Saab..Angrezi malum?

I hate the corporate white monkey (you know who I am talking about, don’t u?). You think you are the smartest a** around. I think otherwise.
For one you can’t seem to accept that your accent is fake and anybody can tell. USA and Australia can give you two very different accents- provided u stay there for more than a couple of days every few months. Speaking slowly and deliberately can also convey that you are too dumb get quick vocabs.
And boss! mobile users use the network not your raw decibel to communicate across miles. And for god’s sakes we don’t need to know what time you intend to get into bed (nobody is interested! Pun intended!).
Where in the godforsaken geographical regime did a ‘Gora’ teach you to wear goggles in an air-conditioned cabin.
And oh yeah! In the meetings: ‘I prefer’ ‘I don’t like’ ‘ I want you to’ is not what I am here for; let’s talk about the company. If I missed on the length of the call- no accident! Will anything I say alter that?
And boss! Diplomacy is one deal; and repeating what you hear on the corporate sitcom is another (why do we even bother to ask questions?)
And hey! Who are you kidding sweets! We don’t have parties so that you can get drunk and pat everybody on the back for every line of code they wrote and to see to what great lengths you can prove yourself to be patronizing; and for Christ’s sakes don’t spill that drink (expensive u know).
Maybe you slept right through the culture practise sessions when they asked you not to slurp up your coffee. And boy (old)! Coffee and fag can give you bad breath. Spare me!
We don’t have bad memories; we remember exactly when it was that you were mud slinging and back stabbing. So quit the jargon on professionalism.
Lovely mobile, lovely shirt and lovely tie: the single knot at least shouldn’t be rocket science.
Yes! You’re next to Saint Bill Gates in your exceptional intelligence and tactfulness; but somehow my baby sister feels she is more brilliant.
And last but not the least. We had moral stories during first grade that said ‘Lying will take you to hell’.
They say a watched kettle never boils. Damn! So I will pretend I am working mean while.

To kill a boring timesheet.

Boredom like happiness is a phenomenon that does not set in without your permission.
You can always opt for more exciting offers.
And since I have been on bench for the past three months, I have had time to experiment.

The first few days; I sat back and read the entire Garfield collection. Now; there is no other virtually real character that I adore more. And during this time I noticed that an over eating sensation can set in from having too much of what you like- not considering what form you take it in.

So I decided that I am a responsible citizen of the universe and started reading all kinds of newspapers. National and international. Too many disasters, terror strikes, toxic wastes, global warming, stock market going down and political filth! Now disgust is a very exciting emotion. You can brood with it, sulk with, suicide with it (hmmm) and you can even sleep with it.

Since research was the next step for any honest to God, responsible, solution seeking woman of the world; I sat reading the histories of world problems -to set the ‘who started what’ straight. Lebanon, Israel, Pakistan, India, Palestine, Iraq, Kuwait. Hey! Have you heard about that chicken and egg question? Good!

Several weeks of face to face interaction followed. I learned the HR department tosses coins to see if you fill a slot. There is more than one kind of managers: the ones who don’t care about your growth and the ones who don’t care. Threatening is a good way to get your way. Cheating is good- For your ego. And people are going to ask you the most obvious questions is the world: ‘why the heck do you want an onsite’ ‘why do you want to work on a challenging project’ ‘so what if you don’t get a chance now’ ‘what makes you think that doing an year long bad project is going to slow you down’ ‘who the hell asked you to be patient’ ‘where did you get the idea that people are rewarded for good performance’ ‘what makes you think that your appraisal meant anything to us’ ‘it’s all about being at the right place at the right time, what? , you disagree?’ Well, well.. you get a concoction of exciting feelings there.

You can always decide to write a book. No, no! don’t write one. Every human being decides to write a book. I was going to put in all my experiments: with my character, with my emotions, and with other people’s emotions. My book would have been called ‘my experiments with truth’. Gandhi had copyrights to that title. Damn! There goes my book. But a feeling of oneness with the man for thinking on the same lines gives you some solace. I still haven’t forgiven him for stealing my path to fame. What we have here is a feeling of trespassed greatness.

