Ever watched a western movie with gun-slingers and humungous cowboy hats, courteous blacks all wrapped in ponchoes n sweaters.. well except for the cowboy hats much of this scenario is part of the livery at alabama.. the southern drawl is unanimous amongst both causcasian and afro communities.. i have a very hard time nor smiling in fron of my client each time they lapse into their wild west accent to ask their secretary ,"could y'all just cheq if these here folks can get a maeting with them sales folks?" (it sounds as hilarious as it look!!)
thunderstorms and tornadoes aget frequent flyer status out here.. they are often apt to increase the woes of the insurance personnel in these areas... work hours begin at 8 sharp and get right on over at about 4... the people - well what can i say - they're downright friendly i tell ya...
shrubs and trees dot the areas and well maintained roads, whose builders seemed to have forgotten the concept of a pedestrian and hence forgotten the sidewalk, are present through all and sundry locations.. the food is lip-smacking good.. soft pancakes with sticky syrup, blue berry muffins and hot coffee to wash it all down... what else can a poor traveller ask for.. sunshine's aplenty in these here regionswhile the chill can getcha anytime...
well thats all this rider has got to gabber about now.. see y'all later...
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
Living it UP in the UK
India - a land of diverse culture, colorful dresses, shiny jewellery, climatic variaions across th length and breadth of the geography, varied beliefs, immutable festivals, unresolvable problems and cynicism which cuts across all physical and metaphysical barriers. Cleanliness is advocated but never adhered to, brightly colored houses with peeling with decay, hot food and hot tempers, intricate handiwork and intense prejudice, its the land of sundry and all... It is also my homeland..
home is a place close to the heart and despite her faults India and more still hot and steamy Chennai have warm spots in my large heart.. Going to England, a country whose climatic disposition is at odds with the movement of the sun its stays light for 18 hours a day!!! with temperatures falling to 11 degrees- for a warm blooded female from chennai such adverse conditions are less than conducive to stir up my spirits. arriving at 8:30 I was more than shocked to see a glorious golden hued tear-drop sunset with ruby light shining through an avenue of emerald promenades and glittering grey pavements. the chillwasn't helping but the effect was rather endearing.
A cheery english "hello" which was ignored by me for the first two times because people i know normally are cheerful only when they are on a call!!! There was a cb driver ready to take me to my hotel- the Holiay Inn on Stoke. It was vintage English country with freeways lines by savanna style grasslands shaded with the entire range of green (dark green highlighted with brown or flourescent shrubs...), woolly sheep and black and white cows dotted the landscape at regular intervals- no smoky buildings, no industrial estates- just you, light blue haven of a sky and a never-ending smooth patch of road (made in heaven)...
The roads are as smooth as a baby's bottom- a miracle in real-life for an Indian.. it taught me to believe in such a thing as a pavement where pedestrians do walk and sleek cars all racing away in a land where the word "bump" does not refer to anything on the road!!!
the second shock came from the English attitude- always a smile and a good day or hello to each and everyone. In India, you avoid any eye contact with anyone and normally eavesdrop on foreign conversations. Here people love to smile at strangers with an implicit trust- my first taste of the generous English hospitality- they were liable to drop into any conversation i would be having with my colleagues and join in just as if they were part of the group giving suggestions on what to order an India's culture and mores...
Another aspect of the UK culture which floored me was the pastries- having fed on Enid Blyton school tales all my life- it was amazing to discover the tatse of a crumpet, the satiation derived from a warm cinammon bun, the happiness in devouring a croissant and all the joys of an English tea accompaniments were revealed to me at the breakfast table each day...
Bearing the withering cold and the dry chappy skin conditions that follow m verdict for UK is a double thumbs up... lovely trees, light blue skies, friendly people and best of all a most brilliant array of baked goods that fills a veggie amidst the bacon, ham and eggs...
As the english say - Cheers Mate!!
home is a place close to the heart and despite her faults India and more still hot and steamy Chennai have warm spots in my large heart.. Going to England, a country whose climatic disposition is at odds with the movement of the sun its stays light for 18 hours a day!!! with temperatures falling to 11 degrees- for a warm blooded female from chennai such adverse conditions are less than conducive to stir up my spirits. arriving at 8:30 I was more than shocked to see a glorious golden hued tear-drop sunset with ruby light shining through an avenue of emerald promenades and glittering grey pavements. the chillwasn't helping but the effect was rather endearing.
A cheery english "hello" which was ignored by me for the first two times because people i know normally are cheerful only when they are on a call!!! There was a cb driver ready to take me to my hotel- the Holiay Inn on Stoke. It was vintage English country with freeways lines by savanna style grasslands shaded with the entire range of green (dark green highlighted with brown or flourescent shrubs...), woolly sheep and black and white cows dotted the landscape at regular intervals- no smoky buildings, no industrial estates- just you, light blue haven of a sky and a never-ending smooth patch of road (made in heaven)...
The roads are as smooth as a baby's bottom- a miracle in real-life for an Indian.. it taught me to believe in such a thing as a pavement where pedestrians do walk and sleek cars all racing away in a land where the word "bump" does not refer to anything on the road!!!
the second shock came from the English attitude- always a smile and a good day or hello to each and everyone. In India, you avoid any eye contact with anyone and normally eavesdrop on foreign conversations. Here people love to smile at strangers with an implicit trust- my first taste of the generous English hospitality- they were liable to drop into any conversation i would be having with my colleagues and join in just as if they were part of the group giving suggestions on what to order an India's culture and mores...
Another aspect of the UK culture which floored me was the pastries- having fed on Enid Blyton school tales all my life- it was amazing to discover the tatse of a crumpet, the satiation derived from a warm cinammon bun, the happiness in devouring a croissant and all the joys of an English tea accompaniments were revealed to me at the breakfast table each day...
Bearing the withering cold and the dry chappy skin conditions that follow m verdict for UK is a double thumbs up... lovely trees, light blue skies, friendly people and best of all a most brilliant array of baked goods that fills a veggie amidst the bacon, ham and eggs...
