:)

What happens when these two meet??


Some awesome conversation, a quick ooru darshanam, and a whole lotta laughs about shared quarter-life crises..... Here's an amen to many many more.

Buddy, you know who you are :)

Vindicated :)

A few months ago, I had put up this post which talked about a major career decision I'd made. I'd also given a pretty clear indicator of who was responsible for that choice...or rather, forced me into that choice.

The months since have not been very easy. A freelancing opportunity does give me a small yet steady cash stream, but that is no substitute for a full-time job. More importantly, it is nowhere near what I plan and hope to achieve in a career. Explaining a break like this to a prospective employer is no cakewalk. Especially since, "My boss was a jerk" as a reason does nothing to improve my chances even if it is the undiluted truth.

The sole upside is that I have reason to believe that the job quest will soon be over..... until I know for sure though, I'm gonna be keeping my fingers, toes and eyes crossed. :)

But this post wasn't meant to be about any of that.

I've had mixed reactions to the choice I made. A handful agrees with me. Most have gone on to add "bonkers" to their list of adjectives describing yours truly. There have also been folks who were kind enough to suggest that I could afford to do this since I am the spoilt only child and daughter at that of a family that's comfortably off. I use the word kind 'coz they made sure I heard those suggestions second-hand.

Such tact, such consideration...... charmed, I'm sure.

I have wondered a couple of times if I should've hung on a little longer......just for the sake of avoiding a gap on an already undistinguished CV. Interestingly, I was the first person to leave our ten-member team...... within five months of my resignation, the strength had come down to half.

Two (including yours truly) had openly stated the actual reason for leaving, and the others had made it known that the superior was the reason they looked out for alternatives. That soon became common knowledge in a 200-strong department. Now what would you expect to happen in the year-end appraisal after the team lead sets such a blistering record in less than six months?? I got to know today when I caught up with a colleague on chat.

The blithering @$$ got a promotion.

He got an effin' PROMOTION!!!

My reaction was laughter AND dismay. Did the guy have a secret 'forced attrition' target or something? Like "Sir, I have helped reduce manpower costs by driving my team insane and chasing half of them out of the organization"??? And a 50% weightage perhaps, for "Will aim to hamper productivity by yelling for no reason, calling for aimless meetings, and offloading bullcrap by the ton on any subordinate who refuses to think I'm god"???

W.r.t. those goals, I'm in a charitable mood right now...that should explain it.

I think the best phrase in modern lingo to describe my reaction can be summarized as WTF.

Strong language I know, but I think it's only fitting for a person who drove me to spew cuss words left, right, and centre within a week of starting to work for him. My bemused colleague tells me that she's rethinking her priorities now..... her idea of career progression techniques needs a complete overhaul after this y'see.

As for me.....

I'm still unemployed.

I'm still uncertain about how my future will shape up.

But I haven't felt SO DAMNED GOOD in a long, long time.

Y'see, I now know for sure that I took the right call then. Screaming bloody murder to anybody who paused for a second, and leaving the place for good. Making sure that the Dept head knew exactly why I'd quit, and telling him explicitly that being a junior is no reason to put up with narcissistic bullying.

I don't think I'd have forgiven myself if I'd stayed on, believing that the system would look after such characters, and then seen this development. The only disappointment is in some seniors who let this happen..... somehow, I'd hoped that they'd see the light. But then, I guess commercialism, careers, and corporate ladders don't work on those principles.

I know I have a lot to learn, and I'm not naive enough to think that the bad guys will always be nailed in the end. Mebbe my attitudes will also change over time.

But today, I'm happy. Happy and a wee bit satisfied too, 'coz I stood up for what I had to, and in a way, my stand's been vindicated.

And right now, that is all that matters to me.

:-)

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.......

Then and now...

*Started writing this one fine June afternoon....and sat down to finish it yesterday :). Oh well, procrastination's one of my nicer qualities....



It’d been a regular Sunday so far.

Church in the morning……after staying up reading till 2 a.m.

A quick trip to the local book stalls for the week’s supply.

A leisurely brunch and cuppa coffee at her regular hangout.

And back home by two in the p.m.

Oh well and all that, she thought. This is the way it’s been for a while now. Hard to explain yearning for company, for a trip, for a casual conversation, yet being reluctant to call a buddy or just head out. She puttered around the room, telling herself for the thousandth time that this was the weekend to get the room tidied up. Oh yeah, it is. So’s next weekend. A fleeting moment of amazement when she realized that it was almost July.

What would the rest of the day be like? Sleep? No. Though she eventually will, she knows that. Call a friend? Mebbe later. A quick jaunt to the mall downtown? Perhaps, but the weekend crowd of loud families and clingy couples was the last thing she needed.

Better read a book till I decide.So she stretched out on the bed, keeping the windows wide open to catch the cool breeze.

Ahhhhh..bliss.

Karen Carpenter’s soulful alto rose from the laptop perched on the desk.

Perfect. The only singer she’d ever aspired to sound like. Soon, she was deep into the plot and subplots of the battered spy thriller.

