The most annoying question before I had my baby was always 'So when are you going to give us the good news?'
There are now a new bunch of questions regarding the baby, that are really annoying - although they are not as obnoxious as the 'good news' one and are usually asked in all innocence - but still !
* Is she sleeping through the night yet?
Answer: NO! Babies do NOT sleep through the night. Anyone who says their baby sleeps or slept through the night is either demented with old age or just saying it to annoy me. I have not slept more than 3 hours at a stretch since my last trimester. That's almost a year now. And I'm used to it now so it doesn't bother me as much as before. So don't ask!
...and then there's...
*Has your baby lost some weight? She's looking thinner...
Answer: NO! Why do people even ask this question? Why can't you bloody say that I'M looking like I lost weight? SHE is putting on weight like any regular, average baby. She's just getting taller and that's why she looks thinner. Okay with you? Good. Then don't ask!
....and my personal favourite....
*So what do you do at home the whole day with the baby? Don't you get bored? It's like the end of your social life, right?
Answer: Dude, go have a baby before asking this question. It's been many months and I haven't been 'bored' a single day. It's a different matter that I have felt ready to go back to work for some time, and will start soon. It doesn't mean that it's boring to stay at home with my baby. She's the most fun person I ever met. And I'm meeting a lot more people through her nowadays. My social life is just beginning! So no asky-wasky, okay?
Phew! That's it. I'm sure there are more but I don't feel like ranting on and on. BUT I'm really interested to know - what are the questions that really get to YOU? The ones that cause you to inwardly groan while you smile politely and deliver a stock answer? And the ones that just make you want to deliver a Zidane-style head butt to the person who asked?
Do tell, do tell. I'm listening.
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
I think I hate Salespeople
The Stroller
(Phone conversation, trying to complain about the instruction manual)
- Smarmy chap from Sunbaby, on the phone: What exactly is the problem, Madam?
- Me: I have already explained it to your marketing manager in detail, and also sent an email.
- Smarmy chap: Oh, yes, Madam, but could you please tell me once on the phone?
- Me: (Sigh) I bought a stroller of yours...Baby Pram 200...and the instructions in the manual are nothing but a bunch of random words - it's all gibberish...how is a person supposed to know how to use the product properly?
- Smarmy chap: Oh, yes, Madam! I know what you mean. But Madam, you see, that is Chinese English. They speak English very differently from us.
- Me: What? What is Chinese English? And how is that the point - if the product is selling in India, shouldn't you at least ensure that the instruction manual is making sense?
- Smarmy chap: Oh, yes, Madam! But what to do, Madam? Madam, let me tell you, we have such a problem with those people - we can't even understand the emails they send us!....blah, blah...
- Me :... (dumbfounded, wondering who is supposed to be complaining to whom)
In any case, I am using my spare time to send irate emails to sundry Sunbaby IDs, and will not stop till I get a reply. Also, I've returned the stroller to Little Kangaroos and plan to pick up another one. This time, I will let Vijay choose it so that I can blame him for it later.
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The internet connection: MTNL
And then there is stupid internet connection thingy. When I moved to Mumbai, I tried to get a broadband connection from every possible angle - but for some reason, nobody seemed to want to sell me one.
When we tried getting it from MTNL, there turned out to be some silly paperwork required because they had some address wrong in their records. After that, one fellow kept calling up and promising to come over, but did not. I finally called him and insisted that he come on a particular day. He showed up, all surly, and was quite rude even though I offered - and he accepted - some tea while he worked. The connection worked for two minutes and then there was some 'ADSL' problem, whatever the heck that means! And the guy still had the nerve to ask Vijay to pay him a 'service charge' - namely bribe/tip! Jerk.
Eventually, when it did not work, Vijay called some customer care number and got some senior people's mobile number - and after he spoke to them, miracle of miracles - the internet started working! The only problem after that was that I got no less than 22 follow up calls over the next few days. I am not kidding here, 22 calls - to ensure the internet was still working.
Typical conversation:
(Ring, ring)
The K: Halloo, Kaun? ....(handing the cordless phone to me) Logta hai bandh ho gaya
Me (taking the phone and pressing the talk button, with a weary sigh) Hello?
MTNL person: Hello? MTNL se bol rahen hai, aapka internet chaalu hai na?
Me: Haanji, par yeh mere ko eleventh...eleventhwa...gaira..gairwa call hai...aap phirse please mat call kijiye
MTNL person: Kya? Itne call aapko aaye? Aisa to nahin ho sakta. Achha, sorry.
(and so on, until call 22).
I have now trained the K to press the talk button when the phone rings, and say 'Haanji, kaam kar raha hai' as an answer to any question that is asked on the phone. So if you call me, please frame your desire to speak to me as a direct order and not a question - or you will get the same response from her, followed by the dial tone.
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Internet connection 2: Reliance
And this one is just not funny. While I was trying to get the MTNL connection, I was also trying to get the Reliance Broadband thing. This idiot called Kunal spoke to me, sent a guy over to collect my documents and a cheque for Rs.500 and has disappeared - it's been over four weeks now and nothing, except promises to get the connection for me, or to refund my cheque.
For the last two weeks, he has been avoiding my calls. I am cleverly trying from different numbers, but he's one up on me because he is pretending to be a new person everytime I get through 'But Madam, I am Vicky, Kunal is on the other line' or 'But Madam, I am Sunil, the call has been forwarded to my number' - ending with the promise of 'I will find out and get back to you'. I don't mind calling again and again - he's got Shakira's Hips Don't Lie as a caller tune, and I like that song.
I am resisting the temptation to put his mobile number up here for all those of you who want to hear the song, too. There's enough nastiness in the bloggy world these days - and anyway, I would like to believe, as I do in the offline world - I'm one of the good guys.
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My new hairband:
Finally, we went to Shopper's Stop the other day to buy something, and as we were leaving, I spotted just what I had been looking for - a guy was standing outside the store peddling rubberbands, hair clips and the like. I bought the stuff I needed from him, and then spotted this nice black and white hairband. I don't really wear hairbands, and have been especially wary of these since Abhishek Bachhan has started wearing one, but I couldn't resist picking it up and looking at it.
Me (examining hairband, unsure of whether it will fit): Yeh issi size mein aata hai?
Young Peddlar guy (glancing at baby in Vijay's arms) Haan, madam, yeh bilkul sahi size hai, baby ko barobar fit aayega.
Me (annoyed): Par mere ko apne liye chahiye.
Young Peddlar guy (with a wide grin, not a trace of shame, looking at my head which is at least twice the size of my four month old daughter's): Haan, madam, ye bilkul sahi size hai, aapko barobar fit aayega.
I glared at him for this obvious lie, but then could not resist the urge to burst into laughter at his cheeky grin, and at the cheek. I actually bought the darned hairband, too, paying around three times its actual value. He obviously charges a premium for standing outside Shopper's Stop.
Did I say I hate salespeople? I don't know, I kind of liked this guy, though. Still hate the others.
(Phone conversation, trying to complain about the instruction manual)
- Smarmy chap from Sunbaby, on the phone: What exactly is the problem, Madam?
- Me: I have already explained it to your marketing manager in detail, and also sent an email.
- Smarmy chap: Oh, yes, Madam, but could you please tell me once on the phone?
- Me: (Sigh) I bought a stroller of yours...Baby Pram 200...and the instructions in the manual are nothing but a bunch of random words - it's all gibberish...how is a person supposed to know how to use the product properly?
- Smarmy chap: Oh, yes, Madam! I know what you mean. But Madam, you see, that is Chinese English. They speak English very differently from us.
- Me: What? What is Chinese English? And how is that the point - if the product is selling in India, shouldn't you at least ensure that the instruction manual is making sense?
- Smarmy chap: Oh, yes, Madam! But what to do, Madam? Madam, let me tell you, we have such a problem with those people - we can't even understand the emails they send us!....blah, blah...
- Me :... (dumbfounded, wondering who is supposed to be complaining to whom)
In any case, I am using my spare time to send irate emails to sundry Sunbaby IDs, and will not stop till I get a reply. Also, I've returned the stroller to Little Kangaroos and plan to pick up another one. This time, I will let Vijay choose it so that I can blame him for it later.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The internet connection: MTNL
And then there is stupid internet connection thingy. When I moved to Mumbai, I tried to get a broadband connection from every possible angle - but for some reason, nobody seemed to want to sell me one.
When we tried getting it from MTNL, there turned out to be some silly paperwork required because they had some address wrong in their records. After that, one fellow kept calling up and promising to come over, but did not. I finally called him and insisted that he come on a particular day. He showed up, all surly, and was quite rude even though I offered - and he accepted - some tea while he worked. The connection worked for two minutes and then there was some 'ADSL' problem, whatever the heck that means! And the guy still had the nerve to ask Vijay to pay him a 'service charge' - namely bribe/tip! Jerk.
Eventually, when it did not work, Vijay called some customer care number and got some senior people's mobile number - and after he spoke to them, miracle of miracles - the internet started working! The only problem after that was that I got no less than 22 follow up calls over the next few days. I am not kidding here, 22 calls - to ensure the internet was still working.
Typical conversation:
(Ring, ring)
The K: Halloo, Kaun? ....(handing the cordless phone to me) Logta hai bandh ho gaya
Me (taking the phone and pressing the talk button, with a weary sigh) Hello?
MTNL person: Hello? MTNL se bol rahen hai, aapka internet chaalu hai na?
Me: Haanji, par yeh mere ko eleventh...eleventhwa...gaira..gairwa call hai...aap phirse please mat call kijiye
MTNL person: Kya? Itne call aapko aaye? Aisa to nahin ho sakta. Achha, sorry.
(and so on, until call 22).
I have now trained the K to press the talk button when the phone rings, and say 'Haanji, kaam kar raha hai' as an answer to any question that is asked on the phone. So if you call me, please frame your desire to speak to me as a direct order and not a question - or you will get the same response from her, followed by the dial tone.
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Internet connection 2: Reliance
And this one is just not funny. While I was trying to get the MTNL connection, I was also trying to get the Reliance Broadband thing. This idiot called Kunal spoke to me, sent a guy over to collect my documents and a cheque for Rs.500 and has disappeared - it's been over four weeks now and nothing, except promises to get the connection for me, or to refund my cheque.
For the last two weeks, he has been avoiding my calls. I am cleverly trying from different numbers, but he's one up on me because he is pretending to be a new person everytime I get through 'But Madam, I am Vicky, Kunal is on the other line' or 'But Madam, I am Sunil, the call has been forwarded to my number' - ending with the promise of 'I will find out and get back to you'. I don't mind calling again and again - he's got Shakira's Hips Don't Lie as a caller tune, and I like that song.
I am resisting the temptation to put his mobile number up here for all those of you who want to hear the song, too. There's enough nastiness in the bloggy world these days - and anyway, I would like to believe, as I do in the offline world - I'm one of the good guys.
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My new hairband:
Finally, we went to Shopper's Stop the other day to buy something, and as we were leaving, I spotted just what I had been looking for - a guy was standing outside the store peddling rubberbands, hair clips and the like. I bought the stuff I needed from him, and then spotted this nice black and white hairband. I don't really wear hairbands, and have been especially wary of these since Abhishek Bachhan has started wearing one, but I couldn't resist picking it up and looking at it.
Me (examining hairband, unsure of whether it will fit): Yeh issi size mein aata hai?
Young Peddlar guy (glancing at baby in Vijay's arms) Haan, madam, yeh bilkul sahi size hai, baby ko barobar fit aayega.
Me (annoyed): Par mere ko apne liye chahiye.
Young Peddlar guy (with a wide grin, not a trace of shame, looking at my head which is at least twice the size of my four month old daughter's): Haan, madam, ye bilkul sahi size hai, aapko barobar fit aayega.
I glared at him for this obvious lie, but then could not resist the urge to burst into laughter at his cheeky grin, and at the cheek. I actually bought the darned hairband, too, paying around three times its actual value. He obviously charges a premium for standing outside Shopper's Stop.
Did I say I hate salespeople? I don't know, I kind of liked this guy, though. Still hate the others.
Monday, December 10, 2007
You've got to be kidding me!
So we bought this baby stroller for Peanut on Saturday. There were a few different types in the shop (Little Kangaroos, Bandra), but I spotted one which was looked reasonably lightweight, yet about sturdy enough. It was a Sunbaby product, and we've bought a couple of Sunbaby items which have been okay, so we ended up buying the stroller, too.
And then we took the baby for a stroll yesterday, and somehow it was a bit awkward - I guess we're just used to having her in the sling now, so she seemed very far away from us (New parents. Really!). Plus, since it was a Sunday, it was just too crowded and everyone was gawking at her - which usually I don't care that much about but I guess this was bugging me because it was in conjunction with how far away she seemed, and also the fact that this stroller had only a seat belt that went around the waist and legs (and not the arms, the saleswoman had said the earlier models had arm straps, but apparently they were not desired by users of the product) Sigh.
Anyway, today I sent it back to the shop with Vinod and they say they will install straps for the arms. Since this was my major grouse, I thought, okay, no problem then. It will be fine.
But then I was flipping through the instruction manual and I see loads of spelling mistakes, which is always a real piss-off. I really did not think we were compromising by purchasing this stroller, it was expensive enough and seemed to meet our requirement. But this instruction-manual-spelling-mistakes thing is a bad sign, I think - it really makes me lose a huge portion of my confidence in the brand and the product.
Just when I got through the instructions, another sheet fell out. And this one really took the cake. Much like the Mr. Bear toy, this one too seemed to just have a bunch of random english words thrown together. You think I'm exaggerating? Allow me to reproduce the same for you, word for word:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ADDING EXPLAINS
Installation and dismantlement of the cup support
Such as pursueing and show, at the upper and lower holeses of cup support and cup srpport who push rod pay bear and ask that a hole had is aimed at, It wears washer insert and make a reservation and sell and twist upper nuts, And then twist small board hands closely. On the contrary, twist the next nut, pull out and publish and orient selling, namely put the cup support removably.
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What in God's name is that supposed to mean?
Never before in my life have I had to buy so many things where quality is the key - and it is pretty disappointing to spend thousands of rupees and then get stuff like this.
And what kind of a reason would that be to return the product - your frickin' instruction manual makes no sense, buddies! I think I will need to speak to the Sunbaby people because I'm fairly sure the Little Kangaroos people will just pass it on to them anyway.
Unlike the Mr. Bear toy, which by the way, looks pretty good in comparison now, this one is not funny because a stroller is an important purchase, and one needs to be totally comfortable about its quality and safety. Plus, we bought this ourselves, it was not a gift. Such idiotic things as this 'manual' just do not inspire much confidence, if you know what I mean.
In the meantime - anyone want to buy a slightly used stroller? Nah, I wouldn't do that to you. I need to convince myself this stroller is okay - else I plan to go and smash it over the head of the smarmy saleswoman at the store - who incidentally also kept referring to Peanut as a boy (apparently, in Mumbai, this is a 'baba' as opposed to a 'baby')
The word 'Bah' comes to mind. And I would like to officially state for the record:
BAH!
And then we took the baby for a stroll yesterday, and somehow it was a bit awkward - I guess we're just used to having her in the sling now, so she seemed very far away from us (New parents. Really!). Plus, since it was a Sunday, it was just too crowded and everyone was gawking at her - which usually I don't care that much about but I guess this was bugging me because it was in conjunction with how far away she seemed, and also the fact that this stroller had only a seat belt that went around the waist and legs (and not the arms, the saleswoman had said the earlier models had arm straps, but apparently they were not desired by users of the product) Sigh.
Anyway, today I sent it back to the shop with Vinod and they say they will install straps for the arms. Since this was my major grouse, I thought, okay, no problem then. It will be fine.