As the english say - Cheers Mate!!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Snax???
This four letter word would pop up at the bottom right corner of my monitor at around 5pm each evening without fail- multied to my gang of four at my B-School.. Followed by a “chalu” or “c you down” reply all.. Its promptness assured because of the fact that heavy lessons in the morning followed by an equally imposing lunch ensured a nap from 3-5 thus creating a substantial appetite which called for immediate attention!
Having been a coffee fanatic all my life, tea has been an anathema to me; my jaw would drop down each time I met yet another classmate who hadn’t tasted filter coffee and swore by tea.. Tea was an angrezi drink whereas coffee was incredibly smooth, subtle and one hundred percent desi; tea couldn’t cure headaches nor keep you awake at night while with coffee you were guaranteed dregs of happiness at the bottom of the cup.. Being thrust with this mentality amongst a throng of people and canteen officials who didn’t recognize coffee as a beverage but stuck to chai and milk- my two years in Mumbai were rather tough on my caffeine addicted soul..
5:30 was the official snack time at Nitie- snack was the general term that described greasy bread pakodas or syrupy, to-die-for dahi papdi chaat or juicy kachoraes or plain dosas and their tomato-based cousins, all in addition to good day biscuits or bourbon variety along with a glass of tea or milk.. I fought my battle with tea successfully for half of the first year; until my taste buds started rioting at the very smell of milk (elaichi flavored).. Sweetened milk after my regular quota of biscuits really didn’t gel well.. And hence to preserve some semblance of balance I switched to tea- it was, how may I put it, different.. Tea had a strong flavor (not as strong as coffee though), hinted with elaichi and less sweet than plain milk it augured well with the snacks..
Tea was served in the mess (a long hall filled with aging plastic furniture and four servers who were forever on their toes trying to manage the 400 students who needed their snacks n tea..) but for those who tired of the daily tea, a defunct Nescafe dabba was present near the mess for plastic cups of a tasteless liquid they called coffee, watery tea, crappy badam milk or peppery tomato soup with half packets of maggi noodles served piping hot on a very thin paper plate and plastic forks that were liable to melt in the heat.. irrespective of the quality, people still flocked to the dabba when the mess was too full..
As the tenet states : food tastes as well as the oddness of the place where it is had.. well outside the mess are were a flight of disused stairs leading to an open terrace- frequented by a mongrel white dog amongst others.. Dubbed ataria by the denizens of Nitie, it was to this sanctum that we’d all retire to, despite the fact that it was open to all elements, no fan or light, no chair but only hard tiles to rest on- this unfortunate place caught our fancy… in the dimmed lights of the facing hostels we’d discuss every topic under the sun, all discussions were notaried by the mongrel dog who’d appear out of no where, climb the steps and seat himself at the base of the next flight and cock his ears at our conversations- he was as much a relic there as was the mess contractor who’d yell at us to not take cutlery and glasses to the terrace.. we’d lean back against the ½ foot railing and deliberate on the future course of our un-sated and whetted appetites i.e. where do we go for the next meal… J
This spot was the melting point for all batches of students- both junior and senior and no matter how crowded it got, there was always room for more.. new entrants were requested to get refills of tea; cloudy skies, cool breezes and piping hot tea helped loosen tongues as well as fierce debates.. Topics ranged from which professor was likely to dump the next assignment to the latest movie on campus.. food traveled across plates, palms and fingers to eager lips and many a glass was left behind by forgetful students at the termination of their discussions much to the agitation of the caretaker to whose poor lot it fell to remove them… In the mess people used to sit with their sect of friends who’d ensure a place for them.. but here in the ataria- there was no such luxury- you sat on whatever nook or corner there was, next to whoever it was and ate whatever was there.. we braved the same elements, were exposed to the same mosquitoes, suffered the same lack of light and tripped over the same cracks in the paving- bonded this way we found our utopia’s at the top of the mess.. No topic was too mundane nor any problem insignificant enough to escape our grandiose discussions.. whilst there we were in a world of our own- even if we had nothing to discuss, we would still sit there and enjoy the solitude. Nothing less than nightfall or the closing of the mess for dinner would induce us to climb down from our cherished perch, aglow with the companionship, hot tea and healthy conversation…
Back into a desolate world with furniture, groupisms and our dinners…
Having been a coffee fanatic all my life, tea has been an anathema to me; my jaw would drop down each time I met yet another classmate who hadn’t tasted filter coffee and swore by tea.. Tea was an angrezi drink whereas coffee was incredibly smooth, subtle and one hundred percent desi; tea couldn’t cure headaches nor keep you awake at night while with coffee you were guaranteed dregs of happiness at the bottom of the cup.. Being thrust with this mentality amongst a throng of people and canteen officials who didn’t recognize coffee as a beverage but stuck to chai and milk- my two years in Mumbai were rather tough on my caffeine addicted soul..
5:30 was the official snack time at Nitie- snack was the general term that described greasy bread pakodas or syrupy, to-die-for dahi papdi chaat or juicy kachoraes or plain dosas and their tomato-based cousins, all in addition to good day biscuits or bourbon variety along with a glass of tea or milk.. I fought my battle with tea successfully for half of the first year; until my taste buds started rioting at the very smell of milk (elaichi flavored).. Sweetened milk after my regular quota of biscuits really didn’t gel well.. And hence to preserve some semblance of balance I switched to tea- it was, how may I put it, different.. Tea had a strong flavor (not as strong as coffee though), hinted with elaichi and less sweet than plain milk it augured well with the snacks..
Tea was served in the mess (a long hall filled with aging plastic furniture and four servers who were forever on their toes trying to manage the 400 students who needed their snacks n tea..) but for those who tired of the daily tea, a defunct Nescafe dabba was present near the mess for plastic cups of a tasteless liquid they called coffee, watery tea, crappy badam milk or peppery tomato soup with half packets of maggi noodles served piping hot on a very thin paper plate and plastic forks that were liable to melt in the heat.. irrespective of the quality, people still flocked to the dabba when the mess was too full..
