My hair cut resembles the feathers of a sparrow that just got wet in the rain.
So i went to the parlour last Saturday and demanded a hair cut from the same person who does it every time.
I never bother to ask for her name, but whenever my hair needs a cut, i dream of her the night before.
To my utter shock and disbelief, she refused to cut my hair. She was actually thrilled to see me, because my hair is now looking exactly the way she wanted it to.
I have been asked to come back after 3 months, by which time i'll go crazy, because everyday is now a bad hair day.
Wondering whether i should change hair dressers or shave off the entire mass of dead black cells (ugh!) on my head that are adding to my misery.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Sunday, July 17, 2005
To Be(g) or Not to Be(g)
The couple boarded the train. He had an electric guitar and a microphone and she was carrying a purse that would have aroused envy in most of the passengers. As the train left the platform, he started singing and she joined him. After a song, she went around asking for alms. When some people gave a rupee and she smirked at them, others hurried gave more.
A study carried out by an eminent newspaper says that Mumbai has beggars who ahem! earn an average of a thousand bucks a day. One such fellow has a family of four and they have forty thousand rupees in the bank, two flats in Mumbai's suburbs, a cell phone and now plan to buy a car, besides carrying on with the family business of begging.
I think the first step towards walking out on the street and begging people for money is the toughest. You have to chew your pride to do it. You have to wallow in self-pity till you can convince people around you that you need to be pitied. I get embarrassed asking my friends for a loan of money when I run short, and I wonder what it must be for sometime who’s asking you to give your money to him forever.
I don't know the specific circumstances that force certain people into begging, but I think it’s got a lot to do with character. On the same train, I have seen one blind man begging and another selling incense sticks. On the same train, I have seen one old man begging and a woman older than him selling combs and clips. I hate it when some young fellow comes and begs for money when a hard day's labour could have got him not just money, but pride as well.
The whole idea of begging disturbs me. I see dozens of beggars everyday and I cannot decide whom to give money to and whom not to.
In Delhi, I used to pass by a temple on my way back from college and there used to be a cripple. My good friend D and I fondly remember that he called us 'Ma'. Often I used to save food from my lunch for him. He wouldn't ask for money. He would be only too happy to eat the food. D was rather fond of him and referred to him as her son. That didn't seem so bad, because he used to sit all by himself and he was exactly begging anyone for anything.
Somehow, I hate this commercialized begging that I encounter everyday. It’s a new morning, the sunshine, and the breeze. Just when you think, nothing could go wrong, you hear 'Bhagwan ke naam se de de Baba' and it jolts you back to reality. We are the 10th largest country in the world in terms of GDP, and the beggars seem to be getting richer, but they won't stop begging. Call it circulation of currency?
A study carried out by an eminent newspaper says that Mumbai has beggars who ahem! earn an average of a thousand bucks a day. One such fellow has a family of four and they have forty thousand rupees in the bank, two flats in Mumbai's suburbs, a cell phone and now plan to buy a car, besides carrying on with the family business of begging.
I think the first step towards walking out on the street and begging people for money is the toughest. You have to chew your pride to do it. You have to wallow in self-pity till you can convince people around you that you need to be pitied. I get embarrassed asking my friends for a loan of money when I run short, and I wonder what it must be for sometime who’s asking you to give your money to him forever.
I don't know the specific circumstances that force certain people into begging, but I think it’s got a lot to do with character. On the same train, I have seen one blind man begging and another selling incense sticks. On the same train, I have seen one old man begging and a woman older than him selling combs and clips. I hate it when some young fellow comes and begs for money when a hard day's labour could have got him not just money, but pride as well.
The whole idea of begging disturbs me. I see dozens of beggars everyday and I cannot decide whom to give money to and whom not to.
In Delhi, I used to pass by a temple on my way back from college and there used to be a cripple. My good friend D and I fondly remember that he called us 'Ma'. Often I used to save food from my lunch for him. He wouldn't ask for money. He would be only too happy to eat the food. D was rather fond of him and referred to him as her son. That didn't seem so bad, because he used to sit all by himself and he was exactly begging anyone for anything.
Somehow, I hate this commercialized begging that I encounter everyday. It’s a new morning, the sunshine, and the breeze. Just when you think, nothing could go wrong, you hear 'Bhagwan ke naam se de de Baba' and it jolts you back to reality. We are the 10th largest country in the world in terms of GDP, and the beggars seem to be getting richer, but they won't stop begging. Call it circulation of currency?
Sunday, July 03, 2005
The Paheli Behind Making a Good Movie
Why does it happen that a movie starring Shah Rukh ‘Badshah’ Khan, Rani Mukherjee, Juhi Chawla, Anupam Kher, including Amitabh Bachchan, directed by Amol Palekar, where the women wear exquisite Tanishq jewelry, and produced by the King Khan still falls flat?
The answer lies in over-confidence. Paheli is a movie that has been made without care or consideration for the art of making films. It is a good story that eventually falls apart because of its reliance on a one-man-show called Shah Rukh Khan. King Khan is a big disappointment in the movie. He looks like Raj of DDLJ trapped in period costume and a humongous ‘pagri’. His dialogues look strained and even the way he woos his woman in the desert reminds you of the way he wooed Simran in Europe.
Badi badi deshon mein aisi choti choti baatein hoti rehti hain
You are forced to compare Shah Rukh with Amitabh Bachchan and that’s when you realize what a fantastic actor AB is. In the ten odd minutes of screen time, Bachchan grabs our attention as the silly, rustic, ill-literate shepherd who’s bent on doing good. He looks the role, while our Shah Rukh looks exactly like Rahul of K3G when his father disowned him. Sorry Shah Rukh, even the comedy fails to entertain. You’d better go back to acting school and learn how to stop acting the same way in every movie.
Paheli is about Lajjo- a newly wed bride on her way to her new house. A chance stop at a resting place haunted by ghosts is the turning point of the story. A ghost falls in love with Lajjo and cannot get her out of his mind. Meanwhile Lajjo’s husband Kishan Kumar is clearly more inclined towards making money than love and leaves home the next day in search of fortune, not to return for five years. The ghost impersonates Kishan, goes to the house (oops haveli) and declares his identity as well as his undying love for Lajjo. Well, well, wonders never cease in Bollywood and Lajjo agrees to live and love the ghost and to amaze us even more, she carries a child by the ghost!!!! A series of supernatural events powered by our do-gooder ghost occur and all is well till Lajjo’s human husband returns.
Paheli is essentially a love story, but it falls behind its time. Ten years ago a ghost yielding his powers (remember Shah Rukh in Chamatkar?) would have drawn gasps of astonishment, but not anymore. This is not even a movie for children if you consider the emotions expressed by Lajjo and Kishan.
