Ladies' Coup

Mumbai is synonymous to its local trains: it’s a romantic concept somehow, in spite of its peak hour traffic, where you see thousands of people flooding into the platform, where each second counts almost as much it does to an Olympic athlete, where people’s lives are hanging in the balance (literally), where a common bond is forged between the nameless, faceless common man…

And imagine yourself to be a young girl, just out of your teens, new in Mumbai, stranded all alone in some godforsaken station, your head in a whirl, fighting the ghosts of past, present and future. And then the train comes, you head towards the ladies’ compartment as you see couples holding hands and families with young children and vendors all rushing towards the general compartment. There is something lonely and pitiful about the ladies’ coup or for that matter any sort of reservation- be it bus or be it the parliament! The train stops for a split second, you see the women fighting and struggling into the compartment, abusing each other in some language that you don’t understand, then the station guard comes with a stick, slams the door shut on your face, and it starts moving while you are still on the platform with a heavy bag running helplessly after the train. He says something you don’t understand, and the next moment you are again standing all alone- but this time on an empty platform. And you suddenly break down, crying like a baby. And he comes to you, and assures you that he will put you in the next train due in one hour…

This time you are more determined, even as tears are still running down your cheek. This time you make it without any help, this time you fight it out. You make your way inside the compartment with women and children occupying every inch of available floor space and you notice an extraordinary camaraderie among them- the same women who were abusing each other, who were ready to tear one another’s hair off were sitting together and gossiping like old friends. As you stand in the middle with your bag on the shoulder they stare at your ear phones, at your modern outfit, at your short hair and then at your tear strained vulnerable face. Suddenly they soften, they say something which again you don’t understand, and then they gesture to the heavy bag and your shoulder. One of them holds it for you, while another makes a little room for you in the bench already carrying two extra people. You nod at them gratefully, and slip yourself between them, smile and stare outside the window with a vacant look in your eyes. Then they come again, the tears streaming out, and this time you don’t even fight them- you just let them trickle down your cheeks, and then one of the women taps you and asks you what’s wrong. You are embarrassed, you brush off your tears and say, nothing. She persists and the others also join in, as they start asking questions, most of which you don’t understand and then they make up their own minds. Are you a Hindu or a Muslim? You must be a Muslim because you aren’t wearing a bindi. You new in Mumbai for studying? Missing your mom na? You nod, gratefully. Then they stare at your phone which has a wallpaper of your mom hugging you. Suddenly their maternal instincts take over, and one of them puts her arm around you. It’s a dirty arm, with the evident filth of a train journey, but you feel comforted, you feel one of them. Then a kid comes and stands close to you. You draw him closer to you, pick him up as he settles comfortably on your lap. You hold on to him, and before long, he twirls his fingers round yours and you instinctively give him a hug. He gives a toothy smile and then falls asleep, as your legs freeze under his weight. And then you fall asleep, as your kajal smudges with your tears rendering your face a scary look…

Inside out...

Now that we are in the middle of the placement process, especially this being the recession year and recruitments being freezed, we really really appreciate the trauma of sitting through endless inane GDs, tiring interviews, mindless psychometric tests and we really really try very hard to suppress our urge to speak our minds, but as they say, honesty isn’t exactly what companies are looking for! The mantra is, “Be yourself, but not too much…”

So if you do happen to struggle your way through an interview after mind boggling written tests or vicious fishmarkets (a.k.a. group discussions), be prepared with the most ridiculous, yet popular questions asked by most panelists:

So, tell me about yourself…
Uhhmm… Are you really really interested? Well, once upon a time, in a small village of Pathankot, was born a beautiful princess called Pinky Braganza…. And so on and so forth…

What are your strengths and weaknesses?Strengths:
Well, I am an expert in flirting… my sole achievement at B school has been my six boyfriends and that too when I have three more outside college and an outstation boyfriend of three years.
Weaknesses: Well, I used to be an adolescent mass murderer…

Where do you see yourself five years from now?
Obviously in your chair harassing a poor student…

Why do you want to join our organization?
Because the organization I am interested in is not interested in me, and you buggers are all I have…

Give us one reason why we should take you.
Because you don’t have better options, and neither do I. So let’s just stop this farce and get on with it…

Well, now that I have got it out of my system, I feel better!! Obviously none of these answers can be used during an actual interview- so keep that fake smile on, and do memorize all the inane business quotations which you can inappropriately apply in the wrong contexts!

Escapism...

“Privacy is a luxury in Mumbai that only money can buy”- Shantaram….

Now I have been brought up in a nuclear family with working parents and no siblings, and I had grown up learning to love my own company and never really complained about it. By the time I was in my teens, privacy was something I treasured deeply and I made sure I had it. Thankfully my parents were the liberal kinds who respected my “space” as long as I was responsible enough and disciplined enough.

When I moved to Bombay, it was suddenly a different story altogether and in the last six years, I have been tossed around from one hostel to another while the number of room mates has only multiplied! Suddenly I had people around me all the time, people who talked about anything, people who expected you to tell them about little detail in your life, people who ate together, went out together, shopped together, studied together and people who never quite understood my need to be alone at times. While I enjoyed this new found “bonding”, it also made me feel a little claustrophobic at times with an aching desire to escape, to just be by myself, away from the madding crowd, when those long lonely walks by the sea were not enough, when you crave for freedom…

Random Musings...

The Fort office… The Ring… The Leopold…

The red skirt… The oversized T shirt… The rain…

The Ashes test match… The puchka… The couch…

The scrabble board… The waves… The swing…

The baby corn… Long Island Tea… Oh Calcutta…

Cat’s in the Cradle… I Rock… The Orchid…

The Nameplate… (the distance) The Diwali…

The Importance of Being Earnest!

Suddenly I am in a phase where I am at peace with myself, I no longer need constant reassurance, I no longer feel short changed, I no longer want to crib about the petty things in life- placements, grades, popularity, recognition… (though weight continues to be a pressing paranoia) and most importantly, I no longer feel the chronic need to sms! That’s like a HUGE relief, like freedom from some age old bondage…

I think the recent Mumbai blasts and the economic recession have something to do with it. Innocent people are dying for no fault of theirs, human life has just become like any other perishable commodity, thousands of people are being given pink slips without any warning and every day newspapers are full of one grim story or another- and that kind of puts your life in perspective, makes you a little guilty and probably helps you to appreciate your own life a little more! When you are busy mourning the lack of that extra one lakh in your package, there are people around you with families who have been shown the door. When you are sitting at Tamanna cafe cribbing about the service, another hotel in Mumbai is being set on fire. May be my dad does have a point when he calls me an ungrateful greedy wretch…but yeah I do miss the smsing: it’s been a part of me ever since I learnt how to operate a mobile phone, it’s my way of expressing myself, it’s my way of communicating and it’s my way to make my point! All the important realizations in my life were over text messages. But this part of my life is called… growing up!!

And am reading again.... color purple, liar's poker, shantaram... reading kind of makes life better than it actually is! n m trying to be happy, n m slightly incoherrent n slightly befuddled. dad's birthday tomorrow, but more than that, it reminds me of babri masjid attacks!

A Wednesday...

The relationship between the reel and the real is often parallel to that of the chicken or the egg: which came first? So is reel life a portrayal of the real, or is it the other way round? Do filmmakers and novelists get inspired by what happens on the streets, or does the little boy strangle himself while aping the Shaktimaan on screen? A couple of months back I was admiring the movie “A Wednesday” which was a common man’s take on terrorism. And now, here we are, another Wednesday, another atrocious act of terrorism, but this time, it’s for real!

A lot has been written and said and heard about the Mumbai blasts on 26th November, 2008 and my blog certainly isn’t about voicing opinion about serious subjects or about issues of national importance- terrorism, politics, religion, foreign relations and so on and so forth! And no, today I am not going to make an exception for one of the greatest ever crises that India has ever faced. This post is again about me, about the Bombay I know and as an ordinary citizen how it affects me…

I spent five years in South Mumbai, at very heart of where all the carnage has happened, and I have closely observed all the tragedies that it had been subject to in this short span of time- I was there during the floods of 26th July, the bomb blasts at Marine Lines and Zaveri Bazaar, the blasts in the train, and I escaped unscathed on all the occasions. I worked at Nariman Point, stayed at a pigeon hole at Girgaum, hurried through the CST station at odd hours, watched movies at the Metro, sneaked into the Trident, admired the Taj from below and walked miles through the narrow crowded lane of Colaba Causeway hunting for a cheap bargain stopping by at the Leopold for a lunch date with friends. And today, as horrific images of the blazing grand edifices flash across the screen, I am reminded how vulnerable they actually are- not withstanding all their grandeur! They represent the dollar dreams of Mumbai, the status symbol for the well heeled South Mumbai elite and their boardrooms are heart of corporate India where life changing decisions are made! And they successfully intimidate the common man, but unfortunately our cargo clad, English speaking teenaged terrorist is no common man.

Yes I am angry, yes, I am appalled, and yes I don’t understand this collective apathy, this refusal to learn from mistakes, this callous attitude on the part of our “leaders”, but at the same time I also know that public memory is short, that this too shall pass… We shall again pride ourselves on the famed “spirit of Mumbai”, but really, do we have a choice here? It’s not the spirit stupid, it’s just that we have to make ends meet that makes us get up in the morning, board that ill-fated train to the ill-fated CST station to the ill-fated Nariman House for work the next day. It’s a Hobson’s Choice: either you sit at home and see your family starve, or you risk your life and go to work hoping that you don’t become the victim today. It’s not a question of spirit, but of compulsion.

Having said all this, we would
continue as before…
take our chances…
live on the edge…
love Mumbai…

Give us two weeks!!

Yin and Yang!

