With all that song and dance about the upcoming presidential elections in the USA, it makes me wonder if Osama isn't more qualified to be the next boss. After all, the similarities between the dear mister Obama and the notorious Osama B L are astonishing:
1. The names are almost alike - that's a good start!
2. Neither is white
3. Both want to change the country they weren't born in
4. Both feel they were sent to the earth to make a difference
5. Neither talks about cuts in the defence budget, make more bombs and use them is their mantra
6. Both have a very complex strategy to win public votes - use of brawn
7. You never know where they will land up next
8. Perfect movie making material
9. Great dialogues
10. Rich
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Much ado about nothing
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As you have probably guessed by now, there wasn't much really that I wanted to write.
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As you have probably guessed by now, there wasn't much really that I wanted to write.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Break
Unlike the quick 5 minute tea breaks twice a day and a half an hour break for lunch that most persons in my profession are accustomed to (considering they tend to avoid wasting time - working 20 hours a day does sort of sap your energy a bit), my group makes a statement. We take a half hour break for tea at least thrice a day and a 1-2 hour break for lunch.
Not that we have no work to do - no siree! We have more work than the local government of three countries put together but minor things like that don't stand in the way of efficiency. Not at all.
It all started when one of our Einsteins read an article in the newspaper extolling the virtues of taking breaks while working to keep the mind and body fresh. He quickly called a meeting and we unanimously agreed that this was the primary reason we weren't getting enough awards. We started off our new routine immediately. We saunter into office around 11 when most others are preparing to get ready for lunch and convene for the first share-the-news tea break session. At 1, we go off for lunch followed by a leisurely walk around the campus. At 3 again, its time for our cuppa. By 4 of course all of us have already gone home.
When do we work? Don't be silly. How can you keep stress away if you work? Take a break!
Not that we have no work to do - no siree! We have more work than the local government of three countries put together but minor things like that don't stand in the way of efficiency. Not at all.
It all started when one of our Einsteins read an article in the newspaper extolling the virtues of taking breaks while working to keep the mind and body fresh. He quickly called a meeting and we unanimously agreed that this was the primary reason we weren't getting enough awards. We started off our new routine immediately. We saunter into office around 11 when most others are preparing to get ready for lunch and convene for the first share-the-news tea break session. At 1, we go off for lunch followed by a leisurely walk around the campus. At 3 again, its time for our cuppa. By 4 of course all of us have already gone home.
When do we work? Don't be silly. How can you keep stress away if you work? Take a break!
Diwali Dhamakas
Most persons have a different kind of Dhamaka in mind when they talk of Diwali. It has more to do with the crackers and candles and the umpteen different types of noise producing fireworks than anything else.
But me, being a tad different from all and sundry and with an IQ of above average as recently determined (I was pissed I wasn't a genius, I'm sure that dumb test was all conked out), I tend to associate the word Dhamaka with something a little more explosive.
So here I am, back at home, gorging on mouth watering delicacies - the gujjias, the peanut pattis, the laddoos, the barfis, not to mention the vada-pav, bhel, pulao, chole and other such rich dishes designed to appease the strictest of palates. I eat as if my life depends on it. Is it a wonder that post Diwali my weight increases in multiples of 100? That's some Dhamaka!
Happy Diwali!
And yeah, I'm going on a diet. Again.
But me, being a tad different from all and sundry and with an IQ of above average as recently determined (I was pissed I wasn't a genius, I'm sure that dumb test was all conked out), I tend to associate the word Dhamaka with something a little more explosive.
So here I am, back at home, gorging on mouth watering delicacies - the gujjias, the peanut pattis, the laddoos, the barfis, not to mention the vada-pav, bhel, pulao, chole and other such rich dishes designed to appease the strictest of palates. I eat as if my life depends on it. Is it a wonder that post Diwali my weight increases in multiples of 100? That's some Dhamaka!
Happy Diwali!
And yeah, I'm going on a diet. Again.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Un jour de ma vie
D'habitude je me revéille vers 6h30 du matin. Je prepare le petit déjeuner et je prends le petit déjeuner vers 7h. Ensuite, je vais au bureau vers 7h30 en voiture de mon petit ami. Il s'appelle Sonu. Il est très beau!
Maintenant, en bureau, je travaille tout le jour. Je prends le déjeuner vers 13h et je reste pour 10 minute puis. J'ai beaucoup des amis dans mon bureau. C'est très bonne place!
Je retourne à ma maison vers 17h. Ensuite, je fais de ménage, je lave mon vêtements et je prepare le dîner. Vers 22h de la nuit, je suis très fatigué et je vais dormir.
Pendant le week-end, je fais du shopping avec mon petit ami. J'adore faire du shopping! Mon petit ami offres moi petit cadeaux. Il est très très doux, n'est-ce pas?
Oh là là! Déjà neuf heures! Je vais! Salut tout le monde! À bientôt!
Maintenant, en bureau, je travaille tout le jour. Je prends le déjeuner vers 13h et je reste pour 10 minute puis. J'ai beaucoup des amis dans mon bureau. C'est très bonne place!
Je retourne à ma maison vers 17h. Ensuite, je fais de ménage, je lave mon vêtements et je prepare le dîner. Vers 22h de la nuit, je suis très fatigué et je vais dormir.
Pendant le week-end, je fais du shopping avec mon petit ami. J'adore faire du shopping! Mon petit ami offres moi petit cadeaux. Il est très très doux, n'est-ce pas?
Oh là là! Déjà neuf heures! Je vais! Salut tout le monde! À bientôt!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
I wish...
....that I didn't have to go to office on Mondays. Or Tuesdays. Well, or for that matter Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays either.
The Atom Bomb Bhajji
I love junk food. Considering I'm on a diet (all the time), trying to lose weight, this junk food business is kinda not too good for me. But me, I like to live life king size. So I make a deal with myself - I will diet over the weekdays and binge on the weekends.