As the tenet states : food tastes as well as the oddness of the place where it is had.. well outside the mess are were a flight of disused stairs leading to an open terrace- frequented by a mongrel white dog amongst others.. Dubbed ataria by the denizens of Nitie, it was to this sanctum that we’d all retire to, despite the fact that it was open to all elements, no fan or light, no chair but only hard tiles to rest on- this unfortunate place caught our fancy… in the dimmed lights of the facing hostels we’d discuss every topic under the sun, all discussions were notaried by the mongrel dog who’d appear out of no where, climb the steps and seat himself at the base of the next flight and cock his ears at our conversations- he was as much a relic there as was the mess contractor who’d yell at us to not take cutlery and glasses to the terrace.. we’d lean back against the ½ foot railing and deliberate on the future course of our un-sated and whetted appetites i.e. where do we go for the next meal… J
This spot was the melting point for all batches of students- both junior and senior and no matter how crowded it got, there was always room for more.. new entrants were requested to get refills of tea; cloudy skies, cool breezes and piping hot tea helped loosen tongues as well as fierce debates.. Topics ranged from which professor was likely to dump the next assignment to the latest movie on campus.. food traveled across plates, palms and fingers to eager lips and many a glass was left behind by forgetful students at the termination of their discussions much to the agitation of the caretaker to whose poor lot it fell to remove them… In the mess people used to sit with their sect of friends who’d ensure a place for them.. but here in the ataria- there was no such luxury- you sat on whatever nook or corner there was, next to whoever it was and ate whatever was there.. we braved the same elements, were exposed to the same mosquitoes, suffered the same lack of light and tripped over the same cracks in the paving- bonded this way we found our utopia’s at the top of the mess.. No topic was too mundane nor any problem insignificant enough to escape our grandiose discussions.. whilst there we were in a world of our own- even if we had nothing to discuss, we would still sit there and enjoy the solitude. Nothing less than nightfall or the closing of the mess for dinner would induce us to climb down from our cherished perch, aglow with the companionship, hot tea and healthy conversation…
Back into a desolate world with furniture, groupisms and our dinners…
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
"Treat"-ise
Treats - the Universal equiliser...Any institution or organization developes an informal sense of bonding over Treats- friendships are made for life- as are the number and range of treats owed as well.. Birthdays, joining dates, anniversaries, promotions. bonuses and a dozen other obscure and insignificant happenings eagerly counted upon by members of the Treat group as a chance for free food, booze and banter..
Treats are a modern take on Sacrifices- In the olden days Kings used to give away free stuff for people to bless/ wish them good, especially after a conquest; over the years with pollution preventing open fires and music being digitized, all thats left for a person is to find people to accept the humble offerings. Thus treats are nothing but the new generations way of rpeserving our ancient heritage. Treats provide unbound happiness for the Treatees (the people at the receiving end) and a philosophical bend of mind for the Treaters (the guys paying the bill). Certains strings (actually quite a number) are attached-
1> The Event shalt Not be called upon by the Treater:- Occasions for treats are not decided by the Treater but rather their importance and the social stadning the event accosts is determined by the Treatees- since they will be honoring the Treaters by simply partaking of their offering.
2> Treats wilt be decideth by the Treatees:- The Venue and the "offerings" are likewise deliberated upon by the Treatees, since their time is being imposed upon to actually take an effort to dress up, move and attend the Treat being given. Food- exotic or at least something new and untried, drinks and a minimum of three courses are a must. The Sacrifice will involve a humbled and nervous Treater who awaits with dread the dishes and things his Treatees suddenly develop fetishes for- treats are the right places to try out your first chopsticks, order food that you have no clue about and chuck it if you don't like it- after all the treater foots the bill right??
3> The Treater shalt not enjoy the Treat- the true purpose of a treat is lost if the Treater joins in the revelry.. And what better way to cause a loss of appetite than ordering enormous quantities of food, wasting it and ordering more (;)).. The person with the largest appetite is invariably seated next to the Treater- this is yet another golden rule; it enables a healthy comparison of the frugal state of the Treater's plate with that of his more liberal companions and becomes the butt of most jokes. The Treater, no matter how gluttonous on normal days, invariably becomes a calorie conscious souciant on the ill-fated day of the Treat. He cannot, for the life of him, swallow a morsel- this three to five hour ordeal gives him leave to ruminate on all the treats he's been part of and also keep track of how much who has consumed for future Treate reference.. It gives him a chance to contemplate on the event and its insignificance; providing insights on the depths of care to which his friends have gone to ensure he will Not ever forget it for the rest of his life...
4> The Treat shalt exceed the Budget :- This clause states that if at the end of the Treat, the Treater heaves a sigh of relief then some emergency situation be presented and ensured that a sudden craving for ice cream or burger be issued forth by one or more of the Treatees and supported by the rest in order to ensure that the Treater "feel" the aftermath of having shelled it out in his pocket, mind and heart.. And revel in the fact that this sort fo event occurs only Once each year.. Else the Treatees will have to ensure that the next treat in line crosses the limit outrageously... Thus the onus of raising the bar on this Treat lies squarely on the shoulders of the next Treater-in-line..
5> Treats shalt be marked by novelty :- ever wanted to eat Korean food?? check out what casa en toulera exactly was??? Treats mark the first chopsticks, the first cocktail, for many Treatees and new inductees who invariably occupy the Treater position.. Treats offer a socially acceptable reason to freak out!!! A treat is remarks an undeniably banal incident in the life of the Treater as a reason to add some spice into the life of other disillusioned mortals.. :)
Treats are the only form of chain activities that guarantee assured returns manifold the expense served- in terms of entertainment value and good times.. If you treat 10 people, each of the ten owes a treat and hence free victuals for some ten days of the year for the most obscure reasons cited.. A Treat also increases the feel-good factor, once you've been a Treater you can enjoy the joys of ripping someone off as a Treatee in many more occasions before your turn finally comes around, thus satisfying the inherent need of mankind to do unto others as they've done to yourself (multiplied the number of people in the room at the Treat)..