Paheli disappoints because it neither falls into a definite genre of films nor is it timeless. I have been a great admirer of Amol Palekar and I am sure he could have done better than this. Rani Mukherjee acts well, but alas! Not well enough to save the movie. Juhi Chawla makes a comeback after a long time and its good to see her again. Anupam Kher is good as the miserly Seth Ji. MM Kreem’s music is best when he works for the Bhatts. This has been a brave effort at movie making, but the applause must be reserved for something better.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Top Ten Reasons Why You Should Watch Parineeta
10.This is probably the last movie where we get to see Saif smoking on screen. And boy! He sure looks more desirable lighting up a cigar than his father does shooting black bucks.
9. Only in a movie can you convince an adult, educated girl (that too a working woman) that exchanging a gold chain with a guy is the equivalent of marriage. Even in the original classic, Shekhar had told the 13-year-old Lalita that she was married, out of his possessiveness, while he was fully aware that there was no marriage. Somebody thought of distorting the focal point of the story, but they didn’t think of making Lalita strong enough to insist on a marriage registration?
8. Sarat Chandra Chatterjee died in 1937 and Shekhar listens to Elvis Priestly. I wonder who is supposed to be more flattered.
7. Moulin Rouge – good. Rekha- great, fantastic, fabulous. I love the way she can beat today’s teenyboppers even while doing a cabaret in a sari. Love her for it.
6. The ‘Dhunuchi’ dance – balancing a pot full of burning coals in your hands and mouth. Sanju Baba does it in authentic Bengali style. I haven’t seen too many people doing it so stylishly during Durga Puja, but then not everybody is Sanjay Dutt.
5. Chemistry- shared by Vidya Balan and Saif. It oozes out of the screen till it fills the place around you. They are the stuff that dreams are made of. The lovemaking scene comes as a natural consequence of two people who realize that they are in love. Nothing vulgar about it.
4. Opulent mansions, great lighting, extravagant weddings, fragrant gardens and hold your breadth Diya Mirza.
3. Finally, women get to dress in a sari in the old fashioned way, don’t do a rain soaked wet sari dance and still capture the imagination of the entire nation.
2. Great music- Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘Phule Phule’ in Hindi, a bit of Nepalese music thrown in and Rekha’s number- can’t stop raving about her.
1. And the number one reason to watch Parineeta- Vidya Balan! After a long time, we get to watch a mature actress in her debut performance. She exudes dignity in her posture, grace in her movements and she is a beautiful woman.
Sigh! Kaisi yeh paheli zindagani……….
9. Only in a movie can you convince an adult, educated girl (that too a working woman) that exchanging a gold chain with a guy is the equivalent of marriage. Even in the original classic, Shekhar had told the 13-year-old Lalita that she was married, out of his possessiveness, while he was fully aware that there was no marriage. Somebody thought of distorting the focal point of the story, but they didn’t think of making Lalita strong enough to insist on a marriage registration?
8. Sarat Chandra Chatterjee died in 1937 and Shekhar listens to Elvis Priestly. I wonder who is supposed to be more flattered.
7. Moulin Rouge – good. Rekha- great, fantastic, fabulous. I love the way she can beat today’s teenyboppers even while doing a cabaret in a sari. Love her for it.
6. The ‘Dhunuchi’ dance – balancing a pot full of burning coals in your hands and mouth. Sanju Baba does it in authentic Bengali style. I haven’t seen too many people doing it so stylishly during Durga Puja, but then not everybody is Sanjay Dutt.
5. Chemistry- shared by Vidya Balan and Saif. It oozes out of the screen till it fills the place around you. They are the stuff that dreams are made of. The lovemaking scene comes as a natural consequence of two people who realize that they are in love. Nothing vulgar about it.
4. Opulent mansions, great lighting, extravagant weddings, fragrant gardens and hold your breadth Diya Mirza.
3. Finally, women get to dress in a sari in the old fashioned way, don’t do a rain soaked wet sari dance and still capture the imagination of the entire nation.
2. Great music- Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘Phule Phule’ in Hindi, a bit of Nepalese music thrown in and Rekha’s number- can’t stop raving about her.
1. And the number one reason to watch Parineeta- Vidya Balan! After a long time, we get to watch a mature actress in her debut performance. She exudes dignity in her posture, grace in her movements and she is a beautiful woman.
Sigh! Kaisi yeh paheli zindagani……….
Friday, June 24, 2005
Self Respect
Lost in the thoughts of materialized views and parameterized cursors at 7:30 in the morning i was watching the trees go by next to my window seat in the train. The world seemed divided by a simple binary logic- the haves and the have nots. The 'have time to sleep' and the 'have not time to sleep' I was among the have nots ofcourse. The sudden appearance of the Ticket Checker jolted me out of the slumber that i was beginning to let my myself enjoy.
He was big, burly and rude. At first i could not understand why a man strode right in the middle of the ladies compartment and looked at us askingly. When i saw the all the rest of my fellow travellers fishing inside their bags, purses, wallets, i figured out the rest.
I took out my ticket and showed him and so did the other four of the six of us women seated on his left. But sitting next to me was a woman who seemed to take an eternity to take out her ticket. We all guessed it. she was travelling ticketless. Instead of a ticket there appeared in her hands a few medical prescritions.
She was going to the city to get herself checked by a doctor. There was no money in the house. For the past one month she had been travelling ticketless. Infact, she had no money to bus a bus ticket for herself.For the past two days she hadn't eaten anything.
All this was said, quitely and with dignity. As if the humiliation of it all were sufficient punishment to atone for her deeds. She stood in front of the checker, waiting to hear what he penalty he would impose.
None of us were surprised when he walked away without a word. As train reached the next station, two beggars aboded, asking for alms. Nearly everyone in our compartment opened their purses. I watched the irony of the situation. Sitting next to me was a person who probably needed money more than any of the beggars and yet her self respect would not allow her to beg. It is more difficult to be poor, when you want to keep your dignity intact.
I slipped some money in her hands silently just before getting off the train. I couldn't look into her eyes, because then, the humiliation would have been complete. I still don't know if i did the right thing because somewhere deep inside me i feel ashamed to know that i murdered a soulful of self respect for a few rupees more.
He was big, burly and rude. At first i could not understand why a man strode right in the middle of the ladies compartment and looked at us askingly. When i saw the all the rest of my fellow travellers fishing inside their bags, purses, wallets, i figured out the rest.
I took out my ticket and showed him and so did the other four of the six of us women seated on his left. But sitting next to me was a woman who seemed to take an eternity to take out her ticket. We all guessed it. she was travelling ticketless. Instead of a ticket there appeared in her hands a few medical prescritions.
She was going to the city to get herself checked by a doctor. There was no money in the house. For the past one month she had been travelling ticketless. Infact, she had no money to bus a bus ticket for herself.For the past two days she hadn't eaten anything.
All this was said, quitely and with dignity. As if the humiliation of it all were sufficient punishment to atone for her deeds. She stood in front of the checker, waiting to hear what he penalty he would impose.
None of us were surprised when he walked away without a word. As train reached the next station, two beggars aboded, asking for alms. Nearly everyone in our compartment opened their purses. I watched the irony of the situation. Sitting next to me was a person who probably needed money more than any of the beggars and yet her self respect would not allow her to beg. It is more difficult to be poor, when you want to keep your dignity intact.
