Boulevard of Broken Dreams

This is the last post of this one-month challenge that I took up to make my already difficult life more miserable. Or so I thought. But honestly, it just became a part of my life- like I would check my mail first thing in the morning and get a cup of coffee, I would also post something. Probably a few times, I struggled, wondering what I can write about, but once I opened that blank word document, it wasn’t a problem anymore. It was easier than I thought I would be, it was more fun than I thought it would be and yes, it was definitely more rewarding than my work! Anyways, it’s now over and it’s time to move on (all FIVE readers can heave a sigh of relief).

Now a lot of people have asked me, why this sudden urge to post everyday, why this sudden desire to get noticed (I even signed up for a twitter account) and why this sudden obsession with my online persona? Some readers went so far as to accuse me of selling my soul to the devil (and I don’t disagree with them). Of course, I can be politically correct and say it was ‘passion’ or ‘a challenge’ or ‘something I did for the love of it with no ulterior motive’. While all of them are true to some extent, the real reason is more practical. I don’t know if it’s exactly a ‘diplomatic’ thing to declare on a public forum, but at least two of my FIVE readers want to be writers some day, and I hope this post will give them some idea about the jungle out there, because, guys, even I have been there and done that. And will continue to do so…

So here goes, the bitter truth behind this blogathlon (apart from love and longing and the other mushy reasons):

A couple of months back, I finished my first full length novel (all 77k words) and about a month back, I sent out the proposal to half a dozen publishers. While I would be the first one to declare that it wasn’t a literary masterpiece, it was pretty much just another story of just another MBA girl: a novel set in a premier B school of India, written by a young girl and written for the other young people. I thought now that my work is done, I might as well indulge in some brand building and increase my next-to-nothing readership, while the publishers take their time to get back to me. Once I have THE BEST PUBLISHER knocking on my door, I would also have the LONGEST fan following who will obviously pay through their nose to buy my book. (I was beside myself with joy and patting myself for my brilliant social marketing skills apart from my inherent gift for writing).

So it was quite a shock when the good ones didn’t bother to respond to my proposal and the better ones sent a rejection mail declining to publish it. Surprise surprise!! But the ugly one gave me hope: too soon!! Now without taking any names, I would just say it was a fairly well-known Delhi-based publisher, and once I got the acceptance email, like any wannabe writer I was very excited. The fairly innocuous reference to “subject to certain conditions” failed to deter my enthusiasm. And the terms WERE fairly innocuous, if you take the larger picture: they just wanted me to contribute towards publishing. While the sum was not too significant (much less than my one month’s salary) it just didn’t feel right. I reasoned that it was a small price to pay for a dream (imagine MY book adorning the shelves of Crossword) but that was precisely the point: my dream was not so cheap that it could be bought for such a small price… Was it about principles? Being an unknown wannabe author, could I afford to even have principles? Was I being too idealistic? I don’t know; but it just didn’t feel right…

So I obsessed for a couple of days, and then on Friday night, I wrote the hardest mail of my life, before I became too weak, gave in to temptation and changed my mind:

“Dear so and so,

Thanks a lot for sending me the terms of the contract. While I am very grateful that you have decided to take a chance on a new author like me, I regret to inform you that I cannot convince myself to accept the same. Please understand that while the financial implications are not important, I feel that you do not have enough faith in my script to whole-heartedly commit to it. I would not like to begin a professional relationship on such a foundation, and I would not want my first work to be anything close to a vanity publishing deal. Being a writer is a dream for me and I would not like to make any compromises. I already have a day job for that.
However, if you really see any commercial value in my work and would like to help me improve on my script, I would be happy to work with you. But if not, I will wait for the day when you can consider my work purely on its merit.

Thanks again for taking time out to consider my proposal. I look forward to working with you in future.
Regards”

I slept really well that night, though it may be at the cost of a dream.

I may work in an investment bank, but I haven’t sold my soul for money… not yet.

I may be hungry, but I am not greedy…

SunScreen

Alright enough of sarcasm, enough of cribbing, enough of DK Bose bashing and enough of anti-Sachin sentiments. Tomorrow is the last day of my month-long blogathlon (alternatively known as ‘torture’) and I already have a sentimental, oh-what-a-great-experience it was, sort of a post for that.

