I am not a huge fan of movies. Every once in a while, a movie comes along, that brings about the following conversation in our household:
Man of the house: Saumya.....I've played the movie. Could you come and watch it?
Self: I can see it from the kitchen, while I am loading the dishwasher.
The titles start, and the man of the house glimpses in my direction, and he cannot even see me, so, how could I be watching a movie?: Can you come here now?
Unfazed, I reply that I can hear the conversation while wiping the floor.
Man of the house: GRRRRRRRRRR....No, this time you are coming here and watching it properly.
Self: What's the BIG Deal??? I don't enjoy movies as much as you do - so you go ahead, I'll join you in a moment.
10 minutes later, the tone hints on exasperation: For heaven's sake, come here, and watch the movie.
Self: Okay, okay...am almost done. I just have to <insert 6 totally unrelated, mundane task list here>
It is at this point in the proceedings when you can see a grown man pull a grown woman from the kitchen, and switch off the kitchen light. The grown man then follows aforementioned grown woman closely to ensure no u-turns are taken, and plays the movie. Usually, I sulk for the first few minutes before getting immersed in the movie. Invariably, I end the movie by thanking him for making me watch the movie. You see, my husband undertakes great pains to select movies I like and am sure to enjoy. I really appreciate that - I really do! He not only knows my taste, he actually makes me enjoy my life.
After scene above was enacted successfully on Friday night, we sat down to watch Al Gore's documentary: An Inconvenient Truth.
Let me just say this: my thought process has been altered. I don't think I see the world with the same eyes anymore. To those of you who have not yet seen this movie, please do so as soon as possible.
We owe it to ourselves, and our children.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Beautiful Girl Weds Naughty Boy
Beautiful Girl Weds Naughty Boy
The headline screamed in the fertile districts of Trichy and Thanjavur as a wedding took place between the Beautiful Girl & the Naughty Boy. In what has been termed a Made-for-each-other match, the beautiful girl and the naughty boy have remain wedded to each other for over 36 years. The Naughty boy still retains his boyish charm while playing peekaboo with the beautiful girl who stole his heart eons ago.
To those wondering about the context of the post: here is some light.
My father, being the fun-loving guy, was given the title of "Naughty Boy" this morning. At about the same time that he was gloating about his new title, my daughter proclaimed that my mother is a "Beautiful Girl". And that is the story of love between the Naughty boy & the Beautiful girl. My daughter loves playing peekaboo with her grand-parents. So, now I envision them youngsters (chinnan jirusugal) playing Peekaboo at home. It is the beautiful girl's job responsibility to tag the little minx along, while looking for the naughty boy in hiding.
After all these years - a headline that resounds true!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Word Verification
I had to turn on word verification while commenting. The reason is, I had a very persistent blogger enticing me to earn extra $2000 just by filling out online surveys. It looks like something needs to be purchased for a throw-away price of $79.99, and then the riches are mine for the asking.
I haven't verified these sources yet, but I am assuming there is a typebox asking me to enter my credit card number, checking account number in which to credit my dues, address, and any other personal identification I feel like divulging. Once done, I pretty much have to twiddle my thumbs, and randomly click on online surveys, and watch the money flow (The sentence obviates my need to specify the direction of money flow)
Every time I read something like this, I can't help looking at the reference comments. There is Joyful Jane falling all over herself claiming this liberated her from her dejected depravity, and she is the owner of a Mercedes Benz in just six short months. This comment is followed by All-you-can-get Alex, who is all but ga-ga over the site. For good measure, solely for skeptics such as myself, there is a Cautious Curie who says, she did not believe in the site at first, but later her new-found riches helped turn her torn down hut in Louiseville, KY into a mansion at Orange County.
I am going to pass the easy riches for the N-th time, and hope the California lottery picks me as a winner instead.
I haven't verified these sources yet, but I am assuming there is a typebox asking me to enter my credit card number, checking account number in which to credit my dues, address, and any other personal identification I feel like divulging. Once done, I pretty much have to twiddle my thumbs, and randomly click on online surveys, and watch the money flow (The sentence obviates my need to specify the direction of money flow)
Every time I read something like this, I can't help looking at the reference comments. There is Joyful Jane falling all over herself claiming this liberated her from her dejected depravity, and she is the owner of a Mercedes Benz in just six short months. This comment is followed by All-you-can-get Alex, who is all but ga-ga over the site. For good measure, solely for skeptics such as myself, there is a Cautious Curie who says, she did not believe in the site at first, but later her new-found riches helped turn her torn down hut in Louiseville, KY into a mansion at Orange County.
I am going to pass the easy riches for the N-th time, and hope the California lottery picks me as a winner instead.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
I need to get paid for this!
I am at training. The building nearby has lots of windows facing mine, and every now and then, I end up looking at the slides of the presentation passing up the interesting insights I've gathered by looking at the neighbouring offices. I have the information, that no amount of HR effectiveness can gather.
For example, I now know that the bearded bloke in the office on the 14th floor, and endowed with a window office drinks too much coffee. He needs to cut the caffeine. I saw him drink 3 cups in the afternoon yesterday. I pardoned him thinking it must have been a stressful afternoon. Now, he is already on the second cup - that is way too much!
The attractive lady in the office next to the bearded bloke has a fantastically decorated officespace. Now, you know where her time and energy is going. I even saw her tidy up her desk this morning.
There is another person who keeps glancing to the right wall while working. I am not suggesting there is a television hosted there. It might well be strategic acquisition plans or telephone numbers. But even though, I tried cocking my head to 33 degrees, and increasing the height of my chair to catch a better snapshot, it is a bit hard. So, I am going to go with the Television idea. OR I could brand her a narcissist in my mind, and assume a mirror filling the right wall.
The office above the bearded bloke and the attractive lady has been empty for 2 days in a row. What sort of employee takes time off during the holiday season - huh? huh? huh???
Gosh......I really need to be paid for stuff like this.
For example, I now know that the bearded bloke in the office on the 14th floor, and endowed with a window office drinks too much coffee. He needs to cut the caffeine. I saw him drink 3 cups in the afternoon yesterday. I pardoned him thinking it must have been a stressful afternoon. Now, he is already on the second cup - that is way too much!
The attractive lady in the office next to the bearded bloke has a fantastically decorated officespace. Now, you know where her time and energy is going. I even saw her tidy up her desk this morning.
There is another person who keeps glancing to the right wall while working. I am not suggesting there is a television hosted there. It might well be strategic acquisition plans or telephone numbers. But even though, I tried cocking my head to 33 degrees, and increasing the height of my chair to catch a better snapshot, it is a bit hard. So, I am going to go with the Television idea. OR I could brand her a narcissist in my mind, and assume a mirror filling the right wall.
The office above the bearded bloke and the attractive lady has been empty for 2 days in a row. What sort of employee takes time off during the holiday season - huh? huh? huh???
Gosh......I really need to be paid for stuff like this.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Candid Candy
What a paradox that 'Candy' and 'Candor' sound so similar, yet mean entirely different things. In fact, could there be such a thing as Candid Candy? Interestingly, these two words are etymologically different. Candy traces its origins to the French word, 'Candi' and the Arabic 'Qandi' made from crystallised sugar 'Qand'. Maybe that is the origin of names for the Indian sweet Kalakhand too.
Candor, on the other hand also traces its origin to French - 'Candeur' and Latin 'Candor'. Candor implies the absence of sugar-coating, or an honest opinion.
While I value candor, I love candy, and I need both in my life.
Candor, on the other hand also traces its origin to French - 'Candeur' and Latin 'Candor'. Candor implies the absence of sugar-coating, or an honest opinion.
While I value candor, I love candy, and I need both in my life.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Blast from the Past
Yesterday, as I made my entry into the station, I stumbled upon a former colleague. It has been around half a decade since we had seen each other, and the hour's journey was not sufficient to catch up. As we were chatting about what happened to various people's lives, I realised that the particular project we had been colleagues in, was different in many ways. First, it was pulled through against enormous odds and second, most of us were practically living at the Bangalore office for almost 2 years!
So, when I did start talking about the various folks from the project, and the paths each had taken along life, it was certainly interesting. Much like pollen, we had scattered to various corners of the globe, and I suddenly realised that the only thing I remembered about folks were the good qualities in them. The friendly chatter, the kind hearted, the selfless. I am sure that there would have been unpleasant qualities that I'd have cribbed about when I was "in" the situation. As time passed however, only the happy moments stayed.
Though I have not stayed in touch with many them, there have been many a moment when I have thought about each of them. I am sure the converse is true, and the thought that I can go to some of them any time I need to, is comforting enough.
I stepped out of the train, and a person was looking at me intently, before hesitantly asking me whether I was working in Company 'X' 7 years ago. I nodded and found that he was the project mate of my best friend.
Well....well!
So, when I did start talking about the various folks from the project, and the paths each had taken along life, it was certainly interesting. Much like pollen, we had scattered to various corners of the globe, and I suddenly realised that the only thing I remembered about folks were the good qualities in them. The friendly chatter, the kind hearted, the selfless. I am sure that there would have been unpleasant qualities that I'd have cribbed about when I was "in" the situation. As time passed however, only the happy moments stayed.
Though I have not stayed in touch with many them, there have been many a moment when I have thought about each of them. I am sure the converse is true, and the thought that I can go to some of them any time I need to, is comforting enough.
I stepped out of the train, and a person was looking at me intently, before hesitantly asking me whether I was working in Company 'X' 7 years ago. I nodded and found that he was the project mate of my best friend.
Well....well!
Monday, November 27, 2006
Vegetarianism
I am told it is a tradition. Somehow the news of Bush releasing 2 thanksgiving turkeys the day before Thanksgiving makes me really sad. Not for the fact that the turkeys can now live, but for the fact that when sitting down for Thanksgiving dinner the next day, you can visualise that it is remarkably similar to the birds that took flight yesterday.
I try to rationalize that when people are served processed meat, they are not thinking about the animal in question. Fair enough: how often do we think of the condition of the cows when drinking milk? Had we lived on the farm, and Bessie the cow was not feeling well, or wanted a walk instead of giving milk, we might have let Bessie out on the pastures before approaching her when she feels like giving milk. In the store, there is just reduced fat, lowfat and whole milk. Bessie might have been sleeping when the milk was taken from her - but, we don't know that, and that absolves us of waking a cow deep in slumber.
So now my question comes back to relating the animal to the meat on the table. Do people do that, and when they do, does it trouble them or not? I am just trying to think of the meat-eating thought process here. Any insights are welcome. My vegetarianism from birth has endowed me with only 1 view.
I try to rationalize that when people are served processed meat, they are not thinking about the animal in question. Fair enough: how often do we think of the condition of the cows when drinking milk? Had we lived on the farm, and Bessie the cow was not feeling well, or wanted a walk instead of giving milk, we might have let Bessie out on the pastures before approaching her when she feels like giving milk. In the store, there is just reduced fat, lowfat and whole milk. Bessie might have been sleeping when the milk was taken from her - but, we don't know that, and that absolves us of waking a cow deep in slumber.
So now my question comes back to relating the animal to the meat on the table. Do people do that, and when they do, does it trouble them or not? I am just trying to think of the meat-eating thought process here. Any insights are welcome. My vegetarianism from birth has endowed me with only 1 view.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Crusades: Imagination Vs Imagination
Eyes large as saucers, voices as vehement as can get, we demanded:
"Who/What gives them the right to throw out processed, dry foods, and that too at Bangalore airport?"
The group, gathered around a table with sumptuous food, demanded between tasty mouthfuls. It was actually quite an effort to sound affronted when every movement sent a divine taste surging through the tongue. But, we are all known to be a determined lot, and piqued we were.
The topic under discussion was that one of my aunts was forced to leave behind much of her belongings at Bangalore airport. The "sambhar podi", and the various dried powders that can be mixed with boiled rice were all thrown out, we were told by our every chagrined parents. They had heard the news from one of their neices, who must have sounded quite convincing, because it actually prevented them from carrying too many things. We discussed the possible causes, criteria used by the airport authorities in such cases, and sounded rightfully indignant about the whole process.
Later that afternoon we placed a call to the aforesaid aunt, and tried to learn the magnitude of her losses. Come to think of it, my mother started out on quite an apologetic note while asking about it. She explained that she had a tube of Bengay in her hand-carry by mistake, and was forced to throw that out in Frankfurt airport. That apart, some other food packets of hers, were placed in check-in baggage, instead of the hand-baggage. That was all there was to the whole story!
I cannot imagine how many rounds this story must have made, before reaching my parents in its current shape! Every story-teller tied their own ribbons and balloons to the story. Soon the story took its current form:
A monstrous team was out on a vicious rampage at Bangalore airport, stripping legitimate travellers of their chutney mixes, and filter coffee.
I can't help remembering the cartoon we used to see on Doordarshan about the balloon that burst in a house. Soon, the story takes on epic proportions before police arrive on the scene fearing a violent gunshot crime-scene, only to find a disappointed little girl, looking quite sullen because her balloon burst!
I am now seriously wondering the basis on which religious wars are fought. Most of our religious books were passed down through generations by word of mouth before getting penned as books. So, we use the combined imaginations of centuries to take offense against another form moulded by centuries of ... imagination!
"Who/What gives them the right to throw out processed, dry foods, and that too at Bangalore airport?"
The group, gathered around a table with sumptuous food, demanded between tasty mouthfuls. It was actually quite an effort to sound affronted when every movement sent a divine taste surging through the tongue. But, we are all known to be a determined lot, and piqued we were.
The topic under discussion was that one of my aunts was forced to leave behind much of her belongings at Bangalore airport. The "sambhar podi", and the various dried powders that can be mixed with boiled rice were all thrown out, we were told by our every chagrined parents. They had heard the news from one of their neices, who must have sounded quite convincing, because it actually prevented them from carrying too many things. We discussed the possible causes, criteria used by the airport authorities in such cases, and sounded rightfully indignant about the whole process.
Later that afternoon we placed a call to the aforesaid aunt, and tried to learn the magnitude of her losses. Come to think of it, my mother started out on quite an apologetic note while asking about it. She explained that she had a tube of Bengay in her hand-carry by mistake, and was forced to throw that out in Frankfurt airport. That apart, some other food packets of hers, were placed in check-in baggage, instead of the hand-baggage. That was all there was to the whole story!
I cannot imagine how many rounds this story must have made, before reaching my parents in its current shape! Every story-teller tied their own ribbons and balloons to the story. Soon the story took its current form:
A monstrous team was out on a vicious rampage at Bangalore airport, stripping legitimate travellers of their chutney mixes, and filter coffee.
I can't help remembering the cartoon we used to see on Doordarshan about the balloon that burst in a house. Soon, the story takes on epic proportions before police arrive on the scene fearing a violent gunshot crime-scene, only to find a disappointed little girl, looking quite sullen because her balloon burst!
I am now seriously wondering the basis on which religious wars are fought. Most of our religious books were passed down through generations by word of mouth before getting penned as books. So, we use the combined imaginations of centuries to take offense against another form moulded by centuries of ... imagination!
Monday, October 30, 2006
Ramblings of a Marathon Support Group Member
I do not wish to belittle the achievement by stating it as another marathon. Nevertheless, yesterday my husband finished another marathon along with 2 of our close friends.
The arduous hours of training, the "interesting" pain(Yes - he does state that the wrenching pain is interesting!), the accompanying medal were all taken in the spirit of a true sportsman. While volumes get written about the marathoners, nothing gets written about the support groups (in this case, a sturdy troupe comprising of the 3 wives, 1 toddler and a teenager). So, I have decided to pen the support experience.
Through the training sessions and the carb-loading phase prior to the Marathon, the support group has no mean task. There you are, with your unswerving loyalty to your loved ones, dishing out all the wonderful dishes. There is the potato fry (just the right shade of golden with the crispy texture), the fluffy rice and the creamy soups. On the subject of potatoes, I could swear they mock you from the frying pan, and just would not stop enticing you till the darn dish is over. I could feel the extra burden during the carb-loading phase. The only thing I can thank God for, is that the carb-loading is a short span of time. I ran a pantry in the kitchen serving hot dishes every 3 hours. You could judge by the loose pajamas I wore that day to make room for the extra carbs.
All the carbs safely tucked in, the marathon day arrived. While the runners braved the early morning weather to venture into the first part of their marathon, we, the supporters braved the roads and got together with bananas, apples and baked potatoes at the Mile 18 touch-point. I had mild butterflies in my stomach, just hoping that they will be fine and running sans injuries. Already, we knew one of them had an injury and had slowed down. At this point I could tell you that no amount of carb-loading prepares you for the elated sensation you get when you see one of your close friends running towards you in steady strides. You want to tuck into some baked potatoes for support, but you refrain. One must have self-control!
