There was the distinct sound of city traffic streaming through the connection. The one word responses from the other end did not lose their purpose, to which, I promptly asked if I was being a ‘bore’ factor. A monosyllabic “hmmm” resonated into my ears through the handset. This “non word” will probably be etched in my memory as the longest and deepest anti response to a gesture that I seek the most, companionship. With reference to the context, long paragraphs could be written up to dissect the contents of the “hmmm’. The reluctance to acknowledge it as a response was probably why the utterance made its impact a few minutes after the call had been disconnected.
In attempting to trace a precedent, I could only think of a very recent overnight sleepless train ride. What that had achieved, was of course a few hours where we met and spoke, amongst several others. The hurried trip to the Van Heusen outlet at the up market Park Lane gratified my overpowering desire to do the best for the central character of the occasion (or maybe for the central character and for the occasion). I say “central character”, because no other factor justifies my presence in another city about 500 Kms from home that day.
We engaged 4 natural pairs of eyes, (not counting the plastic/glass prosthetics that were on two of those pairs) in addition to mobile camera technology. There was no excuse for faltering on this project. There was satisfaction while exiting the store that the purchase will live up to its purpose. After dropping off the happy package where it belonged the rest of the day was spent in relative oblivion.
It was late evening when we arrived at the venue. On first glance I realized what had seemed like a consensus in the afternoon was probably disguised compromise. The absence of the “common choice” apparel did not diminish the wearers appeal. Nevertheless, I dug deeper into myself and wanted to know, whether it was our lack of fashion sense, versus my singular and overpowering emotions about always wanting the best for a certain someone that had ironically made an alternate choice of apparel more appealing?
Our enquiring glances did get something of an honest-modest, though technically a non-response. At that point unwilling to process any more thoughts, my mind went into a standby mode. When I logged back in there sometime later during that long day, I found myself attempting to build a new relationship model. The dialog box that had opened up read:
“Your attempt to gratify a loved one has been fatally aborted. The system has identified that there can be two possible causes to this: 1) Your affection knows no bounds and so you don’t know where to stop 2) You try too hard
If you want to erase this and all related files from the registry permanently please click Cancel. If you wish to continue, please shed a few tears and then click OK. You will be prompted to add a few *.inhibition files. Please choose the “install” option when the dialog box appears”
No prizes for guessing what option I chose. The most loathsome of the inhibitions I have added is the one that has made me disenchanted of initiating a conversation or participating in it. I fear that another “hmmm” will irretrievably damage the sense of belonging I so cherish now. While I wallow in my miseries, my logical being is reprimanding me for being too emotional. What tears me apart is the irony of the matter, in that, my emotional side is questioning the logic of the monosyllabic “hmmm”.
I now consciously fear the expressions and manifestations of the ever growing affection I have for this individual. I feel sorry that the choice of the clothes did not keep up the pride with which they were selected.. and sorrier still that I am being a bore. It feels like I have inflicted myself on your persona, and I only now have realized you deserve better.. much better. As far as I can help it, you will surely get it.
Monday, November 17, 2008
The musical called life
A predicament? or was it simply life running its normal course? A situational analysis led to more questions that I did not want to handle. While I was seeking answers I could hear the old grandmother clock strike twice. It was either the chime or the wetness of my tears streaming down my face and moistening the pillow that was the external force altering my state of inertia. It was neither a reverie nor a trance, just deep moving thoughts that refused to leave my bedside now for days on end. They were stuck there because I did not want to answer them. Answering them meant acknowledging uncomfortable incidents. Those incidents which brought up heart wrenching questions.
Dear life, it is not that I am upset with you .. but you have me perplexed though
I find myself in a dilemma, and it is the innocence of your questions that make it so
तुझ से नाराज़ नहीं जिंदगी, हैरान हूँ मै
तेरे मासूम सवालों से परेशान हूँ मैं
It never occurred to me that life will also have its share of sorrow
Every smile that escapes the lips extracts a price, like a loan that has to be repaid morrow
Each time I smile now, my lips carry the burden of the happiness that life lets me to occasionally borrow
जीने के लिए, सोचा ही नहीं दर्द संभालने होंगे
मुस्कुराए तो, मुस्कुरानेके दर्द संभालने होंगे
मुस्कुराऊँ कभी, तो लगता हैं, जैसे होठों पे क़र्ज़ रखा हैं
A lesson about relationships was learnt when life’s miseries did not seem to cease
When I eventually found it, it was in the scorching heat that I found, the serenity of a cool breeze
जिंदगी तेरे, गम ने हमें रिश्ते नए समझाएं
मिले जो हमें, धुप में मिले छाओं के ठंडे साए
The tears that have welled up in my eyes today will shed away as droplets eventually
Their welling up at another tomorrow remains a mystery. A mystery because the one little droplet that I had stowed away safely, is somewhere and somehow lost, and has vanished eternally
आज अगर, भर आई हैं, बूँदें बरस जायेंगी
कल क्या पता, इन के लिए, आँखें तरस जायेंगी
जाने कब गुम्म हुआ, कहाँ खोया, एक आंसू छुपा के रखा था
This post has a few sequels... I did not do one consolidate post for the fear that it would read like the script of a Bengali movie..
Saturday, September 13, 2008
An awesome foursome for the holy bean counter
Ammu’s life had seen the dawn of its 26th year at Cinderella hour. The conventional best wishes were pouring in now as the sun shone brightly on the horizon. The ritual of wishing her happy birthday was in actuality a solemn reminiscent of the fact that she was older than most others that she hung out with. It was an event that had elements of surprise and happiness or so it seemed, judging from the generous amounts of verbal and some not so verbal expressions that punctuated the entire conversation. The topic moved on and settled on B who eventually turned out to be Ammu’s beau. The discovery of B’s true identity was quite like the climax of a thriller movie. All this because through most of the conversation, it seemed from B’s antics that were being quoted with reference to a few contexts that I was not privy to, that he was Ammu’s newly acquired puppy.. happy, slobbery, and frolicking.
We moved on at the conventional pace that allows one to transcend from a mundane cab ride to experience what back seat driving in a F1 race could feel like. The manual transmission that propelled the cab to the whims and craziness of the driver of the day seemed to be in total collusion to the mood of the conversation. It seemed conspiratorial because each time the gears shifted, the discussion wafted from one person to another.
At one point, we were positioned at the start of about 400 meters of straight wide road, which culminated in a traffic light. The stretch was as usual cluttered with slow moving traffic in all lanes, and at occasional spots even in the anti-lanes. I instinctively knew we were approaching the “holy speed” moments. I term it so, because when you hear the gears change and the engine rev for a F1 dash, I gasp OH GOD!! And, this happens unfailingly everyday. I know consciously that this is not a reflexive response, because no body I have met or heard about so far have been able to go so far as having a conditioned response to near-death experiences.. lesser so on every single work day. It also usually happens that when we stop at the light or occasionally pass it, I mostly manage to squeak a “thank you God” between my winded breathing.
While I was going through the trauma, the gears had shifted several times. Sometime at the end of this out-of-body like experience, cognizance returned to me when the topic had moved to Ramesh’s relative incompetency in his job, and how he (his attitude) had changed since his marriage. The gears of “the groups” relationship with Ramesh rested at neutral, but there was this uneasy feeling that it was switching to the reverse. After Sandhya, it was Dhruv’s turn to get analyzed in all elements of their persona and by then there wasn’t enough time left to dissect another mortal into his/her elements.
We were signaled into the fortified campus with a jerk of the head that hovered somewhere between a nod and a bob. KK was rendering his high pitched Khuda Jaane.. for the second time since the radio stationed had changed gears and moved from playing the top hits to a request show. Neither a slide show memory recall of the beautiful locales that the Khuda Jaane song was shot in.. nor the unwillingness of my senses to participate could drown or shut off the mobile conversations (where I had neither dialed nor received the call) that were inflicted on my senses in the cab each day from getting recorded in some far recesses of my mind.
I was privy to the conversation not by choice.. but simply limited by the fact that our cab had only two rows of seats. The front row had two seats one for the driver and the other for the navigator. I personally prefer not to sit in the navigator’s seat for the fear of having permanently dilated pupils (which result from the shock of routinely getting wedged in the rear side of a truck and then pulling out the last minute). That leaves the second row and only row… and since we are usually only two individuals in that row (my co-passenger belongs to the fairer sex), there isn’t anyone in between to serve as a barrier or absorb any of the sound waves within the cab.
At the end of the awesome foursome (don’t get weird ideas, I am simply referring to the the cabbie (1), my co-passenger (2), I (3), and of course the mechanical but alive and humming cab(4)) it was that moment of the day again where I found myself helplessly uttering “Thank you Manju, we (I and my co passenger who happens to be a team mate) will see you again at 8 PM” to the cabbie. I think I had resigned to the fact that this was God’s way of making me shift gears from a “holy speed” moment to a “holy hour” package??!!
When I walked in and flashed my card and the door allowed itself to be opened after the customary beep another thought crossed my mind. Our work place is moving further away from where it is now… God, did you destine for me to be a “holy bean counter”?
We moved on at the conventional pace that allows one to transcend from a mundane cab ride to experience what back seat driving in a F1 race could feel like. The manual transmission that propelled the cab to the whims and craziness of the driver of the day seemed to be in total collusion to the mood of the conversation. It seemed conspiratorial because each time the gears shifted, the discussion wafted from one person to another.
