Have you heard the song Shopping by Barenaked Ladies (yeah, it’s a band!)? If you haven’t, don’t bother. It’s a pathetic song with an equally pathetic tune. But the lyrics....

…Well you know that it's going to be alright

When we go shopping

It's always lalalalala...

Shopping spree begin

It's always lalalalala...

Everybody wins

So shutup

And never stop

Let's shop

Until we drop…

Oh, I am a great believer and practitioner of Retail Therapy. Nothing gets me up from the blues quicker than a half-hour spent shopping. It could be for anything and it could be for anybody. Given that I am not particularly bigoted, I would buy the monthly grocery with as much enthusiasm as a wedding trousseau. Neither am I an overtly self centered shopper and therefore, when I am not working, I am most certainly running errands for my family and best friend who have entrusted their hopes and dreams (i.e. lists) with me (sometimes even via email). And I do this with a sense of purpose and pride. While it also goes to prove I have moderately good taste for folks to trust me with my judgment.

But I am a pretty impulsive shopper and that isn’t limited to stuff for myself. I have bought things for friends and family that I just happen to see on my way to somewhere else. Mostly it delights them but this impulsiveness is not without its downside. I am a sucker for shoes. On my mother’s last count, I came close to our Jaya Amma’s horde. To add to her misery, I am not very experimental. Which means there are pairs of shoes that look similar to each other and try as she might she isn’t able to fathom why one would buy shoes that look like true copies and the same design in three colours??? Now, the difference is only for the discerning, but who is going to tell her that. If that wasn’t enough, she also thinks I have way too many clothes than I would even need and she has put a deadline for me to donate 1/3 of my wardrobe before she lets me sneak in another set of clothing. Mothers!

But no such problems with the man in my life. I went shopping with Ro, yesterday. I realized men are absolute cuties till they grow up :) He was patient, enthusiastic and very encouraging. No complaints, no hanky panky and he loved everything I bought for him. I must remember to enjoy this now, for this bliss wouldn’t last for long. Before I know it, he would be asking for a debit card and instructing me to not bother with his shopping specially clothes. Till the ‘teenage devil’ takes over, let this mother be.

Well as to how I view shopping: It’s my own little contributing to this nation’s booming economy. Little yes, but every drop..oops rupee counts isn’t it? tralalala! Disclaimer: This is most definitely not an invitation to send your respective lists :)

At maya, my new haunt, filled with amazing conversations bordering on the incredible, rib-tickling fun and someone who knows me more than I know myself :)

Ohhh...it's so good to be home!

last evening @ maya

Caution: Don't get fooled by the on-the-house cocktails on Ladies Nite! One drink called Barbie Doll (yeah!) had only watermellon (no not juice...but chunky pieces of it...!) and only a whiff of vodka. The other, is imaginatively called Tamarind Martini...for those who like their rasam with a hint of vodka. Strictly for the brave hearted south indian ladies!

P.S. It was a lovely evening....no smothering crowd, tasteful music, new age decor, polite service. One doesn't need conversations in a place like this. The place fills that need.

Be careful what you wish for, Cause you just might get it all...and some you don't want

High Point:

We won! Winning by the last thread of our collective underpants...but nevertheless we won. That's what matters...at the end. Unfortunate for the Pakistanis that their man-who-could-have-got-them-the-Cup got impatient and tried an absolutely ridiculous shot to get caught.

Low Point:

Winning the T20 World Cup doesn't excuse the Boys in Blue for not singing the National Anthem at the beginning of the final match. It was shameful that none of them even made an attempt. This is the World Cup and you are on national television representing your country in a match that's easily the 'clash of the subcontinent' and here you are not even trying to lip-sync with a song that represents your country's pride, honour and among other things, identity. One can't afford such gross indifference. Lets teach them the anthem, as it should be sung, before they go on the next tour.

insight

He : We are similar.

She : No we are not.

He : We have both been wronged...so how are we not similar?

She : I didn't give up on the world but I gave up on the most important thing, you didn't.

He : What?