One of the reasons I look forward to a Friday is the thought of gorging on chilli-bhajjis - and I know just the place that makes real atom bombs. These 'Atom Bomb Bhajjis' as I fondly call them are nothing short of the nuclear variety. For one, they are huge enough to be mistaken for surface-to-surface missiles. And next, they are spicy and hot as hell (trust me, I would know. Being 'devil' and all).
My upper limit on these is 4. The minute I try to eat more, I spend the rest of the day (and night) in the loo. Come to think of it, that sort of works for my diet plan. Eat all you want and then poo it all. :-)
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Something Fishy
I absolutely adore fish. No, not to look at and gawk at cooing all over the place, but to tuck into with a fork and a knife.And to think I used to be a vegetarian!
Ah, well, there is still hope for humanity.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Désolée!
Je ne parle pas français!
Unfortunately, this excuse isn't good enough considering I sat through about 10 lectures of the basic beginner's module and my teacher expects me to be able to speak, write and read the basics rather easily. Little did I realise that we would have tests when I joined these classes 'just for fun'. Damn!
As you may have guessed, I have a test coming up on the 20th. I wouldn't have been overly excited about it but for the fact that I missed the last 4 classes, and as luck would have it, those were the most important classes of this series.
French is not difficult really....as long as you get a hang of it. In other words, its got nothing to do with logic, so those of you commonly known as morons can easily get a high score on the nuances of this foreign language.
Alas me, I am not so lucky. I cannot, for the life of me fathom the grammar.
For one, every goddamned thing in french is either male or female...yeah, including the TV, the room, the cockroach, the treasure, the pen.....right down to George Bush's underwear.
Then you have the innumerable articles - the definite ones, the indefinite ones, the partitive ones, the demonstrative ones and the non demonstrative ones, the list is endless.
Even if you are able to get past the downpour of the terminology, you will invariably be mired in the tenses - the past, the present, the future, the future of the past, the present of the future and god knows what else.
Still amused? Try the verbs. Or rather the conjugations. Each verb has to be conjugated in 8 persons and has thousands of variations in each different tense. Oh, and I haven't started talking about the exceptions or the exception to those exceptions.
And to top it all off, every other word is either spelled the same, pronounced the same or means the same as some other word. At least the written text is comprehensible, but oral? Sigh, you write the word, you eat up the second half of it and pronounce the first half so as to sound like a totally different word altogether!!
Talking of pronounciations, the oi, en, in, au, on sound like someone's suffering from acute constipation.
Unfortunately, this excuse isn't good enough considering I sat through about 10 lectures of the basic beginner's module and my teacher expects me to be able to speak, write and read the basics rather easily. Little did I realise that we would have tests when I joined these classes 'just for fun'. Damn!
As you may have guessed, I have a test coming up on the 20th. I wouldn't have been overly excited about it but for the fact that I missed the last 4 classes, and as luck would have it, those were the most important classes of this series.
French is not difficult really....as long as you get a hang of it. In other words, its got nothing to do with logic, so those of you commonly known as morons can easily get a high score on the nuances of this foreign language.
Alas me, I am not so lucky. I cannot, for the life of me fathom the grammar.
For one, every goddamned thing in french is either male or female...yeah, including the TV, the room, the cockroach, the treasure, the pen.....right down to George Bush's underwear.
Then you have the innumerable articles - the definite ones, the indefinite ones, the partitive ones, the demonstrative ones and the non demonstrative ones, the list is endless.
Even if you are able to get past the downpour of the terminology, you will invariably be mired in the tenses - the past, the present, the future, the future of the past, the present of the future and god knows what else.
Still amused? Try the verbs. Or rather the conjugations. Each verb has to be conjugated in 8 persons and has thousands of variations in each different tense. Oh, and I haven't started talking about the exceptions or the exception to those exceptions.
And to top it all off, every other word is either spelled the same, pronounced the same or means the same as some other word. At least the written text is comprehensible, but oral? Sigh, you write the word, you eat up the second half of it and pronounce the first half so as to sound like a totally different word altogether!!
Talking of pronounciations, the oi, en, in, au, on sound like someone's suffering from acute constipation.
Despite all these obstacles, I have vowed to study hard for the exam and clear it with flying colours and turn my Je ne parle pas français into Je parle bon français :)
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Mosquitoes!!!
AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
I just couldn't believe my eyes. One minute I was coolly working on my laptop and the next instant I was jumping all over the place trying to swat the twenty million mosquitoes that had suddenly popped up from nowhere.
This was crisis. There was no time to go about writing emails. This called for some kick-ass stuff.
I called up my mom.
"HALP!!!" I screamed into the phone, "I don't know what to do!!"
"Go buy a mosquito repellant - a spray, a coil, the liquid - anything. And stop being such a baby!"
I did better than that. I bought all three. It worked.
It drove me right out of the house. Well, sigh, at least there are no mosquitoes here.
I just couldn't believe my eyes. One minute I was coolly working on my laptop and the next instant I was jumping all over the place trying to swat the twenty million mosquitoes that had suddenly popped up from nowhere.
This was crisis. There was no time to go about writing emails. This called for some kick-ass stuff.
I called up my mom.
"HALP!!!" I screamed into the phone, "I don't know what to do!!"
"Go buy a mosquito repellant - a spray, a coil, the liquid - anything. And stop being such a baby!"
I did better than that. I bought all three. It worked.
It drove me right out of the house. Well, sigh, at least there are no mosquitoes here.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The undercover agent
Shh....not so loudly. I don't want my identity to be discovered, and my cover blown. For those who came in late, I am an undercover agent.