You can be a jolly good fellow. And collect information. God bless my outlook. Sharing knowledge has never attained such heights of convenience. All I have to is CTRL+C; CTRL+V, and press FWD. It is gratifying to let them know you are a woman of words. It makes you feel smart. Much smarter than the dumbass in the next cubicle who is coding away to glory. Curse him!
You can forward any mail without reading. Even to that religious uncle of yours who thinks you are taking his advice. And then spent a fortnight worrying about whether he actually opened that stupid attachment (the one with the non-veg parts in it). The next do gooder mail from him can soothe you down. But while you wait, a stormy blood pressure will save you from boredom.

There are many more ways to kill boredom. Just ask me. I think this topic is getting too long, so ciao.

All knotted

Some time back a friend of mine said he wanted to marry a gal who knew what the relationship was about. That’s the first time it struck. My god! I never have thought about it either. I always took it as a simple friendship arrangement. Obviously, there is a lot more; like washing, cleaning; I almost forgot cooking.

Quite a few relationships I have seen in my life and I don’t know how many of them I can call truly knotted (u know, in the right sense).

My grand-parent’s generation had workable relations when the women hardly ever had anything to say outside the kitchen. I have seen some on the other extreme too; with a tomboyish granny and a lamb of a grandpa. What appalls me is the fact they were quite at peace with this arrangement. I think it was more because these people considered themselves modern (read ‘not beating up their wives and marrying any second lady in their sight’) compared to their predecessors. I cannot comment more here; as I have not had much of a chance to research this age group(they are either dead, widowed, or so used to each other that they wouldn’t treat anybody else any different). To tell you the truth; it hurts my imagination to wonder the romances of those era. Come on guys! I never heard of a divorce from their times. I guess they stayed together for the sense of belonging to whatever it was that they called their feelings for each other (love?).

Some of the better relationships I have seen from ‘my’ predecessor of a generation are the ones where you have a sensible woman. The one talking sense into madness. Here the man has the full advantage of appearing to be the master (very superficial these men can be), however in reality; it’s the woman with whom the actual decisions lay. She gives him credit for decisions which were actually hers. A bit of pampering from her side and pretending to agree with him (when in reality she is waiting for him to calm down so that he is sane enough to agree with her). The beginning of the relationship started off with herself trying to tame him (I have to believe this purely by word of mouth; they all say this) and slowly enrapturing him in her love and devotion (yeah right lady! You were pushing the unassuming chap into a vicious circle).

And the relationships of my generation seem to work on an even more balanced situation.
And they expect me to take their advice when they tell me what would have been best suited for my parent’s era. But as per my observation; now a days; the relationships work on the tolerance factor. If they can tolerate the negative strains of each other quite happily (forget the strengths of both parties), most of the times we see workable happy relationship (I guess this tolerance is what we really mean by chemistry). Since divorce is still a big deal in India; we see love turning to anger turning to frustration turning to desperation turning to mere indifference when there is no ‘chemistry’. Somehow this ridiculous state of cold war will pass for a stable marriage. And what is even more ridiculous is that the parents find solace in the absence of any outbursts. Sure! Tolerance was a factor always. But it has become a matter of choice for the womenfolk in India only very recently. Initially the women did not know that tolerance was a word, then they had to tolerate anything, now they have choice whether to do anything about it (I guess it’s still difficult for people who decide to). And now the poor men folk who’ve had docile moms and daring wives find in all this nothing but a big confusion (can you blame them entirely?).

I guess what I have jotted down is a set of theories that made marriages difficult for 3 generations. Well, once we know the problems we can at least start looking for a solution.

The Avengers

Revenge:

Revenge can stem from baseless prejudices even unaccounted for jealousy. However if the avenger is a sharp mind; then you can get hurt very bad. Better stay away from them, and dont believe a word they say. but lets get on the lighter side.

This act need not attain life threatening criticality. Sometimes the frugality of the intentions can make it quite humorous.

I had a neighbour in my previous apartment who needed tenants. Being quite aware of how pathetic the accomodation was, i did not bother to extend my help in any way. I think they did the best to retaliate. One week later my landlords got concerns of blaring music channels in the death of the night. Pitifully the ill timing of the complaint and since my owners were quite happy with me and have had never a complaint during the past two plus years; that cry went unheard.

I see futile revenge as a part of immaturity. speaking about which; the award goes to an 8-year experience guy of bird brain.. this chap had mind boggling talent on accruing interest on his already trashy reputation. All credits to him.... this was a well earned position to which he dedicated a majority of his existence. A customer representative for our bank send him a reminder copying the rest of the management; his reponse?.. well he swore on all stars that he was not going to speak to the lady again. Much help did that do. He was sent back to wherever he came from with a one way ticket.

