Dear Diary.....

the home alone saga....

2009-07-24T12:10:00.011+05:30

Well...I am an independent single, young woman, wouldn't you say so? I mean, I have a place of my own provided by my organisation in a posh enough locality, I have people to work for me and when there are none, I attempt to do things on my own.... which turns out decently enough I should say. I have a bank account (with an erratic amount of deposit which keeps changing depending on the Sales happening in Malls). I have a small and handy basic model of Maruti 800 (right now probably the only non snazzy looking car in my locality). I can cook edible enough food (when my cook is not there), the only problem being that I might be able to cook my lunch in time for dinner and so on and the only person I will allow to eat that food is me. I am a pretty decent driver. And of course my parents do help, which has its downside as well (this will be covered in another post hopefully soon enough) So all in all...as my friends would say.... Tammu...you have arrived ..and you rock girl!!!!

But they do not know about the times when I was under attack by the inanimate objects in my flat.... the taps, the faucets, the curtain rods... the ceiling... oh yes... It must have been the wackspruts or Nargles or some magical creature as said by J.K. Rowling. I am going to describe the times when one feels that there surely is a God up there grinning away and saying...AWWW.... you look so comfy... let me rustle up things for you....and he did. Let me tell you all how. Living in a government quarters has the comfort of the knowledge that it's rent or any such other thing wont be suddenly hiked, or that you won't be thrown out unceremoniously... but at the same time, a government quarters is very often plagued with the contractor coming around for its "upkeep". So, one will always find dozens of people about in my colony doing myriad of things... one day I saw that they were white washing the walls, the next day they were painting the walls...and strangely, another day they were breaking away and chipping the same walls that they had painted because they had to change the piping... not that I am an engineer...but wouldn't it have made more sense to have painted after the pipes had been changed and the broken walls had been mended...? But I guess they had some mysterious logic in doing so...as a result of which, in some pockets we have the light mauve shade that was chosen for the outside walls of the colony interspersed with the the dark grey of cement that had been slapped on the broken parts of the walls.

Anyway, coming to my Flat...the number of which is 86....which I am sure was 98 before, but since maybe they could not find the actual 86, they made do with the 98..so the 8 looks kinda wierd...but as long as it gives the indication of my house number ..who cares. Anyway, when I moved in my flat, my mom and I went about the laborious task of setting up a cheerful and cosy flat...and days were spent in buying curtains...arranging the wardrobes with my dad giving quite unhelpful advice......trying to fit in as much things in my bedroom as that was going to be my prime place of habitation... and finally everything was settled and I had my flat ...all to myself. Sigh... bliss....

But that was not to be...hardly had two months passed when the doorbell struck and workers poured into 'renovate' the bathroom... which basically meant break down the entire floor and walls and taps and toilet and take off all the shelves and handles etc etc... I watched horrified as all the three bathrooms one after the other fell into the hands of the contractors and laborers.... I would weep silent tears for the grime and dirt in both my bedrooms. And strangely enough the work never seemed to get over because the workers and contractors were also simultaneously breaking down bathrooms of other apartments as well... so all the hollow promises of functional renovated bathrooms within 3 weeks was completely ill-founded and all my bathrooms, finally after two months, looked habitable again... if any of you think that I had not taken bath during all that time...well obviously that was not the case...but yes..one does wonder how much help was the bathing in the end....

So now, I have three pretty decent bathrooms... but my smugness was short lived as just as my bathrooms were completed winters were approaching...or rather it had already descended. The extremely chilly conditions prevented the paint from drying up completely and it would seem that some mysterious leak somewhere made the ceiling of my bathroom look as if it was suffering from some skin disease!!! And I suffered along with ... I would find myself taking a lovely long warm oil bath to find a square inch of the peeled of paint landing plonk right in the middle of my just shampooed head. The "papdi" as the engineer called would be scraped off leaving a highly discolored looking wall beneath it which slowly turned interesting colors due to the onslaught of some mysterious seepage somewhere. One fine day the engineers and contractors decided, that it was the problem of the house above and they re-broke their bathroom... I am sure I must have been their least favorite person in the block during the time. Now...one would think that the problem has been found and rectified so all should be well.. well apparently... the leak was not in the bathroom and is in one of the pipes that run on the outside.... and of course...I was told..Madam ..woh to bahut bada kaam hain... abhi uske liye alag se tender nikalana padega!!! So all in all, I always a bathroom cum a partial wall of the bedroom always in a state of wrinkles and pimples!