I go undercover every night at 10 PM and am engaged in highly covert operations till about 6:30 AM in the morning. A signal from the command base gets transmitted to me every dawn to indicate the temporary ceassation of my undercover activities.
It is a tough job. Sometimes there are bed bugs that bite, sometimes there are mosquitoes. Sometimes you have to leave the warmth of the bed in search of the loo or sometimes in search of water. Sometimes you forget to set the alarm and end up doing more undercover activity than you are supposed to and sometimes you just can't get to sleep. Sometimes the bed is too hard, sometimes the blanket too thick. Sometimes the neighbourhood dog barks no end, sometimes its the neighbour's wife (you can barely make out the difference).
But despite these insurmountable odds, I religiously stick to my routine. Sometimes I am rewarded by dreams of delicious cakes and ice-creams and sometimes by dreams of becoming a millionaire.
Glamorous as it may sound, this job is extremely dangerous. You can end up crushing your hand under yourself and get a fracture, or spraining your neck, or falling off the bed completely. Worse, you may land on a huge cockroach that doesn't take too kindly to intrusions of this nature.
But me, I am the true patriot. I diligently follow my duty day in and day out. Well, more in the 'day out' part than the 'day in' part anyway.
I go undercover every night at 10 PM and am engaged in highly covert operations till about 6:30 AM in the morning. A signal from the command base gets transmitted to me every dawn to indicate the temporary ceassation of my undercover activities.
It is a tough job. Sometimes there are bed bugs that bite, sometimes there are mosquitoes. Sometimes you have to leave the warmth of the bed in search of the loo or sometimes in search of water. Sometimes you forget to set the alarm and end up doing more undercover activity than you are supposed to and sometimes you just can't get to sleep. Sometimes the bed is too hard, sometimes the blanket too thick. Sometimes the neighbourhood dog barks no end, sometimes its the neighbour's wife (you can barely make out the difference).
But despite these insurmountable odds, I religiously stick to my routine. Sometimes I am rewarded by dreams of delicious cakes and ice-creams and sometimes by dreams of becoming a millionaire.
Glamorous as it may sound, this job is extremely dangerous. You can end up crushing your hand under yourself and get a fracture, or spraining your neck, or falling off the bed completely. Worse, you may land on a huge cockroach that doesn't take too kindly to intrusions of this nature.
But me, I am the true patriot. I diligently follow my duty day in and day out. Well, more in the 'day out' part than the 'day in' part anyway.
In search of the perfect purse
In school, we had these huge school bags that could carry books, tiffin boxes, poster colours, GI Joe and the crafts assignment. In college it was the same thing, but packed more compactly in smaller, more stylish bags. Till I discovered that its not safe keeping money, pens, lipsticks, moisturisers, ID card and the Maths question paper in the bag - they invariably get snitched.
Without missing a beat, I devised the perfect solution to my problem - I simply crammed the aforementioned list into the pockets of my jeans. It worked admirably except for one thing - I looked more like a pack mule going over the high Sierras than a dainty little goddess (which, if you are in college, is what every girl wants to look like).
No. That really wouldn't do. I pondered over my predicament for a while and came up with the solution that prehistoric women had conjured up millions of years ago - I had to get myself a little purse.
The purse had to be just the right size. Not too big, you know, but then it should be able to carry all the essentials too. And it had to be a side sling one with a long jewelled strap. Made of soft waterproof leather. Oh, and beige. I hate black. The clasps should be magnetic and embellished with a little touch of the azure shimmer.
I am still looking for the purse. I graduated from college 10 years ago.
Without missing a beat, I devised the perfect solution to my problem - I simply crammed the aforementioned list into the pockets of my jeans. It worked admirably except for one thing - I looked more like a pack mule going over the high Sierras than a dainty little goddess (which, if you are in college, is what every girl wants to look like).
No. That really wouldn't do. I pondered over my predicament for a while and came up with the solution that prehistoric women had conjured up millions of years ago - I had to get myself a little purse.
The purse had to be just the right size. Not too big, you know, but then it should be able to carry all the essentials too. And it had to be a side sling one with a long jewelled strap. Made of soft waterproof leather. Oh, and beige. I hate black. The clasps should be magnetic and embellished with a little touch of the azure shimmer.
I am still looking for the purse. I graduated from college 10 years ago.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Training
Talk about being ridiculous.
There is a travel freeze going on in my company. In other words no travel, no expenditure like parties, lunches, prizes etc are allowed. For that matter, there are no hikes in salary either. Hmph.
It was in such trying times that they decided to hold a training.
Me, I love trainings. You get to go to exotic locales, goof off without working, sleep away in class and get to meet awfully handsome dudes too (if you are lucky). Unfortunately with all this freeze shit, they decided to pull a technological fast one on you. The training was supposed to be online, remote and - hold your breath - at midnight IST.
I was pissed.
I mean, you had to stay in office from 6 PM to midnight just to listen to a bunch of old fuddy-duddies who didn't know what IST meant.
But being the ever optimistic, capricious, rebellious, pain in the butt that I am (thank you!), I took full advantage of this situation and tried to make it as appealing as possible.
For starters, I started waking up at 10 AM.
Not impressed? Well, if you wake up at 6 AM daily, the thought of 4 solid extra hours can get very appealing indeed. Anyway, I started waking up at 10, having a leisurely breakfast, doing my housework and then getting to gym, eating scrumptious gobi-parathas to compensate for the loss of precious calories and ending it all by sauntering into office at 3PM (which was the time I generally used to leg it on most days, sigh, but these were tough times).
No satisfied with a half hour coffee break and and another 2 hours of 'discussions' with fellow colleagues, I used to walk into the training room at 6 sharp to find the best pick of backseats where I could nod off without being noticed. An hour used to go by and then another. Dinner break was usually around 8PM which suited me to a T since that was my dinner time anyway. For that matter, I can eat dinner any time of the day as long as food is ready, but then we are digressing.
