You know, I am writing this just because I read, not really read but brushed through, someone else's blog. Someone I don't like so much, someone whose indirect existence in life bothers me at times! One would think why would you read someone whom you don't like, but I do that more than often, I read their status messages, go through their pictures, blogs, notes, anything I can and I feel like.... Yes, I do that, and I do that in order to feel better, to look for things that would tell me that after all they are not such bad people. I do that, to sort it with myself that they have done nothing to hurt me, to not to let them bother me, to argue with myself that I am wrong in disliking them, to teach myself that this hatred is misplaced. But more often than once, I end up with the same emotions I started with, on some other times I end up seeing my morale sink lower. On a rare occassion like this one, I let it out in the open, for everyone to know and judge.
Life is nowhere near perfection and I take complete responsibility (guilt) for it.
I can't trust. May be it's too late for it or too early!
I can't decide. Why can't we just let life be as it is?
I can't soothe. I am scared of even trying, it would hurt me if I my words can't make you feel good.
I can't be nice. No, I am no great soul, if you act like a monkey, I would just be human enough to you.
I can't work hard. I could not have possibly been born to work!
I can't take shit. Oh! I am only kidding myself here, I take shit and I take shit all the time, only with utmost pain and humiliation in my soul.
I can't excel. I always wanted to be a writer or a model, unfortunately I am convinced I don't have it in me.
I can't step out. Life is trapped inside the box.
I can't speak up. I can't be tactful, and people don't seem to like to hear the truth as it is.
I can't take things lightly. Life matters to me so much.
I can't be a gypsy. I want a home to call our own.
I can't be too caring. I love myself as well.
I can't not be bothered. You matter to me so much!
I can't be selfish without guilt. I love you too.
I can't stop complaining. Things just should be the way I want.
I can't run away. I have nowhere to go to.
I can't fly. No, wait a minute. I can fly!
I am tired of living life as it should be, the monotone is magnanimous yet I can't help but be so hard on myself. We are only living a life passed on to us by generations before. We have been told to eat right, speak well, be nice, earn a living and be comfortable. What was the last time we did something on our own?
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
MA.....
I never call you that actually, isn't it, Mom? But I refer you as that many times over when I am thinking about you, in a cold cold land, far away from where you are.... I miss you Ma, I miss you loads, in tons, in kilos, in light years, infinite times over, but I rarely almost never tell you about it. But I miss you Ma. And when I miss you my heart just fills with tears that make my eyes wet. I scale the world and people think of me as brave. But Ma you know me, only you know what a scared little girl I am, who sheds tears at every little thing. Ma, you know me as I am, a lonely, insecure child who is starved of constant love and attention and care. Everytime I am hurt Ma, everytime people are mean to me, everytime I get crappy food on flights, everytime I make a mistake, everytime I fight with the boyfriend, I want to hug you and weep my sorrows in your warm embrace. Because I know even if you don't understand my problems, or me, you would be there for me and support me. But look what I have made of me Ma, I don't even call you and tell you, how at times life does not treat me very well. But you know, I miss you. And when I miss you at times, I talk to myself the way you do, I make faces and gestures just like you would, do things you would do, eat what you like, say things you would when you want to eat pani-puri, cook in your style, take a mouthful of it and cry. I never watched stupid serials on Colors Ma, but now I watch them for you. The only reason I cook and clean at home Ma, is because I know that would make you happy. I know I have never told you all this, and I don't think I would tell you also, because then we will both be very awkward. Strange, isn't it! But somehow we have never been so outspoken about our love, love that we both actually know that needs no telling. 'You like mom more or dad?', I was asked this many a times as a child and I could never answer. But someone was to ask me today Ma, I would not hesitate, I know it's you! It's you I love in this world the most, it's you who has done the most for me. And I am hoping that you have forgiven the mean teenager that I once was. You let go of your entire self, to bring me into this world, to raise me up! Your selflessness scares me Ma, I don't think, I can ever be like you. It scares me because I don't think I am the same for you Ma. But I know, you don't care for that as much. I know you just want me to make a good life for myself, and that's what I am trying to do, earnestly! I owe you my life Ma, thank you for everything.
I LOVE YOU!
I LOVE YOU!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Granny's Tales!