What certain Words mean - PART I

Inheritance:
A word conveniently under-estimated.
There was a time when I used to throw wrappers out my car window without a second thought. I don’t do that now; thanks to a friend of mine (who gave me a good thrashing). I have been careful never to drop a paper outside the garbage can after that. Moreover I try (at every chance I get) to make another person realize the significance of this very menial however very significant responsibility.
But the latest revelation struck me at a painful angle. I was on my way to the city on a rusty dusty public bus. A mother and an eight year old kid came and sat opposite. Now this kid had beautiful light brown eyes with a black rim to her brilliant pupils. I looked at the mom and instantly saw where those eyes came from. The child was chewing on some nit bits from a plastic wrapper. Once she emptied the small packet she rolled it into a tiny crumple and hesitated at the window sill. I could feel her uncertainty; and to clear her doubts I shook an admonishing finger at her. She quickly moved away. At this her mom who was watching me through the corner of her eyes; grabbed the piece of plastic and threw it out the window. And then she sat up a little straighter with a smug smile which spoke tonnes of what she thought about a stagy lass as me.

And I kept wondering what responsibility meant to such people. Unknown to this woman; her daughter was inheriting more than her beautiful eye color. And she couldn’t care less.

Liar, Liar pants on fire…….

All of us lie. We lie for different reasons. I lie when I feel that there is no other way out. I call them lies but what I actually do is not say the entire truth. As they say half truth is as good as a lie. There is one more reason I lie. I do it to amuse people. Some people call it exaggeration. Whatever new words they come up with: a lie is a lie.
But there are some reasons that irk me. Hypocrites are a species of liars I cannot stand. These people lie unnecessarily. When it is so evident that what you say has no relation to your actions, the whole purpose is lost. What they gain is absolutely over my wavelength of thought.
Then I have seen people who lie for reasons I never figured out. But that goes fine until they hurt someone.
Here a few liars in my life. No names mentioned, just the gender and the age group (to help you visualize better).
Female, age group: 8- 10;
(This girl was rampant in her lies. But I am happy to see that it was all a part of immaturity and restless mischief. She has grown to a fine person with very high principles and favors in my current list of strong characters.)
She stole a crystal piece from her sibling and hid it for pure mischief sake. She blamed it on the maid.
Result: a lot of bad vibes against the poor lady.
Female, age group: 48-55;
(This is a female with very low principles. I am yet to see a more disgraceful hypocrite)
This middle aged woman thinks that she is the only one with brains around (which I strongly disagree- her cheap thoughts often issued heartfelt pity from me). She is the kind who will praise you to dangerous heights and can’t even wait till your back is turned before calling you a damned problem with no talent whatsoever ( a second meeting with this lady is more than enough to understand her character; but she still insists on pulling the same old lines ). It’s rather a pitiful sight to watch her praise her own achievements (Boy! Do I hate this lady!).
Male, age group: 50-55;
I am worried about this age group. I find the maximum hypocrites here. I hope that it’s not a normal phenomenon. I’d hate to be under that category (I am talking about the hypocrite category, of course; and about the middle age category- well I can’t help this, can I?).
This person is too scared to face what the world would say; and tries to project everything he is not. And what is worse, he forces others to do the same. Lying is all a part of living- according to his philosophy. Denying his own happiness keeps him contended (I don’t understand this).
Male, age group: 30-35;
He will lie and hide behind his mother’s apron. What’s the most pitiful aspect is- he does not have the courage to repeat his lies in front the person he is lying about. And he puts his head high up and expects his momma dear to help him out (which she gladly will).
What’s even funnier is the way he introduces himself - ‘hello, I am so and so. I can tolerate anything but lies’. Yes sweetheart! I can see u can’t stand competition.

Female, age group: 28-32;
This specimen of the fairer sex is your normal hag. Lying to create sensation. She will even lie in her coffin if she could get the press to follow her funeral.

Male & Female Age group: Undefined. (Location: small town.J)
Now you know what I am talking about. Our very own, very talented home grown page 3 reporters. I guess, you can tell me more about them than what I can tell you.
So don’t be shy; put in your comments.

