Among other things...

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Today was one of those days where I stared and stared at my computer screen at work with nothing seeping into my brain. Finally it was time to eat lunch where I always allow myself the luxury of internet browsing without guilt. I may or may not be browsing during the non-lunch working hours but this is not a confessional! Post lunch I happened to sit back and glance around my world, more to aid my eyes in sending a steady live telecast to the brain so it doesnt shut down over an imaginary pillow. What I saw left me askance. I have been working in my current cubicle for 2 years now and today is the first time I notice the unorganised mess that it is. I have a large monitor which my boss thought I would need for all the complicated math I would be doing to arrive at the conclusion that it was time to sweet talk the users into believing we were taking time to drive to the moon, when we were really stuck on earth with traffic jams and delays. Attached to the monitor is a keyboard which looks like its from outer space. It is one of those ergonomic completely befuddling pieces which would profit people whose right hand does not need to monitor the left to ensure no spelling mistakes. Certainly not for me that piece. My productivity, measured as the rate at which I can google current topics,is greatly reduced. Then there is a mess of wires stretching across a complete leg of the L-shaped table. Atleast they are all not the same colour and lend some aesthetic to the chaos. Immediately above the wires are random sheets of paper pegged into the cubicle wall. I now realise that I will need some reference to context to understand any of those 'important' notes. Another sheet of paper which occupies the pride of place above this litter is where my dotzy has drawn what looks likes a binary code with the 1s replaced by hearts. What makes it special for me is the fact that she wrote "I love Mom" contrary possibly to her real feelings. We will find out when she enters her teens. There is also a gigantic phone of yore on my desk and I wouldnt have been convinced its not a show-piece, had my boss not connected it by himself on my first day here and rang his own desk to make sure it works. It has 50 buttons spread neatly across it and this is apart from the standard issue of 0-9, * and #. Around 10 of them are labelled. I have not had the inclination to experiment with this masterpiece till a moment ago when I hit a button to see what happens and it switched on the Speaker. At this juncture I should note that there is a labelled button for Speaker. There is also a neat contraption to attend calls handsfree except that no one can hear me when I am speaking through it. My colleague next door complained once that she couldnt hear me over the wall as well. Beside these are the standard issue stapler and tape dispenser and a plastic fork thrown between them to dislodge the monotony. On the other leg of table I have a tissue dispenser which refused to dispense tissue from the word go. It prefers to give me shreds of paper as consolation. The rest of the table is strewn with brown paper towels which come in handy when i bring out my leaky curd box. I do have a huge poster of LTE displayed fashionably on my desk. What I like most about it, apart from the complicated names which lend a french charm, is the riot of colours. I like to decorate my cubicle well. Then there is a pegged paper sheet folded in half which tells me what holidays the company would have given me last year. It almost seems like I had a case of bad memory only till last year and the situation seems to have remedied itself this year. There is a lot of cabinet space, more than I can think of what to do with. I use the largest one to stick a magnet proclaiming my availability status at work. It shows a lady relaxing on the beach and mouthing "I'm in a meeting'. I use one of the drawers to keep my tea bags and assorted paper plates. I have no idea when or why I collected all the plates but I suspect it was from the snack lounge where I am a regular. I have a nice comfortable guest chair which I use to house my laptop bag. Most guests are left standing. Only the seasoned ones know they need to throw down the bag and mark their territory. There are a few cardboard boxes stacked on one side of the chair. They are all empty but I did not know that till recently since I thought one of them contained a laptop. I seem to have a naive approach to asset security. My bin is always full and is a good display of all the snacks I demolish in a couple of days. Like the proverbial ring of the bell, I pack my bags at exactly the same time most days, leave the place looking as it did the day before or the day before or the...you get the idea!