We stood watching groups of people run by. The plan was for us to give the runners a boost at Mile 18 with baked potatoes and bananas, and then head to Starbucks to get a boost for our hoarse throats and proceed onto Mile 21 and then to the finish line. It turns out that there was a mis-reading, and that the Mile-18 point was indeed Mile-15, and we had missed 2 of the 3 guys.
We are a sacrificial lot, as mentioned earlier, and we decided to forgo the Starbucks visit, and dash it to Mile-21. We checked our watches, and sped away as fast as our cars would take us without drawing the attention of cops. During this particular ride, my toddler decided to fall asleep. So now, we parked at the 21-mile point, lugged a 2-year old on my shoulder and legged it across a Farmer's market cum bakery exhibition (I swear the temptation never stops!) to cheer the boys on. Guess what, they just left!
We now had the dubious reputation of chasing the marathon runners by car, and they were leading!
This was no time for dilly-dallying. Decisions had to be made, and fast. We decided to look askance at the wafting smells of baked products, and got back into the car, determined to get to the finish line before they did, and guess what?
WE DID! HA!
We reached the finish line ahead of the runners, and managed a decent photo shoot at the very end at least!
Great job guys: No mean feat. I am proud of you all!
Good job support group: No mean f(e)at.
The arduous hours of training, the "interesting" pain(Yes - he does state that the wrenching pain is interesting!), the accompanying medal were all taken in the spirit of a true sportsman. While volumes get written about the marathoners, nothing gets written about the support groups (in this case, a sturdy troupe comprising of the 3 wives, 1 toddler and a teenager). So, I have decided to pen the support experience.
Through the training sessions and the carb-loading phase prior to the Marathon, the support group has no mean task. There you are, with your unswerving loyalty to your loved ones, dishing out all the wonderful dishes. There is the potato fry (just the right shade of golden with the crispy texture), the fluffy rice and the creamy soups. On the subject of potatoes, I could swear they mock you from the frying pan, and just would not stop enticing you till the darn dish is over. I could feel the extra burden during the carb-loading phase. The only thing I can thank God for, is that the carb-loading is a short span of time. I ran a pantry in the kitchen serving hot dishes every 3 hours. You could judge by the loose pajamas I wore that day to make room for the extra carbs.
All the carbs safely tucked in, the marathon day arrived. While the runners braved the early morning weather to venture into the first part of their marathon, we, the supporters braved the roads and got together with bananas, apples and baked potatoes at the Mile 18 touch-point. I had mild butterflies in my stomach, just hoping that they will be fine and running sans injuries. Already, we knew one of them had an injury and had slowed down. At this point I could tell you that no amount of carb-loading prepares you for the elated sensation you get when you see one of your close friends running towards you in steady strides. You want to tuck into some baked potatoes for support, but you refrain. One must have self-control!
We stood watching groups of people run by. The plan was for us to give the runners a boost at Mile 18 with baked potatoes and bananas, and then head to Starbucks to get a boost for our hoarse throats and proceed onto Mile 21 and then to the finish line. It turns out that there was a mis-reading, and that the Mile-18 point was indeed Mile-15, and we had missed 2 of the 3 guys.
We are a sacrificial lot, as mentioned earlier, and we decided to forgo the Starbucks visit, and dash it to Mile-21. We checked our watches, and sped away as fast as our cars would take us without drawing the attention of cops. During this particular ride, my toddler decided to fall asleep. So now, we parked at the 21-mile point, lugged a 2-year old on my shoulder and legged it across a Farmer's market cum bakery exhibition (I swear the temptation never stops!) to cheer the boys on. Guess what, they just left!
We now had the dubious reputation of chasing the marathon runners by car, and they were leading!
This was no time for dilly-dallying. Decisions had to be made, and fast. We decided to look askance at the wafting smells of baked products, and got back into the car, determined to get to the finish line before they did, and guess what?
WE DID! HA!
We reached the finish line ahead of the runners, and managed a decent photo shoot at the very end at least!
Great job guys: No mean feat. I am proud of you all!
Good job support group: No mean f(e)at.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Football Shoes
I may have to acknowledge my brother-in-law's prophetic powers here. Last year, during their visit to the US, I had blogged a post called 'Children of Heaven'. The blog drew attention to the shoes my nephew purchased. They were football shoes for heaven's sake. Of course, we all tried rationalising with him that football shoes may never be used by him. He enlisted my brother-in-law's support and got himself Nike football shoes.
A whole year has lapsed since. Here is what my sister had to report from Dubai:
You know Siddarth is not 'into cricket' these days 'coz it stinks'! The 'cool dudes' are 'more into football these days' ! I think the 'these days' started soon after the World Cup...the Ronaldo...Ronaldino types started with all those appalling hair styles. Siddarth only wears sleeveless T-shirts nowadays to show off his 'biceps' and he eats every meal only for his 'biceps'!!!
Yesterday, he was making lists in every scrap of paper in the house....he called it 'Team Planning'. There were phone calls being made and received from all the 'dudes' the whole afternoon and heated discussions were on. I usually do my best to ignore all this unless it gets out of hand and I find it difficult to live in the house..! Then I called and enquired...all hell had broken loose!
Here is the narrative :
Siddu : Amma,you know Pranith? Okay...he is the football hunk of our class and he was the captain of our team!
Me : What 'team' are you talking about? I thought athletics practice is going on in school now for the Sports Day?
Siddu : Yeah...that's going on, Maaa- that's the first thing we do every morning before class! These are football matches...are you going to listen to me?
Me : Oh...I will listen...go on.
Siddu : Can you believe what Pranith did yesterday? Something real daft!! He went and scored a goal for the opposite team!! He actually 'sent the ball into the goalpost for 6B' !! Isn't that real dumb?
Me : Yeah...I guess it is quite dumb!!! So what happened?
Siddu : The whole team said ' Down Down Pranith' and pooed him out of being the captain! Dumb Pranith!
Me : Ummmm....then...
Siddu : Usually whichever dude is the VC ( Vice Captain!!) gets to be the captain,right??
Me : Yeah right.
Siddu : This silly dude is Pranith's pal and turned the post down! So all the guys voted me to be the Captain! So the great Siddarth is the Captain of 6A!!!!
Me : Oh! Good. That's why you are so busy, is it?
Siddu : Yeah...I need to plan the team before tomorrow's match, right! The Centre Forward,Mid Forward the Defender, Goal Keeper...do you know all this at all??
Me : No da...I don't know much about football!Siddu : You are such a bore, maa! One day when I have time...I will teach you!
Me : BTW, Siddu when is the match?
Siddu : Everyday,Maa..we play 6B every day during the break!
Me : Oh...who conducts these matches?
Siddu : Us! But 'football sir' gave us a 'thums up' so that the school team gets stronger!
She then reports that this whole match thing is the break time play of these dumsies, and that there is a big gang mafia going on in the break time!
I wish I were around to see some of these "matches"!
A whole year has lapsed since. Here is what my sister had to report from Dubai:
You know Siddarth is not 'into cricket' these days 'coz it stinks'! The 'cool dudes' are 'more into football these days' ! I think the 'these days' started soon after the World Cup...the Ronaldo...Ronaldino types started with all those appalling hair styles. Siddarth only wears sleeveless T-shirts nowadays to show off his 'biceps' and he eats every meal only for his 'biceps'!!!
Yesterday, he was making lists in every scrap of paper in the house....he called it 'Team Planning'. There were phone calls being made and received from all the 'dudes' the whole afternoon and heated discussions were on. I usually do my best to ignore all this unless it gets out of hand and I find it difficult to live in the house..! Then I called and enquired...all hell had broken loose!
Here is the narrative :
Siddu : Amma,you know Pranith? Okay...he is the football hunk of our class and he was the captain of our team!
Me : What 'team' are you talking about? I thought athletics practice is going on in school now for the Sports Day?
Siddu : Yeah...that's going on, Maaa- that's the first thing we do every morning before class! These are football matches...are you going to listen to me?
Me : Oh...I will listen...go on.
Siddu : Can you believe what Pranith did yesterday? Something real daft!! He went and scored a goal for the opposite team!! He actually 'sent the ball into the goalpost for 6B' !! Isn't that real dumb?
Me : Yeah...I guess it is quite dumb!!! So what happened?
Siddu : The whole team said ' Down Down Pranith' and pooed him out of being the captain! Dumb Pranith!
Me : Ummmm....then...
Siddu : Usually whichever dude is the VC ( Vice Captain!!) gets to be the captain,right??
Me : Yeah right.
Siddu : This silly dude is Pranith's pal and turned the post down! So all the guys voted me to be the Captain! So the great Siddarth is the Captain of 6A!!!!
Me : Oh! Good. That's why you are so busy, is it?
Siddu : Yeah...I need to plan the team before tomorrow's match, right! The Centre Forward,Mid Forward the Defender, Goal Keeper...do you know all this at all??
Me : No da...I don't know much about football!Siddu : You are such a bore, maa! One day when I have time...I will teach you!
Me : BTW, Siddu when is the match?
Siddu : Everyday,Maa..we play 6B every day during the break!
Me : Oh...who conducts these matches?
Siddu : Us! But 'football sir' gave us a 'thums up' so that the school team gets stronger!
She then reports that this whole match thing is the break time play of these dumsies, and that there is a big gang mafia going on in the break time!
I wish I were around to see some of these "matches"!
Monday, October 16, 2006
Background Music
Did you know I was a radio star? I have performed a few times on the All India Radio (I meant that to sound pompous) Before you go and start searching for my name in the halls of fame, let me put it in context. There is only 1 important characteristic in all those programs. Nobody can make out that it was me. The only way one could have guessed is by listening to the announcement prior to the program proclaiming my name in the list of students performing.
To be fair to my father, he recorded one event. When he rewound the tape and listened to the program again, he figured it would be enough to just retain the announcement section, since the rest of the program could have been performed by anybody. So, he promptly used the tape to record M.S.Subbulakshmi songs when he got a chance. It would have been nice to have the announcement proclaiming my performance followed by MS singing. Tut Tut....That was not to be: the announcement got over-written too.
So my claim to fame is solely by word of mouth. It goes like this: List of students in today's program: Subashini, Venkat, ............., Saumya,......!
I was a versatile performer. I sang at times(never solo lest you start bad-mouthing AIR), and some other times performed in skits. The school stationery manager stepped forward gallantly and mentioned that he had left an illustrious career in the theatrical industry to serve the school, and therefore he should be the person who provided the background music skits. We nodded and the practice sessions started.
To state it as mildly as possible, the background music was HORRENDOUS. Every place in the play where you think some quietness would do, there was music blaring. Some other places where mild music would have done the trick, we had garish music making us shout out every line in order to be heard over the music. I would not call the program a fiasco, but there were no folks waiting outside for autographs. The highlight of all this drama was the lunch we ate at Annapoorna restaurant in Coimbatore (Plus: the day-off from School to drive down to Coimbatore, perform and get back)
There are times in my life when I envision my life as a movie, and there is background music. So I see myself cooking *Sax playing mildly indicating a chef's beauty being developed* Never mind that I am making Rasam and vendakkai curry. It provides spice in my life! The washing clothes, folding them section gets a banal harmonium. Playing with my daughter and taking her on walks gets melodious flute accompaniment.
I have worked hard at directing my life, so why not revel in my role as music director?!
To be fair to my father, he recorded one event. When he rewound the tape and listened to the program again, he figured it would be enough to just retain the announcement section, since the rest of the program could have been performed by anybody. So, he promptly used the tape to record M.S.Subbulakshmi songs when he got a chance. It would have been nice to have the announcement proclaiming my performance followed by MS singing. Tut Tut....That was not to be: the announcement got over-written too.
So my claim to fame is solely by word of mouth. It goes like this: List of students in today's program: Subashini, Venkat, ............., Saumya,......!
I was a versatile performer. I sang at times(never solo lest you start bad-mouthing AIR), and some other times performed in skits. The school stationery manager stepped forward gallantly and mentioned that he had left an illustrious career in the theatrical industry to serve the school, and therefore he should be the person who provided the background music skits. We nodded and the practice sessions started.
To state it as mildly as possible, the background music was HORRENDOUS. Every place in the play where you think some quietness would do, there was music blaring. Some other places where mild music would have done the trick, we had garish music making us shout out every line in order to be heard over the music. I would not call the program a fiasco, but there were no folks waiting outside for autographs. The highlight of all this drama was the lunch we ate at Annapoorna restaurant in Coimbatore (Plus: the day-off from School to drive down to Coimbatore, perform and get back)
There are times in my life when I envision my life as a movie, and there is background music. So I see myself cooking *Sax playing mildly indicating a chef's beauty being developed* Never mind that I am making Rasam and vendakkai curry. It provides spice in my life! The washing clothes, folding them section gets a banal harmonium. Playing with my daughter and taking her on walks gets melodious flute accompaniment.
I have worked hard at directing my life, so why not revel in my role as music director?!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Wars
I know why the US starts wars in far-off lands.
It is a place to groom future presidents.
X: I am going to contest the presidency
X's much older opponent Y: Which wars did you fight in huh? Come on you! Tell me which war you fought in?
X: None
Y: NONE!!!!
X: But...but there were no wars for me to go to.
Y: Well..too bad. There is no metric to measure your patriotism. I went for the War in Dracola Land. I know the pain and suffering and I would like to use this office to make the world a better place to live in. So you're out!
It is a place to groom future presidents.
X: I am going to contest the presidency
X's much older opponent Y: Which wars did you fight in huh? Come on you! Tell me which war you fought in?
X: None
Y: NONE!!!!
X: But...but there were no wars for me to go to.
Y: Well..too bad. There is no metric to measure your patriotism. I went for the War in Dracola Land. I know the pain and suffering and I would like to use this office to make the world a better place to live in. So you're out!
Monday, October 09, 2006
Tag-Phew!
Archana made me think. Now when you get an email stating your head will blow up in a thousand pieces if it is not forwarded to all your friends, I belong to the class of people who test the limits of the email, and co-erces my friends into collecting the shards of my fractured skull if that email were true, and promptly deletes it.
That said, I will say some things about myself only because it made me think. But please respect my opinion that I do not want to tag other folks.
! I admire creativity. Any job done with a flair of creativity gets a mental pat on the back from me. For the same reason, I love to read, dance and sing. I am...well was.....a Bharatnatyam dancer in my "hey-days" as I like to call it (Said with a jaunty look and a look of the glazed one looking fondly upon their past with a nostalgic tinge.) As for the singing, I am very creative with lyrics, and have found on several occasions that the latest Tamil movie songs have my lyrics in them. I should be a little more guarded while singing in public I guess. Too many copyright violations of late (Kunju kutty - dam-pu-chik, pattu kutty dam-pu-chik. Amma kutty - thanga laalee! My daughter loves these songs of mine, and looks like Kollywood is lapping it up too!)
@ My folks tell me I am very determined (Well... their words are not exactly these, but I am an optimistic soul, and so "determined" I am!)
# I reminisce about pleasant memories, and thank my stars for the wonderful life I have (family and friends) I adore to spend time with my family and friends.
$ I am passionate about anything I take up, and from there stems point (@) I guess.
% Travelling is great fun, and I have my father to thank for making me love people and places. Every school holiday, off we went gallivanting around the country. I see now that he really did think it an important aspect of education, and therefore, did not hesitate to spend for vacations. I can think back about every vacation we had (well almost all - if you discount those we went when I was too young to remember)
^ I was brought up in the beautiful Nilgiris with bountiful nature for company. My parents were both teachers, and we grew up inside the school campus. The most beautiful place I have ever seen. It is a tiny place (the School nestles in 800 acres of its own land), and every vacation was spent in adventure trips exploring the hillsides! College in Coimbatore, and thereafter the software industry it is for me. I now work as an analyst in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
& I love to learn new things, and believe that the more you learn, the more exciting life becomes.
* I detest hypocrisy. So when I look at hypocrites, I play the fun game of guessing their actual thoughts, and then process their thoughts through a very defective prism, and imagine how distorted the image must be in order for them to say what they did. So, if I were to hear about the great beauty of a garbage can, I spend precious moments trying to figure out the various adverbs they might have used...and well...you get the drift!
( I was hoping that use of the special symbols would make it easier to say 9 things about me. Seriously, it is not helping! It really is too much to say 9 things about yourself!
Now that I have shed the burden of responding to the tag behind me, I shall continue on with my posts without procrastinating!
The author lives in California with her husband and 2-year old, both of whom she loves way beyond words can say.
That said, I will say some things about myself only because it made me think. But please respect my opinion that I do not want to tag other folks.