Beginner’s Luck,,,

A few days back I was comprehending ‘Beginner’s Luck’. For; it’s a fact! I at least have tried and tested that. I wonder what makes new undertakings in never before tried areas successful. Is that simply luck? The beginner’s luck? If so what happens after that? Why should that luck wane? Why does it get tougher and rougher?
I believe in explanations. And I reached some pretty interesting conclusions after a few hours of focused analysis.
(These are what I came up with. But surely would appreciate it if anyone can think of more.)


• Initially we try easier stuffs (like your alphabet song). But later on down the line; we attempt harder assignments (like Shakespeare).
• When we start afresh on anything, the enthusiasm level is the highest. There is an enthusiasm to learn, and finish the task, a thrill of completing something entirely new. So very menial challenges we face add to the thrill rather than hinder us. It’s like that kid who wants to finish his first homework.
• In the beginning we are clear on our limits, the amount of know how (very minimal of course) etc. so we forgive ourselves for these ‘crimes’. As we advance in a field, anything the guy next door knows about it (that we don’t know) makes us feel ignorant. We take ourselves as the self proclaimed experts. This adds to frustration. Takes a toll on that element of enthusiasm, don’t you think? We forget in the process to get the info from the guy next door; and rather prefer to remain ignorant. We thus keep losing a lot of dimensions on that field (which could have helped; if we had only kept that open receptive mind alive!)
• We take help! We take help! We take help! Then after the first project goes live- we know everything! Poor us! Poor poor us! If only we knew that the guy standing at the end of the tunnel had a torch!
• The last but not the least we do not anticipate hurdles. As we know a field, we know what rocks the world and what can put a wedge underneath that smooth rocker. That’s well and good. But the lack of that knowledge and the seriousness of it make the first timer enjoy his journey more.

I realized that if we could work on the above points our beginner’s LUCK need not wane. We could have the ‘beginner’s luck’ for the rest of our lives if:
• We divided our heavy duty stuff to reasonable sizes.
• We kept our enthusiasm bubbling out of the cauldron.
• We remember that we are not gods. We can err (no wonder we are called humans!).
• We don’t think taking help is for losers.
• We look on both sides before crossing. But for god’s sakes if the rest of the path lies on the other side; let’s just cross the highway.

Terrorist!

Terrorist…
One rainy stormy day in Pune; Miss: Genius(now now.. it’s not me..) decides to go shopping.
If you come to Pune, you will see girls with faces veiled. Woho! It’s nothing to do with modesty; we just don’t want pollution to caress our smooth skin. (Initially someone had told me that ‘it’s a move against eve teasing!’ Consider that.)
So where were we?.. ya.. one rainy stormy.. whatever..
Miss brilliance apparently had not withdrawn any money from her own bank’s ATM.
So she steps into Citibank ATM.( Now the procedures are different for different ATM’s , and this poor girl was wet, dirty, haggard and not to mention, had a rickshaw waiting.)
In her hurry she forgot to swipe the card at the entrance, and had almost succeeded in bringing down the door. But ideas strike, and finally after 6 hurried worried swipes (using all possible edges of my.. ahem! her card – even tried the corners) the damn door clicked.
And surprise! Surprise! She tries the wrong side of the door. Once inside she fumbles with all possible slots (why the hell do they have more than one similar sized slot!) and then’s when the umbrella gets repelled from her. No physical phenomenon I assure, just the security guard trying to help her. Apparently not! He’s fully armed and wants to know whether she requires help (as if she was a first timer, duh!). 'Ma'am! please show your face'(Uh…mm…remember the scarf I was talking about) 'Please show yourself fully to the camera' (what the @###....&^&*!). Now, what you have is a fully armed man behind you and staring intently and you are supposed to type in your pin (damn! Why the hell don’t they provide a more eye catching alert? I was waiting for some dramatic prompt for the past 3 minutes and there it was lying as inconspicuous as a bug.Damn! Damn! The guy has shifted to a charging position). Well what do you know? She enters the amount five times before getting that right (or she thought!). Another transaction for the remaining amount. And then a request for receipt. Thank god it’s over! She charges out of the ATM centre. Oops! Forgot the stupid umbrella. Go get it. Ah! Got it! Damn! Charge back in again, grab the card and receipt just as the guy hoists his rifle in alarm. Charge back out with the hands held high up, and dive into the rickshaw. Forget the scarf. Let the guy keep it.

The most chivalrous......

Teddy bear, Teddy bear, take a bow and say how do you do!

