Ghet Bhell Soon, Bhani

A most unfortunate incident has occurred. I feel almost bad making fun of it.

Almost.

But seriously... it is quite terrible. Vani had an accident two days back. To cut a long story short, here it is for you in bullet points. Imagine, if you will:

1. Vani travelling blissfully in Auto.
2. Auto driver deciding to turn into 'Auto-pilot'
3. Vani observing auto is now flying across the road.
4. Vani and Auto-pilot screaming 'yaaargghh' or similar
4. Auto meeting Sturdy Pole. Full stop for Auto.
5. Occupants suriving. Vani slightly better off than auto-pilot.
6. They both immediately rush to hospital ( for some reason, choosing to take another auto rather than a cab, but leave us not judge them- they have been through enough).

So the upshot of it all is that Vani has been advised bed rest and has been hobbling around at home. Fans of Vani, who have got to know and love her through this blog, will be glad to know that she is recovering well.

When her boss Tarun (who is based in Bangkok) heard about the accident, he was quite concerned, naturally. To show this concern through a simple gesture, he sent me a message to ask me to send her flowers on behalf of the entire team.

I told him, no problem, and passed this task on to our (Vani's and mine) secretary Raman.

Raman needs to be understood a bit more. He is around one hundred years old and due for retirement anyday now. A soft hearted old man with a gruff exterior, he is terribly underworked because Vani and I travel a lot and work out of a different office on most days. So he usually appreciates the one or two projects given to him, making a mountain out of every possible molehill.

Me ( breezing into office): Hi Raman
Raman (gruffly): Hi
Me: Raman, Vani's had an accident - did you know?
Raman (expression showing a strange mix of disgust and concern): Noh, I diddan knowh.
Me: Well, anyway, Tarun has asked that we send her some nice flowers at home. Can you please arrange them?
Raman ( steely determination entering watery eyes): Yah. I can sand it.
Me: Great. Make it out to say 'Vani, Get Well Soon - from the Team. Regards, Tarun'
Raman (having done with me, rudely turns his back): OK.

I proceed with my work, only interrupted once by Raman.

Raman (sneaking up behind me and booming in my ear): Sand it to harr homm?
Me: Yes, please. You know her address, right?
Raman (disgusted at the question): Hobviously I knowh Bhani's haddress.
Me: Ok. When will it reach her?
Raman: Bhy twalve.

Sure enough, by twelve thirty, I got a call from Tarun who had obviously been thanked by Vani for the flowers - he thanked me for the 'quick action' and insisted on finding out how much it cost so that he could reimburse me. I assured him it was done through Raman at the office and therefore, not an issue. I, in turn, thanked Raman for the 'quick action' who grumbled back at me, pleased.

The thought of having brought a smile to poor battered Vani's face brought a warm glow over all of us. I could imagine her delight and surprise at unexpectedly receiving a huge,lovely bunch of blooming flowers. I was personally touched by our collective thoughtfulness.

Now, the actual flower delivery as I discovered after conversation with Vani. Bullet point version:

1. Vani, having resolved to work from home, sleeping between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m.
2. 12 noon, calls on Vani's mobiles starting. Confused courier chap confounded by Raman's directions ( 'Haddress is A-5..mast be phipth phloor only')
3. Courier chap finally reaches Vani's house. Ringing bell.
4. Irritated Vani slams open door. Courier chap thrusts flowers into her face.
5. Flowers consist of approximately 4 dilapidated roses and 4 other unidentifiable flowers, dying in their tight plastic shroud. Vani recoils at stink and thrusts them back into courier chap's face.
6. Vani finally reluctantly accepts flowers are for her and takes them from man.
7. Vani discovers who is responsible for these pathetic posies- a dirty pink envelope contains (apart from wrong address) 'From Tarun and Team. Item: Mixed Flower bunch'

I went over to see her in the evening and discovered this horrifying Mixed Flower Bunch. Cursing Raman, I remembered that his constant endeavour, his personal life mission, is to save every possible rupee for the company - so he must have ferretted around for the cheapest option in town. (In fact, now I think I have seen similar flowers in the gardens near our office ... and he did disappear for half an hour that morning...). I shuddered at the thought of having to tell Tarun, 'Boss, you owe me Rs. 20 for the mixed flower bunch..'

Anyway, Vani and I did have a good laugh about it. And Raman and Tarun are probably still basking in that warm glow. So everybody's happy.

(Please admire the picture of the flowers, courtesy Vani. My first techno-savvy attempt at uploading pictures.)

The Game-of-the-Name

There are some people who are really good with names - they can see a face and immediately know what to call it.

And then there are people like me.

Names have often proven to be the bane of my existence. And not just others' names, mind you - my own nickname has been a cause of trauma during my formative years, and no, I am not going to tell you what it is. Anyway, this is not about names that I would like to forget - it is about names that I forget to remember.

