Enna Koduma Saar Ithu?!?!?!

I’m a coupla months into the new job now, and all’s well so far. Please note that the operative phrase is ‘so far’. :) And the next time someone asks you, it IS true..... Switching to classroom mode is near impossible after you’ve gotten used to an office routine.

Yours truly finds her head swaying dangerously within twenty minutes of starting a class, like she’s a teetering coconut tree/pissed drunk/a hired cabaret dancer/whatever….Zzzz!!

No, that wasn’t supposed to make sense.

The net result is that my similarly fresh-in-the-system colleagues get some free entertainment at my expense. They think that my eyeballs drifting in opposite directions are a treat to behold. Well, I guess you gotta keep yourself entertained when there isn’t one remotely cute guy in the vicinity.

Change that to ‘one guy on the right side of forty’.

Gloom. :'((

Anyway, this post is to commemorate the fact that I’ll always find a proverbial haddi in the kabab platter that I call my professional life.

The haddi in this case is a trainer who periodically saddles bestows his excruciating self on an unsuspecting batch. Dude’s a doctorate holder in Management who, quite interestingly, treats MBAs like the scum of the earth. The cherry on top is that he also can’t stand private commercial banks and everything they stand for.... that should give you a good idea of where I stand in his version of the professional food chain. ;P

The only definite ‘learning’ I can boast of after his sessions is that I’ve indefinitely postponed all plans of entering the academic side of management. I swear I haven’t come across a more pompous know-all. All of us are secure in the knowledge that nothing we can ever say or do is correct or astounding enough for his liking.

Add to that the fact that his name sounds almost exactly like popular lingo for the posterior.

Cackle, cackle!!!>;-D

Note: Despite the jibes this IS a lament of sorts.

FYI, the Zahra Code of Conduct is explicitly against ridiculing accents and poor grammar, but the rules were amended recently to exempt bombastic profs who pretend to know everything and massacre the language too.

Aadiyo-vishwal taarchur yat its best-eye-sayyy....

Here’s a sampler…. Read aloud for maximum effect.

Prof: Yinn dhee kaanteksht aaff this try-ning, yoo are yekspected to no dhee sigh-nergeezz aaff bizznuss praacess.....

Zahra: Eh?? Vaat-yoo aar saiyying-eye-say....

Prof: ....Akkaarding tuyoo, vaat dhees sigh-nergee eess?

Colleague: (Fairly coherent answer)

Prof: Oooaahh…..vyyy yoowall aar taalkingg lik-eh vanilla yumbeeyaayys?? Yinn yuwar carriers (sic) widh-dhees UFO (Unidentified Financial Organization) yoo shudd gobee yondha sir-faze aaff yish-shoes....(proceeds to repeat colleague’s points under the guise of the correct answer) ....blah blah blah.

Zahra: Hai bhagwan, main vanilla se tutti-frutti kab banoongi? :-/

Prof: Drone, drone....shaaar yuwar yuck-speriyenss with the group no? Yennydhingg yoowandoo shaar?

Zahra: Vaat....I mean...what? Err...Ummm....(How about “I’m a recovering alcoholic”?)

Note: “Yuck”-speriyenss is closer to the truth than he thinks.

Zahra: (Gas, globe and gyaan. All delivered at the speed of....well...sound.)

Well, whaddya expect??? I'm an MBA, okay??

Prof: (Gas, globe, and gyaan....to the effect that Zahra is a prime example of a useless product of a useless management education system, with a useless commercial bank ex-employer to boot....)

Zahra: Sighhhh....can’t win ‘em all y’know....

The fact that I narrowly missed being interviewed by this man is proof enough for me that there is a God AND He luuuuuuuuuuvvs me :D

The second point in favor of that claim is that my current boss is a person who’s actually got a reputation for being sane. And all that I’ve seen so far confirms it….. yeah, it’s too early to tell, but who cares?? Carpe diem, folks!!!

Interesting aside: Trainer dude keeps sporting a series of grimaces while talking....I first thought he was in physical pain, but then realized that it was an indicator of the seriousness of the topic.

On second thoughts, it could actually be a bad case of hemorrhoids.

Tricky things, these.

Prof: Dhink shtraaatejickalee....dhink lie-kku seenyur maan-age-urrrssss....bakwaas bakwaas bakwaas.....

Zahra: Yes, yes, I swear I will....but for the love of God, let us go!!

