One of the most endearing experiences in a man’s life is the weekend shopping adventure with the lady for her apparel. The experience is akin to a board examination in - patience. A lot of pre-planning, clever tactics and deft touches go into passing this examination with flying colors! Injuries are common but would not deter the brave man from taking a shot at the trial by fire!
The afternoon starts off when you enter the perfume-filled women’s section of any big store such as a Lifestyle or a Shoppers’ Stop. The initial part of the drama always has the guy actively looking out for clothes along with the lady. Early signs of boredom will be met with a strong look of disdain and constant egging on to enthusiastically participate in the cloth-buying process. After a few minutes of looking around, you are armed with five dresses that you believe will positively charm the lady. However, one look of hers’ at the ‘gorgeous’ dresses you have brought gives you an indication that your choices would have suited Lady Gaga better than a sane girl.
Having been reduced to a ‘man of questionable tastes in dresses’, you start the hunt for a good seat to plant your rear in. Apparel shops are very stingy in their seating space. One would assume that big retail chains ought to keep the accompanying males in mind and have separate rooms or areas stocked up with comfortable sofas. Instead, you are greeted with exactly one and half two-seater pieces of wood that are occupied by grandmas, dogs and fat aunties (in that order). Though you spare a moment in wondering what on earth grandmas and dogs might get in this shop, you are quickly alerted to a few potential hours of standing.
The mobile phone is the man’s best companion on these occasions. Anything from the dumb ‘Snakes’ game to a boring song on FM can act as life-savers. Loading up the phone with mp3s prior to the shopping trip also helps. GPRS is a boon. You stand tinkering around with your phone, longingly looking at one of those sofas hoping that someone would get up or be called upon to check a dress. If and when that happens, your only job is to employ a maneuver combining a fly, a dive and a jump to ensure that the seat is not taken by one of the many other prowling husbands.
After what looks like an eternity, you get a call on your mobile. You wonder if the whole process has finished in less than an hour. However, the call is to take the lady’s handbag so that shopping can resume with renewed vigor and a higher capacity for carrying clothes. You oblige and take the handbag to complete the frightening picture of a hopeless man standing with a woman’s handbag desperately eyeing fat aunties.
After many a failed attempt, you finally grab a seat and settle down. As one radio RJ after another disappears into the evening, you also lose count of the number of dogs that have managed to give you company. A call awakens you from the self-enforced slumber and you are summoned to the trial room to check out the selected dresses. You rejoice at being able to finally see light at the end of the tunnel. Giving up your throne needs to be well thought out. If there is a chance that there are more dresses that need to be picked up, you would rather advise the lady to continue for some more time. If not, then you give up the place that has served you well for the last many hours.
As you start walking towards the trial rooms, you cross millions of ladies who are standing in a serpentine queue with anywhere up to fifty dresses in their hands. You wonder whether some of them are actually going in to check their make-up and appearance. A thought also occurs on whether a few women are checking out the dresses that the others have stocked up in their hands. Research has indicated that over half the dresses in a shop at any time are probably inside the trial room or in the hands of the dames in the queue.
You also cross many guys holding kids and yearningly looking towards the dressing room for their spouses. These were the unlucky ones that could not get a seat and had to stand around. You make a nodding eye contact with these poor souls indicating that you do understand their plight. The nod acts as a telepathic motivation to ward off the constipated look of despair in their eyes. You do have a mean laugh to yourself feeling you just crossed that hurdle and wish them the best of luck.
The positioning of the ladies trial rooms is one of the most puzzling things ever. You always need to cross the lingerie section to get into the same. The lingerie section of course has a lot of mannequins showing off various (cloth) pieces. You become suddenly aware that you are standing in the middle of half-naked models (of the wooden kind). You just can’t lift your head and look up in the lingerie section knowing what is going to stare at you. Your mere presence around this section makes the ladies behind the counter give you demeaning looks and questioning your existence in the shop. You quickly wade through the barrage of discerning sights and reach the trial room where the lady is waiting to show her final picks.
The final cloth choice is one of the well dress-rehearsed activities (pun intended) Two items are shown to you. This is where the examination comes to the rapid-fire round. Most often than not, only one of them is the right choice. Sometimes, both the items are desired and the objective is to confuse you enough to get both. You have to realize that the choice has already been made. Your job is to judge which one that is, and correctly guess! The trick here is to study the facial reactions by throwing back the question and then make an ‘informed’ decision depending on the level of the smile / happiness in the lady's face. This process is repeated for many sets of cloth pieces.
As you finish the approval process and walk towards the billing counter, one last-minute round of cloth retrieval, trial and triumph starts paining you no end. This is a rare occasion when you can actually throw the tantrum. An electronic gadget that you wished for or a big sumptuous dinner breaking the diet is never far off on these occasions. All it takes is a whiff of disapproval at the lovely afternoon (and evening, and night) being spent inside a cloth shop and the lady obliges with the compromise gift. After many rounds of the whole process illustrated earlier, you are armed with the final shortlist of apparel that shall head out of the gates.
At the end of finding your way through a billing-counter queue that would put the American visa counters to shame, one or more of the following things always happens just about the time you are ready to finish your adventure -
(a) A cloth item had the tag missed; so a messenger is sent to retrieve the tag from the Pacific Ocean, that is the ladies section
(b) The machine crashed and it would take 13 people around 37 minutes to repair the same (which is still faster than the neighboring counter which is being hogged by that same fat aunty who has bought a zillion items for entire extended self and family)
(c) A sudden realization on the lady that Item X that has been taken is not as good as Item Y that was rejected around half-hour back; hence Item Y needs to be retrieved
After what looks like another hour or so, the payment done and the mission accomplished, you walk out of the shop. You would not be at fault to think that the security guys were having their own private joke going on about when you would leave the shop. You stock up the various items on the back-seat of the car (which suddenly feels very small) and drive back home through the traffic comprising of others who have also just about managed to finish shopping.
After coming back home, the new dresses need to be re-checked for size and fit. One of the dresses ends up having a big blot under the arm (this missed detection during the pre-buying process). A sudden thought that the said dress was probably anyway not a great one (you see, this one had created the maximum doubt in the lady’s mind at the shop itself but was bought because it was cheaper by around Rs. 27) also accompanies this finding. After concurring that Indian shops would typically not be open at 11:30 pm, sleep beckons with the thought of having to go back the following weekend to return the dress and find a replacement all over again…
(Disclaimer: A lot of exaggeration has gone into making the post the way it is. And obviously this is a general observation on all males accompanying all the ladies for their shopping! So don't make any smart ass comments now :)
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Friday, July 02, 2010
Friday, January 08, 2010
Story Time - The mystery of the dead...
Given that Sherlock Holmes released last evening in India, I decided to unravel an old mystery story that I wrote in 2001. My English then was certainly worse than it is now (not that it is any great currently), so pardon for any errors. And please do not hit me after reading the story... BTW, the Sherlock Holmes movie was a pretty good and worthwhile watch...
Enough said - Read on for 'The Mystery of the Dead...' (Long Post Alert)
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It was a bright Sunday evening. The mood was joyous. There were around twenty to thirty people who had come for the supposedly grand occasion in this far-off village. The weather was just a classic English setting. Slight drizzle, but sunlight still bright enough, even at well past six in the evening. The air had just the right fervor for a celebration.
And wasn't the occasion big?!...Their village boy had come first in the inter-district music competition. Mark had always been a great Casio player and everyone in the village had great respect for his talent. But winning a big competition was something never done before. Something unheard of in this village, far away from the walls of the bustling cities… And so the village elders had decided to felicitate the boy. He would play the song he got the prize for. They were all eagerly awaiting the moment. And they would present him with a cash award.
The village called Austra, after a British colony of the same name, had been famous in the district for its disciplined law and order that there was not even a police station. The people were so confident of their village-folk that they used to leave their doors and windows open even in the night time. Theft or murder was unheard of in the village. There were very few people in the village. And the houses were fewer and far spread out from each other. Some houses were spread out as much as a mile from others. And Mark's was one such house. People in the village did not have cars or bikes. They had to walk miles to reach Mark's house but still, there was a considerable crowd to grace the occasion.
It was nearing seven and the party was about to start. Almost all the important people had already come. And of course there was Mark's own family as well. His father, Waugh, a proud dad, with his big curved moustache, was taking care of the arrangements. There was Mark's mother Linda who was taking care of the dinner. She went about her tasks in her silent but effective mild-mannered way. She was a seasoned home-maker. There was Steven, Mark's younger brother who was crying as usual. But he was crying more than normal today. It surprised his family but they felt it could be because of the crowd that was so unusual to this calm place. Little did they realise what it was about.