Heart to heart

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I will remember today as the day when V's first ever best friend moved away as her family relocated to another part of the country.  The event moved me to write a post about it although V firmly believes her best friend is going to be back in 45 days. They had apparently discussed the whole situation at length at school and had come to conclusions about many things including the fact that the best friend had to walk all the way to the new city (4 hours away by air) and V had to give her company. I dint know how to react to this apart from giving both of them warm hugs. Such a deep friendship at such an impressionable age! The teachers at school were all concerned about how they would cope with being away from each other but I think its the very memory of each other that will sustain them till they make new friends and possibly the next best ones.
It took me back to the time in my life when my first best friend Shadgunya moved away. I still have snatches of memory of her face and our play together. We were all of 6 years old. My school day descriptions would not be complete with atleast fifty mentions of her name and everything associated with her. We were last benchers and had a great time together. I even used to protect her long plaited, looped and ribbon held hair from getting pulled by some boys in our class! Her house used to be in the same compound as our family doctor's clinic in Hyderabad. So I would look forward to doctor visits in the fond hope that I would get to sit in the cane chair swing that hung in their living room. There was one particular incident which strengthened our bond. The nature of the incident makes me not want to reveal it in on this blog but it would suffice to know that it was an embarrassing one for her in front many in the school. I got wind of it and ran down to see her and I will never forget the look of appeal in her eyes to not be judgemental. Being a kid helped us put it behind us and move ahead with daily business. In the recent past I have tried a lot to find her on social networking sites but in vain. I wont give up yet. Every friend has a hand in sculpting one's attitude towards life and because of her I learnt fortitude.

Life just happened to V and her best friend as they pranced around the playground and slid down the slide two together. The artwork that V will bring home will not have her best friend's mark on it like before. They both have a lot of love for each other and for everyone else which shone through in their art work which was dominated by hearts and rainbows. I am pretty sure they will both spread sunshine and love wherever they are and as a parent I can only try to show V ways to keep in touch.

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?

Ah?

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Have you experienced a pain of the kind where you cant pinpoint to one spot and say thats where its paining? Today I was afflicted with such a pain where in I was not sure if it was at the top, middle or lower part of my back. Its been a rest and relax day with no thoughts going through my head. T was a sweet heart enough to do all the cooking and taking care of V. I feel blessed.
Tomorrow will be another day, filled with sunshine, love and dreams. Till then...take care :)

About Blogs, Egos and 1000 worders...

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...thus, provoking another rant, be so warned! I embarked on this year with a promise to myself that I would keep in touch with my inner writer self more ardently than before. 

I started blogging as a conduit for my thoughts and somewhere along the way I got caught up with the hype around it. My blog moved on from self expression to playing to the gallery which mainly constituted at that time of cousins, best friends, the loyal hubby and the odd stranger. I made a few cyber friends, very few I must say, and got blown into a balloon of false pride. "I had to be super good when I write". "It has to be the best or not at all" were the kind of excuses I was giving myself for not being able to do any readable pieces. While I went on to write a few posts in those early heady days, the writing did not, in my eyes, look mature. It did not reflect my uber-cool opinions and hey I did speak about a lo..oot of subjects even then. The blog slowly spiraled down to an ego game. Write a post. Constantly refresh blog page. No comments yet. Continue refreshing. 1 comment. The acclaim is mentioned to my parents gleefully to entice some pats. This strategy I soon realized was not sustainable. I could not take the depression of having mountains of work and paltry or no comments on my blogs at the same time. The all important writer's block is conjured up and the writing is halted. Then a lot of travel happened post which motherhood dawned and action was back on the blog for some time. Only now every other post seemed to have a connection to the antics of the little one. (It somehow continues, see there is already a mention in this post.) I did get a lot of feedback during this phase but what irked me is the manner in which I was getting it. Most of it was verbal, some of it over chat and many over phone conversations. No comments on the blog itself. If one thought I wrote a certain piece well, that person ideally should have left a comment on the blog. What I wanted to explain to them (and I never have) is that comments beget comments. I think, in general blog readers find it easier to say something if they see that they are not the first.  By then the rigors of life overwhelmed me into another hiatus. I knew I had the time if I wanted but all I wanted to do in it was sleep. I wasn’t sleep-deprived or anything,, just plain lazy. Then a habit breaker of sorts happened last year. I suddenly had too much free time on my hands yet I was looking for various alibis to cover up my non-performance as a writer. 

