And its pink!

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Look at what I got in mail today. (Unless you are Sherlock Holmes, you are not to mention my dirty laundry and crummy gym bag in the background)

A giant pink costume?


No silly, its a bean bag  (apparently they sold me on it because you can contort and make shapes off it. They got me at creativity.)


The immediate reaction I had when I impatiently ripped apart the huge cardboard box it came in, was this:


I MADE A HUGE MISTAKE*


No, it wasn't the stingy amount of beans they have inside it (Seriously, what were they thinking? Its a fucking bean bag, put some beans in it you stingy morons!)


No it wasn't even the failure to hold shapes (so much for creativity, baah!)


No, it wasn't even the strange stench that comes with it (I gather it is a "factory setting")


But it was this very apparent, blatant, in-your-face pink color.


Pink. Whaaaaaat?! I was raven mad. But but but...I ordered it in Fuchsia. I mean that word "fuchsia" sounded so EXOTIC! And in the pictures it looked more red than pink. I should have fucking looked up Fuchsia.


Here is what wikipedia has to say about Fuchsia (as I read it now, a tad too late eh?)


"Fuchsia (pronunciation: /ˈfjuːʃə/, few-shə) is a vivid reddish or pinkish purple color named after the flower of the fuchsia plant, itself named after the German scientist Leonhart Fuchs. Fuchsia is a synonym formagenta."

THEY GOT ME AT FUCHSIA!

* I am a serious Arrested Development convert. I tend to use their quotes in all my conversations as if I was born to talk that way.


PS: Also Blogger wants to be a bitch and upload images from Picasa only. They go all Vista-type-circling-cursor over me if I try to upload images from my computer. *Miffed*


PPS: No it is not a Valentine's Day gift. I mean, I assumed that you sort of assumed...you know.

Awesome Indian things # 2 : Golli

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Now don't be all smart ass and type "Golli" in Google search and expect a neat wikipedia page on it ok? On second thoughts, I must speak to the engineers on the search team, explain them that what we are talking here is of national importance :-)

Remember Golli (aka Gotti) my Indian mates? The awesome, epic street game of marbles, colorful ones at that. Marbles I used to steal from my brother and other street kids to make my own collection. Yes, all is fair in love, war and game of marbles.

This was epic. More so because my parents loathed it. You know how you get a kick of it, by doing something that your parents intensely oppose? So not only did I steal (or win marbles, yes I was the envy of the local guys) but I also had to constantly change their hideout. I always kept it adventurous. It was all so thrilling as a kid. Specially since we had no Internet or Ipods or Iphones then. If they had Internet then, I would have published a blog on how Golli increased the niche skills of concentration and competitiveness among kids and showed it to my parents.

I mean which Indian kid in the 80's didn't enjoy a game of marbles, braving the tropical heat of India? And the best part is how serious we took the game for. I mean really all those blames on each other of cheating and then an eventual fight breaking out. For example, I constantly blamed guys of lifting their thumb of the ground while aiming with their forefinger at another marble. As an aside, I had pretty good nails, ready to claw up guys if a fight broke out. Yes, I had claws. A girl has gotta take advantage of her DNA (for defense purposes only)

My mom could tell, when I came back home with unkempt hair, grime in my finger nails and darting eyes (as I had to quickly arrange for a hideout for my marble loot from today's game). She mostly overlooked it. And since my dad was mostly somewhere in the Middle East at the time, working his ass off for kids he thought were doing their homework diligently, I was in a marble friendly world. Until he came on vacations and I had to put on a skirt and act all goody-goody with this godforsaken doll of a thing. Yes I hated dolls. There I said it. Too. Much. Pressure.

Now who wants to play golli with me?

Because you don't want to invite the wrath of Crime Master Gogo - Aankhen nikaal kar gottiya khel tha hoon gottiya. 

Book review: Last Man in Tower

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For a really long time I wanted to read an Indian book by an Indian author. You know what I mean. Not the pseudo Indian stuff, but something I can relate to. And definitely NOT Chetan Bhagat. Sigh.

Having grown up in a middle class family and lived (for a few years - but the best ones!) in a chawl I took to Last Man in Tower like a fish takes to water (Yes, I had to throw in a cliche there;))

Pic courtesy: Amazon.com book cover

I read Aravind Adiga's The White Tiger long ago. For some odd reason, I wasn't impressed by it. And now I know why. Methinks it is the way he symbolizes circumstances and people in his story and depending on how well you follow these through the thread of the story gives you the maximum pleasure. It is like reaching a crescendo but without much ado about it. You know, like a good detective novel. If I described Last Man in Tower to be a suspenseful story, there will no laughing about it. It is a suspense filled drama! Like the Indian soap operas, but taut and better :-) (Ok I shouldnt have compared to Indian soap operas. Let me rephrase. It is like those characters in a story that become endearing to you. Ya, that's what I meant. Good.)

The way Aravind Adiga sketches the characters in the book is so believable. It makes you sit up and say "Hey I know this guy!" or "Hey, that is like my neighbor X"

Last Man in Tower is all about greed driving middle class people crazy evil. And that is in a nutshell what the book is about. If you were ever in a middle class family or in poverty or...you know anything except the elite, you will relate to this story :-) If you grew up in an apartment building or in a chawl you will totally suck it up. Oh, and for people from Bombay, you will enjoy it immensely! (Hopefully someone writes about Hyderabad soon)

In fact, I might pick up The White Tiger for a re-read. I am caught in the Adiga wave now.

PS: Oh as always, the book isn't thick, so it is an easy read. Just go slow and don't skip some of his subtle symbolisms of Indian life, it will really give you an appreciation of both the beauty and ugliness of Indian life.

Awesome Indian things # 1 : Sugarcane Juice

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Move over Diet Coke, Mountain Dew, Dr. Pepper, Tropicana, Red Bulls of the world. You thought you could juice it up? Well nothing tastes sweeter than Sugarcane, you jack asses.

Pic courtesy: Wikipedia (A Hyderabadi sugarcane juice vendor)

Wow, that was bold. And no, I am not psyched in the middle of the night over a drink.

I just love some Indian things you know. Things that were near and dear when I grew up in apna Hyderabad. Well, oh well. #JustSaying

This was my go-to drink you know. Days while lounging outside in the heat with my hall ticket to be seated in for some god-knows-which-entrance exam. Being a student in India was tough man. And here I hear people talk about absurd number of homeworks and paper deadlines. Come to India mate, I will show you what it is to write a bazillion entrance exams, each one for a different school, major and god only knows what else they throw in these days.

Anyhow, so anyone worth their Hyderabadi life will know how the local cinema halls used to shut us out till the nth second and would let you in only a moment before they screen the cinema. Remember? SO annoying. And to stand in that blistering heat (think Texas heat here) without a glass of sugarcane would be blasphemy, no? I remember filling a Milton flask full of sugarcane juice once for the entire family of 4 before we headed for Jurassic Park. (How much I miss the 90's. boo-hoo!)

And how many times has someone warned you about the wrong kind of water they use to make that sugarcane and how many times have you heeded to that warning? Not once. Haha. You could take fever but not say no to sugarcane juice.

Funny, how the warnings now are less about "bad" water and more about "calories". Things change, trends change, people change.

Sugarcane juice, anyone?