But then I was flipping through the instruction manual and I see loads of spelling mistakes, which is always a real piss-off. I really did not think we were compromising by purchasing this stroller, it was expensive enough and seemed to meet our requirement. But this instruction-manual-spelling-mistakes thing is a bad sign, I think - it really makes me lose a huge portion of my confidence in the brand and the product.
Just when I got through the instructions, another sheet fell out. And this one really took the cake. Much like the Mr. Bear toy, this one too seemed to just have a bunch of random english words thrown together. You think I'm exaggerating? Allow me to reproduce the same for you, word for word:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ADDING EXPLAINS
Installation and dismantlement of the cup support
Such as pursueing and show, at the upper and lower holeses of cup support and cup srpport who push rod pay bear and ask that a hole had is aimed at, It wears washer insert and make a reservation and sell and twist upper nuts, And then twist small board hands closely. On the contrary, twist the next nut, pull out and publish and orient selling, namely put the cup support removably.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What in God's name is that supposed to mean?
Never before in my life have I had to buy so many things where quality is the key - and it is pretty disappointing to spend thousands of rupees and then get stuff like this.
And what kind of a reason would that be to return the product - your frickin' instruction manual makes no sense, buddies! I think I will need to speak to the Sunbaby people because I'm fairly sure the Little Kangaroos people will just pass it on to them anyway.
Unlike the Mr. Bear toy, which by the way, looks pretty good in comparison now, this one is not funny because a stroller is an important purchase, and one needs to be totally comfortable about its quality and safety. Plus, we bought this ourselves, it was not a gift. Such idiotic things as this 'manual' just do not inspire much confidence, if you know what I mean.
In the meantime - anyone want to buy a slightly used stroller? Nah, I wouldn't do that to you. I need to convince myself this stroller is okay - else I plan to go and smash it over the head of the smarmy saleswoman at the store - who incidentally also kept referring to Peanut as a boy (apparently, in Mumbai, this is a 'baba' as opposed to a 'baby')
The word 'Bah' comes to mind. And I would like to officially state for the record:
BAH!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Wanna Make Fransip?
I just lurve Orkut.
Why, you may ask. Oh, do, please.
I will tell you anyway.
Well, one of the main reasons is the 'Today's Fortune' message that I get when I log in. Such as:
- 'You will live to a ripe old age'
- ' When winter comes, heaven will rain success on you'
...and, of course, my personal favourite:
-'You and your wife will be very happy in your life together'
I never start my day without consulting Orkut for such useful and practical tips for daily living.
Apart from this, you get to see all sorts of interesting characters, who are out there, baring their souls. My sister swears she has seen one such character's profile, who had entered under his preferred choice of 'Cuisines' -''I have many - mausi ke ladke, mama ke ladkiyan...''- Being a rather generous soul, I am inclined to believe this was just somebody with a unique sense of humour, but my sister rolls her eyes, implying she thinks otherwise from having seen the whole profile.
My good friend Vani was lamenting the strange messages she was getting from various men on the site - until my other good friend Ganju asked me one day 'Who is this Vani friend of yours? She seems very interesting. She has put down that she is married, but also entered Dating as one of her reasons for being on Orkut'. When I suggested to Vani that this might be provide a clue as to why she has been getting propositioned so often, she looked rather confused and slightly embarassed.
Anyway, the point being that there are a lot of fascinatingly strange people out there - such as Vani - who are using Orkut.
Furthermore, Orkut proves that we are clearly a country of good looking, glamorous people. I have personally spotted dozens of men who look exactly like John Abraham and women who look exactly like Aishwarya Rai in their Orkut pictures. I was once tempted to become friends with such a person, who had sent me an invite. Unfortunately, his name on his user profile was something like:
'$-\ _O < ~ Happy Misery'
I had to reluctantly decline his invitation because I was sure that in the event we ever met, I would never be able to pronounce his first name correctly.
The other nice thing about Orkut is that you can demonstrate your feelings about people you admire, by becoming their fan. I have seven fans at last count. How sweet is that! Then I chanced upon my nephew's profile. He has a hundred and four fans.
So if you wanna make fransip with me, you can find me now - on Facebook.
Why, you may ask. Oh, do, please.
I will tell you anyway.
Well, one of the main reasons is the 'Today's Fortune' message that I get when I log in. Such as:
- 'You will live to a ripe old age'
- ' When winter comes, heaven will rain success on you'
...and, of course, my personal favourite:
-'You and your wife will be very happy in your life together'
I never start my day without consulting Orkut for such useful and practical tips for daily living.
Apart from this, you get to see all sorts of interesting characters, who are out there, baring their souls. My sister swears she has seen one such character's profile, who had entered under his preferred choice of 'Cuisines' -''I have many - mausi ke ladke, mama ke ladkiyan...''- Being a rather generous soul, I am inclined to believe this was just somebody with a unique sense of humour, but my sister rolls her eyes, implying she thinks otherwise from having seen the whole profile.
My good friend Vani was lamenting the strange messages she was getting from various men on the site - until my other good friend Ganju asked me one day 'Who is this Vani friend of yours? She seems very interesting. She has put down that she is married, but also entered Dating as one of her reasons for being on Orkut'. When I suggested to Vani that this might be provide a clue as to why she has been getting propositioned so often, she looked rather confused and slightly embarassed.
Anyway, the point being that there are a lot of fascinatingly strange people out there - such as Vani - who are using Orkut.
Furthermore, Orkut proves that we are clearly a country of good looking, glamorous people. I have personally spotted dozens of men who look exactly like John Abraham and women who look exactly like Aishwarya Rai in their Orkut pictures. I was once tempted to become friends with such a person, who had sent me an invite. Unfortunately, his name on his user profile was something like:
'$-\ _O < ~ Happy Misery'
I had to reluctantly decline his invitation because I was sure that in the event we ever met, I would never be able to pronounce his first name correctly.
The other nice thing about Orkut is that you can demonstrate your feelings about people you admire, by becoming their fan. I have seven fans at last count. How sweet is that! Then I chanced upon my nephew's profile. He has a hundred and four fans.
So if you wanna make fransip with me, you can find me now - on Facebook.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Stop The World - I Want to Get Off...
It's always good to keep oneself updated with what's going on in the world around.
So, 30 minutes of the news around 10 p.m. on Wednesday, 25th July, 2007:
*An 'Exclusive Times Now' interview: with little Upasana...
...the 4 year old 'reincarnation' of Kalpana Chawla - who is accompanied by her mother. The plan is to apparently use the professional services of an eminent Dutch Regression Therapist to assess the validity of this claim.
However, since neither Upasana nor her mother speak English or Dutch, and the Dutch man's Hindi is a bit rusty, the interviewer is forced to translate the questions and answers between the three. He has just started questioning the mother about the pregnancy, when little Upasana unfortunately feels the pressure of the situation. She announces into her mother's mike with a child's characteristic frankness 'Mere ko tatti karni hai'. The mother matter-of-factly and rather unnecessarily repeats to the interviewer 'Isko tatti karni hai'. The interview is hastily put on hold - and then there is suddenly just stock footage of earlier interviews of the little girl.
I don't think they eventually came back with the rest of the program, but the stock footage was pretty rewarding. It consisted of many reporters firing questions at the little girl, along with the promise of toffees. She is answering in a completely uninterested, distracted manner after long pauses.
Q: Tum kaise mari thi?
A: ....Mein jahaaz mein mari....
Q: Kaise?
A: ...Baraf ke pahaad se takda gayi thi...
Q: Jahaaz pe kahaan gaye the?
A: ...Chandrama pe...
Q: Wahan kya karne gaye thi?
A: ...Dawaii lene...
Q: Kiski dawaii?
A: (Clearly irritated now, snapping in an 'isn't it obvious' tone) Zukaam ki dawai!
!!!
(Oh lord. Time to change the channel. Unfortunately, land on India TV)
*India TV 'Breaking News' - 'Mount Abu ka Sabse Sahasi Murga!'
An exclusive on the bravest fighter cock in Mt. Abu. The special thing about this magnificient creature fondly called 'Raja', is apparently its fearlessness in the face of danger from larger animals. As the announcer succintly put it 'Aksar murge kutte se dar jaate hai, par yeh sahasi murga kutte se bhi lad leta hai -khaaskar, khaane ke samay'. Indeed, there is video evidence of this -and we see a fairly scrawny looking white murga brawling with a black mongrel over a plate of food. The cock is getting decidedly the worst of the battle, but that's not the point. After all, he is fighting doggedly - and we always root for the underdog anyway. So, let's hear it for the 'Sabse Sahasi Murga'.
Raja - you're my new hero.
(Change of channel -this time to Headlines Today)
*Headlines Today 'Breaking News' - Monica Bedi released from jail!
...And an exclusive interview is being held with her Bua who is eagerly awaiting her arrival home. The interviewer is accusingly asking the Bua about whether she is making Gobi, Alu Mutter or both to welcome Monica home. He is being assured it is all that and much, much more - a proper Punjabi style feast. In other footage, Monica is seen thanking God, the people from her village Hoshiyarpur, the entire state of Punjab, Tollywood and Bollywood ( in no particular order) for the release, the letters, the support and the film offers she is now getting. I just can't wait to see her in the movies!
I decide I can't take much more of this.
( Come on, now - Let us switch to a more sensible channel - aah, CNN IBN)
*CNN IBN - and many other channels by now - are showing in the swearing in of our new President.
Miss 'I-See-Dead-People' Patil has actually done it. She is honoured with the traditional 21-gun salute - but all 21 bullets, as tradition dictates, miss her.
I know, I know - this time, the news channel can't help it.
However - I am defeated. I give up.
But not before accidentally catching a glimpse of another big piece of news - an elephant having been arrested in Andheri police station in Mumbai...
Ooh, ooh - also, a dastardly plot to kill Himesh Reshammiya is revealed - apparently the four 'shooters' who were to carry out this deplorable act auditioned as contestants on Sa Re Ga Ma, where Himesh is one of the judges.
Unfortunately, I mean, fortunately, the assasins were not good enough singers and didn't make it through the auditions. Which just shows the importance of continuous practice. All I can say is, I am just glad no harm has come to our beloved Himesh. I may not like his music, but who can resist his magical, brooding personality?
I think it may be time to relocate to that place I've been eyeing for a while now.
Please write to me at yashodhara@tibetancavewithnotvreception.com.
So, 30 minutes of the news around 10 p.m. on Wednesday, 25th July, 2007:
*An 'Exclusive Times Now' interview: with little Upasana...
...the 4 year old 'reincarnation' of Kalpana Chawla - who is accompanied by her mother. The plan is to apparently use the professional services of an eminent Dutch Regression Therapist to assess the validity of this claim.
However, since neither Upasana nor her mother speak English or Dutch, and the Dutch man's Hindi is a bit rusty, the interviewer is forced to translate the questions and answers between the three. He has just started questioning the mother about the pregnancy, when little Upasana unfortunately feels the pressure of the situation. She announces into her mother's mike with a child's characteristic frankness 'Mere ko tatti karni hai'. The mother matter-of-factly and rather unnecessarily repeats to the interviewer 'Isko tatti karni hai'. The interview is hastily put on hold - and then there is suddenly just stock footage of earlier interviews of the little girl.
I don't think they eventually came back with the rest of the program, but the stock footage was pretty rewarding. It consisted of many reporters firing questions at the little girl, along with the promise of toffees. She is answering in a completely uninterested, distracted manner after long pauses.
Q: Tum kaise mari thi?
A: ....Mein jahaaz mein mari....
Q: Kaise?
A: ...Baraf ke pahaad se takda gayi thi...
Q: Jahaaz pe kahaan gaye the?
A: ...Chandrama pe...
Q: Wahan kya karne gaye thi?
A: ...Dawaii lene...
Q: Kiski dawaii?
A: (Clearly irritated now, snapping in an 'isn't it obvious' tone) Zukaam ki dawai!
!!!
(Oh lord. Time to change the channel. Unfortunately, land on India TV)
*India TV 'Breaking News' - 'Mount Abu ka Sabse Sahasi Murga!'
An exclusive on the bravest fighter cock in Mt. Abu. The special thing about this magnificient creature fondly called 'Raja', is apparently its fearlessness in the face of danger from larger animals. As the announcer succintly put it 'Aksar murge kutte se dar jaate hai, par yeh sahasi murga kutte se bhi lad leta hai -khaaskar, khaane ke samay'. Indeed, there is video evidence of this -and we see a fairly scrawny looking white murga brawling with a black mongrel over a plate of food. The cock is getting decidedly the worst of the battle, but that's not the point. After all, he is fighting doggedly - and we always root for the underdog anyway. So, let's hear it for the 'Sabse Sahasi Murga'.
Raja - you're my new hero.
(Change of channel -this time to Headlines Today)
*Headlines Today 'Breaking News' - Monica Bedi released from jail!
...And an exclusive interview is being held with her Bua who is eagerly awaiting her arrival home. The interviewer is accusingly asking the Bua about whether she is making Gobi, Alu Mutter or both to welcome Monica home. He is being assured it is all that and much, much more - a proper Punjabi style feast. In other footage, Monica is seen thanking God, the people from her village Hoshiyarpur, the entire state of Punjab, Tollywood and Bollywood ( in no particular order) for the release, the letters, the support and the film offers she is now getting. I just can't wait to see her in the movies!
I decide I can't take much more of this.
( Come on, now - Let us switch to a more sensible channel - aah, CNN IBN)
*CNN IBN - and many other channels by now - are showing in the swearing in of our new President.
Miss 'I-See-Dead-People' Patil has actually done it. She is honoured with the traditional 21-gun salute - but all 21 bullets, as tradition dictates, miss her.
I know, I know - this time, the news channel can't help it.
However - I am defeated. I give up.
But not before accidentally catching a glimpse of another big piece of news - an elephant having been arrested in Andheri police station in Mumbai...
Ooh, ooh - also, a dastardly plot to kill Himesh Reshammiya is revealed - apparently the four 'shooters' who were to carry out this deplorable act auditioned as contestants on Sa Re Ga Ma, where Himesh is one of the judges.
Unfortunately, I mean, fortunately, the assasins were not good enough singers and didn't make it through the auditions. Which just shows the importance of continuous practice. All I can say is, I am just glad no harm has come to our beloved Himesh. I may not like his music, but who can resist his magical, brooding personality?
I think it may be time to relocate to that place I've been eyeing for a while now.
Please write to me at yashodhara@tibetancavewithnotvreception.com.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
And 'The Most Amazing Ad Of The Year' Award Goes To...
...Chevrolet, for their 'Incredibly Spacious New Aveo U-Va' ad. (Wild roar of applause)
a. It has two big Bollywood stars to grab your attention from the word 'Go': Saif and Rani. A winning combination with great chemistry. Furthermore, having Tiny Tim and Thumbelina in the story also makes the car look bigger, which is the entire theme of the ad. What an intelligent choice.
b. The Setting: The ad starts with Saif offering Rani a lift and her accepting the same. There is also a mention of 'coffee?' on Saif's part which Rani smiles knowingly at. While to the average TV viewer who, let's face it, is a mere lay observer, this little exchange may appear rather arbitrary. But allow me to elucidate: it is really in synch with a clever marketing ploy we like to call 'campaigning' - maintaining 'continuity' with a previous ad in the campaign (wherein he tries to take her out for coffee and she refuses).Very subtle.
c. The Branding: before Rani gets into the car, Saif mentions the car is not just the Aveo - but the 'new Aveo U-va'. Rani then repeats in loud, wide-eyed wonder 'U-va?'. You may be wondering if she is trying to draw a link to the movie, Yuva that she acted in - but this 'echoing' is being done in order to register the brand name with the unsuspecting viewer. Given how very naturally this is done in the ad, you may not even have noticed this - but believe me, the brand name is now imprinted deep into the recesses of your brain.