After dinner, there had to be a way of relaxing those ol' overworked brain-cells and tired limbs. Of course there is hardly a better way of relaxing those ol' overworked brain-cells and tired limbs than playing pool (and winning) or table tennis (as long as you didn't have to stoop all over the place picking up dropped balls) and carrom. So I, not wanting to go against the health and safety regulations, indulged in a solid hour or 2 of "relaxation".
Then popped right back into the training room looking like innocence itself.
In another couple of hours the training would come to an end and I would go back home, gloriously satisfied with a day well spent.
That was a great week. Perhaps remote trainings are better than in-person ones, eh? ;)
There is a travel freeze going on in my company. In other words no travel, no expenditure like parties, lunches, prizes etc are allowed. For that matter, there are no hikes in salary either. Hmph.
It was in such trying times that they decided to hold a training.
Me, I love trainings. You get to go to exotic locales, goof off without working, sleep away in class and get to meet awfully handsome dudes too (if you are lucky). Unfortunately with all this freeze shit, they decided to pull a technological fast one on you. The training was supposed to be online, remote and - hold your breath - at midnight IST.
I was pissed.
I mean, you had to stay in office from 6 PM to midnight just to listen to a bunch of old fuddy-duddies who didn't know what IST meant.
But being the ever optimistic, capricious, rebellious, pain in the butt that I am (thank you!), I took full advantage of this situation and tried to make it as appealing as possible.
For starters, I started waking up at 10 AM.
Not impressed? Well, if you wake up at 6 AM daily, the thought of 4 solid extra hours can get very appealing indeed. Anyway, I started waking up at 10, having a leisurely breakfast, doing my housework and then getting to gym, eating scrumptious gobi-parathas to compensate for the loss of precious calories and ending it all by sauntering into office at 3PM (which was the time I generally used to leg it on most days, sigh, but these were tough times).
No satisfied with a half hour coffee break and and another 2 hours of 'discussions' with fellow colleagues, I used to walk into the training room at 6 sharp to find the best pick of backseats where I could nod off without being noticed. An hour used to go by and then another. Dinner break was usually around 8PM which suited me to a T since that was my dinner time anyway. For that matter, I can eat dinner any time of the day as long as food is ready, but then we are digressing.
After dinner, there had to be a way of relaxing those ol' overworked brain-cells and tired limbs. Of course there is hardly a better way of relaxing those ol' overworked brain-cells and tired limbs than playing pool (and winning) or table tennis (as long as you didn't have to stoop all over the place picking up dropped balls) and carrom. So I, not wanting to go against the health and safety regulations, indulged in a solid hour or 2 of "relaxation".
Then popped right back into the training room looking like innocence itself.
In another couple of hours the training would come to an end and I would go back home, gloriously satisfied with a day well spent.
That was a great week. Perhaps remote trainings are better than in-person ones, eh? ;)
Sunday, March 2, 2008
The Silver Slippers
Am I blessed or am I blessed! If you are still confused then - well, I am blessed. I am really in no mood to sit around explaining simple English to every nincompoop that cares to read this blog. I have better things to do. Like finishing this one to begin with.
So where was I? Ah, yes. Busy being blessed.
So here I was, well, like I said, blessed. Not only I had 26 pairs of shoes, my collection just got richer by something I had been looking for all my life. A pair of gorgeous silver slippers.
I had always been a Cinderella fan since childhood and dreamt of owning one of those glass slippers but as I grew up (vertically and, erm, horizontally), it began to slowly dawn on me that it would be extremely precarious balancing my considerable proportions delicately on a 5-inch glass heel.
So where was I? Ah, yes. Busy being blessed.
So here I was, well, like I said, blessed. Not only I had 26 pairs of shoes, my collection just got richer by something I had been looking for all my life. A pair of gorgeous silver slippers.
I had always been a Cinderella fan since childhood and dreamt of owning one of those glass slippers but as I grew up (vertically and, erm, horizontally), it began to slowly dawn on me that it would be extremely precarious balancing my considerable proportions delicately on a 5-inch glass heel.
So I did what anyone in my position would have done - I gave up on the glass slippers with the high heels and settled for something a tad less jazzy - like flat soled shimmering silver slippers. For the last 5 years I have been hunting in every shop in every city I travel to in the hope of realising my dreams but it is very difficult to please a perfectionist. Nevertheless, the optimism in me never diminished.
My best pal had gone abroad on business and she called me long distance one day. "Guess what I got for you!" she exclaimed excitedly.
"Diamonds?"
"Too expensive"
"Clothes?"
"Your size? Are you kidding?"
"Yawn, add tomatoes and potatoes to this list too"
"Wait, don't tell me its a drop dead gorgeous hunk?!"
"Wake up, its midnight here, not there"
"Well then I give up. Surprise me someday."
She did. She got back the following weekend and presented me with a daring pair of seductively red sandals and a dazzling pair of my dream silver slippers.
Monday, February 18, 2008
How to...
1....shuffle around inconspicuously in class when you have not studied for your Maths test
- wear your school uniform for a change so that you blend in with the others
- ask to be excused to go to the loo - once out, stay there
- "sprain" your right wrist and pretend your brain cannot work either due to the breakage of the essential connection.
2....pretend you are working when you are really not
- look agitatedly at your notes, then back at your computer, scratching your head at intervals and muttering expletives under your breath. If someone asks you what's wrong, tell them you are trying to make the company's balance sheet.
- when someone asks you to accompany them for a coffee break, make a big show of missing valuable time for work. But accompany them anyway, and ensure you stay in the pantry till its time to leave.
- Surf all possible educational sites - booking movie tickets.com, shopping online.com, eauction.com, crosswords online.com, post an ad online.com and look with extreme concentration at your computer, especially when you are on the joke of the day.com site.
