Tuesday, January 31, 2012

It is hard to forget you, New York



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


Saturday, January 28, 2012

Why the next Steve Jobs will be a chick




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."


You go girl! :-)


Friday, January 27, 2012

Nails & More



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



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.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

366 days of happiness Day 15 - Happiness in Pongal



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 :-)

Friday, January 13, 2012

366 days of happiness Day 13 - Happiness in breakfast



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:)

Thursday, January 12, 2012

366 days of happiness Day 12 - Happiness in a book



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 :)

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

366 Days of happiness Day 11 - Happiness in guitar



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..


Sunday, January 01, 2012

366 days of happiness Day 1 - Happiness in beauty



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;-)




Thursday, December 29, 2011

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with Kolaveri Di



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.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the chatty doctor



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.


Monday, December 19, 2011

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the candlelight bath



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.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Hyderabad Diaries - The one with the Family Class



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.





Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Women in Tech - NOT




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.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

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



"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?

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

The New Love Story - Episode 1 (Pilot)



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.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Dolls are overrated



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?




Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Dude stop



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?



Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Shame happens



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.



Monday, October 10, 2011

Passion is not your girl next door



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?