Having worked for years in marketing, having watched far too much TV in the last month while on leave, and having had my brain damaged irrevocably as a consequence of both, I believe that I am a person well-qualified to judge this. (Cannes, bah!)
What's that you say, however? You don't agree with this choice? How could you not? What's wrong with you? Just shows how much you know.
This ad has everything, and I mean everything a good ad requires. Just go and ask any friend you have who works in marketing, assuming you are the rare kind who has marketing persons as friends.
Analyzing the myriad virtues of this ad, we may note that:
a. It has two big Bollywood stars to grab your attention from the word 'Go': Saif and Rani. A winning combination with great chemistry. Furthermore, having Tiny Tim and Thumbelina in the story also makes the car look bigger, which is the entire theme of the ad. What an intelligent choice.
b. The Setting: The ad starts with Saif offering Rani a lift and her accepting the same. There is also a mention of 'coffee?' on Saif's part which Rani smiles knowingly at. While to the average TV viewer who, let's face it, is a mere lay observer, this little exchange may appear rather arbitrary. But allow me to elucidate: it is really in synch with a clever marketing ploy we like to call 'campaigning' - maintaining 'continuity' with a previous ad in the campaign (wherein he tries to take her out for coffee and she refuses).Very subtle.c. The Branding: before Rani gets into the car, Saif mentions the car is not just the Aveo - but the 'new Aveo U-va'. Rani then repeats in loud, wide-eyed wonder 'U-va?'. You may be wondering if she is trying to draw a link to the movie, Yuva that she acted in - but this 'echoing' is being done in order to register the brand name with the unsuspecting viewer. Given how very naturally this is done in the ad, you may not even have noticed this - but believe me, the brand name is now imprinted deep into the recesses of your brain.
d. The Clever Twist, that Highlights the Key Message: Clearly, somewhere along the way, the honorable admakers decided this storyline needed some pumpin' up. And therefore, they introduce a third character into the plot - 1 no., giant gorilla, King Kong types, who when we first glimpse him, is busy destroying the city. Now, this brilliant twist in the tale, not only serves the purpose of providing the all-important 'element of surprise', but later, also of reinforcing the major point of how 'incredibly spacious' the car is - because eventually, Mr. Kong forces his butt through the car window, presumably in a bid to make good his escape by driving off in the U-va. All this is a part of a little thing we marketeers - and agency folks -like to call 'creative license'.
e. The Punchy, Memorable Wrap-up: Thankfully, once confronted by above new, aggressive, butt-thrusting character, Saif and Rani have the presence of mind to scream loudly, speedily vacate their precious car, and run to a safe distance (approximately twenty feet away) to observe. And that's when the clincher comes in. Rani makes the whole story crystal clear by exclaiming 'He's trying to get in the car?'. And finally, the 'punchline' comes in with Saif saying in his typical, scratching-head manner 'Hey, I know it's big, but...' His voice trails off, to let you hear the voiceover - 'The incredibly spacious Aveo U-va...'- at this point, you may also hear your own delighted laughter at the cleverness of the whole thing - you then rush out, trampling over your family members in your attempt to get to the nearest Chevrolet showroom, to choose the colour you want in your brand new Aveo U-Va.
___________________
I rest my case.
So, all you judgmental people out there - kindly do not sit there and tell me this Ad isn't the best, most complete advertisement around. I challenge you to find another one that comes even close to this supreme specimen of brilliant marketing in today's world. And non-marketeers? It's about time you appreciated all the time, effort, logic, planning and money that goes behind every 30 second-ad that you choose to ruthlessly zap away with a simple flick of your cruel remote-wielding fingers.
Well? Let's hear what you have to say, then. Which ad beats this one and why? If you decide to do a post about about your 'favourite' ad on your blog, please leave a link.
(Note 1: If you don't hear from me for a while now, please do not assume straightaway that I have done serious harm to myself for being a part of the marketing profession.I may just be busy. Maybe. Maybe not. Dark, Sinister Laugh).
(Note 2: In the unlikely event that you are one of the few who don't quite get the spirit of the post and plan to leave a comment saying you actually 'don't like this ad that much' - please find yourself a good course in 'Basic Sarcasm', before attempting to read this blog again. But do come back then)
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
My Wondrous Nadi Shastra Experience
Unlike all my other posts, this one had me actually thinking about whether to go ahead and write it or not. As you can see, action has won out over abstinence.
There are three reasons for my having dithered over this:
a. It is a sensitive, hotly debated issue with a certain branch of my family.
b. I have no real interest in getting into an argument with the assorted folks out in the blogosphere, who may be staunch and fanatic defenders of this fascinating branch of astrology.
c. This post is a bit of a rant and therefore not really in keeping with the spirit of my blog (making light of life)
So, I start with a pre-emptive note:
a. To the Family Branch: if you ever chance upon this post and this gets your blood boiling - remember how much you love me for my many other sterling qualities, count to ten, and then call me before coming over so that I can leave town.
b. To the other Assorted Folks who believe in Nadi Shastra: Kindly chill out. I'm not here to debate the authenticity of your experience. I'm here to expose the clear sham that my personal experience was.
c. To Myself and the Spirit of my blog: Anything as ridiculous as this experience is still in keeping with the idea of 'making light of life'. Plus, it's my blog and I can and should write whatever I want on it, so there.
Here it goes:
NADI SHASTRA: You can read a glowing description of the same here, in order to get the background. Or, you can read the shamelessly lifted excerpts below, from a succint description by a blogger I found who has posted on the same topic recently - you can read her entire experience here.
From her post:
''....'nadi jolshiyam' or 'astrology that is sought'. Apparently, centuries ago, the period when every village happening was later made into a legend, a Goddess wanted to know about the people who would be born on earth. Her following of saints took up the task and wrote down the life histories of every human being who would ever be born on this earth, each inscribed into a leaf. Wars and natural calamities destroyed a lot of these but about a few hundred years ago, the remaining inscriptions were recovered and translated into a more recent comprehendable Tamil....These little biographies are said to be matched to a person by his/her thumb print and not the date of birth unlike other forms of astrology... even though the saints might have written the futures of thousands of people, each astrologer only has the leaves of those 'destined' to go to him.''
So, anyway, this is how it happened to us:
Vijay and I were living in Bangalore at the time, and the Brother in Law, Ajay, was down from the U.S, staying with us for just the weekend. On Saturday, we got an excited call from two of our family members, who were in Vaitheeswarankoil, near Chidambaram in Tamil Nadu - the place that is the epicentre of all Nadi activity. They had been astounded by their own experience, wherein apparently, the 'palm leaf reader' had, on the basis of their thumb prints and a few basic questions, located their ancient palm leaves on which all of their life details were captured. These two members of our family are highly respected and intelligent people, their euphoria was very catching, and Ajay was most enthusiastic about the possibility of us going there and finding our own leaves. On a complete whim, we decided to drive - overnight -for ten hours, starting at midnight -from Bangalore to Chidambaram to experience this miracle first-hand. I was the most skeptical of the three of us, but decided not to play spoilsport because the trip sounded like it could be a fun adventure - I also think I have had a soft corner for Ajay, ever since the Drinking episode.
So we drove there that night, along a totally unfamiliar route in the pitch dark with our trusty Map of Southern India. Since it was such a long journey, we had each agreed to drive a third of the way - so naturally, Vijay drove for 8 hours at a stretch and the last 2 hours were managed by Ajay and me. The whole thing is a now a complete blur for me because none of us got any sleep. All I remember is we were trying to find our way to 'Vaitheeswarankoil', and Ajay at one point, sleepily rolled down his window to stun and confuse a local by asking him how to get to ' Veera Swamy Kaala' or something similar. We somehow made it there at around 10 a.m. on Sunday . And that's when our adventure truly picked up.
Let me dispense with the description of the holiness of the surroundings - largely because I don't remember anything about it. My head was spinning from the lack of sleep and the heat - but the head spinning cleared up soon enough by what followed. I do recall that the holiness of the surroundings were somewhat marred by the presence of a lot of signs advertising the many nadi-reading centers - we were ushered into one of these for our 'leaves to be found'. The deal was that the astrologer would take our thumb prints and then use those to find the right bundle of palm leaves - and then, ask us a few basic questions to ensure he had found the right leaf. Once he found our leaf, our detailed horoscope would be written up and handed over to us.
Oooh..Exciting!
So anyway- he took our thumb impressions, all right. He then brought out an impressively aged looking bunch of leaves on which there were engravings in a certain dialect of Tamil (I am told) with the details of many people. And then, the astrologer proceeded to flip through these leaves and ask his 'few basic questions', for each of us separately, along the lines of:
(Name)
'Does your name begin with S? T? R? N? A? V? Y?'...Yes, Y!... I was excited. I really wanted my leaf to be found.
'Does your name have two syllables? Three? Four?'...Umm...4....What was this, now?
'Is the first syllable 'Yo..?'...'Ya?'...Okay, fine. It begins with 'Ya'...
...and so, on it went.
Now, 'Ajay' and 'Vijay' were relatively easy names to find. Yashodhara, not so. In fact, I don't think he actually got my name at all - eventually I just blurted it out in frustration when I found he had arrived at a reasonable facsimileAfter all, maybe Ancient Tamil had a different pronunciation of it?! We then moved on to ...
(Date of birth)
'Were you born in the first six months of the calender year'? Yes.
'January?' No..'February? Yes.
'Before 15th?' Yes!
'4th?.. 5th?.. 6th?... 7th?' Yes!!
'1979?...1982? ...1980?' Yes!!!
This was followed by...
(Parent's names)
...In similar agonizing fashion as my name, my parent's names were spelt out.
After having gathered this information but still not having found my actual leaf, the astrologer announced that he would have to go and look for another bunch. So he left the room for a full fifteen minutes to look for this next bunch.
There are three reasons for my having dithered over this:
a. It is a sensitive, hotly debated issue with a certain branch of my family.
b. I have no real interest in getting into an argument with the assorted folks out in the blogosphere, who may be staunch and fanatic defenders of this fascinating branch of astrology.
c. This post is a bit of a rant and therefore not really in keeping with the spirit of my blog (making light of life)
So, I start with a pre-emptive note:
a. To the Family Branch: if you ever chance upon this post and this gets your blood boiling - remember how much you love me for my many other sterling qualities, count to ten, and then call me before coming over so that I can leave town.
b. To the other Assorted Folks who believe in Nadi Shastra: Kindly chill out. I'm not here to debate the authenticity of your experience. I'm here to expose the clear sham that my personal experience was.
c. To Myself and the Spirit of my blog: Anything as ridiculous as this experience is still in keeping with the idea of 'making light of life'. Plus, it's my blog and I can and should write whatever I want on it, so there.
Here it goes:
NADI SHASTRA: You can read a glowing description of the same here, in order to get the background. Or, you can read the shamelessly lifted excerpts below, from a succint description by a blogger I found who has posted on the same topic recently - you can read her entire experience here.
From her post:
''....'nadi jolshiyam' or 'astrology that is sought'. Apparently, centuries ago, the period when every village happening was later made into a legend, a Goddess wanted to know about the people who would be born on earth. Her following of saints took up the task and wrote down the life histories of every human being who would ever be born on this earth, each inscribed into a leaf. Wars and natural calamities destroyed a lot of these but about a few hundred years ago, the remaining inscriptions were recovered and translated into a more recent comprehendable Tamil....These little biographies are said to be matched to a person by his/her thumb print and not the date of birth unlike other forms of astrology... even though the saints might have written the futures of thousands of people, each astrologer only has the leaves of those 'destined' to go to him.''
So, anyway, this is how it happened to us:
Vijay and I were living in Bangalore at the time, and the Brother in Law, Ajay, was down from the U.S, staying with us for just the weekend. On Saturday, we got an excited call from two of our family members, who were in Vaitheeswarankoil, near Chidambaram in Tamil Nadu - the place that is the epicentre of all Nadi activity. They had been astounded by their own experience, wherein apparently, the 'palm leaf reader' had, on the basis of their thumb prints and a few basic questions, located their ancient palm leaves on which all of their life details were captured. These two members of our family are highly respected and intelligent people, their euphoria was very catching, and Ajay was most enthusiastic about the possibility of us going there and finding our own leaves. On a complete whim, we decided to drive - overnight -for ten hours, starting at midnight -from Bangalore to Chidambaram to experience this miracle first-hand. I was the most skeptical of the three of us, but decided not to play spoilsport because the trip sounded like it could be a fun adventure - I also think I have had a soft corner for Ajay, ever since the Drinking episode.
So we drove there that night, along a totally unfamiliar route in the pitch dark with our trusty Map of Southern India. Since it was such a long journey, we had each agreed to drive a third of the way - so naturally, Vijay drove for 8 hours at a stretch and the last 2 hours were managed by Ajay and me. The whole thing is a now a complete blur for me because none of us got any sleep. All I remember is we were trying to find our way to 'Vaitheeswarankoil', and Ajay at one point, sleepily rolled down his window to stun and confuse a local by asking him how to get to ' Veera Swamy Kaala' or something similar. We somehow made it there at around 10 a.m. on Sunday . And that's when our adventure truly picked up.
Let me dispense with the description of the holiness of the surroundings - largely because I don't remember anything about it. My head was spinning from the lack of sleep and the heat - but the head spinning cleared up soon enough by what followed. I do recall that the holiness of the surroundings were somewhat marred by the presence of a lot of signs advertising the many nadi-reading centers - we were ushered into one of these for our 'leaves to be found'. The deal was that the astrologer would take our thumb prints and then use those to find the right bundle of palm leaves - and then, ask us a few basic questions to ensure he had found the right leaf. Once he found our leaf, our detailed horoscope would be written up and handed over to us.
Oooh..Exciting!
So anyway- he took our thumb impressions, all right. He then brought out an impressively aged looking bunch of leaves on which there were engravings in a certain dialect of Tamil (I am told) with the details of many people. And then, the astrologer proceeded to flip through these leaves and ask his 'few basic questions', for each of us separately, along the lines of:
(Name)
'Does your name begin with S? T? R? N? A? V? Y?'...Yes, Y!... I was excited. I really wanted my leaf to be found.
'Does your name have two syllables? Three? Four?'...Umm...4....What was this, now?
'Is the first syllable 'Yo..?'...'Ya?'...Okay, fine. It begins with 'Ya'...
...and so, on it went.
Now, 'Ajay' and 'Vijay' were relatively easy names to find. Yashodhara, not so. In fact, I don't think he actually got my name at all - eventually I just blurted it out in frustration when I found he had arrived at a reasonable facsimileAfter all, maybe Ancient Tamil had a different pronunciation of it?! We then moved on to ...
(Date of birth)
'Were you born in the first six months of the calender year'? Yes.
'January?' No..'February? Yes.
'Before 15th?' Yes!
'4th?.. 5th?.. 6th?... 7th?' Yes!!
'1979?...1982? ...1980?' Yes!!!
This was followed by...
(Parent's names)
...In similar agonizing fashion as my name, my parent's names were spelt out.
After having gathered this information but still not having found my actual leaf, the astrologer announced that he would have to go and look for another bunch. So he left the room for a full fifteen minutes to look for this next bunch.
And sure enough, very soon after he came back, after cursorily checking a few leaves, he had found the leaf which had the above details carved onto it! What a miracle! Thousands of years ago (or in the last fifteen minutes, if you choose to be skeptical), these details had been painstakingly carved into this ancient, yet sturdily preserved palm leaf - I was one of the chosen ones, and destiny had led me here! And now, I was going to get the full details of the rest of my life in the horoscope based on this leaf. What an honour!