Finally, the class ends…or rather, is forcibly ended by a bunch of cranky, irritated, new recruits on various pretexts.

And so we live (barely just) to fight another day.

Not that we particularly want to.

Of Colours and Internal Affairs

Whoooaaaa…..23 days into the new year already???

And here I am, still not done breaking all those resolutions.. :P

There's so much happening all around, so many things that I want to pen my thoughts on..... But somehow, when I sit down in front of this screen I dunno what to choose and why. Mostly because it’s just a passing thought or thoughts in clusters of 2 and 3.... enough to trigger the typing itch, yet not enough to justify an entire post. And for the record, no, I really haven't bought into 'tweeting'...not just yet. :) Simply 'coz I can't imagine who would be interested in my limited-character take on life, events and everything else in between.

Am still enjoying the feeling of being home, with a job hunt on in full swing. Granted, I don’t exactly have too many recruiters beating my door down with offers but I believe things will work out in their own time. And did I tell ya, writing’s helping me look after cashflow needs?? :)

Yep, that’s right…found a few freelance biz writing assignments on the net that needed doing and it’s going along nicely as of now. Would love to earn a living off this full time, but I think it would be a good idea to stick to more ordered jobs with some security for a little longer.

Late December’09 saw the only instance of Zahra giggling at an attempted act of terror. True, I wouldn’t have done that if the guy had actually got away with it, but honestly, a Chaddi-bomber????

GIMME. A. BREAK.

I’ve heard of lingerie that will knock your socks off, but this is the limit.

WTF are these demented lunatics thinking of?? I mean, the bloke’s only (or chief) incentive is the promise of jannat and 72 dark-eyed virgins. (Note: Ex-colleagues tell me that’s waayyyy better than what they can expect in this year’s bonus review...hmmmm) Assuming the bomb actually did its job, he would’ve been greeted by 72 dark eyed AND extremely disappointed virgins. Raw deal, if you ask me.

Oops.

Pun. :-*)

Teeheehee.

But then, it looked like everybody and their aunt was airing their lingerie closets, so one Nigerian and his chaddi became hapless victims of public amnesia. Pardon me for the political incorrectness but I thought the whole bra colour campaign on FB was a hoot. So.....what next? Posting the colour of your Speedo to spread awareness about prostate cancer?

Seriously ladies, how am I gonna help the cause of breast cancer awareness by posting the colour of my bra on a public domain??? Not to mention the possibility of some dude coming along and clicking “Like” against my post. :-S

Jeepers.

Let’s not confuse ‘supporting a cause’ with…err…just ‘support’, sistahs. So far, I’ve seen the whole gamut from white, black etc etc to ‘nothing’ as well (honest gal there!) but interestingly nothing that says “Shell-beige with rose scallop trim” or something like that. Oh well, I thought we lived in an adventurous age. All said and done, if it got women thinking about a very pertinent issue, fair enough.

Btw Dionysus I fling my chappals at your head for your comment on this topic on FB :-P

On a more serious note, those FB posts made me pause a moment and consider my good fortune in just being able to wear one of those contraptions. :) Seriously. I have not experienced cancer first-hand or second-hand and hope I never have to, but I realize how deeply this part of the anatomy is linked to my very concept of Zahra the individual…to my femininity itself. The way it is for many women.

May all those envious glances at Victoria’s Secret catalogues be untouched by sorrow.

In the meantime, come terror, cancer, hail or high water, always remember what your mamma told you:

Semper ubi sub ubi

Err…Clean ones, please.

English short, music long

Before you think my grammar's gone kaput, the title's a part-reference to what an artiste I heard yesterday said.... specifics later in the post.

Last night was the penultimate performance of this year's Novemberfest..... this time it was a Korean group called Gong Myoung...yeah, I know, try saying that aloud without smiling :)

By the end of their performance, I was ready to swear that these 4 guys could make music out of just about anything....like, they'd already performed with an empty 20 litre water can, and a hollowed out walking stick!! Brilliantly versatile, amazing coordination and an array of instruments I'd never seen before. Do catch this group if you get a chance..... you won't be disappointed, I assure you. It's all instrumental btw, haunting, soothing, foot-tapping and peppy all at once.

But this post wasn't meant to be just about the music.