! I admire creativity. Any job done with a flair of creativity gets a mental pat on the back from me. For the same reason, I love to read, dance and sing. I am...well was.....a Bharatnatyam dancer in my "hey-days" as I like to call it (Said with a jaunty look and a look of the glazed one looking fondly upon their past with a nostalgic tinge.) As for the singing, I am very creative with lyrics, and have found on several occasions that the latest Tamil movie songs have my lyrics in them. I should be a little more guarded while singing in public I guess. Too many copyright violations of late (Kunju kutty - dam-pu-chik, pattu kutty dam-pu-chik. Amma kutty - thanga laalee! My daughter loves these songs of mine, and looks like Kollywood is lapping it up too!)
@ My folks tell me I am very determined (Well... their words are not exactly these, but I am an optimistic soul, and so "determined" I am!)
# I reminisce about pleasant memories, and thank my stars for the wonderful life I have (family and friends) I adore to spend time with my family and friends.
$ I am passionate about anything I take up, and from there stems point (@) I guess.
% Travelling is great fun, and I have my father to thank for making me love people and places. Every school holiday, off we went gallivanting around the country. I see now that he really did think it an important aspect of education, and therefore, did not hesitate to spend for vacations. I can think back about every vacation we had (well almost all - if you discount those we went when I was too young to remember)
^ I was brought up in the beautiful Nilgiris with bountiful nature for company. My parents were both teachers, and we grew up inside the school campus. The most beautiful place I have ever seen. It is a tiny place (the School nestles in 800 acres of its own land), and every vacation was spent in adventure trips exploring the hillsides! College in Coimbatore, and thereafter the software industry it is for me. I now work as an analyst in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
& I love to learn new things, and believe that the more you learn, the more exciting life becomes.
* I detest hypocrisy. So when I look at hypocrites, I play the fun game of guessing their actual thoughts, and then process their thoughts through a very defective prism, and imagine how distorted the image must be in order for them to say what they did. So, if I were to hear about the great beauty of a garbage can, I spend precious moments trying to figure out the various adverbs they might have used...and well...you get the drift!
( I was hoping that use of the special symbols would make it easier to say 9 things about me. Seriously, it is not helping! It really is too much to say 9 things about yourself!
Now that I have shed the burden of responding to the tag behind me, I shall continue on with my posts without procrastinating!
The author lives in California with her husband and 2-year old, both of whom she loves way beyond words can say.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Lakshmi Devi
It is Navarathri, and I can imagine the festive frenzy in India now. Lakshmi Puja and Saraswathi Puja will be performed in every single home. Come to think of it, even now, I always put a coin in a purse (even if empty and stowed).
I was musing on these very thoughts on my way back from lunch, and stopped in my tracks at a seemingly normal gesture. Two men, dressed in business casuals and evidently working in the city, threw their one-cent coins on the street, like people sometimes throw trash, and moved on with not even a second glance. I was somehow disturbed. Why could he not have given to the numerous homeless? Or simpler still, dropped the cash in the donation jar kept almost at every counter?
I hesitate to throw out usable clothes, and try my best to donate them whenever possible. I guess our thinking is just ....well "different"!
I was musing on these very thoughts on my way back from lunch, and stopped in my tracks at a seemingly normal gesture. Two men, dressed in business casuals and evidently working in the city, threw their one-cent coins on the street, like people sometimes throw trash, and moved on with not even a second glance. I was somehow disturbed. Why could he not have given to the numerous homeless? Or simpler still, dropped the cash in the donation jar kept almost at every counter?
I hesitate to throw out usable clothes, and try my best to donate them whenever possible. I guess our thinking is just ....well "different"!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Bladders and Airlines
I was reading DilbertBlog on the stifling airport procedures and couldn't help this post! A fortnight ago, we had been to Alaska with friends. Apart from losing a small perfume bottle to airport security, I emerged unscathed.
Beyond the security gates lies a hungry explorer's haven. Pretty soon, we were tucking into a dish from every restaurant. I'll spare you the details of our mastication, but suffice it to say that we were stuffed beyond belief. That was the time I got pondering on pants with extendible button loops. (I shall save this for another post)
To settle the turbulence in our stomachs before our red-eye flight, we bought a large bottle of water. We neared the gate, and guess what? No bottled water aboard. The whole thing ticked my friend off in no small manner, and he insisted we finish the water before boarding the flight. Don't ask me why we humoured him, but we did! We drank, and drank till we had to force a bathroom break to make more room for more water. We boarded throwing out the empty bottle, and taking in the full bladder.
At this point in the narration, I would like the reader to take note that airline seats don't function well with squirming passengers. Pretty soon, we had frowning passengers with all the creaking of the seats. The seat belt sign was still on, and the bladder was sending urgent signals to relieve the built-up tension in the there. Barely had the seat belt sign turned off, when we made a beeline for the loos. Once inside, the slow and steady release of tension was sheer bliss (to be experienced to comprehend the full extent of relief!)
Sometimes, security measures don't consider the irrationality of folks drinking up a gallon of water before boarding, and that's why it is so inconvenient!
Beyond the security gates lies a hungry explorer's haven. Pretty soon, we were tucking into a dish from every restaurant. I'll spare you the details of our mastication, but suffice it to say that we were stuffed beyond belief. That was the time I got pondering on pants with extendible button loops. (I shall save this for another post)
To settle the turbulence in our stomachs before our red-eye flight, we bought a large bottle of water. We neared the gate, and guess what? No bottled water aboard. The whole thing ticked my friend off in no small manner, and he insisted we finish the water before boarding the flight. Don't ask me why we humoured him, but we did! We drank, and drank till we had to force a bathroom break to make more room for more water. We boarded throwing out the empty bottle, and taking in the full bladder.
At this point in the narration, I would like the reader to take note that airline seats don't function well with squirming passengers. Pretty soon, we had frowning passengers with all the creaking of the seats. The seat belt sign was still on, and the bladder was sending urgent signals to relieve the built-up tension in the there. Barely had the seat belt sign turned off, when we made a beeline for the loos. Once inside, the slow and steady release of tension was sheer bliss (to be experienced to comprehend the full extent of relief!)
Sometimes, security measures don't consider the irrationality of folks drinking up a gallon of water before boarding, and that's why it is so inconvenient!
Friday, September 08, 2006
She felt sleepy
She felt sleepy: She stared into her boring face as she narrated the incident. It was impossible to not think of how lifeless her good story sounded just because she was looking into her eyes. There was nothing there, and she found her thoughts wandering to how her life partner must feel.
A few days later, she showed her a photograph of her lover, and she saw her partner's boring eyes looking up at her. She felt sleepy.
A few days later, she showed her a photograph of her lover, and she saw her partner's boring eyes looking up at her. She felt sleepy.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
A Stone's Throw
The missiles were landing continuously. One even hit the window hard. Everyone looked up startled - we thought these were times of peace - where were these coming from? The shopkeepers stepped out, and spent a silent moment pondering who will muster the courage to stop this attack.
All eyes were fixated on a six year old boy with mischief writ large on his black eyes, and a large pebble in each hand. As he aimed and threw a larger stone this time, he gleamed with pleasure and looked around for accolades. There were none forthcoming, and the poor boy, in his mistaken stake at fame continued with renewed vigour. The saloon owner stepped forward and "Ahoy"-ed the boy, and said:
"Can you stop doing that please? Thank you!"
The boy said "Sure", and simply changed the direction of his stone-rain.
I could not help thinking of the same situation in India. Fat chance the boy would have got a "Please" and a "Thank you" in the same sentence for his deed! He would most probably have had an assortment of expletives muttered before being asked to cut it out! But, the point is this: the boy listened, and the fact still remains that an adult did manage to stop a boy from pelting stones at his shop window.
Just the vast difference in the manner it was handled was interesting to note.
All eyes were fixated on a six year old boy with mischief writ large on his black eyes, and a large pebble in each hand. As he aimed and threw a larger stone this time, he gleamed with pleasure and looked around for accolades. There were none forthcoming, and the poor boy, in his mistaken stake at fame continued with renewed vigour. The saloon owner stepped forward and "Ahoy"-ed the boy, and said:
"Can you stop doing that please? Thank you!"
The boy said "Sure", and simply changed the direction of his stone-rain.
I could not help thinking of the same situation in India. Fat chance the boy would have got a "Please" and a "Thank you" in the same sentence for his deed! He would most probably have had an assortment of expletives muttered before being asked to cut it out! But, the point is this: the boy listened, and the fact still remains that an adult did manage to stop a boy from pelting stones at his shop window.
Just the vast difference in the manner it was handled was interesting to note.
Friday, August 18, 2006
VM Vs ME
Life always gives everybody moments to cherish and nourish. I am sure most call-center representatives talk to customers with a gargantuan effort to stop from splitting their sides at our stupidity. Today, I have the supreme satisfaction of livening up a family's dinner table with my knowledgeable call to my cell-phone's customer service.
I have a cell-phone with keeps blinking to my face that I have n voicemails. I tried telling it, that I KNOW I have n voicemails, I just can't retrieve it! My voicemail has been password protected (and my password works no longer) to ensure that nobody else retrieves my voicemails. I am trying to think of one person who is interested in messages left for a pearl-aged mother of a 2 year old, and draw a blank.
After a couple of indignant phone calls from my friends who had to repeat the message again, since I had no method of listening to their winding messages, I called customer service, and it went like this:
She: Sure Ma'am. Resetting your password should be easy to do.
Me: Gee....thanks
A minute later, she said I am all set.
I breezed into the voicemail, and the automated conversation took an ugly turn:
VM: Please enter your password
Me: ----#
VM: Please enter your password -- in a more indignant tone, but that's entirely my perception
Me: ----#
VM: Sorry you are having trouble, please try again later. Beep.
The blasted thing just blew me off! Perseverance thy name being me, I persevered.
I huffed and puffed, and called customer service again. Several calls later (Both to customer service and my VM), I was getting more and more piqued with the utter callousness with which the system cut me off while I was interacting with it.
The system kept cutting me off on my face. I pick my battles, but this one was rubbing itself on me the wrong way. I was ticked off, and intended to show it a piece of its own abyssmal behaviour. So, I called VM, and when it asked for the password, I disconnected - Ha Ha!!
Throughout this drama, I had Mike sitting on the other side displaying a remarkable restraint from popping out of his chair and laughing. I know what his family hears at the dinner table tonight!
PS: I still can't access voicemail, so, don't bother leaving me a message!
I have a cell-phone with keeps blinking to my face that I have n voicemails. I tried telling it, that I KNOW I have n voicemails, I just can't retrieve it! My voicemail has been password protected (and my password works no longer) to ensure that nobody else retrieves my voicemails. I am trying to think of one person who is interested in messages left for a pearl-aged mother of a 2 year old, and draw a blank.
After a couple of indignant phone calls from my friends who had to repeat the message again, since I had no method of listening to their winding messages, I called customer service, and it went like this:
She: Sure Ma'am. Resetting your password should be easy to do.
Me: Gee....thanks
A minute later, she said I am all set.
I breezed into the voicemail, and the automated conversation took an ugly turn:
VM: Please enter your password
Me: ----#
VM: Please enter your password -- in a more indignant tone, but that's entirely my perception
Me: ----#
VM: Sorry you are having trouble, please try again later. Beep.
The blasted thing just blew me off! Perseverance thy name being me, I persevered.
I huffed and puffed, and called customer service again. Several calls later (Both to customer service and my VM), I was getting more and more piqued with the utter callousness with which the system cut me off while I was interacting with it.
The system kept cutting me off on my face. I pick my battles, but this one was rubbing itself on me the wrong way. I was ticked off, and intended to show it a piece of its own abyssmal behaviour. So, I called VM, and when it asked for the password, I disconnected - Ha Ha!!
Throughout this drama, I had Mike sitting on the other side displaying a remarkable restraint from popping out of his chair and laughing. I know what his family hears at the dinner table tonight!
PS: I still can't access voicemail, so, don't bother leaving me a message!
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Till another Renaissance
I.D.Iot was a proud man. His single contribution to the world of Science was purely unimaginable. He had a series of startling discoveries to his credit, and his genius mind had put every single grain of truth to use to change the world in the most remarkable way. I.D.Iot prided himself on his thoroughness and had painfully documented every startling discovery in his vaporizing sheets. The idea behind these vaporizing sheets was simple. He help the passkey phrase, and on whispering the passkey phrase to soap bubbles, the sheets would appear - a ton of information regarding atoms, elements, wormholes, time warps and what-have-you.
I.D.Iot was around for generations. He had mastered the art of travelling to the planet near a black hole where time barely passed, and consequently aged slower than most mortals. He was an amiable man with a humble demeanour, and his intentions were always noble. He had in him, as much knowledge to destroy as to create. He never once thought of destruction. He was considered God by virtue of all the above.
Now he lay dying. His time was up. He was tired and could not muster the energy to take up the time travel to rejuvenate himself. He had wanted to pass on to his most trusted follower access to all his learnings. His memory was failing him - but he knew the key to the vaporizing sheets had to do with the theme that "Everything was made up of atoms", and that's what he muttered when he died.
His disciples tried hard to get the sheets, but failed. Instead of using the knowledge they had from I.D.Iot, they spent time trying to retrieve his work. Time passed and only the mantra got passed down from generation to generation: none of the knowledge.
The idiot mantra was unquestionable.
The querulent few who did question what atoms were made of were quickly rebuked as mavericks and the world settled into a state of knowledge inertia. What we don't know can't hurt us. IDIOT was there to protect the world.
And so it goes, till another Renaissance was born.
I.D.Iot was around for generations. He had mastered the art of travelling to the planet near a black hole where time barely passed, and consequently aged slower than most mortals. He was an amiable man with a humble demeanour, and his intentions were always noble. He had in him, as much knowledge to destroy as to create. He never once thought of destruction. He was considered God by virtue of all the above.
Now he lay dying. His time was up. He was tired and could not muster the energy to take up the time travel to rejuvenate himself. He had wanted to pass on to his most trusted follower access to all his learnings. His memory was failing him - but he knew the key to the vaporizing sheets had to do with the theme that "Everything was made up of atoms", and that's what he muttered when he died.
His disciples tried hard to get the sheets, but failed. Instead of using the knowledge they had from I.D.Iot, they spent time trying to retrieve his work. Time passed and only the mantra got passed down from generation to generation: none of the knowledge.
The idiot mantra was unquestionable.
The querulent few who did question what atoms were made of were quickly rebuked as mavericks and the world settled into a state of knowledge inertia. What we don't know can't hurt us. IDIOT was there to protect the world.
And so it goes, till another Renaissance was born.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Trying to contact...
We are trying to contact Karthik.
Any South Indian knows the futility of this statement before they hit the full-stop. I am a bit fuzzy on the statistics, but it surely figures in the top 10 list of most frequent names. You see my parents-in-law and his parents became friends when they last visited here. Time passed...Karthik changed apartments and moved on. Now I want to contact them without their contact information.
I have a friend who works in the same company Karthik works for, and I shot him an email asking for Karthik's contact information. So, he must've dutifully contacted the Karthik and within the hour, I had all his phone numbers.
My husband (H) called him and this is how the conversation must have looked:
H: Hello.....May I talk to Karthik?
K: Yes.....that's me
H: Eh......how are you? So, did you guys move?
K: No.....why, and who is this?H: Introduces himself - ** Still not sure because he doesn't sound anything like Karthik**How is Chitra doing?
K: Who Chitra? My wife's name is Lakshmi.
H now feels that the conversation is not going as well as it should. So, he volunteers more irrelevant information
H: Oh, doesn't Chitra work at Google?
K: Chitra may be working at Google, but I am married to Lakshmi.
At which point, H would have found it prudent to end the conv. BTW, the above piece of conversation is purely fictional. Point is: We got a different Karthik.
So, I shot off another email to aforesaid friend, and qualified it saying: He speaks the Coimbatore dialect of Tamil.
So, now what would my friend do with this useless piece of information? Stick a mike to another Karthik and ask him to say a few words in Tamil to validate?
I can't stop myself from giggling while imagining the following:
1) The quizzical look on Karthik's face when my friend approached him for contact information. He must have thought that his parents sphere of influence extends far & wide, and given him the numbers anyway.
2) The increasingly embarrassing conversation between the husband and the above Karthik.
3) Friend sticking a mike to all the Karthiks in the company and asking them to say a few words in Tamil (Thankfully, there was only 1 person by this name, and we had already established that he is not the person we were looking for)
Any South Indian knows the futility of this statement before they hit the full-stop. I am a bit fuzzy on the statistics, but it surely figures in the top 10 list of most frequent names. You see my parents-in-law and his parents became friends when they last visited here. Time passed...Karthik changed apartments and moved on. Now I want to contact them without their contact information.