And that's when it truly began to hit me. This entire thing is such a brilliant play on our psychology, for a number of reasons:
a. The first thing that you are cautioned about is that you may not be one of the lucky ones destined to find your leaf. Or that it may not be the 'right time' for you to find it. Having travelled all this way to this sacred location for this very purpose, this warning automatically puts a lot of pressure and desire on you to find your leaf. The anticipation levels are really high and you are anxious to supply information about yourself to be as cooperative as possible, as this will assist in locating your leaf. This is why many people don't realize how many questions they are actually being asked in the process - sometimes close to a hundred, I'm sure, depending on degree of difficulty of your details (what thoughtless parents name their kid Yashodhara!)- and they also don't realize how very basic and ridiculous some of these questions are! ( Before 15th or after?..). There's some kind of fervent desire in the air, to truly believe -that hypnotizes you.
b. The 'astrologers' are very, very cleverly trained people. They can make some very impressive guesses about you based on your looks, how you are turned out, who you have come in with, your resemblance to those accompanying you, etc. For example, Ajay and Vijay are clearly brothers - so once the name of Ajay's father was found out, it really didn't take long to find out Vijay's father's name. This is only one of the obvious examples, but there were many other more subtle guesses and tricks along the way, including switching quickly between one line of questioning and another to keep you from figuring things out immediately - This also can cause you to believe that there is 'really something in it'. They are truly masters in this game and also have very sharp memories to remember the details they are gathering in the process - practice makes perfect, I guess.
c. Now, this is a good one: apparently, what is there on your leaf is actually only the details of your name, spouse's name, parent's name and your date of birth. ( Based on this, your full horoscope is then drawn up in detail, outlining exactly what your future will be-as are the details of your past life, in case you're interested. Ajay, incidentally, was Muralidhar of Kerala in his past life. I don't think I bothered to ask who Vijay and I used to be). But the smart thing about this whole deal is that while finding your leaf, the astrologer also throws at you many questions which are unrelated to what is to appear on your leaf (such as your profession, illnesses, financial status, family problems being faced, etc.) - and these details show up in the horoscope that they later write up for you (E.g. you have been suffering from a constant headache since 2001...this problem will get over next year...), making the predictions seem all the more credible and miraculously close to your actual life situation.
d. Finally, it's all rather fool proof, in the end. After all, if they don't get your leaf despite hours of trying - they can just turn around and tell you 'You're not destined to find your leaf..' or 'It's not your time yet...'. So really: it can never fail, can it?
I could go on, but I'm a little tired about this whole thing. In fact, I get tired thinking about how tired we were that Sunday - and how disappointed. We all had to go to work on Monday, and actually hired a driver to take us back to Bangalore overnight.
It happened a while back, but it can still get to me. It gets to me partly because they charge Rs.1400 per person for this beautifully enlightening experience -although in fact, I don't think it's about the money that we spent, but about how they make chumps out of so many, many people, who can probably ill afford it - and also many otherwise intelligent people - whom I should probably try and be fairer to, given that their experiences may be different from mine. But based on this one day, I just see it as a clever, thriving business, playing on the psychology of thousands of believers.
Hey - I don't claim to be a very rational person myself. I don't deny the existence of things like ESP, the possibility of Rebirth, of God or even Ghosts. But I do know that this particular experience felt far from authentic. Perhaps other people have had different experiences, which have been genuinely miraculous. But mine was not so. Clearly, blogger Sandhya's wasn't either.
Anyway: it is good to believe that, as my horoscope said, I will live to the ripe old age of 82, surviving Vijay by two years - he will pop off at 87. What's not so nice is that our two kids, a boy and a girl, will side with him over a rift between the two of us when I am 60 (ungrateful little wretches - turning against your own mother? Just wait till you're actually born!..)- but we will all be happily reunited within a couple of years, so it's okay. That's all I remember from my horoscope.
And, oh - the long life thing seems to be corroborated by my Orkut Horoscope of the day 'You will live to a ripe old age'. (Don't you think that's a bit of a strangely heavy prediction to follow the words 'Today's horoscope'? Never mind, it's a side issue...)
So - any Nadi Believers out there with a vastly different story? Please share, especially if you have personally experienced it. But kindly do not get offended by my version - in other words, don't get your Nadas in a knot.
I promise you all: by the next post I will have calmed down and regained my sense of humour.
And that's when it truly began to hit me. This entire thing is such a brilliant play on our psychology, for a number of reasons:
a. The first thing that you are cautioned about is that you may not be one of the lucky ones destined to find your leaf. Or that it may not be the 'right time' for you to find it. Having travelled all this way to this sacred location for this very purpose, this warning automatically puts a lot of pressure and desire on you to find your leaf. The anticipation levels are really high and you are anxious to supply information about yourself to be as cooperative as possible, as this will assist in locating your leaf. This is why many people don't realize how many questions they are actually being asked in the process - sometimes close to a hundred, I'm sure, depending on degree of difficulty of your details (what thoughtless parents name their kid Yashodhara!)- and they also don't realize how very basic and ridiculous some of these questions are! ( Before 15th or after?..). There's some kind of fervent desire in the air, to truly believe -that hypnotizes you.
b. The 'astrologers' are very, very cleverly trained people. They can make some very impressive guesses about you based on your looks, how you are turned out, who you have come in with, your resemblance to those accompanying you, etc. For example, Ajay and Vijay are clearly brothers - so once the name of Ajay's father was found out, it really didn't take long to find out Vijay's father's name. This is only one of the obvious examples, but there were many other more subtle guesses and tricks along the way, including switching quickly between one line of questioning and another to keep you from figuring things out immediately - This also can cause you to believe that there is 'really something in it'. They are truly masters in this game and also have very sharp memories to remember the details they are gathering in the process - practice makes perfect, I guess.
c. Now, this is a good one: apparently, what is there on your leaf is actually only the details of your name, spouse's name, parent's name and your date of birth. ( Based on this, your full horoscope is then drawn up in detail, outlining exactly what your future will be-as are the details of your past life, in case you're interested. Ajay, incidentally, was Muralidhar of Kerala in his past life. I don't think I bothered to ask who Vijay and I used to be). But the smart thing about this whole deal is that while finding your leaf, the astrologer also throws at you many questions which are unrelated to what is to appear on your leaf (such as your profession, illnesses, financial status, family problems being faced, etc.) - and these details show up in the horoscope that they later write up for you (E.g. you have been suffering from a constant headache since 2001...this problem will get over next year...), making the predictions seem all the more credible and miraculously close to your actual life situation.
d. Finally, it's all rather fool proof, in the end. After all, if they don't get your leaf despite hours of trying - they can just turn around and tell you 'You're not destined to find your leaf..' or 'It's not your time yet...'. So really: it can never fail, can it?
I could go on, but I'm a little tired about this whole thing. In fact, I get tired thinking about how tired we were that Sunday - and how disappointed. We all had to go to work on Monday, and actually hired a driver to take us back to Bangalore overnight.
It happened a while back, but it can still get to me. It gets to me partly because they charge Rs.1400 per person for this beautifully enlightening experience -although in fact, I don't think it's about the money that we spent, but about how they make chumps out of so many, many people, who can probably ill afford it - and also many otherwise intelligent people - whom I should probably try and be fairer to, given that their experiences may be different from mine. But based on this one day, I just see it as a clever, thriving business, playing on the psychology of thousands of believers.
Hey - I don't claim to be a very rational person myself. I don't deny the existence of things like ESP, the possibility of Rebirth, of God or even Ghosts. But I do know that this particular experience felt far from authentic. Perhaps other people have had different experiences, which have been genuinely miraculous. But mine was not so. Clearly, blogger Sandhya's wasn't either.
Anyway: it is good to believe that, as my horoscope said, I will live to the ripe old age of 82, surviving Vijay by two years - he will pop off at 87. What's not so nice is that our two kids, a boy and a girl, will side with him over a rift between the two of us when I am 60 (ungrateful little wretches - turning against your own mother? Just wait till you're actually born!..)- but we will all be happily reunited within a couple of years, so it's okay. That's all I remember from my horoscope.
And, oh - the long life thing seems to be corroborated by my Orkut Horoscope of the day 'You will live to a ripe old age'. (Don't you think that's a bit of a strangely heavy prediction to follow the words 'Today's horoscope'? Never mind, it's a side issue...)
So - any Nadi Believers out there with a vastly different story? Please share, especially if you have personally experienced it. But kindly do not get offended by my version - in other words, don't get your Nadas in a knot.
I promise you all: by the next post I will have calmed down and regained my sense of humour.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Why We Don’t Travel On Air Deccan Anymore
(…as if you really need a reason?)
It was our good ‘friend’ Shome the Troublemaker, who told us a couple of years back, that we should ‘invest’ in the Air Deccan Family Coupon tickets. These were a set of 16 tickets for the long flight sectors, e.g. Bangalore and Delhi types. He told us with great confidence that this is how he was travelling every weekend to Delhi to see his wife, and that it was great. Always quick to get caught up in someone else’s enthusiasm, Vijay and I thought ‘Wow, great deal!’ and immediately purchased the family booklet for long flight sectors – and never ones to do things in half measures, we also bought another coupon booklet of 12 tickets for their ‘short flight sectors’ since we go to Jaipur fairly often from Delhi –a total of 28 tickets, which would be valid for one full year of travel. We spent over Rs.70,000 but it all seemed worth it at the time.
What you have to remember is that these were days when the Kingfisher, Indigo, GoAir, etc. had not really come up in a big way- Air Deccan was pretty much the only low cost option and we figured our already frequent personal travel would become far more frequent with this intelligent purchase. Alas…
I submit, with all the benefit of hindsight, the top 5 reasons why we don’t travel Air Deccan anymore. These are apart from the usual poor service, lack of cleanliness, flight delays, etc – experiences of different people vary here. Anyway, the top 5 are:
#5. They lose luggage with alarming regularity, even pride: We lost our luggage while travelling from Bangalore to Delhi because Air Deccan seemed to think we would be better off with our baggage in Chennai. So off we went, husband and wife in one direction, beloved suitcase in another. We were travelling onwards to Jabalpur later that day and so had to buy new sets of clothes there, and that too, from a Bombay Dyeing showroom, due to lack of time. We look great in the photos on that trip.
Now, these guys do not just do not just lose luggage, they expect to lose it. I remember how once Vijay overheard one Air Deccan guy casually remark to another ‘Aaj to bahut bags ghumenge, yaar’ in an almost satisfied tone, as they both stood observing the chaos around the check in counters.
#4. Their staff is clueless and rude: I still remember trying to talk to the Air Deccan staff member in Delhi about our lost suitcase– he was a haughty young man (why haughty? You work in Air Deccan!) and I really ended up losing it with him. My temper, always quick to flare up, was set off because he was refusing to check the possibility that our suitcase was in Chennai. We knew it had gone to Chennai, because back at the Bangalore airport that day, there had been great confusion, with the Delhi and Chennai flights boarding all together - and we had actually watched our callously thrown suitcase float away on the conveyer built with great trepidation.
Anyway, this rude young man in Delhi informed me with great dignity and broken English ‘Madam. I work in the Dah-li aair-pote. So how I can know about flights taking off from the Bangalore aair-pote to the othha aair-potes…?’ While I started raving to him in my poor Hindi, Shome (who was travelling with us that day, with his luggage intact, I might add) pulled out the Air Deccan flight schedule from his bag with a flourish and waved it under the idiot’s nose. The man didn’t have much to say to that and blubbered something about calling his superior. Anyway. I didn’t actually physically assault the guy, but believe me, I’ve seen quite a few passengers come really close to this state. We eventually recovered our luggage a few days later. Yippee.
#3. Their short sector flights hardly ever seem to take off: Believe me – we tried taking the flight from Delhi to Jaipur and back many times but it just didn't seem to exist. Two days before the scheduled flight, we would get a cheery SMS saying that ‘due to technical reasons, this flight will not be operating two days hence’. Well, if there are technical reasons, why don’t you just use the two days to fix them, we asked the helpline operators. But they just tee-heed and ‘tch-tch’ed and ‘I know, sir’ed with us, in the manner of those who sympathize but are powerless to make a change, being helpless cogs in the wheel. In fact, in some cases, the call centre operator’s tone would suggest that she was the one who deserved sympathy from us - because she was unfortunate enough to be employed by Air Deccan, while we were free to just walk away… (we certainly wouldn’t be flying away any time soon)
The worst part of this entire thing was the story I heard about how when Air Deccan, on one particular day, realized that there were only 5 passengers booked to travel on the flight from Delhi to Jaipur – being the financial wizards that they are, they did some quick mental maths and decided that it would be much more economical to cancel the flight and transport the passengers to their destination – in a Tata Sumo! Now, I don’t know whether this is true or not – I am partly offended that I was never offered this option, and partly relieved that I didn’t have to bash someone’s head in upon being made such an offer.
Actually, that’s not the worst part – the actual worst part is that thanks to this flight-cancelling tendency on Air Deccan’s part, we ended up wasting around 8 of our short sector tickets – that’s around Rs.16,000 or so – which Shome later casually told me we could have gotten refunded if we hadn’t allowed the one year deadline to elapse.
(Note to Vijay: have you noticed we take too much advice from Shome when we really should have buried him long back? I have realized over the last two posts that listening to him proves that we are not a very bright couple).
# 2. Their ‘food’ sucks so much that the airhostesses bring their own dabbas: It’s true. One late night, after a three hour delay, we found ourselves on the flight, with our stomachs growling. We philosophically purchased two moldy sandwiches, a packet of chips and some Frooti-type of drink and were just settling down to this sumptuous, overpriced meal when our nostrils were assaulted with the smell of some truly delicious alu paranthas. We were sitting near the front and craned our necks around the curtain to catch a glimpse of the two airhostesses giggling and sharing their wholesome, home-made full meals, right out of their steel tiffin dabbas. Vijay and I looked at each other, peered wistfully for a while longer through the curtains and then resumed our listless poking at our own sad excuse for food, trying to ignore the tantalizing whiff of the real thing. It was pure torture.
# 1. And the top reason not to travel Air Deccan is….: the attached sign which we saw on one flight. Now, this one would only be an issue for you if you happen to have a baby and coincidentally, to also be the type of parent who happens to love it.
In case the Hindi isn’t clear enough for you to read for any reason, allow me to tell you what the sign says:
‘Kharaab Mausam mein Shishu ko Fold Karke Rakhen’
The Monsters!
So that’s it. Those were my top 5. Our one year period validity of our coupon tickets was over on October 8, 2006 and we have never travelled on this airline since. And though I have seen something on TV a few months back about Air Deccan’s attempt at a complete image makeover, a full relaunch and rehaul, with a focus on making it a fabulous flying experience – it’s going to take more than a few ghastly yellow shirts with equally ghastly slogans about ‘being No. 1’, to get me to try this airline again.
Anyone travelled recently on this airline with a good experience? Come on, shock me!
It was our good ‘friend’ Shome the Troublemaker, who told us a couple of years back, that we should ‘invest’ in the Air Deccan Family Coupon tickets. These were a set of 16 tickets for the long flight sectors, e.g. Bangalore and Delhi types. He told us with great confidence that this is how he was travelling every weekend to Delhi to see his wife, and that it was great. Always quick to get caught up in someone else’s enthusiasm, Vijay and I thought ‘Wow, great deal!’ and immediately purchased the family booklet for long flight sectors – and never ones to do things in half measures, we also bought another coupon booklet of 12 tickets for their ‘short flight sectors’ since we go to Jaipur fairly often from Delhi –a total of 28 tickets, which would be valid for one full year of travel. We spent over Rs.70,000 but it all seemed worth it at the time.
