Never say never

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I am one of those people who have their feet firmly planted on the ground. I am so profoundly rooted that it does need a certain caliber of galvanizing to uproot me. I am very focussed and use the most minimal of my resources to reach my goal. As candid as that confession can be, it can be devious. Yes I am pretty grounded but not in the way you are being led to believe. Every human being has a failing and mine is mobility. Dont get me wrong here, I do thank God for my two legs and the power to move them. I love to walk and find opportunities for that. I have exacted a mechanism where not much of me moves apart from the legs and the head tilting towards the direction before the body moves as though my mind is trying to show off its control. I have been called a robot by most people I know but I continue to love walking. Everything else is a challenge that my mind finds insurmountable. I was one of the few kids in school who never ran. Nothing could get me to run. Not the school assembly bell which I would hear while still on my way. Not a soaking rain. Not a traffic jam behind me on a narrow lane. Not Kabaddi. Not running and catching in games period. Not an urgent bathroom break. Not a bus driving off. Not the treadmill (till very very recently). Nothing. But I definitely know how to run. Then came cycling with all its agony. I learnt to cycle after I got scared that my brother might just throw in the towel and leave me to my mechanics (or robotics). I never managed to cycle even to the grocery store in the next lane. Learning to ride a two wheeler was not a necessity and was more fun. For me. Not for the people who taught me. Yes please note the use of "people". From then on it was always going to be a collaborative effort. It started with my dad getting me to learn to ride his Bajaj Chetak scooter behind the old library. It was a tree lined road so am confident that not many would have seen my dad's frustrated efforts and my antics. On to my cousins both of whom tried their best to get me to balance on the Luna without my legs acting as stabilizers. Then it was Rag. All I remember of that is hearing screams reminding me to use the brakes on her Kinetic Honda. Life rolled on without me having to worry too much abt two wheelers aside from the occasional jealousy factor. At about this time my dad bought a car. And there I was, getting to learn how to drive it on empty roads at 6:30 in the morning. I did such a great job of it that one day the coach decided to bring a car whose brakes wouldnt work. After a near miss of a head-on on the busy DVG Road traffic I was ready for my licence. That went off smoothly with me doing the exact opposite of what the examiner asked me to do. It was a miracle I heard anything at all with my heart pounding in my ears. With a brand new licence to show off, the routine trips to relatives' houses happened with me at the helm. And then one day that stopped. Abruptly. I still dont remember why. From then on, many lessons and attempts later I still dont drive very well. In the dozen odd years I have not been able to take the car for a confident spin even once. Everyday begins with a resolve and by the time we are ready to leave to work I start avoiding T's eyes lest he dangle the keys in front of me. From yesterday I have officially started swimming lessons. And that for a person who has been very scared to get into more than shin deep water. I have never played with the bigger waves on a beach. I have been wanting to learn how to swim from the time I was 15. I cant fathom why I did not despite the fact that my home was a stone's throw away from one of the best pools in Bangalore, the Basavanagudi one. I dont know how many more years I will need, to be able to kick my legs, splay my arms and move 10 feet in water. I was a nervous wreck for a week before the class and nearly toppled over from the side of the pool trying to enter it. My knees were knocking together when they told us to take a soak and needed a floater for help. I start kicking like a fish trapped in a net from the word go. It was only the floater tied around my waist that was making me look like I am in control. I am going to need all the resolve to get my feet from under me to kick out upright. What I liked yesterday was the fact that I like being in water like that. So I guess there will be many more lessons to come. And we will not cow down. We will only chew on all the learning and flick away all the usage.


Maybe there is a loose connection between the part of my brain controlling my motor skills and the one controlling my perceptions. My thoughts and dreams soar and dive, run and fly and they know no boundaries.