Anyway, today, for some reason, I feel like humming the song “Sunscreen”…

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth: (I am NOT as fat as I imagine)…

Don't worry about the future; or worry: (The real troubles in my life are imaginary)…

Do one thing everyday that scares you: (I am going to do my taxes today)…

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours: (delete certain phone numbers)…

Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind: (I am going to start running the race backwards)…

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults: (DK Bose can go take a hike)…

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements: (bank statements are like love letters for my dad, so successfully offloaded them to him)…

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life: (I do know what I want to do with my life, the question is HOW?)…

Don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either: (Why not? I am a sucker for extremes)…

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can: (Mallika Sherawat, here I come)…

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly: (NOW you tell me)…

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them: (If they wanted me to read them, they would write it better)…

Get to know your parents; you never know when they'll be gone for good: (You must be kidding me! Parents are forever)…

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on: (All NINE friends of mine: love you guys)…

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft: (Lived in Kolkata and left before it made me soft; will leave Bombay before it makes me hard)…

Travel: (Yes)…

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old: (Hope for double digit hikes even for an average performer, hope for the Lokpal Bill to mean something and hope for better anti-ageing creams)…

Don't expect anyone else to support you: (Not anymore)…

Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85: (No more rebonding/straightening/smoothening)…

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it: (Cancel appointment with expensive shrink)…

But trust me on the sunscreen: (I do, I use it everyday)…

Travails of a Struggling Writer

We all know about the ‘struggling artist’ syndrome where talented painters draw cheesy posters of C grade movies to make ends meet while dreaming of becoming an MF Hussain someday, where gifted photographers float around from one friend’s wedding to another hoping someday someone will pay them, where small-time actresses become the victim of the casting couch so that someday they can become a Katrina Kaif and wannabe singers sign up for each talent hunt show, hoping to snatch glory from the jaws of humiliation. What is common to all of them is the belief that they all have a GIFT and the hope that someday someone will have faith in them.

Now, I have never harboured any romantic notions of being ‘talented’ or ‘gifted’, which is why like a sensible girl, I listened to my parents and did my MBA. However, today, when I am possessed with the idea of being a writer, I take a walk down the memory lane, trying to chart out MY struggles to get noticed:

1.It all started in school and college where I would contribute poems, stories and articles for the in-house magazines which nobody read.
2.It became more of a passion during MBA when I started this blog and became a member of the Corp Comm team where it was serious business.
3.This was followed by contributing to ‘letters to the editors’ and sending my stories to random newspapers/magazines trying to get somebody to publish my work.
4.Some concrete work started coming in when I would do some freelancing for online portals (and I still do that).
5.Calling up/sending emotional emails to newspapers/magazines (with my blog link and sample stories) hoping to get hired.
6.Writing articles/introductions for start-up portals by cousins/friends.
7.Editing CVs/ Appraisal Forms of friends.
8.Writing resignation letters and farewell emails of my colleagues.
9.Writing wedding invitations for friends who wanted their invites to stand out and not follow the usual sloppy (forever together) styles.
10.Finally, yesterday, I hit rock-bottom when I created the online matrimonial profile of a friend, in an attempt to make him stand out among the numerous other cocky, “modern yet traditional” and ‘simple living high thinking” creeps.

And yes, I am STILL struggling to get noticed…

Sachin Rocks, But Dravid IS the rock

I know I am going to lose MOST of my readers after this post, and chances are that MOST will not even read through the entire post, because they will be too busy reaching for their hidden revolvers/swords to KILL me.

So I am stating the disclaimer RIGHT.AT.THE.BEGINNING: “I DO NOT HATE SACHIN TENDULKAR, I just like other people more.”

Lords, the mother of all cricket stadiums (now despite being an eternal Eden Gardens loyalist, I would have to give it to Lords when it comes to all the history and heritage), is currently hosting the 2000th Test Match, between India (We may be the champions but we STILL struggle to save the follow-on when it comes to playing Test cricket in trying conditions) and England.

But what overshadowed this historic event was the fact that Sachin Tendulkar was expected (and technically he still can) to score his 100th century. Quite apt for the man who has rewritten the history books (making kids revise their knowledge before sitting for the Bournvita Quiz Contest) and continues to do so. Reaching a significant personal milestone in Lords has a special feeling. And, I hope he gets it (and for once, hopefully his personal milestone can save India the Test match)…

However, for a change, his party was crashed by the unassuming (and according to Harsha Bhogle, phlegmatic) Rahul Dravid, who not only saved India from an embarrassment, but did so in style, scoring his first century at Lords 153 tests after he missed out a debut 100 at the venue back in 1996 (when I was a pigtailed schoolgirl who was still in love with Mohammed Azharuddin). For a change, he is in the limelight that he so deserves. For a change, he is the man of the moment…

Now, the past 20 years have mostly been about Sachin: the God, the Little Master, the Master Blaster- sometimes all at the same time. And don’t get me wrong (please don’t), while I love to see him bat at full flow (who doesn’t) and I have the highest respect for him as a cricketer who has successfully managed to stay clean and out of controversy even after two decades, but to me he was just a visual delight while batting. That’s it, not a role model, not an icon, not an inspiring personality, but just a remarkable batsman who sometimes rolled his arm over with very good effect. To some extent, I even resented him because, well, he (or rather the media circus) overshadowed everybody else; and I have always liked the understated people, who never got their dues, despite being legends in their own right. So each time the country went gaga over him, the more loyal I became to VVS Laxman and Rahul Dravid. Each time Laxman made a statement with his bat and pulled India out of trouble or Dravid stood his ground true to his nickname, I became a complete underdog loyalist…