What you have to remember is that these were days when the Kingfisher, Indigo, GoAir, etc. had not really come up in a big way- Air Deccan was pretty much the only low cost option and we figured our already frequent personal travel would become far more frequent with this intelligent purchase. Alas…
I submit, with all the benefit of hindsight, the top 5 reasons why we don’t travel Air Deccan anymore. These are apart from the usual poor service, lack of cleanliness, flight delays, etc – experiences of different people vary here. Anyway, the top 5 are:
#5. They lose luggage with alarming regularity, even pride: We lost our luggage while travelling from Bangalore to Delhi because Air Deccan seemed to think we would be better off with our baggage in Chennai. So off we went, husband and wife in one direction, beloved suitcase in another. We were travelling onwards to Jabalpur later that day and so had to buy new sets of clothes there, and that too, from a Bombay Dyeing showroom, due to lack of time. We look great in the photos on that trip.
Now, these guys do not just do not just lose luggage, they expect to lose it. I remember how once Vijay overheard one Air Deccan guy casually remark to another ‘Aaj to bahut bags ghumenge, yaar’ in an almost satisfied tone, as they both stood observing the chaos around the check in counters.
#4. Their staff is clueless and rude: I still remember trying to talk to the Air Deccan staff member in Delhi about our lost suitcase– he was a haughty young man (why haughty? You work in Air Deccan!) and I really ended up losing it with him. My temper, always quick to flare up, was set off because he was refusing to check the possibility that our suitcase was in Chennai. We knew it had gone to Chennai, because back at the Bangalore airport that day, there had been great confusion, with the Delhi and Chennai flights boarding all together - and we had actually watched our callously thrown suitcase float away on the conveyer built with great trepidation.
Anyway, this rude young man in Delhi informed me with great dignity and broken English ‘Madam. I work in the Dah-li aair-pote. So how I can know about flights taking off from the Bangalore aair-pote to the othha aair-potes…?’ While I started raving to him in my poor Hindi, Shome (who was travelling with us that day, with his luggage intact, I might add) pulled out the Air Deccan flight schedule from his bag with a flourish and waved it under the idiot’s nose. The man didn’t have much to say to that and blubbered something about calling his superior. Anyway. I didn’t actually physically assault the guy, but believe me, I’ve seen quite a few passengers come really close to this state. We eventually recovered our luggage a few days later. Yippee.
#3. Their short sector flights hardly ever seem to take off: Believe me – we tried taking the flight from Delhi to Jaipur and back many times but it just didn't seem to exist. Two days before the scheduled flight, we would get a cheery SMS saying that ‘due to technical reasons, this flight will not be operating two days hence’. Well, if there are technical reasons, why don’t you just use the two days to fix them, we asked the helpline operators. But they just tee-heed and ‘tch-tch’ed and ‘I know, sir’ed with us, in the manner of those who sympathize but are powerless to make a change, being helpless cogs in the wheel. In fact, in some cases, the call centre operator’s tone would suggest that she was the one who deserved sympathy from us - because she was unfortunate enough to be employed by Air Deccan, while we were free to just walk away… (we certainly wouldn’t be flying away any time soon)
The worst part of this entire thing was the story I heard about how when Air Deccan, on one particular day, realized that there were only 5 passengers booked to travel on the flight from Delhi to Jaipur – being the financial wizards that they are, they did some quick mental maths and decided that it would be much more economical to cancel the flight and transport the passengers to their destination – in a Tata Sumo! Now, I don’t know whether this is true or not – I am partly offended that I was never offered this option, and partly relieved that I didn’t have to bash someone’s head in upon being made such an offer.
Actually, that’s not the worst part – the actual worst part is that thanks to this flight-cancelling tendency on Air Deccan’s part, we ended up wasting around 8 of our short sector tickets – that’s around Rs.16,000 or so – which Shome later casually told me we could have gotten refunded if we hadn’t allowed the one year deadline to elapse.
(Note to Vijay: have you noticed we take too much advice from Shome when we really should have buried him long back? I have realized over the last two posts that listening to him proves that we are not a very bright couple).
# 2. Their ‘food’ sucks so much that the airhostesses bring their own dabbas: It’s true. One late night, after a three hour delay, we found ourselves on the flight, with our stomachs growling. We philosophically purchased two moldy sandwiches, a packet of chips and some Frooti-type of drink and were just settling down to this sumptuous, overpriced meal when our nostrils were assaulted with the smell of some truly delicious alu paranthas. We were sitting near the front and craned our necks around the curtain to catch a glimpse of the two airhostesses giggling and sharing their wholesome, home-made full meals, right out of their steel tiffin dabbas. Vijay and I looked at each other, peered wistfully for a while longer through the curtains and then resumed our listless poking at our own sad excuse for food, trying to ignore the tantalizing whiff of the real thing. It was pure torture.
# 1. And the top reason not to travel Air Deccan is….: the attached sign which we saw on one flight. Now, this one would only be an issue for you if you happen to have a baby and coincidentally, to also be the type of parent who happens to love it.
In case the Hindi isn’t clear enough for you to read for any reason, allow me to tell you what the sign says:
‘Kharaab Mausam mein Shishu ko Fold Karke Rakhen’
The Monsters!
So that’s it. Those were my top 5. Our one year period validity of our coupon tickets was over on October 8, 2006 and we have never travelled on this airline since. And though I have seen something on TV a few months back about Air Deccan’s attempt at a complete image makeover, a full relaunch and rehaul, with a focus on making it a fabulous flying experience – it’s going to take more than a few ghastly yellow shirts with equally ghastly slogans about ‘being No. 1’, to get me to try this airline again.
Anyone travelled recently on this airline with a good experience? Come on, shock me!
Friday, June 1, 2007
On Leave
The next few months are going to constitute the longest break that I have taken since…since…I was around five years old. Seriously.
And, it is all rather worrisome.
I am going to be in Delhi for the leave from next week onwards, and so I thought I would spend this week in Mumbai ‘wrapping things up’ – and organize stuff, make a ‘personal work plan’ and generally put in place a good schedule for myself, to minimize wasting time.
So, my daily routine since Monday:
a. Wake up at 5.30 a.m. to encourage the husband to go to the gym. Go back to sleep at 5.32 a.m.
b. Awaken when husband is back from the gym at 8 a.m. Watch him get ready, all bleary eyed (me, not him – he is as fresh as a daisy, all adrenalized from the workout). Fix breakfast ( which means, bringing the plates Zareena has fixed, out from the kitchen to the drawing room)
c. Bid the husband goodbye at 8.30 a.m. Resolve to start my own workout soon.
d. Sleep till 12 noon. Wake up with a heavy head. Call husband and complain about heavy head and how so much of the day has been wasted already.
e. Watch TV till 1 p.m. Have a light lunch, since my workout is soon to follow.
f. Watch more TV till 3.30 p.m. Get a headache from watching TV. Decide to read instead as it is far more productive. Something enlightening like Osho.
g. Read Osho till 4 p.m. and realize that my life is a waste. Get depressed and stop reading.
h. Call and tell husband at 4.15 p.m., explaining that my life is a waste. Ask him to come home early ‘just today, please’.
i. Listlessly fix myself a light snack at 4.30 p.m. since lunch was light (I forget why…). Watch TV for the ‘last time in the day, this is it!’
j. At 5 p.m., switch on the computer and decide to blog. Decide that other people’s blogs look way more interesting today, and spend an hour reading, agreeing, disagreeing and/or mildly scoffing at other people’s strongly expressed views.
k. At 5.30 p.m., decide enough is enough. I must write on my own blog and I must also have strongly expressed views. A lot of people seem to write on issues-based stuff, and all I write on is everyday incidents. Issues, issues…
l. At 5.45 p.m., decide I have no strong views on any issue, since I read only the comics section of the newspapers, and that nothing matters anyway and the world is going down the drain and that Osho said that we must let go, meditate and ‘watch ourselves’ to increase our awareness.
m. Spend the next fifteen minutes watching myself quietly and meditating. Realize I am a fascinating but highly disturbed person, who doesn’t like being watched. Resolve to do this more often, and gradually become a very peaceful, happy, non-demanding being.
n. Since it is now 6 p.m., call up husband to check if he has left office. He has not. Throw a hissy fit until he promises to wrap up and come home soon.
o. Watch TV till 7.45 p.m. till the husband returns. Sulk wordlessly until he fusses over me and cheers me up.
p. Talk about our respective days for an hour (for some reason, he has a bit more to talk about) and give him good and utterly impractical advice on every work and life related issue.
q. At 9 p.m., husband tries to convince me to go for a walk near the sea, and I look aghast at him. It’s dinner time now.
r. Have dinner by 9.30 p.m., and then husband gently suggests a post dinner walk. I look aghast at him. We just ate! What is with the restlessness? Osho says one should be comfortable, just ‘being’.
s. At 10 p.m., he suggests the walk one final time. But I am way too tired by now. Also, it’s almost time for bed.
t. Since I feel terribly hot, put on the AC at level that makes husband shiver and dive for shelter under a warm blanket. Try to get a comfortable hold on him without touching the stupid, stuffy blanket – find that this is impossible. Toss and turn irritably for an hour.
u. At around 11 p.m., finally drift off to sleep in a cranky mood - knowing that tomorrow will be only a minor variation on today.
So now do you understand why I am barely blogging anymore? Because clearly, following my example, my brain has also gone on extended leave. The rest of me is merely decomposing slowly in laziness.
I have also realized why we have jobs. Apart from all the sundry, obvious reasons, it is also because it takes a lot of practice and patience to sit around ‘being’ and not ‘doing’.
But I have got a long time ahead of me to work on it. So Good luck, Delhi – Here I come!
And Mum, Sister and various other friends and relatives in my hometown - now might be a good time to plan your own out-of-town vacations.
And, it is all rather worrisome.
I am going to be in Delhi for the leave from next week onwards, and so I thought I would spend this week in Mumbai ‘wrapping things up’ – and organize stuff, make a ‘personal work plan’ and generally put in place a good schedule for myself, to minimize wasting time.
So, my daily routine since Monday:
a. Wake up at 5.30 a.m. to encourage the husband to go to the gym. Go back to sleep at 5.32 a.m.
b. Awaken when husband is back from the gym at 8 a.m. Watch him get ready, all bleary eyed (me, not him – he is as fresh as a daisy, all adrenalized from the workout). Fix breakfast ( which means, bringing the plates Zareena has fixed, out from the kitchen to the drawing room)
c. Bid the husband goodbye at 8.30 a.m. Resolve to start my own workout soon.
d. Sleep till 12 noon. Wake up with a heavy head. Call husband and complain about heavy head and how so much of the day has been wasted already.
e. Watch TV till 1 p.m. Have a light lunch, since my workout is soon to follow.
f. Watch more TV till 3.30 p.m. Get a headache from watching TV. Decide to read instead as it is far more productive. Something enlightening like Osho.
g. Read Osho till 4 p.m. and realize that my life is a waste. Get depressed and stop reading.
h. Call and tell husband at 4.15 p.m., explaining that my life is a waste. Ask him to come home early ‘just today, please’.
i. Listlessly fix myself a light snack at 4.30 p.m. since lunch was light (I forget why…). Watch TV for the ‘last time in the day, this is it!’
j. At 5 p.m., switch on the computer and decide to blog. Decide that other people’s blogs look way more interesting today, and spend an hour reading, agreeing, disagreeing and/or mildly scoffing at other people’s strongly expressed views.
k. At 5.30 p.m., decide enough is enough. I must write on my own blog and I must also have strongly expressed views. A lot of people seem to write on issues-based stuff, and all I write on is everyday incidents. Issues, issues…
l. At 5.45 p.m., decide I have no strong views on any issue, since I read only the comics section of the newspapers, and that nothing matters anyway and the world is going down the drain and that Osho said that we must let go, meditate and ‘watch ourselves’ to increase our awareness.
m. Spend the next fifteen minutes watching myself quietly and meditating. Realize I am a fascinating but highly disturbed person, who doesn’t like being watched. Resolve to do this more often, and gradually become a very peaceful, happy, non-demanding being.
n. Since it is now 6 p.m., call up husband to check if he has left office. He has not. Throw a hissy fit until he promises to wrap up and come home soon.
o. Watch TV till 7.45 p.m. till the husband returns. Sulk wordlessly until he fusses over me and cheers me up.
p. Talk about our respective days for an hour (for some reason, he has a bit more to talk about) and give him good and utterly impractical advice on every work and life related issue.
q. At 9 p.m., husband tries to convince me to go for a walk near the sea, and I look aghast at him. It’s dinner time now.
r. Have dinner by 9.30 p.m., and then husband gently suggests a post dinner walk. I look aghast at him. We just ate! What is with the restlessness? Osho says one should be comfortable, just ‘being’.
s. At 10 p.m., he suggests the walk one final time. But I am way too tired by now. Also, it’s almost time for bed.
t. Since I feel terribly hot, put on the AC at level that makes husband shiver and dive for shelter under a warm blanket. Try to get a comfortable hold on him without touching the stupid, stuffy blanket – find that this is impossible. Toss and turn irritably for an hour.
u. At around 11 p.m., finally drift off to sleep in a cranky mood - knowing that tomorrow will be only a minor variation on today.
So now do you understand why I am barely blogging anymore? Because clearly, following my example, my brain has also gone on extended leave. The rest of me is merely decomposing slowly in laziness.
I have also realized why we have jobs. Apart from all the sundry, obvious reasons, it is also because it takes a lot of practice and patience to sit around ‘being’ and not ‘doing’.
But I have got a long time ahead of me to work on it. So Good luck, Delhi – Here I come!
And Mum, Sister and various other friends and relatives in my hometown - now might be a good time to plan your own out-of-town vacations.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Can you please not shake the hall?
It is not often that I go out for movies with my friends.
And yesterday reminded me why.
After a hard day at work ( well...), we felt we deserved a little recreational entertainment. So a bunch of us decided to go for the movie 'Eklavya'.
The movie goers, in no particular order of insanity:
- Harman: Long haired girl from Chandigarh. Bubbles over continuously with unnecessary enthusiasm. Architect of the movie plan.
- Vani: Strange Indian Girl referred to in earlier posts. Possessor of most clear and penetrating voice in the world.
- Atul: Harassed, mild mannered young man. Always surrounded by powerful women and girl trainees.
- Ruchika: Girl trainee of Atul. In terms of whiny-voice-quotient, beats even Vani.
- My husband: Yet another hapless victim who got pulled along.
- Me: The heroine of the story and all-round good-gal - because I get to write it.
So off we went - Vani, my husband and I went ahead to buy the tickets, and the remaining three promised to follow in ten minutes - which stretched to twenty and caused us to miss many trailers.
Vani and I, offended, bombarded Atul with phone calls and abusive SMS's continuously.
Unbeknownst ( I love that word!) to us, Atul had been accosted, while leaving, by the Head of Sales, and was getting screamed at (What you need to understand about Atul is that it's not just the women that harass him).
Sales Head: Atul! What's happening? Sales are down, shares are down, why is this happening? What's going on? What are you doing about it? I need an immediate review of performance across categories, as well as the correction plans for the next three months. This is apalling performance and I am just not seeing enough accountability amongst the individuals in this system. Well?
Atul (desperately trying to hide buzzing phone behind his back): Uhhh...Boss! I'll talk to you tomorrow, I have to go for a movie now.
Somehow, they made it to the hall after the movie had started. And that's when the real fun began.
I was absorbed in the storyline and wondering how Amitabh can still run up stairs so fast at his age, when the other three landed up, disturbing as many people as humanly possible. They then insisted on saying Hi to each of us individually and demanded to be filled in on the story so far.
Vani obliged penetratingly, getting most of the facts wrong and leaving out the crux of the story. I gritted my teeth and kept watching.
