distance and keep the friendship going. M also brings his fiancé.. we warn her against M. and tell her “picture abhi baaki hai mere dost..soch le..isse shaadi karegi?? Time hai..bhaag jaa”. Must be true love…after all the stories we tell her of M.
R. and I go off shopping.. part of it is her gifts we friends are giving her. The other part is where I drag her off to Dilli Haat to soak in sun and ethnic funny little things to buy. She picks up a tortoise seat and I fall in love with a cycle rickshaw perfectly cast in the style they are, in Calcutta.
At R.’s house, our relaxed lazing-in-bed afternoon chat is rudely awoken by a monstrous din outside. Peeping out from her balcony, it is time for my jaw dropping moment - 2 bejeweled elephants, 6 horses, and a tonga - all part of the famous Punjabi wedding Baraat.
The two brides..yes, 2 - its a “buy 1-get 1 free” wedding - are weighed down in tones of the most ghastly gaudy jewelry and ghagra-cholis that one can possibly imagine. The two elephants look beleaguered - that’s the only word for it - shifting uneasily from foot to foot while hordes of snotty brats, screaming girls and chamkili aunties dance about, and teen boys in Pulsars wearing strange gold colored, androgenous kurtis roar by. I take loads of pictures, to remember it all by.
Of course…Delhi is not all bad. As a matter of fact, it’s a wonderful trip…magical in snatches..
P. picks me up at the airport.. and makes me wait more than an hour for her before she lands up. Its old old friendship that makes me forget wanting to bonk her on the head with my heels, and makes me envelop her in a bear-hug of delight. Her hubby, S., is a very cool guy… this is my 1st meeting with him, but we are comfy around each other right away.
That night, they bundle me into their car and we zoom off to Defence Colony, appropriately called Def Col by the Punjs.. after 26/11, a lot of people are saying that all our Forces are deaf and dumb to the needs of the country. M. and V. have come down from the good ole USA.. I’m meeting them after 4 years, I think. Other assorted friends are also there, so it’s a big party/reunion of sorts. N is pouting.. he refuses to speak to me for all of 5 minutes.. because he was the only one of the lot who DIDN’T know I was landing up. I tell him it was supposed to be a surprise, I was supposed to jump out of a cardboard cake..but P. ruined it.
Nothing ever beats old friends.. the ability to catch up exactly where we left off..not a beat missed. We have known each other since Junior and High School..just counting the number of years that makes, makes my head reel. The whole night is tinged in my memory in shades of “warmth”. The lovely cream of the walls, a playful but bhishon bheetu (darpok) Lab gamboling in and out of the room, deep maroon couches we sink into, with out whiskeys, wines and paneer on sticks. And laughter, and hugs, and the old affectionate digs at each other’s expense.
The next day, I move into R.s house..she had sworn she would come after me with a knife if I didn’t stay with her - given the fact that she is a Jat, however much she protests she is not - I take no chances. R is glowing with what I can only call “newly wed happiness”.. a lot of that glow is attributed to her finally having her own house.
M. and R. are friends from my previous job, we were a group of 5 people who have managed to weather time and distance and keep the friendship going. M also brings his fiancé.. we warn her against M. and tell her “picture abhi baaki hai mere dost..soch le..isse shaadi karegi?? Time hai..bhaag jaa”. Must be true love…after all the stories we tell her of M.
R. and I go off shopping.. part of it is her gifts we friends are giving her. The other part is where I drag her off to Dilli Haat to soak in sun and ethnic funny little things to buy. She picks up a tortoise seat and I fall in love with a cycle rickshaw perfectly cast in the style they are, in Calcutta.
At R.’s house, our relaxed lazing-in-bed afternoon chat is rudely awoken by a monstrous din outside. Peeping out from her balcony, it is time for my jaw dropping moment - 2 bejeweled elephants, 6 horses, and a tonga - all part of the famous Punjabi wedding Baraat.
The two brides..yes, 2 - its a “buy 1-get 1 free” wedding - are weighed down in tones of the most ghastly gaudy jewelry and ghagra-cholis that one can possibly imagine. The two elephants look beleaguered - that’s the only word for it - shifting uneasily from foot to foot while hordes of snotty brats, screaming girls and chamkili aunties dance about, and teen boys in Pulsars wearing strange gold colored, androgenous kurtis roar by. I take loads of pictures, to remember it all by.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Yeh Dilli Hai Mere Yaar
Well, okie, so I stole the title from a song in the movie. But then, it is quite apt, considering we are talking about a city where the sword is most definitely mightier than the pen.
Pen? What pen?
Hopping over to Delhi last weekend for a quick trip was certainly an eye opener. The last time I had been to “Das Capitol” was way way back in the summer of..well, way way back. I was in my young teens, and Delhi was just another stopover on the way to a wonderful trekking trip in the Himalayas.
Confused memories of Bengali and Punjabi housewives in ghastly purple silk saris, laden with jewelry, rather like a Christmas tree, each out-doing the next. That was CR Park for you, at 10am in the morning on Dashami. Frankly, I could have cared less about the people and the place.