Things not to worry about

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This is a list of things NOT to worry about as written by F. Scott Fitzgerald (I must read his Great Gatsby someday!) to his 11-year old daughter.  Being a chronic worrier myself, this came as a pleasant reminder - of things that do not matter :-)

Read the other two lists he wrote about to his 11-year old daughter

Don’t worry about popular opinion
Don’t worry about dolls
Don’t worry about the past
Don’t worry about the future
Don’t worry about growing up
Don’t worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don’t worry about triumph
Don’t worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault
Don’t worry about mosquitoes
Don’t worry about flies
Don’t worry about insects in general
Don’t worry about parents
Don’t worry about boys
Don’t worry about disappointments
Don’t worry about pleasures
Don’t worry about satisfactions

The debate on Khan Academy or not

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The first time it ever occurred that Khan Academy may not be the perfect solution to education was on a road trip to Monterey. My friend A candidly asked me - "So what do you think of Khan Academy?"

I was taken aback a bit by that question. I mean, there was only one answer to it, wasn't it? Everyone knows Khan Academy is great, so why was she asking me such an obvious question with an obvious answer.

And then she put forth the argument on the other side - a side, very few of us are willing to accept or even respect.

A said - "But what about teaching? What about that personal connection, that bond with a teacher, who shows you the real use of whatever you are learning?"

I possibly couldn't argue that. We just settled to a mid-conclusion. Yes, Khan Academy is good but it is not a replacement to the age-old ways of traditional teaching. Although I secretly felt more supportive of Khan Academy. I didn't tell her that.

I never thought of it again until I bumped into this article today about how Khan Academy isn't the perfect answer to our teaching methods

And now I can relate to the point A tried to make that day.

Khan Academy is a convenience. It delivers education to people who might not be able to afford education the way some of us can. It helps you work through basic skills. It never declared that it could replace education systems. But people *assumed* this is the replacement. It is not.

Because, if I learn Math, just because I want to get a badge on their site and jump levels (as if I am playing a game), I will never learn the essence behind Math. So who brings that essence to you? A teacher - someone, who is rarely found in today's technology driven world. Someone who is a rare commodity.

If I love reading literature, it is not because some technology platform taught me how to read. Sure it *assisted* me to find the meaning of a word in a dictionary, sure it *provided* me a convenient way to bookmark and read and re-read stuff on devices...

But did it teach me to love and imagine the characters in the book? No. Did it teach me to cherish each story I read? No. I think my old librarian did.

It is after all a human endeavor, not some computer graded test.

Why you will fail to have a great career

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I happened to bump into this candid TED talk (I can spend my whole day watching TED!)
Instead of talking about why you should follow your passion, which we have heard bazillion times by the way, the speaker takes a practical approach - he talks about what excuses we make to avoid following or searching for our passion. Some of them being -

- Great careers are just a matter of luck, so I will just stand around and try to "be lucky"
- There are special people who are geniuses and I am not special
- I am not weird, obsessive or paranoid (ha! Steve Jobs has spoilt it even more for us)

and so on...Inventing excuses to not persevere.

Strange, how the human mind is - Resists something that could completely turn your life upside down.

Only because you are afraid of failing

The Art of Storyboarding

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Quickly, what comes to your mind first when I yell the word "Storyboarding"?

Animation movies? Motion picture? Illustrators?

Did it ever occur that it could be used in a presentation, perhaps?

That's right. Traditionally all we have heard of storyboarding is in the world of interactive graphics and motion pictures like animation movies. Last week when I went to a "presentation skills" course I was really taken aback when I was told that "storyboarding" is in fact one of the neatest tricks to use while building your presentation. WITHOUT A COMPUTER!

How cool can it get?

I often find it distracting to use the computer (I mean Internet more, when I say computer) to build my presentations. In fact, that should be the second last step in your presentation preparing process (the last step being practice delivering!).

Why you ask?

Because..Powerpoint or Google Docs or whatever the heck you use is not designed for you to quickly organize your thoughts.

Because..It is more human to take a wad of stick notes, scribble one thought on each sticky note and move them around in your workspace.

Because..you can pull down a sticky note and then tack another which feels more appropriate. Imagine the amount of time it takes to move around slides, think about fonts, draw and arrange shapes...These are distractions. You should be focussing on content and building a story at this time not worry about beautifying things.

It is time to take that sticky pad gathering dust on it and put it to use :-)

Build your narrative and tell your story to the world.

Recommended watch: The Pixar Story. I watched this documentary on Netflix and it was fascinating to see how animators build their stories.

Org charts in Tech

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Manu Cornet, a Software Engineer at Google working on Gmail themes, came up with this drawing (below) of what an org chart looks like at 6 major tech companies. You can follow him on Google+

His other drawings are hilarious as well. Gives me the much needed laughs at work :-)

The red dot in Apple and the guns at Microsoft. Very tongue in cheek, indeed. *Wink*

http://www.bonkersworld.net/images/2011.06.27_organizational_charts.png

It is hard to forget you, New York

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So today I read a brief article, an artistic comparison of Paris and New York.

Although I have never been to Paris (but really want to, specially after watching Midnight in Paris;)) this comparison brought back memories of New York.

*Highline Park, running from Meatpacking district to Midtown

There is a strange mystic to New York. And by that I am not talking about the flood lights at Times Square, or the much talked about nightlife, or haute couture stores or innumerable skyscrapers.. They all fade into the background to me. Save them for the movies.

I am talking about the "real" stuff that got me everyday - hot bagel trucks and their delicious aroma, parks that never seize to fascinate me, museums that take you into a different era, artists engrossed in their work, festivals of every kind and plenty of subway encounters of a different kind. Those moments that take you by surprise or the irony of catching a really sad person come to life because a baby sitting beside him happened to smile at him. People celebrated sunshine (after a long winter), rainbows (if any!), events unique to New York like Manhattenhenge or just strolling by Central Park. While others only see the rush, the mad chase to make money and the act of survival in one of the most expensive cities of the world.

Because even in recession, New York gave me what I cherished most - Solitude and not loneliness. Surprises and not the mundane routine.

New York, I miss thee

Why the next Steve Jobs will be a chick

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I was so taken aback, when I read the title "The next Steve Jobs will be a chick" in the January edition of Fast Company.

Louis C.K couldn't put it more charmingly:

"The next Steve Jobs will totally be a chick, because girls are No. 2--and No. 2 always wins in America. Apple was a No. 2 company for years, and Apple embodies a lot of what have been defined as feminine traits: an emphasis on intuitive design, intellect, a strong sense of creativity, and that striving to always make the greatest version of something. Traditionally, men are more like Microsoft, where they'll just make a fake version of what that chick made, then beat the shit out of her and try to intimidate everybody into using their product."

http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/161/louis-ck-on-female-culture

You go girl! :-)

Nails & More

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Yes I am talking about fingernails.

The first time I came to US, this struck me odd. What is the deal with so many "Nails" stores?

Ok, this is the second thing that struck me odd. First one was shelling out 3$ odd for a tiny bottle of water. But nails? This is taking it too far, don't you think?

And slowly I discovered this is a nails obsessed country. Manicure, they call it.

This nails thing cant evade you for long. I log into Instagram, atleast a third of the pictures are of nail paint. Amusing. (Another third is of course cute Asian chicks)

Seriously, what's the big deal about nails?

I think this blog lacks theme

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Yes, that's what someone told me. Recently.

What, I thought having no theme was the cool factor about this blog. No? And that was the end of the conversation. Seriously, some people take things too seriously. By some people, I mean myself. Maybe I must watch more of Arrested Development. That is if I get time off from Twitter, Instagram (my latest crush on Web), iTunes U. God knows what else is lying out there on the Web. Maybe Tumblr? I am too chicken to even go down that route. Too scary, this Internet addiction. Notice how I didn't mention Facebook?! Well you have a keen eye, my dear Watson. It happens that I can live without Facebook. There, I said it. So slowly, I must eliminate my favorite website pit stops one by one.