We discovered that the new entity Ruchika, (Atul's trainee) was a talkative young woman who in fact, looked upon this little outing as a chance to socialize rather than merely paying attention to a screen. Every two minutes, there would be a comment from her in a whiny voice, which Vani would happily respond to and take to a full length conversation.
Ruchika was then admonished by the women in the seats in front of us - 'Can you please not shake your legs, my seat is shaking'. Ruchika was naturally aghast at this unfair accusation and retorted 'But the entire hall is shaking. I am not shaking the hall' and then proceeded to loudly protest her innocence every few minutes, and Vani staunchly supported her 'Of course, you were not shaking your legs - the whole hall is shaking. My seat is also shaking'. What Vani didn't realise was that at least her shaking seat was due to my sitting next to her with hands quivering with the desire to strangle the both of them.
It continued, with every tense and important scene punctuated by giggles ( at the emotional scenes), gasps of surprise (minutes after the relevant scene) and inane comments (evenly spread across scenes) from my female companions. At the interval, I cooled off in a corner with a Mangola and was restored to blissful hope that the second half would be better.
This hope was ruined around five minutes after the second half began. I was nervously sipping my drink and watching Amitabh's splendid display of distraught anger as the most key revelation of the movie was made. But the excitement of this scene seemed to make Harman, sitting at the very furthest end of the chain from me, thirsty - because she suddenly shouted in a moment of dead silence 'Hey! Thoda Mangola baccha hai kya?'. I heard her and tried to ignore it and concentrate on the scene, but this was rendered impossible by the fact that this question was then repeated equally loudly by Ruchika, and then by Vani, who turned to face me inquiringly, almost accusingly. I thrust the blasted drink into her hand, and it was passed along to thirsty Harman, who slurped it noisily, shouted 'Thanks'. The bottle ( now left with two drops in it) was then passed back along the group, accompanied by two loudly whispered explanations of 'Mangola'.
The scene was over. I sighed and settled back to more of the same. The second half was as disastrous as the first. A good movie had been ruined. And then we went home.
This experience has placed me in bit of a thoughtful dilemma. I have often gone for movies when other people have been insensitive, loud and brash. In typical style, I have never had a problem with indignantly and righteously telling them where to go. But it's never actually been my own friends who I have wanted to murder.
So perhaps I am taking movie-watching too literally as 'watching the movie'. Maybe it's not about that. Maybe it's about obtaining the DVD first, watching it alone in the peace and quiet of your own home, and then proceeding to the hall in order to loudly exclaim important dialogues a split second before the actors, or chat with your friends, and generally make a nuisance of yourself.
Yes, maybe it's time for me to adjust to a new way of experiencing movies in the hall. In the meantime, the idiot box has begun to look pretty attractive again. So it may be quite a while before I go for the next movie. But probably even longer before I drink a Mangola again.
And yesterday reminded me why.
After a hard day at work ( well...), we felt we deserved a little recreational entertainment. So a bunch of us decided to go for the movie 'Eklavya'.
The movie goers, in no particular order of insanity:
- Harman: Long haired girl from Chandigarh. Bubbles over continuously with unnecessary enthusiasm. Architect of the movie plan.
- Vani: Strange Indian Girl referred to in earlier posts. Possessor of most clear and penetrating voice in the world.
- Atul: Harassed, mild mannered young man. Always surrounded by powerful women and girl trainees.
- Ruchika: Girl trainee of Atul. In terms of whiny-voice-quotient, beats even Vani.
- My husband: Yet another hapless victim who got pulled along.
- Me: The heroine of the story and all-round good-gal - because I get to write it.
So off we went - Vani, my husband and I went ahead to buy the tickets, and the remaining three promised to follow in ten minutes - which stretched to twenty and caused us to miss many trailers.
Vani and I, offended, bombarded Atul with phone calls and abusive SMS's continuously.
Unbeknownst ( I love that word!) to us, Atul had been accosted, while leaving, by the Head of Sales, and was getting screamed at (What you need to understand about Atul is that it's not just the women that harass him).
Sales Head: Atul! What's happening? Sales are down, shares are down, why is this happening? What's going on? What are you doing about it? I need an immediate review of performance across categories, as well as the correction plans for the next three months. This is apalling performance and I am just not seeing enough accountability amongst the individuals in this system. Well?
Atul (desperately trying to hide buzzing phone behind his back): Uhhh...Boss! I'll talk to you tomorrow, I have to go for a movie now.
Somehow, they made it to the hall after the movie had started. And that's when the real fun began.
I was absorbed in the storyline and wondering how Amitabh can still run up stairs so fast at his age, when the other three landed up, disturbing as many people as humanly possible. They then insisted on saying Hi to each of us individually and demanded to be filled in on the story so far.
Vani obliged penetratingly, getting most of the facts wrong and leaving out the crux of the story. I gritted my teeth and kept watching.
We discovered that the new entity Ruchika, (Atul's trainee) was a talkative young woman who in fact, looked upon this little outing as a chance to socialize rather than merely paying attention to a screen. Every two minutes, there would be a comment from her in a whiny voice, which Vani would happily respond to and take to a full length conversation.
Ruchika was then admonished by the women in the seats in front of us - 'Can you please not shake your legs, my seat is shaking'. Ruchika was naturally aghast at this unfair accusation and retorted 'But the entire hall is shaking. I am not shaking the hall' and then proceeded to loudly protest her innocence every few minutes, and Vani staunchly supported her 'Of course, you were not shaking your legs - the whole hall is shaking. My seat is also shaking'. What Vani didn't realise was that at least her shaking seat was due to my sitting next to her with hands quivering with the desire to strangle the both of them.
It continued, with every tense and important scene punctuated by giggles ( at the emotional scenes), gasps of surprise (minutes after the relevant scene) and inane comments (evenly spread across scenes) from my female companions. At the interval, I cooled off in a corner with a Mangola and was restored to blissful hope that the second half would be better.
This hope was ruined around five minutes after the second half began. I was nervously sipping my drink and watching Amitabh's splendid display of distraught anger as the most key revelation of the movie was made. But the excitement of this scene seemed to make Harman, sitting at the very furthest end of the chain from me, thirsty - because she suddenly shouted in a moment of dead silence 'Hey! Thoda Mangola baccha hai kya?'. I heard her and tried to ignore it and concentrate on the scene, but this was rendered impossible by the fact that this question was then repeated equally loudly by Ruchika, and then by Vani, who turned to face me inquiringly, almost accusingly. I thrust the blasted drink into her hand, and it was passed along to thirsty Harman, who slurped it noisily, shouted 'Thanks'. The bottle ( now left with two drops in it) was then passed back along the group, accompanied by two loudly whispered explanations of 'Mangola'.
The scene was over. I sighed and settled back to more of the same. The second half was as disastrous as the first. A good movie had been ruined. And then we went home.
This experience has placed me in bit of a thoughtful dilemma. I have often gone for movies when other people have been insensitive, loud and brash. In typical style, I have never had a problem with indignantly and righteously telling them where to go. But it's never actually been my own friends who I have wanted to murder.
So perhaps I am taking movie-watching too literally as 'watching the movie'. Maybe it's not about that. Maybe it's about obtaining the DVD first, watching it alone in the peace and quiet of your own home, and then proceeding to the hall in order to loudly exclaim important dialogues a split second before the actors, or chat with your friends, and generally make a nuisance of yourself.
Yes, maybe it's time for me to adjust to a new way of experiencing movies in the hall. In the meantime, the idiot box has begun to look pretty attractive again. So it may be quite a while before I go for the next movie. But probably even longer before I drink a Mangola again.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
The Idiot Box: Understatement of the Century
No, seriously. The more I watch, the stupider I get. I can feel it happening. I can literally feel the grey cells disintegrating.
But it's so difficult to stop...the easiest thing in the world after you come home from work is to plonk onto your comfortable blue sofa, which, by now, has a gentle, comforting concave indentation in the exact shape of your bottom, and switch on the TV and wait expectantly for your life to become Jinga-la-la..
TV just has to stop for me, though. And these are some of the reasons why:
a. I know who won the Roadies on MTV. I watched the finals.
(SOB! All right! I lied! I watched the finals TWICE!)
b. I derive great pleasure from watching deluded Americans get rejected on American Idol.
(Psychotic wannabe introducing himself to judges (American Drawl): I'm like a singer..dancer..superstar..
Simon (clipped English accent): Hang on a minute they-ah. I can undah-stand you saying you're a singer and dancer. But how can you call youself a superstah?
Psycho: Oh, you can ask anyone...mah friends...mah family...one of mah therapists...
Simon: Hang on, hang on. Just how many therapists do you have?
Psycho (unconcerned about the impression he's making): I have, like, two..
Needless to say, he was rejected within .3 seconds of starting his 'song')
c. I have watched the Friends reruns so many times that I laugh before the joke is made.
And sometimes, I don't laugh at all..but still continue to stare at the TV blankly. I just can't switch it off! It's not an option!
d. I sat and waited one Monday at 9 p.m. to watch the first episode of KBC 3 on Star Plus
And then actually discussed with other people the next day as to how Shah Rukh had performed..Ewwwww...
e. I watched 'America's Next Top model' for six continuous episodes (and even saw 'I wanna Be a Soapstar' twice)
I knew the model's NAMES. Their NAMES! Brittany..Tiffany...Blasphemy!!
f. I watched one episode of Big Boss.
There was some girl on the show called Rupali, who actually made Rakhi Sawant look tolerable. Are you hearing me? I just called Rakhi Sawant TOLERABLE in comparison to someone.
And I saw Rahul Roy on TV! After 10 years! And I know he WON!
You'd think that Big Boss was the lowest I have sunk to. But NOO...for, do not forget, while I am watching these shows, I am also exposed to around a thousand ads per day. And as a marketeer, I KNOW how damaging that can be to the brain.
I Hate TV. I Hate Tata Sky. I Hate Life Jinga-la-la. I am going to read a book tonight. That's it. I'm serious. No, seriously, I am. No wise-crack ending to this post. No, SIR. Sorry to disappoint you.
And it's going to be a good book, too.
And I suggest you also read something worthwhile instead of this blog. (Now, that , you know, I don't mean).
But it's so difficult to stop...the easiest thing in the world after you come home from work is to plonk onto your comfortable blue sofa, which, by now, has a gentle, comforting concave indentation in the exact shape of your bottom, and switch on the TV and wait expectantly for your life to become Jinga-la-la..
TV just has to stop for me, though. And these are some of the reasons why:
a. I know who won the Roadies on MTV. I watched the finals.
(SOB! All right! I lied! I watched the finals TWICE!)
b. I derive great pleasure from watching deluded Americans get rejected on American Idol.
(Psychotic wannabe introducing himself to judges (American Drawl): I'm like a singer..dancer..superstar..
Simon (clipped English accent): Hang on a minute they-ah. I can undah-stand you saying you're a singer and dancer. But how can you call youself a superstah?
Psycho: Oh, you can ask anyone...mah friends...mah family...one of mah therapists...
Simon: Hang on, hang on. Just how many therapists do you have?
Psycho (unconcerned about the impression he's making): I have, like, two..
Needless to say, he was rejected within .3 seconds of starting his 'song')
c. I have watched the Friends reruns so many times that I laugh before the joke is made.
And sometimes, I don't laugh at all..but still continue to stare at the TV blankly. I just can't switch it off! It's not an option!
d. I sat and waited one Monday at 9 p.m. to watch the first episode of KBC 3 on Star Plus
And then actually discussed with other people the next day as to how Shah Rukh had performed..Ewwwww...
e. I watched 'America's Next Top model' for six continuous episodes (and even saw 'I wanna Be a Soapstar' twice)
I knew the model's NAMES. Their NAMES! Brittany..Tiffany...Blasphemy!!
f. I watched one episode of Big Boss.
There was some girl on the show called Rupali, who actually made Rakhi Sawant look tolerable. Are you hearing me? I just called Rakhi Sawant TOLERABLE in comparison to someone.
And I saw Rahul Roy on TV! After 10 years! And I know he WON!
You'd think that Big Boss was the lowest I have sunk to. But NOO...for, do not forget, while I am watching these shows, I am also exposed to around a thousand ads per day. And as a marketeer, I KNOW how damaging that can be to the brain.
I Hate TV. I Hate Tata Sky. I Hate Life Jinga-la-la. I am going to read a book tonight. That's it. I'm serious. No, seriously, I am. No wise-crack ending to this post. No, SIR. Sorry to disappoint you.
And it's going to be a good book, too.
And I suggest you also read something worthwhile instead of this blog. (Now, that , you know, I don't mean).
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Notice anything different?
In a woman's life, her hair is extremely important. A good hair day unleashes a world of possibilities. A bad hair day means 'let's stay at home - preferably wearing a hat'. Compliments about her hair make her glow and blush - she feels two inches taller when her hair looks great - and small changes in her hair make a world of difference to her mood.
To a man, or at least, the men I met when I was growing up ( meaning, till yesterday), their view on hair can be summarized as 'Mine is short and I like it that way. Your hair is long and I like it that way. I will get my hair cut every month. You don't ever cut yours, though. Okay?'
My hair is mid length and dark brown with an annoying wave. My hair experimentation started in college a few years back - I colored it 'Dark Copper' and it became a strange shade of Red, I was called 'Lal-baal' for a year. But that's after I pointed out the change to my male friends. My female friends had picked up the change immediately and squealed with delight; my male friends took a long hard look and said 'But it was always this color, no? Brown only.'
A year later, as my hair grew out, I got annoyed with the half brown-half red effect and decided to color it all Deep Black. Again, my female friends and associates all exclaimed how different and nice and elegant it was looking. My male friends took a long hard look and said 'But it was always this color, no? Black only.'
The next year, I thought, enough of coloring, let's just straighten out this messy wave and go for Rebonding (Straightening, for the men reading this) . I happened to be in China at the time and found a street parlor which did a fabulous job for pretty cheap - unfortunately because they weren't used to the strange behaviour of Indian hair, they had to keep their shop open for an extra two hours to do just my hair through repeated applications of their products. The result was great, I loved it; My female friends went 'Wow!'. My male friends said 'Huh? You paid Rs. 2 thousand? For what, yaar? Your hair looks the same. Straight only.'
The really annoying part came a year later. After I got tired of the super-straight look and decided it was time to go back to the original natural, wavy look that I had grown up with -I painstakingly grew it all out and then chopped off the straight bits. It took a while, but I was finally happy and felt like my old self again. My female friends appreciated it; and my male friends said 'Hey! What happened to your hair? It was NEVER like this! Why's it all curly and stuff?'
I later figured I needed some style quotient to go with the natural look. What better than highlighting this time? I argued with my stylist about red streaks but he insisted that those were were darker skin tones than mine and I could 'carry off' blonde highlights well. I grumbled and mumbled 'But who wants to, anyway', but he had mixed the colors and started already, with the casual disregard for the customer that is the hallmark of any successful stylist.
The effect was reasonably striking. My female colleagues said it was very trendy and cool. But my husband looked at me with a mixture of fear and awe - pretended to like them at first and then later blurted out that in a certain light, 'They look almost white' and make me look 'older'. He has been unsuccesfully trying to back-track on the statement ever since but the damage was done. It's only my prior experience with the boorish nature of men when it comes to hair that led me to take the remark good-naturedly (Well, we're at least still married, aren't we? Let's not push it).
However, I was pleasantly surprised to find that one of my friends, Gaurav, had evolved into a metrosexual male. He spotted me across the road while waiting for me in a Taxi. He immediately picked up on the latest set of changes and said 'Hey, Lal! It's looking super cool, yaar! Where did you get it done?'. He liked the highlights, he liked the waviness, he liked the shorter cut. But it was later, when he was deeply engrossed in saying 'You know, I have finally found the perfect conditioner that doesn't make my hair feel all stripped off moisture after a shampoo', that I began to have my doubts.