Umbrella is home

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Once upon a time, I ended up in Germany during the rainy season...without an umbrella. It was during one downpour that I went to a super market in Waldorf and bought one. There was as many choices as can be possible with black umbrellas. I picked one which could fit into my rucksack. For a number of years after that whether I had money in my wallet or not this umbrella was a definite occupant of my office bag. And then one fine day last year I lost it. I searched far and wide in the reaches of my memory but could not find any instant in which I had used it in the past few months. (There had been one occasion of blinding rain in which I got drenched holding the unopened umbrella in my hand only because the rest of the people waiting at the bus stop were also getting wet.) Thus, I had to switch to an uncle-type umbrella that T had with him. This umbrella grew on me and became a mainstay of my office bag. While coming to the US, T met with a peculiar stubbornness in me with regards to packing this umbrella. I definitely had to bring it even if it meant leaving behind some things instead. Now this umbrella occupied the pride of place in our NJ home, hung on the bannister at the entry way. Handy and easily available on the way out. Then came my brother. He visited us for the best 3 days of our NJ stay. I should mention here that my brother and me are trained clean-uppers as soon as the word "visitor" is dropped near our ears. As long as he was visiting us, I did not have to worry about straightening up the house. Consequently a few things turned up in odd places. He left for India and we noticed the umbrella was no longer swinging from the railing. I completely suspected my brother of chucking it in some crevice but had not found it despite two thorough searches. As luck would have it my brother did not even remember seeing it and our dear chatri was lost in oblivion. It was during this time that we had to move to KS. We were warned by a few friends of huge thunderstorms that can erupt in the mid-west and a brand new umbrella showed up in our luggage once again. The thing with umbrellas is that when you carry them it never rains...ever! So it was that this umbrella paid dearly for (I mean, comeon, I get a good one for Rs.100 in Bangalore and here it costs $20) lay in our cupboard, discarded unused. Today a couple of our friends arrived from NJ and dropped in for dinner. They brought the customary chocolates (poor guy had brought a champagne-bottle-type of bottle of apple cider on an earlier occasion and we ignored the bottle and evaded opening it thinking it to be alcohol, he learnt his lesson fast) and then handed us a second cover. It was something we had "forgotten" in NJ he said. T opened the cover and his jaw fell when he saw that it was our dear old umbrella! It was all he could do to stop the emotions from flowing out and propelling him to jump in the air. We were so excited about this reunion that we waxed eloquent for the next 15 minutes atleast about the adventures of "umby and we". I am sure the friends thought us to be a chatri lot. Once again it finds a pride of place on a nail inside the cupboard, easily available on the way out.
This story would seem as disjointed as a leg in an arm socket if I do not mention here the background of this umbrella. It has a very strong connection with the US this rain shield. It was procured by T on one of the earlier visa stamp visits to Chennai when a sudden downpour threatened to wipe out all the identification and important documents he was carrying while awaiting his turn in the queue outside the Consulate. So you see, now the dots are all connected and the dear umbrella is home. 

Guess who's coming to dinner

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..Someone who deserves the best china ofcourse! Remember the last time you had guests at home and you laid out your dinnerware? Good. Now, I dont have any such memory. Not to say that we did not own fancy dinner pieces. Oh, my mother has all kinds ranging from steel to silver to glassware to unbreakable stuff.  When melmoware became the MF Hussain of tableware, my mom also became an ardent fan. She started amassing the wealth and now produly owns atleast 3 complete sets.  All of them are kept on the attic safe from prying eyes and for an occasion that befits them. From times immemorial, we have had get-togethers with friends and family at the drop of a reason. My mom always prided herself on being a considerate host. She knew the likes and dislikes of every guest and always ensured that there were enough choices to satisfy everyone's palate. Shiny steel plates, tumblers, cups and spoons used to adorn the dining table on such occasions. But the fancier ones never saw the light of day. The common refrain being "we'll use it when we have special guests". This was not to mean that the numerous people who have dined in our house are not worthy but that the occasion was not grand enough. Let me explain with an example. A son-in-law who visits his in-laws over the weekend is not a special guest but the very same person when visiting during the first Deepavali is treated like the king who just dropped by. So a special guest can be a person who has eaten umpteen number of times at one's house before that one special occasion which becomes him. The crowning jewel in our visit to North India 15 years ago was the silver Thali set my mom procured. The important bring-back  from their visit to Singapore was a beautiful 40 piece dinner set which my mom took pains to pack to the hilt that lent it unbreakable. There was one event where my mom actually brought out the silver set and laid it all out on the table while I gaped unbelievingly. But just before the dinner was announced, a change of heart happened and they were all replaced back to their shelves much to the consternation of the tableware and much to the joy of their steel cousins! When I got married my parents presented me with a beautiful table set assuming that I would be using them very often. As time can tell, we made the dining table itself redundant in my house! I like mismatched plates, cups, spoons etc and I dont pant for symmetry. This trait has never been advertised as it is now in the US. I brought along 4 dinner plates and all different. I never thought about how odd it looks while packing it and I dont feel any pangs of anxiety when I serve in them. The first guests at my place in the US hardly noticed the plates they were served in because they were concentrating on clearing it off burnt food. Subsequent guests did not notice because they were well engrossed in conversation and roaring laughter. And I plan to keep it that way. What's dinner if not food for thought?