It turned out during the show that only one member of the quartet could speak some English. While telling the audience rather haltingly that this was their first trip to India, he mentioned that his "English languag-ee short, Korean languag-ee long". A fairly accurate way of conveying his relative skill in each language. He was a good sport about it though....made an effort to introduce the team well, and connect with the audience. The audience, for their part, was ready to cheer on his efforts and laugh along.

Which is perfectly fine, but just one little thought niggled at the back of my mind....

What if it was an Indian guy standing onstage and speaking like that to an Indian audience??

Unfortunately, I think there's a 99% chance that he would have been criticized to shreds by the listeners.

What is it about us Indians that allows us to generously overlook the linguistic shortcomings of a foreigner, but remain adamant about the supposed English fluency we expect from a fellow Indian?? Kinda funny, 'coz We are like that only seems to work pretty well for everything else.

Is it because English has become a second or even first language to virtually everyone in an urban or semi-urban setting? Or is it because of the English = Educated mindset we have?

Y'see, it doesn't seem to matter as much to the same people if the speaker can't manage his mother tongue fluently. Oh and that's not all, we have a big and I mean biiiig issue about regional accents too...... a damned-if-you-have, damned-if-you-don't attitude is what generally prevails.

From personal experience, I have been told on a few occasions that I speak with a mallu accent. Fine. But what beats me is that it's often said in that Oh you poor thing tone.

Why, people, whyyyyyy???

For crying out loud, I was taught by Indian teachers (mallu and otherwise), learned my lessons under the eye of mallu parents, talked in Malayalam long before I learned English...of course I'd have an accent!! Granted, Indian accents pro'lly don't sound that great with Western languages but then again, that street goes both ways. The other version is when I'm told I speak English well "for a Malayalee"....... hmmm, let's not get into that right now. Btw, this is an experience some non-mallu friends have gone through as well, so I guess that Unity in diversity thingie's not total hogwash after all.

Some views on this would be great. Coming back to the music, we're gearing up to swing with the Afro-Brit band Osibisa tonight..... will keep y'all posted.

In the meantime the only thought in my mind as I left the Music Academy last night was that languages really don't matter..........when the music's "long".

:)

P.S - In the meantime, do check out this Kurbaan review...had me in splits!!

I was sad I hadn't new shoes.....

..... till I saw a woman wearing Manolo Blahniks. And then I grieved some more. :((

Sound familiar?? Oh, I know that one about seeing a man with no feet, but scenes like the one above seem to happen more often to me. Put it down to an irrepressible tendency to see the 'up' side of life if you will ;-P

I've been getting plenty of that homily all my life on being grateful for what I have, and sparing a thought for those less fortunate....while I totally see the validity of that point, one niggling little itch remains. No matter what I do, there are some things I can't really be thankful for....some irritants just won't go away.

Abate perhaps, but never vanish.

Lessen, but never heal.

Heal...heal...heel..??? GAAAAarrgh...the Manolos!!!!

Errr...excuse that please, I do go off the deep end sometimes.

Blessed are they who effortlessly glide over such trivialities.... personally I think a pair of designer shoes would help the gliding considerably. I'm not making a case for blinkered pity-parties here, but methinks there is something to be said about matters like these.

That it is important to get the bigger picture, but it is also equally important to accept that certain things will never cease to matter.... or bug the life outta me. Like the fact that I wear thicker glasses than any other person I know. And that it will serve as a conversation starter 90% of the time. That I can't remember what it feels like to wake up in the morning and NOT fumble for my specs by the bedside. That I may never know that feeling again in this lifetime.

That was just one of my pet demons by the way..... you don't want the rest of them unleashed, trust me :)

It could be any number of things for the rest of us. The one little thing I've learned from my ...errr...rich (??) experience to date is that it doesn't hurt to crib occasionally. Mind, there's a fine line separating 'occasional crib' and 'chronic whine'.... I'll leave you to draw yours. And don't go anywhere near that spoilsport called guilt while you're at it.

In the meantime, I'm going to window-shop at the pricey designer store downtown...a very effective coping mechanism by the way.

The shoe thingie was just an illustration, but it does bring me to another pet peeve of mine. For the life of me I can't teeter walk elegantly decently in a pair of high heels to save my life.

Aaahhh wellllll.......

Intellect - His and Hers

A sincere request to all the guys out there.....