I have a friend who works in the same company Karthik works for, and I shot him an email asking for Karthik's contact information. So, he must've dutifully contacted the Karthik and within the hour, I had all his phone numbers.
My husband (H) called him and this is how the conversation must have looked:
H: Hello.....May I talk to Karthik?
K: Yes.....that's me
H: Eh......how are you? So, did you guys move?
K: No.....why, and who is this?H: Introduces himself - ** Still not sure because he doesn't sound anything like Karthik**How is Chitra doing?
K: Who Chitra? My wife's name is Lakshmi.
H now feels that the conversation is not going as well as it should. So, he volunteers more irrelevant information
H: Oh, doesn't Chitra work at Google?
K: Chitra may be working at Google, but I am married to Lakshmi.
At which point, H would have found it prudent to end the conv. BTW, the above piece of conversation is purely fictional. Point is: We got a different Karthik.
So, I shot off another email to aforesaid friend, and qualified it saying: He speaks the Coimbatore dialect of Tamil.
So, now what would my friend do with this useless piece of information? Stick a mike to another Karthik and ask him to say a few words in Tamil to validate?
I can't stop myself from giggling while imagining the following:
1) The quizzical look on Karthik's face when my friend approached him for contact information. He must have thought that his parents sphere of influence extends far & wide, and given him the numbers anyway.
2) The increasingly embarrassing conversation between the husband and the above Karthik.
3) Friend sticking a mike to all the Karthiks in the company and asking them to say a few words in Tamil (Thankfully, there was only 1 person by this name, and we had already established that he is not the person we were looking for)
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Salmon
We had just moved to Coimbatore (a city bustling at the foothills of the Nilgiris), and within a few days had several offers from prospective maids. We recruited the one who was amongst the first few to approach us, and had a strong recommendation from our neighbour. She was a sturdy lady in her sixties, and weilded a broom like a brickbat. She was a lady of few words, and generally nodded her way through the home. If she had to sweep, she would, whether or not you were in the wake of the broom's sweep. If you were prudent and nimble, you would jump away from its wake.
Usually, we were up about the time she came, and so were in possession of our mental faculties to escape the broom. One day, my brother, after a late night movie was sprawled out in front of the TV on a straw mat, and was asleep when she arrived. She had decided to give herself an oil massage before coming, and stepped into the home beaming like Durga Devi. She was dark complexioned, her eyes were red (probably with the heat and fury of her oil massage). With the shining oil, all she had to do was stick out her tongue, which incidentally was extremely red thanks to the betel leaves that she relished, and she was all set to attract the most ardent devotees!
My hapless brother was probably smiling in his dreams when he stirred at the sound of the broom swishing around him, and to date I can visualise his extremely adroit move that was pretty much how salmons travel upstream. He leaped from his supine position on the floor to the sofa in one graceful move and his eyes didn't blink for an entire minute.
PS: Don't ask me why I came up with this post, I was reading about the migrating patterns of salmons, and this incident came to my mind!
Usually, we were up about the time she came, and so were in possession of our mental faculties to escape the broom. One day, my brother, after a late night movie was sprawled out in front of the TV on a straw mat, and was asleep when she arrived. She had decided to give herself an oil massage before coming, and stepped into the home beaming like Durga Devi. She was dark complexioned, her eyes were red (probably with the heat and fury of her oil massage). With the shining oil, all she had to do was stick out her tongue, which incidentally was extremely red thanks to the betel leaves that she relished, and she was all set to attract the most ardent devotees!
My hapless brother was probably smiling in his dreams when he stirred at the sound of the broom swishing around him, and to date I can visualise his extremely adroit move that was pretty much how salmons travel upstream. He leaped from his supine position on the floor to the sofa in one graceful move and his eyes didn't blink for an entire minute.
PS: Don't ask me why I came up with this post, I was reading about the migrating patterns of salmons, and this incident came to my mind!
Friday, July 21, 2006
Banned
The tea vendor had tears in his eyes. His shop: the one he had christened "Kajol" after his favorite idol was closed, and he knew not when he would be allowed to reopen. He had poured his heart and soul into his tea-shop, and it had acquired quite a clientele from the neighbouring offices.
Apparently, it was found that a gangster, sought heavily by the Police department, had been observed drinking tea. Therefore, all tea shops were closed with immediate effect. Nobody drinks tea, gangster or otherwise, to deter future gangsters from refreshing themselves before their drastic deeds!
Does this fictional piece sound sort of far-fetched? This is the parallel I could think of when I heard the Indian Govt had banned all bloggers, because they believed some terrorists in the recent Mumbai blasts had used the blog media to communicate amongst themselves!
God help Policy makers!
Apparently, it was found that a gangster, sought heavily by the Police department, had been observed drinking tea. Therefore, all tea shops were closed with immediate effect. Nobody drinks tea, gangster or otherwise, to deter future gangsters from refreshing themselves before their drastic deeds!
Does this fictional piece sound sort of far-fetched? This is the parallel I could think of when I heard the Indian Govt had banned all bloggers, because they believed some terrorists in the recent Mumbai blasts had used the blog media to communicate amongst themselves!
God help Policy makers!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
What's in a Spelling?
At the outset....this is a light-hearted thought on the spelling of my name, and I mean no offense to the Sowmyas of the world.
Every time I spell my name out to Indians, I always get asked: how come it is not spelt "S-o-w..."? As a child I immensely thanked my parents for spelling my name without the "Sow". With the typical innocence of childhood, I used to explain that "sow" meant female swine, and therefore, with the gloriole of knowledge glowing bright, my parents had chosen the alternate spelling.
I can very well imagine the havoc that children could wreak on another child's self esteem with some trivia like this! Of course, this also depends on how many children actually lay their hands on such trivia - but 1 precocious child per school could do the trick!
I can still look at my certificates - some of them with the spelling so wrong, it hardly reads like my name! I have one certificate that when translated in my daughter's language means "Saw a cat" because it is spelt "SAW-MIYA".
I ramble....but my point is, my name is still fun.
In so many parts of the world, the spelling of a name could be the tender line between life and death. In war-ravaged Iraq today, everybody is required to carry on them a form of national identification, called "Jinsiyas". Apparently, the market for fake jinsiyas is thriving. For ex: Omar could mean the person belongs to the Sunni sect, while Amer could mean either Shiite or Sunni. Depending upon the checkpost where they are stopped, people know which jinsiya to brandish and live life. (Source: Newsweek July issue)
Every time I spell my name out to Indians, I always get asked: how come it is not spelt "S-o-w..."? As a child I immensely thanked my parents for spelling my name without the "Sow". With the typical innocence of childhood, I used to explain that "sow" meant female swine, and therefore, with the gloriole of knowledge glowing bright, my parents had chosen the alternate spelling.
I can very well imagine the havoc that children could wreak on another child's self esteem with some trivia like this! Of course, this also depends on how many children actually lay their hands on such trivia - but 1 precocious child per school could do the trick!
I can still look at my certificates - some of them with the spelling so wrong, it hardly reads like my name! I have one certificate that when translated in my daughter's language means "Saw a cat" because it is spelt "SAW-MIYA".
I ramble....but my point is, my name is still fun.
In so many parts of the world, the spelling of a name could be the tender line between life and death. In war-ravaged Iraq today, everybody is required to carry on them a form of national identification, called "Jinsiyas". Apparently, the market for fake jinsiyas is thriving. For ex: Omar could mean the person belongs to the Sunni sect, while Amer could mean either Shiite or Sunni. Depending upon the checkpost where they are stopped, people know which jinsiya to brandish and live life. (Source: Newsweek July issue)
Friday, July 14, 2006
Hmm...Now what to do?!
For all that hungama surrounding the release of Da Vinci Code in India, it looks there had to post a policeman to coerce people into buying tickets: so he could do his duty, and ensure the screening went smoothly!
http://www.hindu.com/2006/07/15/stories/2006071508150100.htm
http://www.hindu.com/2006/07/15/stories/2006071508150100.htm
Monday, July 10, 2006
Jallikattu & Bullfighting
I guess every year around mid-January, you can safely stop by my house to hear profranities regarding Jallikattu.
"IDIOTS!" My father would proclaim before going on to give his annual lecture on the insanity of the sport that deliberately places a human being in harm's way. Why would non-suicidal folks deliberately stand in the way of an intoxicated bull?
At least in the past, there was a reason. The pricess's hand would be given to the brave man who could overcome a raging bull. So, it was either marriage or a brutal injury - men weighed the odds, and decided what to do. Today, there is no princess with gleaming hope waiting for her Prince charming to tame the bull. So the morbid choices are: injury, brutal injury or death.
Every year in Pamplona, Spain these very matadors display their prowess by taking on the bulls. Despite the gory nature of the sport, I am still fine with the bulls raging against the matadors (after all the matadors have made the choice that they are willing to be gored) But why not have arenas built for them, and have bulls only run around inside the arena? At least the sadistic crowds are not injured while the masochists take on the bulls?
All I can do is sigh every time another human-being is injured in this "game".
"IDIOTS!" My father would proclaim before going on to give his annual lecture on the insanity of the sport that deliberately places a human being in harm's way. Why would non-suicidal folks deliberately stand in the way of an intoxicated bull?
At least in the past, there was a reason. The pricess's hand would be given to the brave man who could overcome a raging bull. So, it was either marriage or a brutal injury - men weighed the odds, and decided what to do. Today, there is no princess with gleaming hope waiting for her Prince charming to tame the bull. So the morbid choices are: injury, brutal injury or death.
Every year in Pamplona, Spain these very matadors display their prowess by taking on the bulls. Despite the gory nature of the sport, I am still fine with the bulls raging against the matadors (after all the matadors have made the choice that they are willing to be gored) But why not have arenas built for them, and have bulls only run around inside the arena? At least the sadistic crowds are not injured while the masochists take on the bulls?
All I can do is sigh every time another human-being is injured in this "game".
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Not Lazy!
I saw the following placard stuck on a shopping cart of one of the numerous homeless folks in the city.
Location: Posh newly re-constructed Pier 14, San Francisco
No Drugs!
No Alcohol!
Money used for food only!!
Not lazy !!!
Now, that was an absolutely ingenuous thing to do. It got me thinking about how interesting it would be to work out the returns of this homeless person, versus the returns of the other homeless people using numerous innane placards. This could give us a feel of whether people genuinely trust or whether the stereotypes of homeless, drunk and sloshed people takes over.
As I was passing this cart, I could not but help look for the self-proclaimed "Not Lazy" owner.
I found him fast asleep using the cart to shield him from the direct glare of the sunlight!
PS: I guess a post-lunch siesta is excusable!!
Location: Posh newly re-constructed Pier 14, San Francisco
No Drugs!
No Alcohol!
Money used for food only!!
Not lazy !!!
Now, that was an absolutely ingenuous thing to do. It got me thinking about how interesting it would be to work out the returns of this homeless person, versus the returns of the other homeless people using numerous innane placards. This could give us a feel of whether people genuinely trust or whether the stereotypes of homeless, drunk and sloshed people takes over.
As I was passing this cart, I could not but help look for the self-proclaimed "Not Lazy" owner.
I found him fast asleep using the cart to shield him from the direct glare of the sunlight!
PS: I guess a post-lunch siesta is excusable!!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
I was crossing the street yesterday, when a car was pulling out from an underground garage. He did not notice us, and pulled out onto the street as we were walking. It seemed like a legitimate mistake (giving him the benefit of doubt) Imagine a person with his neck craning to gain visibility when he is peering out from the car at some place much higher than his perch. At this a man kicked the rear of the car really hard - and swore that this should teach him not to be rude!
Hmm.....if rudeness would teach a person not to be rude.........
Maybe, a war on terror would terrorize terrorists into not terrorizing innocent people!
Hmm.....if rudeness would teach a person not to be rude.........
Maybe, a war on terror would terrorize terrorists into not terrorizing innocent people!
Friday, June 16, 2006
Dear dear Technology
The pace at work is pretty hectic (Ours being a small company, and one of the fastest growing in our domain) By nature of their profiles, the Production support groups and DBAs are known to be high-tension jobs, since they are always required to take care of issues NOW!
So, imagine how I felt when I walk into the break room to find a member of the production support technical team staring out the window, and making a comment about the weather in San Francisco.
"It is breezier here during the day, and definitely colder in the mornings and evenings" she explains.
I nod in assent.
Soon, she continues after acknowledging my nod, that everybody outside is walking baring their skin, and life looks so pretty outside. I let out a laugh, and move towards my coffee.
Soon, a few more people walk into the break-room, and one of them even responds to her statements: "Fantastic weather isn't it?"
To which she replies: "Yes, I really wish I could wear shorts" (Not entirely out of context, but....)
He: "Yes...that would be cool. Though the office really is cool you know"
She: "Hmm....I wonder where my white shorts are!"
Now, all of us in the room are slightly baffled! While we exchange concerned looks, she says:
"Oh ma....I really got to go. I am talking with this ear-piece on, that no-one can see, and everyone thinks I am nuts!"
THAT explains it!! Oh..for the love of technology!
So, imagine how I felt when I walk into the break room to find a member of the production support technical team staring out the window, and making a comment about the weather in San Francisco.
"It is breezier here during the day, and definitely colder in the mornings and evenings" she explains.
I nod in assent.
Soon, she continues after acknowledging my nod, that everybody outside is walking baring their skin, and life looks so pretty outside. I let out a laugh, and move towards my coffee.
Soon, a few more people walk into the break-room, and one of them even responds to her statements: "Fantastic weather isn't it?"
To which she replies: "Yes, I really wish I could wear shorts" (Not entirely out of context, but....)
He: "Yes...that would be cool. Though the office really is cool you know"
She: "Hmm....I wonder where my white shorts are!"
Now, all of us in the room are slightly baffled! While we exchange concerned looks, she says:
"Oh ma....I really got to go. I am talking with this ear-piece on, that no-one can see, and everyone thinks I am nuts!"
THAT explains it!! Oh..for the love of technology!
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Da Vinci Code
Fictional piece:
Setting: Velankanni seashore in India. There is a mild breeze blowing and the tiny droplets of rain are soothing.
Reporter: Da Vinci Code-ai ban pannitaangalaamae? (Da Vinci Code has been banned. What do you think about it?)
The reporter is addressing a Christian couple headed to the local market. The lady has a basket full of fishes on her head, balancing an infant on her hips and walking briskly towards the local market with her husband bearing an equal load on his head
Man : Mariyaadhaiya pesu paa: yenna "Da" podarae? (Speak with respect. 'DA' being a derogatory term in Tamil)
Lady: Ayyo irunga....yedho kodai venum pol irukku (Oh wait....maybe he wants an umbrella. Kodai (Code-ai) in Tamil means Umbrella)
The reporter hastens to explain that he is neither treating the man with disrespect nor asking for an umbrella. He explains in some depth about the book authored by Dan Brown, that has been banned, while the fidgety couple glance market-ward in their worry that they may not quite make it to the local market for prime spots to sell their wares.
Lady: Ohh! Browns colour-aa? Addhaan mannu colour. Adhhukku yenna ippo? (Brown is the colour of mud. So what?)
Reporter: Ayyo.......andha Brown illai. Ivar vandhu English-la book ezhudhi irukkaru.(This Brown is an English author)
Man: AAma .......Tamil padikaave aala kaanum. Idhila English veraiya? (I can barely read Tamil, so who cares about an English book)
Couple together: Verai velai vetti illa? Kaalangaarthalae vandhittan yedho book-a patthi pesa. Boney-meeen venum-aa? (Useless fellow wasting everybody's time in the morning. At least be the first customer to buy some fish!)
Newsitem in The Hindu dated 2nd June 2006 banning the Da Vinci Code movie from being released in Andhra Pradesh:
Dr. Reddy, sources said, was initially reluctant to support the ban. He argued that the original novel had already sold more than 60.5 million copies throughout the world and no Christian country had preferred the ban. He, however, relented when the officials cautioned him about possible law and order problems if the film was screened.
Later in a press release, Mr. Paul Bhuyan justified the stand arguing that the minority organisations had pointed out that the film's story line attacked the very heart of the Holy Gospel destroying the divinity of Lord Jesus Christ.
It might lead to unrest among the semi-literate and illiterate rural folk following the faith, they had further warned.
The movie has been successfully released in Rome!
Setting: Velankanni seashore in India. There is a mild breeze blowing and the tiny droplets of rain are soothing.
Reporter: Da Vinci Code-ai ban pannitaangalaamae? (Da Vinci Code has been banned. What do you think about it?)
