We all have read fairy tales as a kid right? Remember those days when your world revolved around the Cinderellas, Rapunzels, Snow Whites or Sleeping Beauty? I, for one, loved fairy tales. In fact, to me fairy tales were like books on String Theory for Sheldon. Ok, perhaps not the best analogy, but there was a time, when I ONLY read fairy tales, and not just the regular ones, but even the most non-descript ones from all over the world, especially Greece and Russia.
Anyhow, over the past few years I have been observing some uncanny similarities between fairy tales and the corporate world. Think about it, every fairy tale would have these standard characters: the beautiful damsel in distress, the loyal (usually gay) friend, the elusive Prince Charming, the irrepressible witch, not to mention the scheming ugly sisters and finally, the all powerful, evil ogre (often green in colour).
Now, consider the typical office environment around you. Let’s start with the easiest, i.e. the all powerful, evil ogre. No points for guessing who he is: the CXO/MD who derives a sadistic pleasure in turning the fairy tale into a nightmare for every employee of the organization.
Moving on to the witch, which is not exactly rocket science, i.e. the immediate boss who reports to the ogre: usually spineless, sucking up to the green monster, petty and making life miserable for the beautiful princess and all the little people around her.
The elusive Prince Charming is also a very interesting character and almost all organizations would have at least one of these smooth talking extroverts who can confidently sweep everybody off their feet (including the witch and the ogre). This is the guy who will speak the most in all meetings, get invited to all the office parties, have all the women swoon over him and walk away with the highest rating and fat bonuses. BUT, there is one small problem. This guy WILL NEVER GET HIS HANDS DIRTY. He will delegate, he will manage and he will co-ordinate, but he will not, I repeat, will not do any work.
As for the loyal friend, he would always be the side kick: dependable, trustworthy and quietly efficient, he will be the person who will rescue the team from a crisis, he will work on weekends and holidays when nobody is around to appreciate it and he will get things done year after year, even though he barely gets noticed or appreciated. Until the day comes when he is tired of the Prince Charming taking credit for his work and he quits, to become a writer or a teacher, most probably in Kolkata.
The beautiful damsel in distress is a rare species in any company, especially if you are in a bank. It’s amazing how someone can get away with doing little or no work, as long as she has a pretty face and a bright smile. Struggling with excel? Why bother with the “Help” function when you can just shrug your shoulders and chat up the colleague at the next desk, who would be grateful for the opportunity to do your work. Of course, the company does its best to groom and retain the beautiful damsel in distress, because her mere presence increases the productivity of the rest of the ordinary folks on the floor, who will try to outdo each other just to impress the girl, blissfully unaware that the Prince Charming is already miles ahead in the race.
As for the ugly sisters, they are the most abundant species you will find in every organization: scheming, bitchy associates, close to the witch, but secretly plotting her downfall. They are the ordinary people with limited skills and ambitions, slightly cowardly, too scared to upset the apple cart and therefore going with the flow, taking pleasure in trivial office politics, but overall happy with the security of the monthly paycheck and the year end handout.
So, where do I fit in? While I started out as a bit of a Sleeping Beauty who struggled to mingle, now I am completely ingrained into the system, very much a part of the fairy tale, comfortably in the shoes of the smallest ugly sister.
While the corporate fairy tale is a long and winding story, it remains to be seen if it has a happy ending…
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Blondie
My deepest darkest secret in life is that I am an intellectually stunted Arts graduate. As the dear readers reader of this blog would know, I am the untouchables of the academic fraternity and the banking industry. Now if you walk into my department which has about 50 people, you would mostly see bespectacled men who are engineers+MBAs+CFAs who would explain to me that + here denotes the “and” function and not the “or” function.
A typical new hire would walk around the bay, explaining that he is from some IIT with experience in VBA/SAS/Python/Matlab and I would sheepishly look at him and mumble, “err… sounds impressive. I am more into literature and philosophy and political science.” He would immediately recoil in disgust and look around surreptitiously, making sure that nobody sees him talking to me.
So, over the years, I have been a victim of discrimination and low self esteem. Here are some reasons why:
As an Arts graduate in an investment bank, people mostly dismiss you as HR/Admin, who is only responsible for looking pretty, arranging parties and hosting big shots…
During most meetings/calls, you are not expected to participate or say anything remotely intelligent, because you know, what can an Arts graduate possibly have to contribute when “the men” are discussing ground breaking stuff like quantitative easing, predictive modeling or valuation of private companies…
Whenever there is an event/networking session, everyone would gather around the visitor who is typically a Director/MD/Board member, seriously discussing world economics, share prices or debt markets, while the Arts graduate would hide in one corner, picking at her food, waiting for the ordeal to be over. When the said Director/MD/Board member asks her “so, what are your views on this?”, all she can do is smile brightly, and say, “is this your first visit to Mumbai? You MUST visit Colaba Causeway.”
When you tell an outsider where you work, he gets all excited and asks random questions like, “oh, my batchmate from IITX is also working there. Which IIT did you go to?” When you hesitantly respond, “err, actually, I didn’t go to an IIT or even an engineering college”, he gives you the Rahul Gandhi look, and says, “Lucky you. In India, references can take you anywhere.”
Finally, every time you have any discussion with your superior, he would dumb down the conversation as if he is speaking to a five year old. So, while a fellow colleague would be told, “we firmly believe that you have the potential to make a paradigm shift to our metrics milestones by breaking the silos and introducing a positive momentum which can revolutionalize the end-user perspective”, I would be greeted with a kind here-comes-the-retard smile and told, “You.are.doing.a.good.job. Keep.copy.pasting. Soon.we.will.give.you.challenging.work. You.may.even.be.asked.to.change.the.colours.of.all.our.presentations.from.red.to.blue. Was that too fast? Should I repeat?”
Each time you read an article about how MNCs are aggressively pushing corporate social responsibility, you know they are talking about hiring Arts graduates like me.
In college, being an Arts graduate was a synonym for getting married at 21/aspiring for a career in showbiz. In corporate world, it’s a synonym for being the department blonde…
A typical new hire would walk around the bay, explaining that he is from some IIT with experience in VBA/SAS/Python/Matlab and I would sheepishly look at him and mumble, “err… sounds impressive. I am more into literature and philosophy and political science.” He would immediately recoil in disgust and look around surreptitiously, making sure that nobody sees him talking to me.
So, over the years, I have been a victim of discrimination and low self esteem. Here are some reasons why:
As an Arts graduate in an investment bank, people mostly dismiss you as HR/Admin, who is only responsible for looking pretty, arranging parties and hosting big shots…
During most meetings/calls, you are not expected to participate or say anything remotely intelligent, because you know, what can an Arts graduate possibly have to contribute when “the men” are discussing ground breaking stuff like quantitative easing, predictive modeling or valuation of private companies…
Whenever there is an event/networking session, everyone would gather around the visitor who is typically a Director/MD/Board member, seriously discussing world economics, share prices or debt markets, while the Arts graduate would hide in one corner, picking at her food, waiting for the ordeal to be over. When the said Director/MD/Board member asks her “so, what are your views on this?”, all she can do is smile brightly, and say, “is this your first visit to Mumbai? You MUST visit Colaba Causeway.”
When you tell an outsider where you work, he gets all excited and asks random questions like, “oh, my batchmate from IITX is also working there. Which IIT did you go to?” When you hesitantly respond, “err, actually, I didn’t go to an IIT or even an engineering college”, he gives you the Rahul Gandhi look, and says, “Lucky you. In India, references can take you anywhere.”
Finally, every time you have any discussion with your superior, he would dumb down the conversation as if he is speaking to a five year old. So, while a fellow colleague would be told, “we firmly believe that you have the potential to make a paradigm shift to our metrics milestones by breaking the silos and introducing a positive momentum which can revolutionalize the end-user perspective”, I would be greeted with a kind here-comes-the-retard smile and told, “You.are.doing.a.good.job. Keep.copy.pasting. Soon.we.will.give.you.challenging.work. You.may.even.be.asked.to.change.the.colours.of.all.our.presentations.from.red.to.blue. Was that too fast? Should I repeat?”
Each time you read an article about how MNCs are aggressively pushing corporate social responsibility, you know they are talking about hiring Arts graduates like me.
In college, being an Arts graduate was a synonym for getting married at 21/aspiring for a career in showbiz. In corporate world, it’s a synonym for being the department blonde…
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Dilbert Diaries
I passed out of B school exactly five years back, which means I am now five years old in the corporate world. I still remember that hot sultry day in Hyderabad, back in May 2009, when I joined company D as a campus hire. Of course I was super excited about my new job, especially since it was a well-respected MNC and voted as one of the best companies worldwide to start your career. But I was more excited about my brand new laptop, crisp new clothes, the ID card which proudly displayed my name, the good food at the five star hotel where we had our 2-week induction and most of all the promise of “good life”!