When you talk about wanting an intelligent and accomplished woman in your life, do take a moment to consider exactly how much intelligence and accomplishment you can handle. For nine times out of ten, I've seen that a man is more comfortable if he is the intellectual superior of his partner. Preferably on the career front as well. Superior, mind you, not even equal. I don't intend for this to be a blanket statement.... I have seen some exceptions, but they have been far and few in between. Fine, so we've got a truckload of societal conditioning to deal with, but I won't get into that right now. And yes, quite a lot of women seek a partner they can look up to.

Like, dude, it's your life and your opinion. And it can significantly impact somebody else's life too. So please be frank about it, and don't try to be what you're not. In case you haven't considered this aspect till now, please do.

I really can't tell if you'll find much female support for directly/indirectly saying that you want the upper hand...... but I can assure you that the honesty will be greatly appreciated.... and respected.

Even if it takes a little while coming.

Arbit Observations #4

The Goddess is back.

Yes, you may kiss the ground.

Apologies for the no-show have already been made.....So brace yourselves for another dose of asininely arbit observations from my so-called life. What better way to kick off the blogging for this year??

Tsk tsk…. Didn’t your mama tell you that groaning audibly is rude??? Here goes.....

1. You know your life has sucked as thoroughly as it possibly can when

a. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong
b. When you thought things couldn’t get worse, they just did
c. AND, the only email you’ve received in a week on your personal id is about a 70% discount on Viagra.

2. The ugly duckling grew up to become a swan. In Andersen’s version at least. In real life, there’s a 99.999% probability that the ugly duckling will grow up to become at best, a verrrry average DUCK. Accepting this fact has freed up an incredible amount of time for me to focus on bigger issues of life. Like the wonderful ambiguity of phrases like ‘Striking looks’ and ‘Unconventional appearance’. Oh yes, Her Royal Duckiness lets out an indignant quack every now and then, but is at peace otherwise.

3. Pointy toed shoes on men give me the creeps. Crrrreeeeeepsssss. I’m talking about the shoes that taper into a point that sticks out ten inches in front of the wearer. Call me antiquated if you will, but my support for the metrosexual man goes only as far as clean nails and good overall hygiene.

4. WHYYYY do my northie counterparts expect me to fall on any and every plate of curd rice/idlis like a starving refugee???

5. Why Zahra? Why not another name? Thought I’d explained that somewhere in this blog. Actually, Thamaraichelvi Kumudavalli and Isabel DeMontmorency St Claude were close contenders. But then I figured that a Zahra by any other name would be just as asinine. Therefore, the name with the least typing effort won.

6. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Indian men scratch their privates in public with complete abandon. Like, it’s called ‘privates’ with a purpose, right? Mebbe it’s coz of a flawed genetic strain unique to the males of our race. Something like the see-wall-MUST-pee syndrome they already suffer from. Tragic. Am going cross-eyed from all the eye-averting I do during my daily commute.

7. Never do a competent job of anything if you can help it. No more than what's needed to keep your job, I mean. Working my backside off under crazy deadlines, and pulling off the near impossible even once only translates into more loony projects coming my way...with crazier deadlines. Like I want this at 3 p.m. yesterday types.

8. Bairi Piya in Devdas is a pretty decent song, come to think of it (it’s playing on radio as I type) Would’ve been better if they’d shaved off the “Eeesh” bits and taken a good forty seconds off it. Waitaminit….that also means removing the only part of the song I can sing. Eeeeeesh!!

9. And while we’re on songs, I SOOOO miss the hostel gaana sessions. :-((

Words cannot describe the joys of singing Umrao Jaan songs with 3 other similarly challenged AND loud females at 3 a.m., while smirking at the wails of misery from adjoining rooms. (Cackle, cackle) A nice, steaming plate of Maggi at 5 a.m. and my plate...sorry, cup of happiness would overflow. Sigh.

10. I hate pointy toed sh…..Oops, that one’s done already…. Okay, I HATE random and indiscriminate displays of…. Heck, ANY display of butt cleavage. Why, people, why???? Found myself at a crowded coffee shop the other day, with several square inches of ‘it’ on display at chair-level all around (Eeewwww). Guys and gals alike. Somebody help me if I’m missing the point here. Honestly, seeing that the brief is authentic Calvin Klein doesn’t make it any less traumatic.