Thus, this trip was quite a novel one..seeing Delhi in a whole new light. The place still is all about “see and be seen”. Getting down at the airport, tired and crumpled from a really long flight, all around me were people vying to be Pg 3 starlets. Tight jeans, tight tops, shrugs…designer tags waving in the air, every which where. Girls from 10yrs old, to women of 60, all in impossibly high heels, tethering around. It was a shock for me, coming from BLR, where it’s a rather chilled out crowd. Delhi truly is the Fashion Capital of India. Note I say nothing about Style.
The feeling of wealth continues, on roads and in malls. At any given traffic light that we stopped at, all one could see a sea of Innovas and Hondas, a Merc or more. Small cars were few and far between. And the malls were a surreal experience. Firstly, the space..
Oh My God, the Space!!
It beat everything I have seen in different cities in India, so far. The Citywalk Mall my friend dragged me to, was HUMUNGOUS. Almost the size of Eden Gardens, Calcutta, this was 3 separate malls merged smoothly into one. Gleaming glass finishes inside, fabulous displays. International brands, some of which I honestly hadn’t seen in BLR, rubbed shoulders casually with our own local flavors. Excellent landscaping outside, lead to sunken places beside cool fountains where you could sit and listen to live performances by artists. Cafes selling cuisine from all across the world had happy over-laden shoppers dropping into them with (LOUD Punjabi) sighs of relief demanding imperiously for chilled Evian water (150 INR for a bottle, I tell you!)
Really, I will never understand the Punjabi mentality, specially the Sardar variety. Opulence is the name of the game, a larger than life persona.
“OYE, KI HAAL HOVE?” said in screaming tones into each others’ ears after they meet. Not withstanding that half of Delhi has heard that decibel level and can ALL shout back “BAAS, BADIYA” in tones of great enthusiasm.
This is not to say I don’t like the people..some of my very dear friends are Punjabi and I wouldn’t change them for the world. I admire their fearlessness and their ability to live life. While the rest of the Indian populace goes around carefully skirting the edges of life as they live it, the Punjs are out there, doing bhangra and eating aloo paratha smothered in ghee.
Pen? What pen?
Hopping over to Delhi last weekend for a quick trip was certainly an eye opener. The last time I had been to “Das Capitol” was way way back in the summer of..well, way way back. I was in my young teens, and Delhi was just another stopover on the way to a wonderful trekking trip in the Himalayas.
Confused memories of Bengali and Punjabi housewives in ghastly purple silk saris, laden with jewelry, rather like a Christmas tree, each out-doing the next. That was CR Park for you, at 10am in the morning on Dashami. Frankly, I could have cared less about the people and the place.
Thus, this trip was quite a novel one..seeing Delhi in a whole new light. The place still is all about “see and be seen”. Getting down at the airport, tired and crumpled from a really long flight, all around me were people vying to be Pg 3 starlets. Tight jeans, tight tops, shrugs…designer tags waving in the air, every which where. Girls from 10yrs old, to women of 60, all in impossibly high heels, tethering around. It was a shock for me, coming from BLR, where it’s a rather chilled out crowd. Delhi truly is the Fashion Capital of India. Note I say nothing about Style.
The feeling of wealth continues, on roads and in malls. At any given traffic light that we stopped at, all one could see a sea of Innovas and Hondas, a Merc or more. Small cars were few and far between. And the malls were a surreal experience. Firstly, the space..
Oh My God, the Space!!
It beat everything I have seen in different cities in India, so far. The Citywalk Mall my friend dragged me to, was HUMUNGOUS. Almost the size of Eden Gardens, Calcutta, this was 3 separate malls merged smoothly into one. Gleaming glass finishes inside, fabulous displays. International brands, some of which I honestly hadn’t seen in BLR, rubbed shoulders casually with our own local flavors. Excellent landscaping outside, lead to sunken places beside cool fountains where you could sit and listen to live performances by artists. Cafes selling cuisine from all across the world had happy over-laden shoppers dropping into them with (LOUD Punjabi) sighs of relief demanding imperiously for chilled Evian water (150 INR for a bottle, I tell you!)
Really, I will never understand the Punjabi mentality, specially the Sardar variety. Opulence is the name of the game, a larger than life persona.
“OYE, KI HAAL HOVE?” said in screaming tones into each others’ ears after they meet. Not withstanding that half of Delhi has heard that decibel level and can ALL shout back “BAAS, BADIYA” in tones of great enthusiasm.
This is not to say I don’t like the people..some of my very dear friends are Punjabi and I wouldn’t change them for the world. I admire their fearlessness and their ability to live life. While the rest of the Indian populace goes around carefully skirting the edges of life as they live it, the Punjs are out there, doing bhangra and eating aloo paratha smothered in ghee.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Slow down, you move too fast…
31st August 2008. Had joined the new company for 10 days, and I still felt curiously redundant in my new role. Not that I WAS, since whatever suggestions I dgiven out so far in management meetings had been taken positively. Rolled out the plan last Friday to the senior members of the team; the reactions ranged from very thrilled to very interested.
Pretty nice guys, and I’m getting to know each of them personally, slowly and surely. Of course, I realize they will never be my “yaars” the way PharmARC people were, and that’s to be expected; I’ve come in as their Head, and so they are bound to have those mental constraints, at least for the time-being.