So am back after a short hiatus- my weeklong trip to Kolkata was ridden with contrasts; while it stirred some familiar memories, it also evoked some new emotions…

So it was back to good old Kolkata as I know it… same old Park Street (complete with Chinese at Waldorf), St. Xaviers College, Lake Gardens, Nandan and Bengal Club. But also the new face of Kolkata- City Centre and South City malls and multiplexes and flyovers…

Same old struggle through the crowded metro, buses and autos. But also getting my license renewed and vain attempts at driving (reverse gear and parking had me stumped)…

Same old routine of getting up at 5 a.m. and going to bed at 9 p.m. But also more freedom, late night gossiping and chatting…

Same old jokes and ideas. But big promises and bigger plans marred by middle class morality...

Same old friends and relatives (the previous generation just looks older, and the younger generation seems to have grown up beyond recognition). But discovering new friends too…

Same old cheap roadside coffee. But sinful and sinfully expensive desserts at The Park too…

Same old cheapness and penny pinching. But brushes with opulence as well…

Same old love for the sleepy city: not the kind of seductive love of Mumbai but the kind of love that grows with time and age and ugliness…

Definitely Maybe...

Just got done with exams. Now that even 3rd sem is behind us, and with only one more sem to go, it’s safe to say that we are ALMOST over with our MBA. From 18 painful core subjects in the first semester to 4 electives in the 4th, it’s been a long long journey, but in terms of learning, I honestly don’t know how (un)successful I have been. But yeah, the big achievement in this semester was that I realized how much I hate finance and that it is NOT the dream career option for me. The rest, I am still to figure out.

While the last month has been hectic (which explains the highest number of blog posts: it’s more like a stress buster than a time killer) with a lot of lectures, and both internal and external evaluations dumped on us, overall it’s been a pretty chilled out 5 months- having fun at the expense of juniors, frequent dinners and parties, hair experiments (some of them not very pleasant), running around for hard disks to store all kinds of movies and music, the whole college striving for glory in some B school competitions or the other, and celebrating about PPOs/PPIs while we sit in the cafeteria discussing the gloomy economic scenario and mope about the rise and fall of the investment banking structure (not that it affects our daily lives in any way). Of course, the hot topics of the semester were How I Met Your Mother, Prison Break, Barack Obama and FSA. For people who were smart enough not to take up the elective, did miss out on what I can only describe as the most painful episode of my life which contributed to 80% of my academic woes, which made my Wednesdays and Thursdays miserable, which spoilt my weekends and which made me feel humiliated, inadequate and anxious! In fact it was quite a life changing experience if you ask me…

Personally it’s been quite eventful, what with me discovering my “true calling”, but at the same time, giving up on a dream, settling for a compromise for the first time in life, but having enough sense to do so- may be having options is not always the most ideal of situations, because the premium you pay is pretty high! But then again, finance is behind me (oops sorry, I have a backlog in International Finance), but right now, I still have other Barbie Doll dreams to live for!

But I am going to Kolkata after a year and a half…. Yippie!!! Finallyyyyyyyyy

Diwali Dreams

So it was yet another diwali, yet another diwali away from kolkata, away from my gang of rowdy brothers who make Diwali a blast- literally! With our 3rd semester exams on, quite a few people are stranded on campus while some of us have managed to squeeze in a few days of vacation. Bombay was comparatively quieter this year- what with economic recession, job losses, stock market crash, and the Raj Thackeray fiasco, Diwali was more subdued- not the usual obscene display of pomp and grandeur that you usually experience on Marine Drive!

My Diwali was nothing special- quiet time with family, lots of food and chocolates, catching up with friends, long phone calls and yes, shattered dreams and a wait for new ones.

And finally, Usha Aunty- it was an honour to meet you at last…

Ode to street shopping!

So am in Mumbai for Diwali and decided it was time for some good old shopping! N my shopping expeditions are usually conducted during Sale seasons or bargain shops. But this time I decided to go high-end and attacked the streets of Kemps Corner- the posh South Mumbai shopping paradise. As I gingerly stepped into a branded shoe store I was greeted by a smiling salesperson and as I eyed the attractively positioned party heels, he did his usual sales pitch. While I didn’t seem completely sold off (my eyes were fixated on the price tag) he tried a different tactic: he began to flatter me- something that works really well on girls- about how good that pair looked on my feet, about how it was the style of the season, about how that colour looks great on young people like me… it was a far cry from the usual haggling that I indulge in- my regular shopping experiences are something like this:
I- Bhaiya yeh kitne ka hai?
Sales guy- 200 rupaiya…
I- Kya bhaiya, kuch bhi bolte ho…. 50 mein dena hai to do
Sales guy- 50? Isme uska photo bhi nahi milega… niklo yaha se
I- accha theek hai. 75 final. Student hoon bhaiya, paise nahi hai
Sales guy- 100!! Usse kaam nahi hoga
I- sigh!!! Theek hai…
So obviously this Kemps corner affair with its 4 figure price tags and smiling sophisticated sales people was something quite new for me. And it kinda scared me…and quite surprisingly the hollow flattery didn’t go down well with me. I missed my straight forward abusive roadside bhaiya. As I made my way out of the shop sans the party heels, I headed towards my favourite bargain store just to feel better in the familiar surroundings, followed by a soothing one hour at Crossword- the place which still keeps me sane during insane times. I bought the White Tiger and Stay Hungry Stay Foolish instead of party heels- so my Diwali shopping is done!!

It happens only @ SCMHRD!!

Your marks get reduced after you give your paper for re-evaluation. Not that it changes much: you just fail by a bigger margin…

You call up the faculty at regular intervals, preferably at odd hours (midnight or later) to get more information out of him about the paper…

You run to the exam hall at 7:15 a.m. for a 7 a.m. paper and you are not allowed to write it and you feel thankful because now you can curl up and catch two extra hours of sleep…

You are fined 1000 bucks for some old guest lecture you bunked and you are not allowed to sit for the paper until you pay up. You do a quick cost-benefit analysis, decide that writing a backlog will be much cheaper (250 bucks) and skip the exam…

Your marks in case of a group assignment are inversely proportional your contribution…

And finally, I am done with the much dreaded FSA paper…. It was a case study so we all screwed up! But thank god, it was a case study, otherwise I would have been the only one to screw up…

Statistically (In)Significant!

Null Hypothesis: I HATE STUDYING

Studying makes me FAT… I don’t go to the gym, I binge eat, I survive on junk, I eat chocolates and dice creams every day and I find comfort in food! That also explains why I weighed my heaviest during my 10th std Board Exams and the lowest during my XIIth std boards. Simply put, body fat is directly proportional to your marks!

Studying makes me UGLY… I don’t dress up, I don’t feel like wearing make up or good clothes (mostly because I don’t fit into good clothes), I don’t even brush my hair. I just lounge around in my room in my ragged pyjamas!

Studying makes me DEPRESSED… I don’t know what I am studying, why am I studying, what use will it be in future or why everyone is going gaga about it. In this system of relative grading, if only people will just be a little considerate and not study at all, then all of us will score abysmally low marks (close to zero) but all of us will pass because class average will be low enough! Don’t know why people can’t understand this simple formula and are hell bent on mugging up difficult ratios and concepts. It’s depressing because now I shall be the only one to score a zero and flunk!

Studying makes me a GOOD HOUSEKEEPER… Suddenly during exams I become very particular about hygiene and cleanliness. I take a bath thrice a day, I clean the clutter on my desk, I tidy my wardrobe and I wash clothes more frequently because all these give me an excuse to not study. I would rather do the dirty work every time I remember it’s time to study and procrastinating it in favour of a cleaner room reduces depression…

Studying makes me PHILOSOPHICAL… When I do manage to open my books after I have exhausted ALL other alternatives, I find my mind wandering away to far-off places, to imaginary fairylands, to prince charming, to romantic destinations, to dyslexic famous personalities and yeah, I appreciate the movie Taare Zameen Par even more…

Studying makes me a VICTIM… During exams I feel even more vulnerable, even more helpless and even more misunderstood. I feel trapped in a web of excel sheets, numbers and meaningless financial jargon, case studies which make no sense, people who are simply enamoured by the logical constraints of quantitative crap and bullying room mates who don’t let me sleep, who scare me with horror stories about how everybody else is studying hard and how they will pull up the average, who insist that I stay up past my bed time of 10 p.m. and who threaten that if I fail in more than three subjects, I shall be thrown out of the room…

Conclusion: DO NOT REJECT NULL HYPOTHESIS AT 99.99% CONFIDENCE INTERVAL!!

Perfectly Inperfect!

Ok so I am not perfect, I am not a lady, and I am definitely not the brainy types…

Some of the things that I been accused of:

Clumsy…

Sloppy…

Confused…

Laidback…

Artistic temperament… less of an artist, more of temperament

Detached…

Miserly…

Shopaholic…

Moody…

Financially Challenged…
Hereby readers are invited to add to the list…. This is just a desperate measure on my part to increase my blog hits!!

Of finance and flunking!

So I flunked one of my finance papers; not really surprising and it’s not like I have flunked for the first time in my life! But still, the thought of studying for that paper again and spending money (we have to pay 250 bucks per paper for the backlog) is kind of daunting, especially now that only a few more months are left and I really really don’t want to study anymore, at least finance any more!

The more I think about why I took up finance, the more stupefied I am… it was more by elimination rather than by choice! It’s like I don’t like marketing, operations is too difficult, HR requires a lot of hard work, so finance is all I am left with. I did economics, followed by a stint in a bank, and my dad is a finance guy who reads finance books for PLEASURE, and he raves and rants about it, so yeah, I thought let’s check out what’s so great about it. As it turns out, it really doesn’t fascinate me.