There was Mark's old but energetic grandpa. Sitting as usual in his easy-chair and tapping the floor with his age-old walking stick. He was thought to be eccentric for his uncanny behavior at times. But he usually had a pleasant smile to everyone whenever he went out for a walk. Today, he had to smile at so many people coming in and going out, it almost looked too artificial.
There was Glenn, the house servant. Glenn was new to the house; he had just joined the household a week back. Not much was known about him, but Waugh had appointed him at the request of his close friend. He was thought to be a dumbo who would just do his work. Nothing more, nothing less. There was absolutely no life in his movements or thoughts. Nothing exciting about him. But he had not been much of a problem to anyone, Waugh thought. He was efficient. He was punctual for work. But today was like a test for him. So many things to do… So many things to arrange… And so many guests to serve... The real test! He had looked out of sorts in his evening work today. Waugh had himself shouted twice at him for having dropped things. He thought that the situation was getting to Glenn. He had had a terrified look since evening. And Waugh felt that the poor chap could not handle the pressure of the work.
And then there was Mark's little dog, Shane. He had been excitedly running around since afternoon. But the elders had had so much work to do that they hadn't bothered about the dog. Even Mark hadn't seen his dog for sometime that day. He had just landed from his city expedition for the competition. He had been tired but this was a grand occasion. He would not let down his parents by complaining about the function being the next day itself. His body was aching all over after the long travel, but he was just thinking about the prize he had won the previous day, and the function that was fast approaching. He had come back and slept, and had had time just to have a quick wash and dress up for the occasion.
They were all there too. Mark's school friends, his teachers and the school headmaster… Even the ever-frowning aunt and uncle and their quarrelsome son were there. Mark had a great dislike for Adam, who always used to make fun of Mark in school. But now the time had come to pay him back his dues. But no - Mark would not retaliate. He would not show off. He would not make fun of Adam.
Mark was always like this. He was considered a very level-headed chap, even though he was all of ten years old. People knew him as a well behaved kid who always presented himself immaculately in front of elders. He was a no-problem kid at school. He would say his prayers without fail. Play cricket in the evening with his friends. And he was a brilliant kid at his studies. And of course, he would go to his music classes without fail. He used to work musical wonders with the little fingers of his, on the small Casio he had. He had been presented this battery-powered gizmo, a rarity in the village, some years back by his uncle who had settled in the city. This lovable boy had now made the village proud. And the people had come to celebrate.
But someone else had other plans...
It was now almost seven. Everyone had assembled. Almost everything was in place for the event. Or that is what it looked like. The big chandelier lit up the hall. It was getting dark outside. And the weather was getting murkier. The rain now seemed to be getting heavier. There was the occasional streak of lightning. But things were still calm. Mark came into the room from the balcony, neatly dressed for the occasion. His dog followed its master running excitedly to the small podium-like arrangement that had been made for this occasion - immaculately designed but still simple in its look. Mark's mother was standing just beside the podium. His father was still trying to pacify the crying Steve. And grandpa was starting to get up from his chair.
Then it happened.......
A loud burst of thunder and lightning at the same time… And the door to the bedroom opened all of a sudden. And then they saw it.....All of them....With their mouths open. They were all in a state of shock. There on the floor, all in red, lay.....
They were all dead. Or so they seemed to indicate. They had a worn out look. Being battered and bruised all over. There was pin-drop silence in the hall. Mark started to cry. Not many had still realised the gravity of the situation. But Mark was quick to understand. This was the first time in the village this was happening and....
The occasion lay spoilt. Mark was crying inconsolably. His brother was crying too. Linda had no clue of what was going on. Everyone still lay in a state of shock. There were murmurs starting to emanate. They were all proud people of a great village. And the village was not famous for nothing. They were all proud of the law and order in the village. Now, they were all proud of Mark. They had all come for this occasion, in spite of the great distances to travel. What was about to be a lovely Sunday evening marked by celebration now seemed to lie in tatters. And everyone seemed to be murmuring in low hush tones. The question was...who had done it?
Mark's father was the first to come out of this state of shock. He asked everyone to calm down. He had to first pacify Mark. Mark's grandpa came over and asked him to carry on with the job of proceeding with what had to be done. So many people had come and there were still murmurs. The party had come to an end abruptly. And someone amongst them had been the cause of it. It could certainly not have been done by someone else who was not there. Their house was one of the secluded ones in the village. There was no chance of some third person doing it. It had to be someone in the household.... And this sent shivers down Waugh's spine. How could he handle the situation? How could he face the elders? How could he face his wife? How could he face Mark!? How had this happened?...
Waugh decided to act fast. Knowing the village people had to be pacified first, he went about his task. He left Mark with his grandpa and went to the bedroom. He first asked the people to be seated. He appealed to them not to panic and the party would go on as anticipated . But at the back of his mind there were several thoughts going on. His child's feelings, what everyone would think, and so on and so forth… But uppermost on his mind, the question was... who had done it?
This was no mean act. There were six of them. And all were dead now. There was absolutely no other clue in the room. Or at least at first sight... There was just the big wall-clock, the window that opened out to the garden and Mark's cricket bat that was resting on the cot. It was normally always kept in the balcony. The window was always open. So there was no great surprise in it being open now, though it was well into the night. The rain was still pouring outside and the humidity could be felt inside the room. Sweat was dripping down Waugh's forehead, more from the tension than from the weather.
Waugh's immediate suspicion was on the servant. Glenn had just joined the household. And he had been jittery throughout the evening. But he would not decide matters just on the basis of suspicion. He needed proof. He would have to investigate. And that is why he had asked everyone else to clear the area. Now he was alone in the room. He was still looking at the window when he heard another bout of thunder and lightning. Then he saw something strange. There was a patch of liquid just near the bed. And there was a distinct odour coming from it.
He momentarily looked to check - they were all still there. Red in color… Dead...Dead for some time now. The odour was stronger when he took a step closer. He wondered if it was from the liquid he had seen near the cot. The mat had some patches here and there but it wore a particularly bad look today - as if some tussle had gone on in the room... But he could still not figure out what might have happened.....
He then thought about questioning Glenn, and then all the others who had gone into the room. None of the guests could have come into the room. It had to be one among the family. And the thought frightened him. The door from the hall was almost always latched from this side and the other entrance from the second bedroom, was used only by family members and the servant. The door had now been accidentally opened by someone frightened by the sudden thunder.
The lack of a clear lead worried him. Glenn could have done it. But what was the proof? He would have to question Glenn. But Glenn might obviously resist from properly answering any questions. Linda or grandpa would not have done this act. And Mark himself had come back only this afternoon. Waugh was still looking at the evasive clue.
And suddenly a thought flashed in his mind. He bent all of a sudden and gave a look underneath the cot. Yes. He had cracked the case. There it was - the tape-recorder set given to them by their uncle in the city. It was lying down on the floor beside the mat. And it had recorded the entire thing the whole day. And he had heard it all the whole day too. He had never bothered to take much notice of it. But now everything was clear. The bits and pieces were put into place. Waugh had got the culprit. How could his own father have done it?
Grandpa at once admitted to the guilt. There was not much questioning done. No forcing. Even Glenn was party to it. He had been silenced by Grandpa's promise to him that he would never do such a thing in his life again. And Steve too had been "silently" involved in it. But of course he was too small to explain things out. Shane, being a dog could obviously not be a witness, though he had been there when the "nasty" episode had occurred.
Grandpa first apologised to Mark, who was now more cheerful than before. The crowd had also warmed itself to the occasion and was getting back on track to continue with the event. Never mind if this has happened. They had to continue with the proceedings. A big event such as this could not be put off due an eccentric old man's misdoings. The only person affected by the entire thing seemed to be Waugh. He still had to get the explanation from his father as to how he could have spoilt this occasion. And the mystery of the ruffled mat, the cricket bat, the small patch of liquid and the final clincher, the tape-recorder. Grandpa offered to explain...
It was these eccentric feelings in grandpa all of a sudden that had caused this. This act from a man of such a stature… And such an elderly person at that... He had suddenly gotten the desire to sing and dance aloud in the room. And he had wanted to record it too. And this was what was happening until the door opened. And Glenn came in. He had Steven in his arms and he was to put Steven on his cot for his afternoon nap. Glenn was startled to see Grandpa behaving in such an odd fashion. But the threesome of Glenn, Steven and the dog Shane, which had followed Glenn and Steven into the room, were almost all shattered on seeing Grandpa sing and dance too. Grandpa was so huge that the ground started to shake and the mat was totally trampled upon. Steven had gotten so frightened and had started crying inconsolably. Now Waugh understood why he was crying more than his usual quota. He had been totally frightened by the picture of Grandpa dancing. The smelly liquid patch that was lying in the room had to be attributed to what the dog would have felt about Grandpa's dance. No wonder the dog had been running around excitedly all day. And Glenn had still not recovered form the shock of seeing Grandpa sing and dance so badly. And Glenn had threatened to strike Grandpa with Mark's cricket bat if Grandpa continued to sing and dance as horribly as he was doing. Grandpa had obliged and stopped. And last but not the least, the tape-recorder and the mystery of the dead....