Let me now tell you the story of a girl... a sweet girl ..who cozied up in her warm blanket deep in sleep... and she was dreaming of running water... very strange topic for a dream... water is running and running and running... BOING!!!! Wait a minute... the water is actually running.... and that's me dreaming!!! And that's my bathroom!!! And its F***ING three AM!!! I rush to the bathroom thinking I have left the tap on... I must add here..that I have very deep problems with wasting water and paper. I find that the newly installed bathroom tap is dangerously askew....I was now faced with a very serious dilemma... should I just close my eyes and go to sleep as the drip was not exactly of alarming proportions...or should I just close the tap and actually find that its not a very big deal. Opting for the latter...I ventured closer to the tap and turned it... AND!!!!!!! YES!!!!! It came off!!! And reality of that dawned on me when ice cold water was spurted upwards and fell on me. Those who have been in Delhi know what the temperature is like in Dec-Jan. And to go all the way up to the terrace to try and close the main taps in the freezing early morn was not a very relishing aspect...and anyway I did not know which pipe connected to which bathroom in my flat. So I did the only thing a 25 year old ( I was that old at the time) would do.... that night-morning I turned for help to the one man in my life who has never said no... APPA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Needless to say it did not occur to me that a phone call at 3 a.m in the morning would be not taken by sleeping mortals in a cheerful manner. After I overcame my parents fears that I was not close to puking my guts out due to some disease or that I was not going to be murdered in bed... I told them the actual problem at hand... I mean ...I was practical enough to realise that they may not be able to help me. My father made it amply clear by asking... my dear Dale... How do you expect me to mend your broken tap all the way from Guwahati?!!??? I mean ...I knew that... I guess I just needed someone to tell me that it was ok that there was a mini Niagara falls in my bathroom!!! And after copious tears were spent on the event and warmer clothes worn I fell asleep just as the water in the tank ran out and mericfully the rushing water stopped.... of course it just started again when the supply came back in...and I had it fixed the next day. Though to this day, my father tells me I need a man in my life I could turn to at 3 in the morning instead of my father. Right! So an additional quality I need to look in guys... whiz at fixing broken taps.

There were two more such incidents of bursting faucets..thankfully at a more humane hour and weather. The most trying incident of my battle against unknown forces was in my kitchen. Whoever has seen my lovely modular kitchen would obviously not believe the horrendous tale behind it and the agonising days spent in thinking that that I shall never have a kitchen in my house and that like the migrant gypsies I would have to make do with the old rudimentary kerosene stove. As the bricks, and plaster slowly were being taken apart and the floor all being broken up and the pipes all mashed and bashed, I once came home at the same time as my cook and both of us opened the door to find muddy water all over the living hall..!!! Landslide!!!! But, wait a minute, there can be no landslide inside a house!!! We peeked into the kitchen to find that the intelligent labourers and the pleasant contractor had broken the pipes but since they had failed to remember the timings of the water supply, we had water gushing out into the mound of earth and other soily muddy stuff which was slowly and merrily making its way into the living room!!! Well.... I got a good work out mopping up and running up and down my colony and blasting all and sundry.

But my tryst with my kitchen was not over... no Sireeee.... for some incomprehensible reason, the workers scraped out nearly a foot of the ceiling and at least a a foot and a half in diameter leaving behind a relief very similar to that of a crater. So while 90% of my kitchen was done in beautiful cabinets and gleaming marble top, I had this crater on my ceiling. After much coaxing I got the workers to fill it up. Now had I been an engineer or an architect or anything that dealt with such things or had the knowledge of such things I would have asked intelligent questions. The dear lads filled it up with what I think was still wet cement or concrete... and having faith in them, I allowed them to do so. One hour after they left.... I heard a queer SPLAT!!! You know... the kind that one hears when a lizard has fallen on the floor. I figured it must have been an unusually big lizard to go splat like that. After some time, I wandered over to the kitchen and words fail me .... I saw the entire concrete filling on the floor (that had gone SPLAT, remember) and the remaining dripping from above eager to join the ones below!!!! I will not go on about this and relive my torture...suffice to say..my kitchen is good and safe now.

Well, I have settled into my home and its been over a year now of amicable relations with the invisible forces around. How long it lasts is still something I better not think about.

the loo snippets!!!

2008-11-11T12:14:00.009+05:30

Answering nature's call is an inevitable part of the daily living of all living organisms. And since I belong to the human race I shall stick to them as the subject and since I am attempting to give a humorous side of it, I shall be subjecting myself to being a subject of my "Loo Snippets". Let me hasten here to tell anyone who should be reading this that there will be nothing vulgar or unpleasing about anything that I might have to share. Its just the way it is. By subjecting myself to being a subject, rest assured that I shall not even put myself in ignominy by describing anything of a personal nature. I shall just be sharing the experiences that I have come to experience every time that I have had to hunt for a bathroom.

Being in a job that for the time being has travelling a part of its profile is a bit difficult. Having to travel to places, which in some cases have been of a rural outreach, although very satisfying and interesting, has its shortcomings. And being a woman and travelling in a predominantly chauvinistic state of Haryana has been quite an ordeal. But that calls for another tale at another time. This post is devoted to the state of the loos available for women.... I say women, because it is beyond the requirement of proof that for most men, the need for four walls and some space for doing the needful is not required. For women, obviously, the same can not be applied to unless there is dense foliage and the only live presence are the trees and birds. Nevertheless, on being apprised that I have to undertake a trip to the interiors of Jat land, I do the very basic thing at first....stop drinking water!!!! At the cost of almost parched and scorched throat I proceed towards my destination. While the bottle of water beckons me very often, I hold my own stand and reach my destination which usually is a bank branch in a not so greatly developed part of a town. And even if the town is well developed, and the interiors of the banks looks a relieving modernistic structure, one would be mistaken in thinking that the loos are given the same importance. I wonder when most of these buildings are constructed, whether the contractor had a personal grouse against bathrooms due to which most of these private spaces have just about enough room to enter in a reverse gear and back out again.

