Be right back!

Unpardonably long delay in replying/posting et al.... sorry ppl, but I've been busier than I have any business to be..or like to be for that matter..:((

Things will (hopefully) ease out in a week or so. (Fingers, toes and eyes crossed!)

Philip, thanks for the tag.... shall take it up asap. To make up for my tardiness, I hereby transfer 20 toppu-karnams from my account to yours. :)

See y'all soon, and stay happy!!

Ok ok...TRY to stay happy!!!

Oru zimble jeevacharitram - Part 1

(Reluctant) Statutory Disclaimer : The post(s) that follows is a long-windedly, incredibly, shamelessly self-centred one. It traces the past and present of yet another insignificant keeda who crawls arounds these days in the biggest keeda-hill of them all a.k.a. Mooombhaiii.

A friend of mine suggested recently that my blog should contain a little more about ME. But wasn't this already all about me and my antics/thoughts/blahblahblah?? Oh well, whatever. I hereby bow to public opinion. (Okayyyy, so less than half a dozen people follow my blog!! Here goes.

Zahra is NOT my real name. That should've been pretty workable. I chose not to write under my real name for the simple reason that I write more freely under an assumed one. No inhibitions whatsoever about what if so and so reads this, what will such and such think et al. Those who know me in person may be able to figure out my identity from what I write here, but that's fine by me.

And thus I began looking for a fairly simple yet not too common name. Came across a coupla sites that gave the meaning as grace and elegance. Some others even mentioned that it was the Urdu/Hebrew/Arabic equivalent of flower. Not bad at all. Quite nice in fact. Since grace and elegance are qualities I kept (and still keep) aspiring to, I decided to let it reflect in my nom-de-plume. Oh I saw that half-smile, btw.

My real name is nothing to write home about. I can tell you it's not Priya. In fact, I'm telling you it's not Priya, 'coz that's what I was almost named. Apparently my dad threw a spanner in the works by gently reminding mom of something. That guys in Kerala colleges have this thing for singing 'O Priye' to girls with the name. The musically challenged would only call it out. Talk about far-sighted. I suspect he knows much more than he lets on. First hand experience on the singing side perhaps, but he insists on maintaining SUCH a gentlemanly front. :(

Now that Priya had been chucked outta the window...the name, silly... the hunt began for other nice names. Some friend suggested 'Angela' which (thankfully) was rejected outright. There's such a complete absence of anything angelic in me. Boohoo. Some more names came and went. And then a propah Christian name popped up. Sounded pretty starchy when said out loud, but mom discovered she actually liked the legitimate shorter version of it. Typical Mallu trait, lemme tell you...this fondness for short and sweet 4-5 letter names. Of course the sweetness quotient depends on whether you're named Jijo/Biji, or manage to get away with Paul/Mary.

The whole family concurred and yours truly was promptly carted off to church. There, the priest dangled me over the baptismal font and solemnly intoned, “I baptize thee...

...... ***** ******....

...in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” Followed by the sprinkling of water and the drawing of a cross on a sleeping infant. I'm told I slept through my own baptism...to my mother's eternal embarrassment!! Probably the first of my many displays of unflappable cool. (Ahem!) Btw I wasn't named according to the great Mallu X'ian baby naming formula though... in case you haven't read that email fwd, do let me know. :)

I was born in Kerala, yes, but that's the only event of any significance in my life to have happened there. Spent the first 13 years of my life as a typical 'Gelfie' Mallu. Methinks we fulfilled every stereotype, except one. I speak Malayalam fluently, and read it too. I'd even go so far as to say that I can give my (for want of a better term) 'native Mallu' cousins a run for their money. In fact, if the VJ's on TV are anything to go by, then I'd qualify for a PhD in advanced Malayalam.

Then we heeded the tug that band-bajaofies on NRI heartstrings and came back to India for good. To join an established yet fast growing community of Non Resident Keralites or NRK's. To live in a land which is not in Kerala but is not so far away as to make you miss it terribly. That speaks a language very similar to, yet totally different from mine. Which was known as Madras in olden days and is now Chennai.