Of course, Waugh had found it all by himself. The tape-recorder lay open, with a cassette that had been completely recorded. And the six batteries that were the only ones left in the household had all been used up to do this work. Grandpa had taken the batteries from the Casio in the afternoon and had used them to record his voice on tape. The batteries were already old and rusted and their last remaining power had been totally drenched up in this. But late afternoon, the event was announced and people had immediately started to pour in for the occasion. And Grandpa had forgotten all about this. All about everything, including the fact that the batteries he had used were removed from Mark's Casio, and that Mark had to play the Casio that evening to the gathering. The tape-recorder had fallen to the ground on Grandpa's continuous stomping of the ground. And the cover had broken open to let the 6 red-colored dead batteries out.
Sunday being a holiday, there was absolutely no chance of getting any batteries for the event. The nearest house was at least a couple of miles away and it would not be possible to get any batteries at such short notice when it was raining so heavily. And anyway, not many in the village had electronic gizmos. So the event would have to go ahead without the main feat. Mark could not play the Casio now. He could not play the song that had won him the award!
The crowd had a hearty laugh on hearing the story from Waugh. Grandpa and Mark too had a hearty laugh. The mystery of grandpa and the dead batteries are now part of Austra's famous history.
Enough said - Read on for 'The Mystery of the Dead...' (Long Post Alert)
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It was a bright Sunday evening. The mood was joyous. There were around twenty to thirty people who had come for the supposedly grand occasion in this far-off village. The weather was just a classic English setting. Slight drizzle, but sunlight still bright enough, even at well past six in the evening. The air had just the right fervor for a celebration.
And wasn't the occasion big?!...Their village boy had come first in the inter-district music competition. Mark had always been a great Casio player and everyone in the village had great respect for his talent. But winning a big competition was something never done before. Something unheard of in this village, far away from the walls of the bustling cities… And so the village elders had decided to felicitate the boy. He would play the song he got the prize for. They were all eagerly awaiting the moment. And they would present him with a cash award.
The village called Austra, after a British colony of the same name, had been famous in the district for its disciplined law and order that there was not even a police station. The people were so confident of their village-folk that they used to leave their doors and windows open even in the night time. Theft or murder was unheard of in the village. There were very few people in the village. And the houses were fewer and far spread out from each other. Some houses were spread out as much as a mile from others. And Mark's was one such house. People in the village did not have cars or bikes. They had to walk miles to reach Mark's house but still, there was a considerable crowd to grace the occasion.
It was nearing seven and the party was about to start. Almost all the important people had already come. And of course there was Mark's own family as well. His father, Waugh, a proud dad, with his big curved moustache, was taking care of the arrangements. There was Mark's mother Linda who was taking care of the dinner. She went about her tasks in her silent but effective mild-mannered way. She was a seasoned home-maker. There was Steven, Mark's younger brother who was crying as usual. But he was crying more than normal today. It surprised his family but they felt it could be because of the crowd that was so unusual to this calm place. Little did they realise what it was about.
There was Mark's old but energetic grandpa. Sitting as usual in his easy-chair and tapping the floor with his age-old walking stick. He was thought to be eccentric for his uncanny behavior at times. But he usually had a pleasant smile to everyone whenever he went out for a walk. Today, he had to smile at so many people coming in and going out, it almost looked too artificial.
There was Glenn, the house servant. Glenn was new to the house; he had just joined the household a week back. Not much was known about him, but Waugh had appointed him at the request of his close friend. He was thought to be a dumbo who would just do his work. Nothing more, nothing less. There was absolutely no life in his movements or thoughts. Nothing exciting about him. But he had not been much of a problem to anyone, Waugh thought. He was efficient. He was punctual for work. But today was like a test for him. So many things to do… So many things to arrange… And so many guests to serve... The real test! He had looked out of sorts in his evening work today. Waugh had himself shouted twice at him for having dropped things. He thought that the situation was getting to Glenn. He had had a terrified look since evening. And Waugh felt that the poor chap could not handle the pressure of the work.
And then there was Mark's little dog, Shane. He had been excitedly running around since afternoon. But the elders had had so much work to do that they hadn't bothered about the dog. Even Mark hadn't seen his dog for sometime that day. He had just landed from his city expedition for the competition. He had been tired but this was a grand occasion. He would not let down his parents by complaining about the function being the next day itself. His body was aching all over after the long travel, but he was just thinking about the prize he had won the previous day, and the function that was fast approaching. He had come back and slept, and had had time just to have a quick wash and dress up for the occasion.
They were all there too. Mark's school friends, his teachers and the school headmaster… Even the ever-frowning aunt and uncle and their quarrelsome son were there. Mark had a great dislike for Adam, who always used to make fun of Mark in school. But now the time had come to pay him back his dues. But no - Mark would not retaliate. He would not show off. He would not make fun of Adam.
Mark was always like this. He was considered a very level-headed chap, even though he was all of ten years old. People knew him as a well behaved kid who always presented himself immaculately in front of elders. He was a no-problem kid at school. He would say his prayers without fail. Play cricket in the evening with his friends. And he was a brilliant kid at his studies. And of course, he would go to his music classes without fail. He used to work musical wonders with the little fingers of his, on the small Casio he had. He had been presented this battery-powered gizmo, a rarity in the village, some years back by his uncle who had settled in the city. This lovable boy had now made the village proud. And the people had come to celebrate.
But someone else had other plans...
It was now almost seven. Everyone had assembled. Almost everything was in place for the event. Or that is what it looked like. The big chandelier lit up the hall. It was getting dark outside. And the weather was getting murkier. The rain now seemed to be getting heavier. There was the occasional streak of lightning. But things were still calm. Mark came into the room from the balcony, neatly dressed for the occasion. His dog followed its master running excitedly to the small podium-like arrangement that had been made for this occasion - immaculately designed but still simple in its look. Mark's mother was standing just beside the podium. His father was still trying to pacify the crying Steve. And grandpa was starting to get up from his chair.
Then it happened.......
A loud burst of thunder and lightning at the same time… And the door to the bedroom opened all of a sudden. And then they saw it.....All of them....With their mouths open. They were all in a state of shock. There on the floor, all in red, lay.....
They were all dead. Or so they seemed to indicate. They had a worn out look. Being battered and bruised all over. There was pin-drop silence in the hall. Mark started to cry. Not many had still realised the gravity of the situation. But Mark was quick to understand. This was the first time in the village this was happening and....
The occasion lay spoilt. Mark was crying inconsolably. His brother was crying too. Linda had no clue of what was going on. Everyone still lay in a state of shock. There were murmurs starting to emanate. They were all proud people of a great village. And the village was not famous for nothing. They were all proud of the law and order in the village. Now, they were all proud of Mark. They had all come for this occasion, in spite of the great distances to travel. What was about to be a lovely Sunday evening marked by celebration now seemed to lie in tatters. And everyone seemed to be murmuring in low hush tones. The question was...who had done it?
Mark's father was the first to come out of this state of shock. He asked everyone to calm down. He had to first pacify Mark. Mark's grandpa came over and asked him to carry on with the job of proceeding with what had to be done. So many people had come and there were still murmurs. The party had come to an end abruptly. And someone amongst them had been the cause of it. It could certainly not have been done by someone else who was not there. Their house was one of the secluded ones in the village. There was no chance of some third person doing it. It had to be someone in the household.... And this sent shivers down Waugh's spine. How could he handle the situation? How could he face the elders? How could he face his wife? How could he face Mark!? How had this happened?...
Waugh decided to act fast. Knowing the village people had to be pacified first, he went about his task. He left Mark with his grandpa and went to the bedroom. He first asked the people to be seated. He appealed to them not to panic and the party would go on as anticipated . But at the back of his mind there were several thoughts going on. His child's feelings, what everyone would think, and so on and so forth… But uppermost on his mind, the question was... who had done it?
This was no mean act. There were six of them. And all were dead now. There was absolutely no other clue in the room. Or at least at first sight... There was just the big wall-clock, the window that opened out to the garden and Mark's cricket bat that was resting on the cot. It was normally always kept in the balcony. The window was always open. So there was no great surprise in it being open now, though it was well into the night. The rain was still pouring outside and the humidity could be felt inside the room. Sweat was dripping down Waugh's forehead, more from the tension than from the weather.
Waugh's immediate suspicion was on the servant. Glenn had just joined the household. And he had been jittery throughout the evening. But he would not decide matters just on the basis of suspicion. He needed proof. He would have to investigate. And that is why he had asked everyone else to clear the area. Now he was alone in the room. He was still looking at the window when he heard another bout of thunder and lightning. Then he saw something strange. There was a patch of liquid just near the bed. And there was a distinct odour coming from it.
