This Fathers day was our third because it was around three years ago that we heard about Fathers Day. It’s not your typical mallu festival but we modified it so that our hardworking Dads would get a well deserved break from the joys of fatherhood.
So after many hush hush meetings with cousins we decided that the best gift we can give our Daddies was…….a day away from our mommies!!!!!!.
And boy! Did they hasten to agree with our philosophy! One of my ‘ungles’ even broke down when he heard that. The poor mans wife is a housewife you see!! He is also an advocate for Marital Annual Leave and Marital Casual Leave and Marital Sick leave for which he unsuccessfully campaigns at every family gathering.
So Sunday morning dawned partially cloudy with the Met office predicting that “it may rain or it may not rain”. After breakfast my mom was gently chided to hurry up and pack up for the day. We needed her out so that we could stuff the freezer and the fridge with the beer. Showing unnatural tardiness in getting dressed for her big outing we finally managed to push her out of the house where a car full of highly curious ladies waited for their ‘exciting trip’ to somewhere.
With the ladies outta the way and the beer cooling their heels in the fridge we gave the men the green signal to start trooping in. And they came in… in all shapes and sizes , fat, thin, tall, short, bald, hairy, corporate types and the not so corporate types, one chronic bachelor ( his excuse was that he was celebrating on behalf of his dad in heaven!!!) all united in the singular purpose of enjoying the day to the hilt. And enjoy they did….drinking like dehydrated fishes, singing ribald songs in Malayalam and cracking risqué jokes when they thought we girls were not around …(some of them even got prompted by us to complete the punch line ,which they didn’t notice anyway.)
The food was strictly bachelor fare…..meat, meat and more meat with enough fat to clog up M.G. Road for one whole day. “Boys’ don’t eat carbs” they sneered,” that’s strictly for the women.” The only saving grace for the “tiger hearts” was the green salad which they seem to enjoy with the meat.
The alcohol revealed hitherto hidden talents as the men (unsuccessfully) tried to demonstrate the art of Kalaripayattu and Kung Fu and Kathakali ending in drunken heaps on the floor. We heard hitherto untold stories of college crushes and about Saramma with the lovely hip length hair and reminiscences of one Nair kutty who held an entire college enthralled for the whole academic year and then broke a hundred hearts by getting married to some rich Gulf returnee. Tales of hunting for wild fowl at night and getting thrown in the slammer for participating in college strikes and many more that sounded like fantastic fables. Tears were wiped as the little boys within them came out unabashedly to enjoy youth one more time.
By evening as we said our goodbyes we had forgotten the original purpose of the gathering, i.e. celebrating ‘Father’s Day! But the day had served its purpose judging from the camaraderie it generated in a small group of Mallu men who had left their home and hearth many years ago to seek their fortune.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Friday, June 17, 2005
Weekend is a beach !
The long weekend stretches ahead of me like the undulating sandy beach where I am standing. The sand feels warm and cushiony under my bare feet. I stretch out under the cool shade of a coconut palm. The salty sea breeze wafts away the stress and strain of the week.It feels fresh, free and so full of joi de vivre!
My eyes glazes over and I sink into blissful oblivion .
The cool waters beckon and I step into the water that looks like crushed sea green jelly , my feet sinking into the soft wet sand. The wavelets tickle my feet and the deeper waters beckon invitingly. I step forward gingerly, and then wade into the dark blue water. The ink blue mesmerizes and I swim forward in delight. No traffic jams here, just miles and miles of blue expanse. I am far away from the shoreline. I stop and close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the sea and the waves.
A primal instinct stirs in me and I turn to see the reassuring shore. A cold chill washes over me. The shore is far away, frighteningly far…… I gulp and look back at the sea, the never ending sea and then, my eyes searches for the shore again! It has disappeared!! I have ventured too far into the sea. I search desperately for palm fronds that will give me a clue to the direction of the beach. But there is an inky silence all around……
Then I hear the sound! A coughing, as if someone is trying to attract my attention. And then a voice says “Looks like you had a late night.” I open one bleary eye and see my Boss looming over me. I am instantly awake. He smiles amusedly and walks off. I look at the watch. Yipes!!! Its 12 ‘o’ clock…I have slept through the better part of the day!!!
“Never again” I swear, will I watch those late night travel shows on TV.
My eyes glazes over and I sink into blissful oblivion .
The cool waters beckon and I step into the water that looks like crushed sea green jelly , my feet sinking into the soft wet sand. The wavelets tickle my feet and the deeper waters beckon invitingly. I step forward gingerly, and then wade into the dark blue water. The ink blue mesmerizes and I swim forward in delight. No traffic jams here, just miles and miles of blue expanse. I am far away from the shoreline. I stop and close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the sea and the waves.
A primal instinct stirs in me and I turn to see the reassuring shore. A cold chill washes over me. The shore is far away, frighteningly far…… I gulp and look back at the sea, the never ending sea and then, my eyes searches for the shore again! It has disappeared!! I have ventured too far into the sea. I search desperately for palm fronds that will give me a clue to the direction of the beach. But there is an inky silence all around……
Then I hear the sound! A coughing, as if someone is trying to attract my attention. And then a voice says “Looks like you had a late night.” I open one bleary eye and see my Boss looming over me. I am instantly awake. He smiles amusedly and walks off. I look at the watch. Yipes!!! Its 12 ‘o’ clock…I have slept through the better part of the day!!!
“Never again” I swear, will I watch those late night travel shows on TV.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Working Relationships
A couple of weeks ago I was married in a simple ceremony. After the paperwork I was given unceremoniously given a ‘Thaali’ and I stepped into my husband’s house at the auspicious time of 9:30 am. Things were good in the beginning. My husband was very kind and considerate. Then things began to change. I was given a lot of work to do. My husband became a cold unfeeling task master and I was made to work the whole day and even late evenings. I had no respite on weekends too. I was given a small amount as pocket money which was barely enough to keep my body and soul intact. Even holidays when everybody was enjoying the break, I worked like a dog. I longed to go home in the evenings and I called my parents when I could take it no more. But my parents like most Indian parents advised me to keep trying to make the relationship work. My friends were sympathetic but many were in a similar situation. And whenever I could steal the time I would meet them and we would weep on each others shoulders.
After a some time I got the courage to walk out of the relationship. I threw away the ‘Thaali’ and savored my new found freedom for a whole new month. Friends and relations were aghast as my husband was a well known person. And then the gossiping about me sitting in the house and all that. I started to feel the pressure of the society. And soon I fell headlong into another relationship…. and another ‘Thaali’.
I guess God felt pity on me because this time my husband was a nice man, who treated me with great respect. He encouraged me to study further and even gave me a better stipend so that I could be independent. Slowly under the guidance I became more confident as a person and began to grow professionally and personally. I was allowed to go home in the evenings and during weekends and I looked forward to getting back to his home every Monday. I am still married to him.
I display my ‘thaali’ (access card) proudly around my neck as I am proud of this relationship (just completed two months of successful Internship in this organization). And the result of this loving union is the big bundle of joy I am holding in my arms now (I just got a raise!!! ).
After a some time I got the courage to walk out of the relationship. I threw away the ‘Thaali’ and savored my new found freedom for a whole new month. Friends and relations were aghast as my husband was a well known person. And then the gossiping about me sitting in the house and all that. I started to feel the pressure of the society. And soon I fell headlong into another relationship…. and another ‘Thaali’.
