I had a call from a telecaller today.
Caller: Ms Anjali?
Me (crabbily): Whaddya want?
Caller: Would you be interested in buying phone numbers of…
Me: No thanks, we don’t do such activities! *slam*
Caller (calling again): I am talking about a database of over four million phone numbers in Bangalore ma’am!!
Me: Hmmm are these numbers genuine?
Caller: Yes ma’am. We take them from reliable sources like Banks, phone companies, hospital records, insurance companies, passport office… we have contacts everywhere!
Me: *gulp*
Caller: You can reach out to millions of people with your promotional SMS’es…
Me: Interestinggggg…!!!
Caller: Heh heh it is, isn’t it madam! Think of the possibilities…
Me: Thinking about it right now dude! Tell me…
Caller (eagerly): Yes!!!!
Me: How much would it cost me to have my phone number erased from your databases?
Caller: *SLAM!!!*
How rude!!!
Muzeek - Your Love Is My Drug
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Corporate bachelors
I was undergoing some training with this guy in our office. After sitting with him in his cubicle for an hour on the first day, I moved back to my seat on the 6th floor, and practiced the usage of a content tool that he had run me through. If I got stuck, I would message him over IM and he would promptly clear my doubts in between lots of smileys and encouragement to get in touch with him anytime. I wondered if he was sort of addicted to smileys.
Finally I got the use of the tool and messaged him to thank him for his help during the learning period. He replied with a smiley. I signed off wishing him a nice weekend. His response was “Cya on Monday!’
I turned to my colleague who was sitting next to me and exclaimed aloud. "Why is he flirting with me! Isn't he married?”
Colleague interjected sarcastically,“Shh... don’t say the M word aloud girl! We do not say that word unless people already know about it!”
“What!!” I said astounded.
“Look around” she said dramatically, standing up and waving her hands over the entire floor.
I stood up and looked at the sea of male faces and realized with a sinking feeling, that most of us girls didn’t know how many of these young guys were married and how many were not.
Bummer!
Note to self: On Monday morning, conclude the training session formally... by inquiring about the wife's health.
Finally I got the use of the tool and messaged him to thank him for his help during the learning period. He replied with a smiley. I signed off wishing him a nice weekend. His response was “Cya on Monday!’
I turned to my colleague who was sitting next to me and exclaimed aloud. "Why is he flirting with me! Isn't he married?”
Colleague interjected sarcastically,“Shh... don’t say the M word aloud girl! We do not say that word unless people already know about it!”
“What!!” I said astounded.
“Look around” she said dramatically, standing up and waving her hands over the entire floor.
I stood up and looked at the sea of male faces and realized with a sinking feeling, that most of us girls didn’t know how many of these young guys were married and how many were not.
Bummer!
Note to self: On Monday morning, conclude the training session formally... by inquiring about the wife's health.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Miracle!
Here's some news I got as a ppt forward, that will make you feel good
Recent miracle in Dot Bust Corporation!
Broadcasted in Top News Channels of Byrasandra.
A Boss man in DOT BUST Corp, punished his highly efficient, beautiful and gorgeous Marcom Manager because she was reported to be blogging, by burying her alive in work!
He then reported to the Bigger Boss that the poor gal was on leave to hide the evidence. 15 days later, another team member was caught tweeting and when they went to bury him in the conference room, they found the Marcom Manager under the pile of work - ALIVE!
The whole office is outraged over the incident, and took a few seconds off from Internet browsing to cluck their tongue in disapproval at the boss. The Marcomm Manager was asked how she had survived and she said:- 'A man wearing shiny white clothes, with bleeding wounds in his hands, came every day to help me with my work. She said, 'This was none other than Jesus, because nobody else does things like this!'
It is clear that the girl could not make up a story like this, as she sucks at bullshitting (the entire office disagrees though) and there is no way she could have survived without a true miracle.
Boss and the Big Boss are going to have a hard time to figure out what to do with this, and the popularity of blockbuster movies like The Passion of Christ doesn't help! With the gal having a blog, you can be sure this story will spread. Christ is still controlling and turning the world.
Please let this story be shared..
Remember, Jesus said “He who defiles me before men with dreadful powerpoint presentations, I will also defile their careers with really bad performance appraisals."
So let us pass this on...
Now please put this message in a pretty ppt presentation and send it to 10 suckers and that guy/gal you fancy will fall in love with you. If you send it to 25 suckers, you will get laid/married soon. If you send it to 50 or more suckers, then we can guarantee that you will not die a virgin.
The Lord says, "I will bless the person who will not forward corny stories about me." (Silverine 17)
Recent miracle in Dot Bust Corporation!
Broadcasted in Top News Channels of Byrasandra.