He momentarily looked to check - they were all still there. Red in color… Dead...Dead for some time now. The odour was stronger when he took a step closer. He wondered if it was from the liquid he had seen near the cot. The mat had some patches here and there but it wore a particularly bad look today - as if some tussle had gone on in the room... But he could still not figure out what might have happened.....
He then thought about questioning Glenn, and then all the others who had gone into the room. None of the guests could have come into the room. It had to be one among the family. And the thought frightened him. The door from the hall was almost always latched from this side and the other entrance from the second bedroom, was used only by family members and the servant. The door had now been accidentally opened by someone frightened by the sudden thunder.
The lack of a clear lead worried him. Glenn could have done it. But what was the proof? He would have to question Glenn. But Glenn might obviously resist from properly answering any questions. Linda or grandpa would not have done this act. And Mark himself had come back only this afternoon. Waugh was still looking at the evasive clue.
And suddenly a thought flashed in his mind. He bent all of a sudden and gave a look underneath the cot. Yes. He had cracked the case. There it was - the tape-recorder set given to them by their uncle in the city. It was lying down on the floor beside the mat. And it had recorded the entire thing the whole day. And he had heard it all the whole day too. He had never bothered to take much notice of it. But now everything was clear. The bits and pieces were put into place. Waugh had got the culprit. How could his own father have done it?
Grandpa at once admitted to the guilt. There was not much questioning done. No forcing. Even Glenn was party to it. He had been silenced by Grandpa's promise to him that he would never do such a thing in his life again. And Steve too had been "silently" involved in it. But of course he was too small to explain things out. Shane, being a dog could obviously not be a witness, though he had been there when the "nasty" episode had occurred.
Grandpa first apologised to Mark, who was now more cheerful than before. The crowd had also warmed itself to the occasion and was getting back on track to continue with the event. Never mind if this has happened. They had to continue with the proceedings. A big event such as this could not be put off due an eccentric old man's misdoings. The only person affected by the entire thing seemed to be Waugh. He still had to get the explanation from his father as to how he could have spoilt this occasion. And the mystery of the ruffled mat, the cricket bat, the small patch of liquid and the final clincher, the tape-recorder. Grandpa offered to explain...
It was these eccentric feelings in grandpa all of a sudden that had caused this. This act from a man of such a stature… And such an elderly person at that... He had suddenly gotten the desire to sing and dance aloud in the room. And he had wanted to record it too. And this was what was happening until the door opened. And Glenn came in. He had Steven in his arms and he was to put Steven on his cot for his afternoon nap. Glenn was startled to see Grandpa behaving in such an odd fashion. But the threesome of Glenn, Steven and the dog Shane, which had followed Glenn and Steven into the room, were almost all shattered on seeing Grandpa sing and dance too. Grandpa was so huge that the ground started to shake and the mat was totally trampled upon. Steven had gotten so frightened and had started crying inconsolably. Now Waugh understood why he was crying more than his usual quota. He had been totally frightened by the picture of Grandpa dancing. The smelly liquid patch that was lying in the room had to be attributed to what the dog would have felt about Grandpa's dance. No wonder the dog had been running around excitedly all day. And Glenn had still not recovered form the shock of seeing Grandpa sing and dance so badly. And Glenn had threatened to strike Grandpa with Mark's cricket bat if Grandpa continued to sing and dance as horribly as he was doing. Grandpa had obliged and stopped. And last but not the least, the tape-recorder and the mystery of the dead....
Of course, Waugh had found it all by himself. The tape-recorder lay open, with a cassette that had been completely recorded. And the six batteries that were the only ones left in the household had all been used up to do this work. Grandpa had taken the batteries from the Casio in the afternoon and had used them to record his voice on tape. The batteries were already old and rusted and their last remaining power had been totally drenched up in this. But late afternoon, the event was announced and people had immediately started to pour in for the occasion. And Grandpa had forgotten all about this. All about everything, including the fact that the batteries he had used were removed from Mark's Casio, and that Mark had to play the Casio that evening to the gathering. The tape-recorder had fallen to the ground on Grandpa's continuous stomping of the ground. And the cover had broken open to let the 6 red-colored dead batteries out.
Sunday being a holiday, there was absolutely no chance of getting any batteries for the event. The nearest house was at least a couple of miles away and it would not be possible to get any batteries at such short notice when it was raining so heavily. And anyway, not many in the village had electronic gizmos. So the event would have to go ahead without the main feat. Mark could not play the Casio now. He could not play the song that had won him the award!
The crowd had a hearty laugh on hearing the story from Waugh. Grandpa and Mark too had a hearty laugh. The mystery of grandpa and the dead batteries are now part of Austra's famous history.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The online biggies in the Roman empire
In ancient Rome, Caesar once saw Cleopatra passing by and immediately alerted Brutus.
Csr: I just love her face, book her for me please, will you?
Bru: Oh that should be easy. I shall b(r)ing her for you. In the meantime, go ogle at her from far.
Csr: Yeah, who would miss that chance!
Bru: (mumbles to himself)....
Brutus lands up the same evening with Cleopatra inside his arms...
Csr: (shouting) You cheated me? She was the apple of my i. Why did you flick her from me?
Bru: She had sense Caesar. So she decided to pick me over you.
Csr: She was mine. You intruded into my space.
Cleo: (barging in) I didnt want an old (a)owl like you.
Bru: (looking at Cleopatra) This week I paid ya. You better come with me.
Csr: Nooooo... Stop. Take money. Take land. Take ranches. Take everything. Give her to me.
Bru: Chill Caesar. I m dabbling only for this week. I am going out wit her now. Tata bye pi Caesar.
Csr: (falling down from his throne) You tu(be) Brutus?...
(P.S 1: Refer here for a similar conversation on 'The first nIghT' though that was predominantly w.r.t. IT Services companies)
(P.S 2: Needless to say, this is completely for fun. No offense please!)
Csr: I just love her face, book her for me please, will you?
Bru: Oh that should be easy. I shall b(r)ing her for you. In the meantime, go ogle at her from far.
Csr: Yeah, who would miss that chance!
Bru: (mumbles to himself)....
Brutus lands up the same evening with Cleopatra inside his arms...
Csr: (shouting) You cheated me? She was the apple of my i. Why did you flick her from me?
Bru: She had sense Caesar. So she decided to pick me over you.
Csr: She was mine. You intruded into my space.
Cleo: (barging in) I didnt want an old (a)owl like you.
Bru: (looking at Cleopatra) This week I paid ya. You better come with me.
Csr: Nooooo... Stop. Take money. Take land. Take ranches. Take everything. Give her to me.
Bru: Chill Caesar. I m dabbling only for this week. I am going out wit her now. Tata bye pi Caesar.
Csr: (falling down from his throne) You tu(be) Brutus?...
(P.S 1: Refer here for a similar conversation on 'The first nIghT' though that was predominantly w.r.t. IT Services companies)
(P.S 2: Needless to say, this is completely for fun. No offense please!)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Srilankan Cricket team inside a Tamil love story...
Overheard, a proposition, from Sekar (our hero), a pakka namma Chennai youth, trying to seduce Jaya (our heroine), a Madras baashai KD girl from Gummidipoondi...
S: Hi sexy girl, naan thaan sekar... Autokaara Sekar..
J: Vanakkam Ba. Naan thaan jaya, thotti jaya... Matter sollu...
S: Vandhu, ... Adhu Vandhu....
J: Ada, chattu puttu nu sollu da badhil shani yane...
S: Mudhalla... indhaanga poo, mothama arali tharen ungalukku... evalvu poo paarunga...
J: Cha nalla set malliga poo thara maata...
S: Adutha dhaba tharen... Naan vandhu ungala loves pannrenga...
J: Adada, enna loves pannrathukkellam oru thagudhi venum pa... Inna vandi otra nee?
S: Auto... Share auto...
J: Thoo share auto va...
S: Appadi korachu eda podadheenga. Unga mela total feelings nga, neruppu mela sathiyama...
J: Neruppu nu sonna thaan nyabagam vardhu, Kannu dham beedi etha pudippiya...
S: Cha cha, andha bad habits laan kadayaadhu...
J: Cha waste ba nee...
S: Naan waste a irukkalam, aana haste a decision edukkaadheenga...
J: Indha maari dialogue vittu nenjaya soriyariyepa...
S: Karpu god ram oda wife sita mela promise, en love no galeej and tremendous...
J: Cha, indha kosu tholla thaanga mudiyala pa...
S: Aan chellam mat use pannriya...
J: Dei unna thaan da sonnen...
S: Last and final time, kenji ketkaren... Emma, Ela, Jaya, Vardhaane ennoda...
J: Dei kulla sekara, ingendhu joot vidu, illa unna naalu kummu arai En sanga kaarana kudukka solluven...