It happened again last week, at the tea & coffee machine in office, a place that I often tend to embarass myself.

I was sipping my tea dreamily and peacefully, when a girl with a familiar face came up to get a drink. Never one for small talk, I nevertheless thought it would be good to practice.

Me: Hi!!
Girl (Smiling in a friendly manner) Hello.
Me: How've you been?
Girl: Good! Pretty good!
Me: Haven't seen you around lately, you been Travelling a lot?
Girl: Uhh..No...I've been coming here everyday for the last three weeks.
Me: Really? Well, I haven't seen you.
(Pause as we both sip and look around)
Me (To break the silence) Your hair looks great.
Girl (Pleased, but looks a bit uncertain): Thank you.
Me (Continuing to push it): You've grown it a lot, haven't you?
Girl: Uhhh - No..it's always been like this only..
Me (Now confident in the chatter, thinking this is going unusually well - I clearly know her better than she knows herself!) What are you saying! It was sooo short earlier (gesturing with hand above ear)
Girl (A little less friendly now): You're talking about someone else. I don't think you know me.
Me (Truly shocked by this twist in the tale): What? Aren't you Neha from Accounting?
Girl (A little icily, maybe she doesn't like Neha) No, I am not. I'm Asha, I work in Training. We met three months ago at the course in Bangalore.
Me (Trying to salvage the situation): Ohh..heh heh...this is a little embarassing. You really look like Neha though. Do you know Neha? Short hair like soooo ..(can't stop myself from gesturing again)
Girl (Bugged, clearly not flattered by the obvious resemblance): Yes,I know her.
Me (Trying to get out of this): Well, I'm Y and I am bad with names, as you might have guessed. Ha ha.
Girl (looking like she wants to throw her coffee on me): I know who you are. We've met before.
Me: Well, gotta go! It was nice seeing you again.... (Sudden wave of hopelessness)...What was your name again? I'm sorry...
Girl (Fiery hatred in her eyes) It's ASHA.
Me: Ok, bye....Asha! (Escaping into nearby bathroom, cautiously emerging only after I am sure she has gone)

Author's note: Please note that the names in this incident have been changed, to protect the identity of the characters - and also because I have subsequently forgotten them

But, in my defense, I would like to say that I know for a fact that this kind of thing happens to a lot of people. Take one of my best friends, Richa.

So Richa knows a lot of people, is one of those popular kinds. But one day, after having had a long conversation with a familiar faced fellow, she realised that she had no idea who he was. She could probably have managed to get away with it, but her curiosity got the better of her at the end of the conversation, and she thought she had cracked a really smart way to find out his name.

Richa (Super casual): So listen, yaar! Just tell me...I was having this argument with my sister...about the exact spelling of your name ....how do you spell it?

Guy (nonplussed):
A...
m...
i....
t ??

Stunned and embarassed silence all around.

I know how you feel, Richa. I know it.

Another Day in Bangkok

I know it seems like I write mostly about Bangkok and this gives the impression that I spend half my life here, but it's just been that kind of week. I flew to Mumbai on Friday and then flew back here on Sunday night/Monday morning.

When I arrived here this morning, I found that the hotel car had not come to pick me up from the airport. In the semi conscious state resulting from an overnight flight, I stood dumbly at Exit B, reading the name placards over and over again. When it dawned on me that the car wasn't here, the expression on my face became even dumber, and this attracted a kind soul to take pity on me and ask me which hotel I was staying at - he then called the hotel representative for me, and a businesslike little woman landed up and then herded me to a car.

When I got to the hotel, it turned out that the room wasn't ready so I had to wait. That was the final straw. I told the receptionist lady my entire life story, ending with how important it was that I get some sleep before my meeting starts. She looked concerned and made the appropriate sympathetic/contrite noises. I finally got to my room and was mollified by the memory of the chocolates that had been sent to me last week by the manager, when I had made a similar inane complaint. I expected a new box of chocolates, but they never came. I think they are probably on to me now.

Despite this ghastly start to the day, the end was reasonably nice. A brief shopping experience, ending with us getting practically thrown out at 10 p.m. from the store (We at Robinsons would like to thank our valuable customers and hope they will patronize us tomorrow - reading between the lines were the words, Get out Get out Get out).

This was followed by a drink on a streetside cafe where an adorable bunch of Thai musicians were singing the classics like 'Anudda day in Paladice (Thing aboud eed)', 'Money for Nuttin ( I want my NBC)' and the opening strains of 'Dhoom Dhoom' when they saw us Indians ( Namaste! We like Tata Young!).