Alarming truth

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Alarm clocks are supposed to be a man's best friend. They are supposed to enable a person to be at the right place at the right time. For me however none of this is true. Alarm clocks dont help me. I am from the school of thought (like my father advocated) that everyday should be started early. Being a staunch follower for the past so many years my alarm is always set to 6 AM. The kind of alarms have changed from being a yellow colour steel one which goes 'rrrrrrrrrrrrring' to the plastic 'keek keek' to the digital 'kook kook' and the ultra modern cellphone with a choice of numerous tunes. But the time has remained the same - 6 AM. Every night I plan my mornings elaborately with a lot of micro management. 6-6:10 brush teeth, 6:10-6:30 yoga, 6:30-7 gym and so on and so forth. I sleep, the alarm rings, I continue to sleep, a howl is heard (a very desperate one), i am shoved, i get yelled at, T sits fully awake and switches off the alarm. I continue to sleep for another couple of hours. The routine is unfailing.
On the off-chance that I indeed have to do something really important (routine like above is just normal, not important and all), like an exam, I set the alarm to ring earlier. Now I have a problem that my brain just ignores the alarm bells that are set off by my ear. This has happened around 365*n times till now and I learnt somewhere that the brain just needs 25 times to form a habit. So what do I do? How do I wake up at the right time? I dont sleep. No, seriously. I dont sleep in the night. And if I do doze off I wake up every once in a while and note with satisfaction that I still have time. My brain doesnt shut down the activity or the adrenaline. So I sleep, dont sleep, continue to not sleep, wake up before the alarm rings, switch off and get to work. This is also an established pattern.
And then there is a third dimension, an internal clock. This one wakes me up everyday at 8 AM. And there is no reset button!

And in other news

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The Anna Hazare show now has "slap"-stick comedy routines in a bid to increase TRPs.

Rahul Gandhi is preceded by a gunny sack at election rallies. The produce will be recycled at the opposition party rallies especially those of his "bua".

Salman Rushdie attended Jaipur Lit Fest on proxy. Every invitee talked about him more than their own works.

Indian kids around the world lose weight as their mothers refuse to hand feed them. The kids are also no longer the top performers in schools abroad given the lack of sleep stemming from nightmares of sleeping by themselves.

Barkha Dutt is doing wartime reporting again. The war is on her. 

IIPM like Shahrukh Khan never goes out of news even though there is nothing new. 

Bollywood takes Oprah Winfrey by storm. "The "Taj Mahal" was even wedged into fifth of the backseat of a Rolls Royce to demonstrate bonding. 

Priyanka Chopra knows there wont be "maafi" for her eighth murder and therefore adopts Gandhigiri and thanks Katrina for performing the song of the year.

Ajay Devgan might win the best supporting actor for the movie Tezz. The event organisers would have been forewarned by the Mohanlal fan association.

Chethan Bhagat sets a new trend by signing book contracts with Bollywood production houses rather than publishing houses.

Cricket was played better on Twitter than on the field. The Indian team will play the next virtual world cup on home ground.