At one point, we were positioned at the start of about 400 meters of straight wide road, which culminated in a traffic light. The stretch was as usual cluttered with slow moving traffic in all lanes, and at occasional spots even in the anti-lanes. I instinctively knew we were approaching the “holy speed” moments. I term it so, because when you hear the gears change and the engine rev for a F1 dash, I gasp OH GOD!! And, this happens unfailingly everyday. I know consciously that this is not a reflexive response, because no body I have met or heard about so far have been able to go so far as having a conditioned response to near-death experiences.. lesser so on every single work day. It also usually happens that when we stop at the light or occasionally pass it, I mostly manage to squeak a “thank you God” between my winded breathing.
While I was going through the trauma, the gears had shifted several times. Sometime at the end of this out-of-body like experience, cognizance returned to me when the topic had moved to Ramesh’s relative incompetency in his job, and how he (his attitude) had changed since his marriage. The gears of “the groups” relationship with Ramesh rested at neutral, but there was this uneasy feeling that it was switching to the reverse. After Sandhya, it was Dhruv’s turn to get analyzed in all elements of their persona and by then there wasn’t enough time left to dissect another mortal into his/her elements.
We were signaled into the fortified campus with a jerk of the head that hovered somewhere between a nod and a bob. KK was rendering his high pitched Khuda Jaane.. for the second time since the radio stationed had changed gears and moved from playing the top hits to a request show. Neither a slide show memory recall of the beautiful locales that the Khuda Jaane song was shot in.. nor the unwillingness of my senses to participate could drown or shut off the mobile conversations (where I had neither dialed nor received the call) that were inflicted on my senses in the cab each day from getting recorded in some far recesses of my mind.
I was privy to the conversation not by choice.. but simply limited by the fact that our cab had only two rows of seats. The front row had two seats one for the driver and the other for the navigator. I personally prefer not to sit in the navigator’s seat for the fear of having permanently dilated pupils (which result from the shock of routinely getting wedged in the rear side of a truck and then pulling out the last minute). That leaves the second row and only row… and since we are usually only two individuals in that row (my co-passenger belongs to the fairer sex), there isn’t anyone in between to serve as a barrier or absorb any of the sound waves within the cab.
At the end of the awesome foursome (don’t get weird ideas, I am simply referring to the the cabbie (1), my co-passenger (2), I (3), and of course the mechanical but alive and humming cab(4)) it was that moment of the day again where I found myself helplessly uttering “Thank you Manju, we (I and my co passenger who happens to be a team mate) will see you again at 8 PM” to the cabbie. I think I had resigned to the fact that this was God’s way of making me shift gears from a “holy speed” moment to a “holy hour” package??!!
When I walked in and flashed my card and the door allowed itself to be opened after the customary beep another thought crossed my mind. Our work place is moving further away from where it is now… God, did you destine for me to be a “holy bean counter”?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Quarterly Menses
The setting was one of those voluntary struggles that I put myself through at regular and unforgiving 3-month intervals. The saga started just as the weekend was threatening to end. Late Saturday evening I felt the adrenaline rush which led me to scavenge through the tons of study material. Luckily enough, I had a 4-point task list worked out before embarking on that depressing effort
Task 1. Figure out where the study material was
That didn’t take very long.. I could locate what I have fondly christened as the “Foundation Stones” of my academic pursuit in management in less than 20 minutes. That included a brief ponderous state, where I toyed with the idea of being able to use these foundation stones in any real time construction (you got to see them to believe this). I thought that would be utmost justice keeping in mind how they are physically manifested
Task 2. Figure out what I am supposed to pore over
I was one up on myself on this one. Although I had forgotten to take a printout of the timetable or the admit card, I had committed this vital piece of information to memory. I could quickly sort the stuff into two piles.. one which I did not care for and the other which I couldn’t care for
Task 3. Try and anesthetize
Refinements and shortcuts were necessary.. quick thinking and judgment reduced the pile I had mentally labeled as “couldn’t care for” to just two books. They were of decent thickness. At least enough to get the reaction from mom that they were bonafide MBA study material. My criteria had cleverly baked in a feature where the act of studying them would be relatively painless
Task 4. Study!!!!
The questions were insufferable. The phonetically and alphabetically different multiple choice answers had a dubious knack of presenting themselves as quintuplets to the untrained mind. They were virtually indistinguishable from each other as responses when I attempted to choose one over the other as the suitor for the hitherto banal questions
I attempted to continue my quest for the right choice. I found myself tempted to choose watching “Gabbeh” (Iranian for Colorful Rug) on the World Movies channel versus trying to seduce my virgin mind to bed management concepts like organizational behavior and human resource management that night. My eyes wandered to the television, and I saw Shiloh fall to her death from a cliff. She was holding the baby lamb that lead her up that treacherous trail. My mind automatically raced back to N.. who had led me on this treacherous trail. I hadn’t fallen yet like poor Shiloh.. but was tempted enough to jump off a cliff to avoid the perfectly mundane and predictable day that was yet to dawn.
Here it was.. Sunday morning, I had already committed the near blasphemous act of waking up at 7 AM. Going through the needless-to-detail chores of the morning, I finally found myself at the gates of one of north Bangalore’s prestigious ladies college. The only welcoming sign, I found on the notice board. The university folks actually anticipated my arrival, and to substantiate that, they had my name on a list with a few other numbers coded in there. After a quick restroom break, I eventually found my seat. I could not help but wonder if someone went through an elaborate plan effort like Andrea Sachs (Anne Hathway) and Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) did in the Devil Wears Prada, or was it simply an unsophisticated but trained peons job??
After fifteen minutes perfectly legible, grammatically correct, and seemingly logical, but totally incomprehensible questions later I chanced upon a bright plan. I stopped at each question, and if my mind failed comprehending it in the first reading I conditioned my mind to an auto response to replay the childhood rhyme
“Eena.. Meena.. Mynah…Moe..
Catch the bad boy by his toe
If he cries let him go
Eena Meena Mynah Moe”
The multi-tasker that I am, I allowed my hands that held the sharpened-to-a-needlepoint HB pencil to randomly touch all the available choices of responses…. The one where the graphite tip rested once the rhyme ran a full length and stopped was my answer!!! I thought it was simply brilliant because it seemed better than trying to think, and as a bonus, it also kept me from dozing off. For all the life in me, I couldn’t think of why the Hawthorne Relay Assembly Room or Illumination studies were conducted, and if they did at all, how they benefited mankind, womankind or any kind anyways. Answering correctly the pointed, and obnoxiously detailed questions about the experiments was definitely not the first thing on my mind.
I could feel a few envious and several snobbish ‘he is dunking this one’ looks almost sear me as I stood facing the invigilator with my back to the classroom. This overly detail oriented and queerish guy ran his pen through the instructions and rules manual. He quickly underlined one rule, which said that no one is allowed to leave the examination hall until one hour after the exam commences. I flashed my Guess to him.. they were there dazzling on the pure white dial the little hand on 11, and the big hand on 12. I had endured the mandated exact 60 minutes to get out and enjoy the three-and-half hours of freedom that lay ahead. It was an anticlimax, but I was thinking of N in a nice way when I did this. He was the cause that I was enduring this one way trip to be a management professional. Nevertheless, I couldn’t bypass the fact that he had lovingly gifted me the Guess that was instrumental in getting me out of this muck for now.
For cosmetic reasons and to boost the competitive environment around, I whipped the second book out of my messenger bag, and pretended to be deeply engrossed in studies. The signature Bangalore weather was just not helping that effort.. very soon I chose to put the book to rest and took a leisurely stroll down one of the very few remaining boulevards. That sojourn ended at Adigas’s where the haughty cashier refused to let me have food if I did not tender him exact change. After digging through my wallet and carefully examining to see that I hadn’t pulled out the momentous Cambodian currency or the hard earned per diem US Dollars, I managed to find two crisp Rs. 10 notes. A few toe stamps and several intense salivating moments later, I finally laid my hand on the open butter dosa. I gorged into it while looking out on the street below.. nothing eventful there either. As I walked back to the examination center, I promised to treat myself to some fresh cane juice (a few forgotten pleasures that come back to you when you are by yourself and more so when ones sense of right and wrong is uninhibited by judgmental people)
The second part of the day was slightly more engaging. I settled onto the concrete wall that also served as the seating arrangement for the playground opposite the examination center. There was a brief spell of time that lay between the cane juice treat, and when it would be time to get back and undergo examination about stuff like cognitive dissonance, cognitive resonance or such several other things which I cannot even remember. As I sat there and watched, it seemed like I was in a magic show. There were a multitude of teams, all playing cricket with the felt covered ‘tennis ball’. One influential group was running a tournament and took up more than half the ground. There were easily about 10 different groups that by some rule or order had wedged between one another and were enjoying their game. It was never apparent to me about who was from which group because it seemed like everyone was batting, everyone was bowling and everyone was fielding. At any point there were at least 4 balls in different trajectories about 10 to 15 feet off the ground. It was amazing how this was all working seamlessly and conflict free.
I could not help but recall the amazement and incredulity a few US-based colleagues had expressed about India when they had visited. Until now, I haven’t been able to put my finger on whether it is the chaos here that drives a system.. or if it is the system here that drives the chaos. Whatever it is, I think it surely is more worthwhile studying and realizing, simply because it works!!! And for all the other students like me that are slogging it off to figure out how to manage large corporations make it more interesting and relevant. It would also be a bonus if we could purge them out of our syllabi, and leave the long departed Hawthorne experiment subjects and several such to rest in peace at least now!!! Amen!!