But the high point for me remained the surreal conversation that I was witness to between my companians -let's just call them Strange Indian girl and Strange Sri lankan girl. Naturally, when a Strange Thai girl landed up to take the order, it was a recipe for disaster:

- Strange Indian Girl (looking at menu): I will have a beer!
- Waitress: Ok! Ok! And you, madaaam?
- Strange Sri Lankan girl: I will have the spy wine cooler.
- Waitress: Ok! I bring.
- Strange Indian girl: Oooh, that sounds more exciting. I want that.
- Waitress: Ok Ok! Two Spy Wine Cooler.
- Strange Indian: Wait...what's a spy wine cooler?
- Strange Sri Lankan: It's like...it's got...It's...(turning to waitress) What is it?
- Waitress: (gesturing with her hands to what appears to be something the size of a pea): It's ...It's...Small ( pronounced Suh-maaalll)...it's ...( starts looking almost apoplectic with the effort of trying to explain)
- Sri Lankan hastily to Indian: Look, I can get that, and maybe you can take a sip of mine to see if you like it.
- Indian (nodding quite stupidly): Okay, so should we order two, then?
- Sri Lankan ( giving up): Yes, yes.
- Indian: Okay, just get us two spy wine coolers.
- Thai waitress (having checked with other waiter while the above intelligent exchange was taking place, says proudly): We no HAVE that.

And it starts all over again.

Needless to say, we ended up having two Pineapple juices and a Pepsi. Probably all for the best. Can you imagine what my companions would have been like with some alcohol in them?

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.

Welcome to the Meeting from Hell

7.30 a.m. - Hotel Alarm rings. Too early. Can sleep for another five minutes. Meeting at 8 somewhere in hotel itself, no problem.
8.00 a.m. - Just re-woke and remember now meeting was to start at 8 and NOT 8.30 a.m. Rush, rush, rush.
8.15 a.m. - All ready! Hair wet, no time to dry but must prioritize breakfast. Dash out of the room, into the lift.
8.17 a.m. - Stupid lift was going up, I had to go down. Dropping random Japanese guys to 44th floor before heading back down to Lobby for breakfast.
8.18 a.m. - Lift unfortunately opens for at floor 3, the meeting floor. Few people waiting. One recognizes me, waves as if to say 'this is the floor, get off'. Quick decision to pretend I don't see, gaze at the top of the lift thoughtfully, and carry on for breakfast at Lobby.
8.20 a.m. - Aah, breakfast. Aah, Coffee.
8.30 a.m. - I am Ready! I am in the Meeting Room! On time! Meeting was predictably late in starting. Give dirty, offended and superior look to those walking in after me.
8.35 a.m. - Agenda is being discussed. Sounds exciting. I am going to be a Part of Something Big. Have been told that this will be a chance to see how decisions get made in Large Global Organisations. Pen poised elegantly (or as elegant as you can be with clammy hands and wet hair) over my notebook, ready to commit anything important to paper. A certain breathless anticipation takes over, which combined with the effect of the coffee and the air conditioning, gives me goose pimples and a certain pleasant buzz in the head. I am READY.

(Fast forward to 4 hours later)

12.35 p.m. - They LIED. They said lunch was at 12.30. It is now five minutes PAST. And that is not the only thing they lied about. They lied about it being Value Adding and Great Learning for me. For the past four hours, everybody has been talking about some technical aspects of the product where I understand nothing, want to understand nothing and have nothing to say. Why am I here? Why? Why? Why?

12.40 p.m. - The conversation has now dwindled down to two people who are arguing about something that nobody else seems to understand. I just heard one guy say something like 'If we use mono-chromatic layer versus bi-chromatic- layer, then there is a depth issue in the template creation and the machine capability issues impact the production timeline of the back labels'
Also, there are fourteen other laptops open with people pretending to furiously take notes, while playing Freecell or Minesweeper or browsing the Internet. Is anybody in this meeting reading my blog right now?

12.45 p.m. - I AM BLOGGING FOR GOD's SAKE!! And NOBODY HAS NOTICED!! I give up. My life is meaningless. It is a meaningless stream of endless meetings. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh.....

Four Corporate Lives

(A tribute to four IIM-Bangalore students who are now haunting four different corporate corridors)

It's early on Friday evening, just about 5 o clock,
And Aravind's lightning quick moves send Wipro office into a shock,
Was it a bird? A plane? Or Superman that just whizzed by?
None! It was Super-chaddi - Tambi saying 'bye'!

Now imagine Tuesday morning, roughly 4 a.m.
A poor HP manager's life is in mayhem
Fat Ganju calleth at this unearthly hour, voice all hoarse,
'Not well today, boss - resting,no,no, not at the golf course'

And Whoever said our dear Manav M was Mean?
Singlehandedly he keeps IBM's monetary flows clean
Gives out cash awards to those who deserve it most
'For you, Manav!..Thank you, Manav!..Mention not, dost!'

She floats in like an angel, every morning through the door,
The Unilever world reverently wishes, like her, there were more,
Beautiful, Savvy, Gracious, Intelligent and Kind!
But Alas, and alack, and a-Lal is hard to find..