The reporter is addressing a Christian couple headed to the local market. The lady has a basket full of fishes on her head, balancing an infant on her hips and walking briskly towards the local market with her husband bearing an equal load on his head
Man : Mariyaadhaiya pesu paa: yenna "Da" podarae? (Speak with respect. 'DA' being a derogatory term in Tamil)
Lady: Ayyo irunga....yedho kodai venum pol irukku (Oh wait....maybe he wants an umbrella. Kodai (Code-ai) in Tamil means Umbrella)
The reporter hastens to explain that he is neither treating the man with disrespect nor asking for an umbrella. He explains in some depth about the book authored by Dan Brown, that has been banned, while the fidgety couple glance market-ward in their worry that they may not quite make it to the local market for prime spots to sell their wares.
Lady: Ohh! Browns colour-aa? Addhaan mannu colour. Adhhukku yenna ippo? (Brown is the colour of mud. So what?)
Reporter: Ayyo.......andha Brown illai. Ivar vandhu English-la book ezhudhi irukkaru.(This Brown is an English author)
Man: AAma .......Tamil padikaave aala kaanum. Idhila English veraiya? (I can barely read Tamil, so who cares about an English book)
Couple together: Verai velai vetti illa? Kaalangaarthalae vandhittan yedho book-a patthi pesa. Boney-meeen venum-aa? (Useless fellow wasting everybody's time in the morning. At least be the first customer to buy some fish!)
Newsitem in The Hindu dated 2nd June 2006 banning the Da Vinci Code movie from being released in Andhra Pradesh:
Dr. Reddy, sources said, was initially reluctant to support the ban. He argued that the original novel had already sold more than 60.5 million copies throughout the world and no Christian country had preferred the ban. He, however, relented when the officials cautioned him about possible law and order problems if the film was screened.
Later in a press release, Mr. Paul Bhuyan justified the stand arguing that the minority organisations had pointed out that the film's story line attacked the very heart of the Holy Gospel destroying the divinity of Lord Jesus Christ.
It might lead to unrest among the semi-literate and illiterate rural folk following the faith, they had further warned.
The movie has been successfully released in Rome!
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Tut Tut!
My husband and close friend took part in the Bay to Breakers 12K run in San Francisco. All I have to go by are their tales, and some photographs I saw in the newspapers the next day. But, by all reports, this is one hell of a race: The convention was to wear unconventional costumes, or in some cases the Emperor's finest clothes!
I hail from a community in South India, known to treat mavericks with disdain. It tickled me pink to hold my guns for small things and watch with interest the emotions my sayings evoked. Thankfully for me, my parents just shook their heads and moved on with their lives.
"I don't like flowers on my hair, it gives me a headache", I would protest, to gasps from aunts hushing me into not saying these unconventional things. Imagine a girl child not liking jasmine flowers to adorn her hair? * GASP! *
Or better still: "I don't like jewels, so please don't me make me wear these ornaments!" *By all standards, this was the best, since South India is well-known for its jewel craze, and not liking jewellery was like a cat not liking to eat mice.*
Luckily, I only had to endure this during my school vacations. Hailing from a country, which places unnecessary onus on others opinions of us, and a tradition of blending with the populace, I must say the US was a welcome change in outlook. And to hear about people running around like this, with nary a worry about what others think!
Tut Tut!: Just wait till the oldies in my village hear about this!
I hail from a community in South India, known to treat mavericks with disdain. It tickled me pink to hold my guns for small things and watch with interest the emotions my sayings evoked. Thankfully for me, my parents just shook their heads and moved on with their lives.
"I don't like flowers on my hair, it gives me a headache", I would protest, to gasps from aunts hushing me into not saying these unconventional things. Imagine a girl child not liking jasmine flowers to adorn her hair? * GASP! *
Or better still: "I don't like jewels, so please don't me make me wear these ornaments!" *By all standards, this was the best, since South India is well-known for its jewel craze, and not liking jewellery was like a cat not liking to eat mice.*
Luckily, I only had to endure this during my school vacations. Hailing from a country, which places unnecessary onus on others opinions of us, and a tradition of blending with the populace, I must say the US was a welcome change in outlook. And to hear about people running around like this, with nary a worry about what others think!
Tut Tut!: Just wait till the oldies in my village hear about this!
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Honey, I'll manage you!
The beehive boasts a sign as you approach:
DO NOT DISTURB! ANNUAL TARGETS TO BE MET!
The beehive is bustling with activity. There is a honey target to meet before the winter season sets in, and the flowers wither away. The important look and sense of purpose in the flight of every single worker bee is evident, and one would want to stay away from them to enable them to do their own work, which is fantastically co-ordinated and classically implemented by exceptionally motivated worker bees. There is the busy queen bee too, laying and hatching eggs in the hive.
Works perfectly: Queen bee lays eggs, worker bees collect nectar. Everything is hunky-dory as long as the bear doesn't get its paws on the hive.
Now, let's introduce Management into this setup:
There are several manager bees whose purpose in life is to ensure the worker bees reporting to them meet their targets. There are fewer Senior manager bees whose purpose in life is to ensure that the manager bees meet their target. Even fewer Director bees whose purpose is to ensure that the senior manager bees meet their targets and very few bees to directly report to the Queen bee.
Valid points in current context:
1) The worker bees already are meeting their targets, why have another bee to oversee what they are doing perfectly well? *Argument squashed.*
2) The Queen bee is really not interested in what her direct report bees report because she is busy laying eggs. *Point to be noted*
The day dawns and the worker bees bustle along as usual, collecting nectar. Only now, every hour, they have to come to the manager bee to report that things are going fine, and the nectar collection is going smoothly.
Cumulative time spent during the day reporting status and looking for manager bee: 90 minutes per bee per day.
Target: lowered to accomodate for this activity, and winter months spent with less honey for more bees.
Once all this data is noted, the manager bee speeds away to update the senior manager and the senior manager bee to the director bee and so on and so forth.
Loss of productivity: nil, since there is no contribution to nectar gathering from these bees.
One particular patch of flowers does not yield as much nectar, but the bees know to steer clear of it, till the manager bee notes this, and prods the bees to keep trying harder there. Soon, manager bee, senior manager bee and director bee visit the patch several times a day, and get more bees trying futilely to obtain nectar from this patch, when the remaining flowers waste their perfectly good nectar.
Side Effect:
The hard-working bee wants a break. Previously, he would have just dawdled on a minute longer on a favorite flower, and then gone about his own duties. But now, he sees before him a working model of a set of bees that do nothing all day except fly around looking at other bees, and soon he wants to become a manager bee. Competition sets in, the ugly head of jealousy and scheming cloud the clear vision of otherwise happy, united worker bees.
The Pandora's box is opened.
DO NOT DISTURB! ANNUAL TARGETS TO BE MET!
The beehive is bustling with activity. There is a honey target to meet before the winter season sets in, and the flowers wither away. The important look and sense of purpose in the flight of every single worker bee is evident, and one would want to stay away from them to enable them to do their own work, which is fantastically co-ordinated and classically implemented by exceptionally motivated worker bees. There is the busy queen bee too, laying and hatching eggs in the hive.
Works perfectly: Queen bee lays eggs, worker bees collect nectar. Everything is hunky-dory as long as the bear doesn't get its paws on the hive.
Now, let's introduce Management into this setup:
There are several manager bees whose purpose in life is to ensure the worker bees reporting to them meet their targets. There are fewer Senior manager bees whose purpose in life is to ensure that the manager bees meet their target. Even fewer Director bees whose purpose is to ensure that the senior manager bees meet their targets and very few bees to directly report to the Queen bee.
Valid points in current context:
1) The worker bees already are meeting their targets, why have another bee to oversee what they are doing perfectly well? *Argument squashed.*
2) The Queen bee is really not interested in what her direct report bees report because she is busy laying eggs. *Point to be noted*
The day dawns and the worker bees bustle along as usual, collecting nectar. Only now, every hour, they have to come to the manager bee to report that things are going fine, and the nectar collection is going smoothly.
Cumulative time spent during the day reporting status and looking for manager bee: 90 minutes per bee per day.
Target: lowered to accomodate for this activity, and winter months spent with less honey for more bees.
Once all this data is noted, the manager bee speeds away to update the senior manager and the senior manager bee to the director bee and so on and so forth.
Loss of productivity: nil, since there is no contribution to nectar gathering from these bees.
One particular patch of flowers does not yield as much nectar, but the bees know to steer clear of it, till the manager bee notes this, and prods the bees to keep trying harder there. Soon, manager bee, senior manager bee and director bee visit the patch several times a day, and get more bees trying futilely to obtain nectar from this patch, when the remaining flowers waste their perfectly good nectar.
Side Effect:
The hard-working bee wants a break. Previously, he would have just dawdled on a minute longer on a favorite flower, and then gone about his own duties. But now, he sees before him a working model of a set of bees that do nothing all day except fly around looking at other bees, and soon he wants to become a manager bee. Competition sets in, the ugly head of jealousy and scheming cloud the clear vision of otherwise happy, united worker bees.
The Pandora's box is opened.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Appy T'youuuuuuuu
I really like Mother's Day and Father's Day. Not so much for the marketing, but for the thought. One day when everybody takes a moment to think of the everyday things these wonderful people do in your life. A moment to appreciate and cherish our wonderful parents.
I was a proud mother listening to my toddler wishing me "Appy T'youuuu" multiple times on Mother's Day. She made it special by rising with the lark to spend time with me on a Sunday morning! I would have been happier still, if she had risen around 2 hours later, but it was fun anyway - its fun as your eyes adjust to the increasingly quick maneuvres with sleep tugging at the eyelids. Have you tried adjusting the Mouse settings on the Windows operating system to show the mouse pointer trails?
I tried taking a nap later, but Father and daughter were determined to get me a gift, and before I knew it, I was a happy shopper at Great Mall. A tiring day of shopping done: we were back at home and took stock of the gifts purchased.
The toddler gets a booty (balloons, clothes, shoes and accessories), the father's wardrobe gets a facelift, and oops! The selfless mother gets another "Appy t'youuuuu" to make up for the oversight of not getting a gift!
I love being a mother.
I was a proud mother listening to my toddler wishing me "Appy T'youuuu" multiple times on Mother's Day. She made it special by rising with the lark to spend time with me on a Sunday morning! I would have been happier still, if she had risen around 2 hours later, but it was fun anyway - its fun as your eyes adjust to the increasingly quick maneuvres with sleep tugging at the eyelids. Have you tried adjusting the Mouse settings on the Windows operating system to show the mouse pointer trails?
I tried taking a nap later, but Father and daughter were determined to get me a gift, and before I knew it, I was a happy shopper at Great Mall. A tiring day of shopping done: we were back at home and took stock of the gifts purchased.
The toddler gets a booty (balloons, clothes, shoes and accessories), the father's wardrobe gets a facelift, and oops! The selfless mother gets another "Appy t'youuuuu" to make up for the oversight of not getting a gift!
I love being a mother.
Friday, May 12, 2006
One fine day
A foreword is necessary to this post. I work in the Financial district where dress codes are respected. The IT department, like in most companies, is the frumpier of the lot. We have people dressed smartly in Business casuals Monday through Thursday. There would be a slight exaggeration here, but you get the drift when I say the brightest colours inside of the office are the yellow walls.
The colours bloom on Fridays, which is the casual day at work. Hawaiian shirts spot the horizon, and the orange shirts and jeans are seen on happy faces awaiting the week-end. I sport all my Indian tops on jeans on Fridays and get rave reviews on the prints. I was looking for company to digress a little further and wear bright Indian skirts to work. A friend of mine showed inclination and enthusiasm. So we arrived on a date, and decided to wear skirts to work that day, when she said: "Oh, I meant, you should wear bright clothes, I can stand by the by-lines and encourage you."
Have you been bungee jumping? It is like a x & y, two best buddies climb to the top. X depends on Y for company. They reach the top, and Y says: "You jump. I 'll stand here and give you encouragement!"
Well, one fine day, maybe I will come in looking like a bouquet of flowers in a yellow room!
The colours bloom on Fridays, which is the casual day at work. Hawaiian shirts spot the horizon, and the orange shirts and jeans are seen on happy faces awaiting the week-end. I sport all my Indian tops on jeans on Fridays and get rave reviews on the prints. I was looking for company to digress a little further and wear bright Indian skirts to work. A friend of mine showed inclination and enthusiasm. So we arrived on a date, and decided to wear skirts to work that day, when she said: "Oh, I meant, you should wear bright clothes, I can stand by the by-lines and encourage you."
Have you been bungee jumping? It is like a x & y, two best buddies climb to the top. X depends on Y for company. They reach the top, and Y says: "You jump. I 'll stand here and give you encouragement!"
Well, one fine day, maybe I will come in looking like a bouquet of flowers in a yellow room!
Friday, April 21, 2006
The 8th Row
A long post...so, please bear with me...
I was reading about the success and functioning of JetBlue Airlines. One trivia given about their CEO was the fact that he always travelled in the last seat, when he flew in his own airline, because that was the seat that did not recline. The customer comes first, he mentions, and sends his crew scurrying to look after other passengers upfront, rather than focussing on the non-reclining seat at the rear-end seating the CEO.
I leaned back, and reflected on another airline experience I had.
Location: Bangkok airport
Travelling with: Dear husband, extremely active 1 year old who had a fitful slumber from Hongkong to Bangkok, and was brimming with energy to explore the surroundings.
When I approached the Indian Airlines counter, I requested for the first row. Since I was travelling with an infant, the phrase "travelling light" was dropped like a hot cake from the phrases I was allowed to employ. Secondly, the first row allows the baby some space to develop immunity by running her fingers on the dirty carpet, and drooling on those fingers a while later!
"Sure Madam. I can do that for you", said the courteous airhostess, explaining to me at great length about how she empathized with me for the long flight we had already endured. You are in good hands, she assured me and handed us our boarding passes. I emanated warmth. I smiled at her maternal instincts.
I was busy running between the chairs and playing a sophisticated game of Peek-a-boo when she (the air hostess)interrupted me and said she would like to change our boarding pass. I explained that I had requested for the first seat...blah, blah. She flashed a smile, and said she would still like to change our boarding pass to give us the "right" one. I handed it over to her with childish innocence. My eyes resonated with a warm feeling, and I did not quite catch that flicker of hesitation in her eyes. 8A, 8B was changed to 9A,9B and handed back to me along
with some candies for the 2 footer by my side.
I boarded the plane and this is the layout:
FIRST CLASS
_______ ________
8A,8B,8C 8D, 8E, 8F
9A,9B,9C 9D, 9E, 9F
10A.. ...
There must have been a mistake I told myself and settled down in 8A. That airhostess was too sweet, and this must be an error. I settled the various bags, took out the relevant toys, milk bottles, baby blanket and other paraphernalia. I eyed the passenger across the aisle, and he explained why he had requested for the first row too. I nodded understandingly - he was nearly the height of a building and he would have had trouble fitting into those tiny seats with nil legroom. Hefty but courteous, I noticed and got on with my task of settling down.
Just then, the air hostess came by, and told me to vacate, and get moving to 9A. I blabbered, and explained again.
"That's true madam, but a senior officers family is travelling, and they need these seats. You understand na?"
I didn't understand. Imagine a baby chick and mama chick standing on the carpet, and the mama chick walks out of the carpet, and pulls it from under the baby chick's legs. I felt like the baby chick now. Those very eyes that had emanated warmth, now displayed with a sense of betrayal.
She eyed the building sized man, and for a moment debated whether to tell him or not. She did, and she watched on with trepidation. He stormed that he wasn't going to take this lightly. Apparently, he had made advance reservations and had come to the airport 2 hours in advance for this exact request, and it was being denied because the officers family "needed" the seats?!
To cut a long story short: The flight departed with grouchy 9th row passengers and a brood of happy officer family folks in 8th. A while later, the poor man across the aisle was failing miserably at trying to seat himself comfortably - he finally heaved himself out, and told the air hostess to put him in First Class, and he would bear the difference in fare if necessary.
The clouds cleared, the sun peeped and the air hostess smiled and bustled only to come back a few minutes later with first class seats ............ for the officer's family!
The 8th row was available once again and everybody flew happily thereafter.
So, the Officers family flew first class while the CEO sat upright at the back.
I was reading about the success and functioning of JetBlue Airlines. One trivia given about their CEO was the fact that he always travelled in the last seat, when he flew in his own airline, because that was the seat that did not recline. The customer comes first, he mentions, and sends his crew scurrying to look after other passengers upfront, rather than focussing on the non-reclining seat at the rear-end seating the CEO.
I leaned back, and reflected on another airline experience I had.