Then I got thinking: my dad really has more influence on me than I give him credit for! I mean I am always trying to project this image of me as a fiercely independent, strong headed, totally liberal person who does her own thing, and may be to a certain extent, I do, but if I think about it, “my own thing” is something which my dad approves of! May be subconsciously I only do stuff that he wants me to do- from reading to sports to career to guys- there hasn’t been much conflict between us, which is scary given the generation gap. In fact my favourite cricketer is Mohammad Azharuddin! Come to think of it, it’s the same for him… but yeah we did fight it out during Grand Slam matches with me rooting for Monica Seles and he for Steffy Graf. But then again, I read up Enid Blyton and Ayn Rand and Jeffrey Archer and PG Wodehouse because he was crazy about them. My best friends are usually people that he gets along with really well. And if I am confused about anything, I simply accept his suggestion, no questions asked! One of my friends told me that my biggest weakness is my dad, and I guess he is right…

But now, I am suddenly faced with a life changing decision: so will finance come between me and my dad? He wants me to do my CA/CFA next, and I am adamant that I am doing nothing of that sort!! I refuse to derive the same sort of pleasure out of finance like he does. So for the first time in my life, I really want to do “my own thing”, which is really my own…

To Sir... with love!

So I met this professor of mine after ages- let’s call him RC. He represented my idea of The Complete Man: the ideal guy- smart, articulate, funny with an element of sarcasm, well-read, versatile, well traveled, experienced and yes good looking though not in the typical TDH way. He helped me through my frustrations, my fears and yeah, through those long comprehension passages, vocab and reasoning in my days of CAT preparations. He would sit with me patiently for ages analyzing my mock papers trying to figure out how I managed to score a negative in the Quant section! And after I got through the first hurdle, he made my life miserable during the mock interviews and GDs. So today when I met him after almost a couple of years, he greeted me with, “Oh you have grown up from the 16-year old kid who used to cry during mock interviews”. Of course I wasn’t 16, and I never cried, but yeah, close enough!

So the bottomline is that I developed a minor crush over this 35 year old guy, whose classes were a breeze, who encouraged us to think and who was like a friend just a phonecall away. And his kind of humour totally got me- there were times when he would crack a joke with a straight face, not many people would even find it funny, but I would just burst out laughing with the entire class staring at me… and then become sober. He was the typical arty, bohemian types whom I worshipped!

Today as we caught up on old times, we somehow transcended the teacher-student barrier, and before long we were discussing our love lives (or the lack of them), previous relationships, financial crisis, communism, Mark Twain, alcohol and world tour. He advised me to quit worrying about placement and just find a rich guy and live happily ever after. I explained that I found it difficult to find a guy, let alone rich!

As we said goodbye, he hugged me and signed off with a typical, “be good, but if you can’t, be careful!”. 

Shubho Bijoya!

So today is dussheruh, or for us, bijoy doshomi, i.e. the last day of durga puja. This was the 6th consecutive year that I spent durga puja away from Calcutta: I miss the five days of celebration, waking up to the sound of dhak, the ten new clothes that I made a point to wear in five days, the pandal hopping in the evening, the antakshari games till late as we sat in our parar pujo pandal, the arati and of course the visarjan on doshomi, the sindur khela, the tearful goodbye followed by the back breaking sessions of feet touching and most annoyingly, the mishti feast following it. Now I understand that sweets constitute a very important part of Bengali culture, but what I fail to understand is the passion with which people serve others this delicacy and almost take it personally if you dare to refuse it… I have often felt the brunt of discontent and brusque comments about aaj kal ke bacche because of my staunch aversion towards this particular Bong ritual.

Anyway I spent dussherah with my best friend- lying around, eating chocolates, custard, and khakri, counting calories, bitching about people, dissecting past/current/prospective boyfriends, mulling about career options (or the lack of them) especially in this tumultuous market situations, annoying parents and about life in general! Then we decided to go on a trip, just the two of us, to Mauritius… just like that!!

The small highs in life...

The first time you stood on stage and received a merit certificate and you stole a shy look at your parents sitting in the front row, applauding and beaming…

The first time you made it to the deep end of the pool without gasping for breath in the middle…

The first time you painted something beautiful and hung it up on your wall…

The first time you kissed…

The first time you got drunk…

Your first pay cheque…

The first time you cooked Maggie and felt so proud of yourself…

The first time you saw your baby open her eyes and smile at you…

Mum is the word

So I met my mom after nearly four months; the first thing she says after she sees me is, “you have lost weight”. Brilliant start! Moms always know what makes you feel good, they always know the right things to say, even if they aren’t necessarily true- she knows she is stretching it, I know she is stretching it, but hey, I like the compliment, I feel good, and I am not nearly so rude to her- works for both of us! But of course it’s all downhill from there, and within 20 mins we are back to square one- arguing like always!

From “why aren’t you eating properly”, to “when are you getting placed”, to “when are you shifting back to Calcutta”, to “when are you getting married” (incidentally at this stage of desperation, the “who” is no longer important”)- the conversation was right on track- the same beaten path that we walk every time we meet…punctuated with the same responses from me: uh-huh, don’t know, don’t care, never…

I kinda like the parent-offspring relationship at least from the offspring’s point of view: you get to be rude, obnoxious, demanding and act like a complete spoilt brat, and yet they still love you, they still call you, they still beg you to come home, they still think you are the best thing that ever happened to them, and best of all, they still tell you that you are thin, no matter how bloated you are. It’s fun being an only child; not sure how much fun it is being a mom though!

Rollercoaster Rides

My bus trips to Mumbai are usually quite eventful: either I end up getting lost, or I get into the wrong bus or I meet interesting people. Somehow, when you are always looking for stories, you usually get them, or may be you are more aware of your surroundings, you are more watchful so that you don’t miss out on any new experience.

Like this time, first I got thrown out of the bus for bargaining for 50 bucks and I am so totally shameful that I quite enjoyed the humiliation. At times you can sacrifice self-respect for the sake of money, and right now, 50 bucks is a lot of money…

Then while returning I had the opportunity to share my seat with a firang from Israel, who looked straight out of the Ten Commandments movie, except that he wore floaters and shorts. He was relieved that I spoke English and the conversation began with basic queries like how long it will take us to reach Pune, where should he get down to go to KP, whether the bus will stop in between and so on and so forth. I learnt that he lived alone in Tel Aviv, that he made a career out of spirituality and stress management, that he had traveled all over the world- USA, Britain, Greece, South-East Asia and this was his third trip to India in the last 10 years and that India fascinated him (but of course). He was in Pune for spiritual reasons- he spoke of Oshe, Sri Sri Ravishankar, different meditation techniques, Art of Living and all that jazz. I was way out of depth: I mean the 5 day Art of Living workshop which was compulsory in the 1st semester was all I knew about spirituality, so obviously, I listened to him with rapturous attention. It amused me that while he didn’t even bother to ask my name, it did not stop him from asking extremely personal questions- how old I was (I don’t know why I deducted one year from my actual age; I think it’s just a woman thing…), which religion I followed, whether I was married, what I did for a living, where I came from. I realized that he was trying to learn about the Indian culture more than about me per se, so I gave him measured answers. I wasn’t exactly the best representative of Indian culture! When he asked me if I had boyfriends, if I was allowed to date outside my religion or caste, if I had the luxury to choose my own life partner, I replied that while for me religion or caste wasn’t an important parameter, it may be quite a significant issue for others, that it was essentially a personal choice. He was pleasantly surprised that in college we studied together with boys, that we hung around all the time, that even though I was a Hindu, I had Muslim friends. He admitted that he had assumed Indians were far more conservative than the West and I was quick to assure him that India was too big a country to fit into any sweeping generalization. We talked about the security concerns, the recent blasts in Delhi, the constant squabble between Israel and Palestine and at the end of the two hours, I realized that while we came from completely different backgrounds, at some level we were all similar: innocent citizens tired of being victims!

Unbearable Lightness of Being...

So there is this thing with human beings: they want to conform, they want to be accepted, to be looked up to, to be admired, to be somebody! Yeah, even I want to be somebody, but then again, who?

When I was growing up, I wanted to be like Portia: beautiful, smart, courageous…
In my teen years, I wanted to be like Barkha Dutt: talented, articulate, courageous…
In school, I wanted to be like our Literature professor: beautiful, articulate, imaginative…
Then I wanted to be like our head girl: tall, slim, with straight hair, always chased by guys…
Then when I became the head girl, I still wanted to be tall, slim and popular…
Then I wanted to be like Arundhati Ray: intellectual, activist, global citizen…
In college, I wanted to be like the hip Bombay girls: body piercings, tattoos, anklets, hoops, frayed jeans, complete with that whole “cool” look…
While working I wanted to be like this senior manager: young, classy, Ivy-league educated, aggressive, fiercely independent…
Here, in my 1st year I wanted to be like one of our professors- let’s call her PK…

And of course, on TV, I didn’t have any dearth of role models- Rachael Green, Ally Mcbeal, Carrie Bradshaw, Julia Roberts, Angelina Jolie, Shabana Azmi, Nandita Das or Konkona Sensharma…

Then I noticed a pattern in all these women: they had to be tall, slim, cool, smart and independent, i.e. all the things I am not! I had spent all these years wanting to be somebody, somebody other than me, but hey, now I realize that I make a pretty decent job of being ME…yes, I can’t imagine a little girl who looks up to me and says, “Some day I want to be like Shimonti”, but then again I will live with it because I would rather be comfortable in my own skin, than struggle in somebody else’s…

Wait for it...

Ok, so three of the top five firms of The Wall Street have collapsed, my brother is struggling in one of the remaining two, stranded in Hong Kong, wondering if he will be next, my dad is worried sick about the impact of the global financial meltdown on the Indian markets and how it will affect his company’s rights issue, and all the economists of all the papers are crying themselves hoarse and deriving a perverse pleasure in this turmoil, as the job market is suddenly flooded by CVs of hotshot ex-Investment bankers. While all of us take refuge in discussing this gloomy state of affairs, we find safety in numbers, in the comfort of knowing that all of us are in it together. With the placement season knocking on the doors, it’s a nerve-wracking situation, not knowing what’s in store for us, and suddenly the focus has shifted from negotiating for better profiles and higher salaries to just getting placed. It’s kind of depressing and I have found a new way to deal with it: the answer to my prayers is, wait for it,… “How I met your mother”!