Needless to say, when you are representing the Central Bank and you go to one of the numerous banks, you are inevitably offered liquid diet at every hour. And god help you, if you have to spend an entire day in the bank. I remember a particular ordeal where I landed fresh faced and enthusiastic at a branch to conduct some checking. It had been a pleasant day and I had the lovely opportunity to go to a nearby village which had the most amazing location (but all those visits will be chronicled some other day). I came back to the bank branch where I was greeted with much respect and Oh-My-Goodness- a whole bottle of cold drink!!!! Oh Dear!!! I made emphatic denials and opposition to aerated drinks. Since I had never come across the cold drink Slice in the my encounters I made the fervent excuse by pleading that I am an avid drinker of Slice...and lo and behold!!! I could have bit my tongue, for the very next thing that I am brought is a cold just-out-of-the-cooler bottle of Slice..... O Dear...I could feel the bottle mocking me and my gall bladder showing signs of protest. But I figured that as I had not partaken of any water I will be able to control whatever needs to be controlled. So with much trepidation I sipped on the slice with the manager egging me on almost as if it were a challenge. Luck was not on my side, I realised when I had an absolute urge to answer nature's relentless call. So with much hesitancy, I asked about the availability of a bathroom...and thankfully I was guided to one with ample sized proportions. I almost felt as if I was on the edge of heaven....I stepped in gratefully to discover it was completely roofless..... OH DEAR!!! And the walls might have been a good six and half feet so that should give me encouragement I thought. But it is not a comforting thought when u have half a dozen men outside with an average height of six feet. As it is, one has to suffer the acute awkwardness of being a young woman in a crowd of rustic men... I wondered about the many reasons for the rooflessness and I think I got my answer when I relieved myself...the rooflessness helped hapless women like me, who could not control their bladder a chance to send a prayer heavenward without the obstruction of a roof, so that one is in direct commune with the Almighty... O lord of the endless blue sky above...!!!Please let me pee in peace!!!

Anyway, that ordeal passed through without any more incidents... and I came back fully refreshed ... I mean fully relieved and took the remaining bottle of slice with a lot of passion. The rest of the time proceeded without me having to go through the entire awkward ritual of going to the bathroom and gazing up at the sky.

In yet another incident I was on my way to a village called Dayalpur in Faridbabad, Haryana. The very industrial look appearance of Faridabad could have fooled me into believing that there were no villages left. But many a turns and bumps later I arrived at the so called village of Dayalpur to interact with members of SHG. I was thankful that I was being accompanied by another female colleague. And since we were interacting with women of SHGs, I felt a dawning of comfort that asking for loos should be no problem now at least. So, with a relatively freer mind I went about my task for interviewing the SHG members and eating and drinking all the local delicacies made by them. I chose the "shubh mahurat" of just before departure of asking the direction to the loo... much to my consternation, the actual loo was a bit far off or something like that and I was asked to use, what I came to realise was the water storage place/small bathing area. I stepped in cautiously behind the curtain and as my hand groped around for the door I realised much to my horror that there was no door!!! Great!!! First roofless and now doorless!!! The curtain that was the makeshift door ended three inches above the floor with jagged ends....!!! I mustered up courage and kept an eye on the curtain and concluded my business while watching the ragged ends of the curtain do a seductive dance with the wisps of winds that were blowing... strangely enough the old song of Asha Parekh crept into my head.... "Parde mein rehne do...parda na uthao.....parda jo uth gaya to..." (SHUDDER!!!) I don't want to think of that situation....

There have been other times when I have faced loos which probably, in its previous birth must have been a chamber designed for solitary confinement or designed by a chappie who underwent one... a small room in which a person of ample proportions would have to probably suck in his breath to turn around gingerly and not touch any of the grimy walls... I have had the opportunity to live in hostels which have had such toilets which are devoid of any human compassion or basic design sense... and it amazes me how some people have all the time in the world to doodle on the walls and doors... so in order to escape the knowledge of confining walls of such loos, one can try and amuse oneself reading the various literary thoughts of other people on the walls.... all this, mind you, when one has to concentrate on getting inside the small toilet in the reverse gear, assume whatever position required to answer nature's call and then make sure (at least in the case of females) that the voluminous garments do not touch the filthy walls or heaven's forbid, manage to break the dwelling of spiders!!! And after all this concentration, one faces the challenge of a broken faucet, flush or no water in the pipes....

I personally feel that nothing can beat the adventures one has when one has to use the conveniences in a flight or train journey. Having travelled in both enough number of times, each time has left me a bit more knowledgeable than the last as to how to be be more effective in handling such bathrooms. While the train loos are all about balance and precision, the flight loos are all about alertness and a good comprehension of pictorial language. I must also add the one time I travelled to Europe recently, the loo experience has been satisfactory to the extent that in all the faucets and flush work and the public conveniences are well maintained. The biggest problem that most Indians face, which leaves many who have lived abroad for most part incredulous, is our apprehension of the toilet paper!!! I think among all the great unresolved philosophical debates of the world such as whether the chicken came before or the egg... the dispute between whether toilet paper or water is better will continue to remain unresolved.....