It was my granny's first time to Mumbai. She was accompanying her two elder brothers who were appearing to the UK embassy for resident visa permit. People looked at me suspiciously as I made my way through to two flight of stairs to meet them at Joshi Guest House on grant road. They had finished with the interview in the afternoon and were leaving in a few hours to go back home. The cubicle room of the guest house which, my granny kept calling hostel, had three single beds to each side and the fourth wall had a small television set planted inside a metal box. Besides this the only furniture in the room was clothes' hooks and a plastic bin. The sheets were fairly dirty n pillow covers half out. 500 bucks a night, not a bad deal eh?! The men, two of my granduncles and yet another middle aged man, consistently smoked bidis and spat pan in the bin. I was appalled, pukish, inconvenienced and amused all at the same time. Apart from five of us the middle aged man was accompanying his younger cousin who wanted to immigrate to Israel??!! On a three year work permit to nurse the oldies in the family. Investment about four lakhs, income 50k per month, accommodation n food on the house. Anyone interested? She had a list of Hebrew words with their meanings written in Gujarati script(!) and thought that Israel was a Christian country. I don't think she had ever heard of Jews or Palestine.
I half-heartedly requested them to stay back(I had prior commitment of four days of my life to someone). But I whole-heartedly wanted my granny to come to my house and stay with me for a while. 'Don't you want to see Mumbai?', I advocated. 'We went to the embassy office (at BKC), it was a huge building with tall glasses and the interview room was the tenth floor!!!, she replied trying to impress me, 'It was as good as seeing Bombay for me'. And I know she meant it. It is sunset time of her life, and all that she has gone through in life (and trust me which is a hell freaking lot), she didn't give two hoots to the fast, glam n super fancy life of the city. The conversation turned to immigration, education, money and life. Who ever knew that people from remote 'Mer' (my cast) villages of Gujarat wanted to immigrate not only to UK, USA or Dubai but to Israel. Anything and any place I guess, to escape the rugged and uneducated ignorant heat and dust life of being a Mer, of not knowing a word of Hindi, English or for that matter even proper Gujarati. A world where education was still a taboo, a world where people hadn't even heard of live-in or gay relationships, a world in which people wore clothes more traditional than saris for women and pants for men. A world in which you did not marry outside your cast, a world in which you could say MC-BC in front of your kids and a world in which you can break into a fight the minute you thought you are being wronged. A world in which you owned and drove trucks or did farming. A world in which girls didn't talk to boys, a world in which you wear a tons of gold in the weddings over a cheap sari and weather roughened hair n skin, a world in which you didn't change your mindset even a bit even though you travelled across the world or are living in UK. A world in which concept of spending money, learning or being environmentally friendly did not exist. A world in which girls studied more and boys turned into jerks. A world in which choosing your own life partner clearly meant betraying your parents. A world in which someone has just become the first member of the community to take a position of a judge. A world in which my father was the first person ever to graduate (absolutely against the family's wish and zero financial n moral support) in his village. A world in which I am the first person to work in the aviation industry and it is kind of a big deal, at least to them. A world in which you might get married thrice and still not be happy. A world in which your son would not bother to earn a decent living and you have to worry about feeding your grandchildren. A world in which success and happiness meant getting married to a catch found by your family and having children. This was a world, my grandparent's world, where my granny has waited for more than forty years (and some more to go) to visit her daughter and many siblings in UK. A world that amazes and pains me. I have more amazing details and juicy stories (granny has so many of them!!!) but I cannot spill the beans here. Someday I would like to retire for a while and write a book about this marvellous community and the not so subtle gang lords in it.
I dropped them at the station with a heavy heart. I hope she comes back soon and for longer. I hope life gives us more time together. Amen.
PS-the embassy had a sign in Gujarati announcing that if you spoke any bad words or tried to abuse, the interview would be considered done. Lol. You would understand this only of you were a Mer or you knew other Mers closely.