Yapp-raisal

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(To be sung to the tune of Jingle bells)
Appraisal time appraisal time appraisal time all this month 
Oh what fun it is to ride
On a wave of no worry...hey!


Ah! It feels stupendous to not go through the rigmarole this year. A luxury which I am being afforded for the first time in my life. No judgement on any front. We are so steeped in the culture of answerability that guilt conscience comes before self awareness for many of us. It is only very late in life that we learn that grammatically good, better and best are all relative terms. By then we are already conditioned like bulls in the San Fermin fiesta. We don't know why we are running but mostly because the others are. Maybe the bulls also like us are scared to be the only one not running and having to face an unknown consequence. Its amazing how we submit to judgement by people who are relative strangers in our lives. Its even more stupefying how we let this judgement influence our existence. Our ears jar when it hears the now famous "but you did not do anything innovative this year". Our minds race to creatively sell our work also known as self appraisal. At the end of the day we need to know our boundaries, limits and operate within our self esteem.
Honestly, I sometimes feel the lack of deadliness and pressures to perform, especially when I don't vacuum the house or when the sink is steeped with vessels for more than ten hours. Its almost a relief to realise I am the boss! I do wait for feedback on whether or not what I cooked is edible. I also feel that I will get a 1 rating every time V is brushed, bathed, schooled, lunched by 2 PM.
Appraisals are like the matrix. You can get in but never get out!

Do(aw)n of online movies

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"Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahin (pause) namumkin hai...phooo" blowing smoke through mouth (or is it nose?)

Don will be smoking six packs nervously if he finds out amazing prints are available all over the internet for free!

The first time I came to the US was exactly 9 years ago. Though the stint dint last too long (thanks to various people I worked with, who assumed roles of king makers) it left a lasting impression on me. The main one being that unless you have a car and can drive around, weekends are very boring. Internet was the mainstay but there was not much content to watch. Cyber life was more about the written word. Subsequently I made many trips to Europe with no marked difference in the boredom levels (especially since internet was free only in the lobby, and who wants to watch a movie in the lobby of a hotel anyway?). Except that I became savvier with each trip and ensured I would get away over weekends. The first time I travelled was with a huge collection of songs to while away my time. It was then that I realised I am not armchair romantic material and would easily get bored of inactivity. The subsequent trips made me graduate from carrying VCDs to DVDs to downloads to drives. All of them movies ofcourse. Lot of hard work went into preparing for such trips. It was my previous trip to the US, 4 years back, when I truly discovered the potential of content. In my 3-month stay I quickly became an expert at searching for movies online. Like a jeweller I became adept at picking out the gems from the pool of bad prints. This skill has stood me in good stead on this trip. Sometimes I think we enjoy movies more now because of the economics involved. In the world of non-originals deflation is the key. But mostly we dont have a choice, being stuck with the only kid in the world who hates stepping into theaters. (It took us 5 minutes and Rs.800 to discover this 2 years back). We are well endowed with odd genes.



Abhi baat khatam kya. Yeh saala Don ko pakadnaich mangta kya. *Rubs hands in glee on finding DVD quality print for free*

Get Real on HD

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T and me watch some reality shows in the sense of "that thing we do together" apart from movies, chatting, travel, outwitting V and having fun. We have been hooked to the big reality show Bigg Boss for the past few years. (I think we derive some perverse pleasure in seeing contestants squirm with embarassment, seethe with anger and reek of unnaturality.) This year we had to champion the cause of desi support in the videshi land by searching for the best unofficial HD recorded videos of this show. I would wait till evening with mounting enthusiasm and as soon as T would be home I would hurriedly shove a coffee cup in his hand and click on the play button. For the next one hour we would be lost in the world of the bawling contestants seeing them put on make-up, letting down their guard, shouting, screaming and eating! (Like one contestant pointed out they made 70 rotis a day!!). This everyday for 3 months. Last Saturday all the drama folded up with the finale. It left me high and dry with a lot of excitement still suspended in my system just like after a raucous wedding. "What to inject from next week?" screamed my mind. There is a possibility that the sound may have emanated and T might have heard the scream. He has shown me inspiration for the weeks ahead by searching for the HD online videos of MTV Roadies. Yes, that reality show which evokes the "I hate you like I love you" emotion has started! Should I even mention that I am hooked? Life is good again. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