I guess God felt pity on me because this time my husband was a nice man, who treated me with great respect. He encouraged me to study further and even gave me a better stipend so that I could be independent. Slowly under the guidance I became more confident as a person and began to grow professionally and personally. I was allowed to go home in the evenings and during weekends and I looked forward to getting back to his home every Monday. I am still married to him.
I display my ‘thaali’ (access card) proudly around my neck as I am proud of this relationship (just completed two months of successful Internship in this organization). And the result of this loving union is the big bundle of joy I am holding in my arms now (I just got a raise!!! ).
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Moderation is the key
Monday morning and mail from HR. There is going to be meetings (ominous tidings). The whole co will be divided into 10 member groups and a moderator (a senior manager of course) will chair these meetings. These meetings will be called “Awaaz’.
Essential gear for these meetings:
· At least 3 new viable product or service ideas.
· At least three new suggestions to improve our working life,
· At least three wasted hours when we could be chatting on various messengers.
My turn came this Friday at 3 pm with 9 other ‘Einsteins’. We meet at ‘Everest’ (the conference room), which is on the ground floor because ‘Godavari’ which is on a higher elevation is occupied.
Moderator: KG, so what product or service suggestions have you thought for us?
KG ( a sales guy): “I was thinking…and thinking and thinking whole night. I thought we should have a sensor for car drivers !!! ( he exclaims triumphantly). Every time the driver falls asleep the sensor will beep.”
Moderator ( sarcastically): Ahem… in case you haven't noticed we make components and not sensors, and anyway what parameters will these sensors work on?
KG: “ When the drivers head leans to the right… the sensor will go BEEP and when the drivers head leans to the right the sensor will go BEEP. And when the .........
Moderator( quickly):NEXT
VS: okay. But I won’t get into trouble naa? Promise? Okay! Why don’t we make something that will help in the detection of hidden Video Cams? I mean when I go to pee I am always afraid someone is observing me.
Moderator: Ahem… interesting suggestion (a little desperately) NEEEEXT!!!
BB: Why don’t we make devices that will check adulteration in wheat flour” I mean these #^%$#% traders are always mixing rice flour with wheat flour!
Moderator: NEEEEEEEXT!!!
MM: My wife always burns the toast so why don’t we.....
RK( interrupting him): Oh no not the toast whine again!!!!!!! For Gods sake why don’t you hire a guy to blow a whistle when your toast is ready? Cheaper than buying a new toaster I say!!!!
MM shuts up.
Moderator: People...people....please calm down...
CS: How about a component in a mobile that uses the power of another mobile to send messages?
HC: Ha Ha Ha . That’s what I call power theft in broad daylight. Ha ha ha.
CS glares at HC who oblivious to CS is SMS’ing his girlfriend with the joke.
Moderator dialing 110: “Glory? Please get me on the train to Delhi tonight ! I MUST leave tonight.
Meanwhile MS is desperately trying to peep into the Moderators laptop where he is entering our ‘suggestions’ for the record.
He manages to get a peek and and turns to us in glee and whispers hoarsely, “He is playing Solitaire!!!!
The Moderator glares at MS.
Tuesday morning and mail from HR: “Due to unavailability of the moderator, who is proceeding on long leave, we have to regretfully terminate the ‘Awaaz’ programme. Thank you all for your delighful suggestions!”
Essential gear for these meetings:
· At least 3 new viable product or service ideas.
· At least three new suggestions to improve our working life,
· At least three wasted hours when we could be chatting on various messengers.
My turn came this Friday at 3 pm with 9 other ‘Einsteins’. We meet at ‘Everest’ (the conference room), which is on the ground floor because ‘Godavari’ which is on a higher elevation is occupied.
Moderator: KG, so what product or service suggestions have you thought for us?
KG ( a sales guy): “I was thinking…and thinking and thinking whole night. I thought we should have a sensor for car drivers !!! ( he exclaims triumphantly). Every time the driver falls asleep the sensor will beep.”
Moderator ( sarcastically): Ahem… in case you haven't noticed we make components and not sensors, and anyway what parameters will these sensors work on?
KG: “ When the drivers head leans to the right… the sensor will go BEEP and when the drivers head leans to the right the sensor will go BEEP. And when the .........
Moderator( quickly):NEXT
VS: okay. But I won’t get into trouble naa? Promise? Okay! Why don’t we make something that will help in the detection of hidden Video Cams? I mean when I go to pee I am always afraid someone is observing me.
Moderator: Ahem… interesting suggestion (a little desperately) NEEEEXT!!!
BB: Why don’t we make devices that will check adulteration in wheat flour” I mean these #^%$#% traders are always mixing rice flour with wheat flour!
Moderator: NEEEEEEEXT!!!
MM: My wife always burns the toast so why don’t we.....
RK( interrupting him): Oh no not the toast whine again!!!!!!! For Gods sake why don’t you hire a guy to blow a whistle when your toast is ready? Cheaper than buying a new toaster I say!!!!
MM shuts up.
Moderator: People...people....please calm down...
CS: How about a component in a mobile that uses the power of another mobile to send messages?
HC: Ha Ha Ha . That’s what I call power theft in broad daylight. Ha ha ha.
CS glares at HC who oblivious to CS is SMS’ing his girlfriend with the joke.
Moderator dialing 110: “Glory? Please get me on the train to Delhi tonight ! I MUST leave tonight.
Meanwhile MS is desperately trying to peep into the Moderators laptop where he is entering our ‘suggestions’ for the record.
He manages to get a peek and and turns to us in glee and whispers hoarsely, “He is playing Solitaire!!!!
The Moderator glares at MS.
Tuesday morning and mail from HR: “Due to unavailability of the moderator, who is proceeding on long leave, we have to regretfully terminate the ‘Awaaz’ programme. Thank you all for your delighful suggestions!”
Monday, June 06, 2005
World Environment Day!
One weekend I received a package by courier. It was a tastefully packed wooden Cosmetic box with ‘Natural’ cosmetics guaranteed to make me look like Mother Earth er...I mean Miss Earth. The dainty bottles were laid on a bed of ‘specially made’ straw. There was a note inside which said that I had won these soul pampering goodies for the best "Letter to the Editor” mail I had sent to a women’s magazine god knows when. I gingerly placed the box and its contents on a table. I had visions of pampering my feet with the Eucalyptus Salts, washing my hair with the ‘gentle’ shampoo made from Himalayan Pine and then anointing my face with the Chamomile Cream. All guaranteed natural of course. I left for a friend’s house in the afternoon blissfully overlooking the fact that the house was jam packed with brats, side effects of cousins from the ’native’ staying with us.
When I came back in the evening, I saw my precious wooden box lying on the floor, with all the bottles broken and the house smelling a like a phenyl factory. The brats were of course stomping on the box and still running around. Clenching my teeth I took the remnants of the box and threw it into the trash bucket outside.
Fast forward one month: My maid delivers the news one morning that a squirrel’s nest had fallen off the tree. And inside the nest were a two baby squirrels still alive after the fall. She had picked them up to avoid my dogs from making a mid day snack of the tiny creatures. The babies looked cute and smelt like ……..Himalayan pine, Eucalyptus and Chamomile!!!!!!! Strange…. I smelt them again. It was definitely Himalayan pine, Chamomile and Eucalyptus. Now either I had a nasal abnormality or this creature’s Mommy had won a prize too from the same woman’s magazine. Then I remembered, that mommy squirrel had made her nest from the straw that was inside the cosmetic box. That explained the smell.