So back to the blog-lacking-theme thing. I must do something about it no?

At first I thought all my rants would make for a cute collection. That was way back in 2006. You know when I was young, naive (ahem!) and so full of life that I thought my blog was the next big thing to happen to mankind. And then slowly, it was all consumed by laziness when I moved to grad school. Then I relocated a LOT and that consumed all my time. Then I thought I was too busy doing the home to office to home routine. Go ahead, call it bullshit. Because it is precisely that bullshit.

Picture tho abhi baaki hain mere dost! (Translate that, oh Google Translate;))

Then I said "Heck I am the next Julia Child". I started posting a lot of recipes. People will eat this up (pun intended), I thought. A strange thing happened, blogger started puking all over when I put up some nice big ass photos because it was running out of space. Sigh! Whatever happened to the promise of unlimited storage? x-(

So I moved all my cooking posts elsewhere. Naturally, I was more excited about that blog now. So "being-manju" was never the same. The randomness increased even more. Days, weeks and then months without blog posts. Not even those cute rants anymore (wait, you thought they were cute, right?)

Each day I started inventing new ideas. Once it was a writing challenge. Then it was about self-help posts. Then I thought curating some web links would be great (turns out it lasted only one week). Then I attempted short stories. Then I thought I will go "Shit my dad says" way...by journaling everything my dad talked (moments of desperation, my friends) Then I cooked up a "one happy post a day" about something that made me happy each day. Again, turns out being happy is a tough thing yo!

There I said it. Dangerously honest post, this.

So here I am, sitting and writing this apparently random post. Life has become so "sigh" right now.

What to do?

PS: I don't even know what to label this post as. Rant? Yes, rant it is.

366 days of happiness Day 15 - Happiness in Pongal

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Ever since that trip to Guruvayoor this year (my first time) I came back home relatively disturbed. And am not even that pious to boot. So I was surprised at the chaos within me when I saw people going to crazy lengths to visit this temple and get one glimpse of Lord Krishna's idol (Little Krishna, the devotees call him). I witnessed the entire routine, baby Krishna idol carried on top of Kesavan (elephant), the elephant procession and the darshan

Let me tell you how I felt moments prior to this procession. I was wiped, exhausted and famished by the week long road trip and also filled with anxiety about the even longer trip ahead, after this visit. Plus I had to force myself into a traditional dress before visiting this temple (there is a strict dress code in this temple) and was obviously irked by how hypocritical people can be (Why do I need to dress this exact way to get a glimpse of God?).

And moments later when I saw the throngs of people (many elderly) with crazy devotion in their eyes, many of them who traveled barefoot for hundreds of miles to reach here, not partaking food or water, clinging on to the temple pillars to get that extra few seconds of God's glimpse, I was struck by the divinity of everything around me.

Maybe there is such a thing called Faith and we should all have it.

Happy Pongal to you all :-)

366 days of happiness Day 13 - Happiness in breakfast

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I didn't think I would find happiness in...err...breakfast.

It has been a month plus since I have had a hearty and filling breakfast as the one I had this morning.
All because I had a meeting early morning (9 am, ahem) and so I was forced to get ready and catch the 8 am bus to reach work. That gave me a tiny window of 10 mins before the meeting and I grabbed some eggs, blackberry agave shake and a small cup of oatmeal doused in cinnamon.

I forgot to take a picture. After all, I had only 10 mins to boot.

Food certainly makes me happy:)

366 days of happiness Day 12 - Happiness in a book

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Today is the Mobile Library day. Yay!

Let me explain. Every Wednesday the town's library drives up to my work in a truck full of books. How rustically romantic no?:) This time my co-worker came along too. Usually I pick my books alone. So this time it was nice to go by someone else's choice, for a change.

I had a book pickup waiting, so I thought I would go right in and out. But my co-worker's eyes fell on this book and she spoke joyously of the three books her dad gave her to read when she started at college...

One day in the life of Evan Denisovich
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
(Third book I don't remember :( )

I picked up the first one with my co-worker commenting heartily that this is one Russian story that won't be too tough to read :)

366 Days of happiness Day 11 - Happiness in guitar

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There is something eerily magical about musical instruments. Can't quite put a finger on it.

I had bought this stand for my guitar and never gotten to use it. Secretly happy about seeing the guitar sit pretty on it. And now if only I could just magically strum it like a pro! (That should happen soon:-))

Dum di dum di dum..

366 days of happiness Day 1 - Happiness in beauty

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It is post New Year's Eve. What do you expect? A hungover day? So passe.

With me, I am always expecting the unexpected. Of course, I went with an intention to party on the 31st. Only to be miffed by the very ordinary party (boring DJ, lame ass crowd, cliched shows..) I stormed out. 

OUCH!

So imagine my day on 1st Jan. I woke up, not extraordinarily, early in the morning with my latest SLR camera in tow. I got some great shots of Munnar in all its beauty. Little villages nestled on the hills, plenty of tea estates and spice plantations and the smell of fresh homegrown Cardamom. Now this is what I call happiness. Happiness in Beauty.

Happy New Years to all :-)

PS: Of course, I didn't tell you the windy paths made me sick and throw up twice in a 6 hour ride to Munnar from Kochi. But that was so 31st of 2011;-)

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with Kolaveri Di

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Needn't talk much about Kolaveri Di (~30 million hits the last time I saw)

Anyway, it was the usual morning for me today.

First I brush my teeth, then dad yells over me on how irresponsible I am (duh!), drink coffee, procrastinate about packing (yet again), grumble that no one buys a newspaper at home anymore, then switch on the TV, watch Big Boss rerun (as if the drama at home isn't enough), then close my ears as the kid downstairs screams....

Yes, so there are tenants downstairs and not surprisingly they have a kid who screams at his own will.

I was wondering why he screamed "Mummy" right in the morning.

"His mom cleans after he finishes potty", my mom told me the other day. There you go. Mystery solved.

When the kid isn't screaming he either plays games (that are mostly invented by him) or dances to lame ass songs. His latest favorite is Chikni Chameli. I ain't a Katrina fan, but surely this kid will turn me into a hater if he plays the song one more time.

So imagine my surprise today morning, when the kid doesn't dance to Chikni. For no reason, he screams "Daddy" at the top of his lungs this morning.

"So is it daddy's duty this morning", I quipped to my mom.

"No its usually his mother", my mom replied, matter-of-factly.

Then the chase. The kid tracked his dad down (poor guy was catching a smoke outside) and dragged him in.....

"Daddy Kolaveri Daddy Kolaveri..", he squealed in delight.

Really? Really? x-(

So now you don't play Chikni Chameli and play this one instead? Something that I have already heard tons of times and in tons of versions?

Please kid, switch back to Chikni Chameli. I beg you.

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the chatty doctor

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Let me tell you I have been incessantly suffering from bouts of coughing in the night. Not a funny story to talk about. So one night, not withstanding all the noise (I sleep in the same room as my parents) my dad resolved to take me to a doctor. Only we have no one "family" doctor to go to. I mean, it's just been like that. You want a doctor? Go shop for one.

Anyway, my mom kept telling him there was this doctor at the end of the street who "seems" popular since she saw couple of our neighbors go in there. Sometimes I think my mom hallucinates because I observed she likes to make up stories out of air. Like this one about the supposedly famous doctor. Oh well, she was atleast helping with some advice.

So my dad takes his scooty out and rides to this small clinic and he finds the cleaning lady there peeking out of the clinic. He sees a female doctor (Gayatri) name written on the clinic's banner outside. The cleaning lady nods that the doctor is in. So he comes fetches me. I walk out in my pajamas much to the chagrin of my dad who keeps grumbling, more to himself than me - "This isn't USA, you cant come out in your night clothes out like this". I am already sleep deprived thanks to all the night coughing. So I pay no heed and sit on his scooter.