A Boss man in DOT BUST Corp, punished his highly efficient, beautiful and gorgeous Marcom Manager because she was reported to be blogging, by burying her alive in work!
He then reported to the Bigger Boss that the poor gal was on leave to hide the evidence. 15 days later, another team member was caught tweeting and when they went to bury him in the conference room, they found the Marcom Manager under the pile of work - ALIVE!
The whole office is outraged over the incident, and took a few seconds off from Internet browsing to cluck their tongue in disapproval at the boss. The Marcomm Manager was asked how she had survived and she said:- 'A man wearing shiny white clothes, with bleeding wounds in his hands, came every day to help me with my work. She said, 'This was none other than Jesus, because nobody else does things like this!'
It is clear that the girl could not make up a story like this, as she sucks at bullshitting (the entire office disagrees though) and there is no way she could have survived without a true miracle.
Boss and the Big Boss are going to have a hard time to figure out what to do with this, and the popularity of blockbuster movies like The Passion of Christ doesn't help! With the gal having a blog, you can be sure this story will spread. Christ is still controlling and turning the world.
Please let this story be shared..
Remember, Jesus said “He who defiles me before men with dreadful powerpoint presentations, I will also defile their careers with really bad performance appraisals."
So let us pass this on...
Now please put this message in a pretty ppt presentation and send it to 10 suckers and that guy/gal you fancy will fall in love with you. If you send it to 25 suckers, you will get laid/married soon. If you send it to 50 or more suckers, then we can guarantee that you will not die a virgin.
The Lord says, "I will bless the person who will not forward corny stories about me." (Silverine 17)
Monday, May 17, 2010
Close encounters of the unsporting kind
From the day I noticed some guys pushing a ball with a stick that seemed very much like my grandpa’s old umbrella stick, I have never understood Hockey. Now you might wonder why I needed to understand the game at all. And if I did not understand it then why bother?
Well... the answer to the aforementioned question is not very simple. My brother was a hockey player you see and represented his school in many glorious fights on the field and yellow cards, red cards and temporary suspensions and lifetime bans and while he was not cooling his heels on the bench he also played hockey. And when his school played against other schools in Bangalore, my Dad attended every match religiously with me. My Dad like a good and supportive Dad did not miss a single match if possible. And as a supportive Dad, he also believed firmly that all the referees were bad and had a personal vendetta against his son except the ones who let my brother off the hook for flagrant violations. I had a good teacher in my Dad and like most little girls; I too thought my Dad was always right. (I hope Sr. Genevieve is reading this and will understand my healthy disrespect for her authority).
Now being the only girl in the family of three very male males, my mom was damn particular that I should not turn into a tomboy. So while other girls wore Bermudas and pants with ease, my mother thought a very girly frilly frock is what I should be attired in to drive home the point that I was a girl…just in case I forget and do ungirly things like swear and climb trees. And she was right… I went on to become a nice little girl who wore frocks and swore and climbed trees.
So it was with frilly frocks and ribbons in the hair that I went to see the Hockey matches in various boys’ schools in Bangalore. I looked as natural as a nun on a dancing pole but then my Dad had no choice; it was that or leave me behind. And leave me behind he never did. He knew this was an opportunity to get me out of my mom’s nefarious “feminizing” designs. On the other hand he was also worried that I would grow up to be a girl. Therefore she never thought it amiss when my Dad told her that he was taking me to the hockey match to instill in me the sporting spirit besides he pointed out that I would also learn a lot from the experience. My Mom nodded pleased. She was sure it would be good for me.
As soon as we reached the grounds, the frilly frock would come off and I would be clothed in more appropriate denims and told to go have fun while my Dad joined the other Dads in cursing the referee. The result was that I came home looking like a dust devil wearing a very clean and neat frilly frock with the crease lines intact. There was nothing my ma could do. Dad had kept his end of the bargain. She still thinks this is one of the Unexplainable Mysteries of the world.
While the hockey match was in progress, us the non playing siblings of the sports stars had a lot to keep us amused. There was the school playground with swings and Jungle Gym and the balloon man who set up pole for every match. And of course the ice cream cart and various other vendors who lined up near the school gates. I just loved hockey matches for this. Unlimited ice creams and sweets and almost anything to keep me amused.
Me: Dad I want to go home!
Dad: Here is a fiver. Go buy yourself some ice cream.
Everyone agreed that I was the most sporting little girl around.
Now back to the game of Hockey. If I were to define Hockey, I would describe it as an enormous dust cloud! Frankly that’s all I saw of the game, besides dusty heads veering in and out creating more dust clouds in the grounds. Not that it mattered to me, but I had to come and give attendance to my dad from time to time to reassure him that I had not wandered off and it was kinda hard to spot him from the other dust covered Dads on the sidelines. It took some concerted staring to spot something familiar like a familiar shirt or pants or watch, to figure him out from the line of dusty Dads.