I half-heartedly requested them to stay back(I had prior commitment of four days of my life to someone). But I whole-heartedly wanted my granny to come to my house and stay with me for a while. 'Don't you want to see Mumbai?', I advocated. 'We went to the embassy office (at BKC), it was a huge building with tall glasses and the interview room was the tenth floor!!!, she replied trying to impress me, 'It was as good as seeing Bombay for me'. And I know she meant it. It is sunset time of her life, and all that she has gone through in life (and trust me which is a hell freaking lot), she didn't give two hoots to the fast, glam n super fancy life of the city. The conversation turned to immigration, education, money and life. Who ever knew that people from remote 'Mer' (my cast) villages of Gujarat wanted to immigrate not only to UK, USA or Dubai but to Israel. Anything and any place I guess, to escape the rugged and uneducated ignorant heat and dust life of being a Mer, of not knowing a word of Hindi, English or for that matter even proper Gujarati. A world where education was still a taboo, a world where people hadn't even heard of live-in or gay relationships, a world in which people wore clothes more traditional than saris for women and pants for men. A world in which you did not marry outside your cast, a world in which you could say MC-BC in front of your kids and a world in which you can break into a fight the minute you thought you are being wronged. A world in which you owned and drove trucks or did farming. A world in which girls didn't talk to boys, a world in which you wear a tons of gold in the weddings over a cheap sari and weather roughened hair n skin, a world in which you didn't change your mindset even a bit even though you travelled across the world or are living in UK. A world in which concept of spending money, learning or being environmentally friendly did not exist. A world in which girls studied more and boys turned into jerks. A world in which choosing your own life partner clearly meant betraying your parents. A world in which someone has just become the first member of the community to take a position of a judge. A world in which my father was the first person ever to graduate (absolutely against the family's wish and zero financial n moral support) in his village. A world in which I am the first person to work in the aviation industry and it is kind of a big deal, at least to them. A world in which you might get married thrice and still not be happy. A world in which your son would not bother to earn a decent living and you have to worry about feeding your grandchildren. A world in which success and happiness meant getting married to a catch found by your family and having children. This was a world, my grandparent's world, where my granny has waited for more than forty years (and some more to go) to visit her daughter and many siblings in UK. A world that amazes and pains me. I have more amazing details and juicy stories (granny has so many of them!!!) but I cannot spill the beans here. Someday I would like to retire for a while and write a book about this marvellous community and the not so subtle gang lords in it.
I dropped them at the station with a heavy heart. I hope she comes back soon and for longer. I hope life gives us more time together. Amen.
PS-the embassy had a sign in Gujarati announcing that if you spoke any bad words or tried to abuse, the interview would be considered done. Lol. You would understand this only of you were a Mer or you knew other Mers closely.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
RANDOM? MAY BE NOT QUITE!....
This blog comes from a very unusual place and an unusual time. We are flying somewhere over Russia and my KC tells me its 0637 hrs. in India. Please don't bother me by asking what time is it here. I am not even sure where is this here. Very somber and sleepy ambiance surrounds me. Some tired of a long day and some getting more tired thinking of all those trapped hours that lay ahead of them. It's ten more hours to New York. Too many people have been writing random blogs so I kept on suppressing my urge to write one. I hate doing things already done over and again but then what the hell life is all about breaking the pattern I guess. I can not decide if too much is happening in my life or it is going to happen. I see the second digit of my age ticking fairly quickly, it surprises me though that i never noticed it until I turned 20, then onwards the journey of 0 to 6 after the 2 has been extremely overwhelming. I guess from then on itself i became fully aware of life. I marvel at life and contrast it has brought in me. I hated corriander and I thought staying at home was a complete waste of time, whereas now while corriander soothes me, I think staying at home means making sense of life. I am turning into my parents! Six years put in the same organization, I have seen three changes of MDs, pockets of 'babus' being filled at everyone's pain, some amazing ways of corruption which range from sabotage to crockery scam, and from castles on paper to the messiest merger (in the forever corporate history) of AI and IA.
ON ANOTHER DAY.....
I should be comfortable with the reality of my round legs,an average face and a slightly meaty abdomen (am i just being modest?), I thought to myself just while getting down the stairs to walk on the gravel path leading to riverside. It's a fairly warm day and cloudy now in the early evening. It seems inevitable for Frankfurters to notice me as a colored person. I wonder what exactly are they thinking. Do they first get the impression of someone with their dream tan? But then my face would definitely give away my identity or should i say a non identity of (not) being a German. Or it's my audacity to step out with no make-up at all that surprises them or it just still has not settled down on them to look at the variety of human race among them. Or it is just mortal curiosity perhaps, like the one I have. I just love looking at people. At times, I wish I were idle and invisible to watch their expressions, ways, body language, eyes, to watch them in their element . It was a relatively quiet day without much merrymaking, cheers or noise. People just sat quietly, lied down n tanned, drank beer and bit into their decked sandwiches. It amazes me to see how lonely people are (or so it seems to me) here. I can not imagine many of us, Indians sitting alone by riverside and reading or eating or drinking. I happen to do it often but then most of the time I am longing for P. and wondering whether I will ever be able to share this magnificent simplicity of life with him. I guess this is what the difference is, for some of us it is out of compulsion while for some or most of them it is a way of life. Good that they have such beauty around them everyday, I don't think one can survive in India with such loneliness in life. But then why would one be lonely in India, we have over a hundred crore people to be with.