I also realize that only time will tell of the true colors of the relationships. The ones who act thrilled and so very nice, could easily be maska maaro-ing, and backstab me hollow; the ones who are reserved today, might turn out to be my biggest allies in troubled times. These are the risks we take in the game; the only hope is that life and my previous experiences over the past 5 odd years have managed to stuff some common sense down my gullet.
So, back to main topic.. why then, after all that, WAS I feeling curiously redundant?
Well, for one, at PharmARC, life was all about contingencies and deadlines and playing leapfrog helter-skelter, in projects. I don’t think we ever waltzed leisurely with the client, even when they wouldn’t have minded us to do so.. we were always insisting on the more energetic troubled tango. Lol. Fast paced and exciting, indeed yes, but gave no time to take a breath. I remember always feeling guilty if I ever left office when there was sunlight outside.
Here, we have a 9 to 6.. and we actually FOLLOW it, which leaves me eons of time to do my own thing. While I’m reveling in this, my mind is obviously a little slow in catching up (comfortably), with such a drastic change. Everyone works at a normal pace, without hyperactivity and hypertension. That still seems alien to me. In office, we are not running for everything, every time. There is no need anymore, WPP had “arrived” a long long time ago.
The second factor that causes such redundancy is the fact that the Meritus Bangalore set up is still small (30 odd) and dependant on MindTree for the tech stuff. Thus, between left hand and right hand, they are often waving wildly in the air without meeting, rather like 2 blind bats trying to do a handshake during a storm. Thus, what could take 2-3 max in a large office, still takes about 8, in a small one. Never had to face, and wait for “Support Functions” to do their jobs on time before.. it was a smooth process.
Will get used to it, will get used to it. And then….will change it for the better. Halleluiah!
Pretty nice guys, and I’m getting to know each of them personally, slowly and surely. Of course, I realize they will never be my “yaars” the way PharmARC people were, and that’s to be expected; I’ve come in as their Head, and so they are bound to have those mental constraints, at least for the time-being.
I also realize that only time will tell of the true colors of the relationships. The ones who act thrilled and so very nice, could easily be maska maaro-ing, and backstab me hollow; the ones who are reserved today, might turn out to be my biggest allies in troubled times. These are the risks we take in the game; the only hope is that life and my previous experiences over the past 5 odd years have managed to stuff some common sense down my gullet.
So, back to main topic.. why then, after all that, WAS I feeling curiously redundant?
Well, for one, at PharmARC, life was all about contingencies and deadlines and playing leapfrog helter-skelter, in projects. I don’t think we ever waltzed leisurely with the client, even when they wouldn’t have minded us to do so.. we were always insisting on the more energetic troubled tango. Lol. Fast paced and exciting, indeed yes, but gave no time to take a breath. I remember always feeling guilty if I ever left office when there was sunlight outside.
Here, we have a 9 to 6.. and we actually FOLLOW it, which leaves me eons of time to do my own thing. While I’m reveling in this, my mind is obviously a little slow in catching up (comfortably), with such a drastic change. Everyone works at a normal pace, without hyperactivity and hypertension. That still seems alien to me. In office, we are not running for everything, every time. There is no need anymore, WPP had “arrived” a long long time ago.
The second factor that causes such redundancy is the fact that the Meritus Bangalore set up is still small (30 odd) and dependant on MindTree for the tech stuff. Thus, between left hand and right hand, they are often waving wildly in the air without meeting, rather like 2 blind bats trying to do a handshake during a storm. Thus, what could take 2-3 max in a large office, still takes about 8, in a small one. Never had to face, and wait for “Support Functions” to do their jobs on time before.. it was a smooth process.
Will get used to it, will get used to it. And then….will change it for the better. Halleluiah!
A Major Food Group
I have a special fondness for the open air Barista on MG Road. The big orange umbrellas, shards of sun making weird patterns on the tiles, the wind getting tangled in one’s hair, the cigarette smoke curling lazily above our heads to dissipate with gusts of blustery weather, the foot-tapping music that makes me want to get up at random moments and dance around, and the high intensity of energy that fills the air.
It’s not just the coffee, I admit. I’m drawn to the whole experience. Sitting there for hours on end, discussing anything and everything, drinking cup and cup of coffee, taking it in turns to ensure people don’t ask us, albeit politely, to leave.
Close friends and family, body language relaxed and easy, laughing hysterically at god-alone-knows-what. Talking of things that one talks about only with those we are close to, knowing there is no judgment, no pressure.
Then suddenly, the conversations veer off on a tangent. The posture changes… urgent, eager, private. Listeners and talkers, simultaneously. It’s a closed circle, low tones directly stating different points of views, ways to figure out tight situations. And after a while, that’s over. People watching, languid moods and peaceful silences take over.
When I was a little girl – well, littler than I am now, at any rate – I had this poster in my room. As far as I remember, some of us friends had made them…yes, MADE.. it was our own thoughts and desires, regurgitated forth in all its squiggly glory on fancy paper. It said, simply,
The 5 Major Food Groups
- Caffeine
- Nicotine
- Protein
- Alcohol
- Cholesterol
The parents yoyo-ed between disgust, suspicion and amusement for a while, finally settling on the latter.