3....appear to be generous without ending up being generous
- when its time to offer a bite of your collosal icecream sundae, suddenly slap your hand on your forehead and say you forgot to bring an extra spoon. Then keep asking everyone if you can go and get them a spoon. Of course they will demur and you can speedily finish off that icecream
- keep offering to loan a book or a CD that you don't have. And then keep saying you have forgotten to bring it.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Tring Tring
Everybody has a cellphone these days. The brother, the cat, the friend, the aunt, the beauty parlour maid, the milkman, the rickshaw driver, the roadside vegetable vendor, everybody. I decided it was high time I went ahead and got with the times. I decided to buy myself one gadget real quick.
I am a careful and cautious buyer. I did 3 weeks of intensive research on the internet and magazines trying to find the model with the maximum features and minimum cost. I finally narrowed down to 3 models and started going from store to store comparing best prices and haggling over accessories.
After another week of extensive shopping (I lost about 5 kgs walking from shop to shop), I became the proud owner of a brand new cellphone. Another week of meticulous research on networks and connections and I bought a SIM from the best network provider.
How's it going now? Alas....I have been sitting and waiting for my cellphone to ring.
I am a careful and cautious buyer. I did 3 weeks of intensive research on the internet and magazines trying to find the model with the maximum features and minimum cost. I finally narrowed down to 3 models and started going from store to store comparing best prices and haggling over accessories.
After another week of extensive shopping (I lost about 5 kgs walking from shop to shop), I became the proud owner of a brand new cellphone. Another week of meticulous research on networks and connections and I bought a SIM from the best network provider.
How's it going now? Alas....I have been sitting and waiting for my cellphone to ring.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Fly away yonder
Once upon a time, people looked aghast when someone offered the idea of flying to their destination instead of using cheaper alternatives like the bus or the ubiqutous train.
Today, its exactly opposite. Not only does your uncle, sis, cousin, friend, friend's friend travel in an aeroplane, but so does the paan-waala, chai-waala and doodh-waala.
Thanks to the wonders of modern science, a booming economy and a flood of bold innovative entrepreneurs, flying away is no longer a dream. Its affordable to one and all.
And there, ladies and gentlemen, begins the problem, the nightmare. Though there has been an exponential increase in the number of airlines and aircrafts, the poor little airport remains the same - poor and little. Right from the entrance of the airport to the plane, you are walking in a sea of people. The asphyxiated airport can barely sustain the burgeoning populace.
Fat people, thin people, rich people, poor people (yes, them too!), nice people, bad people, pickpockets, chain-snatchers, rock stars, fashion models, businessmen, foreigners, the neighbourhood cricket team - all can be seen rubbing shoulders with each other - literally!!
I was sitting in a corner of an especially packed departure hall, looking more like furniture than a person (the slightest movement resulted in my elbow poking into the eye of an enormous Punjabi woman who looked too dangerous to mess with), counting the minutes to my flight. As usual, the flight was delayed, this time by one hour. I looked around watching people, trying to get rid of my boredom. As the minutes ticked by, so did my patience and I found it very difficult to sit quietly. Finally, the boarding announcement came and I rushed for the gate, swallowed by the wave of humanity.
I looked around for the vehicle that transports passengers from the building to the aircraft. A public transport bus came and stopped right in front of me. I blinked. Talk about low-cost!
We were crammed into it and taken for a ride (pun unintended) to the plane. We had to stop about five times on the way to let the other aircrafts take off (yeah, looked like all planes were parked along the runway, some even on it).
The rest was relatively smooth. We were bundled into the aeroplane and whisked off to the destination.
My supposedly "fast" journey from Bangalore to Mumbai had taken 6 hours. My friend, meanwhile, opting to travel by train, reached a few hours later, refreshed and rejuvenated by the luxurious journey but bored to death due to lack of people to talk to.
Today, its exactly opposite. Not only does your uncle, sis, cousin, friend, friend's friend travel in an aeroplane, but so does the paan-waala, chai-waala and doodh-waala.
Thanks to the wonders of modern science, a booming economy and a flood of bold innovative entrepreneurs, flying away is no longer a dream. Its affordable to one and all.
And there, ladies and gentlemen, begins the problem, the nightmare. Though there has been an exponential increase in the number of airlines and aircrafts, the poor little airport remains the same - poor and little. Right from the entrance of the airport to the plane, you are walking in a sea of people. The asphyxiated airport can barely sustain the burgeoning populace.
Fat people, thin people, rich people, poor people (yes, them too!), nice people, bad people, pickpockets, chain-snatchers, rock stars, fashion models, businessmen, foreigners, the neighbourhood cricket team - all can be seen rubbing shoulders with each other - literally!!
I was sitting in a corner of an especially packed departure hall, looking more like furniture than a person (the slightest movement resulted in my elbow poking into the eye of an enormous Punjabi woman who looked too dangerous to mess with), counting the minutes to my flight. As usual, the flight was delayed, this time by one hour. I looked around watching people, trying to get rid of my boredom. As the minutes ticked by, so did my patience and I found it very difficult to sit quietly. Finally, the boarding announcement came and I rushed for the gate, swallowed by the wave of humanity.
I looked around for the vehicle that transports passengers from the building to the aircraft. A public transport bus came and stopped right in front of me. I blinked. Talk about low-cost!
We were crammed into it and taken for a ride (pun unintended) to the plane. We had to stop about five times on the way to let the other aircrafts take off (yeah, looked like all planes were parked along the runway, some even on it).
The rest was relatively smooth. We were bundled into the aeroplane and whisked off to the destination.
My supposedly "fast" journey from Bangalore to Mumbai had taken 6 hours. My friend, meanwhile, opting to travel by train, reached a few hours later, refreshed and rejuvenated by the luxurious journey but bored to death due to lack of people to talk to.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
You can't have it all.