In conclusion, if none of you have found any of the above amusing or feel that it is all a tad bit exaggerated, then I leave you with the following contents of a mail that I received which I am sure at least some womenfolk can identify with and will most leave definitely leave the rest with a smile which my above experiences may not have been able to extract... so here goes...

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume " The Stance." In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance." To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get." By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this." As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?" This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!
This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately!

For Granted

2008-11-07T10:21:00.006+05:30

We take the our shadows for granted. Day in and day out we see our shadows...the day we don't is the day we are no longer in this world and our body lies prostrate. Most of us leave it to another day to be better daughters, sons, wives, husbands sisters, brothers . Not that today we are not. But its okay if I am angry at someone today or that I have been nasty to someone today, because I still have tomorrow to make it all go away. "Tomorrow". I remember laughing at how corny the movie, kal ho na ho was..... but what if that is what happens ...what if I don't have tomorrow? If Lord Yama was to come down and tell me that I had but one more day to live.... (I am sure I could not tempt him Munch or Five Star or perk or whatever that chocolate was, that Priety Zinta used in an ad) where do I start to make up for all the things that I took for granted? Do I tell my parents that I love them which I don't do at all because...well, they know I guess... and that I wished that I had been a better daughter? (They say I am a good daughter). Do I call my brother and tell him that for all my grouse against him, he is really a sweetheart and that I love him? (He will think that I am crazy). Do I play my Veena one last time? Do I try and make right all my wrongs? Do I let go of my ghosts that have been a legacy of my past or confront them? Which friend of mine should I call and thank for being a part of my lows and highs...for being there when I was a nice human being and a not so nice human being? Do I dance one last time? Do I call up one special person and talk till the wee hours of morning? I think I am just beginning to realise the extent of my taking people, feelings, emotions, love for granted. And vice versa. I think I need to acknowledge that I and all of me has also been taken for granted.

My grandmother....now detected with colon cancer...do I have time with her to make up for all the things that I did in part measure? I remember a time before I grew up where I used to frolic with my ammuma's ample tummy. She taught me all the prayers that I still faithfully recite every night before I sleep. Somewhere along the way, I grew up, I grew up to be I think quite an impatient person not easily being able to understand differences coming up on account of generation gap and age. And now when I think I have the maturity to accept the inevitable, do I have the time to make up for all that I did not do? Do we all have those regrets of not doing something well in time....I don't mean not submitting a proposal or something related to work. Have we stopped saying I miss you, I love you, I cherish you because there is a tomorrow and that we will see each other another day, or on any other day the perfect opportunity will present itself for us to say and feel and do...? Do I have time to make amends? To whom all should I reach out to?

To do justice to me, I think I have been a more than a decent human being who has made a lot of mistakes...maybe more than the my peers whom I currently know. But when will I make amends to myself? All this feeling of taking for granted is not just applicable for me towards others. But also, I have taken me for granted. I have allowed others to take me for granted. Where do I start to make all wrongs right? Is there time? Some wrongs can never be righted and that's good because one needs a landmark or a milestone to look at and remember the time when one was all that one should not have been.

I am certain that there are none who have not had regrets for not being there when one was required and when one could have made it and also when one could not make it, but one wanted to. But I am also certain that most of us know the value of relations... of love.... of being there...the only problem is that sometimes it becomes too late or it just becomes hopeless. We rue ourselves for taking things for granted. But then we need to or at least I think I need to also realise that I have to look at those times when I have been there, when I have not let people down.

It's not over yet. I can still reach out. But it can not be tomorrow. I need to use my scented candles today, even if I am alone, for what if I am not there tomorrow? I need to find a place to start. Till then, I hope I can be there for people who need me. and that I hope I have been there. That can only be said by people who read this.

Of wanting and waiting...

2008-09-28T21:37:00.000+05:30

We want so many things... this was a statement that a friend of mine had made during one of our nightly conversations on the aspects of life. Nothing profound in the statement in itself since many of us including I have used it a number of times especially when we women go shopping and find so many things that are way beyond our budget, but Oh! so desirable! I WANT THAT AND THAT AND THIS!!!! I am sure that, had Lord Buddha been a woman, he would have realised without having to sit at Bodh Gaya or wherever it was, that too many desires were the cause of unhappiness and misery.

But that night, the simple statement stuck a chord with which I could identify. And I think a lot of young women, I know will agree with me. Not being a man, I choose not to include them and their opinion in this post as I can not claim to have a knowledge about them. Women itself are quite cumbersome to understand. We do want so many things...