That's short for Chennappanaickapattinam btw. Thank God they shortened it. Can you imagine a flight announcement with that name? So, in this city I got my first taste of convent school life, Madras bhashai, brilliant choirs, Kollywood dominated politics and...siiiighhhhh...filter kaapi. It's so sweet to recall the beginnings of a lasting romance. Dunno if this applies to situations involving humans though.

A few weeks in Chennai, and the first of my many revelations hit me. And so I knelt down and prayed.

I thank Thee Lord, for Thy many mercies
'Specially Marina beach and milaga bajjis
But most of all, that my parents dear
Did not name me Priya and bring me here

Y'see, every third female in this city is a Priya or a variant of it. Priya, Padmapriya, Vishnupriya, Lakshmipriya, Haripriya....heck, even Priyamvada. Now you get the priya...sorry, point. Archana's and Divya's are a dime-a-dozen too.

All-girls school (a first for me) was a riot. Missed my old school terribly but had loadsa giggles at the nuns' rules and regulations. Bless them, Thanks to life there, there are some unchanging aspects to my life as I live it today. Oh yeah, my soda-kuppi glasses didn't help my cause, but made some amazing friends despite it all.

Then came graduation at a local women's arts and science college where urstruly discovered some 70% of herself. Women's college, so the Priya hullaballoo was for nothing after all. Had been given up by half the family/friends circle for not taking the more respectable job-and-groom-assuring med/engg/science route. Point to be noted here.... full marks to my parents for sticking to their guns and backing me all the way. All you folks who still believe that Science is THE Holy Grail.... by all means stick to your beliefs...but pls do pause to think of how hurtful those dismissive looks and comments can really be. Oh, they motivate all right, but not in the right kinda way.

Anyway, those three years taught me a few (hitherto unknown) things about myself. That I could actually write if I put my mind to it. That I could lead a group and work in fairly undefined situations without too much trouble. Most importantly, that I could stick out like a sore thumb in any crowd (which I did quite effortlessly) AND not give a damn. Life hasn't been the same since that discovery.

And a little keeda of an idea that I should do an MBA after this popped up. I've made my reasons for doing an MBA lamentably clear in an earlier post.

WHAT?!?!?!? You haven't read it??? Fie, dear reader...here it is. Point 7, FYI.

More later.... if you aren't choking already that is.. ;-)

A (blighted) day in the life of Zahra

9:30 a.m.

Uneventful 45-minute ride to office. I get down at the office entrance, only to have the next auto driving in wreak muddy havoc on my pristine white salwar.

Stay calm, stay positive. Breeeeeaaaathe.

It's tooooo early in the day to murder somebody, babe.

Surf Excel hai na.

Walk, no, STALK into office, snarling at the watchman on duty.

10:10 a.m.

My karmampudicha PC has taken nothing short of 30 minutes to start up. Leaving me to twiddle my thumbs and toes. The blasted machine actually flickered to life only after I folded my hands, whining "Pleeeeeaaaaase" under my breath.

I swear the thing's possessed.

10:15 a.m.

Rush to canteen for breakfast, or whatever's left of it.

Menu:

1. Missal Pav. Nope. Burned my stomach lining off with it yesterday. Gotta allow it two days to regenerate.

2. Vada Pav . Ho-hum.

3. Amb-let Pav. Huh?? Oh ok...Omelette Pav.

4. Bhajiya Pav. Honestly...this guy will stuff anything into a pav.

Finally settled for Idli-Sambar against my better judgement. Takes 20 minutes to finish as I have to step on one side of the idli and lop off chunks from the other side.

The idlis in college were better. We only had to throw them at the class rep's head.

11:30 a.m.

The Big Boss has sent out one of those "Hey guys let's catch up on the team reviews" emails to everyone.

Venue: Conference Hall

Time: 14:00 hrs IST

Date:.... (Gasp!!!) Saturday?!?!?!?

#@$#@$%#$%$!!! Please fill in with vowels and consonants of your choice. Foul language is against my credo.