She : Yourself.

alone but not lonely

Sitting in an airport security check-in lounge, I realize how comfortable I am in strange yet oddly familiar hotel rooms, waking up in comfortable but unfamiliar beds, among unknown surroundings and the security of being a nobody.

The gypsy in me feels appreciated...finally.

One day in the life of Mumbai

Location: Dadar MSRTC’s ticket queue
Setting: Pouring sheets of rain
Time: 8.15AM
Red umbrella uncle (irritated): “Chippaakte kyun ho?”
Black windcheater uncle (surprised): “Kaye?”
RUU (raising his voice): “Bola na…duur hato!”
BWU (sniggering): “Kyun ladki ho kya? Bolte duur hato!” RUU (now shaking his dripping red umbrella): “Dhakka kyun diya?”

BWU (shouting and gesturing animatedly): “Tujhe dhakka deneka shouk nahi mujhe….baarish mey kya road meye kharre rahe??! Ladki kahin ka!!!!”

RUU: (erupts in anger and folds umbrella and shakes it dangerously close to BWU wetting the others enjoying the verbal entertainment): “Kya bola tu??”

By now the smiling public realizing the peril mediates and pulls RUU and BWU apart and in this tussle all of them get drenched to their bones and cursing cusses at each other and the wildly incessant downpour.

Some on says “bappa moriya” under his breathe.

Direct from Mumbai

I have lived here 10 years back. I was familiar with Bandra and Bandra alone, never felt the need to explore the rest of the city except for some much dreaded trips to Navi Mumbai...and some social visits to Lower Parel. The city sure has changed and how.

I am stunned to see Sakinaka change into a 8 lane concrete road with modern structures housing tech companies everywhere.

The airport's newly inaugurated terminal is totally cool!

The rain and the ensuing traffic mess still remains the same. Some comfort that :)

turn-offs for the day

1. people who chatter noisily inside an aircraft with complete disregard for the mental health of the co-passengers.

2. people who don't listen to the inflight announcement for seatbelts and expect the flight attendant to come and request them personally.

3. taxidriver who refuses to ferry passengers stating the distance is too close. You can walk, he says!

4. mumbai rain. incessant and thoughtless. It clings to you like a stubborn stain that doesn't go even after several washes.

ganapati bappa moriya

Ok so he acts as ganesha in the skit put up by the kids of the apartment block and directed by yours truly. He has a three-line part at that.

Alls well till he gets worried about the fact that no one recognises him (or so he thinks!) since he has the mask on....

So Mommy had to promise that next time around he will have a 'maskless' part and one where he gets to do a 'fight' scene. Makes me wonder where he got the 'negotiator' gene from!!! Heck I could learn a few tricks too...

Mumbai Pune Expressway on a rainy morning!

Last week was filled with positive experiences of various dimensions.

I visited the Mahindra Pride School, Pune as a part of our new sourcing strategy. In other words, I was looking at a fresh source of talent pool to feed our ever-growing need for people, who would be loyal and help reduce my turnover cost. I went in to evaluate a possibility but I came out transformed and amazed. I met Pruthvi, who at 19 has the responsibility of running her household. Bright and dazzling with confidence, she told me in marathi laced hindi “Mujhe kuch banna hai”. I met many others like her, who had dropped out of school mostly to support their families financially. What was striking was the way they said ‘HSC fail’ while talking about their academic achievements. With confidence and pride. Most of their peers, in their communities haven’t even seen the interiors of a school. Veenitha told me that she joined the 3 months hospitality course in the school, to build a career in the hotel industry, which will help her to bring up her five year old daughter. Widowed at 25, today she depends on her parents for support but has pawned her only pair of gold ear ring to pay for the conveyance to and fro the school. She said she chose hospitality since it’s a very respectable industry which surprised me since I have met IHM (Institute of Hotel Management) students who refused to pick up ‘jhoota’ plates from restaurant tables saying it’s demeaning. She also told me this is far more respectable than working as a domestic help that she has been before joining this course. The pride that reflected on her face at the opportunity of a better life was unadulterated.