Location: Bangkok airport
Travelling with: Dear husband, extremely active 1 year old who had a fitful slumber from Hongkong to Bangkok, and was brimming with energy to explore the surroundings.
When I approached the Indian Airlines counter, I requested for the first row. Since I was travelling with an infant, the phrase "travelling light" was dropped like a hot cake from the phrases I was allowed to employ. Secondly, the first row allows the baby some space to develop immunity by running her fingers on the dirty carpet, and drooling on those fingers a while later!
"Sure Madam. I can do that for you", said the courteous airhostess, explaining to me at great length about how she empathized with me for the long flight we had already endured. You are in good hands, she assured me and handed us our boarding passes. I emanated warmth. I smiled at her maternal instincts.
I was busy running between the chairs and playing a sophisticated game of Peek-a-boo when she (the air hostess)interrupted me and said she would like to change our boarding pass. I explained that I had requested for the first seat...blah, blah. She flashed a smile, and said she would still like to change our boarding pass to give us the "right" one. I handed it over to her with childish innocence. My eyes resonated with a warm feeling, and I did not quite catch that flicker of hesitation in her eyes. 8A, 8B was changed to 9A,9B and handed back to me along
with some candies for the 2 footer by my side.
I boarded the plane and this is the layout:
FIRST CLASS
_______ ________
8A,8B,8C 8D, 8E, 8F
9A,9B,9C 9D, 9E, 9F
10A.. ...
There must have been a mistake I told myself and settled down in 8A. That airhostess was too sweet, and this must be an error. I settled the various bags, took out the relevant toys, milk bottles, baby blanket and other paraphernalia. I eyed the passenger across the aisle, and he explained why he had requested for the first row too. I nodded understandingly - he was nearly the height of a building and he would have had trouble fitting into those tiny seats with nil legroom. Hefty but courteous, I noticed and got on with my task of settling down.
Just then, the air hostess came by, and told me to vacate, and get moving to 9A. I blabbered, and explained again.
"That's true madam, but a senior officers family is travelling, and they need these seats. You understand na?"
I didn't understand. Imagine a baby chick and mama chick standing on the carpet, and the mama chick walks out of the carpet, and pulls it from under the baby chick's legs. I felt like the baby chick now. Those very eyes that had emanated warmth, now displayed with a sense of betrayal.
She eyed the building sized man, and for a moment debated whether to tell him or not. She did, and she watched on with trepidation. He stormed that he wasn't going to take this lightly. Apparently, he had made advance reservations and had come to the airport 2 hours in advance for this exact request, and it was being denied because the officers family "needed" the seats?!
To cut a long story short: The flight departed with grouchy 9th row passengers and a brood of happy officer family folks in 8th. A while later, the poor man across the aisle was failing miserably at trying to seat himself comfortably - he finally heaved himself out, and told the air hostess to put him in First Class, and he would bear the difference in fare if necessary.
The clouds cleared, the sun peeped and the air hostess smiled and bustled only to come back a few minutes later with first class seats ............ for the officer's family!
The 8th row was available once again and everybody flew happily thereafter.
So, the Officers family flew first class while the CEO sat upright at the back.
Monday, April 10, 2006
When M's become Ebbs
I call a customer service representative for just another routine thing:
Bee: Hi, I am Saubya calling
CSR: Hi ... Um, could you spell your name out for me please
Bee: Sure. S as in "Sab", A as in "Apple", U as in "Ubrella", Ebb as in "Bary"
CSR: Pardon?
Bee: Ebb as in "Bary". You know Jesus had a bother named Bary
CSR: Oh Mary!
Bee: Yes....pardon bee. I have a cold, and can't get to say "Ebb" quite right!
Spring danced in, and the allergens joined suit. I have a cold that will not call it quits - Yes!! I finally banaged to say a sentence without "Ebb"!
As I get dressed everyday, I take a moment to decide about the deodorant to use. This time, it doesn't matter. Atleast not to me, I am not the one smelling myself! I could dress like a peach, smell like a lime and feel like a rag!
A cold has some fringe benefits too - you could blame your deteriorating culinary skills on the inability to smell. "Baybe, the salt is a trifle bore, and I bay have gone a little too easy on the peppers. I can't taste very well, thanks to this irritating cold!" you proclaim and set forth a dish of soup that tastes like dishwater.
Benefits aside, with a cold you seem to tick people off with some routine tasks. When a person has a nose like mine, they come to rely on it pretty heavily for day-to-day chores. You pick up the baby, and sniff around to see if the daily duties have been performed. With a cold, this is yet another task that requires more overt techniques. You have to resort to sneaking a peek, and this is certainly not something that makes anybody feel comfortable. So, you have a cold and an angry toddler to deal with by the end of the exercise!
I could ramble on as usual, but let me stop myself and enjoy the beauty of Spring!
Bee: Hi, I am Saubya calling
CSR: Hi ... Um, could you spell your name out for me please
Bee: Sure. S as in "Sab", A as in "Apple", U as in "Ubrella", Ebb as in "Bary"
CSR: Pardon?
Bee: Ebb as in "Bary". You know Jesus had a bother named Bary
CSR: Oh Mary!
Bee: Yes....pardon bee. I have a cold, and can't get to say "Ebb" quite right!
Spring danced in, and the allergens joined suit. I have a cold that will not call it quits - Yes!! I finally banaged to say a sentence without "Ebb"!
As I get dressed everyday, I take a moment to decide about the deodorant to use. This time, it doesn't matter. Atleast not to me, I am not the one smelling myself! I could dress like a peach, smell like a lime and feel like a rag!
A cold has some fringe benefits too - you could blame your deteriorating culinary skills on the inability to smell. "Baybe, the salt is a trifle bore, and I bay have gone a little too easy on the peppers. I can't taste very well, thanks to this irritating cold!" you proclaim and set forth a dish of soup that tastes like dishwater.
Benefits aside, with a cold you seem to tick people off with some routine tasks. When a person has a nose like mine, they come to rely on it pretty heavily for day-to-day chores. You pick up the baby, and sniff around to see if the daily duties have been performed. With a cold, this is yet another task that requires more overt techniques. You have to resort to sneaking a peek, and this is certainly not something that makes anybody feel comfortable. So, you have a cold and an angry toddler to deal with by the end of the exercise!
I could ramble on as usual, but let me stop myself and enjoy the beauty of Spring!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Of Toothpaste Tubes
Wouldn't it be nice to have liquid toothpaste ...Only then it would not be called ToothPaste, but Toothmix. The flow of the toothmix could be akin to ball point pens, wherein a little pressure when applied flows onto the toothbrush, and empties out from the top. Of course, then the structure of the toothbrushes would have to be changed to enable them to squirt the liquid as we move them over our teeth with a small liquid holder to squish out the liquid in spurts as the brushing action begins. The liquid should have the same foaming action as toothpaste so that we get the same clean feeling after brushing.
One may wonder at this juncture why one should go through all the trouble of changing the working model of toothpaste and toothbrushes? Rightly so.
The reason is simple: Have you seen the way people squish the toothpaste in the middle, instead of pushing the paste down from the top of the tube? Then, the task of moving the remnants from the top to the squished middle is left to the more orderly paste-pusher. Of course, by this time the tube has already lost its original shape and looks forever like a downtrodden, sad tomato shoved under the wheels of the speeding carriage.
I live with a compulsive paste-squisher, and many a store have I visited looking for some sort of a crude implement like a ring that I could attach to the end of the tube, and all the squisher needs to do is move the ring along the circumference of the toothpaste - and Bingo! Paste on Brush; tube looks good; birds chirp happily again and another smooth day is born!
One may wonder at this juncture why one should go through all the trouble of changing the working model of toothpaste and toothbrushes? Rightly so.
The reason is simple: Have you seen the way people squish the toothpaste in the middle, instead of pushing the paste down from the top of the tube? Then, the task of moving the remnants from the top to the squished middle is left to the more orderly paste-pusher. Of course, by this time the tube has already lost its original shape and looks forever like a downtrodden, sad tomato shoved under the wheels of the speeding carriage.
I live with a compulsive paste-squisher, and many a store have I visited looking for some sort of a crude implement like a ring that I could attach to the end of the tube, and all the squisher needs to do is move the ring along the circumference of the toothpaste - and Bingo! Paste on Brush; tube looks good; birds chirp happily again and another smooth day is born!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Tea...Kappi....Vada...Bonda...Bajjeeeyaaa
Tea...Kappi....Vada...Bonda...Bajjeeeyaaa
Tea...Kappi....Vada...Bonda...Bajjeeeyaaa
I sorely missed this chant when BART ground to a stand still last night during peak commute hour. The stations were eerily quiet, and empty, while BART employees feverishly worked to get the system back on track.
I envisioned any other station in India when the train pulls into the station. The "sooda tea" and "suda suda bajji" smell wafts into the train accompanied by the shrill voices of the vendors. As long as one does not give too much thought into how these savouries are prepared, they make very tasty snacks!
In fact, my nephew was so enamoured of this profession when he was 3 years old, that his lofty career ideal was to become a "Chai" (tea) vendor in Dindigul station one day.
His metrics for job satisfaction were simple:
1) He could watch trains all day
2) He liked drinking tea, and by becoming a tea stall owner, he could have as many cups as he wanted to!
After a long day at work, I sure would have been happy to gulp in a cup of hot tea at the station yesterday!
Tea...Kappi....Vada...Bonda...Bajjeeeyaaa
I sorely missed this chant when BART ground to a stand still last night during peak commute hour. The stations were eerily quiet, and empty, while BART employees feverishly worked to get the system back on track.
I envisioned any other station in India when the train pulls into the station. The "sooda tea" and "suda suda bajji" smell wafts into the train accompanied by the shrill voices of the vendors. As long as one does not give too much thought into how these savouries are prepared, they make very tasty snacks!
In fact, my nephew was so enamoured of this profession when he was 3 years old, that his lofty career ideal was to become a "Chai" (tea) vendor in Dindigul station one day.
His metrics for job satisfaction were simple:
1) He could watch trains all day
2) He liked drinking tea, and by becoming a tea stall owner, he could have as many cups as he wanted to!
After a long day at work, I sure would have been happy to gulp in a cup of hot tea at the station yesterday!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
She and He
She kept scratching her nose - it felt good to lift her hand, and scratch her nose.
There was no effect. She expanded the scratch area to include larger portions of her face, the lipular area, chin. She was scratching for longer than necessary, but there was still no effect.
She could hold back no longer - she decided to stop the scratching and held out her hand lovingly across the wooden table that separated the fiance and fiancee. He held her hand caressingly, and looked into her eyes and declared an oath of love. He then headed nose-down into his large icecream again.
He felt like having a little more ice-cream, and perhaps another chat with his fiancee. For some reason, she seemed flushed, and kept nervously glancing at the time. Perhaps she had another engagement to go to, and did not want to hurt his feelings by stopping him.
So, he let her go. She was reluctant to leave.
Finally - she thrust her hand at his face, and showed him the new watch she was wearing.
There was no effect. She expanded the scratch area to include larger portions of her face, the lipular area, chin. She was scratching for longer than necessary, but there was still no effect.
She could hold back no longer - she decided to stop the scratching and held out her hand lovingly across the wooden table that separated the fiance and fiancee. He held her hand caressingly, and looked into her eyes and declared an oath of love. He then headed nose-down into his large icecream again.
He felt like having a little more ice-cream, and perhaps another chat with his fiancee. For some reason, she seemed flushed, and kept nervously glancing at the time. Perhaps she had another engagement to go to, and did not want to hurt his feelings by stopping him.
So, he let her go. She was reluctant to leave.
Finally - she thrust her hand at his face, and showed him the new watch she was wearing.
A while before....
It will be a while before my parents.....
1) Look at the moon and not have pangs of separation anxiety from their grand-daughter. The moon is her most important attraction, and all loved ones are part of a nightly ritual of standing in the cold and staring at the "Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnn", who only beams half as brightly as her face.
2) Can distinguish between parrots, cranes, sparrows, mynahs and crows again. In their current dictionary, anything that flies is classified as a "Kaaka" (Tamil word for Crow). There is a bit of an encoding problem here though. The "Th" in every word is substituted with the phonetic equivalent of "K". So, she also calls her Thaatha(Grandfather) "Kaaka", and he is not too pleased about being referred to as a 'Crow'.
3) Stop referring to animals using vocalizations such as Moo and baa, and use the words 'Cows' & 'Goats' instead.
4) Open the refridgerator door for as long as necessary. Today, they take things from the refridgerator in multiple steps:
(a) Quickly scan the location of items, and decide where they need to retrieve the items from
(b) Distract the impish busy-bee who has hastened to the fridge to check things out for herself (sometimes accompanied by SOS calls to the spouse)
(c) Open the door only as much as required to extricate the food items from the fridge, while keeping an eye open for the marauding toddler.
5) Turn without checking to ensure that they don't trip over the tiny little girl.
6) Browse in peace without having the little one "helping" in the task.
7) Have an afternoon nap without reading fifteen 5-page books, multiple times over.
8) Have coffee only thrice a day: down from several times an hour, depending on how often their grand-daughter serves them with her tiny teacups.
9) Walk bravely out the door without sneaking out.
10) Stop browsing the TV channels for Tele-tubbies shows........
Most importantly it will be a long while before my little one gets used to not having her loving grand-parents around.
1) Look at the moon and not have pangs of separation anxiety from their grand-daughter. The moon is her most important attraction, and all loved ones are part of a nightly ritual of standing in the cold and staring at the "Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnn", who only beams half as brightly as her face.
2) Can distinguish between parrots, cranes, sparrows, mynahs and crows again. In their current dictionary, anything that flies is classified as a "Kaaka" (Tamil word for Crow). There is a bit of an encoding problem here though. The "Th" in every word is substituted with the phonetic equivalent of "K". So, she also calls her Thaatha(Grandfather) "Kaaka", and he is not too pleased about being referred to as a 'Crow'.
3) Stop referring to animals using vocalizations such as Moo and baa, and use the words 'Cows' & 'Goats' instead.
4) Open the refridgerator door for as long as necessary. Today, they take things from the refridgerator in multiple steps:
(a) Quickly scan the location of items, and decide where they need to retrieve the items from
(b) Distract the impish busy-bee who has hastened to the fridge to check things out for herself (sometimes accompanied by SOS calls to the spouse)
(c) Open the door only as much as required to extricate the food items from the fridge, while keeping an eye open for the marauding toddler.
5) Turn without checking to ensure that they don't trip over the tiny little girl.
6) Browse in peace without having the little one "helping" in the task.
7) Have an afternoon nap without reading fifteen 5-page books, multiple times over.
8) Have coffee only thrice a day: down from several times an hour, depending on how often their grand-daughter serves them with her tiny teacups.
9) Walk bravely out the door without sneaking out.
10) Stop browsing the TV channels for Tele-tubbies shows........
Most importantly it will be a long while before my little one gets used to not having her loving grand-parents around.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Dear Moth
A moth was rudely awakened from its reverie this morning, and was none too pleased about it. He swarmed angrily across the cubicles, dodging the flitting arms. His dark home had been thwarted in one office memo assigning different work locations to employees. The cardboard boxes were opened to enable the move. The abrasive sound of cardboard against cardboard, and the bright rays of light were enough to anger the most resilient moth.
Dear moth,
I sympathize with you to say the least. I know the agony of being drawn out of reveries by rude noises. Envision this: The soothing effects of the mild afternoon breeze blending harmoniously with the sounds of the Professor droning on. The head nodding ever so slightly in tune with the surroundings. Suddenly the squeaking sound of chalk against the black-board - AARGH!
I know the pain of finding your favourite cove at the corner exposed to direct view. Mildly unaware of your surroundings, you jump at the irritating sound of chalk and attract attention to yourself.
My only advice to you: Be patient. Times will change, the cardboard boxes will settle and re-acquire dust. Your dreams shall start anew.
Signed,
Been There
PS: My attempts at verbalizing the set of irritating sounds drew a naught. Metal scrapping against metal, the sickening sound of squeaking chalk, the tires screeching to a halt. These noises have always affected me in unconventional ways, and I was glad to see a similar effect on Moths.
Dear moth,
I sympathize with you to say the least. I know the agony of being drawn out of reveries by rude noises. Envision this: The soothing effects of the mild afternoon breeze blending harmoniously with the sounds of the Professor droning on. The head nodding ever so slightly in tune with the surroundings. Suddenly the squeaking sound of chalk against the black-board - AARGH!
I know the pain of finding your favourite cove at the corner exposed to direct view. Mildly unaware of your surroundings, you jump at the irritating sound of chalk and attract attention to yourself.