The shirtless father relaxing on the grass bed was tomato red, I so wanted to kiss the round head of his flannel baby and coo idiotic English phrases in my global accent which I am sure he would not understand. I notice a female gay couple on the edges, do not ask me how could I judge, I just know. There is a play at 08.30 pm today in the small circusque tent set up on the banks. I so wish I could go. But then it would be in German and I would not understand a thing. The ticket might be expensive and I have a sick loan to pay. I can't stay up late, I have a long day tomorrow stretching into the late night. How come there are more reasons in life to not to live it up then to actually be able to live it up?! I want to visit the Stadel museum which I have passed by dozens of time in last five years (the Botticelli autumn-winter 2009-2010 should be interesting), and cycle myself to work. I want to visit the Met and go for my daily walks to Central Park. I want to live in a creaky wooden house where no dust enters for days and everything has and stays at a designated place. I want to see the Northern Lights and talk to whores about their lives (not at the same time!). I want to live in a place where I don't understand the language or can not figure out their customs. I want to be able to make my parents understand what I want in life and not be hurt about it. I want to see exotic ritual or just a new place and cry. I want to learn new things easily and without being humiliated. I want to read extensively and write, publish a book. I want to be a famous photographer. I want to be part of a reality show. I want to eat healthier and be able to run longer then three minutes. I, once, definitely want to see milky way and earth from space, no, I don't want to visit the moon or mars. Errr, or may I do. I want to live in a country cottage overlooking a castle and a river. I want to visit the observation deck on top of the Empire State building. I want to see a volcano erupt and survive. I wan to be an international model and walk the ramp for Chanel (is it too late to be a lingerie model for Victoria's Secret?). I want Harrods to be open only for me when I want to shop. I want to do reporting for CNN or NDTV. I want to meet Shashi Tharoor and be part of his team to build a better India. I want to bag pack through Vietnam, Mongolia, Leh-Ladakh and Tibet. I want to shop for jewellery at Harry Winston, Minavala, Tiffany's, Jaipur Gems and also own Hermes. I want to not know some of the truth I know and undo some of the things from the past, mine as well as others'. I want to run an NGO and also be rich. I want to be leaner and meaner. I want a non-risque pregnancy after 35. I want TBS, all the BBC and sky channels in India. I want to, cry and hurt less. I want to live close to my friends. I want to not waste too much time on internet. I want to eat at every restaurant possible in the world. I want to spend a day at the Black Friars and two at Statford-upon-Avon. I want to tell Vir Sanghvi that he intimidates me and that that people who may not know their wines properly are not of any lower personage. I want an expensive designer theme wedding. I want to be a driver for Rocky and Mayur. I want to be with You. I want to be.
OMG!
While doing my crunches earlier I took an unavoidable break after 20 and accidentally looked at the darkness under the bed to my left, and jumped to my feet instantaneously remembering a Korean horror flick (tale of two sisters or something), glimpses of which I was made to watch involuntarily. It will take me a long time before I will be absolutely comfortable lying down on the floor next to the bed, being aware of the darkness under the bed.
ON ANOTHER DAY.....
I should be comfortable with the reality of my round legs,an average face and a slightly meaty abdomen (am i just being modest?), I thought to myself just while getting down the stairs to walk on the gravel path leading to riverside. It's a fairly warm day and cloudy now in the early evening. It seems inevitable for Frankfurters to notice me as a colored person. I wonder what exactly are they thinking. Do they first get the impression of someone with their dream tan? But then my face would definitely give away my identity or should i say a non identity of (not) being a German. Or it's my audacity to step out with no make-up at all that surprises them or it just still has not settled down on them to look at the variety of human race among them. Or it is just mortal curiosity perhaps, like the one I have. I just love looking at people. At times, I wish I were idle and invisible to watch their expressions, ways, body language, eyes, to watch them in their element . It was a relatively quiet day without much merrymaking, cheers or noise. People just sat quietly, lied down n tanned, drank beer and bit into their decked sandwiches. It amazes me to see how lonely people are (or so it seems to me) here. I can not imagine many of us, Indians sitting alone by riverside and reading or eating or drinking. I happen to do it often but then most of the time I am longing for P. and wondering whether I will ever be able to share this magnificent simplicity of life with him. I guess this is what the difference is, for some of us it is out of compulsion while for some or most of them it is a way of life. Good that they have such beauty around them everyday, I don't think one can survive in India with such loneliness in life. But then why would one be lonely in India, we have over a hundred crore people to be with.