S: OK saari. Next meet pannren... Vartaa....
And that is how the short love story between Jaya and Sekar ended...
Supporting Cast
dhil shan = Tilakaratne Dilshan
mothama arali tharen = Muthiah Muralitharan
la set malliga = Lasith Malinga
Thoo share = Thilan Thushara
Kannu dham bee = Thillina Kandamby
jaya soriya = Sanath Jayasuriya
Karpu god ra = Chamara Kappugedera
ej and tremendous = Ajantha Mendis
Aan chellam mat use = Angelo Mathews
ma, Ela, Jaya, Vardhaane = Mahela Jayawardane
kulla sekara = Nuwan Kulashekara
kummu arai En sanga kaarana = Kumara Sangakkara, the captain
S: Hi sexy girl, naan thaan sekar... Autokaara Sekar..
J: Vanakkam Ba. Naan thaan jaya, thotti jaya... Matter sollu...
S: Vandhu, ... Adhu Vandhu....
J: Ada, chattu puttu nu sollu da badhil shani yane...
S: Mudhalla... indhaanga poo, mothama arali tharen ungalukku... evalvu poo paarunga...
J: Cha nalla set malliga poo thara maata...
S: Adutha dhaba tharen... Naan vandhu ungala loves pannrenga...
J: Adada, enna loves pannrathukkellam oru thagudhi venum pa... Inna vandi otra nee?
S: Auto... Share auto...
J: Thoo share auto va...
S: Appadi korachu eda podadheenga. Unga mela total feelings nga, neruppu mela sathiyama...
J: Neruppu nu sonna thaan nyabagam vardhu, Kannu dham beedi etha pudippiya...
S: Cha cha, andha bad habits laan kadayaadhu...
J: Cha waste ba nee...
S: Naan waste a irukkalam, aana haste a decision edukkaadheenga...
J: Indha maari dialogue vittu nenjaya soriyariyepa...
S: Karpu god ram oda wife sita mela promise, en love no galeej and tremendous...
J: Cha, indha kosu tholla thaanga mudiyala pa...
S: Aan chellam mat use pannriya...
J: Dei unna thaan da sonnen...
S: Last and final time, kenji ketkaren... Emma, Ela, Jaya, Vardhaane ennoda...
J: Dei kulla sekara, ingendhu joot vidu, illa unna naalu kummu arai En sanga kaarana kudukka solluven...
S: OK saari. Next meet pannren... Vartaa....
And that is how the short love story between Jaya and Sekar ended...
Supporting Cast
dhil shan = Tilakaratne Dilshan
mothama arali tharen = Muthiah Muralitharan
la set malliga = Lasith Malinga
Thoo share = Thilan Thushara
Kannu dham bee = Thillina Kandamby
jaya soriya = Sanath Jayasuriya
Karpu god ra = Chamara Kappugedera
ej and tremendous = Ajantha Mendis
Aan chellam mat use = Angelo Mathews
ma, Ela, Jaya, Vardhaane = Mahela Jayawardane
kulla sekara = Nuwan Kulashekara
kummu arai En sanga kaarana = Kumara Sangakkara, the captain
Friday, March 13, 2009
The Indian Revolution - Part 1
“I shall hold my country in the highest esteem. I shall never take a single paisa more than what I earn as my salary. I shall make it the best place on this earth to live in, for all on this earth. Women, children and men of all caste, creed, sect, language, race, religion will have equality in every single aspect of their life in our country. If ever me or any of our party members fail to uphold any of the above, that person will bow down in front of the Indian democracy and forfeit their position immediately. In the next five years, we shall make India the best country in the world where poverty, illiteracy, disease, pollution, discrimination and corruption are only found in the dictionary.”
One could hear huge cheers from across the country. The speech had been delivered by the 32 year-old prime minister of India. Translators were busy on their job converting the speech to the various languages for the millions of people who had tuned into the speech to listen. Every medium in the country - from radio to TV to cinema halls to the modern man's internet was beaming the live speech.
32-year old PM! The youngest ever in the country… Just two days back, the revolution was complete. The “Youth of Utopia” (YOU) with the guidance of the “Wise Elderly” (WE) had come to power.
Yes – YOU were in power. And that was a cause for major celebration for the people. The people, who had for so long demanded a clean and young government that could realize the true potential of the great country of India. One that could get India get out of its bottom 150+ position in the “place to live in” index and would catapult it to the top 5.
It had not been an easy path for them. They had slogged it out for the last 5 years against the might of the established parties and their goondas, against the money of the corrupt, against the mindsets of people from the deepest of village and against their own self-apprehensions. But the group of 545 people with the support of over 50000 educated youngsters and 5000 generous elders accomplished what none had even dreamed of before.
And to think it all started with a message some had put on one of those many social networks...
To Continue…
Dated
15 / 08 / 2???
Disclaimer: Whether the above is fictional or not is for the public to decide…
One could hear huge cheers from across the country. The speech had been delivered by the 32 year-old prime minister of India. Translators were busy on their job converting the speech to the various languages for the millions of people who had tuned into the speech to listen. Every medium in the country - from radio to TV to cinema halls to the modern man's internet was beaming the live speech.
32-year old PM! The youngest ever in the country… Just two days back, the revolution was complete. The “Youth of Utopia” (YOU) with the guidance of the “Wise Elderly” (WE) had come to power.
Yes – YOU were in power. And that was a cause for major celebration for the people. The people, who had for so long demanded a clean and young government that could realize the true potential of the great country of India. One that could get India get out of its bottom 150+ position in the “place to live in” index and would catapult it to the top 5.
It had not been an easy path for them. They had slogged it out for the last 5 years against the might of the established parties and their goondas, against the money of the corrupt, against the mindsets of people from the deepest of village and against their own self-apprehensions. But the group of 545 people with the support of over 50000 educated youngsters and 5000 generous elders accomplished what none had even dreamed of before.
And to think it all started with a message some had put on one of those many social networks...
To Continue…
Dated
15 / 08 / 2???
Disclaimer: Whether the above is fictional or not is for the public to decide…
Thursday, July 03, 2008
A visit to the gym
One of the latest experiments that I have undertaken in life is going to the gym. I certainly don’t want any of those mighty muscles or the perfect man-body that a majority of the enthusiastic gym-goers want! All I want is to be able to continue to eat my ice-creams and sweets without having to change my wardrobe too often on account of an increasing waist-size. Of late, I have also been finding it very difficult to be able to hunt for Triple XL T-Shirts.
Starting off to the gym in itself is a very time-consuming process. I have to first go past the millions of reasons thrown up by the logical mind that resides on top of my completely inertial body, to skip the gym visit. Reasons can include existing or impending imaginary body aches, anticipated long overnight office work, over-due house chores given by my madam and such. Once the mind wades through these, there is the physical inertia itself that has to be won over. Bangalore traffic is just the last hurdle that the already under-motivated soul wants to surpass.
After chugging along in my vehicle at a snail’s pace, I come face to face with the walls of the esteemed sweat-shop. Having a café or a pastry vendor in the vicinity of a gym is one of the most miserable punishments that can be meted out to gym-visitors. Having the gym on the 2nd floor without a working lift just about manages to beat that.
As I enter the building, the high-decibel sound of loud English music can be heard well and clear. For a person like me who cannot typically differentiate between one fast English number and another, memories of Cacafonix from the Asterix comics series flash up. I yearn for a good fast dappaanguthu Tamil song or even a fast Bhangra number. But sorry – those are a strict 'No-No' in this modern machine godown.
A quick glance on entry shows the many different faces of the men and women around. . A gym is a very good example of a true melting pot. You have people from various cultures, economic backgrounds, occupations that visit it. Actually who am I kidding!? – you either have filthy rich people or jobless software folks who get a free pass from their company to enroll.
Of course the one diversity amongst the people is the size of their paunches. It can be as little as that of Hritik Roshan or as bulging as that of a local policeman after a nice dinner. In addition, the depth of sagging man breasts (phrase courtesy Chandler from Friends) is also a good indicator of the varied type of folks around.
A third category of diversity is what I call the amount of ‘pseud-ness’ that can be attributed to someone. On one end of this pseud-ness factor are the total fruits (like me) who just troop in silently and do some minimal cardio exercises for unimaginable satisfaction. On the other end are the highly sophisticated “dudes” (or show-offs) who consider their daily gym visit very close to a fun-filled excursion to “dream-land”. Words in Tamil that serve as alternatives for these dudes include bandha / filim parties.
These dudes have a burning rage inside them to show off their prowess to one and all in the gym. They can be very easily spotted though - one or more of the following features will identify them in a jiffy!
- Dudes have a hi-funda headphone set on their heads all the time. God alone knows whether they are secretly taking English lessons on those to impress the opposite sex with their firangi accent. Fruits only have the burden of the approaching drill on top of their heads.