My only advice to you: Be patient. Times will change, the cardboard boxes will settle and re-acquire dust. Your dreams shall start anew.
Signed,
Been There
PS: My attempts at verbalizing the set of irritating sounds drew a naught. Metal scrapping against metal, the sickening sound of squeaking chalk, the tires screeching to a halt. These noises have always affected me in unconventional ways, and I was glad to see a similar effect on Moths.
Friday, March 10, 2006
A story of ...
The rays of the moon pored through the clouds. I lay shivering in the cold, too tired & cold to attract help. My body shivered against the relentless cold, my mind sifted through my own thought processes a few weeks earlier.
Then, I was alive, but in my dreams - today my dreams had come true, but I was dying.
The world outside through the bars in the gold-rimmed cage had seemed wonderful, and every slight opportunity I got, I fantasized about a life of freedom - a life when I could use my wings for that wonderful feeling of free flight. When the time seemed right, that flight I did take. I felt the soaring air flap against my face, I peered to the Earth below and scooped in the delightful flowers.
Life seemed fulfilling before the eerieness of unfamiliarity struck with all its brutality - I now yearned for the motherly touch of the little girl who had nurtured me. The world was closing in....it was gloomier and gloomier, till it was finally dark.
The next thing I remember was the wonderful touch I had yearned for. Warm blood cruised through my veins again. I felt a hot drop against my face, and then another one. I stared up to see the little girl crying for me to pardon her. Did I get the drift of her message through the tears? She wasn't aware that I was unhappy, and she would let me go my way once I healed? It sounded too good to be true.
Time passed and I healed. I flew joyously among the flowers, trees and hills. Every night I dutifully returned to the little girl's garden: There was no cage but this was my world now. I was free to do what I wanted and this is what I wanted to do.
I was the Queen in my garden!
A story of a bird
A story of just another modern day woman
Then, I was alive, but in my dreams - today my dreams had come true, but I was dying.
The world outside through the bars in the gold-rimmed cage had seemed wonderful, and every slight opportunity I got, I fantasized about a life of freedom - a life when I could use my wings for that wonderful feeling of free flight. When the time seemed right, that flight I did take. I felt the soaring air flap against my face, I peered to the Earth below and scooped in the delightful flowers.
Life seemed fulfilling before the eerieness of unfamiliarity struck with all its brutality - I now yearned for the motherly touch of the little girl who had nurtured me. The world was closing in....it was gloomier and gloomier, till it was finally dark.
The next thing I remember was the wonderful touch I had yearned for. Warm blood cruised through my veins again. I felt a hot drop against my face, and then another one. I stared up to see the little girl crying for me to pardon her. Did I get the drift of her message through the tears? She wasn't aware that I was unhappy, and she would let me go my way once I healed? It sounded too good to be true.
Time passed and I healed. I flew joyously among the flowers, trees and hills. Every night I dutifully returned to the little girl's garden: There was no cage but this was my world now. I was free to do what I wanted and this is what I wanted to do.
I was the Queen in my garden!
A story of a bird
A story of just another modern day woman
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Shapes of Nature
Everytime I laid hands on a straw I sincerely indulged in the task of blowing bubbles into the glass. Actually, I may need to re-phrase that from the past-tense to the present continuous tense. Age has restrained me in more ways than one, and this is one thing I now hesitate doing in Public - though my companions cringe on the occasional bubble bursting forth in Public.
Today, I gave into the callings of the child in me, and decided to blow bubbles of air into a hot glass of tea. One would assume that the bubbles would be spherical/circular in nature, but shape changes to hexagons when the concentration of the bubbles grew. I withdrew slightly, and the shape of the bubbles came back to their original circular shape.
Blow again: Hexagonal
Withdraw slightly: Circular
Blow again: Hexagonal ..... You get the drift. (It has been a while since I observed bubbles with interest. So, pardon me)
I'd like to hear other's opinions and thoughts on this topic after trying out the art of blowing bubbles into one's cup. If the act is performed in the midst of adults, you could all accomplish the following:
1) Provide mild entertainment to those staring overtly at you
2) Lay the foundation for future claims of instability due to stress
3) Gather members to your "Bubble-club" by taking those who admit shyly to you that they like blowing bubbles too.
Having this observation safely tucked in, I wondered whether the shape of honey-combs when it is being built is circular, and as the concentration grows becomes hexagonal.
A theory given by D'Arcy Wentworth Thompson, is that the shape simply results from the process of individual bees putting cells together: somewhat analogous to the boundary shapes created in a field of soap bubbles. In support of this he notes that queen cells, which are constructed singly, are irregular and lumpy with no apparent attempt at efficiency.
Well, well.......Kutty Columbus! Get back to Work!
Today, I gave into the callings of the child in me, and decided to blow bubbles of air into a hot glass of tea. One would assume that the bubbles would be spherical/circular in nature, but shape changes to hexagons when the concentration of the bubbles grew. I withdrew slightly, and the shape of the bubbles came back to their original circular shape.
Blow again: Hexagonal
Withdraw slightly: Circular
Blow again: Hexagonal ..... You get the drift. (It has been a while since I observed bubbles with interest. So, pardon me)
I'd like to hear other's opinions and thoughts on this topic after trying out the art of blowing bubbles into one's cup. If the act is performed in the midst of adults, you could all accomplish the following:
1) Provide mild entertainment to those staring overtly at you
2) Lay the foundation for future claims of instability due to stress
3) Gather members to your "Bubble-club" by taking those who admit shyly to you that they like blowing bubbles too.
Having this observation safely tucked in, I wondered whether the shape of honey-combs when it is being built is circular, and as the concentration grows becomes hexagonal.
A theory given by D'Arcy Wentworth Thompson, is that the shape simply results from the process of individual bees putting cells together: somewhat analogous to the boundary shapes created in a field of soap bubbles. In support of this he notes that queen cells, which are constructed singly, are irregular and lumpy with no apparent attempt at efficiency.
Well, well.......Kutty Columbus! Get back to Work!
Friday, February 24, 2006
Nocturnal Action
Eeeeeeeeeeeyoooooon
Eeeeeeeeeeeyoooooon
Eeeeeeeeeeeyoooooon
The incessant alarm got the better of my drooping eyelids, and I willed them to open, before half-heartedly leaving the cozy coves of my bed in the middle of the night. As it turns out, somebody's car alarm had gone off, and would not stop. Evidently, this was not the owner. But how do we decide what to do?
In the safe confines of our home, the course of action was unanimous: Go out and see who it is. I hold the supreme glory of casting doubts over everybody's aura of confidence by suggesting that the thief may be armed, could even have a gun, since guns are so easy to procure in the country. The story was now different - I watched the cloud of doubt waver and hang thickly over our heads. From brave strides, I watched the strides diminish to stealthy tiptoes, and "see who it is" deteriorated to "sneak a peak"!
The security agency was summoned, and I went to bed, musing about another episode, that had an entire street out in the early morning cold when a thief frequented our home in Chennai.
Belonging to the water-starved population of Chennai, my mother-in-law was extremely sensitive to the sound of gushing water. This unfortunate thief stumbled upon a pot of water, and set off that exact alarm. It was around 5 a.m., and soon the household was abuzz with trepidation.
"AHOI! AHOI!", screamed the menfolk into the darkness of the night, obviously in a bid to frighten the thief away.
The men conducted a meeting downstairs to gauge the movement and whereabouts of this fellow, while I was a silent observer of the goings-on from the balcony above. I observed that the men who proclaimed the loudest, that the best option was to storm into the backyard, were the ones farthest away from the backyard. Furthermore, they showed no signs of budging from their positions of command. The self-proclaimed early riser was busy defending his stance that he was up at usual at 4:30 a.m., and did not hear anything.
After a while, I heard a faint rumble. It grew louder and louder: I was alone upstairs, and had not much choice. I made up my mind on the next course of action, and briskly walked towards the dimly lit kitchen.
My stomach could stand the rumblings no longer, and I treated myself to a couple of hot dosas while the commotion slowly died down.
With the dosas in my tummy, I mused about the unfortunate plight and high stress levels of the career paths of thieves. They also share a queer relationship with society: Society fears them, and they fear Society.
Eeeeeeeeeeeyoooooon
Eeeeeeeeeeeyoooooon
The incessant alarm got the better of my drooping eyelids, and I willed them to open, before half-heartedly leaving the cozy coves of my bed in the middle of the night. As it turns out, somebody's car alarm had gone off, and would not stop. Evidently, this was not the owner. But how do we decide what to do?
In the safe confines of our home, the course of action was unanimous: Go out and see who it is. I hold the supreme glory of casting doubts over everybody's aura of confidence by suggesting that the thief may be armed, could even have a gun, since guns are so easy to procure in the country. The story was now different - I watched the cloud of doubt waver and hang thickly over our heads. From brave strides, I watched the strides diminish to stealthy tiptoes, and "see who it is" deteriorated to "sneak a peak"!
The security agency was summoned, and I went to bed, musing about another episode, that had an entire street out in the early morning cold when a thief frequented our home in Chennai.
Belonging to the water-starved population of Chennai, my mother-in-law was extremely sensitive to the sound of gushing water. This unfortunate thief stumbled upon a pot of water, and set off that exact alarm. It was around 5 a.m., and soon the household was abuzz with trepidation.
"AHOI! AHOI!", screamed the menfolk into the darkness of the night, obviously in a bid to frighten the thief away.
The men conducted a meeting downstairs to gauge the movement and whereabouts of this fellow, while I was a silent observer of the goings-on from the balcony above. I observed that the men who proclaimed the loudest, that the best option was to storm into the backyard, were the ones farthest away from the backyard. Furthermore, they showed no signs of budging from their positions of command. The self-proclaimed early riser was busy defending his stance that he was up at usual at 4:30 a.m., and did not hear anything.
After a while, I heard a faint rumble. It grew louder and louder: I was alone upstairs, and had not much choice. I made up my mind on the next course of action, and briskly walked towards the dimly lit kitchen.
My stomach could stand the rumblings no longer, and I treated myself to a couple of hot dosas while the commotion slowly died down.
With the dosas in my tummy, I mused about the unfortunate plight and high stress levels of the career paths of thieves. They also share a queer relationship with society: Society fears them, and they fear Society.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Peas in a Pod
I stopped short in my tracks as I headed into my workspot the other day. There she was - shopping around again in the same stores as I have! And, she has to buy the same colour too! So, there we were looking like 2 peas in a pod, while folks gleefully took note and asked us whether we had been planning this event. You see the same thing had happened twice in the same week!
* What's the big deal? *
Just this, I have spent a good part of my non-uniform clad childhood days wearing the same clothes as my sister and mark this: the girl next door! So, I react pretty much like a scalded cat when I see people dressed in same clothes. My father belonged to an elite clan of shareholders of a textile mill: so much so that when we walked into the showroom, all salesfolk came to personally attend to us, and served us with coffee and tea! (My theory was that, all salesfolk need to attend to the sole customers in the store, don't they?!)
The cloth purchased there was fantastic - there are no doubts about that. Some of the clothes have neither faded nor sport a tear after all these years! To top this, they had better rates for wholesale goods i.e. LOTS of cloth. My father - the economist who, would consume 3 cups of tea if they were offered for Rs.10 as opposed to Rs 5 per cup, bought into this scheme, and realms of cloth used to make their way home.
So, it was arranged for the rest of our childhood days that my sister's salwar kameez, my frock and my neigbour's frock would all be tailored from the same cloth. In fact, I even remember one instance when a cotton skirt for me, a salwar kameez for my sister and a curtain in our home were from the same cloth. Everytime I wore that skirt, I would pray that guests were not observant enough to match up the curtains and my skirt.
I wonder if my next-door friend remembers the clothes as vividly as I do! For me, I remember every tiny pattern on the clothes - how can one forget if we all looked like peas in a pod?!
* What's the big deal? *
Just this, I have spent a good part of my non-uniform clad childhood days wearing the same clothes as my sister and mark this: the girl next door! So, I react pretty much like a scalded cat when I see people dressed in same clothes. My father belonged to an elite clan of shareholders of a textile mill: so much so that when we walked into the showroom, all salesfolk came to personally attend to us, and served us with coffee and tea! (My theory was that, all salesfolk need to attend to the sole customers in the store, don't they?!)
The cloth purchased there was fantastic - there are no doubts about that. Some of the clothes have neither faded nor sport a tear after all these years! To top this, they had better rates for wholesale goods i.e. LOTS of cloth. My father - the economist who, would consume 3 cups of tea if they were offered for Rs.10 as opposed to Rs 5 per cup, bought into this scheme, and realms of cloth used to make their way home.
So, it was arranged for the rest of our childhood days that my sister's salwar kameez, my frock and my neigbour's frock would all be tailored from the same cloth. In fact, I even remember one instance when a cotton skirt for me, a salwar kameez for my sister and a curtain in our home were from the same cloth. Everytime I wore that skirt, I would pray that guests were not observant enough to match up the curtains and my skirt.
I wonder if my next-door friend remembers the clothes as vividly as I do! For me, I remember every tiny pattern on the clothes - how can one forget if we all looked like peas in a pod?!
Friday, February 17, 2006
The Letter "Esssssssssssssss"
My name is spelt as "Esssssssssssssssssss-a-u-m-y-a"
Twas the time when the milk teeth was a vanishing brood, and power cuts were the order of the day. The candles would be lit, and they would bring forth light (not enlightenment as is evident)As you don your mask of innocence, and say the letter "S", the family would watch on in dark glee as the candles fluttered, before dying out in the wind...."OOOPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"
I remember hearing with awe the fact that a powercut in Mumbai made it to National News! This morning, as I beat the morning yawns and legged it to the office - I was told that there had been an unexpected power outage, and we were welcome to go strolling in the park till power was restored - unless of course we had some work that did not require a computer! A generation ago that would have meant work as usual. But for us, it meant childlike glee!
Off we went gallivanting around town, picking flowers and sipping coffee before our world turned dim by the arrival of bright lights. Sadly, there were no candles to say the letter 'S' in front of.
Twas the time when the milk teeth was a vanishing brood, and power cuts were the order of the day. The candles would be lit, and they would bring forth light (not enlightenment as is evident)As you don your mask of innocence, and say the letter "S", the family would watch on in dark glee as the candles fluttered, before dying out in the wind...."OOOPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"
I remember hearing with awe the fact that a powercut in Mumbai made it to National News! This morning, as I beat the morning yawns and legged it to the office - I was told that there had been an unexpected power outage, and we were welcome to go strolling in the park till power was restored - unless of course we had some work that did not require a computer! A generation ago that would have meant work as usual. But for us, it meant childlike glee!
Off we went gallivanting around town, picking flowers and sipping coffee before our world turned dim by the arrival of bright lights. Sadly, there were no candles to say the letter 'S' in front of.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Couch Sporting
I'm sure people would call me a spoilt brat when it comes to exposure to sports - way more than a lot of children in India can afford. The School I grew up in had 14 large playgrounds, 7 tennis courts, a huge gymnasium, a swimming pool and even a squash court on the premises. Not that I accomplished much with all this, but I loved Sports, and have spent many an enjoyable evening on the playground.
Considering all of the above, you would consider me a decent "Couch Sporter"(a term I just coined to refer to those who immensely enjoy watching sports), wouldn't you?!
*Shakes head remorsefully* Tut Tut!
I simply cannot bring myself to watch a game. I attended the Lakers Vs Mavericks Game in a Stadium, and loved the experience! There were lots of people, pop corn, a complimentary clapper to create a ruckus in the name of clapping and a bunch of enthusiastic friends who were explaining the rules of the game to me.
Verdict: I enjoyed the acrobats' performance in the break-time more than anything else.
My office has been abuzz with the Super Bowl over the past couple of days. Many an American wife have I heard whimper that her hitherto affectionate partner will transform into a partially deaf person with a beer in hand on this particular evening. I banished my past apathy to sport viewing and tried again - I sat with my affectionate partner during the Super Bowl, and watched people ram into each other, while he explained the game to me.
Verdict: I found the advertisements more intriguing.
Cricket, a sport that has wooed countries of people fails to charm me as a watch-worthy Sport. This is one sport that enthralls all sections of people in our Society - yet, I find the game lackadaisical. In fact, many an ignorant year have I spent not knowing the difference between a "Six" and a "Four". When I did want to know, I held back cringing at others' perception of my own ignorance! One day, I braced myself for the worst, and asked a classmate of mine. I am sure he reserves better stares for worms before he crushes them under his foot. He tottered, and his speech stammered before he finally enlightened me!
I didn't even try watching this game, since it spans a whole day!