Task 1. Figure out where the study material was
That didn’t take very long.. I could locate what I have fondly christened as the “Foundation Stones” of my academic pursuit in management in less than 20 minutes. That included a brief ponderous state, where I toyed with the idea of being able to use these foundation stones in any real time construction (you got to see them to believe this). I thought that would be utmost justice keeping in mind how they are physically manifested
Task 2. Figure out what I am supposed to pore over
I was one up on myself on this one. Although I had forgotten to take a printout of the timetable or the admit card, I had committed this vital piece of information to memory. I could quickly sort the stuff into two piles.. one which I did not care for and the other which I couldn’t care for
Task 3. Try and anesthetize
Refinements and shortcuts were necessary.. quick thinking and judgment reduced the pile I had mentally labeled as “couldn’t care for” to just two books. They were of decent thickness. At least enough to get the reaction from mom that they were bonafide MBA study material. My criteria had cleverly baked in a feature where the act of studying them would be relatively painless
Task 4. Study!!!!
The questions were insufferable. The phonetically and alphabetically different multiple choice answers had a dubious knack of presenting themselves as quintuplets to the untrained mind. They were virtually indistinguishable from each other as responses when I attempted to choose one over the other as the suitor for the hitherto banal questions
I attempted to continue my quest for the right choice. I found myself tempted to choose watching “Gabbeh” (Iranian for Colorful Rug) on the World Movies channel versus trying to seduce my virgin mind to bed management concepts like organizational behavior and human resource management that night. My eyes wandered to the television, and I saw Shiloh fall to her death from a cliff. She was holding the baby lamb that lead her up that treacherous trail. My mind automatically raced back to N.. who had led me on this treacherous trail. I hadn’t fallen yet like poor Shiloh.. but was tempted enough to jump off a cliff to avoid the perfectly mundane and predictable day that was yet to dawn.
Here it was.. Sunday morning, I had already committed the near blasphemous act of waking up at 7 AM. Going through the needless-to-detail chores of the morning, I finally found myself at the gates of one of north Bangalore’s prestigious ladies college. The only welcoming sign, I found on the notice board. The university folks actually anticipated my arrival, and to substantiate that, they had my name on a list with a few other numbers coded in there. After a quick restroom break, I eventually found my seat. I could not help but wonder if someone went through an elaborate plan effort like Andrea Sachs (Anne Hathway) and Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) did in the Devil Wears Prada, or was it simply an unsophisticated but trained peons job??
After fifteen minutes perfectly legible, grammatically correct, and seemingly logical, but totally incomprehensible questions later I chanced upon a bright plan. I stopped at each question, and if my mind failed comprehending it in the first reading I conditioned my mind to an auto response to replay the childhood rhyme
“Eena.. Meena.. Mynah…Moe..
Catch the bad boy by his toe
If he cries let him go
Eena Meena Mynah Moe”
The multi-tasker that I am, I allowed my hands that held the sharpened-to-a-needlepoint HB pencil to randomly touch all the available choices of responses…. The one where the graphite tip rested once the rhyme ran a full length and stopped was my answer!!! I thought it was simply brilliant because it seemed better than trying to think, and as a bonus, it also kept me from dozing off. For all the life in me, I couldn’t think of why the Hawthorne Relay Assembly Room or Illumination studies were conducted, and if they did at all, how they benefited mankind, womankind or any kind anyways. Answering correctly the pointed, and obnoxiously detailed questions about the experiments was definitely not the first thing on my mind.
I could feel a few envious and several snobbish ‘he is dunking this one’ looks almost sear me as I stood facing the invigilator with my back to the classroom. This overly detail oriented and queerish guy ran his pen through the instructions and rules manual. He quickly underlined one rule, which said that no one is allowed to leave the examination hall until one hour after the exam commences. I flashed my Guess to him.. they were there dazzling on the pure white dial the little hand on 11, and the big hand on 12. I had endured the mandated exact 60 minutes to get out and enjoy the three-and-half hours of freedom that lay ahead. It was an anticlimax, but I was thinking of N in a nice way when I did this. He was the cause that I was enduring this one way trip to be a management professional. Nevertheless, I couldn’t bypass the fact that he had lovingly gifted me the Guess that was instrumental in getting me out of this muck for now.
For cosmetic reasons and to boost the competitive environment around, I whipped the second book out of my messenger bag, and pretended to be deeply engrossed in studies. The signature Bangalore weather was just not helping that effort.. very soon I chose to put the book to rest and took a leisurely stroll down one of the very few remaining boulevards. That sojourn ended at Adigas’s where the haughty cashier refused to let me have food if I did not tender him exact change. After digging through my wallet and carefully examining to see that I hadn’t pulled out the momentous Cambodian currency or the hard earned per diem US Dollars, I managed to find two crisp Rs. 10 notes. A few toe stamps and several intense salivating moments later, I finally laid my hand on the open butter dosa. I gorged into it while looking out on the street below.. nothing eventful there either. As I walked back to the examination center, I promised to treat myself to some fresh cane juice (a few forgotten pleasures that come back to you when you are by yourself and more so when ones sense of right and wrong is uninhibited by judgmental people)
The second part of the day was slightly more engaging. I settled onto the concrete wall that also served as the seating arrangement for the playground opposite the examination center. There was a brief spell of time that lay between the cane juice treat, and when it would be time to get back and undergo examination about stuff like cognitive dissonance, cognitive resonance or such several other things which I cannot even remember. As I sat there and watched, it seemed like I was in a magic show. There were a multitude of teams, all playing cricket with the felt covered ‘tennis ball’. One influential group was running a tournament and took up more than half the ground. There were easily about 10 different groups that by some rule or order had wedged between one another and were enjoying their game. It was never apparent to me about who was from which group because it seemed like everyone was batting, everyone was bowling and everyone was fielding. At any point there were at least 4 balls in different trajectories about 10 to 15 feet off the ground. It was amazing how this was all working seamlessly and conflict free.
I could not help but recall the amazement and incredulity a few US-based colleagues had expressed about India when they had visited. Until now, I haven’t been able to put my finger on whether it is the chaos here that drives a system.. or if it is the system here that drives the chaos. Whatever it is, I think it surely is more worthwhile studying and realizing, simply because it works!!! And for all the other students like me that are slogging it off to figure out how to manage large corporations make it more interesting and relevant. It would also be a bonus if we could purge them out of our syllabi, and leave the long departed Hawthorne experiment subjects and several such to rest in peace at least now!!! Amen!!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
People Profiles
On a recent vacation when we had camped at N’s house, both of us worked at a ‘break keyboard’ pace to finish the e-mail and attach relevant files and do the ALT+S function. The problem was compounded first by the either lethargic or totally uncooperative state owned service providers’ wireless network. I can’t say if it was coincidence, logic, or experience, or all of them, but both of us strongly believed that where the curiosity of the fairer sex is a player, it is best to nip it in the bud. In short, preventing them from getting sneak previews to the e-mail or them sensing our almost fanatic involvement in it was better than the possible cure of cooking up a story about it. Worse still would be the exercise of having to explain the facts…which kind of made up the second complication of that morning.
Just before the penultimate step of sending the mail off, my learning from the e-mail etiquette training kicked in a ‘pro moment’, and I double checked the contents and I opened the attachment.. lo and behold!!! I had just saved myself, N and the intended recipient an embarrassment of a lifetime. The carefully drafted resume that I expected to see began with the lines…. “I am stating the obvious….”. In less than a nanosecond, I realized it was from one of my earlier compositions for N… although for an entirely different purpose.
Now that is getting me started on what I have come to believe is one of the sublime purposes of why I am living this mortal life. I have become a consultant of sorts for both N & D. I have been bestowed the honor of being the profile writer for them whenever they think its time for them to seek out alliances.. both professional or matrimonial. Fortunately or unfortunately until now, writing, revamping, editing, and whatever else you could do with a profile which I probably cannot assign a verb to has been a pretty much perpetual affair. There are transient phases though, where I don’t meddle with them for a little under or over a month. Even if I search my deepest sentiments, I still can’t say for sure if I miss working them or if I hate not working on them.
Of course.. something as intricate, private, and demanding as profiling personalities does have its measures of success and challenges. One of the challenges that I always come across is how do I make these banal, the ‘I-know-inside-out’, guy/gal next door type individuals seem like the most eligible bachelor/spinster, as well as the most promising job applicants. And, all this only based on economically worded profiles… catch-22 indeed.
I am reserving the next two paragraphs to talk of the measures of success. They come in all forms of expression and desperation. For those of you who went through the ordeal of reading through “boneless chicken .. ” I must say, I cannot claim personal success for drafting the entire profile that attracted a confused individual. I did my bit though in trying to play God by getting the profile membership extended, that too as a birthday gift. Thinking about it in hindsight, it can very well top the list of worst birthday gifts ever given. Ns matrimonial profile has had erratic blips of success when a fish (alliance seeker, sibling, parent, uncle, aunt, friend…. ) takes the bait.. I have on occasions thought of putting the profile through litmus tests and almost suggested that the picture accompanying the profile be taken off to see if the biting fish actually bite into the hook. I realized though, whether it is the profile or the photographs that are more severe it is after all a package, and not exaggerated an ounce. Although, I must say the photograph is the most presentable in the several that we have of N. It has evidently gotten professional help at the hands of A, whose passion is wildlife photography and bird watching. And, A apparently spent about 5 lacs on the contraption. Despite all the fineness and presentability, I am sure that the person in the photograph is indeed N.
Now comes the second part which I enjoy better because the results of the profiles have not been as depressing or inconclusive as the matrimonial ones. D got a new job.. and I can claim considerable credit in influencing the profile. N had a better strike rate with the new and improved profile. Going all the way, I made a guinea pig of myself on this front with a 100% strike rate at getting job offers. This convinced me that the profiles indeed were competitive and of good standard. I have built a fan following when I actually got R requesting me to work up a profile. The impact of the final product was so drastic that I almost got a bear hug from R, constrained severely though only because of the elements of decency of self expression and decorum in the office space.