Five years later, let me take a quick walk down the memory lane about my journey through this phase:
Now that I have survived multiple meetings, year-end appraisals, office parties, trainings, team bonding events and networking sessions, let me highlight the top three entertaining aspects of the office culture:
1.Skip level meetings: I simply love the concept because it opens up the can of worms (the pandora’s box if you will), where for a change, managers are under scrutiny instead of the employee. For a change, it gives the usually suppressed young employee an opportunity to speak up without worrying about getting penalized for doing so. And for a change, it questions the authority of the manager and puts him/her under the radar. It’s just about as empowering as it can get in the conservative corporate world. Most of all, it’s fun to just see grown-ups hyperventilate.
2.Resignation and farewell speeches: Having witnessed my share of resignation instances, where a fellow colleague has put in his/her papers and come out smiling, it’s indeed a Kodak moment to see the relief and happiness, no matter how transient it is. This is the platform to vent all the pent up emotions and grudges against the organization, its policies, managers and quality of work, even if it’s only a matter of time before you move on to another “bad” organization and start complaining about its policies, managers and quality of work. But what amuses me more are the farewell ceremonies, when the employee graciously sugarcoats his/her experiences while the others do their best to put up the façade of happiness, while secretly planning their own farewell speeches. I have had mine ready for four years now, but I am still waiting to use it.
3.Relationships: My biggest takeaway from the five years of corporate life has been the people I have interacted with, as surprising as it. A lot of my closest friends are my colleagues from the two companies I have worked in, irrespective of our career choices and current organizations. Being in a role which requires me to work with complete strangers in different countries, I have ended up forging a strong bond with people with whom I have nothing in common, and yet, they have graciously kept in touch with me or taken me sight-seeing in a new country or forced a new cuisine (which I could barely pronounce) down my throat. Finally, I have been lucky to work with some of the best managers, who continue to support me despite moving on to different roles/organizations.
At the end of the day, if I look back, I would summarize my journey as: “I get mail; therefore I am.” (Scot Adams)
Five years later, let me take a quick walk down the memory lane about my journey through this phase:
Now that I have survived multiple meetings, year-end appraisals, office parties, trainings, team bonding events and networking sessions, let me highlight the top three entertaining aspects of the office culture:
1.Skip level meetings: I simply love the concept because it opens up the can of worms (the pandora’s box if you will), where for a change, managers are under scrutiny instead of the employee. For a change, it gives the usually suppressed young employee an opportunity to speak up without worrying about getting penalized for doing so. And for a change, it questions the authority of the manager and puts him/her under the radar. It’s just about as empowering as it can get in the conservative corporate world. Most of all, it’s fun to just see grown-ups hyperventilate.
2.Resignation and farewell speeches: Having witnessed my share of resignation instances, where a fellow colleague has put in his/her papers and come out smiling, it’s indeed a Kodak moment to see the relief and happiness, no matter how transient it is. This is the platform to vent all the pent up emotions and grudges against the organization, its policies, managers and quality of work, even if it’s only a matter of time before you move on to another “bad” organization and start complaining about its policies, managers and quality of work. But what amuses me more are the farewell ceremonies, when the employee graciously sugarcoats his/her experiences while the others do their best to put up the façade of happiness, while secretly planning their own farewell speeches. I have had mine ready for four years now, but I am still waiting to use it.
3.Relationships: My biggest takeaway from the five years of corporate life has been the people I have interacted with, as surprising as it. A lot of my closest friends are my colleagues from the two companies I have worked in, irrespective of our career choices and current organizations. Being in a role which requires me to work with complete strangers in different countries, I have ended up forging a strong bond with people with whom I have nothing in common, and yet, they have graciously kept in touch with me or taken me sight-seeing in a new country or forced a new cuisine (which I could barely pronounce) down my throat. Finally, I have been lucky to work with some of the best managers, who continue to support me despite moving on to different roles/organizations.
At the end of the day, if I look back, I would summarize my journey as: “I get mail; therefore I am.” (Scot Adams)
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Walk On
There are crises situations and then there are crises situations. And then there are existential crises. Like the one Rahul Gandhi is currently going through. Or even me. You know those times, when your life suddenly flashes in front of you? No? May be the last time it happened to you was when you filled out lengthy forms in B school during campus placements, where each company would ask you your deepest, darkest secrets. Incidentally that was also the last time the company showed so much interest in you. Over the years, your appraisal discussions have been reduced to vague banalities which mean nothing, and neither you nor your employer even cares enough to pretend otherwise.
Questions like “What are your strengths and weaknesses?”, “What are your short term and long term goals?” or “Where do see yourself five years down the line” seemed inane at a time you were too busy figuring out the rich friend who would sponsor your next beer or wondering if the professor would notice if you bunked the next lecture.
But with time, you begin to ask yourself these questions, wondering what your next steps would be and how differently your life has shaped up from what you had imagined. Like David Moyes.
If you ask me, “existential crisis” is a big word for “bored out of the mind.” Most of us, cushioned from the REAL problems in life, are really LOOKING for ways to make our own lives sound more important than they actually are. Let’s face it, we are not life savers or geniuses or even stand-up comedians: if we stop going to work one fine day, the world will function just as before, companies will go on selling soaps and politicians will continue to steal. The point then is to stop being pompous and do things which make a difference to us, irrespective of how insignificant it might be.
So the million-dollar question is what is it that makes a difference to me? The million dollar answer is "I don't know." What I do know however, is it's not what I am currently doing.
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
And just like that, there is a time to walk away, a time to walk off and a time to walk on...
Questions like “What are your strengths and weaknesses?”, “What are your short term and long term goals?” or “Where do see yourself five years down the line” seemed inane at a time you were too busy figuring out the rich friend who would sponsor your next beer or wondering if the professor would notice if you bunked the next lecture.
But with time, you begin to ask yourself these questions, wondering what your next steps would be and how differently your life has shaped up from what you had imagined. Like David Moyes.
If you ask me, “existential crisis” is a big word for “bored out of the mind.” Most of us, cushioned from the REAL problems in life, are really LOOKING for ways to make our own lives sound more important than they actually are. Let’s face it, we are not life savers or geniuses or even stand-up comedians: if we stop going to work one fine day, the world will function just as before, companies will go on selling soaps and politicians will continue to steal. The point then is to stop being pompous and do things which make a difference to us, irrespective of how insignificant it might be.
So the million-dollar question is what is it that makes a difference to me? The million dollar answer is "I don't know." What I do know however, is it's not what I am currently doing.
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
And just like that, there is a time to walk away, a time to walk off and a time to walk on...
Thursday, May 1, 2014
To Be or Not to Be?
If you haven’t yet seen the Ron Howard British-German biopic Rush, immediately do so, especially if you are in the middle of Two States and feeling stuck between a rock (Arjun Kapoor’s expressions) and a hard place (an abysmal script).
For those who haven’t heard of Rush, please go join Manchester United, because that’s where you belong. Apparently they are hiring losers. Again.
For the rest of you, before you dismiss it as yet another movie about some obscure game which you don’t follow, wait, take a break from IPL and give it a chance. The premise may be a 1970s rivalry between two Formula I drivers, but trust me it’s so much more than that. I know I am asking you to commit national treachery here: I mean who watches movies about boxing (Raging Bull, Ali, Cinderella Man), Rugby (Invictus), Baseball (Moneyball) and now Formula I, when we already have so many stories to share about cricket? Still, even as an ardent cricket fan, I suggest that you go watch Rush.
Rush is not just a good sports movie, but it addresses a very deep rooted psychological disease that most of us suffer from: especially people who have tasted success, who have managed to make a mark and who have a standing in the world. We often harp on how difficult it is to become successful or how hard you need to work to get there, but what we overlook is how tough it is to actually let go of it, once you have achieved everything you could have ever imagined. Ask a successful actor, artist or a sportsman about the hardest decision of their lives and more often than not the answer would be, “When should I retire?” Case in point: our very own Sachin Tendulkar.
While a major part of the movie is a roller-coaster ride of witty dialogues and fast-paced Grand Prix chase sequences as it follows the lives of two talented rivals with diametrically opposite personalities, in the end it leaves you with one question that each of us asks ourself at some point in life: “To be or not to be?”
It may be a little too early for me to answer that question, but it just makes me wary that ten years later, I may just end up being rushed into a life that I never even wanted…
For those who haven’t heard of Rush, please go join Manchester United, because that’s where you belong. Apparently they are hiring losers. Again.
For the rest of you, before you dismiss it as yet another movie about some obscure game which you don’t follow, wait, take a break from IPL and give it a chance. The premise may be a 1970s rivalry between two Formula I drivers, but trust me it’s so much more than that. I know I am asking you to commit national treachery here: I mean who watches movies about boxing (Raging Bull, Ali, Cinderella Man), Rugby (Invictus), Baseball (Moneyball) and now Formula I, when we already have so many stories to share about cricket? Still, even as an ardent cricket fan, I suggest that you go watch Rush.
Rush is not just a good sports movie, but it addresses a very deep rooted psychological disease that most of us suffer from: especially people who have tasted success, who have managed to make a mark and who have a standing in the world. We often harp on how difficult it is to become successful or how hard you need to work to get there, but what we overlook is how tough it is to actually let go of it, once you have achieved everything you could have ever imagined. Ask a successful actor, artist or a sportsman about the hardest decision of their lives and more often than not the answer would be, “When should I retire?” Case in point: our very own Sachin Tendulkar.
