How to be around people - Lessons in Stupidity

I've known myself to be a colossal bungler of conversations. It's not a newly-acquired skill or trying to be that much more relatable but it's just something essentially missing in my head. Common sense, is what my gut says, and I've never really doubted it. From being casually funny to being an in-house embarrassment, my personality is a combination of most features a clown might die to have. Last night, our boss's place, I dropped a measly tomato piece next to his carefully placed plant and a fork eerily close to someone's shoes. When you do these things, you must always ask yourself - do I belong here? Try and quietly move to the other room before someone even notices the lettuce at their feet. Or, when you happen to tell people what others have named them. Strike that. Don't do that. It's not welcome. Back in mid-2000s, people may not have noticed with too much smoke in the room, but now you're probably earning more than you should and someone's bound to call you out. Or put it on the social media, but you're not in U.S. and in India, half of us are busy taking selfies anyway. Yes, you don't do much of that too unless you know how to crop your colleagues from photobombing pics with "Wtf are these two up to?" looks. You also don't, may I emphasise, tell your colleague's girlfriend that he skipped work to bring her to the party or tell her that he made her sit next to you in case there was a food accident waiting to happen. You don't mess with people's relationships. You take it easy and take a rain check for office parties.

SOS - Save our Sandwich or What Happens When Colleagues Learn Skills for Hostile Situations

Day 1

So we begin at 8am, that's where the story really fleshes itself out, with little help from the narrator. If you look around, you'll see faces, some deeply expectant, some made heavy from sleep, while the rest in a corner, gleefully watching. We'll come to the corner later. There's
a heavy set man, with lips and ears protruding, and his eyelids are wide open, as if inviting combat. Some may say that he's got it right - that it is, after all, a hostile training camp. His noisy coughs punctuate the silences, as screeching door handles provide a grinding chorus. And then, we begin.

The trainers, shipped from England, are ready with tools, kits, and video clips to demonstrate life skills in dangerous situations. The expectant ones are ready with pens and notebooks, the sleepy ones shuffle in their seats, trying to angle their arses to doze off again. The ones in the corner, well, remain where they are - exercising their peripheral vision to look around.

So the first trainer, starts off with a dizzying list of things that people need to watch out for - lot of it common sense. But as they get drawn in, the room begins to carry a worn look, as people suddenly realise with rapt attention that their lives have been missing lists, medical kits and tragically, some fitness. The trainer seems to catch the aura and he begins to further unleash darker stories about people being kidnapped and perhaps even dying. The coughs continue, and papers rustle with breathtaking speed, necks jerk downwards and in the corner, a man intently gazes into oblivion, fantasising about, er, a sandwich.

He imagines flattened meat, slapped on bread with fresh vegetables and as he reaches out with his hands, a ball point pen rolls off on the floor.

Okay, all of you! The trainer announces a short breakfast and the herd makes a noisy exit, and the world returns as a fuller, sated place once again.



12:55pm

By now, everyone is struggling to balance their burps with etiquette and the medic calls out for a volunteer. All eyes dart on the floor, and the wily trainer, picks out the most sleepy from the lot and puts him flat on the floor.

While the irony is on, our man in the corner, now fully comfortable in the cosy air conditioned room, finds himself slipping, going down, easy, and there finally. Sleep comes quickly and before the person next to him has point number 5 scribbled on his notebook from the power point, a light whirring noise, like a motor, jars him.

Turning around, he spots our man, who is now sporting a zen like aura, which makes him look no less than a Munch painting (no, not Scream), if you will. The harmony soon breaks when a sharp elbow pokes into our man's dreamless paradise.


4:30pm

The day has trundled along, with reams of white cloth spread on the floor, fake broken bones crying for relief and fake blood doing the rounds. As gory real-life incidents play out on screen, the mood resembles a tragedy, with people forgetting about medicine, and contemplating suicide.

Our man in the corner, who has now downed four cups of tea, and smoked an equal number of cigarettes, pledges to himself that he will conquer humanity's troubles by er, volunteering? No, no, he shrugs off the thought as soon it is about to perch on his head. Like a victor approaching an open arena, he broadens his shoulders, looks around and pledges one percent of his salary to the animal NGO, which had last week sent him letters to save donkeys suffering in brick factories of Nepal.