Me to a Dad: Are you my dad!
Dad: No! Whose kid are you?
Me: My Dad’s!
Dad: I suggest you look around baby!
Me: I did!! *sob*
Dad: Err don’t cry. How does you dad look like!
Me: He wears glasses!
Dad: Swell!
How did the dads make out their sons from among the dust colored players still beats me. Everyone looked the same! Sometimes bored of the swings and merry go rounds, I would wander in to watch the match. And then, I and the other teeny boppers played a unique game called Spot Your Sibling. This was a really difficult game and we rarely got it right! Another fiver and an ice cream set right the disappointment real fast.
After the game, the Dads sat around the outpatient lobby discussing the game, dissecting the scores and bad mouthing the referees while the sports stars got their hands and legs stitched up and black eyes attended to. Though I was not a hockey pro or a sports doctor, I sincerely felt that all that my brother and his team mates needed was the good old home remedy of... a solid arse whooping. My mother agreed. But who would listen to an eight year old? I sincerely feel that I had a bright future in sports medicine.
And yes, my brothers team never won a game, “because” of some spectacularly bad referring in favor of their highly talented, hard working and focused opponents.
Have a nice week friends!
Well... the answer to the aforementioned question is not very simple. My brother was a hockey player you see and represented his school in many glorious fights on the field and yellow cards, red cards and temporary suspensions and lifetime bans and while he was not cooling his heels on the bench he also played hockey. And when his school played against other schools in Bangalore, my Dad attended every match religiously with me. My Dad like a good and supportive Dad did not miss a single match if possible. And as a supportive Dad, he also believed firmly that all the referees were bad and had a personal vendetta against his son except the ones who let my brother off the hook for flagrant violations. I had a good teacher in my Dad and like most little girls; I too thought my Dad was always right. (I hope Sr. Genevieve is reading this and will understand my healthy disrespect for her authority).
Now being the only girl in the family of three very male males, my mom was damn particular that I should not turn into a tomboy. So while other girls wore Bermudas and pants with ease, my mother thought a very girly frilly frock is what I should be attired in to drive home the point that I was a girl…just in case I forget and do ungirly things like swear and climb trees. And she was right… I went on to become a nice little girl who wore frocks and swore and climbed trees.
So it was with frilly frocks and ribbons in the hair that I went to see the Hockey matches in various boys’ schools in Bangalore. I looked as natural as a nun on a dancing pole but then my Dad had no choice; it was that or leave me behind. And leave me behind he never did. He knew this was an opportunity to get me out of my mom’s nefarious “feminizing” designs. On the other hand he was also worried that I would grow up to be a girl. Therefore she never thought it amiss when my Dad told her that he was taking me to the hockey match to instill in me the sporting spirit besides he pointed out that I would also learn a lot from the experience. My Mom nodded pleased. She was sure it would be good for me.
As soon as we reached the grounds, the frilly frock would come off and I would be clothed in more appropriate denims and told to go have fun while my Dad joined the other Dads in cursing the referee. The result was that I came home looking like a dust devil wearing a very clean and neat frilly frock with the crease lines intact. There was nothing my ma could do. Dad had kept his end of the bargain. She still thinks this is one of the Unexplainable Mysteries of the world.
While the hockey match was in progress, us the non playing siblings of the sports stars had a lot to keep us amused. There was the school playground with swings and Jungle Gym and the balloon man who set up pole for every match. And of course the ice cream cart and various other vendors who lined up near the school gates. I just loved hockey matches for this. Unlimited ice creams and sweets and almost anything to keep me amused.
Me: Dad I want to go home!
Dad: Here is a fiver. Go buy yourself some ice cream.
Everyone agreed that I was the most sporting little girl around.
Now back to the game of Hockey. If I were to define Hockey, I would describe it as an enormous dust cloud! Frankly that’s all I saw of the game, besides dusty heads veering in and out creating more dust clouds in the grounds. Not that it mattered to me, but I had to come and give attendance to my dad from time to time to reassure him that I had not wandered off and it was kinda hard to spot him from the other dust covered Dads on the sidelines. It took some concerted staring to spot something familiar like a familiar shirt or pants or watch, to figure him out from the line of dusty Dads.
Me to a Dad: Are you my dad!
Dad: No! Whose kid are you?
Me: My Dad’s!
Dad: I suggest you look around baby!
Me: I did!! *sob*
Dad: Err don’t cry. How does you dad look like!
Me: He wears glasses!
Dad: Swell!