Those food groups didn’t really change over the years.. they merely increased or decreased in order of priority and percentage over time. Today, I can happily claim I’m a coffee addict. It’s almost indescribable. The smell of roasted coffee beans in a perfume shop, the aroma of freshly made coffee smells wafting in the air. We had this ritual in my old office, where we friends would gather in our open air cafeteria, first thing as soon as we all got into work. Each of us had our preferences; my poison was caffeine to get me awake and charged up to face the day. It never failed.
I think I will introduce that in my new job; feel almost “half of me” without it.
It’s not just the coffee, I admit. I’m drawn to the whole experience. Sitting there for hours on end, discussing anything and everything, drinking cup and cup of coffee, taking it in turns to ensure people don’t ask us, albeit politely, to leave.
Close friends and family, body language relaxed and easy, laughing hysterically at god-alone-knows-what. Talking of things that one talks about only with those we are close to, knowing there is no judgment, no pressure.
Then suddenly, the conversations veer off on a tangent. The posture changes… urgent, eager, private. Listeners and talkers, simultaneously. It’s a closed circle, low tones directly stating different points of views, ways to figure out tight situations. And after a while, that’s over. People watching, languid moods and peaceful silences take over.
When I was a little girl – well, littler than I am now, at any rate – I had this poster in my room. As far as I remember, some of us friends had made them…yes, MADE.. it was our own thoughts and desires, regurgitated forth in all its squiggly glory on fancy paper. It said, simply,
The 5 Major Food Groups
- Caffeine
- Nicotine
- Protein
- Alcohol
- Cholesterol
The parents yoyo-ed between disgust, suspicion and amusement for a while, finally settling on the latter.
Those food groups didn’t really change over the years.. they merely increased or decreased in order of priority and percentage over time. Today, I can happily claim I’m a coffee addict. It’s almost indescribable. The smell of roasted coffee beans in a perfume shop, the aroma of freshly made coffee smells wafting in the air. We had this ritual in my old office, where we friends would gather in our open air cafeteria, first thing as soon as we all got into work. Each of us had our preferences; my poison was caffeine to get me awake and charged up to face the day. It never failed.
I think I will introduce that in my new job; feel almost “half of me” without it.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Friends are for kicking one's butt..
Was totally and absolutely in a dilemma.. I had got an offer from IIMB for an Executive MBA Program, and at the same time, a new and hyped up role in a new company (more on that later). And they were both the stuff, my pipe-dreams are made of. But clashed and collided in a multitude of ways and dates, and all of those horrible things that were giving me nightmares.
I was on the verge of walking away (heavy heart and sniffling) from the IIMB program, thinking I wouldn’t be able to deal with it. Maybe the time wasn’t right, maybe I was better off with prioritizing only the job, etc etc.
Then spoke at length to P. and P. last night, and smsed back and forth with K., who all talked me into fighting and thinking it out, and finally saying YES to the IIMB. They think, and thus, now I think, I will be able to juggle both.
A huge, HUGE hug to P. and P. and K. for the motivation..
I was on the verge of walking away (heavy heart and sniffling) from the IIMB program, thinking I wouldn’t be able to deal with it. Maybe the time wasn’t right, maybe I was better off with prioritizing only the job, etc etc.
Then spoke at length to P. and P. last night, and smsed back and forth with K., who all talked me into fighting and thinking it out, and finally saying YES to the IIMB. They think, and thus, now I think, I will be able to juggle both.
A huge, HUGE hug to P. and P. and K. for the motivation..
AAAAAAARGH!!!
Frustration to the hilt. The CFO is out of town on work, my financial induction happens on Tuesday, and till then…. zilch (how long CAN one Google, man!!)
Which means, I’m sitting here.. I can’t network (Facebook, LinkedIn, et al), I can’t chat (no Skype, GTalk, MSN, yada yada), I can’t mail (MindTree's Internet Access Policy does not allow access to this site as it has been categorized as "Web-based E-mail"), AND I can’t view most sites (MindTree's Internet Access Policy does not allow access to this site as it has been categorized as "Entertainment").
Of Course I Want Entertainment!!
Anyone would want entertainment if they had to sit hour after hour looking at a wall, with no one around. Innumerable cups of coffee, multiple phone calls, angst about IIM or not alongside new job and all that, notwithstanding. Specially when I ‘m used to, and almost thrive on, frentic activity.
P.S.: Sigh!! I think I’m having hysterics. The next week I hope, brings better things to come..
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Just another day in paradise..
Sitting here, in my new office, on my first day – no laptop assigned to me yet, no access card, no desk – in short, no nothing. Met some of my “team to be”...have a team lunch thing as well, in a while, to meet the rest of them all.
“And in the dangling conversation.. and the superficial smiles”
Paul Simon knew what he was talking about, for sure. Though, in all fairness I must admit that this is expected. In all offices, the first few days, for the new employees are generally stilted, and fraught with tension.
“Will I fit in?” “Will they like me?” “I hope I’m doing the right thing” “I wonder whose head I stepped on, to bag this job – unfortunate, but bound to be true”.. and so forth.
I was experiencing deja-vu actually.. laughing at myself, as I was walking down the different cubes, introducing myself to different people. How often in the last 5 years, in my previous company, have I seen people going around doing the same, and then smiled politely and forgotten him/her in an instant as soon as they passed?
I’m currently placed outside the team facility - remember, no access card? – and its all quiet.. so very quiet. Each time the door opens, I hear snatches of conversation and laughter, till the door closes again, and I’m left with good ole me. It's a lonely feeling.