We seem to unerringly, unwittingly and to a certain extent unwillingly/willingly complicate our lives. By just wanting so many things. Who would have thought that wanting things that seemed to be so basic or rather so easily "gettable" would have so much problems? I think that our education and our experiences has made us want so many things. Or at least it has been so in my case. It would have been so much easier had our education and experiences been limited. Our thirst for what is out there be it in terms of success, love, ambition, friendships etc gets to us so much that we weave a web of hopes, desires, expectations and fantasies. And then we can not find the end or beginning of it for us to unravel it. My friend and I felt that why could we have not been satisfied by just being in a small town, have a decently good education, a hassle free job (the 9 - 5 one which everyone mandates for a woman), be content in making small decisions that do not upset people, most of all our parents, fall in love with the right guy with the right job and lineage, and religion and region etc....?

Yes, why could not we do all that? I think that is what most of the girls in the small towns do...and this is not a generalisation. Just what I think it might be. Maybe most women do not do anything that is "rebellious". But then again, every child and parent has a different take on rebellion. I am sure there are many cases, where most women have desired lot of things but have not been able to get them because of lack of opportunities, or lack of resources or because of lack of guts. Or maybe even because, there has been this placid agreement that ultimately what a woman wants is a home she can call her own....and all other wants are just frivolities...little excesses of human nature that can be curbed.

I think my parents have had some really difficult times with me, in retrospect I realize that I may not have been fair to them. But for me to come to that realization, I suppose then some things had to occur. In my headlong rush to experience and experiment, I wonder where all I have gone wrong. Let me rephrase that. I know where all I have gone wrong, but I just wonder why at that moment I had not the will power nor the sense to put a stop to my wants. I guess it was important at that time. But it has made me who I am now. Does that make me a better person, less confused or more wise? I do not know. I just know, that what I am now is not what I was then. And that in itself is a relief. Because I no longer want those things that were important to me then. But like new skin coming over a wound, new wants have replaced my old ones.

I am now 26 and I wonder whether I am still continuing to complicate my life by wanting more, be needing more, by feeling more. Standing at this crossroad of ambition of wanting to make it good in my career, of desiring a love that is not arranged, of expanding my horizon of knowledge and experiences and of wanting a home to call my own, a heart other then mine to call my own, I find myself busy and alone; happy and wistful; hopeful and pragmatic. Hmmm... yet more complications. I think all my women friends who might read this might agree with some of this.

But for this one friend, just want to tell that you are not alone... I think other than me there are lot of other working women out there...who want all that I stated above and more. We want, we wish, we need, we must have everything. Where does it all end? It does not. But there are days when one feels fulfilled and for that time, however short it is...we have more than we want. There are days when we feel that our wants have been fulfilled and it leaves us deliriously happy and then there are days when just wanting something with all one's heart just leave other people in shrouds of doubt and unhappiness. And unfortunately, sometimes what we want is just so much in the hands of another person that one just buries that desire along with memories and hopes for another desire to take root.

Till then, I continue to want so many things and wait for some of them to become mine.

GROSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2007-08-04T08:20:00.000+05:30

First-year students at Medical School were receiving their first anatomyclass with a real dead human body. They all gathered around the surgerytable with the body covered with a white sheet. The professor started the class by telling them, "In medicine, it isnecessary to have 2 important qualities as a doctor. The first is that you should not be disgusted by anything involving the human body." For an example, the Professor pulled back the sheet, stuck his finger in the butt of the corpse, withdrew it and stuck his finger in his mouth." Go ahead and do the same thing," he told his students. The students freaked out, hesitated for several minutes, but eventuallytook turns sticking a finger in the butt of the dead body and sucking on it. When everyone had finished, the Professor looked at them and told them,"The second most important quality is observation. I stuck in my middlefinger and sucked on my index finger. Now learn to pay attention."

Something to Laugh About.....

2007-07-31T22:46:00.000+05:30

Here is something that is a really funny read...so, obviously it's not my creation...but it served the purpose and made me smile at a time when I was finding smiles becoming quite costly ......

The Pastor's Ass

The pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won. The pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered in another race and it won again.
The local paper read:

PASTOR'S ASS OUT FRONT.

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the pastor not to enter the donkey in any more races.
The next day the local paper headline read:

BISHOP SCRATCHES THE PASTOR'S ASS.

This was too much for the Bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of the donkey. The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent.
The local paper, hearing of the news, Posted the following headline:

NUN HAS THE BEST ASS IN TOWN.

The Bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey so she sold it to a farmer for $10.
The next day the headlines read:

NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10.

This was too much for the Bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the high plains where it could run free.
The next day the headlines read:

NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE.

Alas ... The Bishop was buried the next day.

MORAL OF THE STORY???
Being concerned about public opinion can bring you much grief and misery and even shorten your life. So, be yourself and enjoy life!!

Stop worrying about everyone else's ass and you'll live longer !!!!

house help

2007-07-18T12:46:00.000+05:30

Some time ago, someone very close to me remarked about the number of people that me and my family keep.... and how this kind of "servitude" was totally unacceptable in a society like.... the U.S., lets say. Needless to say, given my nature of getting easily swayed(or sensitive) by the words of people close to me, I found myself thinking whether the people who worked for my family in the house for as long as I can remember, are better off without this "servitude". I recall the day when my father was still in the service and reached one of the higher posts for which I can defiantly say he worked hard for..... our house was filled with a retinue of people... ranging from a washer man to a sweeper to cooks to guards and all that. I guess a lot of people who are not used to that would be either wistful at not having such luxury or cringe at the thought of so many people being under the "tyranny" of one. I think that is what some of my marxist friends would decipher... that I come from the family which can not live without the help of the lesser privileged. And that should all these just disappear we would falter. What I am going to attempt through this post is to be somehow lay my thoughts on the matter and of course there is going to be some amount of defiance and justification on my part but for the most part I am going to try and be neutral. These thoughts of mine are in no coherent or particular order.