While a major part of the movie is a roller-coaster ride of witty dialogues and fast-paced Grand Prix chase sequences as it follows the lives of two talented rivals with diametrically opposite personalities, in the end it leaves you with one question that each of us asks ourself at some point in life: “To be or not to be?”
It may be a little too early for me to answer that question, but it just makes me wary that ten years later, I may just end up being rushed into a life that I never even wanted…
Friday, December 20, 2013
Finding Neverland
It’s been ages since I blogged. It’s been quite hectic lately, what with work and elections and year-end plans and resolutions.
So what’s new?
Ishant Sharma got wickets. Plural. Really. Not on Faking News.
Central Banks are united in their efforts to provide thrills in an attempt to surpass Dhoom 3. RBI kept policy rates unchanged, but Fed started tapering.
Indian diplomat in the U.S., Devyani Khopragade, got the rough end of the stick and all hell broke loose. If there was ever a case of Maid in Manhattan, this would be it.
AAP made a “sweeping” statement. For someone who was never an advocate of the “NOTA” option, this made me slightly less cynical about politics, it restored my faith in democracy and it assured me that may be there is still some hope.
Nelson Mandela passed away. Of the few international political figures who touched a chord, Mandela would be right up there. If you haven’t yet watched Invictus, do it now.
At work, I got promoted to one of those impressive-sounding designations which mean nothing. Now I that I am in that “elite” clan of AVPs, I feel like the Rahul Gandhi equivalent of my company.
P.S. “Elite” here refers to the handful of people, like say, the number of fans Justin Bieber has.
The holiday season is upon us, but like every year, having exhausted most of my leaves, I would be the lone woman standing in office, though I would sneak out a couple of days next week for a quick Delhi trip.
For all the possible new-year resolutions, the most important will be finding myself, because Neverland looks farther than ever…
So what’s new?
Ishant Sharma got wickets. Plural. Really. Not on Faking News.
Central Banks are united in their efforts to provide thrills in an attempt to surpass Dhoom 3. RBI kept policy rates unchanged, but Fed started tapering.
Indian diplomat in the U.S., Devyani Khopragade, got the rough end of the stick and all hell broke loose. If there was ever a case of Maid in Manhattan, this would be it.
AAP made a “sweeping” statement. For someone who was never an advocate of the “NOTA” option, this made me slightly less cynical about politics, it restored my faith in democracy and it assured me that may be there is still some hope.
Nelson Mandela passed away. Of the few international political figures who touched a chord, Mandela would be right up there. If you haven’t yet watched Invictus, do it now.
At work, I got promoted to one of those impressive-sounding designations which mean nothing. Now I that I am in that “elite” clan of AVPs, I feel like the Rahul Gandhi equivalent of my company.
P.S. “Elite” here refers to the handful of people, like say, the number of fans Justin Bieber has.
The holiday season is upon us, but like every year, having exhausted most of my leaves, I would be the lone woman standing in office, though I would sneak out a couple of days next week for a quick Delhi trip.
For all the possible new-year resolutions, the most important will be finding myself, because Neverland looks farther than ever…
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
The Alchemy of Desire
The case of sexual harassment lodged against Tarun Tejpal has created ripples across the media. Now there is nothing I can add to what’s already being stated in black and white and grey and nothing I say about the plight of women in this country can do justice to the macabre reality you observe around you. But being a girl who lives alone in the city, whose support system is essentially a bunch of friends and colleagues and who doesn't have the privilege of the cold comforts of a protected home environment, I can only shudder at the treatment meted out to a professional woman, who was just doing her job.
Having worked in male dominated organizations, I have often felt a tad out of place at times: not because I faced any harassment, not because I was treated differently, not because of the lack of sensitivity, but simply because I somehow don’t BELONG. There are subtle nuances which add up and one day, it just explodes on your face.
Mind you, organizations try their best to retain the handful of women employees they have, but it takes more than policies to make the workplace truly egalitarian: it requires a cultural revolution and we are years away from that.
However, incidents like this only set you back and the little glimmer of faith that was building up inside you gets shattered by one single blow. Now I am not a feminist who is out there to blast all the men in corporate India. If anything, I do believe sometimes, as women, we demand special status while crying ourselves hoarse for equality. But if I remove myself from the situation as a woman and objectively view it as a human being, I wonder if it’s something that the girl misconstrued or deliberately fabricated for whatever reasons. Based on the rather graphic descriptions, even the most neutral observer would vouch that it’s neither.
So, an inappropriate advance was indeed made which was vociferously rejected, leading to intimidation, threat and subsequent repetition of the act. This is what precisely irks me:
The inability to take “No” when it’s stated in no uncertain terms…
The assumption that professional authority supersedes the respect for personal choices (or the lack of it in this case)…
The audacity of imposing Tarun Tejpal, the noted journalist, on a young woman because he thought he could get away with it…
I have a lot of respect for Tarun Tejpal the writer, but unfortunately I can’t say the same for Tarun Tejpal, the person.
If the alchemy of desire reeks of monstrosity, even the most attractive people stirs contempt…
Having worked in male dominated organizations, I have often felt a tad out of place at times: not because I faced any harassment, not because I was treated differently, not because of the lack of sensitivity, but simply because I somehow don’t BELONG. There are subtle nuances which add up and one day, it just explodes on your face.
Mind you, organizations try their best to retain the handful of women employees they have, but it takes more than policies to make the workplace truly egalitarian: it requires a cultural revolution and we are years away from that.
However, incidents like this only set you back and the little glimmer of faith that was building up inside you gets shattered by one single blow. Now I am not a feminist who is out there to blast all the men in corporate India. If anything, I do believe sometimes, as women, we demand special status while crying ourselves hoarse for equality. But if I remove myself from the situation as a woman and objectively view it as a human being, I wonder if it’s something that the girl misconstrued or deliberately fabricated for whatever reasons. Based on the rather graphic descriptions, even the most neutral observer would vouch that it’s neither.
So, an inappropriate advance was indeed made which was vociferously rejected, leading to intimidation, threat and subsequent repetition of the act. This is what precisely irks me:
The inability to take “No” when it’s stated in no uncertain terms…
The assumption that professional authority supersedes the respect for personal choices (or the lack of it in this case)…
The audacity of imposing Tarun Tejpal, the noted journalist, on a young woman because he thought he could get away with it…
I have a lot of respect for Tarun Tejpal the writer, but unfortunately I can’t say the same for Tarun Tejpal, the person.
If the alchemy of desire reeks of monstrosity, even the most attractive people stirs contempt…
Friday, November 1, 2013
Women are from Venus
As per Bacchi Karkaria, the noted TOI columnist and one of my favourites, “If you key in 'Women cannot' google will obligingly come up with such sexist options as 'drive', 'be bishops', 'talk in church', or even 'be trusted'. 'Women shouldn't' will produce 'vote', 'work', and even 'box', which would make our million- dollar baby, Mary Kom, kayo her computer screen.”
So these are some of the much talked about stereotypical allegations made against women. Add to it a couple of others which I have noticed which apply to me as well: “read maps” and “work on excel”. And as much as I hate to admit it and as much as I rant against stereotypes, there are some things we are, how do I put it delicately, “not the best at”. And yes, driving, reading maps and working on excel feature high on that list.
Every time I have got lost while traveling in some European city where people would not/could not speak English, I have been left helpless staring at some godforsaken map which stares back rudely at me, without telling me ANYTHING, pretty much like a French guy. And each time I have asked a kind passerby, he/she had looked at me condescendingly as if to say, “But it’s RIGHT.THERE. How can you not know?” Well, I don’t! Doesn’t make me stupid. I am just bad with maps.
Same with excel. I don’t like spreadsheets, I don’t like the way they look, I don’t like the way they automatically populate themselves and I don’t like the way they program you to become a trained monkey repeating the same task, crunching numbers and making graphs. With each day and with each worksheet, I feel like the last bit of creativity is being sucked out of me, which is when I open a blank word document and start typing: randomly, desperately and furiously, trying to hold on to whatever is left over of the girl who churned out editorials at will, completely oblivious of all the accounting jargon around her.
Again, that doesn’t make me stupid, only “differently-abled”. 'The consumer is not a moron; she is your wife.' (David Ogilvy)
Women ARE from Venus; they don’t need to drive or read maps to get there…
So these are some of the much talked about stereotypical allegations made against women. Add to it a couple of others which I have noticed which apply to me as well: “read maps” and “work on excel”. And as much as I hate to admit it and as much as I rant against stereotypes, there are some things we are, how do I put it delicately, “not the best at”. And yes, driving, reading maps and working on excel feature high on that list.
Every time I have got lost while traveling in some European city where people would not/could not speak English, I have been left helpless staring at some godforsaken map which stares back rudely at me, without telling me ANYTHING, pretty much like a French guy. And each time I have asked a kind passerby, he/she had looked at me condescendingly as if to say, “But it’s RIGHT.THERE. How can you not know?” Well, I don’t! Doesn’t make me stupid. I am just bad with maps.