- Dudes have a fancy bottle of water all to themselves, while fruits usually use those small disheveled paper cups next to the water dispenser
- Even if the device was not used before, dudes ask the helper folks to spray, rub and clean the device as if they were giving it a Kerala massage
- Dudes would be watching VH1 or Zee Studio or Wimbledon on Star Sports on their personal TV screens, while fruits typically favor regional channels or even Srilanka – Bangla cricket matches
- Dudes would usually hog the device for at least a 30 minute period at a stretch at the highest possible speed of performing the routine while fruits take a prolonged break after around 5 - 6 minutes of continuously slow activity.
- Last but not the least, compared to the silent fruits who avoid the instructors, the dudes make it a point to talk to all the gym instructors to prove that they literally own the place.
Of course, that is when the gym instructors are not busy talking to the handful of females who come to the gym. Females can broadly be classified into the above categories too. However, there is a third category here that does the highly musical soft-tone coochy-coo talking to the instructors for God knows why. Apparently, the number of pre-marriage last minute visitors amongst the fairer sex has dramatically increased, though it is still way off from such numbers for the male breed.
One thing I always notice in the gym – I typically run into someone that I know either from office or from a previous company or college… If they are regular visitors to the gym, questions on how long I have been visiting the gym pop up. To ensure that my morale is not affected, I typically give a highly elongated figure on the number of months I have been ‘slogging’ it out. Prior questions on when the other person visits the gym go a long way in helping me come up with a suitable answer. If they are regular evening visitors, I position myself as a recent convert to evening visits after over a year of morning visits. And vice-versa! If my paunch size is revealing the fact that I have not set foot on the gym for a long time, I take a deep paunch-hiding breath before I talk to them.
Once the talking is done, I start diverting my mind to the original purpose of my visit – some calorie burning sweat generating physical labor. A couple of lazy floor exercises act as fillers till someone vacates one of those fancy machines. These floor exercises have to be done very carefully, else you are most likely to encounter a nearby gadget with your stretched arm or some floor-exercise performer’s neck with your leg.
As I take my position on the treadmill, I think about the approaching painful endeavor of trying to cook up a sweat. Not often would anyone be as enthusiastic about producing sweat as they would be inside a gym. And ‘calorie’ here is the other magic word. The sweat is a great measure of your success at burning those targeted calories. You start wandering within the confines of the 2 ft X 4 ft. treadmill floor in the hope that the magic figure of 100 calories would be reached soon. After varying activities that include walking, jogging, crawling and standing still, over a time period that makes the HAHK movie look brief, I am completely excited to see the calorie figure inch its way towards 100.
The smile re-emerges. A feeling of having achieved something finally… That light at the end of the tunnel… In the moment of delight, I continue for a couple of more minutes and reach somewhere around 110 Cals. Wow! The apex of achievement!
At the pinnacle of my satisfaction, I turn to the next guy with a look of disdain on my face to see how many calories he has managed to burn. A casual look at that meter is all it takes – to come down from the fanciful pedestal of attainment to the abysmal depths of reality. When I see that calorie number close to 450, I start getting second thoughts on whether God was intending to be cruel to me today.
That is the moment when I become all philosophical and start thinking about the meaning of life and whether one needs to take oneself so seriously. As I grudgingly move my body down the two floors back to my vehicle, a fight between the good thoughts and the gym routine start playing up inside my head. A thought on the dinner awaiting me back home is the only redeeming factor in the whole episode. After all, I do need to eat well to give strength to the body to visit the gym tomorrow…
And the story continues… Forever…
Thursday, June 19, 2008
A typical South Indian dinner at the in-laws place
Sunday evenings are typically reserved for visits to the in-laws place. My entry is treated like that of a king entering his mansion. As soon as I come in, I suddenly experience a never-before felt cool breeze in the peak summer of Chennai, courtesy a couple of ACs which get switched on when I set foot out of my own house!
Soon after arrival, the madam goes into the kitchen to talk to her mom while I start a conversation with dad-in-law on various topics including but not limited to health, wealth, career etc. Discussions typically veer towards what is going on currently on the TV channel that is presently being watched.
After sometime, tiny sounds (generally heard as “kada-muda”) from my stomach act as alarm bells to the in-laws. These are sounds of the type that are heard from the stomach of a person implicitly starving for a long time in anticipation of a feast; sounds that happen after the feast are reserved for later. A cup filled with three gulab jamuns comes flying at me like a tracer-bullet (word copyright expert commentator Mr. Ravi Shastri)
Thoughts of the word “diet” that had so eagerly arrived on my mind a couple of days back slowly start dissolving in the sugar syrup that surrounds the three large-sized gulab jamuns. Any word of refusal immediately raises eyebrows and low decibel conversations between mom-in-law and my madam asking whether hubby has developed sugar trouble. To ward off any such thoughts, the jamuns are gulped down the throat at the pace they came at. Here, some amount of caution needs to be exercised. If the speed of gulping down is too fast, more jamuns fill up the cup in no time. If it is too slow, frequent voices from inside the kitchen to finish off the sweet-dish interrupt your TV viewing.
Once the sweet dish is over and done with, the TV viewing typically continues for around 3.5 to 4 minutes (basically for the next set of items to get heated inside the kitchen). Then, there is a call for dinner. As I slowly tread towards the dining room, a large table awaits me and the madam. In the center of the table are three dishes that stare at me gleefully with ‘high cholesterol’ written all over them – urulai (potato) roast, fried pappads, and vethakozhambu (tough to explain – in short, a south Indian spicier dish similar to sambhar)
Nice shiny stainless-steel plates, resembling those carrying unlimited extra-jumbo meals in Saravana Bhavan, are placed in front of me. An additional sweet-dish (typically rava kesari or halwa) is served in line with the “start-with-a-sweet-dish” sentiment. Then lands a big mass of white rice: measures such as removing the plate away and use of force to hold up extra servings of rice are outright rejected. Typically, half the plate is filled with rice before you can realize what is happening. The other half is reserved for the aforementioned side-dishes.
A spoon with an extra large capacity to hold the dripping nei (ghee) gently passes over my plate. Within half a second, the white mass of rice is nicely soaked in the same ghee. Then land litres of vetha-kozhambu, and tons of urulai roast and fried pappads.
My History class in school would have ended sooner than the rice in my plate. Mammoth efforts to eat the food seem to all go to waste as I witness a never-ending supply of items in my plate. Desperate measures such as loosening my pant-belt and talking while eating (to let the ingested food digest) seem to just be desperate gimmicks without any success.
When finally I do manage to just about finish the rice on my plate, more rice, first with rasam and then with the customary curd / butter-milk (thayir-saadam) follow in equal quantities with even more side-dishes that literally seem to pop out of hidden corners in the kitchen. My concealing tactics are greatly tested here as I try hiding unfinished portions of the food under half-eaten pappads and potato chips. In parallel, I am constantly reminded of the weight I have lost over the last few weeks (the weighing machine always has a different opinion here) and how I should eat a lot more.
Eventually, after what seems like a patient Dravid inning, it is time to get up and wash my hands. It is not a good practice to meander on at the eating spot without washing one’s hands. But when the food is fully present uptil your throat and your pant belt is not the way it is supposed to be, you really do not have a choice. The 3 meter distance to the wash basin seems like that last mile for the completely exhausted marathon runner.
As I put in that last ditch effort to get up, there lands a plate of freshly sliced banganapalli mangoes. At this point, I cannot even open my mouth to talk, leave alone voice any denial. As the smooth and silky mango slices slowly but surely find their way through the food maze into my stomach, I more or less start thinking on when I am going to regain my capacity to talk and walk!
After the finger-bowl style washing process, I manage to get up, go and sit in front of the TV. As I try to muster up a smile and a nod of the head in response to every question, one can hear appreciation on how the son-in-law is such a nice silent guy. I very silently thank the food that is sitting right till my throat for the gentle remark.
According to our traditional Tamil culture, a glass of milk is essential to round off the day* (see footnote for explanation). At this point, you have totally lost all control of what gets into your system. The milk manages to find its way through the mouth of a half-conscious me. I have already started thinking on whether I would fit into my car door on the way back home and whether the car will be able to take the extra load. After the customary good night and the promise to come same time next week for an even better dinner with more items (like they do usually for next-week show announcements on TV), I walk in a trance towards my car, guided by the madam.
As soon as I get into the car with the madam, thoughts about the impending diet for the coming week to compensate for this food start afresh in my mind…
* - No references of any kind whatsoever exist
Soon after arrival, the madam goes into the kitchen to talk to her mom while I start a conversation with dad-in-law on various topics including but not limited to health, wealth, career etc. Discussions typically veer towards what is going on currently on the TV channel that is presently being watched.