She awoke suddenly, startled by a coolness on her arm. Confused for moment, she saw that the room was much darker now, the curtains flapped wildly, and Karen continued to sing. Make believe, the song name registered somewhere at the back of her mind.

But then is then, and now is now…..

And right now, it was raining…… the sweet, moist scent of the earth was heady alright. As was the cool spray that had woken her up. She could never explain how rain always, unfailingly, triggered off a series of images in her mind.

Of her much younger self stretching her arms out of the window to ‘catch’ the rain. Of running around outside with her cousins in a ferocious Kerala rainstorm, of an era when she could go topless (or bottomless, for that matter) without anybody batting an eyelid. Of praying hard for heavy rain on school nights, so that she could stay in the next day. And then feeling guilty at having her prayers answered, as she watched a street urchin trying to stay dry under the straggly limbs of the nearest tree.

Of more pensive evenings, when a teenager watched the simple beauty of an afternoon shower, and wondered why people and life itself had to be so complicated. Of the bright cleanness of the trees after the rain, of a green so intense it hurt your eye. Of silently crying in the dark a few years later, as she heard the rain pound relentlessly. They’d buried her beloved grandmother that evening, and the thought of the rain pelting that lonely grave, and battering the flowers was almost too much to bear.

Of deliberately prolonging the five minute walk back home from college, if it so much as drizzled. Of watching from her hostel window in another part of the country, as the rains misted the landscape into impressionist masterpieces. Of breathing in the damp, cool air one Easter evening, and wondering if it was just her or if life really was a bitch.

As always, the montage released a sharp, short pang of homesickness. And sadness. A longing to be truly footloose and carefree once again. Secretly, she enjoyed the rain even in the huge metro, despite the whole city turning into a squelchy bog. Despite the ordeal of her commute and the massacred footwear. No sense in spoiling the magic of the moment by thinking of day to day issues……Mundane practicality would rear its ugly head whenever, wherever.

Meanwhile, Karen Carpenter was almost through with her song.

…And now is all that matters, anyhow

I totally agree, she thought, watching as the rain caressed the earth and sang its love songs once again. As it had always done for eons past.

Little bundle of.....??

Recently, I was having this perfectly ordinary conversation with a colleague of mine when she casually dropped this line…..

“You know, my mom had tried to abort when she was pregnant with me, but that attempt failed. So she carried me to full term.”

Mentally, I’d gone all slack-jawed while keeping a normal face on the outside (or so I believe). But such was the impact of that one line that I’ve even forgotten the context in which it was said. The colleague in question didn’t seem too fazed, but I was reeling from what I’d heard. Needless to say, the rest of the conversation went over my head.

How do you deal with the knowledge that your mother tried to get rid of you when you were in her womb???? We’re all conditioned to expect being wanted in some capacity or other.....Most of all by our families.

No doubt, abortion was, is, and will always be a question with no right or wrong answers. I’m against taking a life, especially when the target in question cannot fight back or speak up. But I also think that the mother in question is the only one who can take a call on the matter. That too only in certain circumstances.

Well, I’m not going to debate the rights and wrongs of an age old issue here. Fine, so you tried to abort your baby for reasons best known to you. Assuming your child survived an abortion attempt, is it really necessary to let them know about it later? Does the parent in question even have a clue about the emotional crapload they’re dumping on a kid’s head??

Granted, from what I know my friend seems to have had a normal, happy life with her folks so far. But how does it feel to know that at some time, however long back, you were not wanted? That the ones responsible for your existence actually tried to eliminate you from the scene? And yes, this friend will have certain health issues for life, thanks to the botched abortion.

I guess this is better than what another friend of mine went through. Her teen years weren’t very smooth, what with her being the much younger child and her mom having a successful, demanding career. One particularly nasty mother-daughter spat stopped dead in its tracks when her mom yelled, “You know something?? I never wanted you. I knew it wasn’t good for my career. I would’ve aborted you, but your grandmom wouldn’t budge.”

We could only watch the trauma she went through while trying to come to terms with that revelation. She’s married now, with a child of her own. On the face of it atleast, she seems to have made peace with her mother. It’s not something I can ask about despite being a close friend.

I really don’t know.

And I can’t judge either, though it’s really hard to restrain myself from doing so. Mebbe it’s coz I’ve never seen an unborn child being regarded with anything other than joyful anticipation. Anxiety yes, but of the positive kind.

I guess there are some situations in life where the bliss of ignorance is the best alternative.

The Fellowship of the Ring(less)

Ohmigod.

I can’t believe I actually did this. On my last trip home , I finally gave in to my parents’ subtle demands. Oh well, ‘subtle’ is soooo 2007……. Now it’s more like the Exorcist theme score.

I…errr…. Ahem…. I…… damn, I can’t say this!!!

Oh then TYPE it out lady.

I…. cough, cough….. actually helped them create a profile for me on a matrimonial site. :( :( I solemnly swear that I don’t drink or do drugs.

Stop sniggering willya???