The shirtless father relaxing on the grass bed was tomato red, I so wanted to kiss the round head of his flannel baby and coo idiotic English phrases in my global accent which I am sure he would not understand. I notice a female gay couple on the edges, do not ask me how could I judge, I just know. There is a play at 08.30 pm today in the small circusque tent set up on the banks. I so wish I could go. But then it would be in German and I would not understand a thing. The ticket might be expensive and I have a sick loan to pay. I can't stay up late, I have a long day tomorrow stretching into the late night. How come there are more reasons in life to not to live it up then to actually be able to live it up?! I want to visit the Stadel museum which I have passed by dozens of time in last five years (the Botticelli autumn-winter 2009-2010 should be interesting), and cycle myself to work. I want to visit the Met and go for my daily walks to Central Park. I want to live in a creaky wooden house where no dust enters for days and everything has and stays at a designated place. I want to see the Northern Lights and talk to whores about their lives (not at the same time!). I want to live in a place where I don't understand the language or can not figure out their customs. I want to be able to make my parents understand what I want in life and not be hurt about it. I want to see exotic ritual or just a new place and cry. I want to learn new things easily and without being humiliated. I want to read extensively and write, publish a book. I want to be a famous photographer. I want to be part of a reality show. I want to eat healthier and be able to run longer then three minutes. I, once, definitely want to see milky way and earth from space, no, I don't want to visit the moon or mars. Errr, or may I do. I want to live in a country cottage overlooking a castle and a river. I want to visit the observation deck on top of the Empire State building. I want to see a volcano erupt and survive. I wan to be an international model and walk the ramp for Chanel (is it too late to be a lingerie model for Victoria's Secret?). I want Harrods to be open only for me when I want to shop. I want to do reporting for CNN or NDTV. I want to meet Shashi Tharoor and be part of his team to build a better India. I want to bag pack through Vietnam, Mongolia, Leh-Ladakh and Tibet. I want to shop for jewellery at Harry Winston, Minavala, Tiffany's, Jaipur Gems and also own Hermes. I want to not know some of the truth I know and undo some of the things from the past, mine as well as others'. I want to run an NGO and also be rich. I want to be leaner and meaner. I want a non-risque pregnancy after 35. I want TBS, all the BBC and sky channels in India. I want to, cry and hurt less. I want to live close to my friends. I want to not waste too much time on internet. I want to eat at every restaurant possible in the world. I want to spend a day at the Black Friars and two at Statford-upon-Avon. I want to tell Vir Sanghvi that he intimidates me and that that people who may not know their wines properly are not of any lower personage. I want an expensive designer theme wedding. I want to be a driver for Rocky and Mayur. I want to be with You. I want to be.
OMG!
While doing my crunches earlier I took an unavoidable break after 20 and accidentally looked at the darkness under the bed to my left, and jumped to my feet instantaneously remembering a Korean horror flick (tale of two sisters or something), glimpses of which I was made to watch involuntarily. It will take me a long time before I will be absolutely comfortable lying down on the floor next to the bed, being aware of the darkness under the bed.
Friday, January 16, 2009
2009 DOWN.........
I am always nervous before undertaking a journey, even after being subjected to it ruthlessly all these years and I was more so since I didn’t have a confirmed ticket for the journey and even more so when I was going to meet (a) loved one(s). Since the prospect of pleasure is highly probable and more nerve wrecking on a private trip than the usual daily tiny stress of being at work. I kept on fretting unnecessarily (I know… I know… nothing new) while waiting to catch the 5.15 ki local. Two railway policemen chatted sleepily behind me. I wondered if they thought of me with suspicion, I did look like one the 26/11 type young terrorist in my tracks and a bag pack hanging behind me. I could be carrying a significant amount of RDX! I don’t think so… for they started walking elsewhere after a while.
I couldn’t stop checking the hands of my Kenneth Cole on my right wrist all the while in the train as it halted frequently at stations among sleepy and sleeping fisherwomen and fish! Eew! (Welcome to my life…) I switched to Mumbai central local to Mumbai central…. Errr… main? Or just Mumbai central? I am not quite sure. The sight of Shatabdi already (!!) on platform no.2 made me more jittery and frantic as I wasn’t yet eligible to travel on it not having acquired my boarding pass cum ticket. I walked as fast as I could clenching and crossing almost all my fingers to buy my ticket. There was absolutely no queue. Has it closed down already? Damn!! don’t tell me sold out… neither. Thanks a lot god!! I promise to pray more. ;) Suspicious men hovered around with pink reservation slips in their hands as not so happy looking officer processed my ticket (he just wanted to avoid the pleasantries I guess… on second thoughts I am sure he is never offered any). Going back to the pink reservation slip holders, self appointed agents I guess, sharing their commission with the railway police(I almost saw money change hands) and at the same time being bossed and pushed around (literally, I saw it too). I am not quite sure how exactly it works though, how do they make money in between that is.. Perhaps black ticketing types. Then I guess it was recession time for them as well. The train was evermore empty then full. Had to do a few ritualistic things ( I have been following some religiously lately) before I board like getting CCD coffee a bottle of water, aquafina preferably and most importantly getting the Times, nothing less then a Bombay edition would do! I paid for the paper without taking it along and remembered it after reaching my sear. I mean how many people are capable of a thing like that?! But I guess I should be excused for certain absent and absurd behaviour after all I am in love! I scaled the whole platform twice. I was in C3 and the newspaper vendor at C13. I certainly read it with more ardent fervor.