I must say.. my prayers with care… I bode everyone good and wish everyone of my pals get the best jobs ever. I bode the same for their marriages as well. What worries me sometimes is that if my authorship through any remote chance gets someone a bad job… they can change that…. I sincerely pray that does not happen with the matrimonial space though.
N… in hindsight I owe you an apology for that day when I mistakenly attached your matrimonial profile to a recruiter of the same sex as you…. While I am not prejudiced about same sex associations, I evidently cannot speak for everyone else. Considering the success rate of the matrimonial profiles I have authored versus the professional ones I did, I tend to wonder ceaselessly what the end result would have been had I not taken that fateful moment to recheck the attachment. Thank God for small mercies indeed!!
Just before the penultimate step of sending the mail off, my learning from the e-mail etiquette training kicked in a ‘pro moment’, and I double checked the contents and I opened the attachment.. lo and behold!!! I had just saved myself, N and the intended recipient an embarrassment of a lifetime. The carefully drafted resume that I expected to see began with the lines…. “I am stating the obvious….”. In less than a nanosecond, I realized it was from one of my earlier compositions for N… although for an entirely different purpose.
Now that is getting me started on what I have come to believe is one of the sublime purposes of why I am living this mortal life. I have become a consultant of sorts for both N & D. I have been bestowed the honor of being the profile writer for them whenever they think its time for them to seek out alliances.. both professional or matrimonial. Fortunately or unfortunately until now, writing, revamping, editing, and whatever else you could do with a profile which I probably cannot assign a verb to has been a pretty much perpetual affair. There are transient phases though, where I don’t meddle with them for a little under or over a month. Even if I search my deepest sentiments, I still can’t say for sure if I miss working them or if I hate not working on them.
Of course.. something as intricate, private, and demanding as profiling personalities does have its measures of success and challenges. One of the challenges that I always come across is how do I make these banal, the ‘I-know-inside-out’, guy/gal next door type individuals seem like the most eligible bachelor/spinster, as well as the most promising job applicants. And, all this only based on economically worded profiles… catch-22 indeed.
I am reserving the next two paragraphs to talk of the measures of success. They come in all forms of expression and desperation. For those of you who went through the ordeal of reading through “boneless chicken .. ” I must say, I cannot claim personal success for drafting the entire profile that attracted a confused individual. I did my bit though in trying to play God by getting the profile membership extended, that too as a birthday gift. Thinking about it in hindsight, it can very well top the list of worst birthday gifts ever given. Ns matrimonial profile has had erratic blips of success when a fish (alliance seeker, sibling, parent, uncle, aunt, friend…. ) takes the bait.. I have on occasions thought of putting the profile through litmus tests and almost suggested that the picture accompanying the profile be taken off to see if the biting fish actually bite into the hook. I realized though, whether it is the profile or the photographs that are more severe it is after all a package, and not exaggerated an ounce. Although, I must say the photograph is the most presentable in the several that we have of N. It has evidently gotten professional help at the hands of A, whose passion is wildlife photography and bird watching. And, A apparently spent about 5 lacs on the contraption. Despite all the fineness and presentability, I am sure that the person in the photograph is indeed N.
Now comes the second part which I enjoy better because the results of the profiles have not been as depressing or inconclusive as the matrimonial ones. D got a new job.. and I can claim considerable credit in influencing the profile. N had a better strike rate with the new and improved profile. Going all the way, I made a guinea pig of myself on this front with a 100% strike rate at getting job offers. This convinced me that the profiles indeed were competitive and of good standard. I have built a fan following when I actually got R requesting me to work up a profile. The impact of the final product was so drastic that I almost got a bear hug from R, constrained severely though only because of the elements of decency of self expression and decorum in the office space.
I must say.. my prayers with care… I bode everyone good and wish everyone of my pals get the best jobs ever. I bode the same for their marriages as well. What worries me sometimes is that if my authorship through any remote chance gets someone a bad job… they can change that…. I sincerely pray that does not happen with the matrimonial space though.
N… in hindsight I owe you an apology for that day when I mistakenly attached your matrimonial profile to a recruiter of the same sex as you…. While I am not prejudiced about same sex associations, I evidently cannot speak for everyone else. Considering the success rate of the matrimonial profiles I have authored versus the professional ones I did, I tend to wonder ceaselessly what the end result would have been had I not taken that fateful moment to recheck the attachment. Thank God for small mercies indeed!!
Friday, March 28, 2008
GLORY!! OR GORY!!
If I were actually writing this the traditional way with a pen or pencil.. the pressure to put it together would probably have fetched me a broken nib tip. The few folks that read the thoughts I put together have on more than one occasion since the start of this month inquired about whether I had given up blogging. For some reason I think they secretly hope I have given it up for good. And now, for lack of anything else to write about, I thought why not play along and change this pressure back to the pleasure it is supposed to be.
It seems to be a trend that is catching on anyone that has access to any form of internet technology. Creativity is getting a new boost. It is now a contest to see who can pour their hearts out most creatively. Aesthetically constructed sentences can make the occurrence of something as crude as picking ones nose in public seem melodramatic, melancholic and a life turning event.
Penning thoughts random or otherwise (a.k.a blogging) requires the faculties of cognizance, and expression in equal and great measure. It is these very faculties (or rather the lack of them) that lend a commercial viability on which the trades of agony aunts and practicing counselors flourish. On that note, I sometimes fancy the thought that this might be a reversal of fortunes for people engaged in these trades. Of course these very faculties when imbalanced lead to over enlightened individual or to over expressive ones… which intended or otherwise sometimes tickle the funny bone, and very often make readers lose sight of the shore.
There are a few who like to be subtle in their expressions, and a lot more whose modus operandi is ‘confuse if cannot convince’. This platform is just so perfect for all these sorts amongst a few more. You can get the flavors of a la Rang De Basanti, Taare Zameen Par and the sorts of Saawariya all in the same composition. There are people penning thoughts that skim the essence so much that you get the feel that they must be individuals that value privacy to the point of being reclusive.. otherwise what else might explain why on earth would an entire purported prose sound from the beginning to the end, and all throughout like a preface? And then there are some others that write so prolifically about anything under the sun. These types make their audience feel like the scum of the earth for either not knowing anything about something or should I say not knowing something about anything!!!??
In the melee, I wonder what happened to the good old days of keeping a diary? After reading several posts, I now have nightmares of a day when someone publishes an autobiography of a deemed famous blogger. Worse still, what if it were to be put together by piecing together some of the posts? As if it couldn’t get better, I also worry what if that individual had greatly imbalanced faculties? I cant seem to stem the onslaught of more horrific thoughts coming to me now. Should that be called GLORY!! or GORY!!
It seems to be a trend that is catching on anyone that has access to any form of internet technology. Creativity is getting a new boost. It is now a contest to see who can pour their hearts out most creatively. Aesthetically constructed sentences can make the occurrence of something as crude as picking ones nose in public seem melodramatic, melancholic and a life turning event.
Penning thoughts random or otherwise (a.k.a blogging) requires the faculties of cognizance, and expression in equal and great measure. It is these very faculties (or rather the lack of them) that lend a commercial viability on which the trades of agony aunts and practicing counselors flourish. On that note, I sometimes fancy the thought that this might be a reversal of fortunes for people engaged in these trades. Of course these very faculties when imbalanced lead to over enlightened individual or to over expressive ones… which intended or otherwise sometimes tickle the funny bone, and very often make readers lose sight of the shore.
There are a few who like to be subtle in their expressions, and a lot more whose modus operandi is ‘confuse if cannot convince’. This platform is just so perfect for all these sorts amongst a few more. You can get the flavors of a la Rang De Basanti, Taare Zameen Par and the sorts of Saawariya all in the same composition. There are people penning thoughts that skim the essence so much that you get the feel that they must be individuals that value privacy to the point of being reclusive.. otherwise what else might explain why on earth would an entire purported prose sound from the beginning to the end, and all throughout like a preface? And then there are some others that write so prolifically about anything under the sun. These types make their audience feel like the scum of the earth for either not knowing anything about something or should I say not knowing something about anything!!!??
In the melee, I wonder what happened to the good old days of keeping a diary? After reading several posts, I now have nightmares of a day when someone publishes an autobiography of a deemed famous blogger. Worse still, what if it were to be put together by piecing together some of the posts? As if it couldn’t get better, I also worry what if that individual had greatly imbalanced faculties? I cant seem to stem the onslaught of more horrific thoughts coming to me now. Should that be called GLORY!! or GORY!!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
So much ado about 'I DO'
I always contemplated which of the phrases ‘half-full’ or ‘half-empty tumbler’ best described my social life. During one spell, there was a deluge of events in rather quick succession that tempted me to label it as ‘just-a-few-leftover-drops-clinging-to-the-base’. After scoring out other conceivable possibilities, and a rather severe stretch of imagination I sniffed my deodorized armpits just to make sure even that was not behind the mass exodus of fellow beings from my social life. The only benefit though of being so meticulous was I could say with some degree of certainty which deodorant smelled tad better in comparison to another. I raked my brains for some answers, and it was rather intriguing to find out what amount of self realization can come to anyone subjected to forced solitude.
The first in the chain was when I heard N was undertaking an overnight bus journey, and coming to town on the pretext of attending a wedding. In reality N was willing to endurance-test an otherwise pampered bottom on the bumpy and sleepless journey because the original intent was different from the publicized one, and that was to be in town for my birthday… All the fun and excitement was washed away when I realized that my birthday was now celebrated a day in advance so I could be left ‘undisturbed for exclusive access’ on the fateful day. I don’t know if the bizarreness of the idea or the inflicted celebrations that followed suit stumped me more, while I crazed to put my finger on what might be the cause of such erratic behavior. All along I suspected N was schizophrenic the event did not confirm my doubts though, but my suspicion grew stronger for sure…
Time flew by and I kept wondering why I could not crack the mystery of people wanting to draw very thick lines on how far they could relate to me on emotional grounds, if at all they did. All along they had the unexplainable you-know-why expressions on… in reality I could not even vaguely guess what the fuss was all about..