Now let me tell you the man rides like he's riding a bullock cart. It felt like forever by the time we reached the end of this long street (about a 1/4 mile I would think). Anyway, he parks and encounters this guy in yellow teeth staring right down at my dad. Asks that the scooter be parked right beside the car that was parked a feet away. I couldn't really see a "No Parking" sign so I impatiently ask this guy what's the premise behind moving a vehicle that was parked near a wall that people just wanted to piss on? It clearly seemed like no one cared and were pissing on it anyway. He ignored my protest and my dad chided me to just park it.

FINE!

Only to go in and discover that this very yellow teethed man was the doctor. That's when my dad goes:

"Gayatri????", with his eyeballs almost falling off his eye sockets.

Doc: "Gayatri in the evening"

At that moment I saw my dad sizing him up. Later that evening as my dad narrated to my mom...the man with his ugly yellow teeth and untucked shirt and mehendi dyed hair and old rusty glasses was a nightmare to look at. He had thought he was another of the cleaning guys or assistants.

Dad: Where is Gayatri the doctor?

Doc: Gayatri is wife

Dad: Whose wife?

By this time I had already coughed a good measure to speak up and clear the air. 

Me: Gayatri is his wife and she only comes in the evening. Now can we get examined? I have these coughs at night...

At this point my dad shot one of his trademark disgusting looks and conceded.

Doc: Coughing eh? Kids these days. So sensitive eh? Hahaha

Neither me nor my dad found it funny but we nodded along. I couldn't tell what annoyed my dad most. His unkempt look or his broken English.

Doc: Show tongue.

I stick my tongue out.

Doc: More tongue.

From the corner of my eye I saw my dad stifle a chuckle.
He then holds my wrist and asks me to breathe to check my pulse.

Doc: Now breathe. More breathe. More...

I felt like I was delivering a baby then.

Doc: Whokay. All good only. No temperature. No fever. What tablets you take amma?

Me: (amma? Yes I feel like Jayalalitha now..) Crocin

By this time my dad told him I was jet lagged and had cough even before I came here.
Suddenly the doctor screamed "Viral infection" on my face. I almost felt his dirty breath on me and jumped up from my seat.

Doc: Viral infection I think

Me: What are the symptoms of viral infection? Night coughing?

Doc: I think it is viral infection.

By this time both my dad and I were infuriated. And both gave in and nodded in agreement to his passionate discovery and analysis. He started scribbling the prescriptions and gave it to me.

Doc: Whokay. Two times. After meals only. This and this (as he points it out to me)

As he hands it over to me, he looks at me meaningfully. For a moment I turned to my dad and signaled him as if to say "maybe this is when you pay his fees and get the fcuk out of here?"

My dad takes the cue and takes a 100 rupee note and hands it to me.

Doc: Thank you. Hahaha.

Sigh..


Still looks purposefully at me. What now? He then breaks the silence.

Doc: You go and get medicines amma...me and your dad will talk.

What the fcuk? What?

Doc: (Continues to talk to dad) You know these days doctors do expensive scanning because your daughter will demand that. Young blood, what to do?

Dad: (In despair) It's not that. It's because every big hospital pressures their doctors to meet certain targets to fulfill. So the unnecessary scanning...

Doc: No sir. No. No. No. It is the young blood that demands. They are not satisfied with tablets.
(He then looks at me and says) Why you here? Go amma...

That's when I lost it. I announced to dad that I was going home. 

Doc: You get here the tablets. These medical shops give duplicate tablets. Come and verify ok?

Dad (gets up as if to leave): Ok..I think we should..

Doc: You sit sir...

The cleaning lady walks in and the doctor turns towards her

Doc: (Handing her a 10 rupee note) Take this amma. This wont be cut from your salary ok?

My dad later remarked about it...that he was so happy with getting a patient that he gave away 10 rupee and made the cleaning lady's day


Doc: (Getting back into conversation mode) So this Anna Hazare movement too much no sir?

He chooses to talk at a time when both dad and I are atleast 2 feet away and almost near the door, ready to leave.


Dad: Bye

Once home, my mom opened the door to ask me how it went.


Dad: Highly recommended.

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the candlelight bath

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Ever since I have flown back to Hyderabad, I have made shocking discoveries about myself.

That I can get annoyed by the dust, I cannot tolerate all the power outages and I almost want to punch the roadside guys who make snide remarks at me. I don't ponder over them too much. I just dust them off as minor irritants. And yet I have found myself totally alienated from Indian life. The very thing that made up my formative years in Hyderabad as a teenager and as a working adult now seems to annoy me to no end.

So imagine my shock when my mom asks me to take bath in the dark.

I had a very mixed expression on my face. As if to say "You are kidding me?" and "This is bonkers" sort of a look. She feigned any interest in my expression or protesting gestures. She plomped the big bucket of hot water on the cement floor of the old bathroom and went about her usual ways in the kitchen.

It was 6 AM in the morning and I was told there is a power outage until 7.30 AM every morning and followed by another between 11 and 12 PM every day.

My dad had his usual smug look "Welcome to India"

And now as a way to increase my predicament I cannot delay my bath to 7.30 AM since the hot water will cease to be hot and according to daddy precious he has spent invaluable (electricity) units to give me this invaluable bucket of water - which is sort of a privilege I am told since everyone else (which is just my parents) just bathe in half a bucket of hot water.

So there I went. Borrowed a candle, lit it up so I could atleast spot the old bar of soap lying in a corner and bathing and getting out of the bathroom as quickly as possible.

I had this long face on for next hour or so. Of all the things that irritates my dad the most is a long face.

And as if he knew what I was about to complain next he said:

"Btw there's only one lizard and it lives in the wall creaks in the bathroom. Nothing to become overly paranoid about". And then he picked up his newspaper and his sugarless tea and went about his way.

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the Family Class

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So basically I spent a bomb to fly to Hyderabad and decided to keep a journal of interesting events that come my way. As I flipped back to my earlier entries on this blog, I realized how much happened around me while living in Hyderabad and how little transpired in the USA. Tch Tch. My 5 years in US had no stories, no events that could even match up to say 3 months of Hyderabadi existence. It really is a monotonous life there. #Sigh

Every time I travel, I have this anxiety. I mildly put it as "travel anxiety" although I would want to give it a more pompous description - moments of palpitations, panic, schizophrenia, negativity etc. But then you wouldn't believe me. So yes, I have travel anxiety. Which simply means I cannot sleep, I have negative thoughts about everything (example, I would forget my passport or I will get stranded in a lonely airport with no food) and also I will have the worst seat and worst co-passengers (mostly a weeping baby or a clumsy heavy guy)

This time I tried to tone it down a notch. I mean, think of wonderful valleys, snow capped mountains and  pretty butterflies and such. Anyway, that didn't change much in the circumstances around me. It was the same long international flight with same desi families doing cliched things like pushing you to get  in/out of a flight (something I never understood why they did. Perhaps to get more storage space for their luggage?).

This time I had to hop in and out of 3 different flights to add to my misery. And I had a middle seat because I totally neglected checking-in early. And also I had the usual weeping babies to accompany me. And oh, there was also heavy set men, this time two of them since I was plopped in the middle this time.