Same with excel. I don’t like spreadsheets, I don’t like the way they look, I don’t like the way they automatically populate themselves and I don’t like the way they program you to become a trained monkey repeating the same task, crunching numbers and making graphs. With each day and with each worksheet, I feel like the last bit of creativity is being sucked out of me, which is when I open a blank word document and start typing: randomly, desperately and furiously, trying to hold on to whatever is left over of the girl who churned out editorials at will, completely oblivious of all the accounting jargon around her.
Again, that doesn’t make me stupid, only “differently-abled”. 'The consumer is not a moron; she is your wife.' (David Ogilvy)
Women ARE from Venus; they don’t need to drive or read maps to get there…
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Pardon My French
Now that I have been part of the corporate world longer than an average Hollywood marriage, here are some not-so-subtle observations which run rampant in the office environment and which I still find difficult to accept:
Every time you write about a problem to someone, the standard response is: “We have forwarded your case to the CONCERNED PERSON.” Now, not only does it not solve my problem, it also bothers me that I should be subjected to such blatant abuse of the English language, EVERY TIME. For the last time, a concerned person is a person who is worried/bothered (like my mother, for example). You have forwarded my complaint to the PERSON CONCERNED, and not the CONCERNED PERSON. And do me a favour, do away with the concern altogether, and just raise the issue with the PERSON RESPONSIBLE, who is actually responsible and not merely concerned.
Another annoying habit is if you talk to any of the younger employees, preparing for CAT/GMAT/GRE, the most oft-repeated conversation which makes me cringe is, “boss, are you GIVING CAT/GMAT/GRE this year?” Dude, seriously, if you have any chance of cracking the exam, get your basics right. You do not GIVE an exam, you TAKE/WRITE it, or you APPEAR for it.
Then there is the rampant use of “GENTLE REMINDERS”. For any event/meeting/unnecessary waste of time, there would be a long mail (with bold words and highlights),asking instructing you to attend it. This would be followed by regular “GENTLE REMINDERS” from all corners, which frankly are more threatening than gentle. Every time I suppress my urge to Reply All with a stinker, “Heard you the first time. And if I want to, I will come. No need to spam my mail and gently remind me every alternate hour.” And yes, there are events which I attend voluntarily without being bombarded and there are events which I skip simply to rebel against being bombarded. If you want me to be a matured adult, first treat me as one. And stop sending gentle reminders.
Also, I don’t much care of typical corporate phrases like, “do the needful”, “urgent attention” or “careful consideration” and the likes, simply because they are obscure and open to interpretation. So, instead of saying ‘do the needful”, I would rather define what “the needful” is and replace “urgent attention” with a realistic deadline.
Finally, while these are not that much of an eyesore, I try to avoid acronyms as much as possible. I know people are extremely busy, but call me old-fashioned, I would rather cut down on five minutes of my coffee break and write complete words/sentences than simply send mails with a plethora of “FYI”s, “COB”s, “EOB”s, “ASAP”s, just as a courtesy to the reader.
But there you go, the corporate world has its own language, and all I can do is conform and add an apologetic, “Pardon my French” as a signature…
Every time you write about a problem to someone, the standard response is: “We have forwarded your case to the CONCERNED PERSON.” Now, not only does it not solve my problem, it also bothers me that I should be subjected to such blatant abuse of the English language, EVERY TIME. For the last time, a concerned person is a person who is worried/bothered (like my mother, for example). You have forwarded my complaint to the PERSON CONCERNED, and not the CONCERNED PERSON. And do me a favour, do away with the concern altogether, and just raise the issue with the PERSON RESPONSIBLE, who is actually responsible and not merely concerned.
Another annoying habit is if you talk to any of the younger employees, preparing for CAT/GMAT/GRE, the most oft-repeated conversation which makes me cringe is, “boss, are you GIVING CAT/GMAT/GRE this year?” Dude, seriously, if you have any chance of cracking the exam, get your basics right. You do not GIVE an exam, you TAKE/WRITE it, or you APPEAR for it.
Then there is the rampant use of “GENTLE REMINDERS”. For any event/meeting/unnecessary waste of time, there would be a long mail (with bold words and highlights),
Also, I don’t much care of typical corporate phrases like, “do the needful”, “urgent attention” or “careful consideration” and the likes, simply because they are obscure and open to interpretation. So, instead of saying ‘do the needful”, I would rather define what “the needful” is and replace “urgent attention” with a realistic deadline.
Finally, while these are not that much of an eyesore, I try to avoid acronyms as much as possible. I know people are extremely busy, but call me old-fashioned, I would rather cut down on five minutes of my coffee break and write complete words/sentences than simply send mails with a plethora of “FYI”s, “COB”s, “EOB”s, “ASAP”s, just as a courtesy to the reader.
But there you go, the corporate world has its own language, and all I can do is conform and add an apologetic, “Pardon my French” as a signature…
Friday, August 23, 2013
Live Like You're Dying
I had been considering quitting my job for the last four years now. In fact way back in 2008, when I was still in B school and just been offered a PPO, I had been contemplating not taking it up, since you know, I was the “creative kinds” and hence more suited to live up to the stereotype of a directionless, temperamental artist who did things on her whim, who hated being tied down to a boring routine and who would rather sacrifice a safe, materialistic lifestyle for the experience of LIFE itself. But parental counseling, societal mores and peer pressure got in the way and I chose to become a cog in the wheel instead. Today, when I came across this article, it got me thinking: of all the people who are gainfully employed, how many are masters of their own destiny or simply a victim of circumstances?
So there are people, who despite being a “corporate” set-up, genuinely enjoy their work: They sincerely believe that they are making a difference to the company, and they derive satisfaction from the measurable impact they have on the organization: be it in terms of exceeding their sales targets, implementing IT solutions or raising billions of dollars in a volatile financial market. And my dad is probably a glaring example of this species.
And there are people who followed a career simply because of the contribution to society that it entails: So there is a primary school teacher whose life revolves around crying children who hate studying and therefore hate her. She gets paid peanuts which don’t even allow her the luxuries that she aspires for, and yet she simply loves her job because it satisfies her soul. So is the story of a nurse, a doctor, a social activist or to some extent, even a journalist. Obviously, many of them go on to mint money as well (think private tuitions/private hospitals), but in most cases, it starts off as a desire to do something meaningful rather than mint money out of it.
Then there are people who chose a profession they are truly passionate about: They may be in something as widely recognized as Sports, Music, Entertainment, Literature or as obscure as Pet Detective, Fortune Cookie Writer or Rodeo Clown. But the important point is they CHOSE their professions out of sheer love of the activity.
There are also people are motivating creating jobs rather than having one. At times, it could be someone with an Ivy-League education and a glittering corporate career taking up the challenge of starting up on his own or someone with no industry experience or training, but sheer business/common sense. The common driving force is the will and the determination to be their own master, irrespective of the risks/obstacles/uncertainties.
And finally there are people like me: a vast majority of us, who are just going through the emotions, following the herd and taking the crowded road to respectability, acceptance and matrimonial sanction, waiting for the day when we would finally be in the above four categories.
To be a master, you need the courage to let go; to be a master, you need to take the leap of faith; to be a master, you need to live like you are dying…
So there are people, who despite being a “corporate” set-up, genuinely enjoy their work: They sincerely believe that they are making a difference to the company, and they derive satisfaction from the measurable impact they have on the organization: be it in terms of exceeding their sales targets, implementing IT solutions or raising billions of dollars in a volatile financial market. And my dad is probably a glaring example of this species.
And there are people who followed a career simply because of the contribution to society that it entails: So there is a primary school teacher whose life revolves around crying children who hate studying and therefore hate her. She gets paid peanuts which don’t even allow her the luxuries that she aspires for, and yet she simply loves her job because it satisfies her soul. So is the story of a nurse, a doctor, a social activist or to some extent, even a journalist. Obviously, many of them go on to mint money as well (think private tuitions/private hospitals), but in most cases, it starts off as a desire to do something meaningful rather than mint money out of it.
Then there are people who chose a profession they are truly passionate about: They may be in something as widely recognized as Sports, Music, Entertainment, Literature or as obscure as Pet Detective, Fortune Cookie Writer or Rodeo Clown. But the important point is they CHOSE their professions out of sheer love of the activity.
There are also people are motivating creating jobs rather than having one. At times, it could be someone with an Ivy-League education and a glittering corporate career taking up the challenge of starting up on his own or someone with no industry experience or training, but sheer business/common sense. The common driving force is the will and the determination to be their own master, irrespective of the risks/obstacles/uncertainties.
And finally there are people like me: a vast majority of us, who are just going through the emotions, following the herd and taking the crowded road to respectability, acceptance and matrimonial sanction, waiting for the day when we would finally be in the above four categories.