By afternoon the babies were looking sick and the vet was called in a hurry. He said that babies were showing all signs of toxic poisoning. And his surmise was that the now foul smelling babies had either fallen into a cauldron of toxic chemicals or had eaten some pesticides laced berries. He advised me to leave them be so that they could die in peace.
Fast-forward two weeks: The squirrels babies are now competing with the brats (still in the house) to break, smash and shake the house to its foundations. They definitely smell better. The Vet was surprised that they had survived and remarked facetiously that I had raised a bunch of rodents who were now resistant to toxic chemicals! He mournfully recounted his battles with new generation bacteria’s and viruses that were so chemical and antibiotic savvy that they could actually teach our poor laboring scientists a thing or two!
So, on this World Environment Day I dedicate this blog to all those creatures and germs who were lost to environmental pollution (the good ones) and to those who survived (the bad ones). And to the brats in my house who rescued me from an unnatural death / disfigurement by using the ‘Natural’ cosmetics that I had gotten as a prize for writing about Environmental Pollution (now I remember!).
When I came back in the evening, I saw my precious wooden box lying on the floor, with all the bottles broken and the house smelling a like a phenyl factory. The brats were of course stomping on the box and still running around. Clenching my teeth I took the remnants of the box and threw it into the trash bucket outside.
Fast forward one month: My maid delivers the news one morning that a squirrel’s nest had fallen off the tree. And inside the nest were a two baby squirrels still alive after the fall. She had picked them up to avoid my dogs from making a mid day snack of the tiny creatures. The babies looked cute and smelt like ……..Himalayan pine, Eucalyptus and Chamomile!!!!!!! Strange…. I smelt them again. It was definitely Himalayan pine, Chamomile and Eucalyptus. Now either I had a nasal abnormality or this creature’s Mommy had won a prize too from the same woman’s magazine. Then I remembered, that mommy squirrel had made her nest from the straw that was inside the cosmetic box. That explained the smell.
By afternoon the babies were looking sick and the vet was called in a hurry. He said that babies were showing all signs of toxic poisoning. And his surmise was that the now foul smelling babies had either fallen into a cauldron of toxic chemicals or had eaten some pesticides laced berries. He advised me to leave them be so that they could die in peace.
Fast-forward two weeks: The squirrels babies are now competing with the brats (still in the house) to break, smash and shake the house to its foundations. They definitely smell better. The Vet was surprised that they had survived and remarked facetiously that I had raised a bunch of rodents who were now resistant to toxic chemicals! He mournfully recounted his battles with new generation bacteria’s and viruses that were so chemical and antibiotic savvy that they could actually teach our poor laboring scientists a thing or two!
So, on this World Environment Day I dedicate this blog to all those creatures and germs who were lost to environmental pollution (the good ones) and to those who survived (the bad ones). And to the brats in my house who rescued me from an unnatural death / disfigurement by using the ‘Natural’ cosmetics that I had gotten as a prize for writing about Environmental Pollution (now I remember!).
Monday, May 23, 2005
Pitcher perfect friendship
A few days back, I checked into to this company on the first day of Summer Internship. I was assigned a cubicle and a Compaq that refused to run on Windows! I was asked to meet the administrator regarding my comp, in the server room. So off I went in the general direction of the server room and yanked opened the door.
This would be the last time in my short life that I open a server room without knocking. The scene before me was horrific. Leaning languidly against the wall was a tall and strappy young woman kissing a man who seemed halfway down her throat. She was pretty engrossed in chewing him but soon noticed my presence. She stopped mid chew, regarded me with great interest and spat out the poor guy who wobbled out in a jiffy. I retreated from the server room ashen and shaking.
1 pm: My computer was now behaving like a good comp and I was busy with the half done tasks of the last incumbent. Suddenly a blow landed on my back and I was eyeball to eyeball with the keyboard. I have never been so close to the keyboard, in fact I have never been so close to anyone. I collected my breath and looked up fearfully. The ‘server room woman’ was regarding me with an amused expression on her face.
“ Hi, I am Sunitha from Q&A . You the new Communications Intern?” Her face was friendly and I reluctantly nodded my head in affirmation.
This is how I met Sunitha two months back. Two months, that was to change my life so drastically that I once attempted……..immigration.
Sunitha was ( I am sure) a Texas cowgirl in her last life. She was part Coorgi, part Punjabi and part man-eater. She rode a Yamaha (or was it a Bajaj or a TVS?), weighed 150 pounds and was bright eyed and bushy tailed even after dunking a couple of gallons of beer. She lived life kingsize and smoked the same brand too. Sunitha drove at a break neck speed of 100 or 120 kmph on Bangalore roads. And red lights would see her sail effortlessly into the rear window of a BTS bus or the lap of the nearest software techie on bike. She would then flutter her lashes and act like the ‘maiden in distress’.
She became my self appointed guardian and friend and nicknamed me ‘billi’ that’s Hindi for ‘cat”. No, I don’t have blue eyes but a light brown that she said reminded her of her cat back home in Madikeri !
Friday nights turned to nightmare as she regularly landed at my room to drag me Pub hopping. I had trained my friends to thwart her when the door rattled at 7:30 pm every Friday night.
Knock Knock
Friend 1 tremulously: Who’s there?
Sunitha! Where’s billi ?
Friend 2: Gone to Kerala
Friend 3: Gone to Commercial Street.
Friend 1: Gone for a walk.
Sunitha would snort in exasperation and push open the door and glare contemptuously at my brave friends cowering like frightened mice behind the door. And I would be dragged willy nilly to the nearest pub. Over a period of time I kept a scarf and dark sun glasses near the door that I could grab while being dragged out. At the pub, Sunitha would demolish pitcher after pitcher of draught beer while I took tiny furtive sips from my small glass of beer. I would of course be wearing the scarf pulled low over my eyes and the dark sun glasses kept my identity a secret.
She would roar as I made ads describing the 'challenging environment" my company offered to prospective employees, and chuckle at the brochure I designed describing our spectacular first quarter growth and would roll on the floor laughing when I made product brochures that expounded their superiority over the competition's!
An outrageous flirt, she could have the best of ‘em weak on their knees and did her best to ‘fix’ us up with what she thought were ‘good bets’. The good bets were smooth, urbane and immoral creeps.
“But what the heck yaar, at least they won’t insist on getting married.”
Her wisdom beat me hollow and she soon realized that she would have to choose between friends and match fixing. She chose the former.
“What the heck yaar, I prefer friends to one night stands.”
To this day I haven’t understood what she meant.
Sunitha is flying across the seven seas to a job in the west and we are going to miss her vivacious presence terribly. Life seems much duller somehow.
This would be the last time in my short life that I open a server room without knocking. The scene before me was horrific. Leaning languidly against the wall was a tall and strappy young woman kissing a man who seemed halfway down her throat. She was pretty engrossed in chewing him but soon noticed my presence. She stopped mid chew, regarded me with great interest and spat out the poor guy who wobbled out in a jiffy. I retreated from the server room ashen and shaking.
1 pm: My computer was now behaving like a good comp and I was busy with the half done tasks of the last incumbent. Suddenly a blow landed on my back and I was eyeball to eyeball with the keyboard. I have never been so close to the keyboard, in fact I have never been so close to anyone. I collected my breath and looked up fearfully. The ‘server room woman’ was regarding me with an amused expression on her face.
“ Hi, I am Sunitha from Q&A . You the new Communications Intern?” Her face was friendly and I reluctantly nodded my head in affirmation.
This is how I met Sunitha two months back. Two months, that was to change my life so drastically that I once attempted……..immigration.