When I got down at Dubai, I did the usual shopping for alcohol. I felt terribly sick suddenly. I was having my bouts of coughing already. I never in my life had a viral infection so I refused to believe it was one. My stomach tied into knots and my earphone blaring Bollywood music I tried to settle my unsettling self. I saw random kids running around the lounge as if it were playground. I saw an elder girl bossing around other kids and preaching her own rules on a game she invented. It was about circling a cylindrical pillar without falling off it as you circle.

The bossy girl seemed feminist. She would often taunt the boys and say they were useless and didn't measure up to the standards. If they did nice and looked up to her approval she would just shrug and ask them to do a repeat performance. She seemed so demonic. Meanwhile, a little guy propped up beside me seemed to look intently at her. I didn't notice him too much until he got up on his feet suddenly and went racing at this girl and pulled her down on one of her games. His mom shocked tried to pry him away from her and he kept kicking his heels in the air. The girl had driven him mad apparently.

Meanwhile the angry kid's elder brother was a complete opposite. He seemed like this predictable kid looking upto his mom for approval and praises. He kept picking up other people's garbage and trashing them in the can nearby and go upto his mom each time to show off his noble act. His kid brother meanwhile had nothing to do with it. He would keep seated with an angry face.

At one moment he looked straight into my eye as I was sitting listlessly. I can tell you this guy is going to  grow up to a gangster. Dammit.

Looking at this Telugu family reminded me of the usual Brahmanandam kind comic families on TV. One such comic time came in when the elder guy went straight to his dad and announced

"Naana Naana, flight announce chesaaru. Family class allow chesthunaaru..." (Dad they are letting in the Family class)

For a moment I was puzzled.  Pat came the reply from his dad:

"Family class laantidi emi undadu ra...Adi family nee allow chesthunaaru as a courtesy"
(There is no such thing as family class. They are just letting in women and kids first as a courtesy)

And then his little bro smirked at him.

Touche.

Women in Tech - NOT

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I must have read a zillion articles about Women in Tech so far.

I don't get it. If women are not interested in Tech, so be it.
I mean, we aren't exactly talking about not having enough men practicing ballet dancing for example, are we? So what's the deal with no enough women in technology positions?

If a woman would rather want to be a great architect, writer, dancer, singer, fashionista...so be it.

I am not against the exposure to technology (as it is, women are exposed a lot more than before to technology). In fact, educating about technology is good, for both men and women. It is a good place to be in to make some quick money, support yourself and supplement your passion with the tech knowledge. Seriously. That's the best thing to do even if a woman isn't that into programming as a career.

In fact it is nature like. Not ruling out exceptions, boys love games and girls don't. Girls love fashion, boys don't. Girls are more expressive and boys are not. Boys love cars, girls not that much. So let boys be boys and girls be girls and they all will have fun. That's how it is supposed to be like. So STFU everyone and go back to work. Too much pressure.

The New Love Story - Episode 2 (The Frozen Cookie)

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"Tada", said Nadia, her roommate, enthusiastically as she peeled open the huge cardboard box.
"Go ahead and thank me", her roommate spoke as she rubbed her hands excitedly.

"Fuck"

"Excuse me? I...". Nadia was perplexed. She was pretty sure Tara would be as excited as her about the Ziisound system.

"...thought you also wanted a sound system, didn't you? I mean, music...hello?", Nadia finished.

"Yes. Not until I ordered the same online last week"

"Bitch, you didnt!", Nadia said aloud.

"Oh well, I can cancel it I guess"

"But hey happy anniversary,", she squealed in delight as she hugged Tara.

Tara squirmed. "No hugs. Goddamit, how many times do I tell you no hugs"

"OK OK. I was just excited about us"

Nadia and Tara had lived together for 1 year now as roommates. As for Tara, that was a record of sorts. She didn't like roommates or rather none of her roommates had liked her. She felt like that kid tossed from one foster home to another. The first time she moved into the tiny studio with Nadia, she had no hopes of making it this long with her. Specially since she was so much different from her.

She was your typical giggly, loves-pink-and-boys kind of a girl. She had thought this would last 3 months tops i.e if she avoided encountering her completely. "Familiarity breeds contempt". She believed in that. That described her roommate situation time and again. But Nadia. She turned out to be not-so-hard after all. It all worked like a charm.

"Btw, your man sent you chocolates. Not sure of the occasion. I put them in the freezer. Now don't you scream, there is no...."

"Omigosh!!!", Nadia screamed ignoring her

"...No necessity. Never mind", she whimpered.

Just then the doorbell rang.

Nadia stopped short on her way to the kitchen and went to fetch the door instead..."Oooh here's pizza". She tipped the deliver guy generously.

Tara was least interested in food at that point. Her mind had been pre-occupied ever since she was called in by her boss the previous day. It was still running in her mind's eye.

"Tara, please sit down", her boss had said. "How are you doing?"

"I am good"


"I wanted to have a little chat with you now, if that's ok"

You know what you want to tell me so stop the crappola and tell me


"You work hard and your columns are usually very good. In fact that piece you wrote about the female Amazonian warriors was very thoroughly researched. But.."

But what you jerk? I spent sleepless nights on that article while you were in Hawaii with that mistress of yours.


"But you know, we cater to a different audience"

"Diverse", she corrected her boss.

His boss sighed.

"Look Tara. You are a great research writer. But at the same time we also want a column that connects to people. I am afraid there is plenty of talent out there for this job. Since I knew your dad very closely, I dont mean to give you the pink slip. This will be the last time we have this conversation. Life is not that bad if you choose to look at it that way."

She got up to leave without reacting. As she opened the door she heard her boss say...

"And one more thing, drop that attitude"

"Tara, Tara, Tara", she heard Nadia yell. She snapped back to see Nadia irate over her.

"This isn't from my boyfriend. This is for you", she said aloud waving at the chocolate tin she picked from the freezer.

"You have a secret boyfriend eh? And you don't even care to tell me? To your roommate?"

Tara opened the box and neatly aligned in two rows were chocolate chip cookies. Frozen.

And a note that said "Cookies don't cry"

WTF did that mean?

The New Love Story - Episode 1 (Pilot)

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She flipped opened the book and closed it back within 5 minutes.

"Bullshit", she heard herself say a little too loudly. She looked around the cafe and found people going about their business.  She let out an apologetic smile, to no one in particular.

Every day, over the past couple of months, she tried to read Eric Segal's Love Story and make some sense of it. Zilch. Every time it left her annoying within 5 minutes of reading it. How could it be that so many people love this book? She wondered.

Her phone buzzed on the table as she stashed the book in her tote. It was Sheila.

She peeked at the text for a split second - "Why aren't you returning my calls? This time you call me or we are not talking. Bye". Good, she will stop texting me then, she thought. She stashed the phone in her tote and lay idle on the couch at the cafe. She had nowhere in particular to go to. She sulked and toyed with the idea of going to the musuem. But gave up.

Her gaze followed to an old couple sitting two tables away facing the windows that overlooked the street. She watched as the woman struggled to squeeze some ketchup from the bottle. And then her partner helped squeeze, only it was all over her the table and her blouse. They laughed at their folly and cleaned up. Then she looked at another couple seated right across them. One typing intently into his Macbook and another fiddling with her smartphone. There was no way she could tell they were a couple, she was driven by her pure intuition for people in public places.

She couldn't help but laugh at the apparent irony of things. She fetched her journal from the tote and wrote some lines...

"Love can be experienced, only by two people as a whole"

She intended to write some more but was distracted by her hunger pangs. Apparently the coffee made her more hungry. She suddenly got up and walked out of the cafe. It was surprisingly a bit warm for a winter afternoon and she wasn't complaining. She stepped past the street performer on his saxo and the homeless guy who wanted beer money. "Oh well, atleast he is honest about the money", she thought. As she passed several designer stores at Soho, she cringed at the mannequin dressed in a stunning pink bridal dress. "Sucks, who wears pink to their wedding?", she muttered.