Sigh, what a looker!
There he was, all 6 feet of him, a magnificient hunk of masculine masculinity. Those black eyes, those rippling biceps over six-pack abs, that fabulous bronze toned skin, those sinewy legs powerful enough to crush you to death, that slicked black hair falling alluringly over one perfectly shaped eyebrow - ah! such wonders of nature. I lapped up the scene enthralled.
And all for me too.
I was exercising in the gym and decided it was time to hit the showers. I walked up to this door meaning to open it and being the perfect gentleman that he was (along with being about the most perfect looker I had seen in ages), he offered to open it for me. I demured, coloured and shyly waited for him to open it.
He curled his long fingers (no ring, thank god!) around the handle and gave a gentle pull. The door didn't budge. But my hero, he is a powerful man. He pulled harder. No result. He asked me to stand back a little further, and immersed himself into the task of getting that nasty door opened if that was the last thing he would ever do. He put both his hands together and pulled again.
I was transfixed by those powerful muscles rippling under the skin, like trapped beasts straining to get out.
But the door seemed to have a will power of its own and didn't give in.
He flicked his hair away and I saw a tiny bead of sweat covering the small frown on that magnificent forehead and smiled encouragingly. Sigh, is he a hunk or is he a hunk!
He continued to strain and heave and I continued to drool over the gorgeous scenery, complimenting God on his excellent taste.
After about 10 minutes, he mopped his brow and sadly shook his head, incredulous at no results.
I decided it was time I took matter into my own hands. I walked up to the door and gave it a gentle push with one finger of my left hand.
It opened like a breeze.
The door had to be pushed to open.
There he was, all 6 feet of him, a magnificient hunk of masculine masculinity. Those black eyes, those rippling biceps over six-pack abs, that fabulous bronze toned skin, those sinewy legs powerful enough to crush you to death, that slicked black hair falling alluringly over one perfectly shaped eyebrow - ah! such wonders of nature. I lapped up the scene enthralled.
And all for me too.
I was exercising in the gym and decided it was time to hit the showers. I walked up to this door meaning to open it and being the perfect gentleman that he was (along with being about the most perfect looker I had seen in ages), he offered to open it for me. I demured, coloured and shyly waited for him to open it.
He curled his long fingers (no ring, thank god!) around the handle and gave a gentle pull. The door didn't budge. But my hero, he is a powerful man. He pulled harder. No result. He asked me to stand back a little further, and immersed himself into the task of getting that nasty door opened if that was the last thing he would ever do. He put both his hands together and pulled again.
I was transfixed by those powerful muscles rippling under the skin, like trapped beasts straining to get out.
But the door seemed to have a will power of its own and didn't give in.
He flicked his hair away and I saw a tiny bead of sweat covering the small frown on that magnificent forehead and smiled encouragingly. Sigh, is he a hunk or is he a hunk!
He continued to strain and heave and I continued to drool over the gorgeous scenery, complimenting God on his excellent taste.
After about 10 minutes, he mopped his brow and sadly shook his head, incredulous at no results.
I decided it was time I took matter into my own hands. I walked up to the door and gave it a gentle push with one finger of my left hand.
It opened like a breeze.
The door had to be pushed to open.
Too many cooks....
...spoil the broth. Full marks for your amazing knowledge of kindergarten proverbs.
Let me tell you by my experience - all this stuff about too many cooks is utter rubbish. Nonsense with a capital N. Balderdash. Poppycock. There can never be any such thing as too many cooks. And I'll show you exactly why.
I decided to cook one day. The stuff they pass off as food in our canteen is enough to make even the most seasoned pig puke and I am but a mere mortal. I figured if I can manage to eat the canteen food, I will definitely manage to eat my own cooking without dropping dead of food poisoning. So I enthusiastically go to the supermarket and buy some vegetables, some flour and some salad items. I come back home and the nightmare starts.
I want to cut open the flour packet. Damn thing is stubborn, but me, I have the muscles of a Rambo. I tug viciously and finally open it. Unfortunately, in this process I spill half of it over myself. My dream of being fair and lovely has just been fulfilled. The other half is lying on the floor and the platform. The remaining that's left (yeah yeah, forget the math will you) I carefully scoop into a bowl and start kneading.
I end up putting too much water.
Then I put more flour to nullify the effect of water and end up putting too much flour.
Then I add more water to make the mixture smooth.
I repeat these steps for about half an hour till all the flour's exhausted and suddenly decide that the mixture is perfect anyway. I cover and keep it aside to soften.
Out come the veggies now. Let's see, is it going to be ladyfingers or potatoes? I think for a while and pick on the ladyfinders. Green vegetables are good for the skin, or so they say. I wash them and look for the knife. Damn. I could have sworn it was here someplace. I look around my kitchen intensely but fail to spot it.
I open the cabinets one by one and start digging around. Half an hour later, I am exhausted. I close all cabinets and decide to lie down for a bit. To my dismay, the kitchen is littered with the stuff I had forgotten to put back in the cabinets. Oh well. I put things right and suddenly hear my phone ringing. I run to my bedroom and see the knife right next to my phone. How the hell did it get there in the first place? Anyway I politely tell the telemarketing fellow to get the hell out before I beat his brains to pulp and get back to the task of cutting the vegetables. Another half an hour and a few nicks and cuts later, things are finally ready to be cooked. I put the vessels on the gas and start the task.
If you have never cooked ladyfingers, let me tell you there's still time to hire that maid. Nothing, but nothing takes about as much time to cook as ladyfingers. I darkly wonder if the word "lady-fingers" had been meticulously thought up after studying women's behaviour patterns, especially in the putting-makeup-on department. I stir and stir and stir and still no sign of it getting cooked. I decide its high time I took that 5-minute break and walk to the sofa plonking myself down it with a huge sigh. I pick up an Archies and flip the pages. Suddenly I smell something burning and rush back to the kitchen in alarm. The food is, well, cooked. Slightly overdone, but cooked nevertheless.