Flash forward to the present. 2012 presented me with a new place, new ideas and a new eagerness. I channeled all of this into motivating myself to write. I have a few ideas including a collection of short stories. All quarter baked and typed in my brain for the exclusive use of my non-existent memory. I am gifted with fore thought. Too much of it. So much that if I dole out a bucket each then I can easily cater to a couple of hundred people. There is a slight problem however, I forget the present. It’s as if my mind has gone beyond today and concluded on what’s going to happen in my life next month and is already tackling the issues arising from future situations. That means I am thinking about the economies of publication, even before I have shortlisted the mode of publishing, long before even writing the stories and leaps before I even think through them. Now I have successfully confused you into wondering what this is all about. To tell you in short, read till the end. At the turn of the year, a lot of apprehensions of 2011 vanished from my mind and in place was a clean slate. 2012 would be what I decide for it. I decided to pick up the pen, stick it in my knot and start typing one post a day. I would write what I want to without bothering to see whether anyone posted comments. Since the social dynamics have changed from the last time I blogged incessantly, I found it meaningful to provide access to what I wrote on Facebook. There is no harm in baring your soul and not getting an echo. I am just happy to note that I have done whatever I could do to get it out there. I have so far deluded myself from going into an "I am not good at it" hole. I have been there done that. It was not difficult to jump into it given my craving for fame. But it has taken a long while to grapple out of it. I now look forward to the everyday challenge of thinking what to write about. The writing itself does not take too long but the thought behind it does. Sometimes it takes me the whole day and I am able to submit the post just in time before the 12 gong. At times I feel like asking for topics that I could write on, much like the essay writing competitions in school. That was simple. If you know what to write about you can fire your imagination faster. (I guess it’s the same lack of creativity which ensured I could never paint even though I used to be a very good "inspired" artist as I was growing up). I am not one for exhibitionism and I think I love to write because it gives me the anonymity and an alley to hide behind my topics and story characters. I hope to continue this tradition well into the second month. I definitely want to extrapolate this into something bigger. 

You may see my blog as narcissistic but that is by intention. I however try to do the occasional story which might be entertaining (But I dont know why they all turn out dark). 

In case you are still on this page by the time you reach here and are wondering what my topic for today was, it was a challenge to write a post which had a thousand words :)

Big bang cookery

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Today has been one of those days where something as simple as rice refused to cook to completion, inspite of of the pressure cooker letting go atleast 10 whistles, much to my exasperation. 
I dont know if I have blogged about it before (too lazy to check) but am petrified of pressure cookers. Inspite of, now, using it everyday I panic at the first sign of errant steam. This is a phobia and has stemmed from a past misadventure. I retract into history once again with this post. But its modern history. An incident which happened to me 9 years back. My loyal readers would have guessed the importance of that timeline (pat on your backs, muaah). It was my first visit to the US. It was my first visit anywhere. Given the fact thay I was a naive young adult I fared rather well on that trip. One night I came home earlier than my roommates and started the process of makong dinner. At that time I couldnt call this process cooking. I had not much idea about what I had to do. I took realtime online coaching from *drum roll* T! The rasam was always tasty aftet my roomie re-engineered it. So coming back to that fateful night, following T's instructions to a T, I kept rice in the cooker. I was hanging around prepping for rasam. The cooker started to make unusual noises but I failed to recognise it because of my ignorance. I moved closer to the stove and BLAM the cooker lid burst open and sprung into the air. It narrowly missed hitting my face thanks to my reflexes (it only freezes when i drive). Only when my roomies came back did I come to know that I had been using a cooker with a faulty safety valve. I did not even know such a thing existed! Anyway that started me on my phobia of cookers. For the rest of that trip I made rice only by boiling. Back in India I stayed away from the blasted thing till I had to prove my mettle in my in-laws house. For the first few times I secretly called T to check that everything was in order mechanically and mathematically. I have also sms-ed him from kitchen to hall to keep my shortcoming discrete! I finally got used to the blasted thing as long as it was normal use. The first sign of trouble I still run to T. I refuse to understand the science behind pressure cookers but more than that I refuse to stand close to it when the stove is on. I dont think I will ever get over the fear.
Yesterday I asked V what she wants to be when she grows up. Imagine my horror when she said she wants to be a cooker! Thankfully she added that she wants to be a cooker and cook cookies.