Life's lemons and Temple's Lemon-rice

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Today being Vaikunta Ekadasi we felt it was appropriate to go and say hello to God in his own abode. There are not many temples in our part of the world unlike the Lil India (NJ) we moved from. Infact I think there are only 2 which are within an hour's driving distance. We went to one such God mall. There was a modest gathering and puja was in full swing. Now is the time I need to mention there is no canteen (kitchen) in this temple which means that we get to eat Prasadam in the temple if devotee has cooked and brought something. Our plan was to do a swift visit and go back home but while going through the Vaikunta Dwara I couldnt help noticing the prasadam spread in front of Sai Baba (today being Thursday and all). After we were done with our pradakshina I mentioned to T that maybe we should wait for the Maha Mangalarthi. I cannot honestly say that I did not have the delicioso at the back of my mind. Once the arathi was taken and the theertha was partaken we made a beeline to the table where the prasadam was being dispensed. But the crowd was much more seasoned and faster and we only got the fag end of the deal . A few items were already khallas! So much for the Uddin vade that I wanted to eat although I did get the lemonrice.
Well atleast it taught me a lesson - No, not the one about focussing on God but that I cannot take the temple for granted and not cook at home.

Mirror mirror on the wall

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One wall in my bedroom is host to one of the most entertaining mirror I have ever had. It reminds me of the days when the most interesting outing of the year used to be to the Annual Arts and Crafts Exhibition.

I lived in Hyderabad as a kid and all the four of us used to ride astride a Bajaj Chetak scooter to the Nampally grounds every year to this exhibition. It was something that we used to wait for with excitement soaring. And it never failed to appease. The chilli bajji(of which I used to eat the bajji part and my dad the chilli part), the camel rides (which I only used to stand to a side and watch since I was chicken), the endless walk through the fair grounds, the smell of fresh popcorn and cotton candy, holding on to my mom's finger lest I get lost and a whole host of memories. One of the things I remember vividly is the house of mirrors. My favourite was always the one which made me look taller. But the most hilarious was the one which made you look like humpty dumpty.

The mirror we purchased seems to be a distant cousin of this risque gang. The speciality of this mirror is that it can make me happy. I have discovered that the farther I stand from it, the more elegant the size looks and the closer I get to the mirror, the bigger the proportions get. As can be concieved, I do not preen at myself in this mirror. I only use it to give me the shot of confidence whenever I need it.

My mirror has become the epitome of denial. It shows me what I want to see. I read in a fairy tale about an evil step-mother wanting the mirror to tell her what she wanted to hear. Now I have realised why she was so desperate!

My mirror reflects the state of my mind.

Gandhigiri and the cellphone

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As the competition hots up I decided to blog about it to gain mileage among my sympathisers. T and me are into Gandhigiri these . So dotzy's attempts tp vandalise the cellphone is met with a smile and the offer of another. Want to know why? Here's my side of the story...

Background :
2007 - It was time for me to replace my aging Nokia. I had been waiting for more than a year for the perfect phone. Then came the Abhishek Bachchan Motorokr ad. I feel like a moron now but full credit to the advertisers for the campaign. It was uber cool. A groovy and humorous story line was all I needed to make up my mind (I dont want this post to be a confessional about how big a a fan of AB Baby I am) and I was hooked. I started dreaming of Rokr being the most appropriate successor to the sturdy (trust me, I have stress tested it to the max) 3310. I went ahead and bought the phone via a friend who works at Motorola (I am a sucker for discounts) and discovered with shock that the wireless stereo headset (the main reason for buying the phone, yeah yeah not AB Baby) was out of stock. I was thus stuck with a phone without its coolest feature. That is not the worst part though as I later bought one and found it to be inconvenient to use. I feel technologically challenged with the Rokr because I do not understand Linux which is the OS on that phone. I have never been able to install any application on it simply because I have not understood how. Looking through innumerable number of Motorokr forums is not helping my brain. I also discovered with time that the screen scratches easily in the hands of a not so delicate user like me. I am now at the end of the disillusionment tether. I want to buy a new phone and am waiting for the perfect successor!