Sachin may be God, but he is no leader…

And I am not anti-establishment, I just don’t agree with the establishment…

Things You Didn’t Know About Me

Not that you care, but I am running out of ideas, so please allow me this self indulgence…

The Likes:
1.Shoes (especially my pair of black boots)
2.Girly clothes (dresses, skirts, floral tops instead of the ubiquitous jeans, capris, tees and the hideous Allen Solly collared shirts)
3.Books (no management or self help books though. I throw up each time I see ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul’)
4.The combination of junk food and The Big Bang Theory
5.Eden Gardens (the open air seats)

The Dislikes:
1.Lizards
2.Heights (overbridges, mountains, basketball players)
3.Dadar Station
4.Parties (especially office parties/discs)
5.Excel Sheets

The Dreams:
1.Getting my book published someday
2.Watching the finals at Wimbledon
3.Watching Formula 1 live on the ground
4.Traveling to Egypt/West Indies/Greece
5.Getting my own small place right on a beach

The Conflicts:
1.I am a Bong who doesn’t like fish/sweets/tea
2.I am a girl who doesn’t like weddings
3.I learnt classical dance for nine years and yet I am terrified of the dance floor at any party
4.I am an Economics graduate and Finance MBA working in an investment bank who HATES numbers (and excel sheets)
5.I am a cricket fanatic who disappears from the world during the IPL

The Secrets:
1.I haven’t read/watched ANY Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings/Twilight books/movies
2.I find older men very attractive (Sean Connery/Michael Douglas/Bruce Willis/Bruce Springsteen/Steve Tyler/Bono/Nasiruddin Shah)
3.I have hugged a stranger from behind thinking he was my dad, I have entered the men’s room by mistake and I have accidentally asked out a strange guy over the phone
4.I have a red dress which bought while I was in college and I am STILL waiting for the perfect occasion/perfect body to wear it
5.This one is a real secret…

The 'Right' Thing

Remember those days when you could just run around with oiled hair in pigtails (it looked ghastly till you figured out that was your mom’s way of making you boyfriend-proof till Class VII, which is when you started rebelling), not caring what the world thought about you…

Remember those days when the concept of ‘just friends’ meant just that and you could just spend hours with the best friend (the sweet guy who would share your desk/tiffin/notes in school, AND come back in the evening to play) without your other friends teasing you about him (the pre-Class V days)…

Remember those times when you weren’t aware of the ‘competitive exam’ (doctor/engineer/MBA) bandwagon, and happily wrote essays on ‘I want to be India’s first woman cricket commentator/globe trotter/private detective’…

Remember those days when ‘happiness’ meant those annual diwali meets with cousins, ‘traveling’ meant a weekend trip to the nearest beach (Digha) and ‘celebration’ meant the quarterly Chinese dinner at Bar-B-Q (and you would get depressed when the soup got over, because you would have to wait for another three months before you can have it again)…

Remember those days when you politely put on the dowdy frock (which reached almost your ankles and made you look like a village girl) that your mausi had stitched for you and thanked her, secretly eyeing the trendy denim skirt and T shirt sported by the ‘spoilt rich girl’ from school…

Remember those days when life was not about ‘looking right’, ‘hanging out at the right places’, ‘being with the right kind of people’ or ‘working with the right companies’?

It was just about feeling right…

The Thrill of a Chase

So you have had a dream that you have chased for as long as you can remember: it gave you a reason to live, a reason to wake up and a reason to look forward to something each day, irrespective of how the other aspects of your life kept falling apart. And suddenly, overnight, you are so close to it, you are almost there and it’s no longer just a dream…

And it scares you: what if you woke up and discovered that it was just a dream, what if something goes wrong or the worst, what if turns out to be a disaster? Then, you would no longer have the one thing in your life which made you go on, you would no longer have a passion to work for and you would be a failure at something you really love…

For once, life is not about just existing, it’s about making a dream come true…

Why Me(rc)?

Welcome to disaster: Mercedes is now offering individuals the option to lease a car at 50% of the price!

We are slowly, but surely going the American way, where we become slaves to our materialistic desires, buying things which we don’t need at prices we can’t afford. Credit cards and EMIs are the buzzwords, and we no longer believe in our parents’ conservative approach towards consumerism. “Debt” is almost “cool”: earlier we had home loans, then came car loans and education loans, but now we have it for everything, including the split AC we can do without or the designer mobile phone with features we hardly use.

I am very old fashioned in that sense. Even if I borrow five bucks from someone, I feel uneasy till I have returned it (and it works both ways, though now I have learnt to let go of the small sums). I absolutely hate leverage (it’s my typical middle-class bong upbringing I suppose). It’s an irony I work in an investment bank. I am a cultural/psychological misfit with the business model. That also tells you they should probably revamp their recruitment policy and introduce psychometric tests.

I hate debt especially if it’s for luxury cars/phones/other gadgets. Why can’t Mango come up with such a scheme? I can rent their clothes for half the price and then return them after a month or so.

Life is so unfair for women...

Friends Vs. F*** Buddies

So there are friends, and there are f**k buddies.