My Pongal pot overfloweth - part deux

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Legs ache,back breaks but who cares! I had my first successful stint as a hostess in Overland Park! Had guests over for lunch and in the evening. Fun times, great conversation, delicious food if I may say so myself. I am amazed that I could cook up a meal and snacks without ruining even a single dish. Well, almost. While everything that I made has been polished off....my pongal pot still overflows :)
My yawns are making it impossible for me to see the screen for more than half a second at a time. So with a well deserved pat on my back, I can only say "Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost"

Smells of childhood

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Today morning started with me trying a new recipe for Kichdi (yeah rt!). I dint know it then but by the time I was done cooking I had inadvertently cooked up the smell from my childhood. My mom makes a dish called "Uppu Pongal" which is the first cousin of the Kichdi. This was a smell that I used to abhor growing up. More so because I did not relish this dish. I never understood the combination and found it distasteful to eat yellow rice laden with pepper and jaggery pieces on the side. Many a fight between my mom and me were over the edge of the plate. There were many more "thindis" that I did not like to eat including, shock de resistance, dosas! Amma couldnt tolerate my whining after some years and she discovered her brahmastra against such unreasonable behaviour. Shavige Payasa. Yes, the humble payasa was and continues to be my favourite dish. On occasions where she had to thwart tantrums, she would make this in the simplest of manner. No glitz of ghee or dried fruits. And that is the version that I still love and only my mom can make it best!
Imagine my joy when I returned from school, got the "yuck" smell of pongal, dosa, uppit etc and my mom would hand me a huge cup of shavige payasa!
Happiness was so simple then....

The job-hunt sitcom

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This is one thing I never thought would happen!
I am itching to get back into the corporate rat race over the past few days and as a first step have posted my skill sets on many job sites. As a consequence I have been getting some very interesting calls. While some of them are genuinely helpful others provide me with genuine entertainment. Most (read 95%) of the recruiter calls that I get have an Indian on the other side of the line too. Some of them are thoroughbred professionals who know to separate the rice from chaff. But some of them are so hopeless that I am left wondering whether they are selling me soap powder. Many of such conversations are hilarious to say the least. With all due respect to their intent, I am a little apprehensive about working with people that I absolutely dont understand and those who have an atrocious understanding of information technology.
The job calls that I get have a set protocol. The first call is always from the scout who is like a look-out on the ship's mast and has to report each and every spotting to the deck hand below. After he collates my details which is mostly my mail id and compensation, I am informed that the "boss" will give me a call. Now, this boss is the person who decides that my resume is not well written and proposes a 1000 changes to it. After numerous to-and-fro's and me sticking by my resume the boss reluctantly gives in and says that my case will now be taken up by the marketing team. This marketing team is the ghostly 3rd character. You never get to meet them or talk to them but everyone from their company talks of them with great reverence. "There will be a team of THREE (emphasis on this like their life depends on it) marketing your resume all over the US" is supposed to garner awe and gratitude amongst us job hunters. Whatever!
Well, its been an experience so far with its ups, downs and laughs.