I was impressed and relieved that the train started on time and by the neatly dressed attendants that weren’t rude offering various services. Starting with water, I already bought one bottle I don’t know why. Newspapers. Ditto. They didn’t have the Times anyways. I chose DNA as second best from the available options. An entertainment screen per three and two passengers from left to right respectively! Most of the AI aircrafts still don’t have this ratio! Though like a fool I was fumbling for a headset and a control. I seriously didn’t know how it worked here. The only one time I traveled by Shatabdi was exactly(!) five years back on exactly(!) the same route returning from one of the AI interviews.
The entertainment selection was pretty crappy though. Pre recorded video announcements by an average looking dame in Hindi followed by in English ditto AI / government style, playing reruns of reruns from zee smile and zee next(oh yes, they are real television network channels of zee) and various Dena bank, hotels, water park, union bank, vibrant Gujarat advertisements played repetitively. The food turned out to be of the same poor quality but it was interesting to see the same brand and same packaging of ketch up, creamer, butter and jam on the tray as AI. For a strange reason the Wockhardt ticker advertisement welcome the NRIs of Gujarat (errr… excuse me please but this train starts from Mumbai. Thank you very much.) and had some limited period offer. I very well remember it taking over Gondhia trust run Virani hospital back home a few years back. According to the local legend whoever got admitted there for serious ailments never came back alive. One of my mom’s cousins was admitted there on life support system after developed various organ failures post the delivery of a lovely baby girl. Yes, she didn’t make it either. But I was more then thrilled and thankful to be able to have my black tea without sugar, in a worrilessly clean ceramic mug. My (i) phone detected the test wi fi signal that promised to launch services soon. I don’t think the TTE knew about it since he answered ambiguously when I asked him about it.
At the risk of being laughed at ridiculously by a certain “close” friend of mine who happens to be a sincere fan of his, I confess that I felt a bit like much much much inferior and female version of Veer Sanghvi while writing this. So long I say not bad, not bad at all for a country where a toilet tumbler still needs to be chained to the wall for the fear(and certainty) of being stolen. Bravo!
I couldn’t stop checking the hands of my Kenneth Cole on my right wrist all the while in the train as it halted frequently at stations among sleepy and sleeping fisherwomen and fish! Eew! (Welcome to my life…) I switched to Mumbai central local to Mumbai central…. Errr… main? Or just Mumbai central? I am not quite sure. The sight of Shatabdi already (!!) on platform no.2 made me more jittery and frantic as I wasn’t yet eligible to travel on it not having acquired my boarding pass cum ticket. I walked as fast as I could clenching and crossing almost all my fingers to buy my ticket. There was absolutely no queue. Has it closed down already? Damn!! don’t tell me sold out… neither. Thanks a lot god!! I promise to pray more. ;) Suspicious men hovered around with pink reservation slips in their hands as not so happy looking officer processed my ticket (he just wanted to avoid the pleasantries I guess… on second thoughts I am sure he is never offered any). Going back to the pink reservation slip holders, self appointed agents I guess, sharing their commission with the railway police(I almost saw money change hands) and at the same time being bossed and pushed around (literally, I saw it too). I am not quite sure how exactly it works though, how do they make money in between that is.. Perhaps black ticketing types. Then I guess it was recession time for them as well. The train was evermore empty then full. Had to do a few ritualistic things ( I have been following some religiously lately) before I board like getting CCD coffee a bottle of water, aquafina preferably and most importantly getting the Times, nothing less then a Bombay edition would do! I paid for the paper without taking it along and remembered it after reaching my sear. I mean how many people are capable of a thing like that?! But I guess I should be excused for certain absent and absurd behaviour after all I am in love! I scaled the whole platform twice. I was in C3 and the newspaper vendor at C13. I certainly read it with more ardent fervor.
I was impressed and relieved that the train started on time and by the neatly dressed attendants that weren’t rude offering various services. Starting with water, I already bought one bottle I don’t know why. Newspapers. Ditto. They didn’t have the Times anyways. I chose DNA as second best from the available options. An entertainment screen per three and two passengers from left to right respectively! Most of the AI aircrafts still don’t have this ratio! Though like a fool I was fumbling for a headset and a control. I seriously didn’t know how it worked here. The only one time I traveled by Shatabdi was exactly(!) five years back on exactly(!) the same route returning from one of the AI interviews.