The heading says it all. This is about the most chivalrous people I have met in my life. Forgive me if I am not able to cover all of them. The article might be too long for your interest.
Let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start (Sound of music can take the copyrights for that piece).
And beginning can be at home. I have a very charming cousin, who considers himself to be a Casanova and the most handsome one at that.
This charmer’s (duh!) favorite pass time is to compare complexions. And he never missed a chance to point out how dusky I was (‘dark’ was the exact word). Fortunately I do not consider it such a significant aspect of good looks (or else I would have mourned to death for the simple fact that I was not Snow WhiteJ). Just for records; he is turned a lot more civil after going to the States (his mirror might have finally told him that he was not the fairest of them after all).
One of the most fabulous examples of spineless behavior was exhibited by a wormy weasel I considered a friend. This character grabbed my exam paper during my programming practicals. And when I (yeah! me; not him) was caught (the professors used to catch the people who help and the not the ones helped), guess what this orangutan says? ‘It is only the sessionals! You just need to clear it in the mains.’ And what does that mean?- simply that he wouldn’t come with me and talk to the invigilator.
And if u you must know; I won a perfect zero for a perfect output. Thanks to him! I have made it a point to be as haughty as a silver spoon (I don’t know the connection. Just came to me and so I thought ‘use it or lose it’) ever since, if he happens to be in the vicinity (much good that does, pooh!).
Talking about daylight robbery: there was this rickshaw that I was trying to hire. And the rickshaw- wala was in turn threatening to loot me of a precious amount. His reasoning - ‘Arrey madam! Ham pre paid hain’ (oh madam! We are prepaid) (Oh sweetheart! I do not get the logic! Do you?). We sure are in the cellular era; we have prepaid charges for rickshaws too. Way to go, India!
In the western world; hailing a cab for the lady is common courtesy. But in India we obviously seem to have other ideas while on the subject. The story would start with the lady hailing the cab, and a dirty man pushing you out of the way and the next thing you know is the dust in your eyes( thanks to that cab that just zoomed by. Yup! The one u hailed).
Another common man’s transport here is the train; packed to around 450% more than its actual capacity. Pareshuram Express is one such mammoth; plying passengers in all sizes. And once I had the lucky break to get a seat (the train was awfully empty). As luck would have it, a gang of old youths (you know; the ones in their 30’s trying to be 20, teasing girls – the expert masseurs) got on at the next station. My PLL (personal lady luck) seems to have taken a hike the same day - the family sitting with me got off the same station.
Some people ask those funny questions like: quote life in one word. If they find me and asked me to quote those two hours in a word; ‘disgusted’ would be an understatement. I got a free massage (which I escaped with repeated requests to keep distance and finally a poke from my umbrella), got pushed against the window screen (which I fought again with words and finally screaming at them), got pestered to give up my mail-id (can u imagine the guy’s gall! I asked him to take a hike with my PLL) and all this while the next compartment had a family whose head (oh yeah- one belonging to the superior species) tried concentrating on the details of the incident (I saw him smile to himself more than once- ruminating your sweet youthful years, eh! dude?).
While we are still on trains, we have the fairer species with their own set of charms. During an overnight journey in the ladies compartment(that’s right buddy! Sitting the night out), the ‘better half’ of some dumb guy got in our compartment, laid down her mattress in our leg space and started screaming at us. Confused? She apparently thought it very uncivil of us keeping our legs in her bed space! Now what do you say to that!
Some of these irritable folks find their way to two tier AC coaches too (paying too much for roadside nonsense, don’t you think?). Last time I had the blessed opportunity to seat myself to the royalty of India. An old hag who went on about, how their ancient (she got that right. Hehehehe!) family treated Muslims (she just found out that I was one!) as untouchables. But she was so surprised (oh my! Did that give you a stroke, dear?) that EVEN Muslims have got good family names (what the f****** b***** @#$!$#%?).

If you think uncivil people don’t use flights- well, well, what can I say? I had a co-passenger snoring, talking gibberish, drinking, enquiring on whether I’d like to make my lucky break on small screen, and laughing out loud at some of his own jokes.
This was when we were not even sharing adjacent seats. He was in the window seat and I was in the aisle seat at the opposite end. Two empty seats and one my friends sitting in between did not seem to bother him at all.
For more examples -You can refer to one of my previous posts to read about the guy who had drinks and asked me shut my eyes so that his drinking wouldn’t bother me.