Here is an excerpt of one gem I got today:

Hi Siriroop
Hope you are doing good please go throw our company profile .
Blah blah. And amidst that they purportedly are going to provide training in a Reporting tool called "Congo's"
Awaiting response from you……
Thank you.
So-and-so

Increase tempo Walk faster

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I made a major discovery in the past few months. The music I listen to while walking changes it from dawdling to a power walk!
Earlier I always used to listen to songs I like which mainly were soft romantic numbers. Either that or listen to FM radio in Bangalore and I would have heard about 20 advertisements in my 30 minute walk. These past 4 months I have compiled a super duper walk playlist and each of the songs makes me get a spring in my step. The zing about these songs is in the beat in the background. All you need to do is match your step to the beat and you are automatically walking faster.
One of my favourites is



Just walk to the beat!
Today's is a very small post, am beat :)

What does it take to reach God's Lotus feet?

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After a long time, I listened to one of my all time favourite songs

The english translation for the first 2 lines is:

Can I ever find a way to climb the steps of Nirvana to reach your lotus feet? Can I ever be blessed with your servitude?

The emotion behind the song gets me to the verge of tears everytime I listen to it. I saw this movie eons ago at Hyderabad when life still revolved around Doordarshan. There were two movies which moved me to tears at that impressionable age and this was one gem.

The ultimate holiday destination for all human beings is the transcendental Heaven. Between here and there we have Life. Through this life we live in self doubt of some form or another. A doubt which manifests itself into asking the ultimate question in many lyrical ways. As human beings we do not want to be over-confident or egoistic about God. To thwart such aforesaid doubt we have an essential need to be patted on the back. Every once in a while most of us need to be told we are on the right track. Every good deed done clamours (even secretly) a 3rd party glorification. Personal and professional fronts join hands in this one quest. Work is worship said some wise man. Some of us with software engineering bug in our systems write divine code and wait with bated breath for the nod of agreement at our self appraisal. We run behind life’s carrots like bulls in a rampage calling it God’s will. We take every success in our stride and put every failure faithfully into the God-knows-why bucket.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the seed which grows the social media tree. Even a half baked thought could be entered into a daily contest to be adjudged by all and sundry. The number of likes and the number of comments garnered leads to self gratification. After all it is the feeling of being loved that we chase all our lives in the fond hope that it would get us to the enlightened path where you don’t need any street light to see where you are walking.

Cheers to God . QED.

Shop-gifting

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Last weekend I went to yet another shiny new mall that got started in Bangalore.
Little Side Commentary : We are bored of malls and eat-outs. We want beaches sans the humidity and the tsunamis.
So this was a huge place and we bought a lot of stuff over a wide variety.
Little side Commentary : We are bored of shopping as well and keep wishing we could buy everything online. We are thinking of monetizing this idea..so dont get any wise ideas.
My dotzy was with us as always and hung on to a small stuffed "Ducky" (that she had picked up from the toy's section) all through the mall. We approached the billing counter and started placing all the items we had picked up to be billed. I took the little "Ducky" too, inspite of the wailing protests, and kept it on the billing counter.
Later, we came out of the mall and I had a feeling that something was amiss. I did something which I never do. I went through the entire bill with some 50 items on it and couldnt find an entry for the Ducky. I have no idea why that dint get billed. Did we remove the article from the billing counter in a hurry or was it ignored by the cashier?
Would you call this shop-lifting or shop-gifting?

Fixed Price. No Bargain. No discount.