For the uninitiated, it’s the new obsession that’s doing the rounds in our campus, the FRIENDS of this decade which revolves around the lives of five very different people- Lily and Marshall, the eternal couple, eternally joined at the hip; the romantic Ted who is every girl’s hero and the Canadian beauty, Robin, who, in spite of her chemistry with Ted can’t seem to make it work; and of course there is the legendary Barney, the charming womanizer whom you would just love to hate… Neil Patrick Harris in the role is simply AWESOME!! I loved him as the teenaged Doogie Howser, and I still love him in his new avatar. I have always been a hardcore FRIENDS loyalist, no loyalist is a mild term, I mean I am obsessed with FRIENDS (and the obsession reaches its peak with Ross), but suddenly this new series finds me lying around in my bed, glued to the laptop through the day, skipping meals, classes and human beings. Anything for a little light-hearted laugh; trust me, these days it’s hard to come by!

Most Mortifying Moments...

Most Mortifying Moments…

1. Guy walking ahead with his back to me. Thinking it’s my dad on his way back from the office, I run up to him and give him a surprise hug. Surprised, he turns back, and yeah, it’s not my dad…
2. Me scoring 9 out of 100 in my Physics paper in Class XI…
3. Me sending an extremely inappropriate text message to somebody when it was meant for somebody else…
4. Me saying something uncharitable about my boss to my friend on messenger; only I type at the wrong chat window (yeah, my boss’ window)…
5. Me in FSA class…. (EVERY BLOODY FRIDAY)

Please note that the above list is only indicative and not exhaustive… I have not mentioned any of the numerous incidents of me falling down, me chasing buses, me putting my foot in my mouth…

Kolkata Kaleidoscope

I know Bombay is the city that enamors me- six years in the city that never sleeps, and am already seduced into making a lifelong commitment to it: it is the city where I want to live, where I want to work, where I want to settle down, where I want to bring up my kids and where I want to die! But today as I sit alone by the window, staring into the gloomy dark night to the sound of the drizzle outside, I can’t help going back in time, the 18 long years which charted out my happy childhood, my rebellious teen years and my struggle for an identity. It’s been over a year since I went to Kolkata, but today, suddenly I miss it…

I miss our small two roomed apartment overlooking the slum in Chetla, I miss our rowdy games of kit-kit, pittu, kabaddi, kumir-danga, lukochudi…
I miss running for dance classes twice a week, cursing my mom for enrolling me such a sad course (really who learns classical dance these days?) which makes me miss my above mentioned games with my friends…
I miss getting up at 5 in the morning for swimming lessons, praying that they won’t force me to the deep end today…
I miss my school (infamous for being in the guiness book of world records for being the most overpopulated school in Asia), the cramped classrooms, and the recurrent feedback of my exasperated teachers regarding my communication skills (my report card was permanently inked with the statement: “should learn to converse more fluently in English”)…
I miss the street food: the puchka, the shingara, the potato roll on my way back from dance class (because my mom said we cannot afford the chicken roll twice a week)…
I miss Chetla Park where my parents would take me in the evening, they would sit on the grass with badam and chat while I would show off my running skills…
I miss the predictable unpredictability of Kolkata: the sudden bandhs leading to surprise holidays, the “rainy days”, the addas, the loadsheddings…
I miss waiting for my dad at 1:30 in the morning, me and my mom staring out of the window in the dark…
I miss our short trips during vacations, my dad’s enthusiastic plans and my mom’s insistence on “getting some rest”…
I miss watching cricket and tennis matches and Chitrahaar and Tehkikaat at my friend’s place and the excitement when we finally bought a TV…
I miss the festivals that make Kolkata what it is: the 5 days of Durga Puja (when my dad will panic if I don’t have 10 new dresses), the bhai-phota, the saraswati puja…
I miss my obsession with Satyajit Ray and Enid Blyton and the annual boimela (book fair) where I was allowed unbridled indulgence…
I miss my family: the motorcycle riding young handsome uncle who was so great with kids, my 10 cousin brothers who grudgingly conceded that “I wasn’t like other girls” and let me play cricket with them, my aunts making fun of me, and my thamma who never approved of my ways…
Yeah, I even miss my mom and dad, the way they were then: my mom still studying for her PhD and juggling two part- time jobs, her obsession with electricity bills, hair (both mine and hers) and extra-curricular activities; my dad working 12 hours a day, coming home late and then waking me up much to my mom’s annoyance, reading me bedtime stories, taking random snaps of me and my mom, writing long letters to his boss when he was angry, shouting “I will quit my job” while in the bathroom while I banged on the door because I was getting late for school…

When the blind leadeth the blind...

Today I was kind of pissed, for whatever reasons… and I kind of looked scary as well with a generous dose of kohl smudged in my eyes. So I was walking furiously towards the station (when I am mad, I walk really fast)… then I noticed a guy in a red Tshirt walking in front of me: he kept bumping into people, he kept slipping off the footpath. Then I noticed that he had a stick in his hand, but can’t say he was making much progress with it. I caught up with him easily: he was a young chinky guy (I am ashamed of myself, but I really didn’t know whether he was from our very own north east or from a different country: Nepal, China or Japan or whatever). Now I didn’t know what to do: yes I was in a hurry, but more importantly I didn’t want to show unnecessary pity on him like he was some kind of invalid or anything, I didn’t want to hurt his pride but then again I didn’t want him to get hurt either… so I just discreetly followed him, alert and ready just in case he tripped or bumped into something/ somebody. As usual, the typical Mumbai pedestrians were just too busy to take notice of a blind chinky guy stumbling along with a stick. Then as he brushed past yet another car, I had had enough. I grabbed his arm roughly, and dragged him on the footpath like he was my kid and led him furiously (I forgot that I was walking really fast), my iron grip still holding on to him. At first it was awkward, but then I think he resigned to my determination. Everybody was rushing towards the station, I was walking towards the station and I assumed that he also wanted to go the station. So when we reached the station, I asked him (by now, I was a little less pissed, so I was not quite as rude) which train he wanted to catch. Then he politely informed me that he wanted to go the bus stop and catch bus no. 165. I stared at him in disbelief, and then kicked myself. He didn’t seem too upset though, so I again walked him back to the bus stop and waited till the bus arrived. I asked him whether he will be able to manage, but by now he was advising other passengers about different bus routes, and seemed extremely confident (misplaced as it was). He replied “yes madam, thank you madam” and I made my way back to the station, by now a little humbled by the young man, who seemed to have taken his misfortune in his stride (literally). Here I was, complaining about little things, getting caught up in trivial “problems”, taking things for granted which that poor guy would have killed for….as I made my way back to the station, I sobered down considerably and decided I was the blind one:
Blind about how lucky I was
Blind about my privileges
Blind about my plethora of choices
Blind about things that matter…

Genie in a Bottle

So for a change let’s assume we are in utopia, and you had everything you ever wanted… of course you will be horrified with the choices you make, and be thankful that your wishes aren’t granted always… but that’s a different story. For a change, let’s just assume that you know what you want and in the ideal world, you will have it too… no miserly genie in the bottle, no racking your brains about picking ONLY THREE wishes, here it’s just unbridled self-indulgence!

Obviously I am the socially conscious kinds (we have compulsory CSR projects- kind of a contradiction: compulsory and CSR, but then again, I am digressing), so I really want world peace, and poverty eradication and AIDS awareness, and no global warming (or at least no global whining).

Now that we are done with being deep and responsible and all that jazz, let’s get back to reality: what I REALLY want!

Money… but not the kind that gets in the way of my little pleasures

A successful career… but not the kind of success that’s defined by my neighbours or my family or my friends or my B-school

Friends… but only when we get to choose one another, not because we are from the same profession, same background, same city, same college, but because we want to be friends

A lifestyle… but not the kind defined by lifestyle magazines- plush apartment, big cars, state-of-art technology, multiplex movies, branded clothes, (okk may be branded clothes are a necessity), expensive wines but which allows me to be free, to eat street food and yet wear provocative clothes and travel in local trains without feeling unsafe

Love and sex… but not necessarily with the same person, not with the “perfect guy” but with the “perfect guy for me”, not because it’s a social obligation, not because “now is the right time” but because it feels right

And last but not the least… shopping! I don’t want money, just give me monthly vouchers for buying clothes and books

And yeah, may be on Teacher’s Day, instead of crying out loud, may be I can do something to send that little girl (Laxmi she said her name is) at Aundh who earns money by balancing herself in the air on a tightrope to school