Ok folks! Time to sign off! Actually, I am traveling to my native. I promise you more stories once I am back. Wish me luck!

Village Rose

Village Rose….
My village (like any other) is full of stories. Real time stories. Stories hard to believe.
And the latest one found me when I (like any other daughter) was making fun of a ridiculous soap opera my Mom (like any other mom) watches.
“So you think these are ridiculous, huh? Would you care to hear the Divakar epic?” (Divakar is a laborer and stays in a wobbly hut right across our yard.)

The village hags seem to have found the way to our house. This, I don’t approve of. And I let her know as much.

My mom was dying to tell me the spicy tale -“I bet you haven’t heard anything remotely weird!”
There was no stopping her now. Especially since my sister was nearby ready to snatch the limelight away.
“So you know Amminni right?”

“No! I don’t.”

“ok … she is ….” Blah blah…..

“Fine Mom! Get on with it!”

“One fine day we saw quite a crowd at Ammini’s (Divakar’s wife) place. We assumed them to be visiting relatives. But then Ramla got the real dough. It seems Amminni had the visitor’s daughter under her custody and was not willing to let the girl go.’

I lost her already… it took a long time to get the whole story straight and this is what I understood. (And I swear to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth)

The girl (14 yr old heroine of our tale – let’s call her Smriti) lived (once upon a time) with her parents- mother and stepfather. She was a laborer at the cashew factory (those factories are stealing all our workers). This is where she meets Amminni. And this great lady proved to be a wonderful sounding board for Smriti’s problems (I assume you have enough imagination to figure out what sort of problems. There is a step parent involved remember?) . And this Godmother of a woman vows to protect her from all evils. Smriti happily packs her bag and lands in Divakar’s shack. And after a while so does her parents. There ensues a tug of war and the parents go back defeated. Now we should not underestimate the literacy of these ‘very happening’ people. A case is filed and the drama takes centre stage in a legal court. Ammini and her compatriots get a false set of family for Smriti (complete with a Fiancé). Before the proceedings get deep, the fake parents were found guilty under whatever sections these ridiculous stuffs come under.
The same day a train of rickshaws park outside Ammini’s place, drag the young teenager out and flee. Several days pass by before any clue of the kid’s (just a 14 year old remember?) whereabouts come to light. And surprise! Surprise! The so called kidnappers (if you can call running away as kidnapping) happen to be the fake fiancé’s kin.
Now enters another young man of 21. The girl was apparently involved with this boy before she came to live next door. This boy spends a copious amount of tears and time on the whole mess. And in enters his kin. And where do they go now?
You guessed right! A second set of theatrical performance go live at the district court.
Final Verdict?
The girl is to live with the kidnapping (duh!) fiancé (if you haven’t guess already, he is the latest hunk for whom she has the hots for!) until she is of age (4 more fat years, kiddo!), after which a legal marriage certificate is to be issued.

Before you jump to conclusion or question, let me share a few of the basic questions that sprouted between my own two ears.
What about the Devdas who initially she had a fling with?
And by the way is this how ‘the docile doe like village damsels’ usually spent their initial 14 years of their lives? Boy! Are they rocking!

Mom! Your sitcoms (yes! all of those 789 episodes) are wanting in spice.

Co-Passenger

Have you ever noticed the amount of entertainment the world of simple travel offers?
You don’t have to look out the window, or stop at happening destinations. The subjects of my passtime are always fellow beings (humans). Very rarely am I stuck with boring people. More often than not they make my trips quite interesting (do not read ‘pleasant’).
An ever willing student of human behavior, these experiences enrich my research coffers.

The problems are usually in a full flight and you desperately want to get rid of the person sitting next to you. There was once a guy who kept waking me up to check whether I was really asleep. And once when I was fully awake, he ordered for drinks and asked me to close my eyes if I found it bothersome (I have yet to meet a more irritating idiot).
On the flight back, I got a seat next to a man who started inquiring about my past, present and future. And I had not even sat down. So I took my bags and baggage, marched off to the air hostess for a seat change. I had to wait around for 10 minutes until all passengers settled down (thank God! The flight was not full this time). Well that was the end of it and I slept (tried to sleep) through the rest of the journey. Two consecutive flights with similar weasels are too much to handle.