After sometime, tiny sounds (generally heard as “kada-muda”) from my stomach act as alarm bells to the in-laws. These are sounds of the type that are heard from the stomach of a person implicitly starving for a long time in anticipation of a feast; sounds that happen after the feast are reserved for later. A cup filled with three gulab jamuns comes flying at me like a tracer-bullet (word copyright expert commentator Mr. Ravi Shastri)
Thoughts of the word “diet” that had so eagerly arrived on my mind a couple of days back slowly start dissolving in the sugar syrup that surrounds the three large-sized gulab jamuns. Any word of refusal immediately raises eyebrows and low decibel conversations between mom-in-law and my madam asking whether hubby has developed sugar trouble. To ward off any such thoughts, the jamuns are gulped down the throat at the pace they came at. Here, some amount of caution needs to be exercised. If the speed of gulping down is too fast, more jamuns fill up the cup in no time. If it is too slow, frequent voices from inside the kitchen to finish off the sweet-dish interrupt your TV viewing.
Once the sweet dish is over and done with, the TV viewing typically continues for around 3.5 to 4 minutes (basically for the next set of items to get heated inside the kitchen). Then, there is a call for dinner. As I slowly tread towards the dining room, a large table awaits me and the madam. In the center of the table are three dishes that stare at me gleefully with ‘high cholesterol’ written all over them – urulai (potato) roast, fried pappads, and vethakozhambu (tough to explain – in short, a south Indian spicier dish similar to sambhar)
Nice shiny stainless-steel plates, resembling those carrying unlimited extra-jumbo meals in Saravana Bhavan, are placed in front of me. An additional sweet-dish (typically rava kesari or halwa) is served in line with the “start-with-a-sweet-dish” sentiment. Then lands a big mass of white rice: measures such as removing the plate away and use of force to hold up extra servings of rice are outright rejected. Typically, half the plate is filled with rice before you can realize what is happening. The other half is reserved for the aforementioned side-dishes.
A spoon with an extra large capacity to hold the dripping nei (ghee) gently passes over my plate. Within half a second, the white mass of rice is nicely soaked in the same ghee. Then land litres of vetha-kozhambu, and tons of urulai roast and fried pappads.
My History class in school would have ended sooner than the rice in my plate. Mammoth efforts to eat the food seem to all go to waste as I witness a never-ending supply of items in my plate. Desperate measures such as loosening my pant-belt and talking while eating (to let the ingested food digest) seem to just be desperate gimmicks without any success.
When finally I do manage to just about finish the rice on my plate, more rice, first with rasam and then with the customary curd / butter-milk (thayir-saadam) follow in equal quantities with even more side-dishes that literally seem to pop out of hidden corners in the kitchen. My concealing tactics are greatly tested here as I try hiding unfinished portions of the food under half-eaten pappads and potato chips. In parallel, I am constantly reminded of the weight I have lost over the last few weeks (the weighing machine always has a different opinion here) and how I should eat a lot more.
Eventually, after what seems like a patient Dravid inning, it is time to get up and wash my hands. It is not a good practice to meander on at the eating spot without washing one’s hands. But when the food is fully present uptil your throat and your pant belt is not the way it is supposed to be, you really do not have a choice. The 3 meter distance to the wash basin seems like that last mile for the completely exhausted marathon runner.
As I put in that last ditch effort to get up, there lands a plate of freshly sliced banganapalli mangoes. At this point, I cannot even open my mouth to talk, leave alone voice any denial. As the smooth and silky mango slices slowly but surely find their way through the food maze into my stomach, I more or less start thinking on when I am going to regain my capacity to talk and walk!
After the finger-bowl style washing process, I manage to get up, go and sit in front of the TV. As I try to muster up a smile and a nod of the head in response to every question, one can hear appreciation on how the son-in-law is such a nice silent guy. I very silently thank the food that is sitting right till my throat for the gentle remark.
According to our traditional Tamil culture, a glass of milk is essential to round off the day* (see footnote for explanation). At this point, you have totally lost all control of what gets into your system. The milk manages to find its way through the mouth of a half-conscious me. I have already started thinking on whether I would fit into my car door on the way back home and whether the car will be able to take the extra load. After the customary good night and the promise to come same time next week for an even better dinner with more items (like they do usually for next-week show announcements on TV), I walk in a trance towards my car, guided by the madam.
As soon as I get into the car with the madam, thoughts about the impending diet for the coming week to compensate for this food start afresh in my mind…
* - No references of any kind whatsoever exist
Thursday, March 06, 2008
All Rash Abuses
God, it was a really bad day for me.
I started the morning very late. Hence I could not even take a bath. Unshaven, I took the bus to office. It was crowded and hence I was sweating and smelling bad. I reached office and immediately caught a very bad cold. I was not able to breathe properly and started making puffing and panting sounds that one may consider irritating even if they were the ones contributing to them! The guy sitting in the next cubicle had a hard time, hence he was mumbling something to himself – I was already pretty irritated. I made faces at him and asked him to politely go and attend to other freaking duties. The effect of the missed bath had started spreading to my various areas and I had started itching bad. One hand on my nose, another hand on different parts of the body, a vaguely sounding voice and a twitching face - In utter desperation, I uttered to myself “Oh God! Please give me Than ki shakti, Man ki shakti to bear this pain”…
I returned home and slept thinking that the worst was over, until I came back to office the next day.
My company sued me on 6 counts of racism towards Andrew Symonds and I am now facing so many law suits…
When I go to office tomorrow, I fear they will pull my hair, remove my badge and sing farewell to me…
I started the morning very late. Hence I could not even take a bath. Unshaven, I took the bus to office. It was crowded and hence I was sweating and smelling bad. I reached office and immediately caught a very bad cold. I was not able to breathe properly and started making puffing and panting sounds that one may consider irritating even if they were the ones contributing to them! The guy sitting in the next cubicle had a hard time, hence he was mumbling something to himself – I was already pretty irritated. I made faces at him and asked him to politely go and attend to other freaking duties. The effect of the missed bath had started spreading to my various areas and I had started itching bad. One hand on my nose, another hand on different parts of the body, a vaguely sounding voice and a twitching face - In utter desperation, I uttered to myself “Oh God! Please give me Than ki shakti, Man ki shakti to bear this pain”…
I returned home and slept thinking that the worst was over, until I came back to office the next day.
My company sued me on 6 counts of racism towards Andrew Symonds and I am now facing so many law suits…
When I go to office tomorrow, I fear they will pull my hair, remove my badge and sing farewell to me…
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The first nI(gh)T
(Disclaimer: The following is the transcript of a what we think is a heated IT related debate between husband and wife during their first night. Rest is left to interpretation :-))
Wife enters the room with her usual bunch of fruits and a glass of milk… Husband is seated on a nice cosy(e) be(y)d…
Wife: Why do you look so amaze(d) on seeing me!?
Husband: I B(ea)M with new energy and excitement as you enter the room…
Wife: Huh. Let(s) pack (some) hard action and talk crap later… (thinking to herself what a Bore (she has) landed with)
Husband: YE YE! A Sport(s)y wife!!! So do you wish for a Sun or a daughter?
Wife: Its your wish dear… (implied “you moron”)
Husband: I want a Sun. Sun is always INTELligent… So I want you to have an Apple a day…
Wife: And why is that???!!!
Husband: An Apple a day keeps the daughter away…
Wife: Sigh Man… Tech industry has so many dumbos who don’t know proper English… This is my fate…
Lights are switched off… In the darkness, the last heard shouts were…
Husband: ……… YAHOO!!!!!!!……… Goo gal go…
Wife: ……… What are you yelling about…? How can you hope for a Sun when you are all micro (&) soft…
Wife enters the room with her usual bunch of fruits and a glass of milk… Husband is seated on a nice cosy(e) be(y)d…
Wife: Why do you look so amaze(d) on seeing me!?
Husband: I B(ea)M with new energy and excitement as you enter the room…
Wife: Huh. Let(s) pack (some) hard action and talk crap later… (thinking to herself what a Bore (she has) landed with)
Husband: YE YE! A Sport(s)y wife!!! So do you wish for a Sun or a daughter?
Wife: Its your wish dear… (implied “you moron”)
Husband: I want a Sun. Sun is always INTELligent… So I want you to have an Apple a day…
Wife: And why is that???!!!
Husband: An Apple a day keeps the daughter away…
Wife: Sigh Man… Tech industry has so many dumbos who don’t know proper English… This is my fate…
Lights are switched off… In the darkness, the last heard shouts were…
Husband: ……… YAHOO!!!!!!!……… Goo gal go…
Wife: ……… What are you yelling about…? How can you hope for a Sun when you are all micro (&) soft…
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Indian Software love story
When you think of it sometimes, life in software is more like a typical Indian cinema love story. You could draw parallels from different phases of a software engineer’s life to a typical college boy – college girl love story. The ending of the story is deliberately left to one’s own imagination.