11. And Dostaana must’ve really sucked yaar. Oh, not that I’ve seen it. Y’see I couldn’t help but think so when all my gal-buddies denounced the movie in unison. When women say that about a movie, despite liberal close up shots of just John Abraham in just his chuddies, then you gotta do a serious rethink. Btw, I’m told his apparel is all original designer wear. Not that I’d know …and not that I think most of us gals would care ;-P

Well, that’s all the arbitness I can manage for now, so breathe easy folks. Am busy pinning up my list of new year resolutions on the wall. Oops, just lost 3 months in getting started.

Zahra, you eeeeediot, change that 8 to 9.

Arbit observations #3

The Goddess returns with more... (ahem!)...'pearls' of.... never mind. Just keep reading , and I'll be thankful enough.

Actually these are the side-effects of lying at home doing absolutely nothing (i.e. nothing useful) for a month, with an offensively cheery-blue fibre cast on my elevated foot, staring right back at me. Personal note: Change favourite colour to pista green

1. You know your parents have run out of ideas on what to do with you when you start getting a certain predictable set of q's thrown at you on every visit home.

"Isn't it time you started thinking about your future?"
Like.....future what? Future luxury car, foreign vacation, paycheck??? Good idea!!

"There's this nice boy....."
Of course they're all nice... nobody presents their son as a history sheeter cum axe-murderer cum wife-beater with a roving eye to boot.

"This is not a stage of your life to be taken lightly"
I totally agree. You realise that NOTHING at all can be taken lightly when your father starts encouraging you to do exactly the things he forbade just two years ago. Like discussing what you think of a guy's looks, his personality, and most importantly, his compatibility with you. All this when you realised only ten minutes ago that the guy existed at all!!

2. Things may not always be what they seem to be. Oh, that's old hat, I know. Am talking about displays of emotion here. For instance, the time when my parents were leaving after dropping me off at hostel in Delhi. As they walked away towards the car, I saw Appa steadfastly stare at the ground, and Amma discreetly dab at her eyes with a hanky. Stupid ole me presumed it was the grief of leaving their darling baby at the other end of the country and going back to Chennai. A couple of years and a whole series of arbit observations have revealed a 99.99% probability that their reaction was more on the lines of "PEACE.....After twenty-one years!! Thank God for MBA courses" :-S Now you know why Indian parents don't mind splurging on an MBA for their kids, even when the fees show an overtly positive correlation to global oil prices.

3. Meeting long lost relations and family friends doesn't exactly top the list of earthly pleasures for most of us. There are some exceptions of course, but most of these encounters can make you cringe inwardly, even as you prepare to face the assault with a diabetes-inducing smile plastered on your face. I mean, you just KNOW when that achayan/ammai/ammachy/uncle/aunty bears down on you all goggly-eyed and smiling and making a (ob)scene in general.

"Ente moley, nee angu valuthayi poyallo!!" (Beti, you've grown!)

Errr.... isn't that normal...esp since I hadn't even started crawling the last time you saw me??? Besides, I don't particularly appreciate the not-so-subtle references to my prospering waistline..... Hmph!

4. All those who fell for the hype and hoopla of The Monk who sold his Ferrari have obviously missed out on a verrrrry important point. Why don't you see that the Monk HAD a Ferrari to sell in the first place??
:-( Sadist...BAH!!! Go right ahead and rub it in my face....I'm still saving for a tyre to call my own. Oh, and no comments about tyres of my own making pls!! ;-P

5. You'll always have a soft corner for kids you dandle on your knee in their babyhood. No matter that they may grow, or mutate rather, into unexplained forms of pestilence a few years later.

6. Whoever predicted that "soft, curling tendrils" are THE look for our crowning glories this season obviously has a head full of poker straight hair. I'm serious. Nobody in their right mind would voluntarily put up with the pains of a head full of hairy curls of tendrils...err, curly tendrils of hair, day in and day out. Especially when the tendrils/ corkscrews have no sense of direction. I speak from personal experience. Waking up every morning looking like I was struck by lightning the previous night DOES NOT make me feel particularly hep or fashionable. Ah well, dunno if I can blame that fashionista. We've all heard that one on the vegetation being verdantly viridian on the other side.