I slipped some money in her hands silently just before getting off the train. I couldn't look into her eyes, because then, the humiliation would have been complete. I still don't know if i did the right thing because somewhere deep inside me i feel ashamed to know that i murdered a soulful of self respect for a few rupees more.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Parineeta
I haven't seen the movie yet but having the unfair advantage of being a Bong, i read the novel last week. The novel is cute and yet delves deep into the psyche of the Indian male (not again!)
I am told Sanjay Dutt looks as Bong as Steve Waugh in Udayan. In the novel, Lalita the girl was 13 years old. Ofcourse, our censors will go snip, snip, snip, if we show child marriage.(Thank God! no one fagged in the movie)
After Devdas, this is the second of Sarat Chandra Chatterjee's novels to be adapted for movies in Hindi. But the distortion is painful.
If i manage to watch the movie, i guess i am going to review by directly comparing with how much the movie has strayed from the book.
I am told Sanjay Dutt looks as Bong as Steve Waugh in Udayan. In the novel, Lalita the girl was 13 years old. Ofcourse, our censors will go snip, snip, snip, if we show child marriage.(Thank God! no one fagged in the movie)
After Devdas, this is the second of Sarat Chandra Chatterjee's novels to be adapted for movies in Hindi. But the distortion is painful.
If i manage to watch the movie, i guess i am going to review by directly comparing with how much the movie has strayed from the book.
The truth about Sumana
Last week, i received a mail from this truly weird person i never heard of called V. He mails me a one liner
Hi,
How you know Sumana?
V.
I reply:
Hi ,
I know 4 different Sumanas' They also spell their names differently. The way you spelt it, i know 2 different Sumanas'.
So kindly give me the surname.
Its question time folks and my questions are as follows:
Guess i am done with it. What kindof a name is V? You must be a guy, isn't it?
Anwesha.
V replies:
Hi
Ur reply is so fantastic.
i hope u are doing some p.hd or u did the same before. any way i will give a clear answer for all ur points u raised about my mail. now i have little bit busy yaar in office here in dubai. any way i am an indian guy
thanks V
Indian guys! My life for some strange reason has now been reduced to dealing with Indian guys who have water in their brains. I once knew an Indian guy who was worth being called a man but, he saw the company i was keeping and stayed away for fear of infiltrating his cells with H2O.
No reply from my side and V mails again:
Hi anwesa,
how you doing? hope very thing under control!
bye,
V.
I finally lost it completely:
Heleow!
Would do you mind going back to school and taking your grammar classes again? If you are more proficient in Arabic, mail me in that. I'll take classes and try to read your mails. But spare me this ordeal of having to translate your English into the English that "we" speak.
Thanks,
Anwesha.
PS- no longer interested in knowing how i know Sumana ?????
To be concluded...
Hi,
How you know Sumana?
V.
I reply:
Hi ,
I know 4 different Sumanas' They also spell their names differently. The way you spelt it, i know 2 different Sumanas'.
So kindly give me the surname.
Its question time folks and my questions are as follows:
- How you know me?????
- Who are you?
- What difference does it make if I know Sumana (1, 2, 3 or 4). Hopefully none of them work for the Al Qaeda or have links with Dawood Ibrahim
- If you have an interesting offer for any of the aforesaid Sumanas, feel free to say it to me. I will be only too happy to convey the glad tidings. This is ofcourse subject to the condition that you answer truthfully the first 3 of my questions.
Guess i am done with it. What kindof a name is V? You must be a guy, isn't it?
Anwesha.
V replies:
Hi
Ur reply is so fantastic.
i hope u are doing some p.hd or u did the same before. any way i will give a clear answer for all ur points u raised about my mail. now i have little bit busy yaar in office here in dubai. any way i am an indian guy
thanks V
Indian guys! My life for some strange reason has now been reduced to dealing with Indian guys who have water in their brains. I once knew an Indian guy who was worth being called a man but, he saw the company i was keeping and stayed away for fear of infiltrating his cells with H2O.
No reply from my side and V mails again:
Hi anwesa,
how you doing? hope very thing under control!
bye,
V.
I finally lost it completely:
Heleow!
Would do you mind going back to school and taking your grammar classes again? If you are more proficient in Arabic, mail me in that. I'll take classes and try to read your mails. But spare me this ordeal of having to translate your English into the English that "we" speak.
Thanks,
Anwesha.
PS- no longer interested in knowing how i know Sumana ?????
To be concluded...
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Pirates of the Caribbean
Last week I watched the Pirates of the Caribbean, the Curse of the Black Pearl.
This 2003 movie is an adaptation of the Disneyland theme-park ride the Pirates of the Caribbean . Directed by Gore Verbinski, POTC is a all and out thrilling movie with rope swings, swashing swords, rocking ships, deep sea dives, spear fights, hidden treasures and of course the sea.
An ancient curse befell the crew of the 'Black Pearl' when they stole the Cortez treasure. The pirates are doomed to a state of living undead until the treasure is returned and the blood of the thief is spilled on the treasure. Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) owns a medallion from that treasure and the pirates are after his blood. He loves and is loved by the beautiful Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightly) who is captured by the pirates. Captain Jack sparrow played brilliantly by the talented Johnny Depp helps Will rescue Elizabeth and frees the pirates of the curse.
There are some awesome moments in the movie, especially when the pirates turn into living skeletons on full moon nights. The ship fights seem real and are good fun to watch. The motley crowd of pirates and their pet parrot add to the magic of the movie. This is a light-hearted movie without a moment of monotony. The fast pace makes it all the more enjoyable to watch.
Johnny Depp steals the shows with his portrayal of the eccentric Captain Jack sparrow. He is whimsical, moody, and hilarious and yet has to be taken seriously because of his fantastic knowledge of the seas, ships and warfare. This ranks as one of Depp's finest performances alongside 'Edward Scissorhands' and 'Chocolat'
A great entertainer, POTC is a must watch for all those who love good ol' action in the high seas.
This 2003 movie is an adaptation of the Disneyland theme-park ride the Pirates of the Caribbean . Directed by Gore Verbinski, POTC is a all and out thrilling movie with rope swings, swashing swords, rocking ships, deep sea dives, spear fights, hidden treasures and of course the sea.
An ancient curse befell the crew of the 'Black Pearl' when they stole the Cortez treasure. The pirates are doomed to a state of living undead until the treasure is returned and the blood of the thief is spilled on the treasure. Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) owns a medallion from that treasure and the pirates are after his blood. He loves and is loved by the beautiful Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightly) who is captured by the pirates. Captain Jack sparrow played brilliantly by the talented Johnny Depp helps Will rescue Elizabeth and frees the pirates of the curse.
There are some awesome moments in the movie, especially when the pirates turn into living skeletons on full moon nights. The ship fights seem real and are good fun to watch. The motley crowd of pirates and their pet parrot add to the magic of the movie. This is a light-hearted movie without a moment of monotony. The fast pace makes it all the more enjoyable to watch.