Sunitha was ( I am sure) a Texas cowgirl in her last life. She was part Coorgi, part Punjabi and part man-eater. She rode a Yamaha (or was it a Bajaj or a TVS?), weighed 150 pounds and was bright eyed and bushy tailed even after dunking a couple of gallons of beer. She lived life kingsize and smoked the same brand too. Sunitha drove at a break neck speed of 100 or 120 kmph on Bangalore roads. And red lights would see her sail effortlessly into the rear window of a BTS bus or the lap of the nearest software techie on bike. She would then flutter her lashes and act like the ‘maiden in distress’.
She became my self appointed guardian and friend and nicknamed me ‘billi’ that’s Hindi for ‘cat”. No, I don’t have blue eyes but a light brown that she said reminded her of her cat back home in Madikeri !
Friday nights turned to nightmare as she regularly landed at my room to drag me Pub hopping. I had trained my friends to thwart her when the door rattled at 7:30 pm every Friday night.
Knock Knock
Friend 1 tremulously: Who’s there?
Sunitha! Where’s billi ?
Friend 2: Gone to Kerala
Friend 3: Gone to Commercial Street.
Friend 1: Gone for a walk.
Sunitha would snort in exasperation and push open the door and glare contemptuously at my brave friends cowering like frightened mice behind the door. And I would be dragged willy nilly to the nearest pub. Over a period of time I kept a scarf and dark sun glasses near the door that I could grab while being dragged out. At the pub, Sunitha would demolish pitcher after pitcher of draught beer while I took tiny furtive sips from my small glass of beer. I would of course be wearing the scarf pulled low over my eyes and the dark sun glasses kept my identity a secret.
She would roar as I made ads describing the 'challenging environment" my company offered to prospective employees, and chuckle at the brochure I designed describing our spectacular first quarter growth and would roll on the floor laughing when I made product brochures that expounded their superiority over the competition's!
An outrageous flirt, she could have the best of ‘em weak on their knees and did her best to ‘fix’ us up with what she thought were ‘good bets’. The good bets were smooth, urbane and immoral creeps.
“But what the heck yaar, at least they won’t insist on getting married.”
Her wisdom beat me hollow and she soon realized that she would have to choose between friends and match fixing. She chose the former.
“What the heck yaar, I prefer friends to one night stands.”
To this day I haven’t understood what she meant.
Sunitha is flying across the seven seas to a job in the west and we are going to miss her vivacious presence terribly. Life seems much duller somehow.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
I am going to Heaven ;-)
Your Deadly Sins |
Greed: 40% |
Sloth: 40% |
Wrath: 20% |
Envy: 0% |
Gluttony: 0% |
Lust: 0% |
Pride: 0% |
Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14% |
You'll die in a castle, surrounded by servants. |
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Yet another compromise
Another friend, another story. What is it with us girls? Gluttons for sob stories. This friend of a friend of mine has an elder sister. I shall call her A. She met and fell in love with a guy called B. They decided to get married. Now A and B follow different religions. After marriage A went to live with her husband and in laws. She was forced to follow B’s religion leading to tensions and an eventual walkout. B was not willing to live separately too. I was flabbergasted when I heard the story. Didn’t A and B think this through before marriage?
A was six months pregnant then. Her son is now 12 years old and she is working in a leading software company on Airport Road.
Last week, he lands up at her place begging to be taken back. But too much water has flown under the bridge and A has burnt her bridges (apologies for the corny clichés).
I want to throw the zillionth question into the arranged vs love marriage maelstrom. Does a girl marrying a boy from a different community realize that SHE will have to make the compromises if she will be living with the In Laws? Has anyone given a thought to this aspect of intercommunal love marriages in our country? I have nothing against love marriage or arranged marriage. Both are fine with me. But when two people of different faiths meet and fall in love, shouldn’t they take the conscious decision to live separately to nurture their relationship?
A was six months pregnant then. Her son is now 12 years old and she is working in a leading software company on Airport Road.
Last week, he lands up at her place begging to be taken back. But too much water has flown under the bridge and A has burnt her bridges (apologies for the corny clichés).
I want to throw the zillionth question into the arranged vs love marriage maelstrom. Does a girl marrying a boy from a different community realize that SHE will have to make the compromises if she will be living with the In Laws? Has anyone given a thought to this aspect of intercommunal love marriages in our country? I have nothing against love marriage or arranged marriage. Both are fine with me. But when two people of different faiths meet and fall in love, shouldn’t they take the conscious decision to live separately to nurture their relationship?
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Mothers!
My mom is the most incorrigible and loving person I know and I am not going to elaborate with paeans of mushy prose. But the world is a better/worse place for having lost her talents to motherhood.
What I mean to say is that my mom could have been:
· A CIA agent, but then CIA agents do not like their hair combed into submission and teeth brushed before they set out on covert missions.
· A RAW agent but she would have indignantly refused to pry into the neighbor’s affairs.
· A cop but she would have used her infamous neem drinks and prayer sessions as third degree and gotten the police force a bad name. ( I mean no one is known to have survived these sessions).
· A Doctor, but then she would have advised patients against surgery, anti-biotics, cesareans, unnecessary tests.....
· A librarian, but then she would have shredded expensive books she thought were bad for young people.
· A soldier but then she would have killed the arms industry by dragging the enemies by their ears and making them kiss and make up.
· A Nurse, but she would have driven away patients with her nasty,smelly home-made cure-all brews.
· A bar tender, and driven away patrons by insisting on “delicious and healthy ”alternatives like hot milk and cardamom tea.
· A traffic cop, but she would have rapped negligent drivers on their knuckles with a ruler and made them do sit-ups in full public view.
And the list goes on. The world’s loss is our gain.
Happy Mothers Day Ma!
What I mean to say is that my mom could have been:
· A CIA agent, but then CIA agents do not like their hair combed into submission and teeth brushed before they set out on covert missions.
· A RAW agent but she would have indignantly refused to pry into the neighbor’s affairs.
· A cop but she would have used her infamous neem drinks and prayer sessions as third degree and gotten the police force a bad name. ( I mean no one is known to have survived these sessions).
· A Doctor, but then she would have advised patients against surgery, anti-biotics, cesareans, unnecessary tests.....
· A librarian, but then she would have shredded expensive books she thought were bad for young people.
· A soldier but then she would have killed the arms industry by dragging the enemies by their ears and making them kiss and make up.
· A Nurse, but she would have driven away patients with her nasty,smelly home-made cure-all brews.
· A bar tender, and driven away patrons by insisting on “delicious and healthy ”alternatives like hot milk and cardamom tea.
· A traffic cop, but she would have rapped negligent drivers on their knuckles with a ruler and made them do sit-ups in full public view.
And the list goes on. The world’s loss is our gain.
Happy Mothers Day Ma!
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Hostile planet
My friend Aruna had a break up with her fiancé. This was their umpteenth breakup and I treated it as such. This time the reason was a tiff over having babies!!!!! Her fiancé “J” wants children after marriage. But Aruna is adamant that she was not going to bring children into a miserable, waterless, forestless, futureless earth. I have to accept that she is right. However having been appointed the official referee for this duel, I have to be fair and hear both sides out.So Monday evening we set out to Cubbon Park for the face off. Aruna swears that this meeting will decide once and for all her future with “J”.
Both parties have their say, but I am sympathetic to Aruna’s views. “J” her fiancé is not backing down. He wants children. I ask him why? He replies that they would be a little piece of him to leave on the Earth.