I now start with the rotis. With agonizing slowness I roll the roti to something resembling the island of Bora Bora. A circle is a boring shape anyway. I cook it and finish with the rest.
Believe you me, at the end of this "simple" task of cooking my dinner, I was so exhausted, my kitchen was in such a mess and my hands were so like the war ravaged Serbia that I decided enough was enough. One person alone can definitely not manage all this mess. It will need about four and a half people to be able to cook a dinner deftly.
Now its back to the canteen for me.
Let me tell you by my experience - all this stuff about too many cooks is utter rubbish. Nonsense with a capital N. Balderdash. Poppycock. There can never be any such thing as too many cooks. And I'll show you exactly why.
I decided to cook one day. The stuff they pass off as food in our canteen is enough to make even the most seasoned pig puke and I am but a mere mortal. I figured if I can manage to eat the canteen food, I will definitely manage to eat my own cooking without dropping dead of food poisoning. So I enthusiastically go to the supermarket and buy some vegetables, some flour and some salad items. I come back home and the nightmare starts.
I want to cut open the flour packet. Damn thing is stubborn, but me, I have the muscles of a Rambo. I tug viciously and finally open it. Unfortunately, in this process I spill half of it over myself. My dream of being fair and lovely has just been fulfilled. The other half is lying on the floor and the platform. The remaining that's left (yeah yeah, forget the math will you) I carefully scoop into a bowl and start kneading.
I end up putting too much water.
Then I put more flour to nullify the effect of water and end up putting too much flour.
Then I add more water to make the mixture smooth.
I repeat these steps for about half an hour till all the flour's exhausted and suddenly decide that the mixture is perfect anyway. I cover and keep it aside to soften.
Out come the veggies now. Let's see, is it going to be ladyfingers or potatoes? I think for a while and pick on the ladyfinders. Green vegetables are good for the skin, or so they say. I wash them and look for the knife. Damn. I could have sworn it was here someplace. I look around my kitchen intensely but fail to spot it.
I open the cabinets one by one and start digging around. Half an hour later, I am exhausted. I close all cabinets and decide to lie down for a bit. To my dismay, the kitchen is littered with the stuff I had forgotten to put back in the cabinets. Oh well. I put things right and suddenly hear my phone ringing. I run to my bedroom and see the knife right next to my phone. How the hell did it get there in the first place? Anyway I politely tell the telemarketing fellow to get the hell out before I beat his brains to pulp and get back to the task of cutting the vegetables. Another half an hour and a few nicks and cuts later, things are finally ready to be cooked. I put the vessels on the gas and start the task.
If you have never cooked ladyfingers, let me tell you there's still time to hire that maid. Nothing, but nothing takes about as much time to cook as ladyfingers. I darkly wonder if the word "lady-fingers" had been meticulously thought up after studying women's behaviour patterns, especially in the putting-makeup-on department. I stir and stir and stir and still no sign of it getting cooked. I decide its high time I took that 5-minute break and walk to the sofa plonking myself down it with a huge sigh. I pick up an Archies and flip the pages. Suddenly I smell something burning and rush back to the kitchen in alarm. The food is, well, cooked. Slightly overdone, but cooked nevertheless.
I now start with the rotis. With agonizing slowness I roll the roti to something resembling the island of Bora Bora. A circle is a boring shape anyway. I cook it and finish with the rest.
Believe you me, at the end of this "simple" task of cooking my dinner, I was so exhausted, my kitchen was in such a mess and my hands were so like the war ravaged Serbia that I decided enough was enough. One person alone can definitely not manage all this mess. It will need about four and a half people to be able to cook a dinner deftly.
Now its back to the canteen for me.
Morons
I thought the title may be a little familiar. If you are a working professional, I am sure you can envisage about a million characters who fit this description to a T. And hats off to you if you happen to be in IT. Then this seemingly innocuous little noun is an all-pervading omni-present environment bacteria you encounter every waking moment of your life.
Let's take a few quick examples from your everyday activities:
1. Milkman is supposed to turn up at 7 to deliver milk. He happens to "forget" that he has to deliver milk today. Oh, and by the way, you have this super-important presentation to make at 9 AM to the boss' boss' boss' boss. Oh, well, skip the tea. Its bad for your health anyway.
2. You are driving on the proper side of the road, at the proper speed, giving proper signals. Suddenly, someone zooms by and not only honks at you, but gives you one of those classic you-idiot-can't-you-see-where-I-am-going glares. That he should have been driving on the opposite side of the road is altogether too small a point to bring under discussion.
3. You are standing in a queue to pay your electricity bill. The man behind the counter asks you if you are here to pay your electricity bill. Of course not, I just love hanging around stinky crowded government offices, standing for hours on end, sweating like a pig, rubbing shoulders with all the rif-raff in the world. It builds character.
4. You send daily email updates to your boss, along with printouts, in-person discussions, reminders, storing all of the above in complex IT repositories without fail, every single day of the week. Your boss, keeps asking you the same questions you have answered at least 5 times in all the communication modes above, without fail. Your performance appraisal marks you as the dimwit that needs to be able to manage stakeholders better. Oh well.
5. You weigh about half a ton and have to be poured into your clothes every morning. The only places you can acquire your outfits are the lifestyle stores that sell bedsheets. You decide to get a little figure conscious and enrol in the neighbourhood gym. You are all geared up in slacks, tee, sports shoes, complete with a wrist band and sweat band for that added touch of class. You walk into the gym and this big hulking mass of beef wearing a T-shirt with the words "Gym Instructor" written over it approaches you with a friendly smile. "So, you have come here to lose weight, eh?". Nah, I just like to puff around like a steam engine with all my flab doing the disco dance to provide these poor anorexic souls with some wholesome entertainment. Pun intended.