By friends, I mean all of my FIVE friends (give or take a few): people I have shared rooms and closets with, people I can call at any hour, people who have helped me move and move on, people who have cooked horrible food and forced it down my throat, people who have carried me home when I was drunk and people who have wheeled me to the hospital when I couldn’t walk…well, people who ARE JUST ALWAYS THERE AND WON”T LEAVE ME ALONE…

And then there are people (in this particular case, a girl) with whom I had awesome chemistry (in a completely non-lesbian context), with whom I shared some wonderful (albeit a few) moments in college, talking about the most random stuff. Even though she wasn’t a part of my everyday life, she had all the rights a friend has (including turning up at my room at midnight and planting herself on my bed because she suddenly wanted ‘to talk’ as I yawned away to glory or singing ‘masakali’ till my head was about to explode)…

But that was two years back. We both left college and promptly lost touch, till yesterday, when she suddenly pinged me from nowhere (in her usual ‘invisible’ mode). After our usual sarcastic exchanges, she started with her probing questions, as I unceremoniously dismissed them on grounds that she no longer had any right to my personal space. So her counterargument was, “Like it or not, we are f**k buddies, if you leave out the f**k part. Now come off your high horse, and TALK.”

And there we were, in another of our 30-minute exchanges, back to the old times.

The ‘masakali girl’, who has all the rights, and none of the responsibilities, and yes, we are f**k buddies…

Zindagi (Na) Milegi Dobara

No, I haven’t yet seen the movie, but let’s say, hypothetically speaking, if you DID get a second life, if you did get a second chance, if you did get another shot? How would you change things?

I would just want to be extremely beautiful, like Lebanese beautiful…And I don’t mean the “inner beauty” crap, I mean the conventional, on-your-face beauty.

The rest would just take care of itself.

It did for Katrina Kaif…

P.S.: This post dosn't have any "inner meaning"...

Fantasy vs. Reality

Ok, so my mom called to ask me the usual question, “When do you plan to get married?” for the third time in the week. And for the third time in the week (and the 312th time in the last two years), I replied evasively, “Umm… as soon as I am ready.”
-“Which is, when?”
-“Told you na, I have some things in mind. Once I settle those, then I can think about marriage and stuff.”
-“I am not falling for that again. First there was a job, then there was the second job, and now there is some other nonsense.”
-“So what? You are giving me deadlines now?”
-“No, I am giving you phone numbers and email addresses.”

And of course, the conversation ends there, as I disconnect the call. I miss the old days when we still used landlines and had the luxury of SLAMMING down receivers.

So why don’t I want to get married? Oh come on, of course I do. I am a girl, and the job description of being a girl requires me to be crazy about marriage. And I am not one of those super-ambitious, completely career-oriented, aggressive feminists (I like stereotyping) who are against the whole of mankind. Me, I love men, may be too much. And I love the idea of falling in love with the totally wrong people and being miserable for the rest of my life. So, despite having made my share of mistakes, I still want to be married, eventually…

But what I DO NOT want is a wedding. I positively hate weddings; every bit of them: the preparations, the invitations, the decorations, the thousand gawdy outfits which you will never wear again and the thousand random people whom you will never meet again. Add to that, the dedicated relationship status updates on FB (from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship’ to ‘engaged’ to ‘married’) all within two months followed by a flurry of albums (‘engagement’, ‘wedding’ and ‘honeymoon’), each of them with over 100 snaps, and you have successfully managed to make me throw up.

If I had my way, I would just land up at a court with the guy, sign a few papers in front of fewer friends, get drunk and spend the rest of my life arguing with my best friend (the aforementioned guy).

So that’s the fantasy...

But the reality will be some fairy-tale wedding with some random person straight out of FB, with some thousand random people celebrating something that doesn’t concern them AND making us pay for the alcohol…

If only happiness was more important than peace. If only…

Bombay Blues

I used to love Mumbai; I used to believe that I would live here forever; It was the city which accepted things no questions asked; It was the city which shrugged its shoulders and moved on from one tragedy to another; It was the city which gave you hope; It was the city where people from all walks of life could just walk in to make their dreams come true…

But most of all, it was the city which let me be…

Some people call it apathy, but for me that was the biggest gift: I could walk around alone not caring what time it was, I could wear what I wanted, I could be with whoever I wanted, I could be free…

I was addicted to the indifference, the chaos and the life in the fast lane…

Until, I don’t know when, I started feeling differently: the city has stopped making sense to me, it has slowly but surely robbed me off the finer sensibilities, it has made me so tough that I have learnt to just exist without living…

I have stopped caring, I have stopped crying, I have stopped being…

I have started shrugging, I have started surviving, I have started selling my soul…

Now I have goals instead of a dream, desires instead of a will, tasks instead of a passion…

I have BECOME Mumbai, instead of just living here…

Guys Will Never Get This...