All right, everyone! See you tomorrow! The trainer's booming voice brings the curtains down.

anger

Ultimately, you don't want to be seen spewing words in a fit of rage. Isn't that something Godfather taught us? Isn't that what every monk teaches too, ironically. However, words come easy at a time when things have rather cooled off and not boiled and brimmed over, scalding all those who touch us.

It's during such moments that we must (me, in this case) just let it all pass, even if that means not talking to anyone for we might just step on the gas and speed away to our own personal disaster. It is rather rich to just sit back and condemn those who do so. My message to those who are camping at the edge, is to just pull yourself away from it all, and not be tempted to think backwards. The reason simply being that under acidic conditions, the solution is red.

Hello back to my blog

It's been a while since I wrote and that sentence makes me feel incredibly old. It's been a while since I was married too, and that itself has been a huge change and a turnaround in life. The very process has taught me many things, which life does not give you time to write about. Those memories are re-lived over endless cups of chai and staring outside the window or in conversations with friends. But, marriage is also healing. But, none of that right now. I am kind of 'healing' and that's still work in progress. I went over few of the older posts, and I realised there is lots I have said and lots which I no longer say to anyone now. It is kind of disquieting at first. Nothing very literary or very liberating either, you may say. Have I changed? That's a question with possibly a hundred answers and none of those on my fingertips as of now. I am a better person for some, a bit lethal for more than I was before. I have some untied threads from the past, like everybody else. And, there's no shame in admitting some of the wrongs still come to mind once in a while. Just the wrongs though, not the good bits.

Travel has been immensely healing, and I cannot begin to talk about how much my companion has added bigger quotient of happiness by being with me on those trips. I have held his hand only to feel happiness come back in spurts and that's as soppy as I have ever been. Like I said, possibly a hundred answers and maybe this is one.

let me conclude...


let me do this for you
for you would frown
as if it would spoil,
your emphatic progress
to new lives, meanings
a dirty ol' memory
must be hidden
must not be touched
concluded as it were
in memory alone
but since when did silence
and time together
weaken truths and bonds like these
for you, i'll wish the same as i did then
don't be ridiculous, and get some peace!

Girl in a Rush

I do not doubt even for a moment that my day can be well crafted into a smarter use of time, if only common sense and logic were to come for my aid whenever I clicked my fingers. Tsk, that's not happening. Like for instance, let's chart it from the morning, where knowing that getting cabs is a difficult venture, on an insane impulse, I decide to buy a car, just like any other hapless commuter with a bulging wallet might think of, umm, few months before the frustration-driven thought struck me. Obviously, I do not have a heavy wallet, but ample impulse.

Soo, what happens next? I reach office, with a determined grip on my impulse to do what I am supposed to do. Research on cars! Yuppo, that's right. That's the kind of place that offers such thinking to progress, right? And, then, without a sound, I make an error in my work. Also, a bit of detail might have helped me before focussing on cars this morning. The fact that central bank slashed its policy rates just yesterday, will obviously help bring down loan rates. Now, wait. How did I make that link? I write on finance. (Gasp!) Aaand, the auto stocks led the rally on hopes of lower costs of vehicle loans didn't help me either. Talk about logic shutting down, albeit momentarily. Thank god, senses rebounded shortly after the error. Phew!

Writing

Is always a fun experience. The jostle for the right words, the inner tussle to get "it" right. There is always a sense of shrewd detachment when I'm writing. I am very intrigued by different styles of writing. But, being the lazy ass that I am, I haven't been reading that much these days. In fact, the last time I seriously read something was few pages from this book I'm currently reading on Indian national history. So, as I lumber on with my writing, there is little I am doing everyday. Nothing seems to be heading anywhere! The plot looks thin like some pathetic worn out tee, while the tone feels like I could puke if it were food.

The world seems to have slowed. Obviously. Okay, I am not humoring myself anymore with some blog entry, while the draft stays unattended to, right?

What am I saying?

Okay, this one is terribly personal, but it feels nice to have skinned off the layer a little and admire what's underneath. I have been saying this to myself over last many days now.

So, this entry sort of marks my foray as a person baring her mind and her heart a little more easily and perhaps with an understanding there is nothing that might just surprise me in the negative.