Btw, am pretty sure they’ve already explored multiple alternatives to foist their darling one and only onto some unwitting nalla payyan out there. Note: Do they exist???My suspicions hit an all time high when I saw a string of mails from the Malayala Manorama ID in Dad’s mailbox. I just happened to stop by his desk to ask something, and there was this sudden Alt + Tab rhythm that got started. For the uninitiated, the Malayala Manorama is not just a Mallu newspaper, it’s also the best friend of Mallu parents who don’t know what to do next with their twenty somethings.

I did have my doubts about the wisdom of it alright. Especially since

A) I’m in no particular hurry to tie the knot.
B) My parents’ and my idea of a nice guy vs okay-okay guy tend to clash occasionally
C) Have to keep reminding them that their dream son-in-law is right up there with Santa Claus, dragons and fairies….. a creature of fantasy.
D) And I have to keep reminding myself that all the guys I’ve dreamed of are unattainable public figures, who are married or committed to disgustingly gorgeous women…or just don’t exist. Sigh.
E) As a follow on to (D), the Enchantress reminds me it could be worse. The dream man might just turn out to be gay. Aiyyayyoooo…and good men are a rarity already.
F) Help me God, what if this whole website thingie actually works???? :-S

But on careful consideration it seemed only fair to help them out. After all, parents are bound to need help when they have a gorgeous, amazingly talented and supremely intelligent daughter on their hands.

No, I don’t have a sister.

Kinda dense aren’t you? I was talking about myself.

But here’s a little confession….. Browsing through some of the profiles made me think I shoulda started this eons ago…… I had no clue there was SO much entertainment on the net for free!!!! ;-D

Tomes have been written about the kinds of matrimonial ads that get published…. Some noteworthy blog posts have been dedicated to them too. But honestly, some of these profiles make you laugh out loud, or think really hard.

Among the giggle-worthy, here are some gems I found :

1. “Looking for a partner….. blah blah blah….. who also likes to cook and rear children.”
Hellooooo?!?!?! :-O Somebody pleeeeease get him a copy of Eats, shoots and leaves.

2. “She should be a candle light for me in my hours (sic) of darkness..”
Buddy, what you need is either an agony aunt or an inverter. Or a plain bulb. And you talk like you expect a LOT of darkness ahead……. NOT the best attention grabber for a future mate. Ladies, I see the potential for a lot of skeletons in this closet.

3. “I’m a coooooooool guy!!!”
I swear that’s exactly what was written. And ALL that was written. Stay far, far away from this one, Zahra-girl. This is the type your friends warned you about on Orkut.

4. “I’m a deeply religious, pious and spiritual person.”
Not that there’s anything wrong with that statement….. Faith matters to me too. But the overall tone of this particular profile left me kinda confused….. I didn’t know whether to continue reading, cross myself or light a candle. Methinks we’ve got the next Vatican canonization here.

5. “Myself a very handsome, caring, sensitive, dynamic personality….”
I just cannot compete with such perfection. You forgot to add ‘unshakeable self-esteem’ to your virtues buddy. Btw, about your profile pic….. Shades that cover 85% of your face don’t help. Especially since the uncovered 15% is not exactly standalone material….. nothing personal, just an objective observation.

My folks discreetly sugest that a profile pic will be in orer.

Mental sticky note: Upload a pic of Lolakutty.... we're talking wholesome Mallu gorge-yess-ness here.

:P


Hmmm…. One of the inescapable phases of quarter-life I guess….. at least the family’s getting some free entertainment.

Quite a few of my fellow victims in the Fellowship of the Ring(less) are in similar predicaments. My best friend (who’s a Bong) wishes that Bong guys were known for physique and looks too, not just academic credentials. Coz all her ‘prospects’ to date have been exceptionally geeky-looking Bong-men with multiple Ivy League qualifications. Anybody who can change that trend…..the geeky one….please let me know….. FYI, you’ll have to be single and Bong AND really tall (coz she is) AAANNNDDD intelligent ('coz she is, VERY) to floor this babe. There. That’s my good karma for the week.

Btw neither of us are six-pack fans, so we’re not very choosy that way. But yeah, we don’t dig family packs either.

On a serious note, it’s kinda disturbing that a LOT of people mention ‘fair’ as a criterion before education or personality or anything else. What’s with this fairness fixation anyway??? Especially when the same guys might be drooling over the not-exactly-fair Bipasha Basu. I know this horse’s been bludgeoned to death, but I just had to give my two cents’ worth of kicks.

Oh and did I tell you, I got a response to my profile the very next day ;-P

The mail started like this.....

“I came across your profile and found it SOOO interesting, I hope you don’t mind (sic)…”

There were a coupla smileys too, for my benefit. Oh yes I mind. Terribly. That profile was meant to be uninteresting and solely for my private edification.

Incidentally this guy has apparently not bothered to use a community/region/language filter while searching. Guess chronic spammers have to do their thing whenever, wherever.Needless to say, that guy’s email got the ‘Delete’ treatment.

Appaaa...AmMAAAAAAAA.... I told you this wasn’t a good idea.

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!!

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!!