Johnny Depp steals the shows with his portrayal of the eccentric Captain Jack sparrow. He is whimsical, moody, and hilarious and yet has to be taken seriously because of his fantastic knowledge of the seas, ships and warfare. This ranks as one of Depp's finest performances alongside 'Edward Scissorhands' and 'Chocolat'
A great entertainer, POTC is a must watch for all those who love good ol' action in the high seas.
Bunty Aur Bubbly
It’s a reel pleasure to see father and son sharing the same canvas on screen. And to say that they hit it off perfectly would only be doing justice to their performances. Bunty Aur Bubbly is a two and half hour rhapsody that is sure to leave you wondering if it really happened. One condition- remember to leave your brains behind, when you start watching.
Rajesh from Fursatganj and Vimmi from Pankinagar are two simpletons who dream of making it big one day. He has an idea that can make loads of money and she rather fancies herself as the next Miss India. When their dreams are cut short and they find themselves in dire straits, they change their names to Bunty and Bubbly and steal money and goodies by befuddling people. With each success, their confidence grows, till they take on mind-boggling challenges including leasing the Taj Mahal. They meet their match in Dashrath Singh- the policeman. Amitabh Bachchan proves once again why he is the super star of the millennium. He steals the show with his portrayal of the eccentric bidi-smoking, chana-munching cop who sets out to catch the swindlers by their collars.
The humour is good in the first half, but it does get monotonous in the second half. After a wonderful directorial debut with ‘Saathiya’, Shaad Ali could have done better in this movie. A great star cast has ensured interest in the movie, but has failed to sustain it for the entire duration of the three odd hours. The music by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy is tuneful and melodious. Most of the songs are big hits, but quite a few of them are unnecessary. Aishwarya Rai appears in a completely redundant ‘item’ number, which jars the narration. Rani Mukherjee plays the effervescent young girl who sobs uncontrollably when she misses her parents. Abhishekh Bachchan excels in his role of the young man who refuses to bear the brunt of guilt. He enjoys his role as a criminal to the hilt.
B&B makes no attempt at serious thought provoking cinema. There are no lessons to learn, no logic that explains why things happen and no common sense incase you are looking for one. Just be prepared to be assaulted by a heady mix of nonsensical events, catchy music (‘Chote Chote Shehero Se’), fantastic fancy dresses (Rani’s clothes are gorgeous) and a world of clean and good ol’ fun. To end with the words of our crooked Bunty ‘There are two kinds of comedies in this world- those that draw laughter from within and those that force you to laugh’ B&B I fear belongs to the latter.
Rajesh from Fursatganj and Vimmi from Pankinagar are two simpletons who dream of making it big one day. He has an idea that can make loads of money and she rather fancies herself as the next Miss India. When their dreams are cut short and they find themselves in dire straits, they change their names to Bunty and Bubbly and steal money and goodies by befuddling people. With each success, their confidence grows, till they take on mind-boggling challenges including leasing the Taj Mahal. They meet their match in Dashrath Singh- the policeman. Amitabh Bachchan proves once again why he is the super star of the millennium. He steals the show with his portrayal of the eccentric bidi-smoking, chana-munching cop who sets out to catch the swindlers by their collars.
The humour is good in the first half, but it does get monotonous in the second half. After a wonderful directorial debut with ‘Saathiya’, Shaad Ali could have done better in this movie. A great star cast has ensured interest in the movie, but has failed to sustain it for the entire duration of the three odd hours. The music by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy is tuneful and melodious. Most of the songs are big hits, but quite a few of them are unnecessary. Aishwarya Rai appears in a completely redundant ‘item’ number, which jars the narration. Rani Mukherjee plays the effervescent young girl who sobs uncontrollably when she misses her parents. Abhishekh Bachchan excels in his role of the young man who refuses to bear the brunt of guilt. He enjoys his role as a criminal to the hilt.
B&B makes no attempt at serious thought provoking cinema. There are no lessons to learn, no logic that explains why things happen and no common sense incase you are looking for one. Just be prepared to be assaulted by a heady mix of nonsensical events, catchy music (‘Chote Chote Shehero Se’), fantastic fancy dresses (Rani’s clothes are gorgeous) and a world of clean and good ol’ fun. To end with the words of our crooked Bunty ‘There are two kinds of comedies in this world- those that draw laughter from within and those that force you to laugh’ B&B I fear belongs to the latter.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
The Fan
The first time I noticed her, was one sunny morning a few months back. She coyly walked towards the platform and stood waiting for the train. Nothing exceptional about her (warning- you are looking through the eyes of a woman), neatly dressed, young and in all probablity - a student. The 7:32 was almost there are I forgot all about her and joined the battle to capture the lone window seat that seemed to be calling out to me. She glanced at me briefly, or so I would believe and that was all that happenned.
Next day, I saw her again and found her staring at me. Quite all right, women do stare at women for all the right reasons. I checked out my clothes, no..they weren't great, but they weren't sad either. I looked at my shoes- polished- my bag was quite all right. She stood there are stared at me, quietly and without expression. I stared back and she continued to stare
I saw her as I was returning in the evening. I did not get a seat and she was also standing at a point, bang opposite me and doing what I knew she could do best- stare at me. I was in doubt. Its not a great idea to be oggled at by men. It causes me immense discomfiture- even appreciative glances do- let alone a woman. Was she blind then? No...didn't seem so.
After that, she took to missing the morning train, if I was late, so that she could be on the same train as I was. It was with sheer agony that I took the lone empty seat in front of her last week. Thirty minutes of hell, she continued to stare...
Someday,I shall find the answer.
Next day, I saw her again and found her staring at me. Quite all right, women do stare at women for all the right reasons. I checked out my clothes, no..they weren't great, but they weren't sad either. I looked at my shoes- polished- my bag was quite all right. She stood there are stared at me, quietly and without expression. I stared back and she continued to stare
I saw her as I was returning in the evening. I did not get a seat and she was also standing at a point, bang opposite me and doing what I knew she could do best- stare at me. I was in doubt. Its not a great idea to be oggled at by men. It causes me immense discomfiture- even appreciative glances do- let alone a woman. Was she blind then? No...didn't seem so.
After that, she took to missing the morning train, if I was late, so that she could be on the same train as I was. It was with sheer agony that I took the lone empty seat in front of her last week. Thirty minutes of hell, she continued to stare...
Someday,I shall find the answer.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Whenever I am asked to name my favourite actor, I stop, hesitate and think. I have no clear favorites, but some names do spring up on the mind. Dev Anand, while he was young, Aamir Khan barring a few seriously pathetic movies, and and Sunil Dutt. Hang on! I liked him in all his movies. So he’s probably my favourite actor!!!!