I will never be able to say that the food scored over the bonding that grew between us over the several sprees where we binged on street food and chats. I found it hard that for some reason suddenly neither my emotional nor gastronomic cravings were being obliged like earlier. While I got over the lack of culinary delights.. I surely missed Ds closeness. I now had to beg and plead with D to go out with me…. the same D who until then would drag me out of whatever I was up to, at odd hours, and, on most days of the week…
I don’t know if I looked for these patterns or was it anything else that always highlighted it. In a few months’ time K came along… we shared common tastes and enjoyed each others company and conversations… At one point, where this rather platonic relationship teetered in the direction of becoming an emotionally engaging one… K raised the guard to reinforce a weakening will power that threatened to make a ‘sentimental pal’ out of K… It surely was a blow.. Realization was slowly dawning on me about what was behind all this misery…. I was not ready to name it yet, and for that reason pushed it again into the back of my mind..
On an otherwise very uneventful day.. after committing to a few moments of togetherness over some uninteresting dinner, R suddenly dropped plans. I don’t know if it was the hunger for food or for bonding that drove me to badger R for a justification… R tried to bring into perspective why it seemed inappropriate that I spend emotionally stimulating and fulfilling time with anyone anymore… While I agree the fact was not debatable… It seemed to me like I was an ignorant fool in being oblivious, when, I should have instead expected the world that I lived in all along to shut its doors on me so suddenly…
All these days, while I looked for answers everywhere.. it was all along right there, and, with me ….ALAS!!!! I had married!
The institution of marriage has unknowingly bred its police force that come in the form of your closest pals. Until the wedding vows are exchanged, they form your entire support system….. Soon after that, they elevate you to a special status (read as leaving you high and dry). I am at my wits end at trying to figure out if this behavior is indeed an insecurity that has a few hues of an ‘ required sacrifice’ as well?… In this rigmarole, the aforesaid sacrifice surely does not always leave the intended beneficiary feeling grateful or blessed. This process has an inherent design flaw visible even to the naked eye. It automatically incites painful thoughts of losing very dear friends. And, the pain only multiplies when it becomes apparent that the probability is even greater…How does one settle the conflict when the same set of people expect you to be around for them just like the good old days while not anymore saying it in as many words, also insist you to be with your spouse all the time so they can feel like they have done their bit by not demanding your time and attention any more. This conflict is further compounded by the belief that marriage makes two individuals one… while the truth is that the world by virtue of a seemingly unwritten code expects that after marriage one individual act like two?
Relationships are supposed to be all chemistry, and talking in chemical terms, I have begun to hope against hope that the special people I consider as my world do not decide to either individually or collectively, and, lesser so, on my behalf, hand me down a valence of just one…..it cannot be taken for granted!!
Glossary:
N, D, K, R - A few of my pals.. that are the only elements of beauty in my own little world … I cannot imagine life without them… and talking about it, I have left the ones out who thankfully so far haven’t displayed the behavioral disorder that is causing me so much grief…
The first in the chain was when I heard N was undertaking an overnight bus journey, and coming to town on the pretext of attending a wedding. In reality N was willing to endurance-test an otherwise pampered bottom on the bumpy and sleepless journey because the original intent was different from the publicized one, and that was to be in town for my birthday… All the fun and excitement was washed away when I realized that my birthday was now celebrated a day in advance so I could be left ‘undisturbed for exclusive access’ on the fateful day. I don’t know if the bizarreness of the idea or the inflicted celebrations that followed suit stumped me more, while I crazed to put my finger on what might be the cause of such erratic behavior. All along I suspected N was schizophrenic the event did not confirm my doubts though, but my suspicion grew stronger for sure…
Time flew by and I kept wondering why I could not crack the mystery of people wanting to draw very thick lines on how far they could relate to me on emotional grounds, if at all they did. All along they had the unexplainable you-know-why expressions on… in reality I could not even vaguely guess what the fuss was all about..
I will never be able to say that the food scored over the bonding that grew between us over the several sprees where we binged on street food and chats. I found it hard that for some reason suddenly neither my emotional nor gastronomic cravings were being obliged like earlier. While I got over the lack of culinary delights.. I surely missed Ds closeness. I now had to beg and plead with D to go out with me…. the same D who until then would drag me out of whatever I was up to, at odd hours, and, on most days of the week…
I don’t know if I looked for these patterns or was it anything else that always highlighted it. In a few months’ time K came along… we shared common tastes and enjoyed each others company and conversations… At one point, where this rather platonic relationship teetered in the direction of becoming an emotionally engaging one… K raised the guard to reinforce a weakening will power that threatened to make a ‘sentimental pal’ out of K… It surely was a blow.. Realization was slowly dawning on me about what was behind all this misery…. I was not ready to name it yet, and for that reason pushed it again into the back of my mind..
On an otherwise very uneventful day.. after committing to a few moments of togetherness over some uninteresting dinner, R suddenly dropped plans. I don’t know if it was the hunger for food or for bonding that drove me to badger R for a justification… R tried to bring into perspective why it seemed inappropriate that I spend emotionally stimulating and fulfilling time with anyone anymore… While I agree the fact was not debatable… It seemed to me like I was an ignorant fool in being oblivious, when, I should have instead expected the world that I lived in all along to shut its doors on me so suddenly…
All these days, while I looked for answers everywhere.. it was all along right there, and, with me ….ALAS!!!! I had married!
The institution of marriage has unknowingly bred its police force that come in the form of your closest pals. Until the wedding vows are exchanged, they form your entire support system….. Soon after that, they elevate you to a special status (read as leaving you high and dry). I am at my wits end at trying to figure out if this behavior is indeed an insecurity that has a few hues of an ‘ required sacrifice’ as well?… In this rigmarole, the aforesaid sacrifice surely does not always leave the intended beneficiary feeling grateful or blessed. This process has an inherent design flaw visible even to the naked eye. It automatically incites painful thoughts of losing very dear friends. And, the pain only multiplies when it becomes apparent that the probability is even greater…How does one settle the conflict when the same set of people expect you to be around for them just like the good old days while not anymore saying it in as many words, also insist you to be with your spouse all the time so they can feel like they have done their bit by not demanding your time and attention any more. This conflict is further compounded by the belief that marriage makes two individuals one… while the truth is that the world by virtue of a seemingly unwritten code expects that after marriage one individual act like two?
Relationships are supposed to be all chemistry, and talking in chemical terms, I have begun to hope against hope that the special people I consider as my world do not decide to either individually or collectively, and, lesser so, on my behalf, hand me down a valence of just one…..it cannot be taken for granted!!
Glossary:
N, D, K, R - A few of my pals.. that are the only elements of beauty in my own little world … I cannot imagine life without them… and talking about it, I have left the ones out who thankfully so far haven’t displayed the behavioral disorder that is causing me so much grief…
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Boneless chicken and near misses…
This one is for anyone that can comprehend, or, wants to learn a little bit about the new dimension in the Indian culture called matrimonial sites…. The saga goes back to one fateful afternoon when after a lazy lunch, the prospect of branding matrimonial profiles as acceptable or thrash seemed more interesting than even just dozing off at the desk. I was asked an opinion on one particular profile that was otherwise labeled ‘snobbish’ by the other pair of eyes that had scanned through it. I somehow thought there was substance to the profile and sounded the GO verdict on the go-no-go stalemate, while I still struggled to pronounce the name without getting my tongue all knotted up.. but hey.. what’s in a name..
As it turned out to be.. the episode was heading in the direction of being a threesome orgy at breakneck speed, virtual of course… Every passing hour and day I would be apprised of what the latest conversation was, about and the tastes, likes, dislikes, preferences, et al of the profilee (KSP)… so much so that I had gotten adept at predicting what KSP would eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
With the passage of time.. the virtual world was becoming a beautiful painting with new colors and details filling up the canvas each day. I did not mind the onslaught and would listen to every tidbit of detail that was inflicted on me. All this just for the reason that it helped multiply the happiness and positive anticipation around the expected outcome. It was beginning to sound like the first stirrings of romance..... I learnt so much of KSP that I could have probably singled this entity out of a crowd even the first time…the parents as described seemed like most parents except they were painted several hues weirder than most normal folks… so on and so forth.
Several days passed and the sole right thumb had gotten so engrossed in the happenings, that it could type SMSes with the dexterity and nimbleness of several right hands. Several games of scrabbles were played.. a few won.. a few willingly lost. A lot of home improvement projects and a few ego battles later.. the day finally arrived. KSP who all along kept the painting live arrived with the family for a visit…. All seemed well all through other than the color of the sweet pudding that ended up being white instead of the preferred saffron.. several moments later after promising to talk again the byes were said…
Sometimes silence can be deafening.. and to try to help that situation.. the parents were prodded a few times. The male seemed very incomprehensible until he spoke through another ally that always seemed like the trouble monger, and indeed, that expectation was more than met soon. The ensuing conversations led us to ponder if we had staged the show to express interest in an alliance, or did it end up seeming like we were unprepared for an outright purchase.
Whatever it was, KSP, the hitherto bright and seemingly stand-up-to-ones-self types did not want to let down the folks. The events hurriedly converted them to the most virtuous folks complete with sanity and balanced minds, which was in total contradiction to how they had been painted all through, and even just until before the socializing event, and the sole reason for living alone and miles away from them. In any case… if things had jived the way we are conditioned to hope and pray they do.. KSP would have probably earned the dubious distinction of being the most expensive boneless chicken ever bought. Until this point.. no one ever told me that boneless chicken besides lacking the spine and gut.. lacks a heart too… While it is proven that a combination of the human brain and human heart does not necessarily work well always.. I think KSP was God’s way of experimenting whether the combination of a bird brain with a human heart.. or a human brain with a chicken heart (whichever) fared any better.