The entertainment selection was pretty crappy though. Pre recorded video announcements by an average looking dame in Hindi followed by in English ditto AI / government style, playing reruns of reruns from zee smile and zee next(oh yes, they are real television network channels of zee) and various Dena bank, hotels, water park, union bank, vibrant Gujarat advertisements played repetitively. The food turned out to be of the same poor quality but it was interesting to see the same brand and same packaging of ketch up, creamer, butter and jam on the tray as AI. For a strange reason the Wockhardt ticker advertisement welcome the NRIs of Gujarat (errr… excuse me please but this train starts from Mumbai. Thank you very much.) and had some limited period offer. I very well remember it taking over Gondhia trust run Virani hospital back home a few years back. According to the local legend whoever got admitted there for serious ailments never came back alive. One of my mom’s cousins was admitted there on life support system after developed various organ failures post the delivery of a lovely baby girl. Yes, she didn’t make it either. But I was more then thrilled and thankful to be able to have my black tea without sugar, in a worrilessly clean ceramic mug. My (i) phone detected the test wi fi signal that promised to launch services soon. I don’t think the TTE knew about it since he answered ambiguously when I asked him about it.
At the risk of being laughed at ridiculously by a certain “close” friend of mine who happens to be a sincere fan of his, I confess that I felt a bit like much much much inferior and female version of Veer Sanghvi while writing this. So long I say not bad, not bad at all for a country where a toilet tumbler still needs to be chained to the wall for the fear(and certainty) of being stolen. Bravo!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
At work......
Getting humiliated at work is an age old phenomenon and a trauma every individual has to go through at some point of his or her career. I obviously, specially made no exception. What possibly would lay eggs for these words… a recent encounter, on a day which was supposed to be a good day at work. I was full of life and ready to have a beautiful day, more so as it was a day when I would start work at a very ‘human hour’, a luxury denied to us in lieu of many many other perks my job has to offer. But my happiness soon vanished through a terrible introduction with a very senior colleague who perhaps hated the very sight of me so much ( we were meeting for the first time…. ) that he launched on to me like an Al Qaeda missile not deviating from its goal of destroying its target even for a split of a nano second.
I couldn’t believe anyone could be so horrible and judgemental. I gulped down the insults and tried to stay calm. I.e. not cry. Apologizing was out of the question for I hadn’t done nothing let alone anything wrong. Confronting him would mean raising umpteenth complications including my possible temporary suspension from the duty (welcome to Indian bureaucracy )! It didn’t matter that he was an absurd incompetent old fool with an undue revenge policy. So I thought to myself that all I had to do was to let him finish and be as indifferent as possible. I looked straight at him, at times staring out of the window behind him. I think that triggered off some more explosive of bitterness in him since he launched onto another monologue, adding more insults and accusing me of having attitude problem. I had a difficult time controlling my tears later on while my other senior colleagues tried to pacify me, telling me that he had a reputation of being so uncouth and addressing him with a certain not so nice yet suitable adjective starting with a ‘C’!
I started imagining giving it back to him, the same shit that he was throwing at me, if he continued in his negative pursuit. I was ready to walk out of the job on the spot! I could even adopt a reverse psychology, smile at him and ask him how he came to be so bitter in life and tell him there was so much to love in life…. Does he know how he lost it? Lolz. Thank heavens for your imagination. Eventually I avoided him in order to save myself from his unsavory wrath and abandon the thought of quitting the job that I actually don’t hate and love more often, because of some low class under qualified fool. Though it would prick me for a couple of months when I would think about the incident, time would heal my wound and I would soon become indifferent to its memory. In the later part of the day, he treated me as if nothing untoward ever happened between us. He actually told me, ’……. u know many other things annoy me…..’ I guess that’s how close he came to an apology ( the one I shall not grant him ). Given the kind of profile my work has I may not meet him for a really long time or ever for that matter. But everyone may not be this lucky. Facing a mean individual everyday of your life can not only be stressful but also sheer harassment, hindering your normalcy and checking your performance. Well, I say welcome to India where every individual starts his day with a wistful vengeance unparalleled to anybody else’s.
I couldn’t believe anyone could be so horrible and judgemental. I gulped down the insults and tried to stay calm. I.e. not cry. Apologizing was out of the question for I hadn’t done nothing let alone anything wrong. Confronting him would mean raising umpteenth complications including my possible temporary suspension from the duty (welcome to Indian bureaucracy )! It didn’t matter that he was an absurd incompetent old fool with an undue revenge policy. So I thought to myself that all I had to do was to let him finish and be as indifferent as possible. I looked straight at him, at times staring out of the window behind him. I think that triggered off some more explosive of bitterness in him since he launched onto another monologue, adding more insults and accusing me of having attitude problem. I had a difficult time controlling my tears later on while my other senior colleagues tried to pacify me, telling me that he had a reputation of being so uncouth and addressing him with a certain not so nice yet suitable adjective starting with a ‘C’!