Deep in thought, she dashed past a guy in a houndstooth shirt, standing at an intersection. Little did she know, they were going to cross each other's path very soon....

Meanwhile totally unaware, she spotted a YOGO truck at the corner. "Nothing like food", she smirked to herself.

Dolls are overrated

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Lately, I have been craving gifts. Coming from me, that will be a huge shocker for my friends.
I have been swiping my credit card left, right and center. And waiting, like a hungry cheetah, on the great holiday sale. When my apartment will be swarmed by furniture, digital gadgets, books, books and more books. There is always charm in hard bound books. Kindle editions fail to impress me. But we shall talk about it some other time.

Btw, when was the first time you got a gift? Do you remember?

I can't say it was my first but one of the first gifts I got was this doll I could carry with me. It had blond hair, blue eyes and dressed in a yellow jumper suit.

In an effort to make it look more Indian (yes, as a kid I thought blond hair and blue eyes were overrated) I dyed its hair black.  Wait for it...with a black sketch pen. Yes, I took the effort to sketch each hair on the doll's head. Also I sneaked into my mom's dresser and used her lipstick to smear all over the doll's mouth. Plus, I was secretly annoyed with the doll's ability to shut its eyes when it rested on its back and opened its eyes when it stood tall. So annoyed that I forcibly held her eyes open as it lay on the floor.

Needless to say, the verdict was out. Dolls were not meant to be.

My dad assumed there was something dysfunctional about me. He confessed to me later that he would think, "Why is she acting like a retard?"

Dolls were physically abused. Check.
M&M's were chewed and promptly trashed. Check.
Soft toys were abandoned and thrown from the first floor of my house straight into the mud (yes, I seemed to have done this). Check.
A beautiful pink frock ripped apart. Check.

Of course, my dad had to try, like any other good parent. He also understood my choice of apparel after some key observations. My wardrobe was revamped. I had two pair of blue jeans and a set of 6 t-shirts that said "HAPPY" on the front in different colors.

And then my lovely toys arrived.

(1) A big ass truck.

(2) A pink panther made of rubber that I could twist (I also had an accompanying song and dance movement I did as I carried it).

(3) And a boeing airplane replica. We were made to be.

My three awesome playmates.

Didn't I say, dolls are overrated?

Dude stop

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So today at lunch, I raced across buildings to get to food. You know I can do anything for food.

I usually read or talk on phone or stare blankly at people in the cafetaria. Yes, I love people gazing. So much fun. Eavesdropping is a strict no-no. Although I can't really help if someone talks too loud, right?

So two dudes squatted right beside me. You know the ones in their hoodies wielding their smartphones and gorging on tons of meat from their plates. I was hoping to hear some nerd conversation (sigh!) until the dude went totally tangential...

He talked about his vacation with his girlfriend in some Asian country. No surprises there.

Until dude A asks dude B, so how did you guys meet?

To which he says, "Ah, nothing. I went to this African education awareness program you know."

Dude A shoots a confused look. Dude B comes to his rescue. "So you don't really get it, do you?", says dude B. Dude A is still on his confused look.

Dude A: I wasn't aware that you were into such charitable things

Dude B: Well, here's the secret. You go to hackathons for pizza and soda and coding with bros. You go to charity events and programs to check out some cute looking girls.

**I cringe silently**

Dude A: Really? (Rolls his eyes)

Dude B: Lots of cute chicks there..Sign onto this mailing list. They have something going almost every other day. Plus you look really good when you show up, as if you really care. That sort of thing makes a crushing impression on girls.

Dude A: What is that mailing list? (Brings out his Nexus)

Meanwhile, I am wondering, I just didn't hear that. Did I?
So where do I look for cute guys then? On the soccer field? Men's locker room in the gym?

Why should boys have all the fun?

Shame happens

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That's right. I talked about shame. I didn't talk about happiness, joy, pride, laughter...all the good things that you and I want to hear about. The human mind is complex. We crave for attention and worthiness more than anything else. Ask yourself, honestly what do you love most? Shame or pride? Obviously the latter. Yet, we do not realize that to make it to pride, you have to knock shame out of the way...

As a kid, you don't know what shame is about. You are fearless. Shame is unheard of. All you are is inquisitive. Hungry and foolish. You are your own limit. You didnt need self-help books nor counsel from people on "Do this and not that". Yes, you are fearless.

I remember till date...when I walked upto stage facing about 500 odd people in my high school. To sing. To sing a song, impromptu. No practice. No drama. No fear. No nothing.

I walked upto the stage at this prestigious singing competition and sang the cheesiest romantic song from a popular Bollywood movie then. I remember my brother sitting in the far corner of the school stadium, burying his face, in shame. I could see his friends ridiculing him - "And that dumb ass is your sister?"

I knew nothing. I didnt feel a thing. In fact, if you want to listen to the song I sang, it was this one, right below. Click on it and you will go WTF. And correct, it was the male version that I sang. Because the male one had easier lyrics that I remembered.

Yet, I didnt feel a thing. Also there were so many expectations, I was told later, of the student who sings in the competition. You had to sing a patriotic song I was told to be even considered worthy of winning. Needless to say I didn't win. I remember my cute looking classmate who sang the "Nanna Munna Raayi" song had won second. I wonder if the first was Vandemataram.

Oh screw it. I was overjoyed once I finished. I went straight home that evening, threw my bag and shoes off and ran to my dad to announce how glorious the whole thing was. I told him how people had laughed.

My dad asked me - "Did they applaud?"

To which I said - "No, they just laughed. Why?", peering at him closely as if to ask if that was important..

All he said was - "No. Jealous bitches. You did great" and went back to watching the news on TV.

Passion is not your girl next door

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The recent demise of Steve Jobs has left a profound impact on many. Suddenly, his words begin to haunt us. What is it that you really want to do?

When people ask me what my passion is I tend to speak all over the place. That should tick the BS alarm. To know my passion I should understand what the word passion actually means.

Passion is madness. Yes, you need to be mad enough. Crazy enough. About something. Something that speaks to you all the time. As if you are hallucinating about it. Something that becomes your best friend.

There are lots of traps though...Now if you like watching movies, that ain't your passion. We all like to goof around a bit. That ain't your passion. Your passion is what you would want your ideal day to be. What do you think is your ideal day? Not the "goof-around-in-your-pajamas-all-day" day. I mean "I-will-wake-up-from-my-bed-to-do-work" day. That's what is passion.

We all have obligations of some sort. Some ugly, some not so ugly. The sooner you get rid of them, the better you will be, the closer you will get to know/put your passion in execution.

Someone tells you what you are thinking is crazy, that is a sign of great times to come and a sign that you are indeed passionate.

I am not sure what pushes someone to "just do it". But from what I observed there seems to be couple of motives...

1) If you have to prove someone wrong.
2) If you are pissed off with your status quo.
3) If something keeps you up all night and you are sort of restless as a result.

My peak happened because I was under the spell of number 3.

I was just a kid then. I wasn't intelligent enough. I wasn't smart enough I was told. I was told I could never add and multiply numbers. I failed in Math. Again and again. It pissed me. It drove me crazy. Crazy enough for me to understand how it all works. Remember there was no Internet then. (Lucky b******* todays kids). I had to figure out. Everything. Every. Thing. No help. No money for those priced tuitions. No parental help either.

So, if I wasn't intelligent enough, how did I do it? It is called the human potential. Go Figure.

However, that just ended there. You know what I mean. That wasn't passion. That was just motivation.