Oh what better method to ignore the chores at home, turn a deaf ear to all the ramblings, and shove in the bad calories that accompany the good snacks? Well...I will just have to live with the fact that Couch Sporting may be one of those gifts that I am not endowed with!
Considering all of the above, you would consider me a decent "Couch Sporter"(a term I just coined to refer to those who immensely enjoy watching sports), wouldn't you?!
*Shakes head remorsefully* Tut Tut!
I simply cannot bring myself to watch a game. I attended the Lakers Vs Mavericks Game in a Stadium, and loved the experience! There were lots of people, pop corn, a complimentary clapper to create a ruckus in the name of clapping and a bunch of enthusiastic friends who were explaining the rules of the game to me.
Verdict: I enjoyed the acrobats' performance in the break-time more than anything else.
My office has been abuzz with the Super Bowl over the past couple of days. Many an American wife have I heard whimper that her hitherto affectionate partner will transform into a partially deaf person with a beer in hand on this particular evening. I banished my past apathy to sport viewing and tried again - I sat with my affectionate partner during the Super Bowl, and watched people ram into each other, while he explained the game to me.
Verdict: I found the advertisements more intriguing.
Cricket, a sport that has wooed countries of people fails to charm me as a watch-worthy Sport. This is one sport that enthralls all sections of people in our Society - yet, I find the game lackadaisical. In fact, many an ignorant year have I spent not knowing the difference between a "Six" and a "Four". When I did want to know, I held back cringing at others' perception of my own ignorance! One day, I braced myself for the worst, and asked a classmate of mine. I am sure he reserves better stares for worms before he crushes them under his foot. He tottered, and his speech stammered before he finally enlightened me!
I didn't even try watching this game, since it spans a whole day!
Oh what better method to ignore the chores at home, turn a deaf ear to all the ramblings, and shove in the bad calories that accompany the good snacks? Well...I will just have to live with the fact that Couch Sporting may be one of those gifts that I am not endowed with!
Thursday, January 26, 2006
What's in a Name?
1) Name Concatenation (Regional deviation for South Indian Names)
My own explanation for name concatenations is that people try to appease the Gods by naming their offspring after them. Alas, the ratio between Number of children produced: Number of Gods they love is seldom 1:1. So, to appease all the Gods and themselves, they give the hapless one all the names rolled into one.
My Grandfather was an extremely pious man - I still remember him to be one of those people who was constantly chanting the name of God. An altruistic philanthropist, his love for God was imminent in the names he bestowed on his children. But he had too many Gods to please and the younger ones bore the brunt of taking on more name baggage. Why else would my youngest uncle be saddled with a name like Siva-Rama-Krishnan Kalyanam-Iyer?! (Because Shankara, Srinivasa, Subramania and Narasimha Gods were all duly honoured. By the time the 9th child was born, it was probably clear that 3 more boys may be a bit of a difficult target, and he settled for "Siva-Rama-Krishnan" instead.)
Apart from the aforementioned sons, he had 4 daughters, who he named as *Lakshmi. The Goddess smiled at his gesture, and gave him his daughters-in-law named bearing the remaining *Lakshmi names. So, we had 9 *Lakshmis in the immediate family -
(Santha, Maha(2 in number), Vijaya, Subbu, Raja, Seetha, Muthu, Jaya) * Lakshmi
2) Pretty Names
I, for one was hoping my sister would have three daughters, because I loved the names of 3 pretty sounding chemical names in my Chemistry lesson when she was pregnant.
"Oceana, Galena & Publica", I proclaimed, "would be their names". She could call the first one, "Oshi"! I have spent many an enjoyable afternoon taunting her with these names. It must have been at this juncture that she fervently prayed for a boy instead of giving her children horrendous chemical names! Thankfully, I matured out of this phase before my own daughter was born!
3) Names inspired by Someone/Something
The successful character in the Novel you read, that sweet daughter of a friend - they all play a role. During the time we were selecting my brother's name, I was actively involved in the process. I would bring to the dinner table all names I fancied. The name of my classmate who was kind, the name of my best friend, the one who caught a worm - anybody!
"Tony", I proclaimed one night. The truth was Tony had lent me a sharpener that day, and I saw no reason why anybody would not want to name my brother "Tony". Aforementioned pious Hindu grandfather's son got a jolt, and the name was dropped!
4) Rhyming Names
If you do want rhyming names for your children, would you need to take that aspect into consideration while naming the first child, or would it be a consideration when naming the second one? In any case, it does sound nice when sisters tell you their names are "Savitha & Kavitha" or "Archana & Aradhana"
Point to Ponder: How do you know which one is being referred to when parents bellow the whole name? Probably not prudent to question the foghorn at this juncture. The wiser thing to do would be to wait for the next broadcast before responding would be my guess!
5) Crocodile Names
There are more ways than 1 to get creative while naming children. My greatfather, decided to play the Crocodile game while naming his offspring:
Sethuraman
Ramakrishnan
Krishnaswamy
Swaminathan
Ah well....what's in a name?
My own explanation for name concatenations is that people try to appease the Gods by naming their offspring after them. Alas, the ratio between Number of children produced: Number of Gods they love is seldom 1:1. So, to appease all the Gods and themselves, they give the hapless one all the names rolled into one.
My Grandfather was an extremely pious man - I still remember him to be one of those people who was constantly chanting the name of God. An altruistic philanthropist, his love for God was imminent in the names he bestowed on his children. But he had too many Gods to please and the younger ones bore the brunt of taking on more name baggage. Why else would my youngest uncle be saddled with a name like Siva-Rama-Krishnan Kalyanam-Iyer?! (Because Shankara, Srinivasa, Subramania and Narasimha Gods were all duly honoured. By the time the 9th child was born, it was probably clear that 3 more boys may be a bit of a difficult target, and he settled for "Siva-Rama-Krishnan" instead.)
Apart from the aforementioned sons, he had 4 daughters, who he named as *Lakshmi. The Goddess smiled at his gesture, and gave him his daughters-in-law named bearing the remaining *Lakshmi names. So, we had 9 *Lakshmis in the immediate family -
(Santha, Maha(2 in number), Vijaya, Subbu, Raja, Seetha, Muthu, Jaya) * Lakshmi
2) Pretty Names
I, for one was hoping my sister would have three daughters, because I loved the names of 3 pretty sounding chemical names in my Chemistry lesson when she was pregnant.
"Oceana, Galena & Publica", I proclaimed, "would be their names". She could call the first one, "Oshi"! I have spent many an enjoyable afternoon taunting her with these names. It must have been at this juncture that she fervently prayed for a boy instead of giving her children horrendous chemical names! Thankfully, I matured out of this phase before my own daughter was born!
3) Names inspired by Someone/Something
The successful character in the Novel you read, that sweet daughter of a friend - they all play a role. During the time we were selecting my brother's name, I was actively involved in the process. I would bring to the dinner table all names I fancied. The name of my classmate who was kind, the name of my best friend, the one who caught a worm - anybody!
"Tony", I proclaimed one night. The truth was Tony had lent me a sharpener that day, and I saw no reason why anybody would not want to name my brother "Tony". Aforementioned pious Hindu grandfather's son got a jolt, and the name was dropped!
4) Rhyming Names
If you do want rhyming names for your children, would you need to take that aspect into consideration while naming the first child, or would it be a consideration when naming the second one? In any case, it does sound nice when sisters tell you their names are "Savitha & Kavitha" or "Archana & Aradhana"
Point to Ponder: How do you know which one is being referred to when parents bellow the whole name? Probably not prudent to question the foghorn at this juncture. The wiser thing to do would be to wait for the next broadcast before responding would be my guess!
5) Crocodile Names
There are more ways than 1 to get creative while naming children. My greatfather, decided to play the Crocodile game while naming his offspring:
Sethuraman
Ramakrishnan
Krishnaswamy
Swaminathan
Ah well....what's in a name?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
A New Genre in the Footwear Industry
Boots, Clogs, Lace up (Oxford Style & Derby Style), Mocassin, Mule, Sport Sandals, Casual Sandals, Monks, Pumps, Sport shoes - running shoes, tennis shoes and sneakers. To this impressive list, I have the honor of adding a new genre. The latest entry into the footwear world is trend-setting, and multi-functional. I chanced on this model quite by accident. For people seeking asymmetry and anatomical variations for ideal fit, this model is surprisingly scalable and what is more, one size fits all!
Ladies & Gentlemen: Welcome the PLASTIC COVER!!
My prized discovery stems from an act of nonchalance. I had decided to wear a pretty pair of slippers to work that eventful day. I was waiting for my train to arrive, while I toyed with a pebble on the platform. I decided to clear the platform of this menace by kicking it onto the tracks. Not only did I get the pebble out of the way, I also sent my slipper along for company. I watched the trajectile motion of the slipper before it landed with a dull thump on the tracks over 10 feet below. The innocent pebble seemed to mock me from below - I ignored it's daunting gaze, and willed my slipper to climb back on.
Things were happening fast now - my train pulled into the platform, and I was forced to hobble into the train with one foot in a slipper. At this juncture, I can describe exactly how prized asses must feel: there is a tingling sensation in the barefoot, the body tilts at 10 degrees, ears flush and cheek colouring approaches crimson. Add to this, the exclamations from well-dressed commuters in Business attires and embarrassment is replete!
Well meaning co-commuters were questioning how I had managed a thing as daft as throwing out my own slipper. Fellow passengers who had witnessed the event at the station volunteered with more information for those not within hearing distance of my own explanation. Let's just say I blushed all the way home! Some people even advised me on the pragmatic use of shoes with laces!
As my station approached, I was touched by the number of people who offered me a ride home. One lady offered me a sock that she had bought that day. I politely declined the offer. Soon, I was presented with the perfect solution - the plastic cover. "At least, you won't step on gum!" as one commuter put it! This plastic cover requires no frills - only a pant under which to tuck the cover so that it does not slip off.
Speed and dexterity are minor compromises to be endured in this model. That apart, I sailed home like a sailboat on a perfectly windless day!
Ladies & Gentlemen: Welcome the PLASTIC COVER!!
My prized discovery stems from an act of nonchalance. I had decided to wear a pretty pair of slippers to work that eventful day. I was waiting for my train to arrive, while I toyed with a pebble on the platform. I decided to clear the platform of this menace by kicking it onto the tracks. Not only did I get the pebble out of the way, I also sent my slipper along for company. I watched the trajectile motion of the slipper before it landed with a dull thump on the tracks over 10 feet below. The innocent pebble seemed to mock me from below - I ignored it's daunting gaze, and willed my slipper to climb back on.
Things were happening fast now - my train pulled into the platform, and I was forced to hobble into the train with one foot in a slipper. At this juncture, I can describe exactly how prized asses must feel: there is a tingling sensation in the barefoot, the body tilts at 10 degrees, ears flush and cheek colouring approaches crimson. Add to this, the exclamations from well-dressed commuters in Business attires and embarrassment is replete!
Well meaning co-commuters were questioning how I had managed a thing as daft as throwing out my own slipper. Fellow passengers who had witnessed the event at the station volunteered with more information for those not within hearing distance of my own explanation. Let's just say I blushed all the way home! Some people even advised me on the pragmatic use of shoes with laces!
As my station approached, I was touched by the number of people who offered me a ride home. One lady offered me a sock that she had bought that day. I politely declined the offer. Soon, I was presented with the perfect solution - the plastic cover. "At least, you won't step on gum!" as one commuter put it! This plastic cover requires no frills - only a pant under which to tuck the cover so that it does not slip off.
Speed and dexterity are minor compromises to be endured in this model. That apart, I sailed home like a sailboat on a perfectly windless day!
Friday, January 13, 2006
Whale Watching
We had been to Point Reyes (a point on the scenic Pacific Coast in California, where whales are spotted with relative ease). However, the highlight of the visit turned out to be cows! The one-year old Fauna Research Crew Head in our team was fast asleep, exhausted from the long drive there, and her Grandmother practically had a hyper-tension attack everytime she missed another 4-legged creature. Normally, my mother is not excited enough to steer all conversations towards cows, if she chances upon a couple of them sitting by the roadside.
Every time an individual reacts in a certain way, there should have been a Cause i.e. the Cause-Effect Phenomenon. As it turns out, the reason for the exalted proclamations on seeing cows was an innocent visit to the Zoo a few weeks earlier. We had endeavoured to show our little daughter 3-dimensional creatures, since she loves the 2-D versions of these that she sees in her picture books and Baby Einstein DVDs. We planned a day to the Zoo, and arrived there with a Picnic hamper full of Goodies, and had a hearty meal before embarking on the Zoo tour. We practised the Lion's roar, and the Elephant trumpet for good measure.
Four enthusiastic adults accompanied the toddler into the Grand Zoo. We had been to the sprawling Zoological Gardens in Mysore & Hyderabad, and my parents were eagerly looking forward to this visit. We went in, and saw the following animals:
1) Cow - 1 number
2) Donkey - 1 number
3) Horse - 1 number
4) Goats - 5 numbers
5) Sicilian Donkey - 1 number
6) Parrots/Tropical Birds - 5 numbers
7) Jaguar - 1 number (The only "Zoo-worthy" animal as my Father would say!)
8) Some Squirrels (I couldn't bother counting them **BORED FACE**)
By the above standards, every street corner in India was a Zoo! We had been to a Petting Zoo (I figured that out later of course!)
So, when my parents saw cows minding their own business and grazing quietly, they could not stomach the fact that we paid to see 1 cow, while this many cows were there for no fee. Thankfully for them, the little one got up, and drank in the scene! She even had the good fortune of seeing a newborn calf that day.
I would have been happy if they had saved their enthusiasm for spotting Whales at Point Reyes - but Female Whales or Mother Whales are called Cows, so I'll just have to settle for that!!
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Shake Shake Shake-a-shake Shake Shake
Caution: This article may contain details that could offend the shakers in our midst. If you are really passionate about shaking your legs - proceed with caution.
What is with shaking one's limbs? I was on the same seat as a born "shaker" the other day, and I landed up getting motion sickness (not from the motion of the train)
Shake Shake Shake-a-shake Shake Shake
Shake Shake Shake-a-shake Shake Shake
I was trying to read a book, but the whole seat was reverbrating with the shaking legs.
I walk into a meeting, and find a person bobbing up and down while merrily shaking his legs! I am unable to shake this thought out of my mind while sharing the same room with them. My mind wills me to hold their legs and stop them from shaking, but decorum demands I ignore it.
There are different kinds of leg shaking too:
(a) The vertical spring shake: This shake has the shaker bobbing his leg up and down, while vigourously shaking the chair, and occasionally the table too.
(b) The horizontal sweep shake: This shake has the shaker freely moving their leg from left to right, with each knee moving away from each other and then, toward each other again.
(c) The cross-legged foot shake: This shaker has the shaker sitting cross-legged, and only shaking the foot of the leg on the upper leg.
Of the categories above, the most engaging kind of shaker is the horizontal sweep shaker, in my opinion. You sit next to this person, and you are constantly sizing up the distance between your leg and the farthest point in the shaker's pendulum-like swing with the corner of your eye. You need to be prepared to move your legs swiftly if the situation demands it, right?
But, just look at a person intently shaking their legs, and you will notice that they seem to be enjoying their routine quite a bit - Well..................one of these days, my alter ego is going to pop out, and stop those shaking legs!!!
What is with shaking one's limbs? I was on the same seat as a born "shaker" the other day, and I landed up getting motion sickness (not from the motion of the train)
Shake Shake Shake-a-shake Shake Shake
Shake Shake Shake-a-shake Shake Shake
I was trying to read a book, but the whole seat was reverbrating with the shaking legs.
I walk into a meeting, and find a person bobbing up and down while merrily shaking his legs! I am unable to shake this thought out of my mind while sharing the same room with them. My mind wills me to hold their legs and stop them from shaking, but decorum demands I ignore it.
There are different kinds of leg shaking too:
(a) The vertical spring shake: This shake has the shaker bobbing his leg up and down, while vigourously shaking the chair, and occasionally the table too.
(b) The horizontal sweep shake: This shake has the shaker freely moving their leg from left to right, with each knee moving away from each other and then, toward each other again.
(c) The cross-legged foot shake: This shaker has the shaker sitting cross-legged, and only shaking the foot of the leg on the upper leg.
Of the categories above, the most engaging kind of shaker is the horizontal sweep shaker, in my opinion. You sit next to this person, and you are constantly sizing up the distance between your leg and the farthest point in the shaker's pendulum-like swing with the corner of your eye. You need to be prepared to move your legs swiftly if the situation demands it, right?
But, just look at a person intently shaking their legs, and you will notice that they seem to be enjoying their routine quite a bit - Well..................one of these days, my alter ego is going to pop out, and stop those shaking legs!!!
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