While the bitterness is slowly fading away I am forced to think about the disaster that would be if airplanes that were part to a mid air near collision actually collided.. would you rather call it a near hit or a near miss? I want to simply say.. Thank you GOD!!!
As it turned out to be.. the episode was heading in the direction of being a threesome orgy at breakneck speed, virtual of course… Every passing hour and day I would be apprised of what the latest conversation was, about and the tastes, likes, dislikes, preferences, et al of the profilee (KSP)… so much so that I had gotten adept at predicting what KSP would eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
With the passage of time.. the virtual world was becoming a beautiful painting with new colors and details filling up the canvas each day. I did not mind the onslaught and would listen to every tidbit of detail that was inflicted on me. All this just for the reason that it helped multiply the happiness and positive anticipation around the expected outcome. It was beginning to sound like the first stirrings of romance..... I learnt so much of KSP that I could have probably singled this entity out of a crowd even the first time…the parents as described seemed like most parents except they were painted several hues weirder than most normal folks… so on and so forth.
Several days passed and the sole right thumb had gotten so engrossed in the happenings, that it could type SMSes with the dexterity and nimbleness of several right hands. Several games of scrabbles were played.. a few won.. a few willingly lost. A lot of home improvement projects and a few ego battles later.. the day finally arrived. KSP who all along kept the painting live arrived with the family for a visit…. All seemed well all through other than the color of the sweet pudding that ended up being white instead of the preferred saffron.. several moments later after promising to talk again the byes were said…
Sometimes silence can be deafening.. and to try to help that situation.. the parents were prodded a few times. The male seemed very incomprehensible until he spoke through another ally that always seemed like the trouble monger, and indeed, that expectation was more than met soon. The ensuing conversations led us to ponder if we had staged the show to express interest in an alliance, or did it end up seeming like we were unprepared for an outright purchase.
Whatever it was, KSP, the hitherto bright and seemingly stand-up-to-ones-self types did not want to let down the folks. The events hurriedly converted them to the most virtuous folks complete with sanity and balanced minds, which was in total contradiction to how they had been painted all through, and even just until before the socializing event, and the sole reason for living alone and miles away from them. In any case… if things had jived the way we are conditioned to hope and pray they do.. KSP would have probably earned the dubious distinction of being the most expensive boneless chicken ever bought. Until this point.. no one ever told me that boneless chicken besides lacking the spine and gut.. lacks a heart too… While it is proven that a combination of the human brain and human heart does not necessarily work well always.. I think KSP was God’s way of experimenting whether the combination of a bird brain with a human heart.. or a human brain with a chicken heart (whichever) fared any better.
While the bitterness is slowly fading away I am forced to think about the disaster that would be if airplanes that were part to a mid air near collision actually collided.. would you rather call it a near hit or a near miss? I want to simply say.. Thank you GOD!!!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Water World
I am now unsure whether it was the anticipation that began as the sun set the previous day or whether it was the promise of another beautiful and memorable day that got our aching bodies to feel nimble and lithe at the crack of dawn. Whatever it was, it succeeded in getting us to the promised seafront at Wandoor without a whine. Before arriving there, we drove for an hour, passing through patches of Tsunami affected terrain. That event evidently had changed the landscape permanently. Where there were at one time lush green fields that needed tilling, prawn and fish culturing were now the calling of the day. We arrived to be welcome by the sight of scavenging mutts that had risen early to seek out any food material the sea thought was inappropriate to remain within its bowels. The receding tide last night had left on the beach some sort of food like dead fish, broken oysters and other things which I could not even name. We found ourselves within a stone’s throw distance at a restaurant, living-quarters combo, from where the first citizen’s helicopter had landed a couple days earlier. We also discovered that in addition to the mutts that were the obvious first sights as we arrived, our instructor-master for the day was already awake and about, waiting for us to arrive, although we couldn’t at first say if he shared the sense of anticipation at all
To ward off any copyright and royalty issues in case this write up becomes famous enough to fetch me any money. I will refer to our instructor-master simply as S. At first go he seemed an easy talking fellow, until one point when our group’s collective opinion was he was seemed to suffer from a chronic case of verbal diarrhea, or, word vomiting, as a few would prefer to call it depending on which orifice their affinities are suited to. He chalked out our itinerary for the day which began with learning how to wear our wet suits and saddle the apparatus correctly complete with the use of each of the paraphernalia. And then after a very light breakfast we set off in a motorized dungi towards Mavadera. This place was a restricted island and was supposed to be ideal for our orientation of DSD.. (discover SCUBA diving), although I prefer to refer to it personally as Deep Sea Diving which sounds more exciting and adventurous. Even now, I just say DSD and do not elaborate on what it actually is unless asked for, just hoping that people think of it as deep sea dive..
Our beloved friend D looked absolutely ravishing in the skin tight wet suit which did its bit to highlight the various bulges and depressions on his otherwise nondescript frame. He was slated to finish his under sea adventure first because he had to be over the clouds in a few hours heading back home. We watched as his usually multifaceted expression changed from anticipatory to ponderous to what-the-hell-am-I-doing-this-for all the way through a few more fine ones which I cannot describe for all the life in me. It all concluded in him bobbing up the water surface screaming at the top of his lungs that he did not want to do what he was being asked to. At this point his expressions no longer mattered, however, we the ones that had the transient privilege of being up on the dungi gave each other reassuring looks that nothing inappropriate occurred under the water, and it was just that he was his sense of survival was getting to the better of his sense of adventure. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to enjoy for a brief time the wonders that the world 4 meters below the surface of the water had to offer. If not for his fast approaching deadline to begin his journey back home, he might have played spoilsport describing what our otherwise so far virgin thoughts of the under sea world were.
Our turn came a few hours later after we had seen D back to Wandoor, packed him off to the airport, eaten some lunch, were subject to the first of our fully paid physical miseries when we were dumped into the sea by the beach to learn swimming and acclimatize to the water and the diesel that formed a film on it from the dungi anchored in the vicinity. Until then, the only other insufferable misery was Ss condition. We headed back in the boat to Mavadera amidst questioning from a few other tourists about how much we were paying for what looked like a space mission except that it was headed in the opposite direction. I thought I actually saw celestial objects in their eyes when S quoted the cost. We went through our training session and by now were used to or rather getting weary of the continuous onslaught of his personal life and about what were the maneuvers we had to learn before we could dive down, and S continued to dole it out in all generosity. I kept wondering why hadn’t nature designed us such that 4 ears could bear more than 2, because when we exchanged glances, either of us were sure we were as bored as the other. I was actually glad that once the breathing apparatus was on, talking was off which was indeed a solace that complemented the tranquility of the surroundings both above and below water.
DS who was my company on this dive after initially sounding and seeming brave was literally dampened at the thought that none of the wet suits fitted her. We weren’t sure if that could be termed as a compliment to her seemingly brave façade or to her proportions. Owing to the latter, I personally worried that once in the water, she put us in the danger of finding ourselves in a frenzy of larger fishes like whales and dolphins who might find it a compulsion on their natural traits to inspect her at close quarters to either accept her as one of their own or let her pass for seals, sea lions, turtles or even possibly man made submarine or debris. Much as I did not want to say other nondescript creatures or ones not yet listed under Carolus Linnaeus' binominal nomenclature classification method, I must include that just to give it a sense of completeness.
After several trying moments and un-coaxed willingness to forfeit the small fortune that we had spent on this, we finally decided to go in for the dive. Being dumped in the sea backs first made me feel like fish food, but once in there all the pain and misery was forgotten. The world beneath was more beautiful than beautiful could be. The vividness and variedness was mind numbing, I would have been happy to drown in such a beautiful setting because to me it was heaven. There were fish and corals of indescribable colors and shapes. I felt like I was on television except that this time I was on the other side of the screen where all the live action was. I could live there forever, and wished endlessley that by some divine power, I could become one among the surroundings for eternity. It would be a hopelessly failed attempt if anyone tried to describe the world below, and owing to that sane thought, I am refraining from doing it. If you want to understand the 'depth' of the word beautiful.. then do the dive at least once in your lifetime is all i can offer. In the interim, DS managed to knock off the regulator (the mouth apparatus) from Ss mouth a few times, and ended up riding the waters like Lord Ganesha seated on Mother Parvati's lap. I ended up kicking him in the backside accidentally, I would have relished that though if I had done it consciously to get even with all the torments he heaped all along. All this in addition to the fact that he had dived with D in the morning plus the fact that DS wasnt built with any aerodynamic proportions quickly drained him of his energy. The only other part of that experience worth mentioning is watching DS try to get on the boat. It took none lesser than the marginal crew of the lanky dungi captain, another helper, the commandant from within the dungi and marginally one of the co passengers from within the dungi, in addition to S and myself from the water and alignment to the water current to hoist the mass out of the water and back into the dungi. All this while, another helpful co passenger shot rather embarassing footage of this attempt and a little more as you will find later.
On the way back to the shore in the dungi, and well out of the waters that were Ss forte where he tormented and treaded barefoot (occasionally with the artificial paddle fins he wore on his feet) on peoples confidence, he made the mistake of treading into dangerous waters that were American slangs. We had professional expertise in the form of co passengers that were incidentally call center employees. In one swift & lethal slash of the tongue they rendered S speechless. The intricacies of the phonetic difference between the expression Gosh “as in .. .oh my GOD!!”, and the word Shark were explained, they also threw in a bonus by distinctly establishing the meaning of both words in the common parlance in all American, English & Hinglish languages.