July Morning

It was a sultry July morning, the sun was hiding behind the clouds peeping out once in a while like a blushing bride, people were jogging by the sea religiously as they do every morning, some of them faced the sea and murmured their prayers, some of them fed the pigeons, some of them just stared into the infinite horizon that stretched for miles…
It was a Friday, they woke up, smiled at each other, cuddled, and went back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, the alarm clock jarred as they jumped out of their skin. It was time to make a hurried breakfast, time for a hurried shower, time to catch the auto so that they won’t miss the 8:04 local… until they remembered, “Hang on, we quit yesterday!” So it was time to roll back on the bed, it was time to make sensuous, ravenous love, it was time to devour each other…
For once there was no rush, no frenzied ironing of crumpled shirts, no burning the toast and no banging on the bathroom door. They walked by the sea, fingers locked together, her hair all over her face, his face flushed as he looked at her, and they kept walking… their feet playing with the waves, the water desperately trying to catch up with his rolled up jeans, the hem of her dress glistening with the hint of the sunlight. They walked barefeet inside the mosque in the middle of the sea, her scarf wrapped around her head, their shoes dangling from his hands, they stood quietly: nothing left to say, nothing left to pray for…
Back home, they had the entire day ahead of them, nothing left to look forward to, but they lived every moment of it: slowly, deliberately, experiencing every sensation, every movement, every touch- no longer going through emotions, no longer taking their time together as something inevitable… they took the longest shower of their lives, exploring each other hungrily, passionately, they cooked their favourite meal and the only meal they both knew how to make, made love in the kitchen and ate overcooked khichdi from the same plate, as it rained outside, their voices drowned by the thundering showers. They curled up under the quilt, watching their favourite movie for the last time, laughing and crying at the same time. They played their favourite game of scrabble for the last time and this time he let her win just to see her happy, just to see her triumphant smile after the numerous games that she had lost to him. As the overcast day gave away to the darkness, they didn’t switch on the lights, slowdanced to “Wonderful Tonight” as music flooded the room.
As they walked on the streets washed by the fresh showers, taking in all the little things, trying to carry with them the insignificant memories: the home that they had built together, the little kirana store just outside, the chaiwala, the laundry guy with his emergency miracles, the panipuriwala who made puchkas her way, the bumpers on the road which they had cursed every time they have tripped as they rushed for work, even the muddy pool where she had once slipped, soiled her clothes, and angrily lashed out at him until she had seen her reflection in the rearview mirror of a parked car, burst into laughter as he had kissed her there: with dirt dripping from their faces…
They made their way to the temple, climbed the 315 steps as he held her hand helping her up the stairs, stared at the view from the top, the glittering diyas on the steps: it was drizzling, the aarti being over, the crowd had dispersed and a handful of children wandered about not caring about the rain or their mother screaming behind them. They sat down, leaning against each other, listening to the occasional toll of the bells: they did not pray, they did not ask for anything, they were there to celebrate a new beginning as they ended their journey together, as they stood on the edge of the ledge hand-in-hand, as they smiled contentedly…. But it rained, and it kept raining…

Trashy Tales!

With lectures barely happening once a week (and I bunk even that), I don’t know what to do with my free time. Yeah going home is an option which has been exercised far too often, and the thought of a long journey puts me off. As you can see, the lack of academic activity is making me extremely lazy as well. And am completely broke, so no money to go shopping or eating out either. Sleeping, eating sad mess/café food, gym, jogging and swimming take up some time, but the rest of the time I am lazing around on my bed, reading trashy literature. Yeah, that’s my new obsession: devoting hours on shallow, feel-good fiction by young Indian authors, still trying to find their feet. Well, since I aspire to be in their category in a few years, I am lending them some support. So in the last week itself, I have finished half-a-dozen books like ‘Joker in the Pack’, ‘Keep off the Grass’, ‘Bombay Rains Bombay Girls’, ‘Almost Single’, “Above Average’ and yesterday I finished “You are Here’, which was launched the day before! This is the book based on the blog of Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan, more famous as the compulsive confessor. While these are nice easy reads, complete no-brainer, extremely alike in their tone and setting, they don’t particularly offer the kind of satisfaction you derive from reading good literature. The protagonists are uncannily similar in their lifestyle, their ambitions, their trials and tribulations- they are young people in their twenties, educated, independent, urbane, rich, successful in their own fields, with too much money and no idea what to do with it. Yeah, I identify with them at some level, especially as most of them are still disillusioned in spite of being sucessful- looking for a passion in their lives. Yeah, my dad totally disapproves of my reading tastes (or the lack of it), but I still can’t give up on it. What began as a fleeting interest after reading Chetan Bhagat’s “Five Point Someone” has steadily developed into an addiction. Just to take a break and feel good about myself I read “Thousands Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini (enjoyed it more than Kite Runner) and “The Namsesake”, but I am abashedly pro chicklit, because, hey, that’s where my passion lies!

From I-Day to Me-Day!

Yet another Independence Day (61st to be exact), yet another round introspection about our progress (or the lack of it) in the last 60 yrs, yet another day of patriotic entertainment, yet another day to make money out of a “cause”… and for most of us, another holiday, a well-deserved break from the mundane grind, from trudging through filthy roads and battling the traffic during the monsoons. The icing on the cake is that it fell on a Friday with Raksha Bandhan the next day, giving ample opportunity to get away, to enjoy the extended weekend, to indulge ourselves without any inhibitions, to celebrate the spirit of freedom while reciprocating to our repressed desires.

While the Olympics are in full swing, and India repeats its embarrassingly humble performance yet again, Abhinav Bindra manages to salvage some pride as he won India’s maiden gold medal in the individual events in 107 years of India’s Olympics history. That few seconds of seeing him on the highest podium, with the world at his feet and the Indian anthem in the background made me more proud than all the hoopla surrounding I-Day.

Now that I have trivialized the most important landmark in Indian history, let me be even more brutally honest: this year, the best part of I-day was that it was a Friday, which meant no FSA lecture (HUGE SMILE), an extended weekend and a trip to Mumbai (yet again). So it ended up being yet another self-indulgent unproductive jaunt with lots of pampering, shopping, food, ice-creams and coffee. As they say, a lot can happen over coffee; it just depends on the moment…

Gtalk Gibberish!

If you ask the Indian youth about the three most important things in their lives, their source of daily sustenance, the most common answer you will get is food, clothes and yeah, gtalk- the revolution that has made easier to communicate cheaply- forget about emails, expensive STD calls where you are counting the seconds, and definitely the fine art of letter writing. Yeah, while it’s easier to maintain long-distance relationships, it’s also simple to bond over chat and form new alliances. Now being an avid gtalk addict, I have come up with the following cost-benefit analysis (my MBA “education” hasn’t been a complete waste)…

COSTS:
1. It’s a sheer waste of resources: you save money, but end up being poorer in terms of time, productivity and quality of life.
2. More often than not, you end up talking rubbish to people with whom you wouldn’t otherwise even consider talking to.
3. While you are waiting impatiently for a particular person to come online, you have already exhausted yourself chatting with a million random “strangers”.
4. It’s easier to get caught by people whom you are particularly trying to avoid- teachers, creditors, annoyers…
5. It’s an addiction: there is smoking, drinking, drugs and then there is gtalk

BENEFITS:
1. It IS easy on the wallet, and as they say, ultimately everything can be monetized.
2. You get to get in touch with long-lost friends whom you would have otherwise forgotten and to your surprise, you renew the friendship (doesn’t happen often)
3. It’s simpler to get hold of that group member who is always missing (chances are he/ she is online)
4. You get to share files immediately without having to log in to your mail account
5. The fact that you can chat with multiple people at the same time, does save the pains of individual attention.

Ok, got to go, too many people are online 

Frozen...

I was so close to breaking down, I was so close to losing my mind, I was so close to crying out loud, I was on the brink of despair…

My dad, my adorable, philosophical, supremely talented and most of all the most loving dad ever born, suffered a silent heart attack- one of the resident evils of modern day fast paced corporate lifestyle. The irony is after years of nonchalant disdain, neglect, utter disrespect for his body, he was finally coming around, he was finally trying to ring about a positive change in the way he lived his life. He had all the vices of a stressed out leader who dished out advice, who implemented long term strategic growth plans for a billion dollar company, who made headlines in business papers, and yet, did not have enough sense to make small changes in his own life! A hardcore non-vegetarian, a chain smoker for over 35 years, a worshipper of the unhealthy sedentary lifestyle, he simply refused to grow up! No amount of emotional blackmailing by me (and I am a pro at it, given that I have practiced it since the age of seven) could make him quit that cigarette. During my occasional Bombay trips I would drag him out for a walk by the sea, but then it was always back to business: late hours in the office followed by dinner at fancy restaurants and a bulging tummy as a legacy. But this year, he decided that it was finally time to wake up take care of his long-neglected health. He quit smoking, hit the gym, went for long walks, exercised, kept his diet under control, and then when he looked and felt ten years younger, out of the blue, he started having chest pains and ended up in the hospital.

Freaked, panic-stricken and anxious, I made my third trip in this month (the third unauthorized trip) to Bombay- I rushed to the hospital straight from the bus stand in the pouring rain, only to find his hospital room crowded with investment bankers, phones ringing and my dad actively discussing debt-financing and EPS dilution. For all I care, it was just another full-fledged meeting: only that it was being held at Bombay Hospital, and my dad was dressed in white hospital attire. So it was only after being ignored for the next two hours until the nurse shooed away the visitors after visiting hours were over, did I get to talk to him. He seemed to be in the pink of his health, and we were both convinced that nothing was wrong with him. But the next morning we discovered much to our horror that he had a 99% blockage in one of his arteries, that he has suffered a small heart attack and he had to get an angioplasty done right away. I have forgotten the last time I had felt so vulnerable, so helpless as I waited outside the OT, biting off whatever remaining nails I have, alone and irritated with the numerous phone calls that were pouring in. The very sight of a stretcher and doctors and nurses in starched uniforms and my sedated beloved father was enough to overwhelm me- and during the one hour of the surgery, I went over and over again thinking about how I could have prevented it, that I should have taken better care of him, that I probably shouldn’t have put him through whatever stress I did and immediately I became even more vigilant: god, what if he found out about the tons of other things that I did do but never told him and even more convinced that after a certain age, parents should be spared the minute details of what their children are upto, that may be white lies weren’t so bad at all!

Anyways, the good news is that everything is fine again, he has been released from the hospital and he back to doing what he enjoys the most: negotiating with banks! But for a split second, it gave me the shock of my life, to imagine that even my parents aren’t going to be healthy all the time, that it won’t be my last visit to a hospital… quite a sobering thought!

Great Expectations!

