It wasn’t until much later after we had crossed over into Himachal that I realized I was seated very comfortably. The dawn of this ergonomic fact was partly because I had travelled several miles in the confines of similar mini buses, but this time around something was surely very different.
On earlier occasions, my discomforts were owing to competition that could easily lay claim to an equal or more share of square inches on the 2 seat benches we generally occupied together, with me usually sitting on the aisle side. This in addition to always and invariably having the disadvantage of the competitions unfair claim being reinforced by the inner side walls of the vehicle for obvious reasons. As the cold and jolting began wearing me down, I realized “Wriggly” was besides me all along, and that was probably why I could park my now more than ample butt on that seat so comfortably. Wriggly’s rear fortunately was endowed to take up the entire depth of the seat instead of the width.
Things have changed since. Destiny and human effort conspired, and in the resulting arrangement, it was only appropriate that our comfort in discomfort came to an end. It seems like the poor and inconsequential bench, there are several other things that won’t be so obviously shared anymore.
I sat comfortably but missing a certain something through the tour. I questioned myself why did I not want to realize you weren’t one of the guys. I don’t know the answers, but now I can only on several say occasions “Betty Cooper.. I miss you.”
Monday, January 26, 2009
Monday, November 17, 2008
Memories of Park Lane
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.
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.
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!!
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