To be a master, you need the courage to let go; to be a master, you need to take the leap of faith; to be a master, you need to live like you are dying…
Friday, July 26, 2013
(W)orgasm
Having spent a few years in the corporate world in fairly reputed organizations, I have noticed a certain pattern in the way employees behave. To begin with, there is a spate of hiring, usually campus recruits who think the world of themselves, bubbling with excitement and views on everything from Rakhi Sawant’s cosmetic surgery to Obama’s lineage. Having started my career as one of those snobbish, know-all management trainees, I have been through the honeymoon phase myself, also known as the denial phase, when you look at your company with rose-tinted glasses, when you are gullible enough to swallow all the sugarcoated management jargon with blind faith and when you are still excited about the spoils of being part of the corporate world.
The next few years are more of a reality check, when you come to terms with the ground realities, discover the ugly faces behind the masks, have your share of office politics and if you happen to be the headstrong, rebellious, non-conforming kinds, you also brush against the unstated corporate protocols. All the more so, if you increasingly find yourself a misfit, if you have a passion and if you are nurturing a dream of your own. And with each passing day, you feel even more trapped, even more claustrophobic and even more suffocated. Yet, you carry on, as the company makes more efforts to retain you by creating exit barriers, as you are held back by people or social mores or simply by materialistic ambitions.
Until the day comes when you see people around you throwing in the towel: either to follow their dreams or to go to another organization for the promise of more money, new responsibilities or sometimes, just the promise of a new environment. It’s like an orgy where some people are reaching the heights of pleasure as they put in their papers, while the rest are just watching in anticipation, waiting for their turn, wondering what’s taking them so long.
And finally when the time does come, it’s too short, too fleeting and never as satisfying as you expected it to be…
The next few years are more of a reality check, when you come to terms with the ground realities, discover the ugly faces behind the masks, have your share of office politics and if you happen to be the headstrong, rebellious, non-conforming kinds, you also brush against the unstated corporate protocols. All the more so, if you increasingly find yourself a misfit, if you have a passion and if you are nurturing a dream of your own. And with each passing day, you feel even more trapped, even more claustrophobic and even more suffocated. Yet, you carry on, as the company makes more efforts to retain you by creating exit barriers, as you are held back by people or social mores or simply by materialistic ambitions.
Until the day comes when you see people around you throwing in the towel: either to follow their dreams or to go to another organization for the promise of more money, new responsibilities or sometimes, just the promise of a new environment. It’s like an orgy where some people are reaching the heights of pleasure as they put in their papers, while the rest are just watching in anticipation, waiting for their turn, wondering what’s taking them so long.
And finally when the time does come, it’s too short, too fleeting and never as satisfying as you expected it to be…
Friday, July 19, 2013
Dreamcatcher
Yesterday I watched a candid interview by David Rubenstein, the founder of the private equity firm Carlyle. Now, let me state at the onset that I am NOT the kind of person who watches a candid interview by David Rubenstein, the founder of the private equity firm Carlyle. Or any famous personality on Wall Street or the overall alien world of finance. People have pleaded with me to watch Warren Buffet’s interviews, but I had held my ground: movie stars, yes, politicians may be, sportsmen, obviously, writers, definitely.
But investors/bankers/economists/analysts? No.way. That’s work, and I have a very clear demarcation between work and passion, but as per Mr. Rubenstein, that’s a mistake. For someone who started his career as a lawyer, then having royally failed, moved on to a life of a public servant, and finally after a not-so-successful stint in White House (as he admitted bluntly, it was very hard to push up inflation to around 19% in the U.S., but he managed to do that), when he had exhausted all other options, he started his private equity business at the ripe old age of 37! For someone who was as successful as he was, he came across as a remarkably humble, down-to-earth and unpretentious person, with a quirky, self-deprecatory sense of humour that kept me hooked through the 45-minute interview.
Yes, I agreed with him when he said, to be really successful, you have got to love what you do.
Yes, I agreed with him when he said that successful people didn’t begin with the objective of making money. Money will come, as long as you are passionate about your work, you work hard and you build relationships.
Yes, I agreed with him when he said that the best time to find your calling is between 28-37, when you have seen enough of the world and yourself to know what you want, but still young enough to take the plunge and make a new beginning.
And yes, I was inspired: does that mean from tomorrow I would start loving banking and religiously tracking the markets? Of course not! Does that mean from tomorrow, I would give up my job, and fulfill my parents’ dream of borrowing money from rich people, promising unrealistic returns on their investment? Not really! Does that mean that from tomorrow, I would begin watching motivational interviews by famous people? Hell, why not!
But the point is while it may not change my life drastically or immediately, while I may not suddenly develop a passion for finance and while I may continue to rot in my present meaningless existence, what it does mean is that the continuing itch in the back of my mind would only become stronger, that each day I would be closer to giving it up and putting all my savings into a six-month trip to Latin America/Africa and that every moment I spend writing a research report, I would be nearer to writing my first book.
And that’s reason enough to go on, reason enough to slog for that month-end pay-cheque and reason enough to smile in anticipation.
And oh, the link to the interview was sent by my boss: I wonder if there was a thinly-veiled message in that…
But investors/bankers/economists/analysts? No.way. That’s work, and I have a very clear demarcation between work and passion, but as per Mr. Rubenstein, that’s a mistake. For someone who started his career as a lawyer, then having royally failed, moved on to a life of a public servant, and finally after a not-so-successful stint in White House (as he admitted bluntly, it was very hard to push up inflation to around 19% in the U.S., but he managed to do that), when he had exhausted all other options, he started his private equity business at the ripe old age of 37! For someone who was as successful as he was, he came across as a remarkably humble, down-to-earth and unpretentious person, with a quirky, self-deprecatory sense of humour that kept me hooked through the 45-minute interview.
Yes, I agreed with him when he said, to be really successful, you have got to love what you do.
Yes, I agreed with him when he said that successful people didn’t begin with the objective of making money. Money will come, as long as you are passionate about your work, you work hard and you build relationships.
Yes, I agreed with him when he said that the best time to find your calling is between 28-37, when you have seen enough of the world and yourself to know what you want, but still young enough to take the plunge and make a new beginning.
And yes, I was inspired: does that mean from tomorrow I would start loving banking and religiously tracking the markets? Of course not! Does that mean from tomorrow, I would give up my job, and fulfill my parents’ dream of borrowing money from rich people, promising unrealistic returns on their investment? Not really! Does that mean that from tomorrow, I would begin watching motivational interviews by famous people? Hell, why not!
But the point is while it may not change my life drastically or immediately, while I may not suddenly develop a passion for finance and while I may continue to rot in my present meaningless existence, what it does mean is that the continuing itch in the back of my mind would only become stronger, that each day I would be closer to giving it up and putting all my savings into a six-month trip to Latin America/Africa and that every moment I spend writing a research report, I would be nearer to writing my first book.
And that’s reason enough to go on, reason enough to slog for that month-end pay-cheque and reason enough to smile in anticipation.
And oh, the link to the interview was sent by my boss: I wonder if there was a thinly-veiled message in that…
Friday, July 12, 2013
The Bong Collector
So I have been really sick lately: sick enough to take a sick leave which is actually for BEING.SICK! Yes, usually my sick leaves are carefully planned to avail discretionary holidays when I want to go shopping, read a book or simply avoid a meeting.
But for better part of this week, I was reduced to this coughing, pill-popping person who could well be a poster girl for the falling rupee. At a time like this you would expect supportive friends/colleagues to stand by you, bring you medicine and water and agree to whatever you say, including “you remind me of an ugly Katrina Kaif”. But no, as luck would have it, they found this an excellent opportunity to make fun of me AND my strong Bengali roots which are apparently responsible for making me fall sick at the drop of a hat.
Over the years, I have been subjected to enough stereotypical Bong ‘jokes’, and I would like to address these once and for all:
Not ALL of us love fish nor do we have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Fish is not synonymous to a Bengali staple diet. We do have a lot of variety in our food, and by variety I DO NOT mean different kinds of fish! Believe it or not, there IS more to a Bengali man than his unhealthy attachment to fish. For instance, there is the Bengali man and his unhealthy attachment to sweets. Or Sourav Ganguly.
Which brings me to the next stereotype. Not ALL of us are crazy about him. Yes, he is a popular figure in Bengal, but we do not worship him with the rest of our idols. Nor do we declare a state holiday every time he comes out to bat. There are plenty of OTHER reasons why Bengal has as many holidays as it does. Blame it on the Communist culture.
But no, not ALL of us are communists, who go about holding strikes left right and centre, who avoid working and sit around discussing politics/sports/literature at Coffee House, while our kids are being brainwashed by SFI camps at prominent colleges like Presidency/JU. Our kids have better things to do: like smoke the brains out of himself. With tea. I am told it gives the best high. EVER.
However, not ALL Bongs smoke or drink tea or both. We don’t need to. We get enough high just by switching on a local news channel. The sight of Mamata Banerjee has a more potent effect especially when combined with her speech.
And finally, not ALL Bongs have terrible accents with strong local overtones. We may mix up our genders, but we do not speak Hindi like we just spat out Deepika Padukone in Chennai Express.
Now that I have set the record straight, if you will excuse me, I shall go finish my mishti doi, read my Tagore and take my afternoon siesta.