With these simple tenets I leave you to discover the joys and tribulations of the Treating circles.. Stop reading, go forth and do it yourself..
Treats are a modern take on Sacrifices- In the olden days Kings used to give away free stuff for people to bless/ wish them good, especially after a conquest; over the years with pollution preventing open fires and music being digitized, all thats left for a person is to find people to accept the humble offerings. Thus treats are nothing but the new generations way of rpeserving our ancient heritage. Treats provide unbound happiness for the Treatees (the people at the receiving end) and a philosophical bend of mind for the Treaters (the guys paying the bill). Certains strings (actually quite a number) are attached-
1> The Event shalt Not be called upon by the Treater:- Occasions for treats are not decided by the Treater but rather their importance and the social stadning the event accosts is determined by the Treatees- since they will be honoring the Treaters by simply partaking of their offering.
2> Treats wilt be decideth by the Treatees:- The Venue and the "offerings" are likewise deliberated upon by the Treatees, since their time is being imposed upon to actually take an effort to dress up, move and attend the Treat being given. Food- exotic or at least something new and untried, drinks and a minimum of three courses are a must. The Sacrifice will involve a humbled and nervous Treater who awaits with dread the dishes and things his Treatees suddenly develop fetishes for- treats are the right places to try out your first chopsticks, order food that you have no clue about and chuck it if you don't like it- after all the treater foots the bill right??
3> The Treater shalt not enjoy the Treat- the true purpose of a treat is lost if the Treater joins in the revelry.. And what better way to cause a loss of appetite than ordering enormous quantities of food, wasting it and ordering more (;)).. The person with the largest appetite is invariably seated next to the Treater- this is yet another golden rule; it enables a healthy comparison of the frugal state of the Treater's plate with that of his more liberal companions and becomes the butt of most jokes. The Treater, no matter how gluttonous on normal days, invariably becomes a calorie conscious souciant on the ill-fated day of the Treat. He cannot, for the life of him, swallow a morsel- this three to five hour ordeal gives him leave to ruminate on all the treats he's been part of and also keep track of how much who has consumed for future Treate reference.. It gives him a chance to contemplate on the event and its insignificance; providing insights on the depths of care to which his friends have gone to ensure he will Not ever forget it for the rest of his life...
4> The Treat shalt exceed the Budget :- This clause states that if at the end of the Treat, the Treater heaves a sigh of relief then some emergency situation be presented and ensured that a sudden craving for ice cream or burger be issued forth by one or more of the Treatees and supported by the rest in order to ensure that the Treater "feel" the aftermath of having shelled it out in his pocket, mind and heart.. And revel in the fact that this sort fo event occurs only Once each year.. Else the Treatees will have to ensure that the next treat in line crosses the limit outrageously... Thus the onus of raising the bar on this Treat lies squarely on the shoulders of the next Treater-in-line..
5> Treats shalt be marked by novelty :- ever wanted to eat Korean food?? check out what casa en toulera exactly was??? Treats mark the first chopsticks, the first cocktail, for many Treatees and new inductees who invariably occupy the Treater position.. Treats offer a socially acceptable reason to freak out!!! A treat is remarks an undeniably banal incident in the life of the Treater as a reason to add some spice into the life of other disillusioned mortals.. :)
Treats are the only form of chain activities that guarantee assured returns manifold the expense served- in terms of entertainment value and good times.. If you treat 10 people, each of the ten owes a treat and hence free victuals for some ten days of the year for the most obscure reasons cited.. A Treat also increases the feel-good factor, once you've been a Treater you can enjoy the joys of ripping someone off as a Treatee in many more occasions before your turn finally comes around, thus satisfying the inherent need of mankind to do unto others as they've done to yourself (multiplied the number of people in the room at the Treat)..
With these simple tenets I leave you to discover the joys and tribulations of the Treating circles.. Stop reading, go forth and do it yourself..
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Put on Red Dancing shoes...
Dancing- next to singing, dancing was the other activity I dreaded (heart and soul).. for the life of me blood on the dance floor always seemed like someone who succumbed to the humiliation of having actually performed a jig in front of all those watchers... Which brings me to the classic hierarchy of the Disco Groups..
People in Discoes can ideally be classified into three different groups - the Suave (the graceful, slithe bunch who look like they own the floor), the Sad (people who think they can dance but cannot see that other people are ogling at how odd they look shuffling about..) and finally the Sober (people who'll be silent bystanders till they consume too much alcohol and then- all hell breaks loose on the dance floor.. while the sad evoke pity- the sober are true-blooded entertainers.. in the blink of an eye and a flash of the strobe light they'll be on top of a table dancing with what more than one author would call "gay abandon".. without them the dance floor would be the sole haunting grounds for the suave.. the sad get inspired by these revellers and put on their best act... the swagger and potency displayed by the Sad in vain attempts to impress the ladies is worth its weight in gold purely for the guffaws and roll-on-the-floor laughter it produces..
For most part of my life I deemed myself a Sad.. My rare visits to dance floors have nearly never seen me rise from the seated position (with the last sip remaining in the glass- a valid excuse to evade the possibility of actually having to shake a leg), no matter how strong the beat or how great the music... my friends have tried in vain to make me swing but just the sight of my suave companions executing a one-two with casual ease used to send my pulse racing and palms sweating (indications of failure even before the disappointing attempts).. No amount of tutoring or pep talks from my engineering gang ever had an impact on this assessment save to reiterate it when they showed me some steps.. No! it was enevr gona work.. I was, am and will always be one of those shy and incredibly self-conscious people who groove in the sanctity of their rooms, locked away form the privy eyes of the world, lost in the music, till a loud knock forces them to alter that state...