Have you wished that baby pink top you love so much was available in a smaller size?
Have you ever wished that Remanika dress that looks so awesome was cheaper (EVEN AFTER THE 30% DISCOUNT)?
Have you ever wished that you were slim enough to slip into THAT?
Have you ever wished you were tall enough to carry off that pair of capris?
Have you ever wished you were slim enough AND tall enough to effortlessly look good in ANYTHING instead of trying to find clothes which “flatter your curves?”

Basically, have you ever visited the mall and come out depressed wanting to go straight under the knife?

That’s what the sale season does to me…

Another Wednesday...

I remember posting this entry two and half years back about the 26/11 blasts. Today, after YET ANOTHER TERRORIST ATTACK, I really don’t want to repeat myself (we have politicians to do that). But one thing has changed though: in 2008, I was this student who had been remarkably close to the attacks but was not really touched by them. Yes, terrorism was a reality, yes Mumbai was the darling of terrorists and yes, I had been to all those ravaged places, but I was never personally affected. Terrorism was something that happened to other people, we just watched it on TV and shuddered. But I can no longer say that…

Mercifully I am safe, my family, friends and colleagues are safe, but that doesn’t stop me from going back a year, February 13, 2010: a time when I was lost in my own world (and not blogging). Ok, fine, it was Valentines Day eve and I was busy. But one phone call, and it sort of changed things forever. We were no longer a distant observer who sipped coffee, discussed the atrocities and abused the politicians; we had become a victim. There was a blast in German Bakery in Pune (a place we would often visit during our MBA days) and five of my close friends (including my ex roomie and the anon commenter on this blog) who were just revisiting the old days on a Saturday evening unfortunately chose to do so at that very hour. The rest is just blood and shock and trauma. The incident changed their lives but we are just thankful that they lived to tell the story.

Terrorism teaches you to be grateful for things which are our fundamental rights…

This post is for those five people (the anonymous commenter included)

Rebel With(out) a Cause

Most of my friends who have stuck around in the company they joined from campus (we all know what happened to the 2009 batch) and completed two years have been doing really well and getting promoted. I say this with genuine pride and happiness because (and I am sure they will agree with me) it wouldn’t have been possible without my support and encouragement. The very fact that I touched their lives ensured that their bosses recommended them for a promotion.

My boss, on the other hand, sent me a mail saying I should consider taking the training on “business etiquette and corporate behavior” (I hate when people spell behaviour without a ‘u’). It’s actually funny if it wasn’t so bloody insulting. Anyway, the lesson I have taken out of this little altercation is no matter how much you dislike your boss, never make it evident in the monsoon season. Now that I don’t get along with him, I can’t afford to slack at work (in fact I work harder than ever) which in turn means struggling to work at 8:30 a.m. even when it is raining cats and dogs and I am the first person to turn up AND SWITCH ON THE WASHROOM LIGHTS.

But after a lot of thinking last night, I have decided that it’s not ENTIRELY DK Bose’s fault that we don’t get along. Of course, he is not the best manager (though he is super smart) but I am also this moody, stubborn, rebellious kid who is yet to learn to say the right things at the right time to the right people. It worked against me throughout B school (I could never plead with the faculty or indulge in mindless CP for the extra GPA even if that meant writing a backlog) and while things were pretty smooth in Company D, towards the end, I got into a showdown with my manager. So I observe a trend here: the problem lies with ME and not the whole world.

The root of the problem is: I DON”T WANT TO DO THIS WORK…

I Am...

So what if I am a little crazy?
So what if I am a little insecure?
So what if I am a little rude (ok VERY rude)?
So what if I have my foot in the mouth a little too often?
So what if I am a little undiplomatic?
So what if I am a little impulsive?
So what if I am a little dumb? (refer to point number 2)
So what if I am a little proud?

I am still me…

A Year Ago...

This time last year: this was when it all started and turned your life upside down. It was just another usual weekday morning when you are flipping through the newspaper, having the morning coffee and making idle conversation. And then, suddenly, one thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, your life changes drastically. It doesn’t take a major FIGHT or a major EVENT, but, one fine day, all these small innocuous conversations add up and blow up on your face. Then it’s all downhill: you start arguing about the stupid things that doesn’t even matter, you become insecure about things which aren’t really important and you say things which you can’t take back. What follows is a huge mess that still makes you cringe…

So it’s been a year. Things have changed, circumstances have changed and people have changed. Mercifully, you have survived, though you are still scared: scared of trusting, scared of being emotionally attached and scared of getting hurt. So you pre-empt ANY possibilities which may make you vulnerable and you run: from yourself and the situation. You protect yourself through destruction, you choose loneliness and you freeze, no matter how much you want to let yourself go...

It’s ALWAYS peace over happiness…

But It Rained

See, I am this very mature, pragmatic and realistic person who doesn’t believe in ‘happily ever after’ or romantic love stories that I read or watch in movies. That’s just ‘research’ for ‘understanding the human psychology’ and for those who may have seen me cry while watching “KKHH”, “DDLJ”, “Object of My Affection” or “When Harry Met Sally” for the nth time, well, it was just that I have a problem with my contact lenses, which make me LOOK like I am crying, when I am actually NOT. And just for the record, I have read ONLY ONE M&B and two Danielle Steele novels in my life.