I have gone through the period when me or family have not the least bit of help and we have coped. And coped well. But I ask myself... why should I feel guilty if I and my family have and want people to work for us? Does that mean I or any of us for that matter who have kept house help have no concept of dignity in labour? Let me try and see if I can break what I am feeling about all this and whether I can come up with arguments, not to counteract my friend who said that to me but, rather for me to tell this to anyone else who might even assume that the reason I keep house help is because we have no dignity in labour or that we like making use of people for our comforts. I think a lot of families in India keep house help or employ the services of people outside the mainstream of white collar jobs or routine gainful employment. And I think maybe quite a few families in the U.S also employ house help if they can afford it .... but whether they are judged on the basis of that, is something I am not concerned with. I think it boils down to the simple logic that if it is affordable most of the people would take the chance of having someone to help in the chores of maintaining a home.

What I find annoying is the assumption that people might make that, JUST because a family has house help they have no concept of dignity of labour and how it might be if they had to clean their own bathrooms. Lets talk about the scenario in US or other so called developed nations. I am taking a guess when I say that a lot of people would definitely want house help...... its just that it is expensive. I guess they don't need someone to sweep their house because almost every American household has a vacuum cleaner. I don't have a vacuum cleaner. and I know many who don't. In addition, come to think of it, most of the households in more developed and systematic countries have a screened in house, which is to say, they have very less dust or grime coming in, for which most families I know of, keep a maid in the first place. To clean the house! Because most housing so far does not provide for a system of keeping most part of dust out. Seems like a very flimsy statement to make.... but taking my example....I live in one of the most dustiest cities in the world and despite all my efforts I have lost the battle of the dust! And thus I have a maid to mop and clean. The Armed Services, the Civil Services and all other Government Services provide employment to lakhs as support staff. It is of course a misfortune that qualified people sometimes end up doing manual jobs, but that is a serious flaw which does not have a solution that can emerge by waving a wand or by engaging in rhetorics that we are engaging them in an undesirable employment. But just to keep our focus on domestic help, many unemployed throng to these jobs, not out of their desire to serve but to have a secure job. They are guaranteed three square meals a day and a place above their heads.

Are we not providing these people with a better choice then beggary or something lower? I mean, yes, of course there is a failure in the system, if it has not been able to bring up everyone equally and distribute resources equitably. But, then, hey, if we had all the solutions for people misery and their problems, we would not be known as a developing nation. But then again, developed societies are not misery free zones. They just have a better infrastructural capacity. Are we promoting "servitude" among the lesser privileged?? What is a better choice? Not provide them even the chance to earn their keep by providing them work in the nature of domestic work which would keep them off the streets, or let them fend for themselves, either though selling their bodies, begging or taking up arms. I also wish that they have a better job, sit in AC rooms like us and do better things then wield a broom, or clean vessels. But, till that happens, we live in a symbiotic relationship. And it works well to some extent.

We are also providing services albeit in an AC room. We serve our higher ups while they order us about. The huge population of call centre professionals serve myriad clientèle and earn their share of hypocrisy and discrimination at the hands of foreign clientèle. A construction worker of a freeway is also doing the most difficult manual labour in the service or "servitude"of the society. Most professions have their scope of work written down and defined, while the profession of house help has it own orally defined area for which remuneration is given. So, then, I wonder, where is there a servitude? Yes, they work as household help because of lack of choice! Given a choice most of us would want to do no work while we still get paid, or work in a place/profession which is our hearts deepest desire or be ones own master. I would love to work in a fashion house or in the media, or run a successful book lounge of my own, but some of us don't get our hearts desire either because of lack of will and hard work or because of lack of opportunity. And I feel quite earnestly, that, by employing house help, we are providing them a small window of opportunity for them to reach where they might want to. Maybe its a Utopian thought on my part to feel that they are being helped, but then its even more Utopian to think that there should never be a need for people to work as domestic help. For my part, I am ready to mop my bathroom any time, cook any time, clean any time. Then, in that case, hear ye all who come to my house, kindly excuse the haphazardness and messiness!!!

Small Complete Circles

2007-03-13T11:15:00.000+05:30

"Life has come around to a full circle." Often, have I heard this being said by mostly elderly people. And at times by random people to express the fullness of life or rather the completion of an experience. And also by people, who are, let's say spiritual in nature. I think all of us imagine ourselves reaching that complete circle..... some people reach that Utopian circle on marrying and having a child to make life perfect or fulfilled. Or others... in fact many others would associate post retirement from their professional life and from their personal responsibilities as completion of their circle. I conjure up a picture in my mind's eye of two senior people...lounging around with a cup of tea looking at the albums of their grandchildren or taking a trip to some hill station without the baggage of children (hmmm....I think the former sounds like an ad for a tea brand while the latter seems to be promoting some tourist destination.)