I can never forget Sunil Dutt in ‘ Mera Saya’. As he cried over Sadhna’s corpse, I would have given my life to be in her shoes. The light of truth that shone in his eyes, when he stood in the courtroom later, challenging the existence of his wife. I loved Sunil Dutt in ‘Padosan’- where he played the simple boy in love with Saira Banu- the winsome lass next door. And years later, I loved Sunil Dutt in ‘Munna Bhai M.B.B.S.’ when he played father to his son Sanjay Dutt. But his most stellar performance must have been in ‘Mother India’ where he played son to Nargis.
Today Sunil Dutt died.
I am told that he championed the cause of the poor and the sick. He was our Sports Minister till today and that he will always be remembered as an upright honest gentleman. I still recall, how he defended Sanjay Dutt when the latter was arrested under TADA and how he felicitated our cricket players in Eden Gardens. I remember seeing him in ‘Jeena Isi Kaa Naam Hain’ where he was so overcome by emotion that it was difficult to make out his words. The Prime Minister has flown to Mumbai for his cremation. There are organizations that have benefited by him and they have come to be with him in these last hours. The media covered his death all day. They say, he was the original actor-turned-politicians. The rest are pretenders. They say he was good human being.
For me its immaterial how he was. For me he will always be Sunil Dutt, who wept inconsolably when Sadhna dies in ‘Mera Saya’ That’s the image that will linger on……
I can never forget Sunil Dutt in ‘ Mera Saya’. As he cried over Sadhna’s corpse, I would have given my life to be in her shoes. The light of truth that shone in his eyes, when he stood in the courtroom later, challenging the existence of his wife. I loved Sunil Dutt in ‘Padosan’- where he played the simple boy in love with Saira Banu- the winsome lass next door. And years later, I loved Sunil Dutt in ‘Munna Bhai M.B.B.S.’ when he played father to his son Sanjay Dutt. But his most stellar performance must have been in ‘Mother India’ where he played son to Nargis.
Today Sunil Dutt died.
I am told that he championed the cause of the poor and the sick. He was our Sports Minister till today and that he will always be remembered as an upright honest gentleman. I still recall, how he defended Sanjay Dutt when the latter was arrested under TADA and how he felicitated our cricket players in Eden Gardens. I remember seeing him in ‘Jeena Isi Kaa Naam Hain’ where he was so overcome by emotion that it was difficult to make out his words. The Prime Minister has flown to Mumbai for his cremation. There are organizations that have benefited by him and they have come to be with him in these last hours. The media covered his death all day. They say, he was the original actor-turned-politicians. The rest are pretenders. They say he was good human being.
For me its immaterial how he was. For me he will always be Sunil Dutt, who wept inconsolably when Sadhna dies in ‘Mera Saya’ That’s the image that will linger on……
Monday, May 23, 2005
Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki- Of contended housewives and forged bond papers
So I do confess, that after a day of writing CMMI level 5 code, I actually take pleasure in watching Saans-Bahus fighting it out on the small screen and that when I left office at 8pm last Wednesday, my only concern was that Shruti should not be discovered posing as Gayatri during Gayatri’s wedding. Welcome to the world of Balaji Telefilms’ prime-time soaps, where every new daughter-in-law is painted either in pristine white or gory black. Where no episode is complete without a “song and dance” sequence and where the only aspiration of a young boy or girl is to find the soul mate of their dreams.
Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki aspires to structure itself along the lines of a modern day Ramayana. The story weaves itself around Om Agarwal, his wife Parvati and his brothers Gaurav, Ajay and Kamal. Parvati stands for truth and honesty and thereby hangs a tale of ideological conflicts between Parvati and Pallavi (her sister-in-law)
Watch KGGK for the interiors of the Agarwal house, that are guaranteed to awe you. Watch out for the clothes worn by the members of the cast. It comes as no surprise that Parvati goes to bed in a silk sari, replete with jewellery, bindi and makeup. Watch out for girls who seem to be living in jeans but slip into a sari - the day after marriage - with equal élan. Contented housewives fish out dusty LLB degrees to turn into legal eagles overnight (Ajay’s wife Avantika, for one) and win their first case against the best of lawyers for their ‘Suhaag ki Raksha’ Money seems to flow like water. People sign bond papers without looking at the contents and the bad guy always gets the entire property transferred to his name with a single signature. And all the male members of the Agarwal household seem to be on personal terms with the Police Commissioner (who is always ready to oblige old friends) and at least one mandarin in the Income Tax department.
It is difficult to say whether KGGK is really a story that could happen in our daily lives. In fact, the far-fetched reality of the story line provides a means of escape and an opportunity to be a part of a make-believe world that could never be true. There are lessons to be learnt of course. Of values, ethics and respect to our elders. Parvati epitomizes the perfect ‘Bahu’ that every mother-in-law would love. Her greatest virtue is that she puts others before herself. However, KGGK portrays the 21st century female as super-woman who can manage a family and career with effortless ease. Shruti and Gayatri handle their careers while being wonderful daughters. Pallavi is chided for being so career-conscious that she could not be the perfect daughter-in-law. Such portrayal creates a role model for women that is impossible to emulate and has negative repercussions on society. Overall, not a bad job, considering that four years into it’s screening, the TRP ratings are still going strong. Next time you see Parvati do remember to say, Touché!
Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki aspires to structure itself along the lines of a modern day Ramayana. The story weaves itself around Om Agarwal, his wife Parvati and his brothers Gaurav, Ajay and Kamal. Parvati stands for truth and honesty and thereby hangs a tale of ideological conflicts between Parvati and Pallavi (her sister-in-law)
Watch KGGK for the interiors of the Agarwal house, that are guaranteed to awe you. Watch out for the clothes worn by the members of the cast. It comes as no surprise that Parvati goes to bed in a silk sari, replete with jewellery, bindi and makeup. Watch out for girls who seem to be living in jeans but slip into a sari - the day after marriage - with equal élan. Contented housewives fish out dusty LLB degrees to turn into legal eagles overnight (Ajay’s wife Avantika, for one) and win their first case against the best of lawyers for their ‘Suhaag ki Raksha’ Money seems to flow like water. People sign bond papers without looking at the contents and the bad guy always gets the entire property transferred to his name with a single signature. And all the male members of the Agarwal household seem to be on personal terms with the Police Commissioner (who is always ready to oblige old friends) and at least one mandarin in the Income Tax department.
It is difficult to say whether KGGK is really a story that could happen in our daily lives. In fact, the far-fetched reality of the story line provides a means of escape and an opportunity to be a part of a make-believe world that could never be true. There are lessons to be learnt of course. Of values, ethics and respect to our elders. Parvati epitomizes the perfect ‘Bahu’ that every mother-in-law would love. Her greatest virtue is that she puts others before herself. However, KGGK portrays the 21st century female as super-woman who can manage a family and career with effortless ease. Shruti and Gayatri handle their careers while being wonderful daughters. Pallavi is chided for being so career-conscious that she could not be the perfect daughter-in-law. Such portrayal creates a role model for women that is impossible to emulate and has negative repercussions on society. Overall, not a bad job, considering that four years into it’s screening, the TRP ratings are still going strong. Next time you see Parvati do remember to say, Touché!