First, it's been a longish day, having been in two cities, travelling, mid-air pondering, reading, looking out the window, et al. This ain't a story. This is, or can at worst, look like a diary entry without any frills.

For long as I've been writing, I don't believe I have stood apart from any of the emotions expressed and tested in any kind of work I've done and put on my blog.

I've been a shirker too.

So, I want to start my little story with just a bit of distraction, and nothing else. All around the world, there are writers, and people who are feverishly at it, without any labels on their form of writing. I manage to look at some, through published work or on the internet and very often, I surprise myself looking at the compressed forms of expression. It is just that. Shorter.

Someone I know of, recently remarked that writing in this time has to grab you as fast as it can because there is a continuous scroll of writings waiting to be read and appreciated. Who's got the time?

If I consider myself as a con artist, perhaps I should be indulging myself in chick lit with a dash of cheeky humor and put on a pink cover and push for publicity. If not, I better get my ass to work.

So, this is where I am at the moment. Now, the story.

Dec 30, 2010..

"Have a good Monday," I kissed her cheek and said my good bye. I don't know when I will make my next visit to see her, but I know that she and I have come closer, or at least, after a trail of visits, this one meant more.

Leaving Mumbai, is never easy. Neither is getting in, by the way. What I always ask myself when I am in this city, after leaving in late 2007 is this one question: Am I cut for a life with little physical and mental space the city gives? Unlike the sea, the actual physical space you and I occupy in the city is very less, and mostly, we are always in torrid waters. Not to sound too dismissive, my tryst with Mumbai is a jumbled up concoction of a bittersweet wine.

I didn't have the heart to tell my little sister when she put the question to me: So, did you have a bf? What happened?

I had to resort to a couple of adjectives that came along to save me. What was more important was when she asked: Do you have a bf now?

Yes, that's easy I thought. I replied in the affirmative and she obviously wanted to know a little more and was suspecting perhaps I would get into long conversations about it, but again, as lousy as I am with talking about myself, I showed her a photograph and she gawked, "oh, him!"

She's in her teens, and like you and I would know, boyfriends, books, waistline and most things we adults talk, are generally spoken in much crisper, more animated tones in this age.

And, like Facebook has taught us, most things are either disliked or liked. So, when it's boys, she was excited about the ones she didn't like, more emphatic, like it troubled her to think that expressing in milder tones about the men may just not have the desired effect, as they say.

"See his Facebook profile, he likes Akon! yuck! Look at his hair!," and like any normal teenage kid, you watch her while her face explodes into a series of expressions. It's almost as if she wants to come up with something that nails his ugliness of personality more aptly than what she actually has achieved with the word 'yuck.' I don't blame her. We all use emoticons :-)

So, staying on the subject of boys, I learnt about her crush, and didn't have the courage to ask whether she has cried over him or not. Instead, what came out was a much more lame question: How much of this do your parents know? Do you share things with them?

She breaks into a blasphemous rap on my nerves with a "whaaa!" and then chuckles saying, "Who wants to die!". Pity me, I don't.

Yawn. More later

When I look at my room

What do you see when you look out the window? The world. What do you see when you look inside? Yourself. You see your clothes hanging loosely by the shelf, your books like a haphazard puzzle with Oscar Wilde, and Sparks touching odd ends. Then, you look a little closer, and you find tempted to find yourself in this maze. This maze that belongs to you, for you to uncover, for you to play with, for you to keep, and to lose.

The 'let go' moments are the hardest, when you are keeping things for a dismal day, to fondly look back and smile, you make a small mental note that in itself is a puzzle in the mind. Like a piece jutting out of your senses, the assorted memory breaks down into coinciding dates and time and weathers of your life gone, the impulsive moment hanging like an expensive scarf, or a broken heart peeping through a book.

What do you see when you look in the mirror? I see ghosts of the past, staring, leaving. I see transcendence and an odd pimple dotting that creased line, and you realise childhood is over. Vanity, is one of the traits we acquire like a territorial right on the body to remain as it is. I fail to see the youth sometimes, the mind's functioning so adept at spotting the unaesthetic parts of life that it is so difficult to remain where you are even while your body stays immobile. Then I see my life, how it is, and I move away.