Like, DUDE, you may not have a life to catch up with on weekends, but the rest of us do. Misery.... another 2 p.m. meeting where everybody walks in at 3 p.m., sits around and laughs at (supposed) witticisms till 5 p.m., and then decides to catch up with the real agenda on Monday.

Feeling blue. Solid, navy B-L-U-E.

12:50 p.m.

Vitriolic email from business head who wants his project completed 2 weeks before schedule. Really now. The Cc option should be disabled for some people. He's put his entire vertical and mine in that bar.

Debated the wisdom of replying with a subtle, sarcasm laden email describing the benefits of a nature-appreciation jaunt.

Like...'Take a hike' , y'know.

Oh, forget it. He's capable of writing back asking for a timeline for that too. Grrrrr.

1:00 p.m.

Made up my mind to go the J-Lo way and insure the same..uhh...property. Different reasons though.

Hers is admired/coveted/drooled over, around the world.

Mine is whipped outta shape, even if in the figurative sense. Actually, that hurts more.

1:40 p.m.

Lunchtime.

Karela mash and watery dal. Sour curd that'll work wonders for my stomach bacteria population.

Rice. Atta frisbees... sorry, rotis. And the works.

Mental sticky note: Prepare last will and testament. Name nominees.

2:50 p.m.

Finally. Got past the blocks and "Company policy does not permit access to this site" pop-ups and logged in to Orkut. Hmmm. Mebbe their Chinese fortune cookie-type messages will have something nice to say.

Today's fortune: You and your wife will live happily ever after.

Rrrright.

Me. And wife.

Bhaery phunny. Exactly what I needed to hear.Bad, bad Confucious. No chowmein for you.

A distant Chinese-accented voice screams, "I no say thaaaaaat!!!!"

Rocking day so far. Shouldn't surprise you that I'm pro-Tibet now.

3:00 p.m.

Moved on to Orkut scrapbook. 3 new scraps. Lemme see.

Damn. Two of them are for pasting code into the address bar to see

"Congratulations!! You've been voted the World's Biggest LOSER!!"

OR

"Warning: Preparing to self-destruct....5..4..3..2.."

The third one's a 'frand-sheep' request from some obscure geek who thinks I look garjyaass...errr...gorgeous. Did I mention that the only picture on my profile is one of Hobbes? I tell you, these techie-types need to get out and meet real people once in a while.

Waitaminit. Mebbe he really was talking about Hobbes. Self esteem steps out for a walk in the rain.

4:15 p.m.

Desperate for a caffeine fix. Rushed to pantry with coffee mug to find.... no prizes for guessing.

"Machine out of order. Regret inconvenience."

5:00 p.m.

Nooooo....

Urgent requirement for crucial data and metrics for a high-level meeting. A scroll down the forwarded email shows that the meeting was scheduled more than a month ago. A call to the so-called 'desperate' AGM reveals that he's already left for the day. Like, hello, who's meeting was this? There go my plans to leave at 6 sharp.

Sorely tempted to stagger around clutching my heart and croak, "Oh palpitations! Oh palpitations!"

Before you start sniggering, lemme tell you that Anton Chekhov actually used that line. Atleast his translators did.

5:45 p.m.

First sensible act of the day. Discreetly disconnected landline, and switched mobile network to an unreliable one. Gave self feeble pat on the back...shoulder, actually. can't reach that far.

Inner voice: Exercise, woman, exerciiiiiise!!!"

Zahra's voice: "Shaddup. SHAADDDDUUUP!!"

6:20 p.m.

Emailed the accursed report. Hurriedly shut down comp and fled down the corridor, only to barrel into...gulp...Boss. Whyyyy is his cabin on the way out? I tell youuuuu (Tam-style)...the vaastu in this place is all fouled up.

"Btw, I want updates on the status of Projects Alpha through Omega by ten a.m. tomorrow. See you."

Aatma descends effortlessly to the ground floor. Bhautik shareer awaits the lift to follow suit.

8:20 p.m.