So I keep running away… I run and I run, and yet I can never run far away, far enough from myself, my expectations, my fears, my anxieties, my insecurities…

And 2nd year is supposed to be better: we get to choose our subjects, we study only what we want to, what we feel is relevant for realizing our long term career path, what we enjoy learning. Yeah, sounds so easy right? Or so bloody confusing and depressing! I mean look at me, an Economics topper, with work ex in a bank, summers in Deloitte, not too mention a CA dad- am I made for Finance or what? A no-brainer if you ask me. But ask me, damn it!! The thing is I had always wanted to do an MBA, for the first time, it was something I really wanted to do, and not something my parents wanted me to do or my friends were doing. Then, now that I am more than halfway through, honestly I think I have had zilch value addition, I don’t want a glamorous career in corporate finance or investment banking, and worst, even the money isn’t a good enough motivation. With each Finance lecture, each FSA case, and each balance sheet, I get even more disgusted, I cringe till I can’t stand the sight of it. So what is it I want to do? I DON’T KNOW! Or may be I do, but right now, it’s so vague and so obscure that I am too scared to even admit it to myself. So I ask my dad, I run away to Bombay, AGAIN! He rationalizes with me, he makes a balanced argument, he says I am an escapist, he says I am looking for the easy way out, he says I have just opened the door for opportunity and it’s stupid to give up on it without even walking in through the door, he says that it’s a challenge, and the only way to taste success is to overcome the challenge instead of running away from it. And then I feel like a coward, but I defend myself that I am not running away, that I am ready to throw away a safe career, the money, the glamour, all because I am passionate about something- it requires courage! But he is a seasoned parent, he always has counter arguments- like I will regret it later if I give up right now, that it may sound extremely idealistic to sacrifice everything for a passion, but he knows how frustrating it is to have potential and yet be poor, that even writing isn’t as easy as it sounds, that it requires loads of experience, traveling, interactions to write one decent novel, that I can always do it whenever I want… and that was that. I wasn’t convinced, I wasn’t happy, but I was fair enough to concede that he had a point.

And so I am back, back to the campus, to my claustrophobic life, to my close group of my friends, so my safe social circle… But Bombay has a therapeutic effect on me: it represents everything that I don’t have in life and I crave for- freedom, dreams, and a glorious past and the romantic notion of a bright future. It’s back to the good old days: U, me and the sea!

When I got robbed...

The last couple of weeks have been a story of stark contrasts: thrice a week, you will find me struggling miserably in the different Finance lectures, especially FSA where half my energy is consumed in trying to hide from the faculty, so that he doesn’t ask me questions and avoid the obvious humiliation. On the other days I have a blast, eating out, disappearing to Mumbai or hanging out in the cafeteria. These days you will find most of the batch outside the cafeteria, surreptitiously checking out the juniors for a potential Fresher’s date. Now that we are inching closer and closer to THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY which will allegedly establish your coolness quotient, on which depends your social life, basically which decides your future, subtlety has given way to outright leching in broad daylight. The next desperate step is to call a “counseling session” for the juniors and force them on dates with random people. The grand finale is to make the junior go through a round of humiliation in the middle of the campus as we make them sing, dance, recite poems, go down on their knees, gift chocolates, and propose in the most hilariously romantic manner- as they say, it’s all in good spirits and it helps if you are a peg or two down.

I guess I had far too much fun in all these extra-curricular activities and others and was generally feeling very happy with myself. So the fall was inevitable! So on Monday morning, like a good little girl who has a FCQ in the afternoon, I decided it was high time I figured out the syllabus and get a hang of things. So I went to the library, kept my purse on the rack outside and went in, determined to make the most of the few hours I had before the exam. A couple of hours later, when I came out for a coffee break I found that my purse has mysteriously disappeared. First I thought I must have forgotten it somewhere else, then I decided it was one of my sad friends with a sad sense of humour trying to play a prank, then I thought somebody had picked it up by mistake, and finally it struck me that there is a vague possibility that I have been robbed in broad daylight from my very own library. And then I got all panic stricken and appalled. My purse had my driving license, my atm cards, ID cards, library cards, my accessories, fair amount of cash and worst of all, my Ipod. After I had done the usual rounds with the authorities, put up a dozen notices, blocked my cards, been subjected to enough sympathy, unsolicited advice, support and chocolates, I sat for the test and royally screwed it up. Then I did my rounds to the police station and the lawyer for lodging a FIR (I think I am done with my share of shady places and shady people). I was planning to go on a shopping spree with the sale season just kicking off. But slight change of plans: I borrowed money from my room mates to have bhelpuri in the evening! I have instinctively visited the library every hour in some faint hope that the thief has had a change of heart and returned my purse, but so far no luck. Even my friends are observing a “one day mourning period” and so nobody has made fun of me in the last 20 hours: kind of a record!

Update on the robbery:
My bag was found a couple of days later in the D hostel, sans the cash, atm cards and sniff sniff, my beloved Ipod :( only consolation, my driving license and ID card and room keys were returned so it saved me further trips to the shady lawyer and the ploice station. But today my room mate's bag was again stoeln from the library. Thankfully she had enough brains to carry all the valuables with her. but nevertheless her pen drive and our room keys have been taken. So we are really worried, that whoever this desperate thief may actually pay a visit to our room. Don't know whether it's a personal vendetta against our room or just an indiscriminant act of deliberate and shameless theft, it's kind of disgusting and I feel extremely vulnerable and insecure in my own backyard.

Moving On...

Corpcom has given me something that nothing else ever had: SATISFACTION! For the past one year, I have done a lot of donkey work, formatting, copy pasting but I also had enough opportunity to be creative, to be free and I made full use of the so-called, “creative license”, i.e. I got to abuse people and be appreciated for that. Unlike most committees, this one is more of a self-motivated one: either you have it or you don’t, there is no two ways about it. No amount of jazzed up presentations, no amount of hard selling, no amount of luring can make you passionate about writing or designing. If you like doing it as a hobby, if you like doing it for yourself, you do it for college too. We are never in the spotlight, we don’t have funds, we don’t have computers or even a room, and we definitely don’t have too many exemptions for bunking lectures. But like I said, this is not the best way to pitch to 20-something juniors, awestruck by flash presentations and the glamour attached to certain other teams. We are the poorer cousins, the black sheep of the family, and yet, we offer the best in terms of quality work. The juniors run the show here with very little interference and lots of responsibility.

Last year, our seniors had a torrid time finding four new people and they picked most of us from different committees. So this year when we had as many as thirty five people applying, we were pleasantly surprised. We even had the luxury to conduct two rounds of interviews along with a written test. Man, we have come a long way!! I have attended a lot of interviews during my MBA entrance exams, and to put it mildly, it hadn’t been a very good experience. But for the first time, I was on the other side, and for the first time, the grass was definitely greener… for three nights we ripped apart the juniors, questioning and cross questioning, making them sing, making them dance on the table and draw and sell stuff: all of it spontaneously without much time to think. I don’t think I would have ever cracked such intense stress interviews. But these guys were good. I thought I wrote decently, but when I read some of the stuff they submitted in a short span of time, I was put firmly in my place… so after three sleepless nights, I am satisfied! We are ready to hand over the baton and sit back; no more editorials forced down our throats, no more boring GLs, no more 11th hour presentations… man, I am going to miss all of it!
But hey, having fun at the expense of juniors seems promising, if the interviews are anything to go by…

Hairy Scare!

Well there are times when I become completely numb with dumbness and do things which no sane person will ever do and this phase strikes me about once in a month (some of my ‘friends’ will insist it’s more frequent)… anyways yesterday was definitely one such day.

To begin with I caught the first bus to the city and then headed to KP, which is almost at the opposite end from my campus: all because, bless me, I wanted a fancy haircut! Well, I did get a haircut, but definitely not what I would describe as “fancy”- it looks more like a crow’s nest than anything else. Anyway, as luck as would have it, it rained heavily since I have come to Pune, and I got drenched to the skin because I didn’t carry a umbrella. So invariably whatever little stylizing was done to my hair, by the time I returned, I looked more like a ragdoll with hair all over the place rather than a smart, sophisticated, cool senior that was the original plan! And of course the fact that it left me 500 bucks poorer adds insult to injury…

But my hair wasn’t the only disaster of the morning. For my KP trip I was saddled with a psycho autowala (I know I have bad luck with autowalas): a sweet, well-meaning old man, who somehow decided on me as his newly adopted daughter. So the 30 minute journey was punctuated with eager questions about my hometown, what I do in Pune, my name (which he liked incidentally) and why I was traveling all the way to KP. Don’t know when I renewed my vow of truth and nothing but the truth, I told him I was going there for a haircut. Next he proceeded to lecture me about the evils of profligacy, about how I was wasting my parents’ precious money, and generally made me crawl in shame, and before long I started apologizing to him (rather than my original dad)…

Once he had made me feel like the Prodigal Daughter, he became kinder and offered to wait for me till I get my hair done and take me back to the city. The return trip was more about his life: his wife who died seven years back, his only son in the Gulf (no, he didn’t look at me as his prospective daughter-in-law, no matter how much my ‘friends’ insist on that) and asked me if I was able to take care of myself, what my father did (there was no point explaining that he headed a company), if he sent me money regularly or was I hard up, because if I was, he was ready to support me. I was touched by his kindness, but also alarmed: did I really look THAT hard pressed (or was it the hair?). I insisted that I still had my parents and friends. He snorted that friends are only fair-weather people and my parents were far away back in Calcutta and reminded me I was all alone here (except of course, now I had him). The conversation got even more ridiculous when he asked me if we could go for a cup of tea and assured me that it will be his treat. I refused as sweetly as I could, and said that I had a class for I which I was getting late. But that fired back, as he now insisted in dropping me back at my college, so that I don’t miss out on my class. I could not possibly show him where I studied and earn myself a stalker, so I lied saying I studied at Pune University. So he drove me inside the University campus, unheeded to my pleadings of dropping me at the gate. Finally as I thankfully paid him (he asked for a surprisingly cheap amount), he patted me, and said with a smile, “I don’t know you, but you are like my daughter. Par kaisi beti hai tu, ek chai bhi nahi pi sakti mere saath”. I smiled my dumb smile, eager to run, but waited behind a shade till he took in another passenger and left. After a few minutes, when I considered it safe to make a move, I started running all the way through the campus, to the main road until I reached the Symbiosis Centre. Drenched, with clothes sticking to me and my hair in a mess, and running in platforms, with furtive glances behind me to make sure my adopted dad wasn’t there, I was quite a sight!