Now … “J” has changed four jobs last year. Aruna asks him if he would want the same for his kids. The struggle to get admission in school, pass exams, struggle for college admissions and then the struggle for a good job. The struggles for a home, food, water, clean air, time and the struggle to grow old in dignity and to live your old age in dignity. “J” has no answer to her queries. He is sullen. Maybe the primal urge to procreate makes him blind to the ground realities.
The whole issue makes me ponder. Are we doing the right thing by bringing children into this world?
Both parties have their say, but I am sympathetic to Aruna’s views. “J” her fiancé is not backing down. He wants children. I ask him why? He replies that they would be a little piece of him to leave on the Earth.
Now … “J” has changed four jobs last year. Aruna asks him if he would want the same for his kids. The struggle to get admission in school, pass exams, struggle for college admissions and then the struggle for a good job. The struggles for a home, food, water, clean air, time and the struggle to grow old in dignity and to live your old age in dignity. “J” has no answer to her queries. He is sullen. Maybe the primal urge to procreate makes him blind to the ground realities.
The whole issue makes me ponder. Are we doing the right thing by bringing children into this world?
Friday, April 29, 2005
Roll back
Today I want to thank those numerous people who came into my scholastic life and made me what I am. I would like to apologise to those who failed in their mission in making me a world class athlete, rocket scientist, nun etc..
Sr. Fatima: Thank you for introducing me to James Herriot, Jim Corbett, Salim Ali and E P Gee. I now know my Great Indian Bustard from my Turkey.
Thank you Sr. Isabel for banning Archie comics and Mills and Boon in school because it made me all the more determined to read them.
Ms. Michel: My English teacher for making me realize that there were no bad girls in English nursery rhymes. Only bad boys like Georgie Podgie. (Hah!) And that wearing extremely short skirts in class were not good for boy’s grades.
Sr. Josephine: For telling me that ‘guys are after only one thing’. This led me and friends to covertly read books about that ‘thing’.
Sr. Alphonsa: For those dreadful s** education classes where you hummed like a bee and chirped like a bird to drive home the point.
Sr. Brigitta: For trying to guide me back to a prayerful life with gentle hints like the 12 pound Bible you gave me for my b’day with the ominous words “open a random page everyday.” The first page I opened read “drink not water but wine for thine inequities”.
Sr. Maria: For taking me with her on her numerous shopping expeditions to the vegetable and meat market and commenting on the disgusting dressing style of the ladies in “A” movie posters. Also for wondering out aloud in a crowded shop what the “A” written on the poster meant.
Ms Mary the lab attendant: For letting us have a peek at the lab tables arranged for next days practical exams! God bless your acids and alkalis.
Mr. Phillip the PT master: For making us run around the sports ground 7 times for coming late to PT class. I knew then that I was never going to be another P T Usha.
Mr Bose: My Physics teacher who killed a budding career in Physics with this announcement. "All those who are not willing to work hard 24/7, burn the midnight oil and give up worldly pleasures in pursuit of science, please walk out of this classroom now.”
Sr. Fatima: Thank you for introducing me to James Herriot, Jim Corbett, Salim Ali and E P Gee. I now know my Great Indian Bustard from my Turkey.
Thank you Sr. Isabel for banning Archie comics and Mills and Boon in school because it made me all the more determined to read them.
Ms. Michel: My English teacher for making me realize that there were no bad girls in English nursery rhymes. Only bad boys like Georgie Podgie. (Hah!) And that wearing extremely short skirts in class were not good for boy’s grades.
Sr. Josephine: For telling me that ‘guys are after only one thing’. This led me and friends to covertly read books about that ‘thing’.
Sr. Alphonsa: For those dreadful s** education classes where you hummed like a bee and chirped like a bird to drive home the point.
Sr. Brigitta: For trying to guide me back to a prayerful life with gentle hints like the 12 pound Bible you gave me for my b’day with the ominous words “open a random page everyday.” The first page I opened read “drink not water but wine for thine inequities”.
Sr. Maria: For taking me with her on her numerous shopping expeditions to the vegetable and meat market and commenting on the disgusting dressing style of the ladies in “A” movie posters. Also for wondering out aloud in a crowded shop what the “A” written on the poster meant.
Ms Mary the lab attendant: For letting us have a peek at the lab tables arranged for next days practical exams! God bless your acids and alkalis.
Mr. Phillip the PT master: For making us run around the sports ground 7 times for coming late to PT class. I knew then that I was never going to be another P T Usha.
Mr Bose: My Physics teacher who killed a budding career in Physics with this announcement. "All those who are not willing to work hard 24/7, burn the midnight oil and give up worldly pleasures in pursuit of science, please walk out of this classroom now.”
Monday, April 25, 2005
Proselytizing for Bacchus and clients
I dragged my carcass to work today after an interesting night with Rum and Cola, Vodka and Peach Schnapps, Gin and Sprite: not necessarily in that order (hic). These Internships are a bummer. I dare not open my mouth for fear of sanitizing the floor where I sit with alcohol fumes. But I am sure the cop at Infant Jesus circle could smell me through my helmet. Never again I swore, will I touch a drop of Bacchus’ elixir. Alas alack! These resolutions however, last only for the duration of the hangover.
I gingerly lower myself into my seat and wince at the sharp twinges that run through my raw nerves.{ Now now… I am not a recovering alcoholic. It is just that I have friend’s who swear by their brand of poison and come weekend try to win over converts like me with a zeal that would put a Christian proselytizist to shame}
I sit on the floor where a fair number of marketing guys also occupy various cubicles. (Now these cubicles are for decoration purposes only and are rarely occupied). They are a lively and aggressive lot who will not hesitate to tear each other out at the drop of a client’s name. They are fiercely competitive and happily poach on each others clients. Year end sees them hopping around like sad frogs desperate to meet the year end sales target. There is this small open space thoughtfully laid out for them by the Admin dept. (after numerous complaints from other departments), where they bash each others brains out whenever a client is struck. ( no pun intended).
A stapler lands in my cubicle, narrowly missing my head.
Biff! “saale kuthe” ( loosely translated this mean – brother-in-law dog), “how dare you approach my client? You know very well that I have already given him a demo?”
Sock!!!! “ Gadhe" ( donkey)Your client, my foot! I had approached him last year itself!”
SOCK! THUD! And another good man bites the floor.
My head is pounding. I spot the Finance Manager. Beseech him to allocate funds for a roof over my cubicle. He looks at me severely and says he does not have the budget. I crawl outside and get my helmet.
-Abey gadhe ki dhum ( hey donkey’s tail) how dare you go through my mail!!
-Poda patti ( go dog), “evinde thalel oru ennam kodukaan thonnunu” ( no translation needed)
-oye, you don’t speak in your language. I know what you are saying.
-Avanuku moolai ae ella, muttal!!! ( he has no brains, fool!)
-arey bhai, mera client lay gaya woh! ( hey brother, he took my client)
-ondhu dina, naa avanna kolo thene.( translation withheld)
Aaahhh! It’s Monday and notwithstanding the headache, it’s good to be back. Disregard my earlier observations about Internships.
I swallow a couple of Crocins. I think I will go insane if I were put in saner surroundings.