Project managers are interesting companions. They don’t stop talking (and u thought they saved energy out of conference to use up on meetings!). This has been invariable not taking into account where they are from. But they are all headed one way, a family vacation where incidentally they are having the next meeting.
They tell you about Europe, the US, the Middle East and flying (in that order!). Gives me an idea that these people were born in air, and has never managed to land till date. I expect South Korea and China to be in the list next time I find myself sitting next to a PM on flight.

Then there are the Westerners out to meet the East with open arms (they usually meet us Indians with a sideways glance- I suppose they do not exactly trust us enough to meet us any other way. Not surprising considering how our taxi walas and auto walas don’t let even us Indians easy). And the moment you start a conversation, they go all spiritual- yoga, karma, aryuveda, and a list of things you don’t exactly think are genuinely existent. For most parts some guide takes them to a so called ashram where they met some saint (oh really? You should see the number we actually have here). And for other part some good guy takes them to a real place and they think they’ve been conned. I don’t blame this confusion, we are responsible (what exactly do we do for them to feel welcome). I accept that, in some of the other countries we might feel equally uneasy, but guys! we got a tradition to live up to (Athithi Devo Bhava?).
Funny enough we meet these westerners in a bus, or train or something equally Indian (I am happy the scene is changing with the number of high paying jobs and airfare hitting all time lows. So in a couple of years true Indian travel need not mean a rickety ensemble of rust. A better option would be to privatize the railways and road transport- truly a personal opinion.)

Coming back to co-passengers; how can I forget the wonderful set of women lovers we seem to breed in India? I need to be excused for speaking a few lines of true feminism here. But honestly, how many of the girls here have traveled in a bus or a train and not had that loving nudge or poke or that occasional rub of affection (Aladdin’s Lamp, huh? I thought women and Lakshmi was the connection). It’s worse when you have people staring at your mother (believe me- this happened to me not many months back!). And whether you get any support if you speak out depends truly on luck. This I do not think is anything to do with being Indian. As long as there is a gender difference; we are stuck with this inconvenience (or a quicker option would be to have a transparent women protection strategies. Maybe, women conductors with the right and the mind to take culprits to the law?)

There is quite another kind of traveler you come across. The one that’s ailing from every conceivable disorder. By the end of the journey you will be a talking encyclopedia on the types of ailments and corresponding physicians and medicines (i.e. if you have not slept right through the very valuable discourse). Try chipping in on how your aunt had cancer; they surely don’t consider that very chivalrous of you to interrupt their obviously more critical woes (never ending) of life.

We obviously cannot miss out on people who consider their family a boon to society. Their great grandparents had been entrepreneurs; grand parents socialists (who in the meantime lost all the money); parents the strugglers of the past generation; themselves –they do not quite get to that point though; their children brilliant; their grand children –u guessed right; the only hope for the country. I have done you a favor by not mentioning the aunts and uncles (yes! both paternal and maternal!). I severely believe that the cost of publishing a book should be cut down (or God save our souls the next time we get the family lover as a traveling companion)

Then we have some amateur politicians (these people have been budding politicians from the time they knew who the president was, till date. They still are budding; keeping aside the fact that youthful years have long past gone by. Any hope of blooming is out of the question). I have not crossed many of these outside our very own communist state (the southern one) - now isn’t that a breather? (Though I heard there are quite a number in the Eastern counterpart.) Now the problem with these mortals is that they have too many news papers, a hopeless sense of responsibility and no work. A pack of cigarettes, another pack of cards, several cups of tea and a disused flag post (or a used one! What honour to watch the man power of the nation thus loitering under our very own tricolour!) is their idea of a happening place. And they have become so patriotic to this sorry state of ‘happening’ circumstance that a moving bus and a sleepy passenger (yours truly!) does not pass for a quite enough change of scene. And then what you have is history repeating. A lot of bickering on wasted youth (Do you mind? I am trying to catch upon my beauty sleep before my next exam!), the corrupt leaders (yeah; I heard) and the orangutans who pass for citizens (excuse moi? Nice meeting you).

Sometimes your companion is not quite that terrible though. I have had people of enormous wisdom sitting next to me. You can easily tell the difference. They happen to be the quite ones just content on observing or reading. That’s when I decide to take the other side of the chair and start the conversation. You have to prod them into giving up their valuable knowledge. So all those of you I have started a conversation with, it’s just that I thought you had something I could use. That’s quite another story for another day.