7. Answering the question "Why an MBA?" is THE biggest farcical exercise you go through in the process of acquiring the degree. All this even before you're accepted into the course, mind! The whole process should've given me a fair idea of what I was getting into. Every coaching centre worth its salt tells you not to bull**** while answering that one. Fine, but what if I hadn't??

a) It's all about the money, honey!
b) Actually, I'm clueless. An MBA was the only thing left after I crossed out every other option.
c) Pleeeeease give me an admission....my folks will get me married otherwise.
d) I'd rather live on a farm, paint masterpieces and call the cows home everyday. But that doesn't bring in the moolah.
e) Face it. I can't rake in peanuts for another decade to get to an MBA's entry level job in my company.
f) Errr.... everybody else is doing it..right??

None of these seemed like a wise answer despite the honesty. Had this distinct sensation of stuffing both feet down my gullet when I thought of these. Therefore I am an MBA today and practising the bull**** professionally. Looking back now, I wonder how I kept a straight face while answering that question in B-school interviews. That's the scary part, I guess....I'd actually believed what I said then.

8. Why is it that the most charming, sweep-me-off-my-feet gentleman I've ever met is nearly 70 years old? Is it a reflection of declining quality standards through the decades or something? Before you jump to any theories about me being an older-man type, lemme tell you that I have nearly twenty-odd women my age agreeing with me on this. The gentleman I'm referring to was a visiting faculty at our B-school, and living proof that there's nothing like chivalry, respect and politeness to win the ladies over. Looks and physique can take a hike. Even MCP-ish views are graciously excused when they come from such people. Oh never mind. You guys may never get it at all. Gimme a man like that between the age of 25 and 30.... oh heck, make it 25 and 40, and I'll marry him blindfolded ;-)

9. I'll pro'lly live in coastal places all my life. There's something about the way the ocean captures every mood and every shade of my being, and throws it right back at me that I'll never get enough of. Nothing like its vastness to give you a very good sense of where exactly you stand and how significant you are in the scheme of things.

10. Something's seriously wrong when a person's smile doesn't reach their eyes. Age is no indicator of maturity. And you definitely have grown up in some way if you can enjoy a good, hearty belly-laugh at your expense.

Wish I practised half of what I preached.... but hey, spouting gyaan is something we MBA-types do naturally!!

Arbit observation(s) #2

Another set of random observations that have popped up at various times in yours truly's meandering existence to date.

Warning: If you're attempting to read this, I love ya already. ;) But leave your brains behind..... most sensible folks would have discovered a few of these eons ago. And the remainder would've been considered too halfwitted to bother about anyway.

1. Gym clothes are available in precisely the sizes of those people who don’t need to go the gym in the first place.
2. Irrespective of education levels, professional qualifications and exposure to the world, men who can see women as more than just an assortment of specific body parts are a shockingly small minority. Am yet to figure out if this is a purely ‘Indian’ thingie.
3. Minding your P’s and Q’s will never go out of style.
4. Until you actually learn numbers in Hindi, a tweak or two on the English names will suffice. For example : 35 can be referred to as “Thurrrdy-phaaaiiff” till you learn that it’s actually “Painthees” (No, that’s NOT the Hindi version of ‘panties’ you moron. Get your mind outta the gutter!!)
5. Your judgement w.r.t. certain people may have been lousy. And you pro’lly got punished for it too. It’s okay. Move on and leave the grudge behind. But stay canny enough to prevent a repeat performance.
6. That life as an only child is fun in its own way. Being Daddy’s princess and Mummy’s darling is something you never grow out of. Or want to grow out of despite all your exclamations to the contrary. :-)
7. That being an only child also brings its own load of emotional baggage and insecurities. Not to forget the perceptions of the rest of the world. And no one to share it with. Giving you plenty of “Why me? Why the beep??” moments.
8. Filling in the ‘Personal’ tab on Orkut can be an eye-opener. I’ve discovered that I do not know my best feature (is a multiple select okay?? ;-P) And what do people first notice about me? None of the possibilities that come to mind are very complimentary.
9. Jim Reeves’ voice can truly caress one. And I mean caress. May his music live on. Makes me wish real life had a background score too. With baritone vocals. ;-)
10. A blog is meant to be written in. Not just started and then left with the rest of your litter in cyberspace. My bad. Bad. Baaaaaad.
    
    So heigh-ho, off a-blogging I go.

Here goes...