I want to know what it is that drives us, what is it that keeps us, what is that breaks us and how we function in everyday lives as individuals trying to get that elusive piece of yourself. That, I find the most odd. The elusive piece of the self, petered out in the world in the form of humans, relations, brief heartbreaks, loves, and losses.

The culture shock at My Bar - Pahargunj

To many, this might not seem new, with the whole parallel culture theme being explored before in the bylanes of Delhi. But, My Bar, this quintessential bar of multiple realities (ours included) is one of the many truths that a common Delhiite does not see elsewhere. For example, My Bar, located in the heart of Pahargunj market area, is a three-columned bar, boasts of the newest Bollywood numbers, with waiters donning T-shirts that say 'My' at the back. The bar, where you can sit, smoke, drink, lech, among other things, offers cheap liquor and food. One can spot students, pimps, well dressed wobbly middle aged men, tourists sitting in groups, and loners sitting with their books, is a whole new underworld right in the heart of the city. Apart from a little disquieting ambience, as outside, pimps and drunkards line the street, once inside, enjoy the cheap booze, as they say, and forget everything else.

Life inside Metro

The Delhi Metro is much loved for the subtle air of aristocracy it lends to the city, otherwise devoid of any other respectable public transport system.

How to spot malice

You need to have a trained gaze, to spot. This is merely an effort, so to speak, to spot a vibe headed your way, melancholic, slow, works its way through your mind, and leaves behind anger. How to spot malice, is perhaps one of those much awaited books for me this season while I continue to shed some skin. (interested ones contact me separately to know what shedding skin means)

I guess it's time to write. And, not by any mature reasoning, it's just my poker-faced last ditch effort to stay awake, and by any stretch of imagination--ABSOLUTELY AWAKE. Lot of numbers at stake aside, my own presence is threatened to be reduced to a dope bag. Why must a pencil pusher make so much effort? Now, now, let's not be queasy over someone's job. You have precious little anyway these days of those 'job' kinds.

So, somehow, I have managed to engage myself for the last one minute writing this. An alarm-diary? You might call it that. The background story goes thus: I was at the doc's last evening, explaining her my bouts of facial allergy over the last some weeks. She recommended a drug for 10 days, every morning, post breakfast. Now, you know. You don't yet actually. It's an anti-allergic drug, for all of you who haven't yet been pricked or tickled by all wrong measures.

To cut a long itch short, I am just trying to beat the sedative. I tried reading Michael Lewis, who helps me laugh sometimes, now that I am a..oh, but OH! I was happily interrupted by a SMS from a friend that goes like this : (had me AWAKE just the way I wanted! :)

Victoria's Secret has launched a new bra called Holland: "A lot of support but no cup" :P :P

Happy Wednesday, people!

Dunno what gives

Labelling thoughts and emotions, wording thoughts, stringing together memories, what a way to be. A few years ago, I would pick up my fat diary, open it with my pudgy fingers, gingerly remove the dog ears, and pen few alphabets.

The online space is numbing, very not-me kinds, somehow the idea that has developed and found favour in all these years is that globally, people are connecting faster through internet, and now with technology such as hand held phones keeping you connected all the time, is a puzzle.

The idea of digitising thoughts and punching keys to make yourself heard. Or, in this case simply, read.

So, the grammar, intonations, everything has to be fashioned as per the demands of the technology we seek. We cannot scratch and overwrite or spill ink on the page anymore, or feel the guilt of bad handwriting.

Past

The painful, wrenched sounds were all gone. What remained, was dust.

Saturday Night

What can I say, really! It's been a sort of an oddish week, with more of introspection than anything else happening! I guess I'm too exhausted too. But then, sitting at home on a Saturday night is not such a bad idea, when last two very good days have been spent in the company of my dost logs, and this afternoon as well. However lame it may sound, the evening had to be sober, because of some much-missed time at home. Last night, I reached home tired as usual, between here and there, so, I was kind of feeling the pang for not spending enough time at home.

