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!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
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!
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