Having been a bookworm for most part fo my life, physical activity has never appealed as a valid passtime, particularly those that involve coordination (video games, sports etc..) So I'd have remained untill I crossed the hallowed threshold towards my post graduation degree.. The world seems a much larger place when you live away from home amidst a brand new tribe of professionals with varied degrees of work experience, all eager to get acquainted and in hot pursuit of management education.. the breed of wanna-be MBAs.. Into this motley bunch I made my lone forage scraping myself a social distinction among these achievers who had a much better idea of what this degree was going to do for their career than I ever did.. Luckily my literary proclivity proved a saving grace and I carved a niche as a poet with rapier wit.. It did wonders to my confidence, I, hitherto someone who was considered barely worth noticing suddenly in the thick of a debate on what the topic of my next composition should be, flooded with congratulatory messages and heartfelt envy by others who possessed not my knack in words.. I doubt if I ever thanked those populace properly but what few words they had to spare went straight to my head (and my heart.. ).. Suddenly I was no longer an CAT application or a roll number I was Someone and the revelation hasn't worn off its welcome still..
Coming back to the issue at hand- MBA courses are famous for the all night parties and mine was no less.. with 100 wannabe managers prowling the campus the parties gained a benchmark for the best music, lights and dancing!!! I was looking forward to entertainment (MBAs with a couple of exceptions, all belong to Sober category..) And on the first occassion I jumped to the dance floor thanks to the anonymity afforded by the inebrieted crowd shuffling away to the music pelted by the huge speakers... I didn't think I'd get noticed in the throng so I let myslef go.. It was simlar to dancing in the confines of mine room- or so I thought... After deancing all night (the last song was at 3:45 am!!) interspersed with a couple of drunks getting out of hand, fresh air breaks and cold water rinses, I made it back to my room with sore feet and aching body parts but a strong joie de vivre.. i never have slept more contently..
The next day proved a surprise of sorts when some half a dozen classmates stopped by to say how well I danced.. I was elated!! Moi- a good dancer... I would've grounded their comments on the fact they were drunk but then compliments don't come that easy.. Now I know the secret to great dancing- Drinks on the House!!! So now, after my confidence booster-shots and compliment-doses, whenever I put on my dancing shoes, I forget about the dance floor hierarchies and who's watching and instead just listen to the music play and let myself just goooo.... after all isn't that what its all about?????
People in Discoes can ideally be classified into three different groups - the Suave (the graceful, slithe bunch who look like they own the floor), the Sad (people who think they can dance but cannot see that other people are ogling at how odd they look shuffling about..) and finally the Sober (people who'll be silent bystanders till they consume too much alcohol and then- all hell breaks loose on the dance floor.. while the sad evoke pity- the sober are true-blooded entertainers.. in the blink of an eye and a flash of the strobe light they'll be on top of a table dancing with what more than one author would call "gay abandon".. without them the dance floor would be the sole haunting grounds for the suave.. the sad get inspired by these revellers and put on their best act... the swagger and potency displayed by the Sad in vain attempts to impress the ladies is worth its weight in gold purely for the guffaws and roll-on-the-floor laughter it produces..
For most part of my life I deemed myself a Sad.. My rare visits to dance floors have nearly never seen me rise from the seated position (with the last sip remaining in the glass- a valid excuse to evade the possibility of actually having to shake a leg), no matter how strong the beat or how great the music... my friends have tried in vain to make me swing but just the sight of my suave companions executing a one-two with casual ease used to send my pulse racing and palms sweating (indications of failure even before the disappointing attempts).. No amount of tutoring or pep talks from my engineering gang ever had an impact on this assessment save to reiterate it when they showed me some steps.. No! it was enevr gona work.. I was, am and will always be one of those shy and incredibly self-conscious people who groove in the sanctity of their rooms, locked away form the privy eyes of the world, lost in the music, till a loud knock forces them to alter that state...
Having been a bookworm for most part fo my life, physical activity has never appealed as a valid passtime, particularly those that involve coordination (video games, sports etc..) So I'd have remained untill I crossed the hallowed threshold towards my post graduation degree.. The world seems a much larger place when you live away from home amidst a brand new tribe of professionals with varied degrees of work experience, all eager to get acquainted and in hot pursuit of management education.. the breed of wanna-be MBAs.. Into this motley bunch I made my lone forage scraping myself a social distinction among these achievers who had a much better idea of what this degree was going to do for their career than I ever did.. Luckily my literary proclivity proved a saving grace and I carved a niche as a poet with rapier wit.. It did wonders to my confidence, I, hitherto someone who was considered barely worth noticing suddenly in the thick of a debate on what the topic of my next composition should be, flooded with congratulatory messages and heartfelt envy by others who possessed not my knack in words.. I doubt if I ever thanked those populace properly but what few words they had to spare went straight to my head (and my heart.. ).. Suddenly I was no longer an CAT application or a roll number I was Someone and the revelation hasn't worn off its welcome still..
Coming back to the issue at hand- MBA courses are famous for the all night parties and mine was no less.. with 100 wannabe managers prowling the campus the parties gained a benchmark for the best music, lights and dancing!!! I was looking forward to entertainment (MBAs with a couple of exceptions, all belong to Sober category..) And on the first occassion I jumped to the dance floor thanks to the anonymity afforded by the inebrieted crowd shuffling away to the music pelted by the huge speakers... I didn't think I'd get noticed in the throng so I let myslef go.. It was simlar to dancing in the confines of mine room- or so I thought... After deancing all night (the last song was at 3:45 am!!) interspersed with a couple of drunks getting out of hand, fresh air breaks and cold water rinses, I made it back to my room with sore feet and aching body parts but a strong joie de vivre.. i never have slept more contently..