I started imagining giving it back to him, the same shit that he was throwing at me, if he continued in his negative pursuit. I was ready to walk out of the job on the spot! I could even adopt a reverse psychology, smile at him and ask him how he came to be so bitter in life and tell him there was so much to love in life…. Does he know how he lost it? Lolz. Thank heavens for your imagination. Eventually I avoided him in order to save myself from his unsavory wrath and abandon the thought of quitting the job that I actually don’t hate and love more often, because of some low class under qualified fool. Though it would prick me for a couple of months when I would think about the incident, time would heal my wound and I would soon become indifferent to its memory. In the later part of the day, he treated me as if nothing untoward ever happened between us. He actually told me, ’……. u know many other things annoy me…..’ I guess that’s how close he came to an apology ( the one I shall not grant him ). Given the kind of profile my work has I may not meet him for a really long time or ever for that matter. But everyone may not be this lucky. Facing a mean individual everyday of your life can not only be stressful but also sheer harassment, hindering your normalcy and checking your performance. Well, I say welcome to India where every individual starts his day with a wistful vengeance unparalleled to anybody else’s.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Let's fly.....
Sitting alone on a table at the resto bar of an airport hotel in Hong kong, I couldn’t help but estimate the expenses and worry about my shifting to a smaller place next month back home at the base. The pub is buzzing with conversations. I take a look around and only see white skin, barring mine and of the staff of course. I involuntarily pick up the words floating in the air like passenger, domestic flights, paging et cetra in various accents. Brits to my immediate left and american to my far right. All of them are cabin crew members including me and excluding just a couple dressed in rather formal clothing enjoying their meal. the rest are only drinking. The place has a very american feeling to it with sports screens laid around, random Carlsberg signs flashing and an unattended piano right next to my table. Last time I was here, I enjoyed some amazing international music by absolute local performers with my good friend J.P. I see the singer arrive no sooner then I finish writing this n realize my arrival here has been a bit too early to call it an evening. She greets everyone without being greeted back and finishes her first song and finds everyone to be too busy in chatting to applause or even acknowledge. Not getting disappointed she immediately starts another song without a moment’s delay. That’s when I notice every table has people with vast difference of age. It didn’t matter though. They were colleagues having fun, enjoying a leisurely evening conversing, exploring, making the best of their layover at an unknown exotic land. Then why cant we Indians behave similarly? Why we grew old so early? Why a commitment stopped us from loving life? Why a marriage tied us down? Why cant we freely tell our parents how many drinks we had? Why could I approach strangers? Why my young colleagues talked about buying groceries? But I guess this is where I identified more with the world than just Indians. I was younger at heart and deep down I never want to ‘settle down’ in Indian sense of the phrase. As much as I am scared of behaving old and thus settling down and thus getting married. I am 96% sure that my behaviour would be as immature and as naïve as now. With an eagerness to flirt with a new life everyday and to shop only for myself!
As the evening progresses, I take a small tour of the prayer like silent n cold restrooms with stilettos and hiking boots marked on two different doors to bifurcate. Smaller groups now merge into bigger ones, an attendant offers me a magazine and a newspaper which I politely wave off. Finally a chinkie couple enters followed by another frequent visitors, mr. and mrs. Smith. A beautiful birthday song is cooed for captain Brandon. I move in to have my dinner at a near by café alfianco and notice a brazillian trio dressed rather obscenely and gulab jamuns being called rasogullas. The evening ended rather abruptly with meal…… though at the end I have two questions. Why the two good looking brits looked like gays to me and why…. Why exactly were people staring at me when I entered the bar?
As the evening progresses, I take a small tour of the prayer like silent n cold restrooms with stilettos and hiking boots marked on two different doors to bifurcate. Smaller groups now merge into bigger ones, an attendant offers me a magazine and a newspaper which I politely wave off. Finally a chinkie couple enters followed by another frequent visitors, mr. and mrs. Smith. A beautiful birthday song is cooed for captain Brandon. I move in to have my dinner at a near by café alfianco and notice a brazillian trio dressed rather obscenely and gulab jamuns being called rasogullas. The evening ended rather abruptly with meal…… though at the end I have two questions. Why the two good looking brits looked like gays to me and why…. Why exactly were people staring at me when I entered the bar?
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