But for better part of this week, I was reduced to this coughing, pill-popping person who could well be a poster girl for the falling rupee. At a time like this you would expect supportive friends/colleagues to stand by you, bring you medicine and water and agree to whatever you say, including “you remind me of an ugly Katrina Kaif”. But no, as luck would have it, they found this an excellent opportunity to make fun of me AND my strong Bengali roots which are apparently responsible for making me fall sick at the drop of a hat.
Over the years, I have been subjected to enough stereotypical Bong ‘jokes’, and I would like to address these once and for all:
Not ALL of us love fish nor do we have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Fish is not synonymous to a Bengali staple diet. We do have a lot of variety in our food, and by variety I DO NOT mean different kinds of fish! Believe it or not, there IS more to a Bengali man than his unhealthy attachment to fish. For instance, there is the Bengali man and his unhealthy attachment to sweets. Or Sourav Ganguly.
Which brings me to the next stereotype. Not ALL of us are crazy about him. Yes, he is a popular figure in Bengal, but we do not worship him with the rest of our idols. Nor do we declare a state holiday every time he comes out to bat. There are plenty of OTHER reasons why Bengal has as many holidays as it does. Blame it on the Communist culture.
But no, not ALL of us are communists, who go about holding strikes left right and centre, who avoid working and sit around discussing politics/sports/literature at Coffee House, while our kids are being brainwashed by SFI camps at prominent colleges like Presidency/JU. Our kids have better things to do: like smoke the brains out of himself. With tea. I am told it gives the best high. EVER.
However, not ALL Bongs smoke or drink tea or both. We don’t need to. We get enough high just by switching on a local news channel. The sight of Mamata Banerjee has a more potent effect especially when combined with her speech.
And finally, not ALL Bongs have terrible accents with strong local overtones. We may mix up our genders, but we do not speak Hindi like we just spat out Deepika Padukone in Chennai Express.
Now that I have set the record straight, if you will excuse me, I shall go finish my mishti doi, read my Tagore and take my afternoon siesta.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Waterfalls
So when we planned an office offsite at Karjat which involved trekking and waterfall rappelling, I was pretty sure that I would be one of the laggards, dragging myself and slowing down the group. But much to my surprise, I was among the first ones to complete the trek, and that too, without too much of huffing and puffing. This also allowed our group, a.k.a Team A (notice how my loser quotient (LQ) has leapfrogged through my journey in the corporate world) to indulge ourselves in the fresh waterfalls, as we got drenched, played with the water and altogether, had a whale of a time. Never thought I would use the term “whale of a time” with an office outing, but there you go, after two years of being with the same people, your judgment tends to get blurred. Or may be it’s just nature that enables you to overlook the petty stuff for a few hours and enjoy the moment. Every trek begins with me being careful with my clothes, shoes and most importantly, hair, gingerly avoiding mud puddles or getting my feet wet. However, after a couple of falls/bruises, I let go, ending up with soiled clothes, spongy shoes and muddy hair.
While we in Team A were too cocky after our trek, turning up our noses at the people who were not quite as fast as we were, it was a different ballgame altogether when it came to the rappelling. I realized that impending disaster is a great leveler: you forget your battles, your grudges and your hierarchies for something as simple and basic as life! While you stand at the edge of the rock, looking at the 90-feet free fall that awaits you, suddenly your entire life flashes in front of you! It no longer matters how much you hate your boss or how annoying that colleague is: all you care about is to not die, so that you can retire in the safety of your cubicle on Monday morning and hang out with the same boring people again.
For someone like me who has never done any sort of adventure sports, let alone jumping down the waterfall, it was quite an experience. I have always been scared of heights; I can’t even take the overbridge without panicking; but this time I was determined. I simply HAD to conquer my fears, I simply HAD to know what the big deal was, I simply HAD to jump. And I DID jump; in the process I bruised myself against the rough edges of the rocks, I had a lump in my throat as I looked down and I threw my arms up in the air in delight when I could feel the ground beneath my feet. And through those 90 seconds when I was dangling in the air, I could vaguely spot my colleagues waving their arms from down, shouting something which I couldn’t hear, but I knew all the same that there was a reason to hold on for, people to go back to and a life to look forward to.
Don't go chasing waterfalls.
Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to.
I know that you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all,
But I think you're moving too fast.
But may be sometimes you do need to chase waterfalls to appreciate the rivers and the lakes…
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Vagabong
Given the environment I work in is a typical corporate set-up, where “fun” is defined as a compulsory team outing on a weekend, “excitement” is volatility in the stock markets and “common sense” is inversely proportional to the years of experience, my options are pretty limited when it comes to seeking out like-minded company, i.e. rebellious, unsuccessful and perpetually on the verge of unemployment. And then I can’t help wondering how on earth I got here and even worse, how on earth I am still here! I KNOW I should have done something else, but let’s face it, very few professions can offer a fairly decent lifestyle without completely taking away your dignity, unless you are Katrina Kaif.
Which brings me to the unexpected offer I received from UTV last year as already documented in this post. Obviously, I turned it down, not because I was against showbiz, but simply because I didn’t think I could record the most intimate moments/emotions of my life and parade it on national television. I had completely forgotten about this stray incident until yesterday, when a friend suddenly called up and bellowed on the phone, “Do you remember the show you were approached for? Well, it’s finally on air. It’s called Connected Hum Tum, and it’s screened at 10:00 p.m. on Zee TV Monday to Friday. And oh, Abhay Deol is hosting it.” Now, given my weakness for the actor, for a moment, I wondered if I had made a colossal mistake by not even considering it. So I went home and promptly Youtubed one of the episodes. And all I can say is if I ever had a doubt about being too conservative and not adventurous enough, I am glad about my decision. This may be Abhay Deol’s answer to Yamla Pagla Deewana II (incidentally who watched Yamla Pagla Deewana I?), but I could never make a spectacle of my personal life for TRPs.
Then the question remains, what’s the alternative? Do I continue to wallow in anonymous mediocrity writing research reports which nobody reads? Do I give it up for the love of writing and instead churn out light-hearted fiction which nobody reads?
Or do I stop worrying about life and just start living it? And when I think about living, the only option that excites me is traveling. By traveling I mean living out of the suitcase, by traveling I mean not knowing where I shall be the next day, by traveling I mean not wasting my life in Hiranandani, as nice as it is.
And by traveling I mean the song Ilahi from Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani.
Despite my traditional roots which make me the typical risk-averse, obsessive Bong, at the end of the day, the aspiration is always to be that Vagabong who broke away…
Which brings me to the unexpected offer I received from UTV last year as already documented in this post. Obviously, I turned it down, not because I was against showbiz, but simply because I didn’t think I could record the most intimate moments/emotions of my life and parade it on national television. I had completely forgotten about this stray incident until yesterday, when a friend suddenly called up and bellowed on the phone, “Do you remember the show you were approached for? Well, it’s finally on air. It’s called Connected Hum Tum, and it’s screened at 10:00 p.m. on Zee TV Monday to Friday. And oh, Abhay Deol is hosting it.” Now, given my weakness for the actor, for a moment, I wondered if I had made a colossal mistake by not even considering it. So I went home and promptly Youtubed one of the episodes. And all I can say is if I ever had a doubt about being too conservative and not adventurous enough, I am glad about my decision. This may be Abhay Deol’s answer to Yamla Pagla Deewana II (incidentally who watched Yamla Pagla Deewana I?), but I could never make a spectacle of my personal life for TRPs.
Then the question remains, what’s the alternative? Do I continue to wallow in anonymous mediocrity writing research reports which nobody reads? Do I give it up for the love of writing and instead churn out light-hearted fiction which nobody reads?
Or do I stop worrying about life and just start living it? And when I think about living, the only option that excites me is traveling. By traveling I mean living out of the suitcase, by traveling I mean not knowing where I shall be the next day, by traveling I mean not wasting my life in Hiranandani, as nice as it is.
And by traveling I mean the song Ilahi from Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani.
Despite my traditional roots which make me the typical risk-averse, obsessive Bong, at the end of the day, the aspiration is always to be that Vagabong who broke away…
Monday, May 20, 2013
Chaos
Being a manager is a thankless job. No, I mean, really. I am one of those people who simply hate responsibilities, but the more I run away from them, the more intricately involved I get. I like my work, but I am not obsessive about it. I come to office, do my thing, surf around a bit, listen to some Punjabi music, bitch about people and go home early enough to have a social life if I choose to. It’s altogether another matter that I don’t really have a social life. And for the last couple of years, it had worked wonderfully well. Until a few months back, when I was made the team lead and asked to take responsibility of two guys, who, frankly speaking, behave like kids, providing me with a taste of premature motherhood, sans the joy or the baby-sitting money. And now that we are again in the middle of some mindless restructuring, with looming uncertainty and volatility, the restlessness has just magnified manifold, leaving me completely clueless about pacifying them.