The next day proved a surprise of sorts when some half a dozen classmates stopped by to say how well I danced.. I was elated!! Moi- a good dancer... I would've grounded their comments on the fact they were drunk but then compliments don't come that easy.. Now I know the secret to great dancing- Drinks on the House!!! So now, after my confidence booster-shots and compliment-doses, whenever I put on my dancing shoes, I forget about the dance floor hierarchies and who's watching and instead just listen to the music play and let myself just goooo.... after all isn't that what its all about?????
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Teddy Temptations
Ever seen a symphony in satin and artificial fur- embedded with softest cotton with black or brown beady eyes and triangular nose… its called a teddy bear.. The essence of childhood and its ephemeral spirit can be captured by this one object and preserved for time immemorial in its satin folds…
For the uninitiated, a teddy bear is a stuffed toy with two semi-circular ears without padding, a soft oblong head with close-set shiny eyes that seem to peer into your soul with the innocence often reflected in the smiles of infants- a genial expression of innocuous curiosity coupled with pinchable furry cheeks… a triangular nose set below the eyes with a sewed-on smile.. A bow in the head or at the neck might not be an uncommon sight- mostly colored red.. A well-rounded stomach extension follows the head in a pear shaped arrangement with paws attached for forearms and legs (normally in sitting position).. Open armed with enough space to squeeze in a hug from any creature..
All my childhood I’ve hankered (rather unsuccessfully, I may add) for a teddy.. a nice plump big teddy.. My mothers chief gripe, in those days, was that it would get dirty and she would be the one who had to clean it.. I finally had to settle with a white stuffed animal which bore close resemblance to a sheep.. it was hard but furry- white fur; but somehow it missed on the essential huggability quotient that all teddy’s adhere to and thus was never played with much… (This became yet another reason for why I was refused any more stuffed animals L )…
Finally at the age of 18 (no kidding!!) I found my true love… a brown tiny teddy with a green cap and green vest… hazel eyes and cupid like grin.. My father, after 11 long years of pleading finally relented… :D).. I hugged it, kissed it, squeezed the stuffing out of it.. It lay by my pillow with its contented expression- my salve for a ruinous day and my close confidant.. the feel of a soft plump furry cheek against my skin, a paw to hold at night while analyzing my unfulfilled wishes, a serene companion to my often wavering moods, a listener who would not judge me for my actions but accept me for what I was.. He was all this and more, but alas.. The picture wasn’t quite complete.. my mother, being the stickler to cleanliness that she is, threw him (it was a him.. all my teddies are “he’s” without exception..) into the washing machine… and he came out smelling like detergent with his insides still wet.. his stitches gave way too and cotton balefully glared at me from the gaps… he has now been relegated to a post at the top of the refrigerator to gaze upon me with those liquid brown eyes and watch me grow…
What makes teddies so incurably attractive?? The fact that look for no more than you can give, even a simple look at one will dispel your qualms and fears.. They ask for nothing but that you be yourself- treat them as you’d like (in all my life I’ve never come across a being who would willfully hurt a teddy bear!!).. love them or not they still treat you all the same- the same patient eyes peer out, the same sweet smile greets you, the very same paws draw around you for the hug.. What more can one ask??? No secret is too small; no matter is too tall- they’ll listen till you have nothing more to say and still they’ll stick around to make sure you’re okay; a hug or two just to be sure.. A better friend is rather hard to find..
I’ve had loads of teddies- a pink one from engineering, a panda during my MBA, a huge puppy for my birthday, another brown one form dad, a Garfield one for my birthday… they’re all sitting in a cardboard box- waiting for me.. To reclaim my childhood.. Every time I dust them it takes nearly all of my will power to put them away.. Or rather I have not yet found in me the strength to do as I please (I have found enough to buy teddy bears without parental supervision though J ).. Perhaps someday on a rainy night, I’d take these silent soul mates of mine and hold a tea party; warding away the chilliness and warming the heart and soul.. Perchance in my next birth, at least, I’d be fashioned as a hand crafted teddy with almond eyes and creamy skin with a blue bow around my neck… the perfect companion for a girl with plenty of imagination, oodles lots of heartaches and a ready hug…
For the uninitiated, a teddy bear is a stuffed toy with two semi-circular ears without padding, a soft oblong head with close-set shiny eyes that seem to peer into your soul with the innocence often reflected in the smiles of infants- a genial expression of innocuous curiosity coupled with pinchable furry cheeks… a triangular nose set below the eyes with a sewed-on smile.. A bow in the head or at the neck might not be an uncommon sight- mostly colored red.. A well-rounded stomach extension follows the head in a pear shaped arrangement with paws attached for forearms and legs (normally in sitting position).. Open armed with enough space to squeeze in a hug from any creature..
All my childhood I’ve hankered (rather unsuccessfully, I may add) for a teddy.. a nice plump big teddy.. My mothers chief gripe, in those days, was that it would get dirty and she would be the one who had to clean it.. I finally had to settle with a white stuffed animal which bore close resemblance to a sheep.. it was hard but furry- white fur; but somehow it missed on the essential huggability quotient that all teddy’s adhere to and thus was never played with much… (This became yet another reason for why I was refused any more stuffed animals L )…
Finally at the age of 18 (no kidding!!) I found my true love… a brown tiny teddy with a green cap and green vest… hazel eyes and cupid like grin.. My father, after 11 long years of pleading finally relented… :D).. I hugged it, kissed it, squeezed the stuffing out of it.. It lay by my pillow with its contented expression- my salve for a ruinous day and my close confidant.. the feel of a soft plump furry cheek against my skin, a paw to hold at night while analyzing my unfulfilled wishes, a serene companion to my often wavering moods, a listener who would not judge me for my actions but accept me for what I was.. He was all this and more, but alas.. The picture wasn’t quite complete.. my mother, being the stickler to cleanliness that she is, threw him (it was a him.. all my teddies are “he’s” without exception..) into the washing machine… and he came out smelling like detergent with his insides still wet.. his stitches gave way too and cotton balefully glared at me from the gaps… he has now been relegated to a post at the top of the refrigerator to gaze upon me with those liquid brown eyes and watch me grow…
What makes teddies so incurably attractive?? The fact that look for no more than you can give, even a simple look at one will dispel your qualms and fears.. They ask for nothing but that you be yourself- treat them as you’d like (in all my life I’ve never come across a being who would willfully hurt a teddy bear!!).. love them or not they still treat you all the same- the same patient eyes peer out, the same sweet smile greets you, the very same paws draw around you for the hug.. What more can one ask??? No secret is too small; no matter is too tall- they’ll listen till you have nothing more to say and still they’ll stick around to make sure you’re okay; a hug or two just to be sure.. A better friend is rather hard to find..