A wave of nostalgia hits me, a veritable tsunami. Nostalgia for my old office, where I was a “dada”, untouchable, un-putdown-able. Walking around hands in pockets, whistling any tune that came to my mind, me knowing everyone, and everyone knowing me. I know I got away with a lot of stuff that others couldn’t dream of saying or doing.. simply because of the bonds I had forged over time.
I’m remembering the times in the cafeteria, drinking innumerable cups of coffee, the wind in our hair, the papad flying across, end to end. Friends telling me, patiently "Sri, coffee khatam kar" as I would get engrossed in conversation, and the coffee would grow ice cold in the cup. I miss the Dumb Charades with F. and S. guessing phrases no other person could think of.
“I tot I taw a puddy tat a teeping up on me”
Shouting out loudly in laughter with friends.. as R. would put it “gir gir ke haasna” .. all the others would turn to look at us and grin at our craziness. My heart to heart talks with S., the quiet one of our group, who I always look to for confirmation on things that matter. And beating M. with a shoe, when he bugged me too much.. which was really very often.. on the Delhi Calcutta divide.
Maybe that will happen here.. maybe not. Only time will tell. Till then, I’l maintain a casual pose, stick one hand in my pocket and cross my fingers.
“And in the dangling conversation.. and the superficial smiles”
Paul Simon knew what he was talking about, for sure. Though, in all fairness I must admit that this is expected. In all offices, the first few days, for the new employees are generally stilted, and fraught with tension.
“Will I fit in?” “Will they like me?” “I hope I’m doing the right thing” “I wonder whose head I stepped on, to bag this job – unfortunate, but bound to be true”.. and so forth.
I was experiencing deja-vu actually.. laughing at myself, as I was walking down the different cubes, introducing myself to different people. How often in the last 5 years, in my previous company, have I seen people going around doing the same, and then smiled politely and forgotten him/her in an instant as soon as they passed?
I’m currently placed outside the team facility - remember, no access card? – and its all quiet.. so very quiet. Each time the door opens, I hear snatches of conversation and laughter, till the door closes again, and I’m left with good ole me. It's a lonely feeling.
A wave of nostalgia hits me, a veritable tsunami. Nostalgia for my old office, where I was a “dada”, untouchable, un-putdown-able. Walking around hands in pockets, whistling any tune that came to my mind, me knowing everyone, and everyone knowing me. I know I got away with a lot of stuff that others couldn’t dream of saying or doing.. simply because of the bonds I had forged over time.
I’m remembering the times in the cafeteria, drinking innumerable cups of coffee, the wind in our hair, the papad flying across, end to end. Friends telling me, patiently "Sri, coffee khatam kar" as I would get engrossed in conversation, and the coffee would grow ice cold in the cup. I miss the Dumb Charades with F. and S. guessing phrases no other person could think of.
“I tot I taw a puddy tat a teeping up on me”
Shouting out loudly in laughter with friends.. as R. would put it “gir gir ke haasna” .. all the others would turn to look at us and grin at our craziness. My heart to heart talks with S., the quiet one of our group, who I always look to for confirmation on things that matter. And beating M. with a shoe, when he bugged me too much.. which was really very often.. on the Delhi Calcutta divide.
Maybe that will happen here.. maybe not. Only time will tell. Till then, I’l maintain a casual pose, stick one hand in my pocket and cross my fingers.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
A Trip Down Memory Lane
What DOES one feel, at the threshold of resigning from a job?
A job where I have been at, over the last 4.5 years.. a job that I’ve been with, since the inception of the company. When we first came together, we were a band of 8 enthusiastic, upbeat souls.. ready to face any challenge that was thrown at us. Our bosses were 2 young guys, “fresh” out of Wall Street and other big names across EU and US.. but totally green behind the ears when it came to running an organization.
We were all recruited out of pubs and coffee shops, guzzling beer over papers and handshakes (Siraj never let me live it down, as a matter of fact). As soon as we came onboard, Anu and I were chosen to choose colors, designs, hardware, software, et al, at different moments. Off we would trot, with the CEO’s money (even in those days, one had to REALLY work to persuade him to part with it, even for the greater good) to buy furniture and various decorative bits and pieces, for our office “relaxing zone”. The fact that the Zone was bang in front of our bosses’ glass walled cabin, escaped our notice till the n-eth moment.
The first day I walked into the office, I was met by a cigarette puffing guy, salt and pepper hair, wearing these brightly colored Bermudas; I realized later, that he was the President. Ushering us very nicely into his cabin, to discuss a project, he wound up, telling the team “this presentation needs to be orgasmic”. Needless to say, for the other team members, all good little Southie ones; they simply preferred to have a collective coronary instead.
It was a good thing that we were ready to take on the world…for the universe, it seemed at times, was thrown at us. Amit and Siraj were hard taskmasters.. they even had a dictum “3 strikes and you’re out”. Each of us would shiver and shake in our shoes, every time Amit had to review our presentations. He could make us feel very small indeed, with his “Ye KYA hai, yaar? This is BULLSHIT!” drawl. Siraj was known to reduce people to tears, with cutting remarks “Is this the BEST you can do? I mean, if you can’t, tell me… I can do it myself.”