Even my hectic weekend, splashed with alcohol did not help much in calming me down. While Friday night, we drowned our impending unemployment fears in cheap alcohol, Saturday night was spent in celebrating D1’s birthday with more alcohol and cheesecake. It was our first get-together since the December wedding: all eight of us, huddled together abusing each other over a really long game of Pictionary. As always, I was my competitive screaming best, and as always, I finished on the losing side, but that’s not important. What is important is I am good at it. Sunday, we decided to get out of Powai and get some fresh air. In Nehru Science Centre. At times like this, I really wish I had paid more attention in school and got into some IIPM equivalent of an engineering college, just for the heck of it. As we stood in front of the different exhibits, reliving the nightmare of 10th standard Physics, the Amazing Caves Space Odyssey show appealed even to a completely science atheist like me. After my painfully educational afternoon, I thankfully retired to the familiarity of jarring loud music, expensive showrooms, seafood lunch, fat-free icecream, yet more alcohol and IPL on big screen. This was followed by a much-needed stand-up comedy show which had me holding on to my stomach for two hours. Life would be so meaningless without the frivolity of urban life. And Palladium.
But most importantly, I have decided to do deal with the crisis like any self-respecting, escapist corporate manager would do, i.e. go on block leave for two weeks (the employee is forbidden to access work-related emails/phone calls) and distance myself from the situation. Well, not really. But my Eastern European holiday begins tomorrow and since we had already made all the reservations, I did not have the heart to cancel it. It’s not the best time for a vacation, but it also gives me the much-required distance from the chaos.
So, next couple of weeks as I discover a different world, I would be oblivious about my rapidly crumbling reality…
Even my hectic weekend, splashed with alcohol did not help much in calming me down. While Friday night, we drowned our impending unemployment fears in cheap alcohol, Saturday night was spent in celebrating D1’s birthday with more alcohol and cheesecake. It was our first get-together since the December wedding: all eight of us, huddled together abusing each other over a really long game of Pictionary. As always, I was my competitive screaming best, and as always, I finished on the losing side, but that’s not important. What is important is I am good at it. Sunday, we decided to get out of Powai and get some fresh air. In Nehru Science Centre. At times like this, I really wish I had paid more attention in school and got into some IIPM equivalent of an engineering college, just for the heck of it. As we stood in front of the different exhibits, reliving the nightmare of 10th standard Physics, the Amazing Caves Space Odyssey show appealed even to a completely science atheist like me. After my painfully educational afternoon, I thankfully retired to the familiarity of jarring loud music, expensive showrooms, seafood lunch, fat-free icecream, yet more alcohol and IPL on big screen. This was followed by a much-needed stand-up comedy show which had me holding on to my stomach for two hours. Life would be so meaningless without the frivolity of urban life. And Palladium.
But most importantly, I have decided to do deal with the crisis like any self-respecting, escapist corporate manager would do, i.e. go on block leave for two weeks (the employee is forbidden to access work-related emails/phone calls) and distance myself from the situation. Well, not really. But my Eastern European holiday begins tomorrow and since we had already made all the reservations, I did not have the heart to cancel it. It’s not the best time for a vacation, but it also gives me the much-required distance from the chaos.
So, next couple of weeks as I discover a different world, I would be oblivious about my rapidly crumbling reality…
Monday, April 15, 2013
The Return of the Swiss Miss
The last couple of weeks have been a blur: I was alone, in a new country, working in a different environment, with people who spoke a different language, came from a different culture, dressed differently and did things differently.
There was work, lots of it. Every morning, I would get up at six in the morning, get ready, run out of the hotel to the tram station right across the road, validate my ticket and take Tram No. 7 to reach office by 7:30. Unlike in India, people started their day devilishly early, and they left early too. As expected, Company C is huge in Zurich: every five hundred metres, there was either an office or a branch. I didn’t have to explain where I worked which was a big relief compared to the blank stares I get here. I would spend most of the day running from one office to another, meeting people for coffee or lunch, and repeating the same jargon like a parrot each time. But at least people heard me out, irrespective of how senior and experienced they were compared to me, irrespective of how they towered over me and irrespective of my apprehensions of being a silly girl trying to take herself too seriously. At the end of the day, despite some goof-ups/missed appointments I managed to hold my own and get some work done. More importantly, I finally managed to meet the people I have spoken multiple times over the phone, put a face to the voice and become more than just a remote entity with a weird name. Finally I also met the people I used to work closely with, but who had become a victim of all the mindless restructuring over the last two years that I have been here. Some of them no longer had a job but yet they were gracious enough to take me out for a lunch.
There was exploring a new place. In the evenings I would either drink it up with the team members or go exploring the city by myself: Zurich, with all its churches, museums, lakes and universities had plenty to offer to a tourist. I admired the glass paintings in the Fraumunster, enjoyed the grey majestic architecture of the Grossmunster, gratefully listened to the explanations of my German colleague in the Landesmuseum, admired the view of the city from the tower on the Uetliberg hill, took a pleasant boatride in Zurich Lake on a rare sunny afternoon with a clear view of the Alps, parked myself on the Polybahn toytrain for a ride through the prestigious Swiss Federal Institute of Technology Zurich (ETH) and walked around aimlessly through the colourful streets of Bellevue and Bahnhoffstrasse.
There was also the wonderful weekend. On a cold Saturday morning, I took a long train ride to the Italian part of Switzerland, and surprise surprise, I was greeted with warm sunshine and bright blue skies! I walked through the small but hip town of Bellinzona, exploring the huge castles, and helping myself to an experimental Italian breakfast in a chic café where no one spoke English. Neither did they have a menu card in English. Long story short, I had no idea what they served me, but I ate it without a fuss. Then I went down to Lugano, took a toytrain ride to the top of the Monte San Salvatore for a breathtaking view of the city and spent the afternoon walking for miles through the parks and city streets, eating a sandwich by the lake and a Gelato icecream at the Italian border, slightly tempted to cross over to visit Lake Como which I missed out during my Italian holiday last year.
On Sunday, I braved my fears and gathering all the courage I could muster, set off for my first mountain sojourn to Zermatt. At roughly 4500 metres, the Matterhorn peak was even higher than Jungfraujoch which is touted as the Top of Europe and one of the most popular tourist attractions. But Zermatt, with all its connectivity issue, is still untouched, with even localites avoiding the place in favour of more accessible ones. While getting there was a struggle, I was overwhelmed by what could only be described as the experience of a lifetime. For someone who shivers at sub-10 degree temperature, for someone who has never seen snow (except on TV and Facebook) and for someone who is mortified of heights, it was challenging in all aspects. As I sat alone inside the cable car which perilously navigated its way through the glacial palace finally taking me to the Matterhorn, I felt a strange sense of achievement and like a typical Indian tourist, I couldn’t resist from asking a stranger to take my picture as I PLAYED WITH THE SNOW, looking like a tiny Eskimo wrapped in layers and layers of clothing. However, on my way back, as the cable car stopped in between suspended in thin air, with me staring at the white landscape hundreds of feet below me, I felt a chill down my spine. I could have screamed if only there was someone to hear me out! On my way back, I stopped over for a couple of hours in the picture perfect city of Bern, just to restore some sanity.
Then there was my brush with exotic cuisines. From the fine wine and whisky to go with all the fresh cheese and premium chocolates, it was as luxurious as I have ever known it. Add to it a new dish every day, and it was the best food I have ever had: from the Zurich style veal preparation to the Rosti, the Cheese Fondue, the Cordon Bleu and the Raclette, not to mention the Ravioli, I tried it all and loved it all. Having said that, I did resort to the familiar Chinese food at Chopsticks one night after being hit by a sudden pang of homesickness.
There was also the feeling of liberation. On few nights when I was by myself, I would dress up, go out, explore Niederdorf, the Bandra of Zurich, find a bar or a restaurant, sit by myself, enjoying my drink and food: something I would never dream of doing in India. Strange random men would approach me and offer to buy me a drink even though we barely spoke the same language. I would shrug it off, speak to them casually, shake hands and leave for the next one.
And finally, there was my Yash Chopra moment as well. With all its mountain top view, romantic candle-light dinner, train rides, rains and new excitement, it could well have been the DDLJ sequel.
Yes, it was cold, it was lonely, it was unfamiliar and it was scary. But at the same time it was emancipating, it was empowering and it was exhilarating…
It WAS indeed my SNOW WHITE FANTASY…
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
The Snow White Fantasy
So my last minute hara-kiri before I leave for Switzerland has reinforced my belief in Murphy’s laws once again. Whatever could have gone wrong, HAS indeed gone wrong. What with all the planning and shopping and anxiously watching out for the volatile weather, I somehow forgot to account for the basic stuff: like checking my ticket or getting my pin for the corporate credit card. It is bad enough that I lost my personal credit card over the weekend, but then I realized that I also don’t have any means of withdrawing cash once I reach there. So after panicking for half the day, I somehow sorted that out, and went out for celebrating what I thought was my special Swiss send-off.
And there we were, getting really drunk, really happy about the really long happy hours, soaking it up till well past midnight until they politely threw us out. High and happy, I collapsed on my bed only to be woken up after fifteen minutes by some distressed airport staff asking me where the hell I was (in politer terms) since the flight was ready for departure! I wouldn’t have been more shocked if someone told me that Salman Khan was getting married!