I’ve had loads of teddies- a pink one from engineering, a panda during my MBA, a huge puppy for my birthday, another brown one form dad, a Garfield one for my birthday… they’re all sitting in a cardboard box- waiting for me.. To reclaim my childhood.. Every time I dust them it takes nearly all of my will power to put them away.. Or rather I have not yet found in me the strength to do as I please (I have found enough to buy teddy bears without parental supervision though J ).. Perhaps someday on a rainy night, I’d take these silent soul mates of mine and hold a tea party; warding away the chilliness and warming the heart and soul.. Perchance in my next birth, at least, I’d be fashioned as a hand crafted teddy with almond eyes and creamy skin with a blue bow around my neck… the perfect companion for a girl with plenty of imagination, oodles lots of heartaches and a ready hug…
School Day Blues…
This morning while patiently waiting for my erratically timed transportation to work, I espied a girl in pigtails wearing a traditional blue and white uniform, peering through thick rimmed lenses in a rickety auto- in a vain attempt to cram more for her test (or so I presume).. from a brown-covered notebook with a blue label… I felt a wave of regret wash through me- that never again can I ever have those back to school blues…
The Back to school phenomenon is deeply rooted within each child states that whatever needs to be done of schoolwork during the holidays be pushed till the eleventh hour giving the maximum stress to parents and making them also rue the opening of the next term… basically it starts with the holiday homework.. one day before its due- the child whines to the mother saying I don’t have a pencil.. A frantic search for pencil, pen and other assorted stationery creates a spring-cleaning kind of atmosphere with the harried mother, who fears nothing more than that the delay or shabbiness of the child’s work be impinged with her qualifications as a mother…
The father enters later, sometime in the evening and the mother pours her tale out to his ears while he devotes his entire focus on the coffee she’s brought him.. the truant youngster is called and reprimanded and asked why his things were missing.. he balefully shows his completed assignment before dropping the next bomb- his school bag had a tear at the end of the previous term- he’d told them both but they never listened.. the parents can’t wait for tomorrow to come.. An inspection of the aforementioned article reveals a gaping hole the size of a fist (nature can only do so much, our little scamp had to manage the rest.. )
They check the time before speeding off to the nearest shop and what follows is the classic marketing drive of the shopkeeper.. he’ll show the most economical buys to the parents while quietly diverting the kid to the backroom where the more expensive and funky designs are stored.. you all know what happens next- a big drama with the dad trying to sell logic to a child while the child who knows psychiatry just wails mumbling incoherently about how dad promised to buy it last time and that the old bag has been around for ever so long and even his birthday gift was not that great.. ultimately with a splitting headache and a lighter wallet and a visibly content ward…
Just as they are settling down for dinner- the triumphant dad asks, “so you’re all set for school then eh?” (in the usual swagger that the man of the house knows how to handle the situation), and the reply, “ well, now I just need the notebooks, color pencils and brown cover, labels and eraser, and maybe even a sharpener”… what follows is an earth-shattering scream and a patriarch with an open mouth gagging over the dinner table.. after a hasty dinner, the family is bundled into the car and driven at top speed in order to get to the store just minutes before the shutters being pulled down.. the scenario unfolds with the dad alternating between pleading and threatening the shopkeeper, the mother scolding the kid in hushed tones with the eternal ,”if this ever happens again….”
After an hour or so the family finds themselves back at home, labels, notebooks, and all.. now the kid retires to bed for tomorrow is a big day- he excitedly yaks on about his groupies and their capers over the summer, mutters dark doings of the hated teacher and eager to gain the appreciation of his friends over the latest model of schoolbag (liable to be torn that very day).. the mother and father spend a candlelit evening together- wrapping the notebooks in the brown cover with labels for each subject (color-coded and label positioned for some at the top right, other at the center and for some a diagonal placement- as dictated by the one slumbering away in bed..)
The next morning sees an enthusiastic youngster with a bag bulging with notebooks and his holiday homework clutched in his hand being shepherded by two puffy eyed adults through the gateway for his impending education… they have taken a secret pledge to never again postpone such work till the last but we know best, another term another struggle of the adult versus the pint sized devils who wish to give their guardians a taste of school- the way they see it- A culmination of last minute effort and cramming in order to solve an educational issue in a vain attempt to decrease the learning curve, accentuated by experience and immune to the same… welcome back to School…
The Back to school phenomenon is deeply rooted within each child states that whatever needs to be done of schoolwork during the holidays be pushed till the eleventh hour giving the maximum stress to parents and making them also rue the opening of the next term… basically it starts with the holiday homework.. one day before its due- the child whines to the mother saying I don’t have a pencil.. A frantic search for pencil, pen and other assorted stationery creates a spring-cleaning kind of atmosphere with the harried mother, who fears nothing more than that the delay or shabbiness of the child’s work be impinged with her qualifications as a mother…
The father enters later, sometime in the evening and the mother pours her tale out to his ears while he devotes his entire focus on the coffee she’s brought him.. the truant youngster is called and reprimanded and asked why his things were missing.. he balefully shows his completed assignment before dropping the next bomb- his school bag had a tear at the end of the previous term- he’d told them both but they never listened.. the parents can’t wait for tomorrow to come.. An inspection of the aforementioned article reveals a gaping hole the size of a fist (nature can only do so much, our little scamp had to manage the rest.. )
They check the time before speeding off to the nearest shop and what follows is the classic marketing drive of the shopkeeper.. he’ll show the most economical buys to the parents while quietly diverting the kid to the backroom where the more expensive and funky designs are stored.. you all know what happens next- a big drama with the dad trying to sell logic to a child while the child who knows psychiatry just wails mumbling incoherently about how dad promised to buy it last time and that the old bag has been around for ever so long and even his birthday gift was not that great.. ultimately with a splitting headache and a lighter wallet and a visibly content ward…
Just as they are settling down for dinner- the triumphant dad asks, “so you’re all set for school then eh?” (in the usual swagger that the man of the house knows how to handle the situation), and the reply, “ well, now I just need the notebooks, color pencils and brown cover, labels and eraser, and maybe even a sharpener”… what follows is an earth-shattering scream and a patriarch with an open mouth gagging over the dinner table.. after a hasty dinner, the family is bundled into the car and driven at top speed in order to get to the store just minutes before the shutters being pulled down.. the scenario unfolds with the dad alternating between pleading and threatening the shopkeeper, the mother scolding the kid in hushed tones with the eternal ,”if this ever happens again….”