Anyway, so EVEN for someone so practical (as clearly established above), there is something about the Mumbai rains which turn me into a hopeless romantic. I just can’t help it.

It makes me want to go to Goa, get drenched and dance (jump up and down) uninhibitedly...

It makes me want to go back to my college days and sit on Marine Drive just staring at the sea…

It makes me want to cuddle under the blanket, eat khichuri and aloo bhaja…

It makes me want to go back to school and play football (even though I was the goalie) because that was the only way I could spend some time with the boy…

It just makes me cry... (damn the lenses)

When Leadership Fails to Lead

Yesterday was like THE longest day of my life. Or may be it just seemed so long because it sucked so much. Now I am not one of those frustrated, disgruntled employees who vent about their jobs (and bosses) on online forums which nobody reads. I go a step further, and ABUSE them on online forums which nobody reads.

So here goes:

I hate office parties: They are the single-most pretentious exercise ever devised to ruin Friday nights. Even the free booze and food are so not worth it. I mean, think about it: listening to some firang bigmouth (who has forgotten how it feels to stop and breathe once in a while) and half-a-dozen MBA grads pretending to be interested in ‘land monetization’ and ‘low P/E valuations of Russia’ at 9 p.m. so sucks the blood out of your system. Then when your boss (let’s call him DK Bose henceforth) follows you around and tells you to ‘mingle and network’ instead of sitting in one corner looking at your watch, it makes you want to throw up on his expensive suit.

I hate ‘showcasing our good work’: Now don’t get me wrong: of all possible corporate jobs out there for me, I think my current job is the best. I get to read a lot (even if it’s a whole of financial jargon), I get to write reports and make creative presentations and the best part is I have complete freedom to do what I want. I have full responsibility, accountability and minimal interference as far as my reports are concerned. And in the last six months, I have done some good work even if I say so myself. (I have got client emails to prove it, which I save and back up on gmail for year-end appraisal when I am sure DK Bose will try to screw up my case and tamper with my mailbox). That’s not because I am god’s gift to Company C, but because I slog 10 hours a day (without long breaks) and I really give my best. I am secure about my capabilities and I think my work speaks for itself (and hence we get recurrent client projects) rather than me doing so. So I don’t feel the need to pander to leadership and throw jargon or book airtime ‘with the people who matter’.

I hate jargon: If I ever get a chance to redesign the MBA curriculum, the first thing I would introduce is the Primary English Language course, which teaches you the very function of ANY language is to COMMUNICATE, and not CONFUSE. I mean, imagine this: two newbies just making casual (the guy trying to sound funny) conversation and DK Bose or firangs are not even around to assess your “team skills”:
Guy: "So what do you think I am drinking?"
Girl: (staring at the glass): "Err…. Vodka?"
Guy: "Are you sure? Within what confidence interval is your answer applicable? 90%-95% or 95%-99%?"
Girl: "95%-99%"
Me (who was stuck between the two): "Can’t you guys like be normal or something?"

Sighhh.. I miss Company D. I had REAL friends there, who just drank without talking about confidence intervals and central limit theorem (this came up during a lunch conversation which I am not even going to repeat here).

Why can’t parties be just parties and MBAs be, well, you know, PEOPLE?

Sorry Mr. Vadukut

This was supposed to be another rant: life has been tough lately (what with work and the rains and the waiting). Turns out that “being dignified” and “letting go” are not as easy as they sound.

But, something happened THIS MORNING which shocked me considerably but made me happy too. Sidin Vadukut (yes, the famous writer and editor of Business Line) commented on my post, “Pride and Peace”!!! Now, I have no idea how he came about the existence of my blog, given I have like FIVE readers (now that Neil is no longer here)… sniff sniff. I don’t mean “no longer here” as he is dead or something, just that he has stopped visiting/commenting on my blog. So the only explanation I came up with is the respected Mr. Vadukut, being humble and down-to-earth as he is, refuses to get carried away by his success, and looks for critical feedback online. So he must have randomly typed in “sidin vadukut + bastard” on google and lo and behold, he was directed to my blog. My sincere apologies Mr. Vadukut. In my defence, I never imagined in my wildest of dreams that you would EVER visit this godforsaken blog!

So all you anon readers, now that you know FAMOUS people are not ashamed to leave a mark on my blog, please own up and introduce yourselves. It would mean a lot to me.

This is what Mr. Vadukut had to say:
Lucky b***** indeed. :)
Thanks for reading the book.

My sincere apologies. I may have used the b-word, but what I actually meant was ‘brilliant’ with a few stars missing. Really really loved the book, and I am not just saying that because you are famous and I abused you on public forum.

So should I like post my resume or something on this blog and abuse nwspapers/editors/pulishers so that in case they are also looking for critical feedback may come across my blog and discover my HIDDEN TALENT? Should work better than sending emotional emails about how writing is my lifelong dream even though I am a MBA working with an investment bank?