I have worked with NGOs before, but mostly with relocation of refugees and the work had involved counseling and helping them to rebuild their lives. So depravation wasn’t new to me. What was new was so much positivism and hope concentrated within the modest walls of the school.

I have decided to work with them and help the faculty in chalking customized English language skill program that would get them ‘job ready’ quicker, since most of them have excellent communication skills. I must mention that they have excellent faculty members. I met the former Head of Training, WNS, who decided to give up a very successful but high stressed job to work with MPS.

The other amazing experience was the drive down Pune-Mumbai Expressway on a rainy mist covered day. As the bus curled through the Ghat section, the drenched lush slopes hugged the grey clouds that hung like a veil, trying to keep the ethereal nature out of prying eyes. The tunnels added to the mystery of the journey. This has to be the prettiest highway in India at least.

All in all is all we all are..

Yes my posts are getting dark and depressing and I run the risk of being written off as a tragedy specialist…coming to think of it is not such a bad idea after all!

Anyway, reading this on a friend's mail forward, one cannot help but wonder. There is this famous bengali movie, the title slips me at this point, where Aparna Sen tells Shoumitra Chaterjee who was her screen brother-in-law about her juvenile attempts for suicide probably expecting empathy in return but the brother-in-law nonchalantly tells her, puffing a long necked ciggie (oh all bengali heroes smokes)“Ohh, everyone tries to commit suicide at least once in their lives...good that you tried”.

So here’s mine. I flunked in Hindi (yes yes!) in the midterm exam in std. 7. Couldn’t tell Ma. Dying was a preferred option. Tried jumping off the terrace of our 3rd floor apartment. This terrace opened towards the backyard of the building and therefore ensured privacy. I stood there for over 5 minutes leaning over the edge, trying to find courage. I didn’t.

I couldn’t decide whether to wear my glasses for this once in a life time jump. If I did, I knew the shattered glasses would hurt and ruin my eyes if I happen to survive with broken bones. (something told me being crippled and blind was infinitely worse than being failed-in-hindi) If I took my glasses off, I couldn’t see a damn thing from the top and I wanted at least to be able to see where I was jumping.

Then Ma called. The game was over. I confessed. She assumed I was trembling out of the fear, guilt and humiliation. Till date I haven’t told her how close I was to losing it.

After, being through life and growing wiser I thank myself for holding back and being gutless. There are many of us who can’t. I pray and I hope for those who are on that brink. If I can lead someone away from that brink I would consider my life post the failed attempt, worthy of living.

ghosts

Yesterday I came back to a city I never could love. The memories of it are filled with anxiety, overwhelming bitterness, pathetic disillusionment and an all time low in self esteem. To say I was wary of stepping in this city again would be an understatement. Plain truth is, this journey back here has been uncomfortable and the first day was filled with a sense of persecution. The memories clawing at my heels like a desperate stalker. From touch-down, I couldn't shake the feeling of being followed, being watched, being judged...

A day after, it feels much better. Though the night was disturbed with interrupted, disjointed and twisted dreams, the morning has cleared the unhappiness.

Circumstances may have changed and therefore the unhappiness quotient, but it’s not as easy to rework the memories. They surface with odd clarity at times they are least desired.

But through all of this, finally, I am coming to terms with a reality that has long eluded me.

Happiness and a sense of freedom.

what if she

could lie easily.

could die happy.

could love him once, truly.

could dream again.

could live a little.

what if he...

satyameva jayate?

Niladri’s post opened up an ideological debate. I haven't seen the movie therefore I have nothing to comment on it yet.

However, I agree with him largely on the ill gotten and completely corny PR machine of the ‘mahatma’. Agreed he was human and he is allowed a mistake like all of us, but when that comes at the cost of life and livelihood of millions, I cannot absolve him of murder most foul.