I gingerly lower myself into my seat and wince at the sharp twinges that run through my raw nerves.{ Now now… I am not a recovering alcoholic. It is just that I have friend’s who swear by their brand of poison and come weekend try to win over converts like me with a zeal that would put a Christian proselytizist to shame}
I sit on the floor where a fair number of marketing guys also occupy various cubicles. (Now these cubicles are for decoration purposes only and are rarely occupied). They are a lively and aggressive lot who will not hesitate to tear each other out at the drop of a client’s name. They are fiercely competitive and happily poach on each others clients. Year end sees them hopping around like sad frogs desperate to meet the year end sales target. There is this small open space thoughtfully laid out for them by the Admin dept. (after numerous complaints from other departments), where they bash each others brains out whenever a client is struck. ( no pun intended).
A stapler lands in my cubicle, narrowly missing my head.
Biff! “saale kuthe” ( loosely translated this mean – brother-in-law dog), “how dare you approach my client? You know very well that I have already given him a demo?”
Sock!!!! “ Gadhe" ( donkey)Your client, my foot! I had approached him last year itself!”
SOCK! THUD! And another good man bites the floor.
My head is pounding. I spot the Finance Manager. Beseech him to allocate funds for a roof over my cubicle. He looks at me severely and says he does not have the budget. I crawl outside and get my helmet.
-Abey gadhe ki dhum ( hey donkey’s tail) how dare you go through my mail!!
-Poda patti ( go dog), “evinde thalel oru ennam kodukaan thonnunu” ( no translation needed)
-oye, you don’t speak in your language. I know what you are saying.
-Avanuku moolai ae ella, muttal!!! ( he has no brains, fool!)
-arey bhai, mera client lay gaya woh! ( hey brother, he took my client)
-ondhu dina, naa avanna kolo thene.( translation withheld)
Aaahhh! It’s Monday and notwithstanding the headache, it’s good to be back. Disregard my earlier observations about Internships.
I swallow a couple of Crocins. I think I will go insane if I were put in saner surroundings.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Thanksgiving
Went to Infant Jesus Church today. Waded through the throng of pilgrims to reach the shrine. Heads are bowed in prayer. There are Christians and other denominations among the faithful. I watch them, my prayers forgotten. What are they praying for. I wonder. Wealth, health, peace of mind???? How many are actually thanking God for all the good fortune that he has put in their lives. A roof over the head, food to eat, security and love of a family, healthy limbs and minds and jobs. Everybody (including me)are praying more more wealth, more jobs, more houses and more of everything. This happens in every church, temple, mosque and Gurudwara I guess. Thanksgiving is a forgotten part of worship these days.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Ratzinger
So Ratzinger is the new Pope. Well I was sort of hoping for a more liberal candidate.Hope he keeps the legacy of Pope John Paul alive.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Friday, April 15, 2005
( car) pool out of hellish roads!
Left for college early today at the unearthly hour of 9 am. As I cooled my heels at the inevitable traffic pile ups, I couldn't help but notice the staggering number of cars that were lined up with only one occupant..the driver cum owner!
I looked at the various shapes and sizes of these cars and marveled at the sheer waste of fuel to transport just one individual to office/elsewhere. Not to mention the fact that these cars took up a good amount of road space too.
Peppered amongst these cars were chauffeur driven cars with a driver and an important looking man in the rear seat. The important looking man will usually be reading important looking papers on tapping away at an expensive looking laptop. I mentally counted and estimated that about 40% of the occupants at the traffic jam on a Koramangala road were such single owner driven vehicles.
As I weaved my tiny Scooty through the big boys like the Prada's and the Tavera's, I silently thanked my neighbor, a businessman who made it a point to leave his Scorpio at home and make do with a Kinetic Honda within city limits.
May his tribe increase!
I looked at the various shapes and sizes of these cars and marveled at the sheer waste of fuel to transport just one individual to office/elsewhere. Not to mention the fact that these cars took up a good amount of road space too.
Peppered amongst these cars were chauffeur driven cars with a driver and an important looking man in the rear seat. The important looking man will usually be reading important looking papers on tapping away at an expensive looking laptop. I mentally counted and estimated that about 40% of the occupants at the traffic jam on a Koramangala road were such single owner driven vehicles.
As I weaved my tiny Scooty through the big boys like the Prada's and the Tavera's, I silently thanked my neighbor, a businessman who made it a point to leave his Scorpio at home and make do with a Kinetic Honda within city limits.
May his tribe increase!
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Vitamin M (men)
Yesterday the girls had a heated discussion about ..who else but MEN!!! And it got me thinking. Ask any self respecting woman about men and the reaction is same. Horny, insensitive, lazy, mama’s boys etc. etc. In fact a married soul announced that men had outlived their usefulness on this planet. “If Nature is perfect then how do you explain Men???” She asks plaintively.
I think the presence of men in our lives give us various advantages. For instance in the case of procreation, today most woman can chose to be pregnant or not. However in the absence of the male human species women will have to face the inconvenience of letting Nature to the procreation bit.
Imagine a world without men where women procreate by bionary fission (cell division) like bacteria ???
A typical day in office would go like this.
“Hey where is Shanthi?”
“ She is on leave today. She is going into bionary fission today.”
“ Oh, God. Poor thing. She had just multiplied last week.”
Another voice “ I think I am also going into bionar fission. I just can’t afford another me. I have already reproduced twenty times this year!”
Or imagine if women were to become pregnant automatically when they reach maturity. Another typical day in college/office would go like this:
Tina:” I think I am pregnant again….! This is so inconvenient. I wish I had greater say in these things. Wish my body should realize that I am simply not earning enough to produce a kid every year!”
Ramya: “True, I am thinking of getting a hysterectomy done as soon as possible.”
My regard for the male human species has gone up considerably after penning this blog.
I think the presence of men in our lives give us various advantages. For instance in the case of procreation, today most woman can chose to be pregnant or not. However in the absence of the male human species women will have to face the inconvenience of letting Nature to the procreation bit.
Imagine a world without men where women procreate by bionary fission (cell division) like bacteria ???
A typical day in office would go like this.
“Hey where is Shanthi?”
“ She is on leave today. She is going into bionary fission today.”
“ Oh, God. Poor thing. She had just multiplied last week.”
Another voice “ I think I am also going into bionar fission. I just can’t afford another me. I have already reproduced twenty times this year!”
Or imagine if women were to become pregnant automatically when they reach maturity. Another typical day in college/office would go like this:
Tina:” I think I am pregnant again….! This is so inconvenient. I wish I had greater say in these things. Wish my body should realize that I am simply not earning enough to produce a kid every year!”
Ramya: “True, I am thinking of getting a hysterectomy done as soon as possible.”
My regard for the male human species has gone up considerably after penning this blog.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Fat rice, Bad aatta, Worse attitudes
Went to work one Saturday. I am a summer Intern here, so had to oblige. Thin attendance as it's Saturday and most of the guys working here are nursing hangovers, split jaws, black eyes etc. after Friday night's jam sessions at various bachelor pads.
I am 'invited' to sit with a motley bunch who originate from the north of the Vindhyas as I am the only 'bakra' from my dept working today. There are males and females and other persuasions at the lunch table.
The conversation is polite as a Southie like me is 'accommodated' by the gracious hospitality of the northies who have deigned to invite a Dravidian to their august table.
Mr A: "You like rice" arched eyesbrows, disdainful eyes on the humble grains of rice on my plate.
Me: "yes, I am a riceaholic"
Mr J: " Rice is so.....( he fumbles for word) so South Indian. Has no 'bitamins'. Only 'staaarch'.Wheat you know gives energy, good baady..."
Ms C: " you know, I am finding out that the more black the maid , the better she works!" Everyone laughs.
Mr A:" You know my parents came down and my mummyji had such a hard time getting good 'atta'. The 'atta' here is so bad. Back home in 'Dilli' the 'atta' is so good."