Looking back, and specially looking around the current recruits swarming the organization, it was the best training that one could ever receive. We were learning every moment of the way.. the domain knowledge, the ability to analyze, the importance of key takeaways and titles that made sense. What the clients wanted to hear, and not necessarily what we wanted to blather about, on and on. How very important it was to have “Quality, and Pristine Look and Feel” almost as part of the air we breathed.
But more importantly, we learnt about how not to give up, how to look adversity in the eye; how to come crashing down, and then dust ourselves off, and perform even better. A few of us faced challenge after challenge.. and swore that we would always come out of it, smiling and victorious. I realize, with rather with an element of shocked surprise, that I have a whole lot to be grateful for.
Not always in the best of ways; but these guys pushed me to new limits, challenged my creativity, defined new roles when I least expected them. And in the process, helped me become a far better professional today, than I was 5 years ago; with an entire new and varied skill set range, and an ability to adapt to any new situation without batting an eyelid.
And for all that, and so much more, Amit and Siraj, I truly truly thank you…
A job where I have been at, over the last 4.5 years.. a job that I’ve been with, since the inception of the company. When we first came together, we were a band of 8 enthusiastic, upbeat souls.. ready to face any challenge that was thrown at us. Our bosses were 2 young guys, “fresh” out of Wall Street and other big names across EU and US.. but totally green behind the ears when it came to running an organization.
We were all recruited out of pubs and coffee shops, guzzling beer over papers and handshakes (Siraj never let me live it down, as a matter of fact). As soon as we came onboard, Anu and I were chosen to choose colors, designs, hardware, software, et al, at different moments. Off we would trot, with the CEO’s money (even in those days, one had to REALLY work to persuade him to part with it, even for the greater good) to buy furniture and various decorative bits and pieces, for our office “relaxing zone”. The fact that the Zone was bang in front of our bosses’ glass walled cabin, escaped our notice till the n-eth moment.
The first day I walked into the office, I was met by a cigarette puffing guy, salt and pepper hair, wearing these brightly colored Bermudas; I realized later, that he was the President. Ushering us very nicely into his cabin, to discuss a project, he wound up, telling the team “this presentation needs to be orgasmic”. Needless to say, for the other team members, all good little Southie ones; they simply preferred to have a collective coronary instead.
It was a good thing that we were ready to take on the world…for the universe, it seemed at times, was thrown at us. Amit and Siraj were hard taskmasters.. they even had a dictum “3 strikes and you’re out”. Each of us would shiver and shake in our shoes, every time Amit had to review our presentations. He could make us feel very small indeed, with his “Ye KYA hai, yaar? This is BULLSHIT!” drawl. Siraj was known to reduce people to tears, with cutting remarks “Is this the BEST you can do? I mean, if you can’t, tell me… I can do it myself.”
Looking back, and specially looking around the current recruits swarming the organization, it was the best training that one could ever receive. We were learning every moment of the way.. the domain knowledge, the ability to analyze, the importance of key takeaways and titles that made sense. What the clients wanted to hear, and not necessarily what we wanted to blather about, on and on. How very important it was to have “Quality, and Pristine Look and Feel” almost as part of the air we breathed.
But more importantly, we learnt about how not to give up, how to look adversity in the eye; how to come crashing down, and then dust ourselves off, and perform even better. A few of us faced challenge after challenge.. and swore that we would always come out of it, smiling and victorious. I realize, with rather with an element of shocked surprise, that I have a whole lot to be grateful for.
Not always in the best of ways; but these guys pushed me to new limits, challenged my creativity, defined new roles when I least expected them. And in the process, helped me become a far better professional today, than I was 5 years ago; with an entire new and varied skill set range, and an ability to adapt to any new situation without batting an eyelid.
And for all that, and so much more, Amit and Siraj, I truly truly thank you…
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Bong Connection…or, As You Like It
The last weekend, was one that reminded me forcibly, of my Bong-ness. Not that I’m ashamed of it… but neither do I wave my Marxist red state - Tagore spouting inheritance like a flag. It is just another thing that is an integral part of me, so much so, that I don’t really bother about it.
Alliance Francaise had put up a play over the weekend. All we knew about it was that it was on Shakespeare. Titled “Shreds and Patches”, we weren’t quite sure what it would be about, but priding ourselves on being adult discerning population, who like assimilating new experiences, we were eager to see it.
Turned out to be a one man show about “MY Shakespeare”..or rather, the actor’s own interpretation. The Actor.. I don’t know his name.. it wasn’t mentioned anywhere on the programme. All I can say is that he reminded he forcibly of a dear “brother figure” Babuda.. from the shadows of my past… and that I’m going to call this guys A. for ease of use.
When A. opened his book and talked about his first brush with Shakespeare, I was stifling my snorts. He was a Bong, of course.. only a Bong would get “The Complete Unabridged Works of Shakespeare” as a birthday gift. I should know… I have the very same book at home, sepia toned paged made brown by a child’s dirty thumbprints flipping through it. I love reading – anything I found was grist to my mill. By the time I had hit my teenage years, I had gone through the entire book.. don’t ask me what I understood though.
The play drew interesting parallels with today’s day and age, and characters and speeches of the famous literary guru. It rambled, turned on its own head, soliloquized. My friends who went with me…hated it.