Let's take a few quick examples from your everyday activities:
1. Milkman is supposed to turn up at 7 to deliver milk. He happens to "forget" that he has to deliver milk today. Oh, and by the way, you have this super-important presentation to make at 9 AM to the boss' boss' boss' boss. Oh, well, skip the tea. Its bad for your health anyway.
2. You are driving on the proper side of the road, at the proper speed, giving proper signals. Suddenly, someone zooms by and not only honks at you, but gives you one of those classic you-idiot-can't-you-see-where-I-am-going glares. That he should have been driving on the opposite side of the road is altogether too small a point to bring under discussion.
3. You are standing in a queue to pay your electricity bill. The man behind the counter asks you if you are here to pay your electricity bill. Of course not, I just love hanging around stinky crowded government offices, standing for hours on end, sweating like a pig, rubbing shoulders with all the rif-raff in the world. It builds character.
4. You send daily email updates to your boss, along with printouts, in-person discussions, reminders, storing all of the above in complex IT repositories without fail, every single day of the week. Your boss, keeps asking you the same questions you have answered at least 5 times in all the communication modes above, without fail. Your performance appraisal marks you as the dimwit that needs to be able to manage stakeholders better. Oh well.
5. You weigh about half a ton and have to be poured into your clothes every morning. The only places you can acquire your outfits are the lifestyle stores that sell bedsheets. You decide to get a little figure conscious and enrol in the neighbourhood gym. You are all geared up in slacks, tee, sports shoes, complete with a wrist band and sweat band for that added touch of class. You walk into the gym and this big hulking mass of beef wearing a T-shirt with the words "Gym Instructor" written over it approaches you with a friendly smile. "So, you have come here to lose weight, eh?". Nah, I just like to puff around like a steam engine with all my flab doing the disco dance to provide these poor anorexic souls with some wholesome entertainment. Pun intended.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
The GYM
What kind of an idiot wakes up at 6 in the morning only to go to a gym where they make you run miles and lift more weights than the normal coolie?
Yeah, me.
But before you write me off as a complete disaster, there is a much deeper mystery behind my seemingly idiotic behaviour. Can't believe me? Read on, skeptic, read on...
The normal human is awakened rudely by the tintinabulation of a telephone. Or the shrieks of an alarm clock. Me, I'm awakened by a combination of both. Oh, well.
What motivates me to get my lazy butt off the bed? The gorgeous hunk who picks me up in the morning.
Ah, getting interesting is it?
Still finding it difficult to believe anyone would wake up at 6? Join me in the gym and find out!
Yeah, me.
But before you write me off as a complete disaster, there is a much deeper mystery behind my seemingly idiotic behaviour. Can't believe me? Read on, skeptic, read on...
The normal human is awakened rudely by the tintinabulation of a telephone. Or the shrieks of an alarm clock. Me, I'm awakened by a combination of both. Oh, well.
What motivates me to get my lazy butt off the bed? The gorgeous hunk who picks me up in the morning.
Ah, getting interesting is it?
Still finding it difficult to believe anyone would wake up at 6? Join me in the gym and find out!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Savvy?
Ah, well, savvy?
Who doesn't love Jack Sparrow?!
I had heard of the Pirates of the Carribean and decided to see what the rave reviws were all about. And man, was I ever hooked!
Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow is probably one of the best movie characters I have ever seen. Some of my other all time favs are Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny, Sly Stallone in Oscar and Peter Sellers in Pink Panther.
But let's get back to our Pirate. His feminine swagger, total lack of ethnics, twisted morals, impeccable Oxfordian vocabulary, shrewd devilry make him so totally radical. And don't forget the gorgeously dirty outfit with those beads and fancy headgear :-)
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
I don't need anything
That's how women start. "I don't need anything from the store darling, you go on ahead".....and 2 seconds later...."just get me a red nailpolish, a muguet de bois 100 ml perfume spray and a 70 mm nail file with nail extensions pack".
You will be lucky if they stop at that. But no siree! They are just getting started. And perish, forbid, if they decide their "I don't need anything" list is so long they decide to accompany you to the store where you will come in handy indeed in carrying the stuff back home.
So one day, I was lounging around reading Harry Potter and stuffing myself with potato chips, listening to death metal and yakking on the phone all at the same time. A typical day in my life.
"Ah, nothing lah, just relaxing you know", I chimed into the phone.
"Shopping? Nah, I don't need anything."
"Ok, ok I'll accompany you"
"Where do we go?"
"Sure, pick me up at 3"
I left home at 3, and returned at 10, arms full of packages of "nothing".
Why? Well, I'm just being a woman.
You will be lucky if they stop at that. But no siree! They are just getting started. And perish, forbid, if they decide their "I don't need anything" list is so long they decide to accompany you to the store where you will come in handy indeed in carrying the stuff back home.
So one day, I was lounging around reading Harry Potter and stuffing myself with potato chips, listening to death metal and yakking on the phone all at the same time. A typical day in my life.
"Ah, nothing lah, just relaxing you know", I chimed into the phone.
"Shopping? Nah, I don't need anything."
"Ok, ok I'll accompany you"
"Where do we go?"
"Sure, pick me up at 3"
I left home at 3, and returned at 10, arms full of packages of "nothing".
Why? Well, I'm just being a woman.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Da BLOG!
Do check this one out. Its hilarious, its funny and did I mention its outrageously rib-tickling! If you still didn't understand, well, its a good blog and definitely worth a dekko you big blubberhead!
http://devro.rediffblogs.com/
http://devro.rediffblogs.com/
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