I don’t know what came over him, I don’t know whether he was a sweet, lonely old man with paternal instincts or just another psycho, but I am willing to give him the benefit of doubt. It’s a cynical world, and I am a product of the Groucho Marx school of cynicism, but somehow, I always strike a chord with the most unlikely people, and I still trust them. But stylish hairlady- I sure don’t trust her!!

Queen of good times!

It’s 2 p.m. and I just woke up! Yeah, that’s quite a statement, isn’t it? The statement being, “I AM A SENIOR NOW!” Every morning I look at the junior kids scampering towards the academic block in empty stomach, scared that they will miss their attendance, while I take leisurely walk around the campus. Life is indeed unfair, but so long it is unfair in my favour, I kind of like it! But I am keeping myself busy exploiting the other facets of my “learning institute”- gym, swimming pool, cafeteria, basketball court, juice shop and when that also gets boring, we turn to the juniors for entertainment. We call late night batch meets, we take attendance and then catch the proxy givers, and then we fine the absentees. But speaking of fines, I have been fined 1500 bucks for no fault of mine. I am tired of pleading and begging and wasting my time with illogical and unreasonable people whose sole aim is to make our lives as difficult as possible. I don’t know if this is also a part of management education, but our admin process sure is more stringent than any bureaucratic red tape. Dealing with people here drains a lot out of u, both emotionally and financially…I have been exercising like crazy, but also eating chocolates in the same pace, so my weight maintains status quo. I think I should just accept myself as I am and give up any hopes whatsoever.

Rendezvous with a potential murderer!

So like a prized idiot I am back on campus, even though most of my batch mates are still getting pampered at home. I mean, I am the kind who has a serious apathy towards studies, so me being one of the earliest to report is kind of uncharacteristic… guess I don’t hate my college so much after all!! And ahem, I am a senior now and the next year promises to be the best with loads of parties, holidays, city trips and eating out (and putting on weight)…

We started the second year in grand style as me and a few other losers (who are also back on campus because their parents got tired of them) went for an impromptu trek when we didn’t get movie tickets… Dressed inappropriately for a steep climb, we nevertheless panted up the slope: overweight and overaged people huffing and puffing our way to the top! We were almost there, when we met a couple of local guys: ordinary people with sticks in their hands, the kinds you meet in local trains every day. But as one of them started talking to a guy in our group, the rest of us froze, as he casually told us: “Mujhe kisi ka quatil karna hai… aap log jaldi yaha se chale jao”. While I was relieved that we weren’t his chosen victims, a part of me felt kind of inadequate. Why didn’t he even consider us for fulfilling his cherished ambition of being a murderer? Are we not good enough or strong enough? Did he think we were too easy a prey? After all we were five men and two extremely strong women (yeah I am one of the female wrestlers)… still he didn’t consider us a big enough challenge? Yes, the guys are not-so-young and not-so-strong morons, and while I may look obese, I would have started crying at any sign of violence- but he didn’t know it right… So I wasn’t altogether flattered. But hey, life comes before pride, so we judiciously lost ourselves from there. As we turned back, one of us wondered whether he should tell our “aspiring quatil” that he might want to consider a change of weapon to be successful in his mission: a thin stick is hardly the way to go about your life’s cherished ambition.

Summer of 2008!

End of two months, end of summers, end of Hyderabad and yeah, end of Deloitte too!
Somebody asked me to describe the experience in three independent words: my answer was “Awesome, Fattening and EnRICHing” and it couldn’t be more aptly described. I know during our final presentation (which kind of went well I must say) we talked about first experience in the corporate world, the Deloitte work culture, and all that jazz. But my biggest takeaway was the respect I have received here. Usually trainees are treated as a nuisance (yeah, I am speaking from first-hand experience), a cost-centre who get in the way and erode company resources (stationary, work station, and yeah, the coffee vending machine). But here we have been made to feel a part of the organization, we were given an opportunity to really be involved and motivated to give our best: even I like to work at times and not just be wasted!

Things I will miss about Deloitte:
1. The people- they have been simply awesome
2. The other interns- they were a major pain, but I will miss them
3. The guest house food (in fact Hyderabad is THE BEST PLACE TO GET FAT)
4. The subsidized Barista
5. And yeah, the work culture too (it’s not just on paper)

Things I won’t miss:
1. The American English (I mean the first thing I learnt in school was that it’s colour and not color, flavour and not flavor. But here I unlearn it again… IT HURTS!)
2. The excessive focus on formatting (It drove me insane)
3. The lack of creative freedom (yeah, corporate life rarely allows for it, but hey, I am still young and idealistic…)
4. Certain people (ahem… I will leave it at that)
5. The fake accents

TRAGEDY!!

I don’t know what to do, I am so confused, I am shattered! This is the biggest ever tragedy that has befallen me. This is not any mundane problem like failing exams, financial crisis, family problems, career choices or broken relationships- so I don’t even know how to deal with it! I can’t read, I can’t work, I can’t even sleep properly. I have tried looking for solutions on the net, I have asked people, but it all seems so clichéd, so futile…

So ok, what’s this huge, elephantine problem that is bothering me? I am pregnant, or rather I look like I am! Hyderabad has been one big party for me with all the sinful indulgences- food, food and more food! So at the end of seven weeks, I find myself 4 kilos heavier, two sizes bigger and trust me, it takes all the fun out of shopping. And what am I without shopping? It’s like I have been ripped off my identity, the only thing that defines me! And I have a wedding to attend next month with the Sale season due in two months, so it’s of utmost importance that I lose weight, and I lose it fast!

So please stop smirking and help me: it may not seem to be a big deal to most of you, but it’s important to me! I can’t help being shallow and stupid and insecure! Hmmmphhhh….

Pursuit of Happyness...

Well, this part of my life is called… hedonism!

Paradise Regained:And it’s not John Milton we are talking about. I have always heard about the famous Hyderabadi biryani and have secretly wondered, what’s the big deal anyways. After all, it’s just rice and chicken with a few artificial flavours thrown in. But all those half-baked ideas where abandoned forever when we pigged out at a certain place called ‘Paradise’: I described it as a ‘temple’ when I took my first spoonful, and by the time I finished, I realized that it was an understatement.

Our Place: No, I am not inviting you, but if you are in Hyderabad, don’t miss out on this open-air restaurant: it’s the prefect ambience to enjoy a blissful romantic dinner with candle-light, gentle breeze, the verdant seating arrangement, and if you are lucky, a few drops of rain…and if possible, don’t repeat my mistake of going with a bunch of rowdy, shameless friends.

Serengeti: If you want to experience the African Safari without going to Africa, this could be your ticket to wilderness of the wild. An innovative concept with great ambience, it’s definitely a place to celebrate all occasions.

Chutneys: If you freak out on South Indian food as much as I do, then you run the risk of finding yourself in the long queue outside the bistro any time after 8 p.m., especially on weekends. But its authenticity is unparalleled and even if the lassi costs more than the autofare, for once I am willing to pay the price (over and over again)

Well, as you can guess, with all this pigging out, I have started looking like a pig too. Right now my weight has hit a personal best, and my shopping woes a personal worst… anyways before I get into my trial room traumas, a final word about Hyderabadi Pearls: I know absolutely nothing about them, but I liked what I saw, and again I splurged like there’s no tomorrow.

May be money can’t buy happiness, but it surely makes the Pursuit of Happyness more fulfilling…

Beyond Barriers!

Friday Night Fever: and fever it was, literally! I have no reservations against people who make a fool of themselves AND pay obscene amounts of money for all the mindless obscenity which crosses all boundaries of professional comfort, as long as I am not a part of it. But given a choice, I don’t like to go to conventionally “happening” places, and yeah, I am not ashamed to admit that I have hardly been to any of the “cool” places in spite of being in Mumbai for over four years! I would rather stay at home, curl up with a book or chat with close friends and munch on junk food: all for free…

Tryst with the Reel: Finally on Saturday we braved the scorching sun and set off for the much hyped Ramoji Film City. Some 28 of us, basically whoever is interning in Hyderabad, got together for the expedition and it was quite an experience of sorts. Coordinating nearly thirty people was no mean feat and wherever we went, we created chaos! The artificial sets which brought the Chor Bazaar of Mumbai, the Taj Mahal, the Mughal Gardens, the Swiss Bank, the London roads right next to one another, which made it possible for the same building to be the University from one side and the High Court from the other, made us go around the world in thirty minutes! But even after the tour guide’s dramatic narrative sequined with dollops of humour, it still remained the poor man’s ticket to the vicarious pleasures of Bollywood dreams. The shows, the rides, the games and the food stalls were a perfect recipe for keeping the children occupied (and in some cases, even 20 something, excitable people who suddenly discovered the child in themselves). I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, but at the same time, I wouldn’t like to revisit it. It’s a great business idea, and I would be content to admire it on the movies! Next time I see Shahrukh Khan romancing a heroine young enough to be his daughter in a beautiful locale, I will take it with a pinch of salt.

One Wild Night: So you have four girls, all newly rich, you have a mega sale with all brands at dirt cheap prices, and then you have Ice Station: and in no time, you are back to square one, i.e. poor college girl bargaining with the autowala! I was determined that I wouldn’t shop anymore till I lose weight, but I am ashamed at my lack of self restraint and every time I stare at the bill, I am overcome with guilt. But there was no such guilt when we devoured the Triple Sundae ice cream AND the Dieter’s Revenge (yess, they have such kick-ass flavours) along with pizza and French fries at Ice Station. It was so awesome (one of my friends described it as “orgasmic”) that whoever stopped to breathe was losing out on her share… and to end a perfect evening on a memorable note, we decided to get drunk! So the cheapest available vodka was smuggled inside the room, and, well, it was a night of getting high, throwing up, crying and confessions. Sadly, I was more of a sober observer rather than an active participant (well somebody has got to listen and clean up) even though I was drinking after nearly a year… at times experience can be a real dampener!