Ms C:" Bangalore is such a dull place. It's so boring and you peeple are not at all social!I used to have so much fun in Jhansi."
Me:" There is a lot happening in Bangalore. All you need is a good bunch of friends and the mood to party."
Ms C: ( cups her finger over Mr A's ears and says ) "chee I am not spending my weekend partying with madrasi's."
"Oh, by the way , you don't look at all south Indian.More like a Punjabi." She smiles condescendingly. I have just been made a honorary North Indian!
Mr. J: "Have you tasted the rice these Malayalees eat? God! the grains are so fat! Don't know how these guys eat them. Do you know educated south Indians are now eating chappati's?"
I almost choke on my food. My ears are burning and my hands are twitching to slap the smug faces.
Me(a trifle tightly): "why don't you guys work closer to home...Gurgaon for instance is full of IT companies."
Mr J: "No, no, I live too far from Gurgaon in Lucknow."
Ms C: " And I live in Jhansi almost 100 kilometres from Gurgaon."
I look expectantly at Mr A from 'dilli'.He clears his throat and says smoothly." Oh, I have done XYZ technology and this company is the only one in India where XYZ application is used."
I get up and say "well looks like you guys are well and truly stuck here.But if you are serious about moving North, do let me know. I have a classmate in a placement agency in Delhi who will be happy to oblige you."
There is general consternation.
Them:"Sure, sure we will let you know."
Me(muttering to myself): "Sure when hell freezes over."
Now I don't mean to hurt anybody by this post, but this attitude is humiliating. And then they complain of being marginalised here!
I am 'invited' to sit with a motley bunch who originate from the north of the Vindhyas as I am the only 'bakra' from my dept working today. There are males and females and other persuasions at the lunch table.
The conversation is polite as a Southie like me is 'accommodated' by the gracious hospitality of the northies who have deigned to invite a Dravidian to their august table.
Mr A: "You like rice" arched eyesbrows, disdainful eyes on the humble grains of rice on my plate.
Me: "yes, I am a riceaholic"
Mr J: " Rice is so.....( he fumbles for word) so South Indian. Has no 'bitamins'. Only 'staaarch'.Wheat you know gives energy, good baady..."
Ms C: " you know, I am finding out that the more black the maid , the better she works!" Everyone laughs.
Mr A:" You know my parents came down and my mummyji had such a hard time getting good 'atta'. The 'atta' here is so bad. Back home in 'Dilli' the 'atta' is so good."
Ms C:" Bangalore is such a dull place. It's so boring and you peeple are not at all social!I used to have so much fun in Jhansi."
Me:" There is a lot happening in Bangalore. All you need is a good bunch of friends and the mood to party."
Ms C: ( cups her finger over Mr A's ears and says ) "chee I am not spending my weekend partying with madrasi's."
"Oh, by the way , you don't look at all south Indian.More like a Punjabi." She smiles condescendingly. I have just been made a honorary North Indian!
Mr. J: "Have you tasted the rice these Malayalees eat? God! the grains are so fat! Don't know how these guys eat them. Do you know educated south Indians are now eating chappati's?"
I almost choke on my food. My ears are burning and my hands are twitching to slap the smug faces.
Me(a trifle tightly): "why don't you guys work closer to home...Gurgaon for instance is full of IT companies."
Mr J: "No, no, I live too far from Gurgaon in Lucknow."
Ms C: " And I live in Jhansi almost 100 kilometres from Gurgaon."
I look expectantly at Mr A from 'dilli'.He clears his throat and says smoothly." Oh, I have done XYZ technology and this company is the only one in India where XYZ application is used."
I get up and say "well looks like you guys are well and truly stuck here.But if you are serious about moving North, do let me know. I have a classmate in a placement agency in Delhi who will be happy to oblige you."
There is general consternation.
Them:"Sure, sure we will let you know."
Me(muttering to myself): "Sure when hell freezes over."
Now I don't mean to hurt anybody by this post, but this attitude is humiliating. And then they complain of being marginalised here!
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Vendors a.k.a. wannabe millionaires!!!
Sorry Su, Sri and all my long suffering friends(?!?) who HAVE TO compulsorily read my blogs and praise me ( still waiting for your comments guys... and my patience is wearing thin. )
I am in a grouchy mood today. Been getting calls from vendors a.k.a. ad agencies whole day! Grrrrrrrr
Actually the whole process of wading through wannabe-our-adgencies, PR agencies etc etc can drain more blood out of your system than an entire bunch of Draculas or Income Tax wallahs. Actually I prefer the former. They do leave you in peace when they have licked you clean But the IT guys... that's another story I will tell some other time.
Today I shall rant and rave and froth at my mouth about the aforementioned unmentionables. I come into office at 9:30 am( lowly college Interns come on time ) and the phone rings. A saccharine sweet voice introduces herself. Ms XYZ has a proposition. She is going to remake our brand a la "Intel Inside" campaign. The price would be of course a measly crore ( for Bangalore alone!).
Now we have no plans to make or break our brand , thank you, but Ms XYZ is persistent. She drops names. Intel, Jugnu Software...... Intel I have heard of but Jugnu Software...?????? My hand surreptitiously moves to the keyboard. I type Jugnu Software on Google and what do I get???? Nothing.
Ms XYZ is pained. It's a new company she explains patiently. Ok so how come there is no mention about it???? I hear her audible sigh. She is clearly collecting herself from my moronic onslaught. She clears her throat and a male voice speaks breaks in. "Hello ". The transformation of Ms XYZ to Mr. XYZ is astounding. I am amazed! How do they do it? But it is Mr ABC from the same agency, who has clearly taken over the delicate albeit explosive situation from his distraught colleague Ms XYZ.
Mr ABC explains that they are in the process of building the brand image of Jugnu Software ( I guess the world will soon experience a media onslaught in a few months from now.) I am suitably impressed. I ask him to send his company profile and before we say our goodbyes 'lo and behold the company profile is in my inbox!
Post lunch I decide to drop into their office. Armed with intelligent questions about brand building I set out in an auto. I reach Audugodi and alight in front of a pink building. The lone security guard has never heard of BrandGuru Pvt Ltd. But he says , there is a house behind where suspicious activities do take place. That has to be an ad agency I decide and navigate through yards to steel wire to the hiney of the pink monstrosity.
An old dilapidated building squats in the dusty backyard, a poignant remnant of happier days. I am reminded of the movie "Bhoot Bangla". There is no one in sight. I walk in through the door. A pentium I greets me. An old wizened man sits in front of the computer staring sightlessly into the screen saver. There is another door. I walk in and two people are watching cricket on TV. I clear my throat and the two spring to attention. The girl speaks first and I recognise the polished voice of Ms XYZ. I introduce myself and she flushes in embarrasment. The man in the room Mr ABC of course , asseses the situation quickly and informs me smoothly that they are moving into a spanking new building shortly(!).
I am made to sit (firmly assisted) into an old rexine sofa which has also seen happier times. I refuse the proffered glass of water and quickly get down to business. I want to see their work. Mr ABC looks around without luck and walks into another room. He comes back dusting a couple of brochures. They seem impressive, however there is a hitch. The brocure has been clearly been made by another agency. I spot their name in miniscule print on the last page. Mr ABC explains that he had made the brochure when he was employed with them( of course).
