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!
Friday, July 21, 2006
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
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