This just wasn't right. A guy was supposed to look dumbly around and say 'Huh? Your hair looks the same. I don't know why you waste your money. I get my hair cut for Rs. 30'. And a part of me actually preferred it that way. At least, they were being their stupid, honest selves -clearly, the females had been lying all along, and I always knew that too. I began to look at Gaurav askance - he was the aberration - it's just that it was strangely disconcerting to hear him speak passionately about a conditioner and I just didn't like it. Let the men be men and let the women be women, I say.
Just to let you know, I usually dislike stereotypes, but I think they just make life more comfortable. Or perhaps, to end with another stereotype- maybe women are just never satisfied....
Or possibly, it's just me.
To a man, or at least, the men I met when I was growing up ( meaning, till yesterday), their view on hair can be summarized as 'Mine is short and I like it that way. Your hair is long and I like it that way. I will get my hair cut every month. You don't ever cut yours, though. Okay?'
My hair is mid length and dark brown with an annoying wave. My hair experimentation started in college a few years back - I colored it 'Dark Copper' and it became a strange shade of Red, I was called 'Lal-baal' for a year. But that's after I pointed out the change to my male friends. My female friends had picked up the change immediately and squealed with delight; my male friends took a long hard look and said 'But it was always this color, no? Brown only.'
A year later, as my hair grew out, I got annoyed with the half brown-half red effect and decided to color it all Deep Black. Again, my female friends and associates all exclaimed how different and nice and elegant it was looking. My male friends took a long hard look and said 'But it was always this color, no? Black only.'
The next year, I thought, enough of coloring, let's just straighten out this messy wave and go for Rebonding (Straightening, for the men reading this) . I happened to be in China at the time and found a street parlor which did a fabulous job for pretty cheap - unfortunately because they weren't used to the strange behaviour of Indian hair, they had to keep their shop open for an extra two hours to do just my hair through repeated applications of their products. The result was great, I loved it; My female friends went 'Wow!'. My male friends said 'Huh? You paid Rs. 2 thousand? For what, yaar? Your hair looks the same. Straight only.'
The really annoying part came a year later. After I got tired of the super-straight look and decided it was time to go back to the original natural, wavy look that I had grown up with -I painstakingly grew it all out and then chopped off the straight bits. It took a while, but I was finally happy and felt like my old self again. My female friends appreciated it; and my male friends said 'Hey! What happened to your hair? It was NEVER like this! Why's it all curly and stuff?'
I later figured I needed some style quotient to go with the natural look. What better than highlighting this time? I argued with my stylist about red streaks but he insisted that those were were darker skin tones than mine and I could 'carry off' blonde highlights well. I grumbled and mumbled 'But who wants to, anyway', but he had mixed the colors and started already, with the casual disregard for the customer that is the hallmark of any successful stylist.
The effect was reasonably striking. My female colleagues said it was very trendy and cool. But my husband looked at me with a mixture of fear and awe - pretended to like them at first and then later blurted out that in a certain light, 'They look almost white' and make me look 'older'. He has been unsuccesfully trying to back-track on the statement ever since but the damage was done. It's only my prior experience with the boorish nature of men when it comes to hair that led me to take the remark good-naturedly (Well, we're at least still married, aren't we? Let's not push it).
However, I was pleasantly surprised to find that one of my friends, Gaurav, had evolved into a metrosexual male. He spotted me across the road while waiting for me in a Taxi. He immediately picked up on the latest set of changes and said 'Hey, Lal! It's looking super cool, yaar! Where did you get it done?'. He liked the highlights, he liked the waviness, he liked the shorter cut. But it was later, when he was deeply engrossed in saying 'You know, I have finally found the perfect conditioner that doesn't make my hair feel all stripped off moisture after a shampoo', that I began to have my doubts.
This just wasn't right. A guy was supposed to look dumbly around and say 'Huh? Your hair looks the same. I don't know why you waste your money. I get my hair cut for Rs. 30'. And a part of me actually preferred it that way. At least, they were being their stupid, honest selves -clearly, the females had been lying all along, and I always knew that too. I began to look at Gaurav askance - he was the aberration - it's just that it was strangely disconcerting to hear him speak passionately about a conditioner and I just didn't like it. Let the men be men and let the women be women, I say.
Just to let you know, I usually dislike stereotypes, but I think they just make life more comfortable. Or perhaps, to end with another stereotype- maybe women are just never satisfied....
Or possibly, it's just me.
Friday, January 5, 2007
It All Began with Nursery Rhymes
Remember when we were but little children? Going to school in our cute little uniforms? Ah, those were the days...
Or were they? Were they perhaps, instead, when the evil was seeded?
After all, was this not the exact time when our young, impressionable minds were bent out of shape through the well-disguised evil of: Nursery Rhymes.
Oh, yes. Have you ever really thought about it?
'Rock a bye, Baby,
On the Tree Top,
When the wind blows,
The cradle will Rock,
When the Bough breaks,
The cradle will Fall
And Down will come Baby
Cradle, and all'.
Hellooo? Has anybody noticed they are talking about babies falling from tree tops? What kind of a mother would put the baby on the tree top anyway? What's the point? Is it a poorly disguised threat?
'If you're a bad baby, I will put you on the tree top ....ha ha ha ha ha ha (diabolical laughter)'.
This rhyme disturbed me a lot in my formative years. But then there was the short but ominous:
Jack, be Nimble
Jack, be Quick
Jack, Jump over
The Candlestick.
Why? Why should Jack be asked to jump over a candlestick? How tall was the candlestick in relation to Jack? Why would anyone want an innocent little boy to undertake such a dangerous task? There is an implicit 'Or' at the end of this rhyme. Jump over the Candlestick...OR...an equally dangerous torture task will be assigned to you, perhaps even less pleasant. And was this the same Jack, who was also Little Jack Horner, who sat in a corner? Was he put in the corner because he didn't jump properly over the candlestick?
It goes:
Little Jack Horner, Sat in a corner,
Eating a mincemeat pie.
He stuck in his thumb, And pulled out a plum,
And said, "What a good boy am I!"
Apparently, if Jack was being punished, he didn't know it - he thought he was a good boy. But he was obviously dumb - just like the load of us, who unthinkingly and unquestioningly chanted these nursery rhymes. Can you imagine having a plum put in your mincemeat pie? And eating it with your thumb because you weren't even given a spoon? Yuckk! These characters were so ill-treated, and didn't even know it.
Jack in particularly, was a victim throughout his life. Leave us not forget:
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill...etc.
He broke his crown that time! And just because we thought as kids that his 'crown' meant he was a prince, and probably spoilt and would anyway get another crown to replace the one he broke on the hill, this doesn't take away from the fact that the Crown in question was actually a part of his head! Such violence!
Might as well make us all watch Bart Simpson's antics from the age of 2. Anyway, Jack got what was coming to him in later life. He was quite Jacked, so to speak.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean,
And so betwixt the two of them
They licked the platter clean
So, Jack was obviously a poor, thin guy with a dominating fat, wife who sat on him, and made him change his name from Horner to Sprat; and they were so poor they had to lick the platter clean.
Jack met his end in Nursery Rhymes with a really passive mention in the never ending 'This is the house that Jack built'. There is no personal mention of Jack in this rhyme apart from the fact that he built a house. He obviously had no personality, no sense of self, after a clearly traumatic childhood.
I know I should stop now, but I'm really in the flow.
So , guys, guys, remember Little Miss Muffet, who sat on a Tuffet? What's a Tuffet, you wonder today, but did you think to ask when you were three? A tuffet is a low stool, which housed the bum of Little Miss Muffet, who was eating Curds and Whey ( I don't care what Whey is, okay?), before this really nasty, icky, large spider came and grossed her out, causing her to flee the scene - and in all probability, subsequently lose her lunch of Curds and Whey.
Why did they do this to us? Why? We were disappointed enough to learn about London Bridge falling down, and also that poor, unfortunate Little Bo Peep had lost her sheep. But the ultimate in creepy rhymes was the story of poor demented Mother Hubbard, and her pschyo Dog. Check this horror out, in case you've forgotten:
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor dog a bone;
But when she came there
The cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none.
(Till now, you feel sorry for both M.Hubb and Dog)
She took a clean dish
To get him some tripe;
But when she came back
He was smoking a pipe.
She went to the grocer's
To buy him some fruit;
But when she came back
He was playing the flute.
(You're like: Dog, what the hell are you doing to that old lady? Stop playing with her mind!)
She went to the baker's
To buy him some bread;
But when she came back
The poor dog was dead.
(You gasp sorrowfully! You had misjudged the poor dog! Never speak ill of the dead)
She went to the undertaker's
To buy him a coffin;
But when she came back
The poor dog was laughing.
(By now, you're like: Hey, you dog! What's your game? Leave that old lady alone..)
She went to the hatter's
To buy him a hat;
But when she came back
He was feeding the cat.
The dame made a curtsey,
The dog made a bow;
The dame said, "Your servant."
The dog said, "Bow wow!"
(So now, you're like: Screw the lady, screw the dog, where did the bloody cat come from anyway? They're all nuts!!).
Now, I know I'm taking this too far, but what the heck! How can I not mention the Three Blind Mice and the sadistic Farmer's wife?
Three blind mice,
See how they run!
They all ran after a farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife.
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice?
Am I supposed to be delighted by this gory picture? Is it supposed to help me sleep better at night? I think NOT.
You think I'm imagining this, folks? Let me now tell you the mother of all conspiracies.
When you are small, they teach you the following three, seemingly innocuous and unconnected rhymes - We've all learnt them by heart.
- Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star....
- A, B, C, D, E, F, Geeee...
- Baa, Baa, Black Sheep....
How long was it before you realised your mind was being played around with, yet again? The TUNES are all the SAME. It's ONE TUNE, for three rhymes. Not feeling so smart about mugging them up now, are we? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....
(Psychotic laughter fading into the night....
Sweet Dreams, childrens....
Ha ha ha ha ha ha...)
Or were they? Were they perhaps, instead, when the evil was seeded?
After all, was this not the exact time when our young, impressionable minds were bent out of shape through the well-disguised evil of: Nursery Rhymes.
Oh, yes. Have you ever really thought about it?
'Rock a bye, Baby,
On the Tree Top,
When the wind blows,
The cradle will Rock,
When the Bough breaks,
The cradle will Fall
And Down will come Baby
Cradle, and all'.
Hellooo? Has anybody noticed they are talking about babies falling from tree tops? What kind of a mother would put the baby on the tree top anyway? What's the point? Is it a poorly disguised threat?
'If you're a bad baby, I will put you on the tree top ....ha ha ha ha ha ha (diabolical laughter)'.
This rhyme disturbed me a lot in my formative years. But then there was the short but ominous:
Jack, be Nimble
Jack, be Quick
Jack, Jump over
The Candlestick.
Why? Why should Jack be asked to jump over a candlestick? How tall was the candlestick in relation to Jack? Why would anyone want an innocent little boy to undertake such a dangerous task? There is an implicit 'Or' at the end of this rhyme. Jump over the Candlestick...OR...an equally dangerous torture task will be assigned to you, perhaps even less pleasant. And was this the same Jack, who was also Little Jack Horner, who sat in a corner? Was he put in the corner because he didn't jump properly over the candlestick?
It goes:
Little Jack Horner, Sat in a corner,
Eating a mincemeat pie.
He stuck in his thumb, And pulled out a plum,
And said, "What a good boy am I!"
Apparently, if Jack was being punished, he didn't know it - he thought he was a good boy. But he was obviously dumb - just like the load of us, who unthinkingly and unquestioningly chanted these nursery rhymes. Can you imagine having a plum put in your mincemeat pie? And eating it with your thumb because you weren't even given a spoon? Yuckk! These characters were so ill-treated, and didn't even know it.
Jack in particularly, was a victim throughout his life. Leave us not forget:
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill...etc.
He broke his crown that time! And just because we thought as kids that his 'crown' meant he was a prince, and probably spoilt and would anyway get another crown to replace the one he broke on the hill, this doesn't take away from the fact that the Crown in question was actually a part of his head! Such violence!
Might as well make us all watch Bart Simpson's antics from the age of 2. Anyway, Jack got what was coming to him in later life. He was quite Jacked, so to speak.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat,
His wife could eat no lean,
And so betwixt the two of them
They licked the platter clean
So, Jack was obviously a poor, thin guy with a dominating fat, wife who sat on him, and made him change his name from Horner to Sprat; and they were so poor they had to lick the platter clean.
Jack met his end in Nursery Rhymes with a really passive mention in the never ending 'This is the house that Jack built'. There is no personal mention of Jack in this rhyme apart from the fact that he built a house. He obviously had no personality, no sense of self, after a clearly traumatic childhood.
I know I should stop now, but I'm really in the flow.
So , guys, guys, remember Little Miss Muffet, who sat on a Tuffet? What's a Tuffet, you wonder today, but did you think to ask when you were three? A tuffet is a low stool, which housed the bum of Little Miss Muffet, who was eating Curds and Whey ( I don't care what Whey is, okay?), before this really nasty, icky, large spider came and grossed her out, causing her to flee the scene - and in all probability, subsequently lose her lunch of Curds and Whey.
Why did they do this to us? Why? We were disappointed enough to learn about London Bridge falling down, and also that poor, unfortunate Little Bo Peep had lost her sheep. But the ultimate in creepy rhymes was the story of poor demented Mother Hubbard, and her pschyo Dog. Check this horror out, in case you've forgotten:
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor dog a bone;
But when she came there
The cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none.
(Till now, you feel sorry for both M.Hubb and Dog)
She took a clean dish
To get him some tripe;
But when she came back
He was smoking a pipe.
She went to the grocer's
To buy him some fruit;
But when she came back
He was playing the flute.
(You're like: Dog, what the hell are you doing to that old lady? Stop playing with her mind!)
She went to the baker's
To buy him some bread;
But when she came back
The poor dog was dead.
(You gasp sorrowfully! You had misjudged the poor dog! Never speak ill of the dead)
She went to the undertaker's
To buy him a coffin;
But when she came back
The poor dog was laughing.
(By now, you're like: Hey, you dog! What's your game? Leave that old lady alone..)
She went to the hatter's
To buy him a hat;
But when she came back
He was feeding the cat.
The dame made a curtsey,
The dog made a bow;
The dame said, "Your servant."
The dog said, "Bow wow!"
(So now, you're like: Screw the lady, screw the dog, where did the bloody cat come from anyway? They're all nuts!!).
Now, I know I'm taking this too far, but what the heck! How can I not mention the Three Blind Mice and the sadistic Farmer's wife?
Three blind mice,
See how they run!
They all ran after a farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife.
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice?
Am I supposed to be delighted by this gory picture? Is it supposed to help me sleep better at night? I think NOT.
You think I'm imagining this, folks? Let me now tell you the mother of all conspiracies.
When you are small, they teach you the following three, seemingly innocuous and unconnected rhymes - We've all learnt them by heart.
- Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star....
- A, B, C, D, E, F, Geeee...
- Baa, Baa, Black Sheep....
How long was it before you realised your mind was being played around with, yet again? The TUNES are all the SAME. It's ONE TUNE, for three rhymes. Not feeling so smart about mugging them up now, are we? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....
(Psychotic laughter fading into the night....
Sweet Dreams, childrens....
Ha ha ha ha ha ha...)
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Awwww! How Sweeeet!
We all make so many assumptions as a mean of simplifying our complex existences. Pirates, bad. Sunny days on the beach, good. Ice-cream, cold. Babies, cute.