I get down to brass tacks. What software have they used for this particular brochure I ask ( I am partial to a mixture of Photoshop and Corel Draw) . Mr ABC loses his composure for the first time. He says he can't recollect. I see that the graphics were of a high resolution and query him about the same. Again he flushes and says he got them from the internet! I am amazed that a 72 ppi graphic would print without pixelating. Pixelating??? what is that.... his agape mouth seems to say. Mr ABC is clearly lost. I size up the situation very quickly. These numbskulls were obviously a wannabe ad agency. I decide to have some fun.
"So Mr ABC" I say imperiously. " How important is brand building to a company's overall mission?" Mr ABC stammers and stutters and takes a quick swig of some brown goo from a cup. The brand should be built from scratch he says. You must first design the "thing" you plan to manufacture and then design a label and then advertise it! Now it was my turn to gape with my mouth wide open.
I am stupefied at this man's guts, stupidity ... whatever and dumbstruck at the whole situation! Mr. ABC's face crumples and he informs me that he had worked in an ad agency as production assistant.... Ms XYZ was the receptionist there (of course) and the two had decided to start an ad agency after eloping, wedding, honeymoon etc.
I feel stupid. Stupider than these two. As I walk in stunned silence out of the building I think I heard a wall crumbling somewhere or was it my self esteem?????
I reach the office by 5pm and head straight for the cafeteria. After many gulps of the tepid and acidic brew they call coffee I return to my cubicle. The phone rings. It's the receptionist and she has another wannabe ad agency on the line. Office etiquette does not allow cussing, swearing and homicidal tendencies to be exhibited in the premises. So I pick up the phone and brace myself for another onsalught on my intelligence. "Hello" says a silky voice. " I am EFG from HIJ advertising. I was wondering if your organisation would like to consider us for below the line communications." Ah! at last a genuine vendor call.
"Do you do Direct Mailers?" I ask hopefully " What is a Direct Mailer?" enquires the silky voice nonplussed.
I am in a grouchy mood today. Been getting calls from vendors a.k.a. ad agencies whole day! Grrrrrrrr
Actually the whole process of wading through wannabe-our-adgencies, PR agencies etc etc can drain more blood out of your system than an entire bunch of Draculas or Income Tax wallahs. Actually I prefer the former. They do leave you in peace when they have licked you clean But the IT guys... that's another story I will tell some other time.
Today I shall rant and rave and froth at my mouth about the aforementioned unmentionables. I come into office at 9:30 am( lowly college Interns come on time ) and the phone rings. A saccharine sweet voice introduces herself. Ms XYZ has a proposition. She is going to remake our brand a la "Intel Inside" campaign. The price would be of course a measly crore ( for Bangalore alone!).
Now we have no plans to make or break our brand , thank you, but Ms XYZ is persistent. She drops names. Intel, Jugnu Software...... Intel I have heard of but Jugnu Software...?????? My hand surreptitiously moves to the keyboard. I type Jugnu Software on Google and what do I get???? Nothing.
Ms XYZ is pained. It's a new company she explains patiently. Ok so how come there is no mention about it???? I hear her audible sigh. She is clearly collecting herself from my moronic onslaught. She clears her throat and a male voice speaks breaks in. "Hello ". The transformation of Ms XYZ to Mr. XYZ is astounding. I am amazed! How do they do it? But it is Mr ABC from the same agency, who has clearly taken over the delicate albeit explosive situation from his distraught colleague Ms XYZ.
Mr ABC explains that they are in the process of building the brand image of Jugnu Software ( I guess the world will soon experience a media onslaught in a few months from now.) I am suitably impressed. I ask him to send his company profile and before we say our goodbyes 'lo and behold the company profile is in my inbox!
Post lunch I decide to drop into their office. Armed with intelligent questions about brand building I set out in an auto. I reach Audugodi and alight in front of a pink building. The lone security guard has never heard of BrandGuru Pvt Ltd. But he says , there is a house behind where suspicious activities do take place. That has to be an ad agency I decide and navigate through yards to steel wire to the hiney of the pink monstrosity.
An old dilapidated building squats in the dusty backyard, a poignant remnant of happier days. I am reminded of the movie "Bhoot Bangla". There is no one in sight. I walk in through the door. A pentium I greets me. An old wizened man sits in front of the computer staring sightlessly into the screen saver. There is another door. I walk in and two people are watching cricket on TV. I clear my throat and the two spring to attention. The girl speaks first and I recognise the polished voice of Ms XYZ. I introduce myself and she flushes in embarrasment. The man in the room Mr ABC of course , asseses the situation quickly and informs me smoothly that they are moving into a spanking new building shortly(!).
I am made to sit (firmly assisted) into an old rexine sofa which has also seen happier times. I refuse the proffered glass of water and quickly get down to business. I want to see their work. Mr ABC looks around without luck and walks into another room. He comes back dusting a couple of brochures. They seem impressive, however there is a hitch. The brocure has been clearly been made by another agency. I spot their name in miniscule print on the last page. Mr ABC explains that he had made the brochure when he was employed with them( of course).
I get down to brass tacks. What software have they used for this particular brochure I ask ( I am partial to a mixture of Photoshop and Corel Draw) . Mr ABC loses his composure for the first time. He says he can't recollect. I see that the graphics were of a high resolution and query him about the same. Again he flushes and says he got them from the internet! I am amazed that a 72 ppi graphic would print without pixelating. Pixelating??? what is that.... his agape mouth seems to say. Mr ABC is clearly lost. I size up the situation very quickly. These numbskulls were obviously a wannabe ad agency. I decide to have some fun.
"So Mr ABC" I say imperiously. " How important is brand building to a company's overall mission?" Mr ABC stammers and stutters and takes a quick swig of some brown goo from a cup. The brand should be built from scratch he says. You must first design the "thing" you plan to manufacture and then design a label and then advertise it! Now it was my turn to gape with my mouth wide open.
I am stupefied at this man's guts, stupidity ... whatever and dumbstruck at the whole situation! Mr. ABC's face crumples and he informs me that he had worked in an ad agency as production assistant.... Ms XYZ was the receptionist there (of course) and the two had decided to start an ad agency after eloping, wedding, honeymoon etc.
I feel stupid. Stupider than these two. As I walk in stunned silence out of the building I think I heard a wall crumbling somewhere or was it my self esteem?????
I reach the office by 5pm and head straight for the cafeteria. After many gulps of the tepid and acidic brew they call coffee I return to my cubicle. The phone rings. It's the receptionist and she has another wannabe ad agency on the line. Office etiquette does not allow cussing, swearing and homicidal tendencies to be exhibited in the premises. So I pick up the phone and brace myself for another onsalught on my intelligence. "Hello" says a silky voice. " I am EFG from HIJ advertising. I was wondering if your organisation would like to consider us for below the line communications." Ah! at last a genuine vendor call.
"Do you do Direct Mailers?" I ask hopefully " What is a Direct Mailer?" enquires the silky voice nonplussed.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Go with God Pope John Paul II !
He was a rare religious head who commanded a deep and unconditional love from his flock. The millions who thronged St Peter's Square that fateful weekend is standing testimony to his unifying powers as a religious head.
His refusal to compromise Church laws to suit the secularists won him many detractors and admirers. His fierce protectiveness for the unborn is an example of Christ's love for his flock. He is a standing testimony to the fact that Christian principles are ageless.
God bless Pope John Paul II !
His refusal to compromise Church laws to suit the secularists won him many detractors and admirers. His fierce protectiveness for the unborn is an example of Christ's love for his flock. He is a standing testimony to the fact that Christian principles are ageless.
God bless Pope John Paul II !
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