Sunday, May 08, 2005
It’s been ages since I had a summer break...to be more precise...one year! Last year I suppose I had what I would call without hesitation the longest break of my life so far and boy! Was it not fun!!!!
So I woke up at 5am this morning with a vague recollection that school was not supposed to open before the 18th of this month and that it was no use waking up so early. Baba woke me up an hour later....get up or you'll be late for office....
Poor me!!! The good ol' days of summer vacations....cycle rides in the dark, swimming in the pool just when the sun strikes it big and getting tanned all over.
Sneaking around while everyone's asleep during the noon and stealing mangoes from the fridge and the baton relays in the afternoon.
The kaal boshakhi in the evening...picking up the mangoes that had fallen and the long walks after the storm to the library to pick up the Enid Blytons.
The home work that was done grudgingly; but just in time to watch chuti chuti on TV. Calling up friends, writing long letters to the class mates, visiting grand parents....
Mishti Doi, Pochise Boiskakh, Jamai Shoshti, Raaj Bhog!
Now its the same the year around, the hectic mornings in the train, the evening rush, and the work that never seems to end....I have been sleep walking all these days and I suppose it will go on forever.........
So I woke up at 5am this morning with a vague recollection that school was not supposed to open before the 18th of this month and that it was no use waking up so early. Baba woke me up an hour later....get up or you'll be late for office....
Poor me!!! The good ol' days of summer vacations....cycle rides in the dark, swimming in the pool just when the sun strikes it big and getting tanned all over.
Sneaking around while everyone's asleep during the noon and stealing mangoes from the fridge and the baton relays in the afternoon.
The kaal boshakhi in the evening...picking up the mangoes that had fallen and the long walks after the storm to the library to pick up the Enid Blytons.
The home work that was done grudgingly; but just in time to watch chuti chuti on TV. Calling up friends, writing long letters to the class mates, visiting grand parents....
Mishti Doi, Pochise Boiskakh, Jamai Shoshti, Raaj Bhog!
Now its the same the year around, the hectic mornings in the train, the evening rush, and the work that never seems to end....I have been sleep walking all these days and I suppose it will go on forever.........
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Not quite myself
In a perfect demonstration of how I sometimes forget the meaning of the words 'limit', 'bounds' and 'control', I spent the last weekend in a hectic flurry of activities, hitherto unknown to me.
No no no.....they aren't exactly the stuff to take my readers by surprise , titillate the senses or scare the daylights away. Nor do I guarantee that you will be pleased with my progress, because I have miles to go before I sleep. But fact remains, that I have been upto work and that alone should draw a few gasps from those who have known me since childhood to live the archetypal life of a Bohemian. No, I have not been this weekend, the lazy, sleeping, yawning, chatting, grumbling, frowning, again yawning, over 60, bored with life, toothless grand ma that I pretend to be.
I HAVE BEEN COOKING.
Well, I cooked chicken for the first time and I swear that I am not going to do it again. I hated its impertinence- it refused to boil for a good 20 minutes. Just when I thought I was going to give it up, inspiration stuck and with some generous help from Som over the phone (some running commentary that was) we won the day. Ummm..the taste was quite good for a beginner, but I can do better if I break my pledge.
Then I made pasta for dinner on Sunday. Now I had been planning this for quite sometime, but there was a tougher thing ahead. That was convincing Baba, who hates pasta because that's all he gets to eat when he goes to Italy. Of course, mention Pizza to him and he goes ballistic- just can't digest that stuff too. That was easier and it was more edible I can say with confidence. You ought to ask me where this confidence springs from. Hmmmm...you see, if the pasta and chicken were both leftover, I would prefer the pasta to the chicken. There you go.
Then I did the unthinkable. I studied. Yeah, I spent sometime with SQL, trying to conquer cursors and procedures and materialized views. Pretty decent stuff, if it goes into your head. Unfortunately it didn't. The harder I tried, the worse it seemed. With due consideration to the stress I was putting on my tender brain, I postponed indefinitely the 'Study SQL' session.
Well, there is so much more that I did and its so difficult to put all that in words. So, I would leave it at that. Till I catch up with another momentary burst of inspirational energy, I better get back to being the ol' self.
No no no.....they aren't exactly the stuff to take my readers by surprise , titillate the senses or scare the daylights away. Nor do I guarantee that you will be pleased with my progress, because I have miles to go before I sleep. But fact remains, that I have been upto work and that alone should draw a few gasps from those who have known me since childhood to live the archetypal life of a Bohemian. No, I have not been this weekend, the lazy, sleeping, yawning, chatting, grumbling, frowning, again yawning, over 60, bored with life, toothless grand ma that I pretend to be.
I HAVE BEEN COOKING.
Well, I cooked chicken for the first time and I swear that I am not going to do it again. I hated its impertinence- it refused to boil for a good 20 minutes. Just when I thought I was going to give it up, inspiration stuck and with some generous help from Som over the phone (some running commentary that was) we won the day. Ummm..the taste was quite good for a beginner, but I can do better if I break my pledge.
Then I made pasta for dinner on Sunday. Now I had been planning this for quite sometime, but there was a tougher thing ahead. That was convincing Baba, who hates pasta because that's all he gets to eat when he goes to Italy. Of course, mention Pizza to him and he goes ballistic- just can't digest that stuff too. That was easier and it was more edible I can say with confidence. You ought to ask me where this confidence springs from. Hmmmm...you see, if the pasta and chicken were both leftover, I would prefer the pasta to the chicken. There you go.
Then I did the unthinkable. I studied. Yeah, I spent sometime with SQL, trying to conquer cursors and procedures and materialized views. Pretty decent stuff, if it goes into your head. Unfortunately it didn't. The harder I tried, the worse it seemed. With due consideration to the stress I was putting on my tender brain, I postponed indefinitely the 'Study SQL' session.
Well, there is so much more that I did and its so difficult to put all that in words. So, I would leave it at that. Till I catch up with another momentary burst of inspirational energy, I better get back to being the ol' self.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Never knew that Baba could be so efficient at home. All my life I’ve seen my Dad plunging himself neck deep in his office, without a thought as to what was going about at home. When he came home for lunch on weekdays, Ma and I could clearly see that his mind was still in office and when he gobbled insipid food without complaining, we knew that he was dying to get back to work. When he forgot to do the groceries, or take us out for dinner, we didn't know whether to laugh or get angry. That's Baba for you; love him or leave him.
But things changed since Ma left for Delhi three weeks back. Baba has been the model of conscientiousness. He makes sure I get my breakfast and that my lunch is packed and that when I eat dinner, the food is actually warmer than room temperature. He has been doing the groceries and keeping stock of what's running out. He's been managing the helping hands at home and his department in the factory; amidst 60 phone calls a day that start at 6 in the morning and end at midnight.
When I reach home at 9pm at night, I am exhausted and so is Baba, but he never lets me know that. Always ready to clean up after dinner, so that I do not have to do it. The metamorphosis is complete.
