Monday, December 22, 2008

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…

Friday, December 19, 2008

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!

Sunday, December 14, 2008

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…

Sunday, December 7, 2008

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…

Friday, December 5, 2008

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!

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

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!!