Shaking and incoherent, I kept repeating, “What? But how? Is this a joke? It’s a business class ticket for over a lakh and it’s my first office trip! You can’t be serious!” They firmly informed me that they were leaving and since I wasn’t there, they were leaving without me. I stumbled across to the hall and pulled out my ticket and yes, there it was, in black and white: April 2, 2013! I had officially become a no-show for my first overseas company trip. What was worse is the fact that they couldn’t reach me all this while apparently since I was too busy getting drunk in a bad network zone. The rest of the night I spent alternating between making ranting phone calls to the travel desk and checking ticket prices for the next day, i.e. today. Even the cheap whisky wasn’t enough to drowse me off to sleep.
I almost ran to office as soon as it was dawn, making phone calls and writing threatening emails even though I knew that it was mostly my fault. But finally, they agreed to reissue my ticket for TONIGHT for a charge of five grand. So now that I AM going, I am all freaked out, scared of every step, afraid that I shall screw things up even more. After all, this IS my first solo trip anywhere. After all, this IS the first time I shall experience freezing weather. And after all, this IS my first chance to meet the who’s who of the company.
But more than anything, this IS my first chance to really let go in a new country and discover a new side to me.
This IS my snow white fantasy…
And there we were, getting really drunk, really happy about the really long happy hours, soaking it up till well past midnight until they politely threw us out. High and happy, I collapsed on my bed only to be woken up after fifteen minutes by some distressed airport staff asking me where the hell I was (in politer terms) since the flight was ready for departure! I wouldn’t have been more shocked if someone told me that Salman Khan was getting married!
Shaking and incoherent, I kept repeating, “What? But how? Is this a joke? It’s a business class ticket for over a lakh and it’s my first office trip! You can’t be serious!” They firmly informed me that they were leaving and since I wasn’t there, they were leaving without me. I stumbled across to the hall and pulled out my ticket and yes, there it was, in black and white: April 2, 2013! I had officially become a no-show for my first overseas company trip. What was worse is the fact that they couldn’t reach me all this while apparently since I was too busy getting drunk in a bad network zone. The rest of the night I spent alternating between making ranting phone calls to the travel desk and checking ticket prices for the next day, i.e. today. Even the cheap whisky wasn’t enough to drowse me off to sleep.
I almost ran to office as soon as it was dawn, making phone calls and writing threatening emails even though I knew that it was mostly my fault. But finally, they agreed to reissue my ticket for TONIGHT for a charge of five grand. So now that I AM going, I am all freaked out, scared of every step, afraid that I shall screw things up even more. After all, this IS my first solo trip anywhere. After all, this IS the first time I shall experience freezing weather. And after all, this IS my first chance to meet the who’s who of the company.
But more than anything, this IS my first chance to really let go in a new country and discover a new side to me.
This IS my snow white fantasy…
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Smallville
Most people like to spend their weekends relaxing, watching movies, partying or traveling out of the city. Once upon a time when I had a life, I would also do these things. But now, since I have a computer and no life, I do random stuff like looking up on the internet for interesting career options, mostly start-ups. Which is how I came across this interesting concept of Wunderbarkidz, which is essentially a start-up pre-school with a twist, i.e. it focuses on kids between 1-6 years to help them communicate in English and think in English. Located in far-flung parts of Maharashtra (with some in suburban Mumbai), it targets middle class or lower middle class families, where the exposure to English is minimal.
Now, I have already talked about my English speaking woes as a child in this post, and given the struggle I went through over the years to express myself in the Queen’s Language, I instantly connected with the idea. Not only that, I made an effort to write to the founders (two surprisingly young brothers from Insead and Dukes) who immediately got back to me and thus I traveled half-way across the city to New Bombay on a Sunday afternoon to meet them.
I had no idea what I could possibly gain from the meeting, nor did I have any specific agenda in my mind, but it was fascinating to listen to their story, the challenges they face, the grass root reality of starting a new venture, especially when it touches children from under privileged circumstances: despite their urban metropolitan upbringing, their Ivy-league education and their completely elite backgrounds, they were surprisingly grounded, surprisingly in sync with the reality that plagues our education system and surprisingly down-to-earth in their vision.
And there I was, like a little girl, looking down at the ground, identifying with a cause close to my heart, but unsure about how to deal with it…
Now, I have already talked about my English speaking woes as a child in this post, and given the struggle I went through over the years to express myself in the Queen’s Language, I instantly connected with the idea. Not only that, I made an effort to write to the founders (two surprisingly young brothers from Insead and Dukes) who immediately got back to me and thus I traveled half-way across the city to New Bombay on a Sunday afternoon to meet them.
I had no idea what I could possibly gain from the meeting, nor did I have any specific agenda in my mind, but it was fascinating to listen to their story, the challenges they face, the grass root reality of starting a new venture, especially when it touches children from under privileged circumstances: despite their urban metropolitan upbringing, their Ivy-league education and their completely elite backgrounds, they were surprisingly grounded, surprisingly in sync with the reality that plagues our education system and surprisingly down-to-earth in their vision.
And there I was, like a little girl, looking down at the ground, identifying with a cause close to my heart, but unsure about how to deal with it…
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Karthik Calling Karthik
For someone who works in a remote/captive set-up, lives in the world of netbanking/credit cards/online payments and stays away from family, a major part of my day is spent on phone calls.
So, if I am not arguing with my mom on potential marriage prospects (or the lack of them), I am cribbing to my friends who are in different parts of the country/world or listening to my kid brother go on and on and on about the latest model of phones, laptops, tablets, cars or other such things which are of no interest to me.
If that’s not bad enough, there are recurrent goof-ups by my bank, credit card company, telephone company or broadband company, who believe it’s perfectly customer friendly to put me on hold for ages with some terrible background score, at the end of which, I would be greeted with a not-so-helpful customer service agent with a confused accent. They are so NOT happy to help!
But the cake definitely goes to the people at work where I waste a major part of my youth. Since my boss sits out of a different country, we spend half the day trying to get through to each other, dialing the phone till our fingers are on the verge of falling off. Whenever I call, he is in a meeting/about to go for a meeting and whenever he calls, I am usually loafing around in the cafeteria or wandering aimlessly around Hiranandani, trying to pick up the pieces of my life. Then there is the problem of cross border communication, when we are trying to navigate through different languages/accents/dictions, getting more lost in the process, when one party just rambles on, though the other party has no idea what’s being said. By the end of it, you feel like Arnab Goswami, ranting like a madman, while the audience no longer cares.
Now, since we are in research, we have this inherent knack to find people who will LISTEN.TO.OUR.VIEWS, but since front-end bankers are too busy to save their jobs, they don’t have the time/enthusiasm to humour us. SO what do we do? We talk to each other: it’s a case of quid pro quo, i.e. you let me bore you, I shall let you do the same to me, as long as it gives the impression that we are all very busy! And just to give it a professional “look and feel”, we CALL each other up, while sitting next to each other, and THEN talk, so that we can hear ourselves, hold your breath, not once, but twice! As for what we DISCUSS, let’s just say it covers the whole of animal kingdom with a generous dose of phrases like “bull and bear”, “hawkish and dovish” or “headwind and tailwind”.
It’s like Karthik Calling Karthik, but just imagine close to two dozen of them, and it’s total chaos…
So, if I am not arguing with my mom on potential marriage prospects (or the lack of them), I am cribbing to my friends who are in different parts of the country/world or listening to my kid brother go on and on and on about the latest model of phones, laptops, tablets, cars or other such things which are of no interest to me.
If that’s not bad enough, there are recurrent goof-ups by my bank, credit card company, telephone company or broadband company, who believe it’s perfectly customer friendly to put me on hold for ages with some terrible background score, at the end of which, I would be greeted with a not-so-helpful customer service agent with a confused accent. They are so NOT happy to help!
But the cake definitely goes to the people at work where I waste a major part of my youth. Since my boss sits out of a different country, we spend half the day trying to get through to each other, dialing the phone till our fingers are on the verge of falling off. Whenever I call, he is in a meeting/about to go for a meeting and whenever he calls, I am usually loafing around in the cafeteria or wandering aimlessly around Hiranandani, trying to pick up the pieces of my life. Then there is the problem of cross border communication, when we are trying to navigate through different languages/accents/dictions, getting more lost in the process, when one party just rambles on, though the other party has no idea what’s being said. By the end of it, you feel like Arnab Goswami, ranting like a madman, while the audience no longer cares.
Now, since we are in research, we have this inherent knack to find people who will LISTEN.TO.OUR.VIEWS, but since front-end bankers are too busy to save their jobs, they don’t have the time/enthusiasm to humour us. SO what do we do? We talk to each other: it’s a case of quid pro quo, i.e. you let me bore you, I shall let you do the same to me, as long as it gives the impression that we are all very busy! And just to give it a professional “look and feel”, we CALL each other up, while sitting next to each other, and THEN talk, so that we can hear ourselves, hold your breath, not once, but twice! As for what we DISCUSS, let’s just say it covers the whole of animal kingdom with a generous dose of phrases like “bull and bear”, “hawkish and dovish” or “headwind and tailwind”.
It’s like Karthik Calling Karthik, but just imagine close to two dozen of them, and it’s total chaos…
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