This morning was Neel Shosthi. Mothers are supposed to fast for their children and put a doi-er tip on their foreheads. When Baba did that for me, I realized that he had finally discovered the mother hidden in him.
But things changed since Ma left for Delhi three weeks back. Baba has been the model of conscientiousness. He makes sure I get my breakfast and that my lunch is packed and that when I eat dinner, the food is actually warmer than room temperature. He has been doing the groceries and keeping stock of what's running out. He's been managing the helping hands at home and his department in the factory; amidst 60 phone calls a day that start at 6 in the morning and end at midnight.
When I reach home at 9pm at night, I am exhausted and so is Baba, but he never lets me know that. Always ready to clean up after dinner, so that I do not have to do it. The metamorphosis is complete.
This morning was Neel Shosthi. Mothers are supposed to fast for their children and put a doi-er tip on their foreheads. When Baba did that for me, I realized that he had finally discovered the mother hidden in him.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
I never thought that trains could get so crowded
I never thought that trains could get so crowded. Certainly not at this time of the night. Someday, when this ordeal is over (or so I hope) I fear that I would have got so used to it that I would actually miss it. Till then I try to make the most of it.
But yesterday was different. I got a seat in the train in the morning. What it means is that everybody else got a seat. Quite unwittingly, I have come to acquire a burden of a conscience that does not permit me to sit in the train if anybody else is standing. Of course, anybody covers a gamut of women starting from school kids in white shoes (poor kid, - if she stands somebody will surely step over her shoes) schoolgirls studying in the train (if she does not sit, how would she study?) girl going to college (she’ll get exhausted if she continues to stand), woman going on a holiday (such a huge traveling bag- she must sit) woman going to office (you ought to start the day with a seat in the morning train) old women- no excuses- they must sit- if necessary at the cost of unseating somebody else.
But yesterday, I say it again, was different. While was I coming back, I got a seat once but gave it away to an old lady hoping that I would get a seat soon. Strangely enough, I did not get another seat and a tragedy of this scale occurring at 8PM at night when trains are not very crowded, surely ranks as a catastrophe. Add to it, the fact that I was carrying home a bulky book and the thought of studying through the weekend was weighing down my shoulders as well as my morale. In a compartment where there was not enough place to stand, hawkers were moving about seamlessly, gliding through the multitude and savagely competing with one another to sell bananas and ear rings. At regular intervals, I took to shifting my weight from my left leg to my right. A few women were examining cushion covers and the girl standing next to me was reading a newspaper. I thought I spotted a friend, but before I could wave to her, the climax of our most extra-ordinary journey took place. A man got up in the ladies compartment, and amidst the entire din, started singing an awful song, and begged for alms in the meantime. If Satyajit Ray had been present, he would have surely used this shot as the opening scene of his next art film. I would be the protagonist looking calmly at the pandemonium, while thinking wistfully about the SQL query that I left behind in office and ways to improve it. I would be taking a stoic view of the situation and when my train reached my destination, aah! Cut the crap. Baba is here…………..
But yesterday was different. I got a seat in the train in the morning. What it means is that everybody else got a seat. Quite unwittingly, I have come to acquire a burden of a conscience that does not permit me to sit in the train if anybody else is standing. Of course, anybody covers a gamut of women starting from school kids in white shoes (poor kid, - if she stands somebody will surely step over her shoes) schoolgirls studying in the train (if she does not sit, how would she study?) girl going to college (she’ll get exhausted if she continues to stand), woman going on a holiday (such a huge traveling bag- she must sit) woman going to office (you ought to start the day with a seat in the morning train) old women- no excuses- they must sit- if necessary at the cost of unseating somebody else.
But yesterday, I say it again, was different. While was I coming back, I got a seat once but gave it away to an old lady hoping that I would get a seat soon. Strangely enough, I did not get another seat and a tragedy of this scale occurring at 8PM at night when trains are not very crowded, surely ranks as a catastrophe. Add to it, the fact that I was carrying home a bulky book and the thought of studying through the weekend was weighing down my shoulders as well as my morale. In a compartment where there was not enough place to stand, hawkers were moving about seamlessly, gliding through the multitude and savagely competing with one another to sell bananas and ear rings. At regular intervals, I took to shifting my weight from my left leg to my right. A few women were examining cushion covers and the girl standing next to me was reading a newspaper. I thought I spotted a friend, but before I could wave to her, the climax of our most extra-ordinary journey took place. A man got up in the ladies compartment, and amidst the entire din, started singing an awful song, and begged for alms in the meantime. If Satyajit Ray had been present, he would have surely used this shot as the opening scene of his next art film. I would be the protagonist looking calmly at the pandemonium, while thinking wistfully about the SQL query that I left behind in office and ways to improve it. I would be taking a stoic view of the situation and when my train reached my destination, aah! Cut the crap. Baba is here…………..
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Trains and me
My tryst with Indian Railways continues unabated. For sometime now, she has been annoyed with me. As a consequence, whenever I am on time, the train is late and if I am late, the train is on time. If only she would understand, that being late everyday isn't exactly making me very popular among my colleagues, perhaps she would take pity upon me and commiserate. I have now come to accept that being packed like a molecule in the train is normal and days when I do get a seat in the train, I sniff the air with suspicion. I have realized that days when I am hungry, no one will sell 'jhaalmuri' and just when I call for the man who sells those pretty hair clips, he will get off the train, in search of greater fortune. It has now become a practice to give away my seat to nameless strangers, whose suffering seems far greater than mine and while away my time listening to the tales of sorrow that my co-passengers recount.
It has been raining all day and last night too. The trains were late last night and they stopped running this morning. I came to office in a car with a gora (a guest of Baba's) who insisted on being informed about my salary, 'working' hours and how many days a week I 'worked'. It is difficult to explain to someone who has been installing heavy electrical machinery all his life that I earn my livelihood by pretending to work.
The weather has undergone a drastic change. No one would have imagined that it would rain so much at this time of the year. There is a new building coming up, next to ours and because of the rain, construction work had to be stopped. We took a walk this afternoon among the muck and it was fun stepping into the puddle, getting my clothes soiled. How I wish we'd never grow up, never have to behave like prim and proper adults; never have to wear the right clothes for the occasion, the right expression on our faces as the situation demanded.
Its Holi tomorrow and I don't think I’m going to take part in it. None of my friends are here. They're all gone in search of greener pastures, yellow sunshine. Is red the colour of success? Maybe, blue is the colour of confidence. Green should be the color of ambition. Yellow for joy. Whoa! Its spring time and its raining- what greater misery could there be?
It has been raining all day and last night too. The trains were late last night and they stopped running this morning. I came to office in a car with a gora (a guest of Baba's) who insisted on being informed about my salary, 'working' hours and how many days a week I 'worked'. It is difficult to explain to someone who has been installing heavy electrical machinery all his life that I earn my livelihood by pretending to work.