Passion comes from enjoying and loving something profoundly. I knew how to manipulate through Math. To beat it at it's game. But I didn't learn to love it. No sir. Math was not my idea of fun (aka its not my passion.) Hence proved.

Passion is something you can describe in a short phrase. It is sort of like getting to say "I Love You" to your partner and he/she magically understands what you mean.

So what is your passion?

Super

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I was having a usual Sunday today. Relaxing. Drinking Tea. And you know, the usual loafing around.
Until I remembered a NYT article a friend asked me to read and I read. And lets say I just got..SCARED

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/02/opinion/sunday/meet-the-new-super-people.html

These sort of almost superhuman, stretching beyond comprehensible human potential is very very scary for the very simple reason. Where has all the fun gone? Remember? Three letters F, U and N?

Life seemed so simple when my parents lived. Getting a job, having a kid, taking care of the kid and planning for modest savings. That is all was needed. People were content and led a happy life in general.

And look what happens now...

Happiness is overhyped. Suddenly making good grades and getting a corporate job at a multinational (whatever the heck that means) company is just sub-standard. That also means you are not happy anymore. You are almost ridiculed to be just hanging onto that 9 to 5 job. That is so LOW now, no?

There are a zillion books on how to maintain self control, be a rock star at work, be indispensable, take over the world...yada yada. All of a sudden, you ask me to become Hitler? Where is the fun in that? Notice how there isn't a single book on how to have fun? Haha. I mean seriously, if there are books on diet, yoga, leadership, programming etc...why isn't there book on how to just loaf around and have fun.

Hmm. Make me want to think if people are really enjoying what they do today or would they rather put their foot into everything just so that they get a respectable place for themselves in the grand scheme of things.

Only one word comes to my mind - INSANITY

Smell.o.licious

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I miss the smell of books. Seriously.

Ever since I moved to the West Coast, a day hasn't passed when I haven't thought about NYPL
It was my Mecca. My sanctum. And all those wonderful feelings I got when I had a stack of them.
Wonder why NYPL cant open like an ex-New Yorkers branch. *Sigh*

No seriously, f*** kindle. It isn't cutting it man. I tried reading through it on the bus to work. It either gives me a headache or just makes me want to nap rather.

In fact one of the prime reasons that I am so against moving and relocating is having to leave behind a long trail of books. Boo hoo.

Recently, I have been whining a lot. A hell lot. And then today I got nostalgic for some odd reason. I saw someone (for a change) reading hardcover fiction and it took me back to the time when I used to walk to the humble library, couple of blocks from my home. I owned exactly 2 pieces of shirt and one light green skirt. And you know how I felt then? Like the luckiest girl in the whole damn world. Lucky because I got this whole freaking library and I wanted to live there. And read them all up. Not once was I embarrassed about wearing the same skirt over and over again.

Obviously, my dad was very taken aback by this attitude. I would beg, plead, cry, threaten, wallow...so long as my dad paid my library membership fee. I never once asked him to get me some clothes instead. That really bothered him. LOL.

I used to watch the kind of people coming in and out of the library.

The socialites would choose all the glamor and celebrity magazines.
Girls at call centers would come by for Mills & Boon
Teenagers would gawk at Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys and Sidney Sheldon.
The thriller fans head toward Agatha Christie.
And the more sensible (like me;) would read classics =)

But I tried every one of them. Books were my sanctum sanctorum. My whole world revolved around them.

Wait. I remember this one book. It was a "holy shit this is huge" sort of book. I can't seem to remember its name. It was filled with how stuff works. What the hell was it? I cant remember it now. I was so fascinated. I lugged the giant thing home and spread it on the floor and read it.

I still remember my library card number. And yes, the library still exists. And my card is still there, as of  last November=)

I left my heart in San Francisco

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Hi there you. Yes, you. Whoever you are. Welcome.

No, I am not generous with courtesies. Once in a while, I feel like giving. Giving back I mean. In my own wicked ways. But yes, I am happy to say I have had a break..of sorts. Lets not go there. Meanwhile I found a number of interesting things this week on visiting San Francisco. Some hippie told me that San Francisco actually means the land of black lesbians. Ok, lets not go there. Also, if you are PMSing you can get a prescription to buy weed. Ok, lets not go there either. Wait, what did you say? Your kids read this blog? Oh well they are probably reading "classier" stuff anyway. Internet is everyone's dear friend.

So yes. This break has been good. I have seen breads transform to lobsters and crocodiles.

I have had a 10 year old kid bow down to me at the Golden Gate Bridge and wish me a good rest of the day. (How cool is that, no? I have never had a kid, forget adult, bow down to me and wish me a good day like that....). No, picture not included. It was "in the moment" fellas. In the moment.

Also I saw the cafe where Francis Ford Coppola hangs out. Ok, ok, I didn't see him. But that's where he hangs out ok? Jeez. If you are asking who the heck is he, dont worry. He is probably a wrinkly old guy you dont really have to know about. Or well, just google damn it.

Also I saw random heart figurines here and there....and figured some silently sing "I left my heart in San Francisco". So teary-eyed I was. Until I saw this heart. Nothing shaped like a heart. It is cold, black and stone - yes, my Wall St. friends. That is a Banker's Heart, I am told.



*Pic courtesy - Wikipedia. Yes, I am all about giving Internet, its due.


Then I saw some sleeping figure on top of a building. I don't know what that was about. I don't really care. And I dont have a picture, I cant find it. So lets move on now.

Also there is a church. Yes, I am coming to the interesting part. Yes, I know you would have guessed it is either St. Paul or St. Peter. But it's address, my dear genius friend, is 666 Filbert St. A-ha!

Ok, so what if I didn't visit the Alcatraz. So what if I didn't visit the Golden Gate Park (Actually, I have had enough of parks. Once you have seen Central Park, you have seen it all). So what if I couldn't make it to the Exploratorium. You save the best for later. (No, I don't believe in that. Just saying.)

Poke the Box: When was the last time you did something for the first time?

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I am sucker for Seth Godin's books and essays.
Poke the Box is his recent manifesto about starting.
I know I know. I am not going to listen to you, lol.

I just love reading and re-reading his books for the insightful stories he shares and how short and pithy he keeps it. But mind you, if you are looking for a how-to book, this isn't for you. There are other books of his, that do a better job at that. This is sort of like a poster, you can stare at and ruminate about what you are going to start..now.

In his own words:

Starting a project, making a ruckus, taking what feels like a risk.


Not just, "I'm starting to think about it" or "we're going to meet on this", or even "I filed a patent application..."


No, starting.


Going beyond the point of no return.


Leaping.


Committing.


Making something happen.

The job isn't to catch up to the status quo. The job is to invent the status quo.

War of the Word

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You know how you get into that REM kind of deep sleep. You are floating somewhere, amongst mountains and beautiful valleys, air bubbles and flowers and lots of food (in my case, haha)..only to be interrupted by a freaking phone call x-(

So this is how my REM was disturbed last night.

Phone rings


Me: Hmm..
Voice on the phone: Where is the fcuking print?
Me: Whaa???
Voice on the phone: I cant find it. Where is Print and Print Preview?
Me: Print Preview? What? Who's this? Someone from office?
Voice on the phone: This is God. Now where the fcuk is print?
Me: Dad!!!!!! WTF?
Dad: Yes, good morning. I got my computer fixed today at the store. The guy formatted the whole damn thing and put Microsoft Word 2007. I can't find print preview, I don't see the usual buttons. That arrogant SOB changed everything.
Me: Who? The store guy? But that is the new Word dad...Word 2007 interface is different.  And it is not the store guy's fault.
Dad: I am talking about Bill Gates
Me: He doesn't work for Microsoft anymore. He runs charities and Malaria awareness and...
Dad: SOB. Did I wake you up?
Me: (Sarcastically) Oh no, I was doing laundry.
Dad: Don't get sarcastic with me. What do they teach you at work these days? To get sarcastic with your own parents?
Me: I didn't know they "teach" at work. And it is not Bill Gates' fault.
Dad: First I lose my files. Then I don't find a print preview. And then I have to deal with your chatter.
Me: Stop PMSing ok? I know where to find the print preview. And I am not saying a word until you apologize to me.