Sigghhh… I need a break or just a publisher may be…

Dilli Billi

Auto ride in the middle of peak hour traffic: 50 bucks
Overpriced snacks at the Food Court: 120 bucks (thank god for sodexos)
Impromptu visit to the theatre for Delhi Belly after midweek crisis: Priceless

Never have I choked with laughter in a 90-minute Bollywood movie, even as the middle-aged couple next to us cringed as we held our breath, lest we miss out on any moment of this madcap comedy. If Dil Chahta Hai was a cult movie, this one is pathbreaking in its boldness and its ability to laugh at life. This movie gives you hope: the audience, though young, has matured, the filmmakers have matured, but the biggest winner is the censor board which has grown up enough to let the movie be. They even managed to get a Kiran Rao clone to play the role of Maneka, and she so rocks. Even the toilet humour, which is usually not my cup of tea, managed to keep me in splits, by the sheer grossness of it. As my friend said, if the aim of the movie was to disgust the audience to laughter, it certainly worked.

Some of the priceless moments:

I shall cut off your b**** and make them into earrings…
This is one ugly car. This is what you get when a donkey humps an auto rickshaw…
Tashi, get back ‘in’ there…
Meet Nitin, the serial rapist…
This girl… has given me a blowjob…
Make it smile, you know, like 7% more…
Finally, the last scene where Tashi kisses Maneka through the window in a moving car, was so, well, moving…

And yea, I can’t emphasize this enough, I don’t know why people are talking about this movie in the same breath as Three Idiots. This one is sooo much cooler and well, coming-of-age kinda stuff, and not the idiotic platitudes doled out to the masses.

Anyway, got to go now, boss is here. Bhaag bhaag DK Bose, boss aayi, boss aayi. What? I am not a North Indian, I don’t understand the double-meaning expletives. As far as I know, DK Bose is a routine Bong guy, and my boss is a bong.

Shit Happens, but this movie makes you laugh at it…

Stay Angry But Stay Put...

There are times when you want to jump from the top of your office building
There are times when you want to wring someone’s neck
There are times when you want to break your PC (point to be noted, we STILL use a PC)
There are times when you want to keep eating chocolates
There are times when you wish people around will JUST.SHUT.UP
There are times when you wish you were somewhere else (Lebanon for example)

And then you are consumed with hope and longing and excitement, even if it’s just a system-generated auto reply to an email you sent.

Steve Job may have urged you to stay hungry and stay foolish, but the thought of being unemployed and starved is enough to knock off the foolishness… at least for the time being.

Pride and Peace

I am reading again: Three books in parallel! Well, to be honest, initially it was just one. Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens, something which my dad has been trying to force down my throat for ages now, but I had been avoiding, well, because of the sheer size of the book and the mini font, not to mention the old world language. I so admire the idea of reading classics but why does it have to be so hard? Each time I read one, it seems to reduce my life expectancy by at least five years. So just to give myself some respite, I picked up Nothing Serious by PG Wodehouse. Again. The familiarity makes me feel happy, so I treasure this one for the Sunday evenings when I am feeling particularly depressed. Finally, yesterday I got myself Sidin Vadukut’s Dork: The Incredible Adventures of Robin 'Einstein' Varghese and it’s hilarious! I laughed myself to sleep for a change. I have a serious suspicion he worked with Company D (you know my previous organization). Can anyone throw some light on his career before he became the managing editor of LiveMint? Lucky b******.

I have something to look forward to: Even though it’s not really going anywhere, it still gives me a reason to rush home from work and check my mail even before I kick off my shoes or get super excited every time I get a call from an unknown number (though every time it turns out to be some bank/insurance company trying to sell me something I don’t want). It’s like I am back to last year, when I would absolutely hate weekends because nothing would happen over those two long days (remember my love-hate relationship with placement consultants and HR department of EVERY company in India?). Now it’s the same, though thankfully placement consultants/HR are not part of it. I really like my constant obsession for doing something, though rejection, depression and humiliation are part and parcel of it. At least, I have a dream.

I have become super domesticated: I get up at 6:30 in the morning to cook my lunch and pack my dabba for work. Ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case.

I have started walking again: Auto(nomy) restored. Yayyy!

I have been strong enough: To resist temptations of happiness. Greed is NOT good, no matter what Gordon Gekko says. I would rather be peaceful than happy. I no longer have this obsessive need to know things. I am ok with the romantic idea of “What if?”

So yeah, I have been proud of myself, or just proud…

P.S.: Proud here doesn’t mean vain/arrogant. It just means ‘peace’

What If?

What if you were born in 1757 AD?
What if you lived in Lebanon?
What if you had Jane Austen as your mom? Or Che Guevara as your dad?
What if you had majored in Equine Studies? (some colleges do offer that course by the way)
What if you were a Fortune Cookie writer by profession?
What if you actually had an evil twin?
What if you told someone you loved him/her two minutes before you married your current husband/wife?