The weather has undergone a drastic change. No one would have imagined that it would rain so much at this time of the year. There is a new building coming up, next to ours and because of the rain, construction work had to be stopped. We took a walk this afternoon among the muck and it was fun stepping into the puddle, getting my clothes soiled. How I wish we'd never grow up, never have to behave like prim and proper adults; never have to wear the right clothes for the occasion, the right expression on our faces as the situation demanded.
Its Holi tomorrow and I don't think I’m going to take part in it. None of my friends are here. They're all gone in search of greener pastures, yellow sunshine. Is red the colour of success? Maybe, blue is the colour of confidence. Green should be the color of ambition. Yellow for joy. Whoa! Its spring time and its raining- what greater misery could there be?
Friday, March 11, 2005
Born Again
Three days ago I completed a year of work. From the looks of it, I haven't really done much of work for the last 365 days. For example, I did not learn to pretend that I was working hard when there was no work. I did not learn to stay back after work and check mails, just to be physically present and make my boss happy. I did not learn to smoke a cigarette or two and have a nice chat with the seniors. When I completed my work on time, I did not learn to advertise it with a loudspeaker. When somebody asked me for help, I did not tell everyone that I was teaching an ignorant colleague the tricks of the trade.
In the days to come, I will have to learn to be more "pro-active". I have to actively seek solutions to the problems of my organization and apply lateral thinking to provide answers to emerging technologies. In order to promote a healthy competitive environment, I must learn the art of effective communication with an aim to progressing the interests of my company and siphon the mercury up to the highest level of the customer satisfaction index. Remedial measures shall be taken to upgrade my know-how with esoteric knowledge transfer sessions that will gauge my learning effectiveness and the subsequent profit to the company on the whole. I must build myself and my fellow associates to become valuable and indispensable resources to the organization, so that together we create a synergy that will help to build cutting edge technologies.
A day ago I grew a year older.....perhaps not wiser still........
In the days to come, I will have to learn to be more "pro-active". I have to actively seek solutions to the problems of my organization and apply lateral thinking to provide answers to emerging technologies. In order to promote a healthy competitive environment, I must learn the art of effective communication with an aim to progressing the interests of my company and siphon the mercury up to the highest level of the customer satisfaction index. Remedial measures shall be taken to upgrade my know-how with esoteric knowledge transfer sessions that will gauge my learning effectiveness and the subsequent profit to the company on the whole. I must build myself and my fellow associates to become valuable and indispensable resources to the organization, so that together we create a synergy that will help to build cutting edge technologies.
A day ago I grew a year older.....perhaps not wiser still........
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
VD
I think I must have had the most boring VD ever. I stared at the PC and the PC stared back at me. It was shifting time, Jaya had left and I moved to her place and all through the day I was immersed in moving papers and transferring files, informing the people who mattered and getting things started. Well, the initial hiccups have remained and my mail is not working and despite the terrific forwards that my friends have been sending over for the past few days, I have not been able to read anything at all.
It’s a lot fun now sitting where I am, amidst friends; but for them I would have lost my head in this absolutely mindless place. Three times now, my core team-members have changed in the past three months. I have remained…residue? Sometimes I think of the Brooke’s Song- ‘For men may come and men may go but I go on forever’
Work is a little under control, its been nearly two months since I started taking it seriously and I think I am getting the grips. Good for me, because it was getting a little tedious opening my mailbox every ten minutes to check for mails, out of sheer lack of any constructive activity. I used to solve puzzles, write blogs (apologies though this is no mean meaningless time pass) and chat. These nefarious activities are now a thing of the past, because cry has gone around the workplace ‘The Costing Module suffers, because Anwesha- the most diligent insufferable worker of them all is neglecting her work and the module is languishing!!!!’ Its fun now, writing code and seeing it execute actually. A new baby is born every week and Mamma is happy.
It’s a lot fun now sitting where I am, amidst friends; but for them I would have lost my head in this absolutely mindless place. Three times now, my core team-members have changed in the past three months. I have remained…residue? Sometimes I think of the Brooke’s Song- ‘For men may come and men may go but I go on forever’
Work is a little under control, its been nearly two months since I started taking it seriously and I think I am getting the grips. Good for me, because it was getting a little tedious opening my mailbox every ten minutes to check for mails, out of sheer lack of any constructive activity. I used to solve puzzles, write blogs (apologies though this is no mean meaningless time pass) and chat. These nefarious activities are now a thing of the past, because cry has gone around the workplace ‘The Costing Module suffers, because Anwesha- the most diligent insufferable worker of them all is neglecting her work and the module is languishing!!!!’ Its fun now, writing code and seeing it execute actually. A new baby is born every week and Mamma is happy.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Elegantly Wasted
One of these days I am going to turn insane. A couple of friends of mine would chuckle at the future tense. They would rather accept it as one of those inevitable things that happen to people like me. But I am going to turn insane and I know it.
It’s the work. Its getting on the last nerve left in me, twisting and turning and playing footsie with it, till I begin to feel like I do not belong to the race of humans anymore.
This never-ending grueling work that has chained me to the wheel of civilization has taken its toll upon my mental health. I am but the cog of the wheel and the day I break away, the wheel I know will move on; perhaps a little slower till the new cog fits in....but it will move on.
Up again this Monday morning, with no mood to leave the warmth of my blanket and embrace the winter chill, I was late. 7:32 never turned up. Was once again packed like a molecule in another train. Met a friend, but she was too busy talking to her boyfriend over the phone to make any kind of intelligent conversation. Sprinted through the station, just in time to catch the bus. Had to sit right at the back. Ugh! Seems like a punishment to me.
Monday morning blues don't seem to have changed anything. Bugging colleagues, irritating bosses and mundane mails that suggest nothing new. Over that, couple of us had to leave the project and that included a good friend of mine and that has added to my misery.
Dunno.....someday things will change. The clouds will move and weather will get warmer when the sun shines on my face, and I will be free!!!
It’s the work. Its getting on the last nerve left in me, twisting and turning and playing footsie with it, till I begin to feel like I do not belong to the race of humans anymore.
This never-ending grueling work that has chained me to the wheel of civilization has taken its toll upon my mental health. I am but the cog of the wheel and the day I break away, the wheel I know will move on; perhaps a little slower till the new cog fits in....but it will move on.
Up again this Monday morning, with no mood to leave the warmth of my blanket and embrace the winter chill, I was late. 7:32 never turned up. Was once again packed like a molecule in another train. Met a friend, but she was too busy talking to her boyfriend over the phone to make any kind of intelligent conversation. Sprinted through the station, just in time to catch the bus. Had to sit right at the back. Ugh! Seems like a punishment to me.
Monday morning blues don't seem to have changed anything. Bugging colleagues, irritating bosses and mundane mails that suggest nothing new. Over that, couple of us had to leave the project and that included a good friend of mine and that has added to my misery.
Dunno.....someday things will change. The clouds will move and weather will get warmer when the sun shines on my face, and I will be free!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)