Cut to 2009 :
My dotzy has made drumming her new hobby. She drums on and with anything. Give her a soft toy, a rubber book, her own hand or a cellphone! She goes on her "Atha atha atha" ("hit hit hit" in baby lingo") routine relentlessly and with more vigour with each hit. She has to just see a cellphone lying aroung and she will swiftly glide to it and grab it. Last week I realised that this could be a God-sent to get rid of my phone. How many hits on the floor does it take for a cellphone to stop working? I dont know, am still counting at 220. But to my dismay I found another competitor in the endeavour. T! He also has decided that he wants a new phone and is keen to expose dotzy to variety! So in an evil usage of Gandhigiri we voluntarily submit our phones to the rowdyism of dotzy.
If she hits one cell we calmly and gleefully show the other.
Will keep you posted about who wins.
Happy Valentine's Day T ;)
( I shall cherish these times when my dotzy couldnt tell anyone the truth)

An update on the previous post [LIKELY JUNK]

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After I wrote this post complaining about my mail server in a public forum, the mail server has mended its ways and now does not attach [LIKELY JUNK] to T's mails. If anyone else (who has my office id, which ofcourse I will not give out here) is interested in testing the temperment of the mail server, please send me a mail to my office id.
Thanking You,
Yours Sincerely,
I-Believe-All-Problems-Can-Be-Resolved-by-Communication-And-Proper-Escalation

[LIKELY JUNK]

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That's what my mails are awarded with these days. No matter if they are from my best friend or from a viagra seller. The junk sorter at my work place is taking no chances. At a time when my self-esteem feels very much like the subject attached to my mails, it comes as no surprise to me that the mailbox is dolloping hints. A few people I reply to have registered their complaint at their mails being called junk by the inanimate mail server and have threatened to sever the communication thread if their respect is not restored. I dont really have the perseverance to change the mail subject just for their gratification. Unfortunately.

T has now reconciled to the fact that my mail server shouts atop the roof that he is adding to the already large amount of useless and unwanted bytes flowing through it. Thankfully it does not deter him to ignore me when am at office.

His latest mail epitomised it as : [LIKELY JUNK]chill

Hugs!

Thutty is not a passing phase

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I turned 30 and there is nothing in my reach to turn it back. Oh God, can I please get another chance to start from my school days? I now know that I should have shown immaturity as a kid and gradually increased the maturity hormones. I can see that I was totally wrong in being an adult at school. (Slap on forehead of self)
Ego
I turned 30 recently and announced to the whole world that now I have the fundamental right to not be accountable for anything. Pushing aside the snide remark from my mother that I got this right when I turned 18, I plunged into giving details about this new found right. I dont have to call home every once in a while if I dont want to. I dont have to consider anybody's opinion for doing what I would like to do. I dont have to care what people around me would think if I went jogging in shorts. I dont have to start driving. I dont have to work on work that I dont want to work for. I dont have to care if my parents are going to read my blog and hence I need to self-censor my posts. Am sure you get the drift of where I am going with the new found liberty loaded with a lot of "idonthaveto".
Alter Ego
I turned 30 recently and realised that my responsibilities have only increased if anything. I am more accountable than I have been my entire life. My dotzy looks up to me craning her neck even. I realised its high time I got some ideals and principles incorporated into my daily life fabric which has gotten so loose woven that anything and everything will fall through it without being seived. I have to shake up and wake up before I sleep through for the next ten years which would again provocate such a sad post of pretense.
Lately my only worry has been about how to position myself. No points for getting ideas about my obligingly spread base area or any other wicked thing. I have turned 30 without having any inkling about selling my ideas or skills which is a very important catalyst to ambition. And ambition is my claim to glory in my ego-"ed" dream world. Instead I have a skill to continuosly blabber my way through any time frame without alleviating any doubt the people I am meeting might have in their minds as to the purpose of the talk. I almost have the gift of the gab. Whether it is about convincing my mother-in-law to start dotzy on a lot of solids or about convincing my boss about my career intentions I can only better myself at being haphazard. I seem to have a strong power of "No" (unlike most people who have to be taught that via motivational books) and an almost scared acknowledgement of "Yes". I should have been a movie critic with the skills I have that I just discovered with this post. I think its high time I stopped whizzing past the self help books in the book store, with a look of indignation on my face for the people actually browsing through those.
What am I talking about in this post? See, I told you so.
Turning 30 means I should opine more!