So then, why on earth did I like it so?
Because it reminded me of my school days.. when we would have two-period-long Eng Lit class, with Sumita Mashi (also my English teacher right through middle school) vainly trying to explain Kubla Khan, Xanadu, Macbeth and As You Like It.
I remembered a summer afternoon, just after lunch break. We 9 friends had stuffed our faces with all the garbage we could find in the canteen. It was Eng Lit class; a one-and-a-half-hour long phenomenon where we would strive to read (AND comprehend) Shakespeare. Undoubtedly, we were giving in, without much ado, to slumber that was calling to us.
Suddenly, we were jerked back to awareness, from full fathoms five. A deep voice was emanating from the speakers..Sumita Mashi had gotten the tape of the play of Julius Caesar, and was making us listen and “feel” the words. The whole class sat and drooled over Mark Anthony’s voice… “Friends, Roman, Countrymen…lend me your ears”.
Shakespeare colored a large part of my growing up years. He took shape in our parodies in the Teacher’s Day plays, he controlled us in the form of verses learnt – for fun… “I know more than YOU do” (in retrospect, I can only say that we were all mad as hatters).He appeared like Macbeth’s Ghosts, in my dreams, before my ICSE.
Strangest things have ways of reminding us of loved ones and memories of wonderful times…
Alliance Francaise had put up a play over the weekend. All we knew about it was that it was on Shakespeare. Titled “Shreds and Patches”, we weren’t quite sure what it would be about, but priding ourselves on being adult discerning population, who like assimilating new experiences, we were eager to see it.
Turned out to be a one man show about “MY Shakespeare”..or rather, the actor’s own interpretation. The Actor.. I don’t know his name.. it wasn’t mentioned anywhere on the programme. All I can say is that he reminded he forcibly of a dear “brother figure” Babuda.. from the shadows of my past… and that I’m going to call this guys A. for ease of use.
When A. opened his book and talked about his first brush with Shakespeare, I was stifling my snorts. He was a Bong, of course.. only a Bong would get “The Complete Unabridged Works of Shakespeare” as a birthday gift. I should know… I have the very same book at home, sepia toned paged made brown by a child’s dirty thumbprints flipping through it. I love reading – anything I found was grist to my mill. By the time I had hit my teenage years, I had gone through the entire book.. don’t ask me what I understood though.
The play drew interesting parallels with today’s day and age, and characters and speeches of the famous literary guru. It rambled, turned on its own head, soliloquized. My friends who went with me…hated it.
So then, why on earth did I like it so?
Because it reminded me of my school days.. when we would have two-period-long Eng Lit class, with Sumita Mashi (also my English teacher right through middle school) vainly trying to explain Kubla Khan, Xanadu, Macbeth and As You Like It.
I remembered a summer afternoon, just after lunch break. We 9 friends had stuffed our faces with all the garbage we could find in the canteen. It was Eng Lit class; a one-and-a-half-hour long phenomenon where we would strive to read (AND comprehend) Shakespeare. Undoubtedly, we were giving in, without much ado, to slumber that was calling to us.
Suddenly, we were jerked back to awareness, from full fathoms five. A deep voice was emanating from the speakers..Sumita Mashi had gotten the tape of the play of Julius Caesar, and was making us listen and “feel” the words. The whole class sat and drooled over Mark Anthony’s voice… “Friends, Roman, Countrymen…lend me your ears”.
Shakespeare colored a large part of my growing up years. He took shape in our parodies in the Teacher’s Day plays, he controlled us in the form of verses learnt – for fun… “I know more than YOU do” (in retrospect, I can only say that we were all mad as hatters).He appeared like Macbeth’s Ghosts, in my dreams, before my ICSE.
Strangest things have ways of reminding us of loved ones and memories of wonderful times…
Friday, April 25, 2008
Part VI...herendethelesson...
Oh, I feel SO much better!! I think multiple factors have contributed to the positive emotions…
Writing about it. To be able to vent it all out on paper was cathartic in a way that is inexplicable to a person who doesn’t use written communication the way writers do. Can I call myself a writer? I blog, at least… I agree I have a vast way to go before “author”. Anyways, with the jotting down of thoughts, I was able to untangle the veins; and, in a way, play therapist to myself.
Speaking to people, either intimately connected to the whole incident; or to other friends, to get a feedback on thoughts and generally to bounce ideas off them. In a way, the latter were a tangible living breathing extension to my writing. The difference; here, I was not venting, I was using them to probe deeper into my own psyche.
Spoke to S… the one person in the group I thought I could speak with. It isn’t that the others didn’t want to listen, but that I didn’t know what to tell them. They are all very intelligent, but S. has a huge amount of empathy, that made him the perfect choice. The other 3 make a joke out of everything.. even did that with my depressive frame of mind. Left me quite speechless, really!
It was difficult to start; frankly, I was petrified. I didn’t want to think of a scenario where he would all walk away, after hearing my POV, but I think I had to take that chance. And once I did, it became easier and easier, to get my words out, to connect the dots in my brain to make squiggly shapes and straight lines. Slept well, nightmare free, after ages…the night I spoke my heart out to him. Now, he has to give me his thoughts, since I have asked him for it…don’t know when that will be, though.