After an hour or so the family finds themselves back at home, labels, notebooks, and all.. now the kid retires to bed for tomorrow is a big day- he excitedly yaks on about his groupies and their capers over the summer, mutters dark doings of the hated teacher and eager to gain the appreciation of his friends over the latest model of schoolbag (liable to be torn that very day).. the mother and father spend a candlelit evening together- wrapping the notebooks in the brown cover with labels for each subject (color-coded and label positioned for some at the top right, other at the center and for some a diagonal placement- as dictated by the one slumbering away in bed..)
The next morning sees an enthusiastic youngster with a bag bulging with notebooks and his holiday homework clutched in his hand being shepherded by two puffy eyed adults through the gateway for his impending education… they have taken a secret pledge to never again postpone such work till the last but we know best, another term another struggle of the adult versus the pint sized devils who wish to give their guardians a taste of school- the way they see it- A culmination of last minute effort and cramming in order to solve an educational issue in a vain attempt to decrease the learning curve, accentuated by experience and immune to the same… welcome back to School…
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Moony-Eyed
Every night as I pass the hallowed gates of my workplace towards the sanctum of mine home, a chance glance reveals her highness- the moon.. satellite and all of course (with due respect for the science enthusiasts) but my love for her (i simply cannot condone the notion that it could be male.... :P) stems from her soft glow and comforting hue.. she's neither white- that means she's not a conformist or peace-lover who stands only by their ideals or believe the world can be perfect.. She' not off-white; which in turn indicates she does not condone laziness and untidiness either.. Not Grey for sure- she's not half-bad and that she comes out in the pitch dark- she's one gutsy dame.. Everyday she changes her shape- curves and all; her face is broken out at times and sometimes she veils herself in a cloud covering her moonbeams in the soft folds of mist..
Her glow is not harsh like the sun's, but is warm and comforting.. it won't protect you from the cold but at the same time it feeds your soul with sustenance that leaves you craving for beauty and its like.. It almost makes up for everything that went wrong during the day.. a break from the harsh climes and sunlight haze- a refreshing break in the hushed undertones of muted Sunshine.. she is like a beacon- a symbol of faith and hope in a charcoal sky.. a smooth marble chiseled as an everlasting signet of the brave and noble in whose realm doubt and despair are yet to be invoked.. As the moonbeams embrace the sleeping world in their simmering radiance of contentment and acceptance- of the darkness surrounding them, and yet shine through the shadows not with the fierce, hot-blooded glory that many epics hitherto stand testimony to; but instead reflect a softer state of bravery- of courage and finesse as two threads woven through the eye of a single needle- laminating a masterful tapestry lined with hope and threaded through grace- an evocation of the oft unnoticed brave deeds that we turn a blind eye, a deaf ear and a dumb tongue to...
And once in a while she has a bad day and refuses to come out at all... That's whats soo human about her... But the very next day, she realises her folly, finds it in her to overcome her pride and step out again for another night- roaming alone in dark lonely skies, espied by a mortal eye or two... suffusing the darkness with her trinkets and spools of moonbeams... never looking back but just onward and away till the muted colors of dawn drive her away... Into the misty nightlife eclipsing the other side of the world...
My heart's pledged to her... and none can take her place...
Her glow is not harsh like the sun's, but is warm and comforting.. it won't protect you from the cold but at the same time it feeds your soul with sustenance that leaves you craving for beauty and its like.. It almost makes up for everything that went wrong during the day.. a break from the harsh climes and sunlight haze- a refreshing break in the hushed undertones of muted Sunshine.. she is like a beacon- a symbol of faith and hope in a charcoal sky.. a smooth marble chiseled as an everlasting signet of the brave and noble in whose realm doubt and despair are yet to be invoked.. As the moonbeams embrace the sleeping world in their simmering radiance of contentment and acceptance- of the darkness surrounding them, and yet shine through the shadows not with the fierce, hot-blooded glory that many epics hitherto stand testimony to; but instead reflect a softer state of bravery- of courage and finesse as two threads woven through the eye of a single needle- laminating a masterful tapestry lined with hope and threaded through grace- an evocation of the oft unnoticed brave deeds that we turn a blind eye, a deaf ear and a dumb tongue to...
And once in a while she has a bad day and refuses to come out at all... That's whats soo human about her... But the very next day, she realises her folly, finds it in her to overcome her pride and step out again for another night- roaming alone in dark lonely skies, espied by a mortal eye or two... suffusing the darkness with her trinkets and spools of moonbeams... never looking back but just onward and away till the muted colors of dawn drive her away... Into the misty nightlife eclipsing the other side of the world...
My heart's pledged to her... and none can take her place...
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