Back home in one piece despite suicidal auto driver.

Stood in front of the mirror and chanted "Why am I doing this to myself??" 100 times as per routine.

Check dinner prospects. Yesterday's dal and last week's bread.

10:45 p.m.

Thought: It couldn't get worse than this.

Second thought: Don't be too sure.

Oh well, so it was my statue day today. Go to bed praying for the pigeon's role tomorrow.

ZZZzzzzzzz.....

Note: Okay, so I exaggerate, :) But I've had several days like this one in the not-too-distant past!!

Souls and Raindrops*

7:44 A.M.

The green electronic display flickered, blinked and changed as she watched.

7:45 A.M.

The wind kicked up a chocolate wrapper and a dirty scrap of newspaper into a slow pirouette around her feet. She caught the flyaway end of her dupatta and wrapped it around her handbag, clutching both closer to her body. A gingerly placed step to the left, a little hop to the front, and she was past the puddle of water. Her pace quickened against the wet stone platform worn smooth by decades of rushing feet. Soon, she was just another blur of movement in a teeming, seething mass of commuters, under a sloping, leaky station roof, under a fast-greying sky.

He crouched in a filth-ridden corner of the stairs leading to the second platform. The corrugated sheet of the roof didn’t reach far enough to shelter him completely. A slow trickle of water crept down the side of the stairway into a splash of Coke from somebody’s carelessly thrown plastic cup. The trickle swirled, widened and welled up, till it finally broke free into the grooves between the smooth stone slabs and meandered into a puddle at his feet. It didn’t seem to bother him.

A rusty can with traces of its once blue wrapper sat at his feet. A faint gleam inside it told of some earlier passer-by’s generosity. His gnarled, dirty hands stretched out and away from him in that timeless petition for help, sympathy and most of all, money. Tangled, matted locks of greasy grey hair hung down the sides of his face that bent abjectly over his hands. A dull pair of eyes with yellowed whites and age-clouded irises stared vacantly, resignedly, at the ground in front of him. A blur of feet of all sizes and shapes, covered and bare, clattered around him as the damp wind whipped at his ragged shirt, bringing his shrivelled frame into sharper relief.

She stole a quick glance at her watch. Two minutes left for the next train. She could catch it if she hurried down the stairs to Platform 2 fast enough. She nearly ran past the brown, ragged, smelly isle of stillness on the stairway. Oh, she’d seen him before. No words of supplication from this one. No invoking curses or abusing ancestors if you passed him by. Even if he did, who had the time to listen? A slight raise of his hands, a barely perceptible movement as he leaned forward…this was all the indication one had to realise that a fellow being was seeking charity.

Something made her stop and unzip her bag. Sympathy? Sorrow? Guilt? All three perhaps? She dug deep into the recesses of her purse while being rudely jostled aside and sworn at by other frazzled commuters. Never mind. She dropped a couple of coins into his outstretched palms and raced down the stairs, just as the train pulled onto the platform. A few seconds later she’d pushed, shoved and clawed her way into the heart of a bogey filled with sweaty, ill-tempered women.

A little raindrop left its home and made its way down to earth. Falling down, falling fast. Past other drop-laden clouds, and layers of dust and fumes. Down, further down, past thirty-storeyed buildings, past shabby tenements stacked on a wasteland slope, dodging the outstretched limbs of a thirsty tree. Whipped and tossed around by a steady wind, it finally lay down to rest in a star-shaped spatter atop a train that was slowly pulling out of a suburban station. Soon the raindrop was joined by millions of its brothers who’d decided to follow suit. Together they drummed in time to the rhythm of the train, of the people moving, of the vast metropolis, of life itself.

If she could’ve looked back at the stairs, she would’ve seen him sitting in his corner, a huddled mass of assorted rags. She hadn’t realized that alms, one meal a day and an occasional scrap of sympathy thrown his way were no longer the focus of this man’s existence.

She couldn’t have possibly known that for the past few hours, the man himself had ceased to exist.

*Note: The title has been borrowed from that of a poem by Sidney Lanier.