Hold on a minute there, though. Babies, cute? Yeah, right. Oh sure, they eventually grow into cute enough toddlers after a point of time, when you get used to their faces. But honestly speaking, have you never experienced a twinge of true horror and the urge to leap backwards to safety, when a particularly revolting infant is stuck in your face, with the parent's proud accompanying 'And this is our little Chintoo!' or whatever the little creature's name is.
Hey, Baby-lovers out there - you may as well quit reading this post right now - that is, if you are really one of those who actually believe that all babies are cute and adorable. You might also be the type who goes about throwing daisies in the air during springtime, although this is not a judgement on you. But if you are normal, you will have to admit that not all babies are cute. It's a fact of life.
All puppies are cute - or at least, mostly. But not all babies.
The truth about most babies is that they are pasty, patchy-haired, overly pink, and their heads are too large for their bodies (which by the way, are freakishly tiny - especially those little fingers...brrrrr!). And their parents just do not seem to notice this fact - they are completely oblivious and in love with what they have done.
In the recent past, I have met some really ghastly-looking specimen. It goes like this: You peer into the crib, expecting to be charmed (in your usual naive, trusting manner). And then, you are rewarded with the sight of an unappealing onion-head with defiant eyes staring like the devil, right into your very soul. You start back involuntarily and hit your husband's nose with the back of your head. Your heart leaps into your throat and you suppress it somehow with a gulp. Without a moment's respite, you are then immediately faced with a beaming, expectant, adult face. It is at this point that you salvage the situation by finding your breath and exclaiming, perfectly honestly:
'My god! It looks just like YOU'.
You are then gently admonished by being told that THAT is the uncle and not the father, and secondly, the baby is not an 'It' but a 'he or she' - as the case may be. You decide it wisest not to argue these facts and move on, allowing others to gush dishonestly over the little beast.
Once you have left the room, you breathe a sigh of relief and start to talk to your husband about the terrible experience - you stop dead in your tracks when you realise that your husband is no longer with you, having omitted to follow you out the door. You head back and see everyone crowded around a delightful sight. Your husband appears truly enamoured by the child, tossing it in the air while it gurgles happily, establishing a special bond by making ridiculous faces that make the baby look good, and also appears to be in the process of teaching the baby its first words. Trust me to be married to the world's most natural Dad.
Either way, all hope is not lost when you see a really ugly baby. I know this because I have seen baby pictures of my friend Richa. Luckily, we have known each other only around 13 years and not before that. If I had met her as an infant, my little heart may not have survived it.
She was uuggh-ly. The old pictures were thankfully black-and-white so as to mask some of the true horror of her persona. It was the usual bright faced infant, head three times the size of the body, hair that began only at the top of her head, giving her the impression of a bad combover like Donald Trump's and wide, staring, round eyes - and for some reason, she would look straight at the camera every time, with this really puzzled expression that seemed to say 'D-uh! Is THIS expression scary enough? No? Let's try again!'
Anyway, the good news is that she is perfectly good-looking now. Except in photographs - the expression hasn't changed at all.
So the bottom line is: let's call a spade a spade, shall we? And if you can't say anything nice, just don't say anything. But quit lying through your teeth: the next time you see an ugly baby, just grin and say 'Ohhh...Can I get a picture of Chintoo?' (if the baby's name is Chintoo). Then take it home, compare it with your own early pictures and only then, decide if you have the right to feel superior.
But if I ever have a baby and it's ghastly, remember to just lie to me: because I'm the one who came up with the picture idea, and I will kill you.
Hold on a minute there, though. Babies, cute? Yeah, right. Oh sure, they eventually grow into cute enough toddlers after a point of time, when you get used to their faces. But honestly speaking, have you never experienced a twinge of true horror and the urge to leap backwards to safety, when a particularly revolting infant is stuck in your face, with the parent's proud accompanying 'And this is our little Chintoo!' or whatever the little creature's name is.
Hey, Baby-lovers out there - you may as well quit reading this post right now - that is, if you are really one of those who actually believe that all babies are cute and adorable. You might also be the type who goes about throwing daisies in the air during springtime, although this is not a judgement on you. But if you are normal, you will have to admit that not all babies are cute. It's a fact of life.
All puppies are cute - or at least, mostly. But not all babies.
The truth about most babies is that they are pasty, patchy-haired, overly pink, and their heads are too large for their bodies (which by the way, are freakishly tiny - especially those little fingers...brrrrr!). And their parents just do not seem to notice this fact - they are completely oblivious and in love with what they have done.
In the recent past, I have met some really ghastly-looking specimen. It goes like this: You peer into the crib, expecting to be charmed (in your usual naive, trusting manner). And then, you are rewarded with the sight of an unappealing onion-head with defiant eyes staring like the devil, right into your very soul. You start back involuntarily and hit your husband's nose with the back of your head. Your heart leaps into your throat and you suppress it somehow with a gulp. Without a moment's respite, you are then immediately faced with a beaming, expectant, adult face. It is at this point that you salvage the situation by finding your breath and exclaiming, perfectly honestly:
'My god! It looks just like YOU'.
You are then gently admonished by being told that THAT is the uncle and not the father, and secondly, the baby is not an 'It' but a 'he or she' - as the case may be. You decide it wisest not to argue these facts and move on, allowing others to gush dishonestly over the little beast.
Once you have left the room, you breathe a sigh of relief and start to talk to your husband about the terrible experience - you stop dead in your tracks when you realise that your husband is no longer with you, having omitted to follow you out the door. You head back and see everyone crowded around a delightful sight. Your husband appears truly enamoured by the child, tossing it in the air while it gurgles happily, establishing a special bond by making ridiculous faces that make the baby look good, and also appears to be in the process of teaching the baby its first words. Trust me to be married to the world's most natural Dad.
Either way, all hope is not lost when you see a really ugly baby. I know this because I have seen baby pictures of my friend Richa. Luckily, we have known each other only around 13 years and not before that. If I had met her as an infant, my little heart may not have survived it.
She was uuggh-ly. The old pictures were thankfully black-and-white so as to mask some of the true horror of her persona. It was the usual bright faced infant, head three times the size of the body, hair that began only at the top of her head, giving her the impression of a bad combover like Donald Trump's and wide, staring, round eyes - and for some reason, she would look straight at the camera every time, with this really puzzled expression that seemed to say 'D-uh! Is THIS expression scary enough? No? Let's try again!'
Anyway, the good news is that she is perfectly good-looking now. Except in photographs - the expression hasn't changed at all.
So the bottom line is: let's call a spade a spade, shall we? And if you can't say anything nice, just don't say anything. But quit lying through your teeth: the next time you see an ugly baby, just grin and say 'Ohhh...Can I get a picture of Chintoo?' (if the baby's name is Chintoo). Then take it home, compare it with your own early pictures and only then, decide if you have the right to feel superior.
But if I ever have a baby and it's ghastly, remember to just lie to me: because I'm the one who came up with the picture idea, and I will kill you.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
Philosofunny
I set myself up for this. I created this blog wherein my few regular readers (around 20 at last count -okay, maybe 3), now log in regularly, expecting to have a bit of a laugh, or at the least, read the entries with a knowing smirk on their faces.
But have you all ever thought I might have deeper feelings? Feelings that go beyond making fun of myself and other people? Concern about the state of the world? About poverty, about global warming, about the children of our future, about what's left of Michael Jackson's nose?
Well, I have plenty of deep feelings. Deep, deep feelings. Feelings of pain. Dejection. Rejection. Disappointment. Regret. Worry. Moroseness. Despair. Sorrow. And my stomach hurts.
In case you are wondering, I am ill. I have been unable to go to work for two days. I am like the mythical Kumbakarana, only better looking, and waking up at shorter intervals to feed myself and wreak havoc on the hapless mortals around me.
Yesterday, the husband promised to be by my side always, to lovingly tend to my every need, for all time. He couldn't take it for more than a day. I saw him click his heels together as he skipped off to work today, and I think he was whistling too.
But being ill puts life in perspective. You tend to become more philosophical. You know, how you never really appreciate the simple things in life until they are taken away from you? A sunny day, the song of a bird, the ability to retain what you have eaten for more than five minutes?
They say, when you are happy, you forget what it is to be sad and vice versa. I say, when you are ill, you forget what it is to be well and vice versa. And that's why, all you who are well today, probably have no clue what it feels like to be ill and are thinking that I am just making a big deal out of nothing. All I can say is, my time will come - you too will be very ill soon and will remember this then. Not that I wish you ill, it is just inevitable that it will happen.
Which brings me to another philosophical musing - the inevitability of it all. That dark day is not far away, when it all comes to an end. We can keep deluding ourselves about the meaning of life, but sometimes it just seems easier to give in to the hopelessness. The only thing that makes the ride more amusing is observing the Irony of Life. Irony is....pretty Ironic, sometimes.
'Scuse me. Feeling sicker now, for some reason. Bet you are too.
But have you all ever thought I might have deeper feelings? Feelings that go beyond making fun of myself and other people? Concern about the state of the world? About poverty, about global warming, about the children of our future, about what's left of Michael Jackson's nose?
Well, I have plenty of deep feelings. Deep, deep feelings. Feelings of pain. Dejection. Rejection. Disappointment. Regret. Worry. Moroseness. Despair. Sorrow. And my stomach hurts.
In case you are wondering, I am ill. I have been unable to go to work for two days. I am like the mythical Kumbakarana, only better looking, and waking up at shorter intervals to feed myself and wreak havoc on the hapless mortals around me.
Yesterday, the husband promised to be by my side always, to lovingly tend to my every need, for all time. He couldn't take it for more than a day. I saw him click his heels together as he skipped off to work today, and I think he was whistling too.
But being ill puts life in perspective. You tend to become more philosophical. You know, how you never really appreciate the simple things in life until they are taken away from you? A sunny day, the song of a bird, the ability to retain what you have eaten for more than five minutes?
They say, when you are happy, you forget what it is to be sad and vice versa. I say, when you are ill, you forget what it is to be well and vice versa. And that's why, all you who are well today, probably have no clue what it feels like to be ill and are thinking that I am just making a big deal out of nothing. All I can say is, my time will come - you too will be very ill soon and will remember this then. Not that I wish you ill, it is just inevitable that it will happen.
Which brings me to another philosophical musing - the inevitability of it all. That dark day is not far away, when it all comes to an end. We can keep deluding ourselves about the meaning of life, but sometimes it just seems easier to give in to the hopelessness. The only thing that makes the ride more amusing is observing the Irony of Life. Irony is....pretty Ironic, sometimes.
'Scuse me. Feeling sicker now, for some reason. Bet you are too.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Blogger's Block
The mornings are bleak
The days are dull
The dusks are gloomy
The nights just null,
Depression hits hard
After the initial shock,
Please beware of
Blogger's Block.
What on earth
Can one write next?
Avoid logging on,
Under any pretext,
The mind's a blank ,
More than usual? You mock!
But I just smile sadly,
it's Bloggers's block.
I will lose my public,
Their attention is Fleeting,
But I will lose my Job,
If I write more in this Meeting.
So go log on elsewhere!
Fickle readers, that you are.
But come back tomorrow,
And you could win a car!
I lied! I lied!
There's no car on offer!
My creative license has expired..
And what the hell rhymes with offer?
Clearly losing it now,
But I've got a plan,
After you lot have gone,
Mother will still be a fan
MOMMM?
The days are dull
The dusks are gloomy
The nights just null,
Depression hits hard
After the initial shock,
Please beware of
Blogger's Block.
What on earth
Can one write next?
Avoid logging on,
Under any pretext,
The mind's a blank ,
More than usual? You mock!
But I just smile sadly,
it's Bloggers's block.
I will lose my public,
Their attention is Fleeting,
But I will lose my Job,
If I write more in this Meeting.
So go log on elsewhere!
Fickle readers, that you are.
But come back tomorrow,
And you could win a car!
I lied! I lied!
There's no car on offer!
My creative license has expired..
And what the hell rhymes with offer?
Clearly losing it now,
But I've got a plan,
After you lot have gone,
Mother will still be a fan
MOMMM?
Saturday, November 18, 2006
And the Heart says..
There was this one scholarship I won a few years back; just for kicks today, I went to the site to see what I had written in my application. To my utter shock, I found the following:
(Extract)
...Following her heart and taking up commerce as her choice of study, she took admission in Sri Ram College of Commerce....
Had they ever warned me that what I wrote in my application form would be up on the Internet, I would have thought more carefully about what I wrote. I don't remember writing that! Can I sue? And if I do, do I have to return the scholarship money?
Just to clarify, my heart did not say that I should take up commerce!! Whose heart ever says that?
I can just imagine it:
Mama: Beta, what will you be when you grow up? Doctor? Lawyer? First woman in space?
7 yr old Y: No way, Ma! My heart says it's commerce all the way for me!
Mama: (taken aback) But what will you do after that?
7 yr old Y: Depends..what's 'commerce', Mama?
But that brings me back to the question: what does my heart say? It says so many things, which are utterly impractical (okay then: impossible!) to actually do.
- Fly a plane one day (or least go paragliding)
- Be on stage with U2 ( without having to do it by sneaking past their bodyguards)
- Write a best selling book (move over, Rowling)
- Win the Nobel Prize ( I have a fabulous concept I am working on, but I can't share it because there are a lot of unscrupulous people out there-like yourselves- who might steal it)
One day, I hope to have a more realizable vision, which I can then turn into reality. But when will that happen?
I just love the quote which goes 'Some of the most interesting people I know still don't know what they want to do at 40'.
It fills me with hope. Maybe turning 40 won't be so bad.
On the other hand, what's the point of being interesting to some arbit dude when you're still as confused at 40 as you were in younger days? He's making money on this kind of cheesy quote while you're still dreaming and trying to figure it out. Sigh.
Alternatively, I could work on enjoying what I already have. You know, just enjoy the ride. It's a lot easier and makes sense.
Right?
Naaah. I'm going for the Nobel Prize. Or something.
(Extract)
...Following her heart and taking up commerce as her choice of study, she took admission in Sri Ram College of Commerce....
Had they ever warned me that what I wrote in my application form would be up on the Internet, I would have thought more carefully about what I wrote. I don't remember writing that! Can I sue? And if I do, do I have to return the scholarship money?
Just to clarify, my heart did not say that I should take up commerce!! Whose heart ever says that?
I can just imagine it:
Mama: Beta, what will you be when you grow up? Doctor? Lawyer? First woman in space?
7 yr old Y: No way, Ma! My heart says it's commerce all the way for me!
Mama: (taken aback) But what will you do after that?
7 yr old Y: Depends..what's 'commerce', Mama?
But that brings me back to the question: what does my heart say? It says so many things, which are utterly impractical (okay then: impossible!) to actually do.
- Fly a plane one day (or least go paragliding)
- Be on stage with U2 ( without having to do it by sneaking past their bodyguards)
- Write a best selling book (move over, Rowling)
- Win the Nobel Prize ( I have a fabulous concept I am working on, but I can't share it because there are a lot of unscrupulous people out there-like yourselves- who might steal it)
One day, I hope to have a more realizable vision, which I can then turn into reality. But when will that happen?
I just love the quote which goes 'Some of the most interesting people I know still don't know what they want to do at 40'.
It fills me with hope. Maybe turning 40 won't be so bad.
On the other hand, what's the point of being interesting to some arbit dude when you're still as confused at 40 as you were in younger days? He's making money on this kind of cheesy quote while you're still dreaming and trying to figure it out. Sigh.
Alternatively, I could work on enjoying what I already have. You know, just enjoy the ride. It's a lot easier and makes sense.
Right?
Naaah. I'm going for the Nobel Prize. Or something.
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