We were back on Wandoor beach at sunset. After the much required ablution and change back to clothes more acceptable on terra-firma. A little more of idle talk toyed with the idea of paying S a premium to torment, and drown, one of the founding heads of modern Indias IT industry. His offence for such well planned out treatment being that he had heaped generic insults on the occupation of our co-passengers. The only advantage that we collectively saw in doing it was to make full use of Ss verbal condition (which by now we were more content in believing was a dysfunction of his intellect than anything to do with any of his orifices) plus the fact that if any memorial were to be established at Wandoor in honor for the potentiall late business leader, then there might be a subsidy offered to the employees of that company for any "homage trips" they make to the Emerals Isles, in addition there might be DSD opportunities to pay him homage at his final resting place… all of course would be a part of the variable pay options….. and on par with existing industry standards
We were saying the byes to our co passengers who other than sharing the same age group and idea of fun as us, served us as allies to shut the sluice gates on the dam that was Ss oral orifice. And we realized only at a later date that we owed them thanks for being the videographers they were. Unawares to both parties until then, and to only them until eternity, they had a lot of their own “skinful” footage on my camera, which I believe was by virtue of them being in relatively liberating clothes (of course they weren’t there on a pilgrimage) plus the inexperience in handling a live cameras orientation. I mentioned about this briefly earlier, and I must add that of course, for that given day we had an overdose of uncovered skin already, but now in retrospect when I am back in a city that is about 8 hours from sea either to the west or the east and much more so to the south, I personally consider that footage as a treasure of the sea.
Just as we thought the day was over, a surprisingly intimidated S surfaced yet again. I think he got reprimanded by his boss that the mandated paperwork that absolved Laccadives Diving School’s incidental or direct risks arising out of a divers wish to SCUBA dive remained uncompleted and unsigned!! The perfectly undrowned and alive students of the days Discover SCUBA Diving lesson were back on terra firma and boarded a vehicle headed back to the hotel driving into the sunset.
A day that began with anticipation… was full of trepidation.. and ended in a very memorable and wonderful conquest….. I don’t know if the expression "vini... vidi... vici..." or the palindrome "Able was I, ere I saw Elba" is more appropriate.. with due respects to both Alexander and Napolean… I would rather say… as we drove into the darkness the only thoughts that kept coming to us were that "beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder"… And by some unknown grace, nothing got in the way of spoiling it.. not the fact that the first citizen had caused most other islands to be off limits to lesser mortals, not the fact that we had imbibed too much salt water, too much sun burn, had decided to give it up at the nth moment, and had almost forgotten to breathe with our nose whilst still out of water. We lived through it and will probably live to tell the story to generations to come.
Long live S!!!! and long live D, DS and the co passengers.. of course my heartfelt gratitude to the Dungi captain and Commandant Baht!!!
To ward off any copyright and royalty issues in case this write up becomes famous enough to fetch me any money. I will refer to our instructor-master simply as S. At first go he seemed an easy talking fellow, until one point when our group’s collective opinion was he was seemed to suffer from a chronic case of verbal diarrhea, or, word vomiting, as a few would prefer to call it depending on which orifice their affinities are suited to. He chalked out our itinerary for the day which began with learning how to wear our wet suits and saddle the apparatus correctly complete with the use of each of the paraphernalia. And then after a very light breakfast we set off in a motorized dungi towards Mavadera. This place was a restricted island and was supposed to be ideal for our orientation of DSD.. (discover SCUBA diving), although I prefer to refer to it personally as Deep Sea Diving which sounds more exciting and adventurous. Even now, I just say DSD and do not elaborate on what it actually is unless asked for, just hoping that people think of it as deep sea dive..
Our beloved friend D looked absolutely ravishing in the skin tight wet suit which did its bit to highlight the various bulges and depressions on his otherwise nondescript frame. He was slated to finish his under sea adventure first because he had to be over the clouds in a few hours heading back home. We watched as his usually multifaceted expression changed from anticipatory to ponderous to what-the-hell-am-I-doing-this-for all the way through a few more fine ones which I cannot describe for all the life in me. It all concluded in him bobbing up the water surface screaming at the top of his lungs that he did not want to do what he was being asked to. At this point his expressions no longer mattered, however, we the ones that had the transient privilege of being up on the dungi gave each other reassuring looks that nothing inappropriate occurred under the water, and it was just that he was his sense of survival was getting to the better of his sense of adventure. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to enjoy for a brief time the wonders that the world 4 meters below the surface of the water had to offer. If not for his fast approaching deadline to begin his journey back home, he might have played spoilsport describing what our otherwise so far virgin thoughts of the under sea world were.
Our turn came a few hours later after we had seen D back to Wandoor, packed him off to the airport, eaten some lunch, were subject to the first of our fully paid physical miseries when we were dumped into the sea by the beach to learn swimming and acclimatize to the water and the diesel that formed a film on it from the dungi anchored in the vicinity. Until then, the only other insufferable misery was Ss condition. We headed back in the boat to Mavadera amidst questioning from a few other tourists about how much we were paying for what looked like a space mission except that it was headed in the opposite direction. I thought I actually saw celestial objects in their eyes when S quoted the cost. We went through our training session and by now were used to or rather getting weary of the continuous onslaught of his personal life and about what were the maneuvers we had to learn before we could dive down, and S continued to dole it out in all generosity. I kept wondering why hadn’t nature designed us such that 4 ears could bear more than 2, because when we exchanged glances, either of us were sure we were as bored as the other. I was actually glad that once the breathing apparatus was on, talking was off which was indeed a solace that complemented the tranquility of the surroundings both above and below water.
DS who was my company on this dive after initially sounding and seeming brave was literally dampened at the thought that none of the wet suits fitted her. We weren’t sure if that could be termed as a compliment to her seemingly brave façade or to her proportions. Owing to the latter, I personally worried that once in the water, she put us in the danger of finding ourselves in a frenzy of larger fishes like whales and dolphins who might find it a compulsion on their natural traits to inspect her at close quarters to either accept her as one of their own or let her pass for seals, sea lions, turtles or even possibly man made submarine or debris. Much as I did not want to say other nondescript creatures or ones not yet listed under Carolus Linnaeus' binominal nomenclature classification method, I must include that just to give it a sense of completeness.
After several trying moments and un-coaxed willingness to forfeit the small fortune that we had spent on this, we finally decided to go in for the dive. Being dumped in the sea backs first made me feel like fish food, but once in there all the pain and misery was forgotten. The world beneath was more beautiful than beautiful could be. The vividness and variedness was mind numbing, I would have been happy to drown in such a beautiful setting because to me it was heaven. There were fish and corals of indescribable colors and shapes. I felt like I was on television except that this time I was on the other side of the screen where all the live action was. I could live there forever, and wished endlessley that by some divine power, I could become one among the surroundings for eternity. It would be a hopelessly failed attempt if anyone tried to describe the world below, and owing to that sane thought, I am refraining from doing it. If you want to understand the 'depth' of the word beautiful.. then do the dive at least once in your lifetime is all i can offer. In the interim, DS managed to knock off the regulator (the mouth apparatus) from Ss mouth a few times, and ended up riding the waters like Lord Ganesha seated on Mother Parvati's lap. I ended up kicking him in the backside accidentally, I would have relished that though if I had done it consciously to get even with all the torments he heaped all along. All this in addition to the fact that he had dived with D in the morning plus the fact that DS wasnt built with any aerodynamic proportions quickly drained him of his energy. The only other part of that experience worth mentioning is watching DS try to get on the boat. It took none lesser than the marginal crew of the lanky dungi captain, another helper, the commandant from within the dungi and marginally one of the co passengers from within the dungi, in addition to S and myself from the water and alignment to the water current to hoist the mass out of the water and back into the dungi. All this while, another helpful co passenger shot rather embarassing footage of this attempt and a little more as you will find later.
On the way back to the shore in the dungi, and well out of the waters that were Ss forte where he tormented and treaded barefoot (occasionally with the artificial paddle fins he wore on his feet) on peoples confidence, he made the mistake of treading into dangerous waters that were American slangs. We had professional expertise in the form of co passengers that were incidentally call center employees. In one swift & lethal slash of the tongue they rendered S speechless. The intricacies of the phonetic difference between the expression Gosh “as in .. .oh my GOD!!”, and the word Shark were explained, they also threw in a bonus by distinctly establishing the meaning of both words in the common parlance in all American, English & Hinglish languages.
We were back on Wandoor beach at sunset. After the much required ablution and change back to clothes more acceptable on terra-firma. A little more of idle talk toyed with the idea of paying S a premium to torment, and drown, one of the founding heads of modern Indias IT industry. His offence for such well planned out treatment being that he had heaped generic insults on the occupation of our co-passengers. The only advantage that we collectively saw in doing it was to make full use of Ss verbal condition (which by now we were more content in believing was a dysfunction of his intellect than anything to do with any of his orifices) plus the fact that if any memorial were to be established at Wandoor in honor for the potentiall late business leader, then there might be a subsidy offered to the employees of that company for any "homage trips" they make to the Emerals Isles, in addition there might be DSD opportunities to pay him homage at his final resting place… all of course would be a part of the variable pay options….. and on par with existing industry standards
We were saying the byes to our co passengers who other than sharing the same age group and idea of fun as us, served us as allies to shut the sluice gates on the dam that was Ss oral orifice. And we realized only at a later date that we owed them thanks for being the videographers they were. Unawares to both parties until then, and to only them until eternity, they had a lot of their own “skinful” footage on my camera, which I believe was by virtue of them being in relatively liberating clothes (of course they weren’t there on a pilgrimage) plus the inexperience in handling a live cameras orientation. I mentioned about this briefly earlier, and I must add that of course, for that given day we had an overdose of uncovered skin already, but now in retrospect when I am back in a city that is about 8 hours from sea either to the west or the east and much more so to the south, I personally consider that footage as a treasure of the sea.