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As a child, walking along beside my mother on our walks every evening, the thing that used to fascinate me a lot was stopping at various sellers and looking at their wares. I had ample time to look and touch because my mom would take her time to haggle for the best price. She, I think, is the world's best bargainer. At her peak she could bargain the cart off a push-cart vegetable seller! I never noticed then that my dad would never be around until the time came to whisk out some money for the purchase. Growing up brought it own woes and one of them was feeling uncool to be seen in public with one's parents in tow. I think every kid goes through this phase of wanting to look cool in front of peers which meant no chaperoning. I still accompanied my mum on those odd shopping trips to the market, but found it extremely embarrassing to be associated in any way with the haggling. I maintained a decent distance enough so that a casual observer would think I am waiting for someone instead of noticing that I am with someone and that someone was trying to go home with the cart and goodies.
I could never pick up the thread of bargaining from my genes and always prefer to pay without protesting. I wizened enough to move away without making a purchase if I thought the price was exorbitant but I couldn't get courage enough to demand an explanation. Super Markets was for me the best place to buy stuff because you dint need to get personal about your purchase. I knew very well that every person in that shop was paying the exact same amount as I was and there was no need to feel jealous or guilty.
Over the years, my mum's passion for bargaining has also decreased owing to the fact that she starts to feel sorry more often for the seller and his family. I think everyone reaches a stage in life where he/she feels philanthropic. They move away from the "i work hard so i need to get value out of every rupee" philosophy to "the other person works equally harder and if one rupee isn't going to pinch my pocket then i might as well give it to him". Now my mom sometimes buys stuff which she absolutely doesn't need only so that those few rupees would help the seller get a meal.
But lately, my bargaining genes have fought their way up. Every morning sees me haggling with auto drivers about the price to bring me to my office. There was a time BV (before V was born) when I abhorred taking an auto who wouldn't take the meter fare and would charge extra (Read). Necessity is the mother of all submission so I have succumbed to the habit and ease of taking an auto to work in the mornings so as to ease my morning rush.
Though Bangalore, by and large has not reached the Chennai limits of fixed fare, we are getting there very slowly with autos charging extra even to drive you to a destination outside the city limits (the auto drivers stick to Kempe Gowda's Bangalore map to determine the limits). So it is that I bargain for every 10 rupees (1 rupee is guffawed at these days) and I must say that I am building up my skills well. Look out vegetable sellers (if there is any in urban India who cares for bargainers)!

Appy Appy

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Drifting away with the clouds

Living eternally in the vaccuum

Smiling without knowing

Breaking out of the glass walls

Somersaults in the mind

Happiness in the heart

Eager anticipation

Just like that

For once, for ever

Happy Anniversary to you T

Happy Happy to you V

Happy Diwali to us

You know you are Mommy material when

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You realise there must be a zillion kids in your neighbourhood.
You get more excited looking at the kids section in the mall rather than the ladies section
You start waving and talking to kids who spare you a glance
You time all your activity to last between two feeds
You expect your husband to be your personal assistant
You look forward to coming home early
You exchange kid stories with every parent you meet
You share best practice swig-taking guidelines unabashedly
You start socialising with the neighbourhood ladies only to get your kid acquainted with theirs
You become a speech and action policeman at home
You dont cringe when changing a poopy diaper while you are half way through your meal
You take washing poopy diapers as naturally as you would take bathing
You become a Schumy paced work doer at home
You become a bedroom singer instead of the bathroom variety
You start packing a baby bag as soon as you hear plans of a romantic dinner outing
You think you know more about raising kids than your mother
etc...

I've grown up? Ja?