Finally. After a couple of years of thinking about it, and nearly a year of telling myself to do it, I've started writing. Don't ask me why I didn't start sooner...there are a million reasons, real and invented. Inertia, work, exhaustion, no time (Yeah, haven't we all heard that one before), other priorities (Ha!), I had a pimple on my nose, no other female in the office had a pimple on her nose, yada, yada, yada. Not to mention that procrastination happens to be my middle name as well.

And what do I intend to write about? Well, no answer to that yet, 'coz I intend to find out as I go along. This came about as the only option after crossing out everything else on the list. The reason's simple enough. I need someone/something that'll let me speak out whatever's on my mind, without bothering about any of that tact/political correctness/niceness bull****. Since the 'someone' seems light years away on the horizon (or a figment of my imagination at times), my laptop and therefore a blog was the way to go

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't have friends or folksI love talking to. There are some things that only the person thinking about it can possibly comprehend. There are also some things that I'd probably be desperate to get off my mind, and still NOT be interested in actuallytalking about it. And being a specimen of humanity who's perpetually in the 'think-say-think-oh-damn-shoulda-thought-more-think-oh-what-the-heck' mode, or more commonly in the 'dont-think-only-speak-then-think-oh-what-the-beep' mode, a blog becomes more of a necessity than .... err... a mobile. No, clothes. Food?? Money??? Whatever. Just realized that there are a host of necessities that I'd rather not have to choose from.

See?? It's working already....writing's making me think deeper.

(Barf)

Ohhh-kaaayyyyy......
...hopeless attempt at a smart oneliner.

It's amazing how life has settled into this pretty well-defined rut post b-school. Five and a half endless weekdays, a weekend that's over even before I start thinking about what I'm gonna do, and voila, I'm back where I started. Add to that inanely repetitive, zero value-add work, canatnkerous clients who think I AM the datamart AND data creator if need be, throw in a few retarded (seriously!) colleagues, and you have a foolproof formula to make any ordinary human being lose it and turn into a fuddled, bumbling automaton. But hope shines through yet.... little do the vile rodents responsible realize that the heroine in question never had 'it' in the first place, to lose 'it' ever.

>;-D

Eeeeyyoowchh. Another saaaaaaaad PJ.

Coming back to reality...making time to do something I enjoy, like reading or doing a crossword, is a seperate task in itself these days. In all likelihood, this is gonna worsen as time goes by. Which in turn makes me wonder if I really am on the right track after all.

To all outward appearances, I've got everything I could ask for. With some significant exceptions of course.
1. I'm paid chicken**** compared to 80% of my batch.
2. And I'm living in Mumbai which has to be THE most hideously pricey city I've ever lived in. Unless I switch to a vada-pav and water diet. But love the city all the same.
3. AND my body resolutely refuses to get into any shape other than the amoeba shaped mass it is right now.

Ok, so I exaggerate. This amoeba has arms and legs, a distinct face, as well as curves. Admittedly a few more than I'd like and some in all the wrong places. Like 'convex' where it should be 'concave', but curves all the same. Sigh squared. Time for a self cheering session in front of the mirror. To tell myself that true beauty lies within (Hoohaa....who're you kidding baby??). And that people would like me only for what I truly am. Don't I feel like a million dollars already. Which again doesn't count for much, given the currency freefall not too long ago.

Jeez.... looks like I'll have to change the name of this blog to 'Cogito Ergo Doleo' or something like that.

Coming to the main point (yet again!)...Gotta keep my hopelessly distracted brains in check..long enough to write a coupla coherent and cohesive paragraphs atleast. Back to the job front. Bigshot managers who are walking, gas manufacturing units unto themselves are dime-a-dozen. With all the gyaan and gas they keep spewing around so freely, I do have my serious doubts of whether that is what actually aspire to reach. Or turn into. Scary thought.

Like, waxing eloquent on the most arbit, global gyaan concepts to clear your exam and earn your degree is one thing. Doing it day in and day out to earn a living is something else altogether. And seeing these folks get appreciatied for doing this kinda thing actually gives me the heebie-jeebies. Makes me lose faith in the system.

Not that I had much to begin with anyway.

Been thinking more frequently about making a switch these days. To something radically different and non MBA-ish. Chance meetings and conversations over the last few days have reinforced this thought. Mebbe it's a sign that the One above thinks on similar lines too. Or it's probably a part of that vague yet constant sense of wanting to cock a snook at everybody and dance to a distant piper I hear all the time. Hopefully will be clearer in a few months time.