Just as we thought the day was over, a surprisingly intimidated S surfaced yet again. I think he got reprimanded by his boss that the mandated paperwork that absolved Laccadives Diving School’s incidental or direct risks arising out of a divers wish to SCUBA dive remained uncompleted and unsigned!! The perfectly undrowned and alive students of the days Discover SCUBA Diving lesson were back on terra firma and boarded a vehicle headed back to the hotel driving into the sunset.
A day that began with anticipation… was full of trepidation.. and ended in a very memorable and wonderful conquest….. I don’t know if the expression "vini... vidi... vici..." or the palindrome "Able was I, ere I saw Elba" is more appropriate.. with due respects to both Alexander and Napolean… I would rather say… as we drove into the darkness the only thoughts that kept coming to us were that "beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder"… And by some unknown grace, nothing got in the way of spoiling it.. not the fact that the first citizen had caused most other islands to be off limits to lesser mortals, not the fact that we had imbibed too much salt water, too much sun burn, had decided to give it up at the nth moment, and had almost forgotten to breathe with our nose whilst still out of water. We lived through it and will probably live to tell the story to generations to come.
Long live S!!!! and long live D, DS and the co passengers.. of course my heartfelt gratitude to the Dungi captain and Commandant Baht!!!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The melting pot..
I believe in the adage that the eyes see what the mind knows. And that day, after passing an otherwise dreary and totally forgettable corridor, which for a pleasant change, was decorated with a profusion of flowers and oil lamps, found the pattern continued into the work floor amongst other clutter and not-so-ambient equipment. After a quick mental tally and scoring out the possibility of any of the many festivals falling on that day, my guess was it had something to do with the demi-God’s visit. I found humor in considering other plausible explanations for the get-up-of-the-day, which was complete with the fairer sex in the group flaunting their best silks and adornments. I would probably never be able to say, or rank in the order of preference, which among a) staging a Suhaag Raat prop to make visitor’s cultural orientation seem more real b) impressing on the visitor the motherlands ranking in the floriculture business is for real or c) an ulterior motive like triggering an allergy in the already overly medicated foreigner gave me a kick. I really hoped there would be an opportunity to find out if my overactive imagination and the foreigner’s severely jetlagged mind possibly pondered over any or all of the same thoughts even if just for a fleeting moment.
I realized after the colorful and blazing start of the day, the evening was doomed (planned), and I already felt the bile rising in my gut. Another of those not-so-looking forward to get-together was on the agenda at one of the swankiest pubs in town. The only solace though was this time around there was company that could help me keep an I-am-enjoying-myself expression on through the entire evening and in the process, I might be able to actually enjoy it. After a lot of whining and delaying we found ourselves at the venue, that was in stark contrast to how the day began, dim lights, loud music and the natural inhabitants totally uninhibited by either the minimal garments on their own selves or by the profusion of it on the silk-sari clad brigade that made its way in. After the first round of drinks, and the customary exchange of pleasantries with folks you either would not want to be caught dead with or would probably never see again, the party progressed to bring together the best of both worlds. The effect resembled something out of the plethora of parties in the ceaseless saas-bahu sagas inflicted by television on our psych. The effect of the strobes was amplified as it bounced off the sheen of the fine silks, imitation jadaus, and zari borders as the ladies jived with each other to western music from the 80s and 90s. The flexibility on display and cool moves floored me. It possibly would have probably inspired Sania Mirza to play her game in a heavy Kanjeevaram or Manipuri. The payback to bequeathing attire that is professionally accepted, would be that a few of those irritating non-issues around her would have gotten taken care of. It might also have gotten her to withdraw her decision to not play within the Indian territory. The cascade effect would have been that the first citizen would not have been interrupted from her mundane task list to waste any amount of her time in trying to convince Sania. Boy did I miss Sania!! The package included its share of folks who not knowing what to do simply stuck out like a sore thumb. Their visages reminded me of saints because while the reflected nothing, they were not in denial either.
The high note of the evening was the food on the menu. In isolation, it combined two worlds, but when considered as a part of the larger picture, it probably did more than just that. A combination of papads, starters, Thai curry and rice, and of course, additional flavor was introduce when the speakers bellowed “Alice.. Alice.. who the F… is Alice...” (you will have to excuse the profanity. Since it is quoted verbatim, I am sure you will empathize) at which point the members of the opposite sex either denied or cut of any existing eye contact with anyone else, and everyone dived into relishing the final course of our humble curd rice and tangy mango pickle,. Just as I was beginning to bask in the glory of the diversity of our culture and how many variations we are built to maneuver and handle well, my thoughts and attention raced back to our esteemed visitor who was the man of the day in whose honor and joy this fun and frolicking was happening. He wore a very animated expression as he tried to down one too many of the drinks and maybe in his groggy mind was trying to make sense out of what was happening. I could not help but draw my own conclusion of what might be the impressions he will carry back
We like to burn oil lamps which when combined with the smell of fresh flowers gives a very distinct quality to the air in enclosed spaces ventilated only by central air conditioning. Of course he probably does not know that we are already immune to allergies that it might trigger and the lingering odors or aromas in the air the day after
The fairer sex almost everyday wears a sari to office, and it is an all purpose garb
It is being lady like to consume any form of alcohol very discretely
It is expected that ladies swarm & move together in groups like bees, the buzzing noise that accompanies the group is but a natural phenomenon
It is only appropriate that women dance with women
It is only appropriate that men dance with men
We like to let our hair down to the point of seeming schizophrenic whenever there are visitors
Etc….
My love of adages is making me circle back to quote the age old saying… Atithi Devo Bhava (Guests are Gods)… I am sure after all this he left with the feeling that he indeed is one, and I would be glad about it if he indeed did. Nevertheless, since we rallied around him all the time he was here and were pretty much at his disposal, I hope that he did not conclude that our warmth and hospitality was an expression of subservience ……
I realized after the colorful and blazing start of the day, the evening was doomed (planned), and I already felt the bile rising in my gut. Another of those not-so-looking forward to get-together was on the agenda at one of the swankiest pubs in town. The only solace though was this time around there was company that could help me keep an I-am-enjoying-myself expression on through the entire evening and in the process, I might be able to actually enjoy it. After a lot of whining and delaying we found ourselves at the venue, that was in stark contrast to how the day began, dim lights, loud music and the natural inhabitants totally uninhibited by either the minimal garments on their own selves or by the profusion of it on the silk-sari clad brigade that made its way in. After the first round of drinks, and the customary exchange of pleasantries with folks you either would not want to be caught dead with or would probably never see again, the party progressed to bring together the best of both worlds. The effect resembled something out of the plethora of parties in the ceaseless saas-bahu sagas inflicted by television on our psych. The effect of the strobes was amplified as it bounced off the sheen of the fine silks, imitation jadaus, and zari borders as the ladies jived with each other to western music from the 80s and 90s. The flexibility on display and cool moves floored me. It possibly would have probably inspired Sania Mirza to play her game in a heavy Kanjeevaram or Manipuri. The payback to bequeathing attire that is professionally accepted, would be that a few of those irritating non-issues around her would have gotten taken care of. It might also have gotten her to withdraw her decision to not play within the Indian territory. The cascade effect would have been that the first citizen would not have been interrupted from her mundane task list to waste any amount of her time in trying to convince Sania. Boy did I miss Sania!! The package included its share of folks who not knowing what to do simply stuck out like a sore thumb. Their visages reminded me of saints because while the reflected nothing, they were not in denial either.
The high note of the evening was the food on the menu. In isolation, it combined two worlds, but when considered as a part of the larger picture, it probably did more than just that. A combination of papads, starters, Thai curry and rice, and of course, additional flavor was introduce when the speakers bellowed “Alice.. Alice.. who the F… is Alice...” (you will have to excuse the profanity. Since it is quoted verbatim, I am sure you will empathize) at which point the members of the opposite sex either denied or cut of any existing eye contact with anyone else, and everyone dived into relishing the final course of our humble curd rice and tangy mango pickle,. Just as I was beginning to bask in the glory of the diversity of our culture and how many variations we are built to maneuver and handle well, my thoughts and attention raced back to our esteemed visitor who was the man of the day in whose honor and joy this fun and frolicking was happening. He wore a very animated expression as he tried to down one too many of the drinks and maybe in his groggy mind was trying to make sense out of what was happening. I could not help but draw my own conclusion of what might be the impressions he will carry back
We like to burn oil lamps which when combined with the smell of fresh flowers gives a very distinct quality to the air in enclosed spaces ventilated only by central air conditioning. Of course he probably does not know that we are already immune to allergies that it might trigger and the lingering odors or aromas in the air the day after
The fairer sex almost everyday wears a sari to office, and it is an all purpose garb
It is being lady like to consume any form of alcohol very discretely
It is expected that ladies swarm & move together in groups like bees, the buzzing noise that accompanies the group is but a natural phenomenon
It is only appropriate that women dance with women
It is only appropriate that men dance with men
We like to let our hair down to the point of seeming schizophrenic whenever there are visitors
Etc….
My love of adages is making me circle back to quote the age old saying… Atithi Devo Bhava (Guests are Gods)… I am sure after all this he left with the feeling that he indeed is one, and I would be glad about it if he indeed did. Nevertheless, since we rallied around him all the time he was here and were pretty much at his disposal, I hope that he did not conclude that our warmth and hospitality was an expression of subservience ……
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