And, what an evening spent with the ladies at home today! Totally fun! I painted my nails in three shades of pink, my maa mimicked my dad n bro when they watch IPL and how we laughed! Then, me, maa and bhabhi watched portions of Life in A Metro, chatting and humming songs as they came. Now, I guess it's time to hit the bed in a bit, and I would say, peaceful, joyful Saturdays are such :)

so what do you do

When the stupid RJs on the radio do not realise that people are not waking up and rushing to office, they are trying to warm up for the day ahead (considering the winter season is setting in), the beauty of the morning is something else. You tune into radio, like me, and it's blaring "love me love me, your mumma .." and it's like whoaa.. you change the channel, and it's 'desi girl' or some rambunctious punjabi track. People inside the studios do not realise or see the day has just begun, and one need not be subjected to a rude alarm! You move to an English radio channel (thankfully, there is one), and there will be some obscure genre playing, which is still forgiven considering it's not so popular. Forgive me, if I am not getting the numbers or the TRP right. However, this is just a personal opinion. The entire journey to office becomes a boring chore, with uninspiring sounds reverberating from either sides. I generally keep a few CDs handy, which I listen to, but radio draws me closer because I have grown up listening to it. And, I still haven't fashioned myself to tune into my own player. I like listening to RJs, who have now touched new lows talking about dating, pranks, etc in the morning! The good ol' rainbow is not good ol' anymore. In this narrowed competitive space, they too have been churning out the same grind, instead of doing something different. I fume, fret, but that's it.

Does India need its Moment of Truth or Malaise?

As much as I'd hate to admit, I didn't like this show and no, I do not agree with those jokers in Parliament standing up to make a mockery of it. Of whatever I saw, I am cynical of this peculiar concept of Truth and Money being played on the Indian screen. I distinctly remember some games we played as children (some of us still do) called Truth and Dare where we asked each other to perform something they wouldn't do otherwise, and also ask 'uncomfortable' questions. Anyway, to simply say this show is radical and much-needed, as my friends keep saying, I would say we need to look at it with a pinch of salt. Sex secrets have never paid off like this, at least not on Indian celluloid. The average Indian's tryst with his own self has perhaps never paid off this way too.
This show, in a way, is an easy way to catapult a dying star back to your drawing room screen on prime time, by asking him/her if they've cheated on their spouse, been involved with incest and so on. I find that disturbing simply because there's no intention of asking it beyond a few thousand rupees. Second, Moment of Truth needs to follow with a Moment of Reckoning. Now, that perhaps is asking for too much, you'd argue.

However, this show is not only about winning money, but it does redeem itself by at least openly questioning India's long-standing hypocritical relationship with sex and the like. I am not saying this is an answer to our idiot box growing away from idiocy, I am simply calling it better than a Swayamvar where a starlet goes on a husband search and you're subjected to washed-down, small-town version of some of the Chopra-Johar movies.

Coming back to Sach ka Saamna, to imagine that we will one day have our leaders of the country being pulled through a polygraph test in front of a million-odd viewers, is an appetising thought indeed. To think Lalu might actually confess to the multi-crore scams, Manmohan admitting 10 Janpath's interference in almost everything! To cut a long story short, truth is not welcome here. Maybe if the government does get away by banning it, it might only be for the 'unwelcome' questions on sex lives of others, which is something fiction is made of ironically and sells too.

Sometimes one doesn't know

If you're standing with a heap of people, you are a far cry from being an individual yourself. Look around when you're relatively alone. As in, literally. You will find nothing that separates you from the dust, the ground, the walls..

This morning, I was in a similar situation when a group of busy people queued up for the elevator. The guard downstairs landed a kick in a stray's face who ran yelping. I turned out and yelled as loud as I could.He stammered when he spoke but he still glared back at me. The balls that he has!

$^#$^#%&^*^$%#$^#

I argued till the time my colleague intervened and asked him to move away.

FUCKING LOSER GUARD!

This feels goooood...Rain

The weather is superrrrbbb...It was raining last night, and I love the whole thunder, lightning, showers bit. It feels so warm sitting inside and watching it. This is exactly how it felt last night. I could hear nature waking up the world at 1:30 in the night! I slept like a baby afterward. It is my dream to watch the rains from a hill top sitting on the grass.

The lawn was wet in the morning, and it remained like that in the afternoon as well. The wind was cool, and pleasant. I took a walk with a friend, and soon the sun was playing hide and seek.

The breeze continued in the evening. It felt good to be playing the guitar and enjoying the weather.Rains wash away the most dreaded feelings from the deepest recesses of the mind and soul.

The last time it rained like this was during an afternoon when I played cricket with my bro outside.

Rain drops keep fallin on my head..