But my point is that one experiences this completeness...... I think I have experienced it too... not in any huge life changing instance... but my life has had its few complete circles.... and maybe that is what we need in this hurried and harried world.... the awareness that there are small complete circles in life, which we can enjoy, and thereby, not be so daunted and fed up with our lives. There should be the need to be aware of these small circles... so complete and fulfilling in itself... to appreciate these... to yearn for these and maybe just maybe find ways and means to create more of these circles of fulfilment.

I remember the headiness that I experienced when I got admission to what was the most sought after course in JNU.... from the first moment I walked into that portal and went thorough the never ending task of operational procedures that finally established me as one of the numerous students in that educational institution. Attending the first few classes... going to the canteens with my other so called intellectual classmates.... perusing through the numerous books kept haphazardly in the even more disorganised library.... all that, however mundane and lacklustre it might sound to anyone else, was a much awaited experience for me that signified a completeness of an experience. It is surprising that it was in JNU that I found most of these little circles of mine being completed..... be it the first time when i got into a relationship... or the first time I had a bike ride in the chill of winter... be it the first time I experienced excruciating emotional hurt and the recovery after that.... be it the first time I wrote my exams ...... so many experiences that have encapsulated itself in tiny tiny circles of contentment and the knowledge that it has happened once and maybe it can happen again.

My father and mother.... now leading a less than usual busy life back in Assam since the time my father retired from his demanding stint in IPS. Now they share, what I enviously and joyously call, their renewed honeymoon and dating. They go shopping in the street vegetable markets each sharing a maize or popcorn...... two on-their-way senior citizens relaxed because their children are financially settled (though a little anxious since they are not married) but nevertheless most of their responsibilities taken care of.... they can once again experience compatible togetherness without me or my brother to over crowd their lives. They have come a full circle.

Many instances. Some of them more significant than the other. Some of them unfortunately not in memory. But they are my circles. And we all have circles of contentment. I just wish we could grasp them, especially when we get bogged down by the mindless riff-raff incidents that life, that jobs, that petty arguments with our peers and our bosses throws at us. Maybe we can't always get what we want so dearly but maybe we can remember the feeling that we experienced when we did get what we want even if it was for a short while.... and maybe we can hope for that circle to happen again.... after all "hope is the feeling one has that the feeling one has isn't permanent." And so also the circles that we have are not permanent but that it was there. And it was beautiful.

I Left My Apple Behind.....

2007-02-27T16:32:00.000+05:30

I left my apple behind......not a very significant thing for a person who has the resources to buy a whole cartful of apples if need be. But then since I have started on my monolouge about leaving things behind, I might as well open the entire pandoras box or in other words upset the apple cart.

I did leave my apple behind.....in my office lounge where I enter to have a just-about-sometimes-edible lunch and I took an apple among the scarce choice of fruits that were there. And upon leaving, I left it behind. It made me depressed that I forgot it behind as if its existence did not matter at all. But most of all I guess I was pricked that I seem to be leaving everything behind.....on the same day I left my gel pen somewhere and my cap of the second pen somewhere else....

And since I am talking about leaving things behind I shall get more verbose.....

I had no choice but to let go of my baby powder because it fell in the loo of a speeding train....and I did not want to fish out a ball point pen that fell in the dark, murky depths of an Indian toilet...so to put an end to its misery and my disgust, I flushed and watched it go into the oblivion of that whirlpool......

I found the world hazy one day only to find that I had left my spectacles behind.

After a particularly emotional altercation with a off and on friend of mine, I once locked my car and then realised that I had left my keys inside hanging in the ignition, and my driver had perforce witnessed nice Delhi sights on his way to help me with the other set of keys. And in the entire process had to bear the ignominy of being caught sitting despondently by the same friend.

I left my purse behind in the dance studio once....would have been much better had I let it remain there as there was nothing valuable in there except for my ID card from work (that too, it was necessary because I did not want to be kept waiting near the gates of my office while the guards who saw me everyday confirm my existence) but anyway mid way on my way back home I realised the absence of my handbag, and thanks to Delhi roads took a never ending U turn to go back and fetch it. In the process, I returend home late to a frosty greeting by my mother who took it as her duty to inform me that I was leading a moralless life (not in those words exactly...but the actual words are a bit more graphic). I must say leaving behind things is proving to be very injurious.

I left my hot water flask in yet another dance studio...and I readily mourned its disappearance/death because I had no hope of it coming back to me......it was a very good looking one after all...but lo and behold there are happy endings once in a while and after 3 weeks of absence I got my flask back...oh such a warm feeling it was.....

Ah yes!!!There was this one time when me and two of my peers went turning our room upside down looking for the spectacles that I thought I left behind somewhere in that room, but the spectacles were found perched on my nose....!!!This only conveys that I had left my mind somewhere and those peers of mine had a myopic vision....

I left a pretty gilt covered stole of mine in a friends room...and it continues to be left behind there somewhere.........