How did the dads make out their sons from among the dust colored players still beats me. Everyone looked the same! Sometimes bored of the swings and merry go rounds, I would wander in to watch the match. And then, I and the other teeny boppers played a unique game called Spot Your Sibling. This was a really difficult game and we rarely got it right! Another fiver and an ice cream set right the disappointment real fast.
After the game, the Dads sat around the outpatient lobby discussing the game, dissecting the scores and bad mouthing the referees while the sports stars got their hands and legs stitched up and black eyes attended to. Though I was not a hockey pro or a sports doctor, I sincerely felt that all that my brother and his team mates needed was the good old home remedy of... a solid arse whooping. My mother agreed. But who would listen to an eight year old? I sincerely feel that I had a bright future in sports medicine.
And yes, my brothers team never won a game, “because” of some spectacularly bad referring in favor of their highly talented, hard working and focused opponents.
Have a nice week friends!
Monday, May 10, 2010
Games people play
“What are you listening to?” asked my colleague peeping over the cubicle partition.
Me: Uff Teri ada. Sorry, didn’t realize I was playing it loud. I will use the head phones…
Colleague: No probs...
Me: (Spotting his ear phones): And you?
Colleague (beaming proudly): Beera Beera!
Me: Oh ok...
Colleague: You don’t like it?
Me: Frankly…no.
Colleague (eyes popping out): What!!! I don’t believe this!
Me: Me neither.
Colleague: *splutter* *choke* *gasp* you must listen to it again and again Anjali and you will like it after some time.
Me: Define “some time”. A month, year, century?
Colleague (exasperatedly): You don’t understand. You got listen to ARR’s songs repeatedly till it grows on you.
Me: Err it is over a month since it was released. I think I have given it enough time to grow on me and bear flowers and fruit and caterpillars!
Colleague: *groan* Anjali …you must keep persisting!!
Me: You have a point. I dislike lauki (bottle gourd), maybe if I persist it may grow on me and bear baby laukis.
Colleague: OMG! I don’t believe this!
Me: You say one word about people with no taste for good music and I will crack your skull open.
Colleague: Heh heh…*gulp*
An hour later.
Me: Err Harish…
Colleague: Oh hi Anjali. What is it?
Me: That music you are listening to for the past one hour…
Colleague: What about it?
Me: IF YOU PLAY THAT ONE MORE TIME, I WILL CRACK YOUR EFFING SKULL!!
Colleague: *gulp* Sorry Anjali. I thought you liked Uff Teri Ada!
Me: I did! But before you played it like a gazillion times in the past hour!!
Colleague: Sorry. Err...what are you listening to now?
Me (switching on Rubayee): Beera, Beera.
Colleague: You are lying! :(
Me: I know, but I cannot have you kill this one for me dude. Sorry!
We have an arrangement now. I give him the music I am currently into, as long as he doesn’t preach to me about music he is currently-not-into-but-pretends-he-is-into.
Me: Uff Teri ada. Sorry, didn’t realize I was playing it loud. I will use the head phones…
Colleague: No probs...
Me: (Spotting his ear phones): And you?
Colleague (beaming proudly): Beera Beera!
Me: Oh ok...
Colleague: You don’t like it?
Me: Frankly…no.
Colleague (eyes popping out): What!!! I don’t believe this!
Me: Me neither.
Colleague: *splutter* *choke* *gasp* you must listen to it again and again Anjali and you will like it after some time.
Me: Define “some time”. A month, year, century?
Colleague (exasperatedly): You don’t understand. You got listen to ARR’s songs repeatedly till it grows on you.
Me: Err it is over a month since it was released. I think I have given it enough time to grow on me and bear flowers and fruit and caterpillars!
Colleague: *groan* Anjali …you must keep persisting!!
Me: You have a point. I dislike lauki (bottle gourd), maybe if I persist it may grow on me and bear baby laukis.
Colleague: OMG! I don’t believe this!
Me: You say one word about people with no taste for good music and I will crack your skull open.
Colleague: Heh heh…*gulp*
An hour later.
Me: Err Harish…
Colleague: Oh hi Anjali. What is it?
Me: That music you are listening to for the past one hour…
Colleague: What about it?
Me: IF YOU PLAY THAT ONE MORE TIME, I WILL CRACK YOUR EFFING SKULL!!
Colleague: *gulp* Sorry Anjali. I thought you liked Uff Teri Ada!
Me: I did! But before you played it like a gazillion times in the past hour!!
Colleague: Sorry. Err...what are you listening to now?
Me (switching on Rubayee): Beera, Beera.
Colleague: You are lying! :(
Me: I know, but I cannot have you kill this one for me dude. Sorry!
We have an arrangement now. I give him the music I am currently into, as long as he doesn’t preach to me about music he is currently-not-into-but-pretends-he-is-into.
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