Finally, a mental peace with myself, a lack of guilt about who I am, and what I want from life. A sudden spurt of maturity brought on by sadness and soul searching, to take a long good hard look at myself. Some things I liked, some things I gasped at. And I realize that is it okay for people to move in different directions; and that helps me see them in a “less judging” light, too.
Older, wiser..hopefully better!!
P.S. ..people who read Asterix will "get" the title of this blog..others, i suggest you start ASAP.
Writing about it. To be able to vent it all out on paper was cathartic in a way that is inexplicable to a person who doesn’t use written communication the way writers do. Can I call myself a writer? I blog, at least… I agree I have a vast way to go before “author”. Anyways, with the jotting down of thoughts, I was able to untangle the veins; and, in a way, play therapist to myself.
Speaking to people, either intimately connected to the whole incident; or to other friends, to get a feedback on thoughts and generally to bounce ideas off them. In a way, the latter were a tangible living breathing extension to my writing. The difference; here, I was not venting, I was using them to probe deeper into my own psyche.
Spoke to S… the one person in the group I thought I could speak with. It isn’t that the others didn’t want to listen, but that I didn’t know what to tell them. They are all very intelligent, but S. has a huge amount of empathy, that made him the perfect choice. The other 3 make a joke out of everything.. even did that with my depressive frame of mind. Left me quite speechless, really!
It was difficult to start; frankly, I was petrified. I didn’t want to think of a scenario where he would all walk away, after hearing my POV, but I think I had to take that chance. And once I did, it became easier and easier, to get my words out, to connect the dots in my brain to make squiggly shapes and straight lines. Slept well, nightmare free, after ages…the night I spoke my heart out to him. Now, he has to give me his thoughts, since I have asked him for it…don’t know when that will be, though.
Finally, a mental peace with myself, a lack of guilt about who I am, and what I want from life. A sudden spurt of maturity brought on by sadness and soul searching, to take a long good hard look at myself. Some things I liked, some things I gasped at. And I realize that is it okay for people to move in different directions; and that helps me see them in a “less judging” light, too.
Older, wiser..hopefully better!!
P.S. ..people who read Asterix will "get" the title of this blog..others, i suggest you start ASAP.
Part V
the wonders of ADDA...
So, after much soul searching and self-same pop psychoanalysis (yes, my education and 5 years of learning Psychology FINALLY comes of use :-D) I realized that what I was missing was intelligent conversation. We are all great at small talk, I’m sure; but I needed that thread of mental stimulation running through all the mundane things we are often so wrapped up in.
The Bongs have coined a term for it, as they have done, inevitably, with lots of other stuff.. it’s called ADDA.. or the “fine art of socializing and relaxed conversation”. Being natural talkers, we talk of everything under the sun; meandering through idle gossip, sports, food (a Bengali’s national pastime), international and local politics and cultural affairs. And the tone varies from discussion to debate to outrage and back again. They are usually accompanied with “chaa and shingara (tea and samosa)” or whatever snacks are available.
The whole concept is, I think, one of the most refreshing things, of all times. And that was what I was missing – the sheer dynamics of conversation, the crackle and sparkle of verbal communication. All we were talking of, within our group was a teasing that had gotten boring since it was unaccompanied by anything. And that got to me; here we were 5 intelligent beings, who, when together, had none to contribute except hysterical laughter at zilch. It made no sense at all. And it threw me into depression, as these 4 are people I’m extremely fond of.
Well, to cut a REALLY long story short, I backed off a little bit, to give myself and them, some room; then decided to get together with other friends as well, such that I have a range of communication with a range of people. And it works. I had a long adda this morning about random stuff like rock music, drug addiction and religion. Thus, by the time our group convened, I was in a happy mood. And that has continued through the day.
Fingers crossed!!
So, after much soul searching and self-same pop psychoanalysis (yes, my education and 5 years of learning Psychology FINALLY comes of use :-D) I realized that what I was missing was intelligent conversation. We are all great at small talk, I’m sure; but I needed that thread of mental stimulation running through all the mundane things we are often so wrapped up in.
The Bongs have coined a term for it, as they have done, inevitably, with lots of other stuff.. it’s called ADDA.. or the “fine art of socializing and relaxed conversation”. Being natural talkers, we talk of everything under the sun; meandering through idle gossip, sports, food (a Bengali’s national pastime), international and local politics and cultural affairs. And the tone varies from discussion to debate to outrage and back again. They are usually accompanied with “chaa and shingara (tea and samosa)” or whatever snacks are available.
The whole concept is, I think, one of the most refreshing things, of all times. And that was what I was missing – the sheer dynamics of conversation, the crackle and sparkle of verbal communication. All we were talking of, within our group was a teasing that had gotten boring since it was unaccompanied by anything. And that got to me; here we were 5 intelligent beings, who, when together, had none to contribute except hysterical laughter at zilch. It made no sense at all. And it threw me into depression, as these 4 are people I’m extremely fond of.
Well, to cut a REALLY long story short, I backed off a little bit, to give myself and them, some room; then decided to get together with other friends as well, such that I have a range of communication with a range of people. And it works. I had a long adda this morning about random stuff like rock music, drug addiction and religion. Thus, by the time our group convened, I was in a happy mood. And that has continued through the day.
Fingers crossed!!
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