So I guess it’s either them or me. One has to be an irritant. Does that mean I am going to stop talking to strangers? Never!
People are what life is all about. So travel around! Meet them. Talk to them. And then you will have what your parents could not teach you about life.

A girl for marriage

The Indian legacy lives on. In olden times the men were farmers and they needed a cook. So girls were trained to do the cooking. In the IT age guys needs someone who can cook and also understand the market, so we educate girls. How many of the Indian parents escape this mentality? (Or even bother!)
Where I come from they educate girls, thank u very much. We hardly have any gals from the current generation who is solely a housewife (as the future in laws welcome extra income out there). I have this much to thank for. And thus in spite of being from a traditional family I did not ruffle any feathers (not much I suppose) coming away to the north where we had no relatives (hard to find such a place these days!).

My father made no distinction between a daughter and a son, so I was given the freedom to choose. The choice of friends, and places I want to be. The choice of what I should become was made by him. My inclination was towards fashion designing. And this certainly was not something someone from our background opted for. The excuses were many: too competitive a field( I can handle it), no job security (I will manage), Delhi is not safe( I got friends there), not a respectable profession(Whoa!!!!!), we(dad, mom, grandma, uncle ,aunts,….) don’t like it(??!!!!!!??....@). So I went (read ‘was packed and sent’) for Computer engineering.

These reasons exasperated me at the time and I have not yet forgiven my dad for doing this to me. True I got a high paying job and independence and all that jazz.
These are quite important for me now (especially the independence). I am a person who can enjoy things I do, so I do love my job (but hey fashion world ... u r not rid of me yet! I have plans hehehehe). Now, now …that is not the topic of our discussion here.

My father faces the next big hurdle-finding a guy. I got engaged and as fate would have it the relationship did not work out. So we are back to square one. Till date I have contacted 8 guys in one way or the other(if u count my Ex-fiancé) for getting to know them (read ‘to see if they fit the criteria’). Please note that my parents do not keep the count of the people they meet.

The first guy was too short (Aha! That’s why my family did not appreciate me being too tall.). The second guy was the one I got engaged to (and later broke up with). The third guy was too shy to speak. The fourth guy was again too short for me; moreover his mom thought that her son could do better (she was one of those kinds who come to your house and stare you down their nose. I don’t know how she managed this as I was an odd 5 inches taller than her- we know who she passed on that lovely height to, don’t we?). The fifth guy’s father did not like me (I think! as he is the one who saw me. Funny; this guy wanted to meet me a full month after his father’s meeting. I did not bother to meet the slow coach. What made him think I was waiting around?). The sixth guy’s sister’s sisters-in-law’s aunt came to see me. He happened to be an IAS officer and what more can be said about that. The seventh guy’s dad and brother saw me and that was the end. His father was looking for a gold medalist (as his son was one in the 5th grade, 6th grade…., engineering and MS) I inferred from the discussion. Now I see why I could not become an archeologist (my 3rd grade ambition), a journalist (my all time favourite), a designer (my passion). These are not what families like ours look for in their daughter-in-law. The 8th guy had an MBBS, MD, DCH and no brains. The less said the better.
Most of these guys are settled way down south or are ever striving to work in a company in their backyard (very impressive!).

Sometimes my mom gets so mad that she asks me to find the guy I want. But this is not quite possible you see (and it certainly is not a sincere plea, mind you). I have a knack of getting attracted to guys I can’t marry (all those criteria, remember? We sure do have a lot of scope for a love marriage in here, don’t we?).

My whole life has been designed so as to please some male ego enough for him to want me (there was a period (of about 15 yrs) in my life when my dad tried to force the veil on me). How very inspiring. It almost makes me want to live (to run the clock faster to get over with this fiasco they call life.)

Now we have the cream of the matter. I have to shift my job and place to somewhere south (I am not excited about this... please underline that). If I remember correctly what my dad wanted, it was a secure job- high paying and all the cream on the pie and then of course my happiness. Now when I have all this and more, they want me to quit. Go south (where I don’t like it). And why? Because guys can’t come north and check me out? My marriage can’t happen? How much more absurd can life get?

So if any of you sitting out there imagine me (my head in a veil) sitting down south in front of a comp from 8:30 to 5:30… think again. I am going to rock my life. And I am not budging.

This reminds me, I am meeting the 9th guy pretty soon. Wish me luck.