My family belongs to the Noakhali’s Korpara Ray Choudhurys. An educated landed gentry who were members of the Indian National Congress and most importantly followers of Gandhiji’s beliefs. A family that foolishly hung on to their ‘bhitey’ in East Pakistan believing whatever that Gandhi said. A family whose men folk numbering sixteen including male children were beheaded in front of their women in their own country mansion, (where they had gathered to celebrate the durga pujo) which the ‘attackers’ had laid siege for over 72 hours before they burned the house and gained entry. The women were brutally raped and children thrown in the blazing fire. A few unmarried girls were abducted, of whose where about we do not know till date. Someone from the family met a lady a decade back who looked like one of those abducted girls but who now wears a burkha and refused to reveal her connection to this family out of guilt and shame of her fate.

My grandmother, who was a young girl at that time, and the rest of the remaining women and children escaped with the help of some of the muslim villagers who gave them food, burkhas to cover themselves and protection till they reached the border on foot and boat. According to the villagers the house burnt for three days after the mayhem.

The irony?

According to my grandmother, the ‘attackers’ were all West Pakistanis. They were Pathans on horses and spoke no Bangla. The local muslim farmers had warned about their infiltrations and the threat of attack and same was informed to the then Congress leaders who in Gandhi’s behest asked the Ray Choudhurys and others to stay put and set an example for the scared fleeing mass.

The result?

A generation of widowed women and children who migrated to Kolkata with just the clothes on their backs and no money. Whatever little jewelry the women carried with them were used to house the children at various distant relatives and well wish wishers custody. A few suffered from dementia and most died tragically young.

Freedom is relative. But at what cost?

random resemblance or is this a pattern?

both my previous and current business cards have the colours red black and white.

both my previous and current organizations were funded by the same venture fund.

both my ex and current bosses are women and their names start with 'S'!

Yes, I am truly useless!

Disjointed deliberation and a dim-wit

Useless thought of the week:

Was thinking how similar triggers evoke different images at different times of association. Like, the colours red and yellow together had the strongest association with East Bengal (a football club with fanatical following) back in my Kolkata days. As a kid, I even had a football jersey set completed with the red and yellow shirt, black shorts and a pair of red with yellow strips knee-length socks (sucker for soccer eh?) Now, it conjures up images of namma karnataka, since they are the colours of the Karnataka state flag. (Before this, we never knew that ‘state flags’ existed!)

MOS: How can one be this jobless?

Useless stunt of the week:

Saturday’s team meeting got me so excited that, disregarding my age (groan!) I refused the elevator and raced down the stairs, ending up with a twisted ankle in front of the supercilious crowd of my new office building. To add insult to the injury was forced to hobble to the parked car with an ill hidden grimace on the face.

MOS: Accept at the earliest that self is both physically and mentally challenged.

Useless observation of the week:

Ms. Cloned-Hilton from marketing was missing on Friday, which allowed the men the much needed pause to notice lesser mortals like yours truly. Disbelievingly, some of the men can actually talk about things beyond the earlier mentioned Ms. Hilton’s preference for decaf! On normal days, their conversations provide me with sinister private amusement of a decadent kind, which by the way is my specialty. Minus Ms. Cloned-Hilton, everyone seems to be capable of having moderately intelligent conversations.

MOS: Can’t think of any!

Useless achievement of the week:

Despite my week-long presence here, it was only today that I earned enough of the boss-bashers’ trust for them to do their stuff in my presence. I must look real insipid and therefore harmless.

MOS: Lord help us cause we know not what we do!

Useless Assumption of the week:

If that wasn’t enough, this Friday I turned up in jeans only to find out that casual wear is reserved for Saturday.

MOS: Always Ask Never Assume!

surprised?

what's brewing?

A hot cuppa anyone?!

Oh well. Never mind me. My first day at work was a breeze.

High points:

Coffee is amazing! (what was I thinking?)

Today’s induction session was fun and these guys have got their act together. No waiting. No technical glitches.

No failures of any kind.

Had a productive long conversation with bosswoman.

Enthusiastic team!

Got invited for a surprise dinner at boss’s place since it’s her birthday.

Not so high points:

Met so many people that I guess I would need a month to match the faces with names.

The women are all SKINNY!! :(