May be some things are best left as “What if?”

The good things in life...

I know I have been ranting a lot on this blog lately which has apparently scared most of my readers away (it was a single digit number anyway, and now it’s just SINGLE). So this weekend, amid all the cleaning, cooking and laundry (accidents can totally play havoc with your domestic situation), I also found time to be thankful for the GOOD things in life:

Thank you (‘you’ being some external force, which some people refer to as GOD) for all the basic stuff: two eyes/ears/kidneys/hands/legs, a functional brain and a normal body (these last two weeks I have realized what happens when even one of them gets crippled…

Thank you for a loving, healthy family, which despite our differences, still manage to stick together…

Thank you for the small but caring number of friends, and this one, I can’t value enough…

Thank you for a job which I like enough to report to work everyday, but not so much that it makes me complacent. It gives me a reason to strive for something different while helping me survive…

Thank you for the bi-annual sale. I may still be limping, but that didn’t stop me from picking up a pair of high-heeled blue sandals which I always wanted, at 50% discount…

Thank you for the Crossword right next to office, which allows me to sneak inside everyday when I can no longer stand the sight of equity research reports. I walk in everyday with no wallet (or else I would have been broke by now) a post-it pad and a pen, so that I can jot down the new titles and publishers, come back to office and place an order for the same on Flipkart…

And thank you for all things fattening (takeaway pizzas/chocolate ice-cream or just chocolate)…

2nd of July...

I know I have talked a lot about my dad on this blog like in this post for example. But today, I want to talk about my mom (ma) who I had been missing a lot, especially since my accident (when I just wanted to be home). For the record, I didn’t tell her about it, because she freaks out easily.

I have always been a daddy’s girl; ALWAYS! He was the one who spoilt me, while my mom only seemed to make me do stuff I DIDN’T want to (studying, swimming classes, dancing lessons: all of which interfered with my wild, 2-hour games with the neighbourhood kids in the evening). So while I tried to spend more time with my dad (and less with mom) and picked up his interests (sports/reading/history), my mom was always in the background, making sure I was well-taken care of- something I took for granted.

So this post is for her, for ma…

She represents determination: For someone who got married at 23 and had a kid by 25, she had enough grit to continue studying and finish her Masters, B.Ed and PhD while I cried incessantly in the background…

She represents passion: My dad wanted to teach history and philosophy, but he ended up in the corporate jungle, raising money and arguing with bankers. I want to be a writer, but I am still stuck making jazzy presentations and writing research reports in a MNC. My mom wanted to be a teacher, and she became one. She had the courage to say ‘no' and courage to give up a research fellowship in Philadelphia because she wanted to teach, and teach in the institute where she had studied. Among the three of us, she is the one who LOVES her work, and hence it’s not just a JOB…

She represents strength: Growing up, we never had much money; in fact not even enough money. But she never complained. I had never heard my parents argue about money, though they fought over sillier things. Irrespective of how little my dad brought home, she always made it seem plenty and keep us happy. So today, when people say I am a miser, I take it as a compliment, because my mom taught me to value money. If the vendor 2 kms away sold stuff for two bucks less, we would rather walk the extra 2 kms and save the extra two bucks…

She represents sheer Math genius: My dad may be the C.A. of the family, but my mom is the math whiz. She picked up double-entry accounting from my dad faster than I could manage journal entries in two years of my MBA, and even now, whenever we travel together (latest being Turkey), she is the treasurer who keeps all the hisaab and does currency conversions faster than I can count my fingers. So yea, dad may be doing fancy WACC calculations and QIP issues for his company, but my mom does the REAL stuff…

She represents courage: I remember a few years back, on this very day (July 2nd) when I came home with 64% in my 12th standard boards, she never scolded me. She realized I had a made a bad choice (the first of my MANY bad choices) by taking up Science in the 12th, and while my engineering entrance exam scores and board exam marks practically ended my "dream career" (to become an IT engineer), she encouraged me take up Economics and then do my MBA, even though nobody in my family had any clue about it. She was selfless enough to let go of her only child as a teenager, even though my dad was scared and reluctant. And she never wanted me to repeat her mistakes (getting married without being independent being one of them)…

And, oh, did I mention, she is absolutely GORGEOUS...

Oh, July 2 also happens to be my parents’ anniversary…

Rejection...

You know these people to whom things come easily: life, love, success, happiness (ok may b not the latter, because happiness is a state of mind and not events)

Well, I am NOT one of those people; in fact I am the EXACT opposite of them.
So throughout my life I have always struggled with everything: whatever I have done have been achieved after tasting the bitterness of failure, which is why may be I appreciate it more. But I thought I was done with my share of rejections (at least for some time) after the deluge last year. However, it seems I haven’t paid my dues YET and there is more to come, albeit I am exploring new channels now. I should have a world record in the total number of rejections amassed in one’s lifetime.

But this one really hurts…

P.S. On the bright side, what doesn’t kill me, only makes me stronger