James Band

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Sleeping under the stars or sleeping under a starless sky? Which do you prefer? Well, your answer is not going to make any difference in my life. Why? Because I sleep under a roof with four walls a door and a window to the sky around me. Always. Am one of those who are scared to sleep outside in dangerous times as these. Big fat well fed hybrid Mosquitoes can kill...one's appetite to sleep. This confession has nothing to do with what I have to post about.
T needs a claustrophobic combination of pitch darkness and warm close-window-shutter-during-winter room to be able to sleep fitfully. When he got married to me, he (obviously) had to give up his luxury and he got used to the window curtain being thrown open to let the street light in. This, so that I can sleep fitfully. Well, I am also scared of sleeping in the dark. Yeah yeah am all grown up and have a kid of my own but that doesnt drive away all those monsters lurking in the dark corners of my mind. And some under the cot. Sigh, yes I am scared of looking under the bed in the nights. I totally believed in the movie Monsters Inc. and find it hard to sleep for days errr nights on end after watching a horror movie. But my fears can be effused upon in another post or autobiography...whatever. Our little dotzy commands now. We have been adviced by elders that babies shouldnt be allowed to sleep in the dark. (Obviously they did not get this advice from their ancestors who lived the dark ages hyuck hyuck. ) The fact is that I was more than willing to oblige this favour as it provided me with a brightly lit room to sleep in. For five months since the birth of our kid T vehemently refused to stay over at my parents' house (where I had camped). I tried everything including emotional blackmail but to no avail. It is only much later that I realised the reason behind this. We (me and dotzy) came back to T's home and T couldnt run away from sharing our room anymore. After a lot of fuss and arguement about bringing up kid in light or darkness, dotzy prevailed and wailed in the darkness pitched at her. So T (again obviously) had to give up the luxury of a dark room completely. We now proudly (ouch) sleep under a zero watt bulb. True to the Necessity-is-the-mother-of-all-invention cliche T struck upon a wonderful idea. Last year, between T and me, we had flown 16 times out of which half the time we were given eye masks in-flight. We are also the kinds who store such exquisite knick knacks in the fond hope of being able to use them someday. Thus eroding most of the storage space in our already cramped cabinets.

So it is that T wears the eye mask every night and goes to sleep....fitfully. Thus was born James Band. I need to get a trademark on that name!

Inter(esting)views

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Whatever happened to humility? And whatever happened to humility when one has to face an interview? Do people not bother about it anymore? Am I in the dinosaur age where humility is considered a character strength during recruitment?

Two incidents provoked me to write this small piece.

One was yesterday where one interviewee would not accept the fact that he could be incorrect. He was pretty sure that he was correct according to "his" java and wanted to ascertain what I thought according to "my" java! James Gosling might as well feel happy that even as he parented java, his followers are parenting their own personal versions. The point is, this interviewee was so angry with me that I couldnt help but picturise smoke coming out of his ears.

Today there was a strange case of an interview candidate walking out on me! No time to react. A thank you and bang-shut of the door and there I was sitting in the gathering dust. And all I had asked the interviewee was a basic question for which the person got all tangled in giving the answer.

In my defence I can fairly say that I am not a fastidious interviewer. But does it matter what kind of interviewer one is? Should one vent their frustrations in front of total strangers who have the capacity to give one a job?

All of us are keen to hire people who are geniuses at a particular skill. But is genius enough to get you through all situations?

Ah, chuck it, we'll all go this way (see image)