Wish I could leave my past behind with such abandon...........

Youth (Childhood)!!! Where Art Thou Gone?

2007-02-20T13:07:00.000+05:30

In a short while, I reach the landmark of 25 years. I say landmark for the lack of any other profound sounding word; for the events leading up to this supposedly momentous day may not be noteworthy for any major achievements of life changing proportions. I am settled. At least considered so by people who think that getting a job is a criteria for being settled. (of course, as far as where marriage is considered as an aspect of settled settlement, I draw up short). By some standards I lead an eventful life on account of my numerous dance class and due to the usage of technology which allows me to have an active online life.

Perhaps its the fast paced life that we seem to dwell in or maybe its just me constantly making comparison...or lets blame it on my age catching up with me...but I get the feeling that the world no longer needs people who are just master of one; that's passe now...but competition requires humanity to be multi-faceted, diverse, jack of all trades and preferably master of some more....

Besides the feeling of inadequacy that I face, it is the sense of wonder as to what numerous industries the human composition is competent in dealing with if one is initiated into it at a young age. I remember two sisters in one of my earlier dance classes; just in their teens, the younger one not yet there....and boy!!!Were they talented...both went to ballet classes, the younger one was into gymnastics while the elder one was into kickboxing...the younger one learned the piano while the elder one was into guitar....maybe they were striving to form a miniature Corrs....but looking at those two, I felt a tug of envy...not because they were doing things I could only fantasize about (OK..maybe a little), but the key stage in my life has gone by without me capitalizing it....I call it youth and the elders and other sensible people will call it childhood.....

Don't we all wistfully look back at the past when we think we could have made those changes....kindly ignoring the fact that we will one day look back at today and wish we had done something more worthwhile then penning down these thoughts in a blog or something more worthwhile than moaning about the if - only - those - days - were - back.

My father loves making comparisons (I think that's where I get it from)....it becomes quite a pain. The strange thing is that my father compares himself with a mythical himself. And I get compared to my darling cousins and well to do children of not so well to do parents. I remember this particluar trip that I made to my hometown in Assam and my father was completely bowled over by the crystals and the ambience of his younger brother's abode....but more particularly he made it amply clear that he thought that his niece was very talented (she played the piano, made a drink out an ambiguous mix of ice cream and limca or something, she could sew, paint, write blah blah blah)and all this when she was just 15 or so......oh..yes and I must mention that she could bake. Throughout the entire time I felt my father's penetrating glance on me....as if to say....and where do you stand???

Time has passed and needless to say I am doing much better than my cousin according to her and my parents now!!!!! Poor thing! And she is only in college. But I just cant help but wonder if only I had been attuned to being more creative when I was younger, then I would not spend my nows wondering if I could have been somone different. Cant help the feeling of agedness when I hear my second cousins starting to read pride and prejudice/the da vinci code and the national newspapers, learning bharatnatyam, Microsoft office at the age of 8..... not generation gap but more than that.....

In HR parlance, my childhood/youth and maybe many others out there (though people may not necessarily concur) has been a wastage of Human Resources. But the trial now, in banking parlance if I might say so, would be to avoid making the remaining stages of life a Non-Performing Asset. In the end I hope not to say.... Life!!!where art thou gone.....?

Hype Over Hearts

2007-02-16T11:07:00.000+05:30

Yet another so called proclaimed day for the celebration of love has gone by......this budding contemplator made herself artificially unaware of the underlying excitement that this day brought to many. Of course, it so happened that after a point it required no particular effort on my part to think of this day as anything special. Monotony does that to you. I thought my mundanely exciting office would rid me of any speculations that I might have regarding the existence of Valentine's Day. But for once my conviction that my office and my senior colleagues were of the Jurassic park age was defied and shattered!!!! On a mission of mine to roam about the office with the ambition to look busy and aloof I found many of my senior colleagues excitedly wishing each other "happy valentine's day!!!!!Each pointed to the others clothes (especially the excited female lot) and tried to come to a conclusion about the reason for donning on a specific colour.The usually coquettish males begin to nod and knowingly wink at the poor bachelor batch mates of mine as if to say ....we know what you did last summer.

As for yours truly, it is amusing to note that when people perceive you as even above average looking, it is naturally assumed that my social calendar would be full of marks and crosses and that I must have several plans and suitors falling in line......I would benignly smile while redeeming them of their self made conclusions and graciously move on only to find my batch mates enclose me with their demands as to what rocking plans have I made for the V day. Finally ensconced in my work cubicle, I engrossed myself in multi-tasking between having an online conversation with friends; answering useless queries over the phone; calculating the amount on debit vouchers and for the nth time cursing stupid rules of accountancy.

My dance class was no different with all the lovely ladies decked out for the occasion and waiting for their beaus to come and whisk all of them (all of them are coincidentally friends) to a priorly booked restaurant. I refuse to be envious or wistful.....I come back home sans dance class and back to a lonely welcome of my home......Valentine's Day....I mused...the day one is supposed to be with the acknowledged close one....which has never happened in my case.......but I am happy.....for a reason best known to me and which made my day special......

So I lay to a rest my cynicism about this day and postpone it to next year....