Bohemian Rhapsody!

It was the Summer of 69,
It was time for Seasons in the Sun,
It was A Beautiful Day,
Everyday- I Want it That Way!

It was A Wonderful Wonderful World,
It was Hysteria,
It was The Sweetest Thing,
We were-The Sultans of Swing!

It was The Road to El-Dorado,
It was the Paradise City,
It was The Stairway to Heaven,
From This Moment On, we were Frozen!

We were Crazy,
We were Crying,
We were Jaded,
But we Walk On- To the Moon and Back!

Hyderabad Blues!

Money for nothing: Well, this weekend I got to live the Dire Straits dream of “Money for nothing, chicks for free”- at least the first part of it! Yeah, I got my first month’s stipend and all for nothing. As in I do go to office and I do “work” for nine hours, five days a week, but well, it just doesn’t seem like work… I get to read and write and learn: things I usually do for free!

Bickering with autowalas:That’s one thing I am NOT going to miss about Hyderabad- the autowalas. Since I stay in the outskirts, every weekend when I plan to go to the city, I have to struggle through crowded buses (which are few and far between) or bargain with the autowalas. So the first benefactor of my stipend was this one guy who literally took me for a ride yesterday and charged me 120 bucks for a twenty minute journey! Well, I knew he had tampered with the meter, but hindsight is not very helpful…

No free lunches: So we met up at Parinita’s place- some 8 of us from college who are currently interning in Hyderabad. Her mom cooked an awesome lunch and especially the aloo was simply out of this world. But then, somebody had the bright idea that since I am noveau rich, I should pay for dessert and all of them made sure they had the most expensive ice-cream! So what I thought will be a free lunch, ended up being an expensive trip, thanks to swindling autowala and fleecing “friends”…

Dressing Down: One thing I love about Deloitte is the informal and casual attitude- no Sirs, no red-tapism, no fawning to seniors and yeah, no dress code. As in you have to wear formals four days a week, but unlike in college, nobody is there to morally police you, and your exam papers don’t get scrapped for wearing sleeveless. So I have carried my “daring” collection which hasn’t seen the light of day in the last one year. And Friday being casual day, I usually have a ball as I finally get to wear my skirts and fancy tops. But this week, HR lady jokes: “Hmm SCMHRD right? You guys have all sorts of restrictions… aish kar lo in do mahine mein”. Now was that a “friendly’ warning or what?

Choodi Bazaar: So what happens when one guy is stranded with five girls in a place like Choodi Bazaar next to Char Minar? Well, the guy has enough time to think about all his past sins and wonder why the hell he is paying for it all at once… but being one of the girls, I had a blast as I lost myself in all the cheap thrills and glitters and ended up buying some four dozen bangles, all for a paltry 100 bucks! And yeah, I flaunt my new found obsession with gaudiness even in office and take a perverse pleasure in inviting disgusted looks from all the classy, well-pearled ladies from Banjara Hills…

One Year Later!

So, it’s been one full year, and I am still at it: quite a surprise given my high boredom quotient… yeah, it’s been one whole year since I started blogging, and the best part is I just love it more by each day…

I was always in a habit of writing a diary, but now that I am adapting to modern technology, this has been quite an addictive hobby, and not just a passing fad that is usually the case… the major difference between a diary and the blog, is that in my diary, I can write anything and everything, whereas in this case, I become slightly constrained, a little more responsible. On the other hand, the feedback and the encouragement I have received in the past year, has simply been overwhelming. I am deeply grateful to everybody who has been patient enough to read through pages and pages of insane ramblings, post comments and generally been supportive.

A special thank you to Shankar Iyer and Raghav (whose blogs were the main inspiration), Aashay (the harsh critic who promoted my blog more than I did), Shivangi (my room mate who takes a pleasure in finding errors in everything I write), Abhishek (whom I don’t know, but who patiently reads through and adds his thoughts although he doesn’t belong to the SCMHRD circus), Ashwin and Arijit (for listening to my cribbings and then again reading them) and yeah, Usha Aunty- the only sensible, mature reader that I know, so your comments mean a lot!!

Okk, am done with my Oscar-like speech… so go lose yourselves!

Office Owes!

Now that I am back in an office environment, I am slowly getting used to my previous ways of navigating through restricted sites, of surfing the net secretly when I should be working, of pressing “alt+tab” as soon as I hear somebody coming, of writing a blog when I should be writing an “analyst report”…

But armed with two years of experience, I am a pro at it. However, it reminds me of the time when I was new to all these sneaky ways, and believed that as long as I deliver my deliverables well (which have never been compromised on) it’s nobody’s business what I do as my “extra-curricular activities”. But, clearly hypocrisy is a big part of corporate life which I learnt pretty quickly…

Situation 1: This happened within the first week of joining. I was still not on the job, and was asked to read up and generally get a hang of things. Being a fast reader, I finished it before day end, and was bored stiff. So I decided to take a break and started playing freecell in broad daylight. Before long, the secretary of the VP calls me up and sternly says, “Sir has asked you not to play games…” so that’s that!

Situation 2: I was still in my first month, when one afternoon, all the PCs conked off and there was no work to be done. So I happily crossed my legs and started reading the very entertaining Mumbai Mirror. As luck would have it, the Regional Head walks in and finds me in that “compromising position”. He calls me back to his cabin and what follows is a flurry of sarcastic comments alternated with “you will be fired” threats which really got me all freaked out (I was too ignorant to know about the stringent labour laws in India at that tender age)…

Situation 3: During the last six months at work, I took more unauthorized print-outs than all employees put together, thanks to the number of B-school forms I filled up. So on my last day, as I was doing the good-bye ritual, a senior guy wished me luck in Symbiosis. I stared at him, wondering how he knew that I was going there. He twinkled and replied back, “Unfortunately I need a lot of prints too!”

But in spite of all my misadventures, people still loved me there (being young and cute helps), and more importantly they loved my work. Irrespective of my partiality towards unpretentious display of my “hobbies”, I did more than my fair share of work (and did it fast) and even to this day, my ex-boss (who is no longer in IDBI) mourns that he misses the pleasure catching me red-handed and delegating more responsibility as a punishment!

This is ME!!!

Okkk, statutory warning: this post is not about Deloitte, not about Hyderabad, not about SCMHRD and not even about the self-deprecatory humour that is the hallmark of this blog (which explains the hits)…
This is a totally and completely selfish post, it’s about ME and it’s going to be boring and rambling and LONG!!! So people looking for cheap thrills, take a hike!! And err, on that sulky note, “Happy New Year”!

So today is the Bengali new year! My parents woke me up to wish me… I mumbled something in my sleep and hung up. Then my uncle called (the same uncle whom I worshipped even till a few years back) and complained that I have completely drifted apart and haven’t even bothered to give him my new number. I again mumbled some feeble excuse and hung up. My cousin sister (we were inseparable when we were growing up) had a baby a couple of days back and I still haven’t spoken to her… so you see a pattern here- I am slowly getting lost in my own world (and it isn’t even a very happening place) and in the process losing touch with my roots.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this… lemme go back a couple of decades. I was born in a strictly middle class Bengali family and my parents really had to struggle to make it through the month after paying the rent and buying baby food for me. Yet, I had the best childhood that one could possibly gift their children. Even without siblings and in spite of working parents, I never had the chance to feel lonely. I grew up in a small two bedroom rented apartment in a modest locality, my evenings were spent running around on the streets with children of “disadvantaged background” (most of them didn’t make it to college) and the concept of phones (mobile or landline), computers, video games and even television simply didn’t exist. But I had a family: loving sensible parents, a maid who scolded me but loved me like her own sister, doting grandparents and an extended family of n number of cousins, aunts and uncles who got together for every little festival! I did reasonably well in school (with the constant remark of “can do better” but I never did better mostly because I spent my time playing kabaddi and pittu and marbles). I religiously enrolled for dance classes, drawing lessons, swimming and thereby fulfilling the middle class dream of “jack of all trades, master of none”… but I did manage to complete two diplomas in Bharatnatyam in nine long years of rigorous training though I hated giving up playing cricket twice a week for it. And like every middle class Bengali family we went for vacations twice a year…

Then came my dad’s rather meteoric rise up the corporate ladder and with that a bigger house, a new car, foreign holidays instead of conducted tours in India, long hours in the office and less time as a family. I was a typical adolescent for whom friends became more important and parents, an embarrassment (come on, we have all been through that phase… don’t judge me, if you are still reading that is…) Along with teenage, also came the baggage: career choices, peer pressure, obsession with weight and er, boys! I automatically took up Science in my 12th standard because, well, because that’s what the bright kids do right, and my Class X board exams marks told me that I am a science wizkid, the next Marie Curie in the making! So yeah, the next two years were spent in misery as I tried to find my way through organic chemistry, respiratory systems of toads and laws of reflection and in the process got even more lost. So I royally gave up and instead found refuge in English literature- the only subject that still made some sense. I read whatever I could get my hands on and found refuge in my diary as I secretly shifted my role model from Marie Curie to Ann Frank! Also, the fact that the cute boy-next-door refused to reciprocate my teenaged infatuations along with my miserable performance in school gave plenty of fodder to a budding poet. I still don’t know how I managed to secure a first class in my boards but thankfully with all the cutoffs being over 90%, I made sure that I wasn’t allowed to enter the hallowed portals of engineering colleges. That would have been a disaster! So I did what any self-respecting person with below average marks will do: studied Arts- the godforsaken stream that no parent (especially if they are as educated as mine are) will let their children study… (Continued)