Crickets chirping


Dad: OK
Me: Ok what?
Dad: Apologized
Me: From when did OK replace a Sorry?
Dad: Fine
Me: I am looking for S-O-R-R-Y
Dad: I know how it spells. You just spelt Sorry
Me: Ok
Dad: And I just told the word
Me: Fineeeeeee. Click on that Windows logo on the top..extreme left
Dad: You kidding me?
Me: No. That's where they put it all. Open, Save, Print etc..
Dad: That arrogant SOB
Me: Ya I know. They should have asked you.
Dad: What do they pay you guys for? To readjust buttons on the interface? That is what you call programming?
Me: Oh come on. I don't work for Microsoft.
Dad: Then what is it that you do? Why do you get paid so much more than me?

And then an hour long discussion continued...

Divider skirt

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The other day A and I were discussing the very controversial topic of Divider Skirts. Ahem.

The first time I had mentioned it was to my dad, at age 15. It was one of those "I need to get  new uniform because I have grown taller" moments. My dad was very bothered at the rate I was growing tall. He was bothered due to economical reasons, of course. So it was time. He had to take me to store to buy me a new uniform. That meant two sets - one green in color and another a white one. White, because, that's what we wore on Saturdays, you know, for doing all that morning drill stuff? Anyway. This time, however, it had to be a divider skirt, not the normal one. So when he took me to the local garment retailer, I said,"Umm, this time I need a divider skirt".

I heard my dad squeal, not in delight, but in disgust.

He looked straight in my eye and said, "And WTF is a divider skirt?"

How uncouth and un-gentlemanly of him.

"Divider skirt, that which divides like a trouser", I said

"So you mean long bermudas", he said

F***

He chuckled and said to the sales guy over the counter, "Some divider skirt, kathe yaaro..." (which in the local slang means - Some divider skirt, my friend)

The sales guy nodded like he knew what I was talking. He brought two or three of them. Of course, my dad asked him to stop bullshitting and get the cheapest one available but also the most durable. To which, I seemed to have told him that the most durable wasn't necessarily going to be the cheapest anyway, because of obvious macro economics laws. And he very unabashedly asked me to stop bullshitting him.

Now our very serious sales guy added an extra 20 Indian rupees to the most awesome divider skirt he fished out for us. Of course, that didn't please daddy dearest.

Dad: Woh last time,  two sau ka liye the.. (The last time I purchased it was 200 Indian rupees)

Sales guy: Woh, do saal pehle ka tha saab. Abhi rate-aa bad gaye (It was 2 years ago, the rates have increased now)

Dad: Zamaane se aarum yahan pe. Tumhaare saab aur hum ek ich school mein padthe the (I have been a long time customer here. Your owner and I went to the same school)

Sales guy: Maaloom saab, vo-ich bees daala main. Nahi tho vo assi ka padtha, divider skirt (I know, that's why I charged only 20 against 80 rupees for a divider skirt)

Dad: Ek beech ki seelaayi ke liye assi lethe? Kya zamaana aa gaya. Apne zamaane mein hum usse bermuda bola karthe the (For a sewing in between, you demand 80 rupees? In our times, we used to call such a thing as a bermuda)

Meanwhile, lots of chuckles were exchanged between men in the store

Me: This is so disgraceful. I won't take anything less than a divider skirt.

Still heard chuckles from men.

Me: But Mrs. Bhaskar Rao will not let me do drill if I don't have a divider skirt

Dad: Does she wear one?

Me: No she wears a saree

Dad: There is no divider saree?

Me: I need a divider skirt. Now.

Dad: Fine.

Looks at the sales guy and says something and finalizes it for the same rate as the original non-divider skirt

The ride back home on my dad's TVS moped was spent listening to him grumbling about the divider skirt. And if you knew my dad even remotely, this went on for some time from grumbling to humor to crass jokes on how divider skirts could actually empower women.

That night ended on a note.

Dad: Tell Mrs. Bhaskar Rao, I am getting her a divider skirt on her birthday.

Monkey business

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On days when I am overwhelmed, I set aside everything that is overwhelming me, fish a book and walk out to find a lonely spot to read. I am not sure if that is a nice way to overcome overwhelming tasks, but seems to work  for me. So for the past week I have been reading the manifesto style "The Art of Non-Conformity" by Chris Guillebeau (this dude is awesome!) If anything, this guy should pay me for I have influenced atleast a dozen New Yorkers this week on the subway, brandishing the book at their face. If you keenly observed New Yorkers they dont give a shit, really. No matter what you do. You might make sounds, fall on your face or even roam around pantless on the subway and they will not as much as raise an eyebrow at you. As if to say, "Like seriously, you thought that was the weirdest thing to do? Grow up!"

Anyway, so the point I am trying to make is - New Yorkers wont bat an eyelid until you are hooked on a book and then they want to watch the book cover to see what got you hooked so badly. Yeah. No kidding. I have many a times based my choice on dear New Yorkers book choices. Each one radically different. The joys of a subway travel.

Now if you have read this far and survived, you would ask me why the title reads "Monkey Business". That's because instead of a traditional book review I chose to quote this story from the book. I am sure you have heard this tale in one form or the other (amazing how many variants you have for a story that has a moral in the end). Definitely a good book if you want to get a shot of inspiration.




 And now, ladies and gentleman, the monkey business...

"Five monkeys are thrown in a cage by a sadistic monkey-hater. Enough food and water is available at the bottom of the cage, saving them from starvation while forcing them to lead a boring life of staring  through the glass every day. The food at the bottom is bad, but sufficient. At the top of the cage, however, a large stalk of bananas alluringly waits. Conveniently, a ladder to the top has been provided by the sadist.


After getting over the shock of being caged, one of the monkeys scales the ladder and reaches for a banana. All of a sudden a fire hose appears from nowhere. The monkey at the top of the ladder is soaked with cold water but not only him - all of the other monkeys are soaked as well, in an exercise of group punishment for the sins of one freedom-loving monkey.


Over the next few days the experience repeats itself several times. One monkey makes a run for the bananas, the whole troop of monkeys gets soaked, and pretty soon the group starts beating up the monkey brave enough to scale the ladder. The bananas are still at the top, but just out of reach. The monkeys reluctantly accept the fate of living a life without bananas.


Then one day the experiment changes...


The sadist takes one monkey out of the cage and replaces him with another one. Not knowing the consequence of being doused with the cold water, the new monkey immediately begins to scale the ladder in pursuit of a banana, the rest of the monkeys pull her down before she reaches the top, and the troop settles in again.


The next day another monkey is replaces, and then another, and the process repeats itself: the new monkey lunges for the banana, gets pulled down, and adapts. After five days, no monkey from the original troop remains, and no monkey has even been soaked with cold water - but every monkey knows they are not supposed to climb the ladder. One of the monkeys finally asks - "Hey why cant we eat the bananas?" The others shrug their shoulders and say "We're not sure - we just know we can't"

So kids, basically the moral of the story is "DO NOT SETTLE"
Always remember - It is easier to be a cynic, than a believer