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All through my career I have been a firm believer that feedback from juniors, peers and managers should come voluntarily and not from asking. I can extrapolate it to my life as well and can claim with enough honesty that I have never tom-tom'ed my abilities and achievements ever. Getting back to career, my belief was so strong that my year end self-appraisal used to be the briefest. It took a lot of goading from my managers to put down all the achievements (to the last small thing) in a categorical manner. I did not realise the potential of it back then but most of the managers do not keep a list of all their direct reports' doings. He/she will only add on to what the employee writes as his/her achievement and rate the employee. So the employee is the loser if he/she doesn't jot down all the points explicitly since in a good enterprise all the past performance documents are available for view by current managers and potential recruiters within the company. Ofcourse it took me time to understand this nuance.
It still takes an emotional toll on me to fill the gaps and holes in the self-appraisal with a lot of positive adjective mortar. At the end of the exercise I am left feeling like a total narcissist which I absolutely abhor. There is no need for me to expound on the fracas in my mind when I have to repeat everything at the actual "meeting" which would decide my rating.
Getting back to work after maternity leave has not been an easy transition for me. There are lots of issues to be resolved and its easy to get depressed. I resolved not to wallow in self pity (I dont know why but I seem to use this phrase a lot) and instead turn to positivities. I decided to find out what people I have worked with think about me. And the easiest way to do that was to ask for recommendations on LinkedIn, a site which I have come to appreciate now. A virtual war was won with the repressive inner self and a new confidence has started taking birth. There is a chance of it dying at birth if nobody responds but what the h*** I tried. Positive. La la la.

Dear Mr.Obama

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On becoming the President of the USA, I congratulate you for giving the world visually tolerable images of the so called "world's most powerful man" which was hitherto a very depressing affair given the fact that the person who occupies your esteemed office takes up half the bandwidth of world television broadcast.
You have lent a mighty voice not only to the generally intelligent folks of the United States but also to some shy denizens of our great country India, in particular to some narcissistic individuals. You may not be aware of the various appellations in our great land but one would definitely interest you – Obamma. We, in our locality (details of which I don’t mention for fear of brickbats) are pleased to inform you that we have a lane bearing your name or nearly so. Last week we named one of the by-lanes in our locality as “Obamma Lane”. The bearer of the name “Obamma” was definitely shy about her name being painted in bold, font 400 and bright blue on the signboard since it is not one of the most fanciful names we have in modern India to the extent that one might hear a snicker or two. This was until you came along. You have increased the significance of her name . I don’t subscribe to the school of thought which creates biases on the basis of a name because I do believe “What’s in a name?” but it gives me great joy to gratify you by informing you that your name itself is becoming a kind of status symbol.

Yours’ Sincerely,
A Wellwisher

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)

Is Cirque de Soleil the best Circus?

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Nah! Motherhood is!

My angel arrived with a loud piercing wail 16 days back. So loud was she that she woke me up from the post delivery stupor enough to plant a kiss on her white cheek! And now my circus has officially started. I have no idea how to handle the kid. Every minute brings forth a shout of "Amma" from me instead of the kid. She is a bundle of joy but I did not learn to wrap her correctly. I am the center of her universe was what I believed the kid would think but thanks to my ineptitude that title goes to my mother. My kid only comes to me as a car would go to a petrol pump. She has even discovered that my mother magically appears near the blackish hole in the wall (the door) and keeps looking at it and shrieking, inspite of me being next to her consoling her! Something very funny has happened - despite the umpteen number of articles I read about pregnancy during it, I dont seem to have read a single one about the "afterwards". I wonder why I got so complacent about the most difficult stage in motherhood! I am getting less and less time for any activity apart from the aforesaid "petrol pump" thingy. I should have used my pregnancy more effectively than to take a pregnant pause from writing. But as we all know, after thoughts are always more ideal than reality. I will try to post here albeit a little less frequently. (Who am I kidding? Am not among the 5000 most popular bloggers in the world).

Poetry in Motion

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Walking into a cool breeze
Senses soothed to perfect ease
Marching to the tune of Kishore Kumar
Drunk on energy and enthusiasm
Singing loudly in the dark night
Feeling on top of the world
Bewildering the tail wagging stray dogs
Which befriend faster than humans
Staring right into the eyes of strangers
Who want to remain strangers
Defiantly
Smiling
Dreaming about the goodness of life
Loving the low light cast romantically
Across the road
Hiding my most comfortable tracks
Torn at the ankles
Not a care in the world
But for the Indicabs turning suddenly
At top speed
Leisure at its best
My 30 minutes evening walk