Let us first look at the typical college love story step-by-step...
The usual love story
Nice smart innocent boy enters college and thinks of all Indians as his brothers and sisters. By the 2nd year, he gets mentally mature (as well) and starts to have a more open mind about other Indians. By the third year, he is open mouthed looking at every Indian (hopefully of the fairer sex) that goes by. In the final year, he writes a love letter with 90% crap and submits it to one of those many fellow Indians. One of the dumbest to fall for the trick accepts his proposition and the love story starts. The initial days are all rosy – they go to the park, the beach and restaurants and spend their time. But soon the reality of the situation dawns... Boy starts to realize that he has to listen to everything the girl says. He cannot see TV anymore and has to spend night-outs forcibly talking to her. The worst thing comes when she decides that its time to introduce him to her dad. The dad has a one-on-one with our dude and rates him as suitable / not-suitable / absolute trash.
Well… There is more than one possible climax in this scenario
Scenario (1) – Boy accepts that this is the life for him. He decides to marry the girl and settle down for a life-time of misery with some rare nice moments in between.
Scenario (2) – A villain character in the form of the girl’s mom’s brother lands in from the USA. There is a long fight between our dude and the mom’s brother. But eventually, our dude comes just after the nick of time to see the girl married away. He starts drinking, sports a beard and lives the rest of his life like a Devdas.
Scenario (3) – Boy does the wise thing of not fighting with the mom’s brother who has landed and instead opts for going to the USA to forget the girl… He thinks he can opt for live-ins instead as he wishes - only problem is that no girl there cares a damn for our desi dude!
Disclaimer: The whole story is equally applicable to girls too. I am sure there are equal number of girls who propose to the guys(!) And hence the whole story can be reversed for the other sex :-)
Let us now look at how this story compares so nicely with the lives of those countless dudes who are sucked into the S/W bandwagon…
The love story modified for the S/W scenario
Nice smart innocent boy enters college and thinks of all the good companies that would come for campus placements for his branch of engineering. By the 2nd year, he stops reading his books and decides that the software industry is the place to go with a lot of money and nothing to study during college. By the third year, he is open mouthed looking at every Indian software company that goes by in campus for placements. In the final year, he writes a resume with 90% crap and submits it to many companies. One of the dumbest to fall for the trick accepts his resume and the dreaded association with software starts. The initial days are all rosy – he is taken to joining parties, sees a lot of nice people in his batch and has fun in the weekends at the beach with other co-joinees. But soon the reality of the situation dawns... Boy starts to realize that he has to listen to everything that the company says. He cannot see TV anymore and has to spend night-outs forcibly setting right the code. The worst thing comes when he goes face to face with his manager. The manager has a one-on-one appraisal meeting with our dude and rates him as suitable for work / not-suitable for any important work/ absolute trash.
Well there is more than one possible climax in this scenario...
Scenario (1) – Boy accepts that this is the life for him. He decides to carry on in the same company and carries on useless without any contribution till the age of 58 when he decides its time to retire. Now and then he sees some rare moments of niceties. (like those once in a blue moon pay hikes)
Scenario (2) – A villain character in the form of a new grudging boss lands in from the USA. There is a long fight between our dude and the new manager. Obviously, and eventually, the boy backs down and is kicked out of the project. He is put on bench and serves the rest of his life in the most insane of projects.
Scenario (3) – Boy does the wise thing of not fighting with the current boss or the new boss and opts to go onsite to enjoy life! Only problem is that he is alone in his town and no one onsite cares a damn on what he does or where he is…
So what is the end of this story? There is no end actually. We continue to churn millions of software engineers who live these lives in the utopian wish that something someday will change and they will do something better! Maybe become a Sivaji and come back to India and start a lot of colleges!!! They probably need to work for a million years to earn 200 crores in our software industry :-)
Let us first look at the typical college love story step-by-step...
The usual love story
Nice smart innocent boy enters college and thinks of all Indians as his brothers and sisters. By the 2nd year, he gets mentally mature (as well) and starts to have a more open mind about other Indians. By the third year, he is open mouthed looking at every Indian (hopefully of the fairer sex) that goes by. In the final year, he writes a love letter with 90% crap and submits it to one of those many fellow Indians. One of the dumbest to fall for the trick accepts his proposition and the love story starts. The initial days are all rosy – they go to the park, the beach and restaurants and spend their time. But soon the reality of the situation dawns... Boy starts to realize that he has to listen to everything the girl says. He cannot see TV anymore and has to spend night-outs forcibly talking to her. The worst thing comes when she decides that its time to introduce him to her dad. The dad has a one-on-one with our dude and rates him as suitable / not-suitable / absolute trash.
Well… There is more than one possible climax in this scenario
Scenario (1) – Boy accepts that this is the life for him. He decides to marry the girl and settle down for a life-time of misery with some rare nice moments in between.
Scenario (2) – A villain character in the form of the girl’s mom’s brother lands in from the USA. There is a long fight between our dude and the mom’s brother. But eventually, our dude comes just after the nick of time to see the girl married away. He starts drinking, sports a beard and lives the rest of his life like a Devdas.
Scenario (3) – Boy does the wise thing of not fighting with the mom’s brother who has landed and instead opts for going to the USA to forget the girl… He thinks he can opt for live-ins instead as he wishes - only problem is that no girl there cares a damn for our desi dude!
Disclaimer: The whole story is equally applicable to girls too. I am sure there are equal number of girls who propose to the guys(!) And hence the whole story can be reversed for the other sex :-)
Let us now look at how this story compares so nicely with the lives of those countless dudes who are sucked into the S/W bandwagon…
The love story modified for the S/W scenario
Nice smart innocent boy enters college and thinks of all the good companies that would come for campus placements for his branch of engineering. By the 2nd year, he stops reading his books and decides that the software industry is the place to go with a lot of money and nothing to study during college. By the third year, he is open mouthed looking at every Indian software company that goes by in campus for placements. In the final year, he writes a resume with 90% crap and submits it to many companies. One of the dumbest to fall for the trick accepts his resume and the dreaded association with software starts. The initial days are all rosy – he is taken to joining parties, sees a lot of nice people in his batch and has fun in the weekends at the beach with other co-joinees. But soon the reality of the situation dawns... Boy starts to realize that he has to listen to everything that the company says. He cannot see TV anymore and has to spend night-outs forcibly setting right the code. The worst thing comes when he goes face to face with his manager. The manager has a one-on-one appraisal meeting with our dude and rates him as suitable for work / not-suitable for any important work/ absolute trash.
Well there is more than one possible climax in this scenario...
Scenario (1) – Boy accepts that this is the life for him. He decides to carry on in the same company and carries on useless without any contribution till the age of 58 when he decides its time to retire. Now and then he sees some rare moments of niceties. (like those once in a blue moon pay hikes)
Scenario (2) – A villain character in the form of a new grudging boss lands in from the USA. There is a long fight between our dude and the new manager. Obviously, and eventually, the boy backs down and is kicked out of the project. He is put on bench and serves the rest of his life in the most insane of projects.
Scenario (3) – Boy does the wise thing of not fighting with the current boss or the new boss and opts to go onsite to enjoy life! Only problem is that he is alone in his town and no one onsite cares a damn on what he does or where he is…
So what is the end of this story? There is no end actually. We continue to churn millions of software engineers who live these lives in the utopian wish that something someday will change and they will do something better! Maybe become a Sivaji and come back to India and start a lot of colleges!!! They probably need to work for a million years to earn 200 crores in our software industry :-)
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Life from the other side...
In our software services industry be it whatever company we are working in, we are so busy with our day-to-day activities and engrossed with our work, I wondered if we ever bothered to think about life from the point of view of the people whom we encounter daily – the bus drivers, the pantry operators, the house-keeping staff, the security folks, the dhaba servers and even our own co-employees! The following post is an attempt (in jest) to highlight some of the grievances that these people may have (more often than not against us!). In the process, there would be a tendency to obviously go over-board! So bear with that please!!
First let us talk about life from our side…
A Leaf out of a typical S/W professional’s diary…
Yo Man! What a hectic day it has been! I almost missed the damn bus – the driver was as usual early by a couple of minutes! He was as slow as a tortoise to the office – thanks to him I reached office just in time for a detailed meeting with my grumpy boss and my team. Oh God - what all the man wants in a single day. Impossible to deliver! After the meeting, I went to my seat and found that there were tons of extremely critical mails to look at. By the time I had responded to those and started working on the day’s tasks, it was around 11:00 am. Then it was lunch time and treat time too since it was my boss’ birthday. Stingy guy – he only took us to the nearly dhaba but food was anyways good! They had everything that crawls, flies, swims or walks on this earth! That was the best part of the day. I then came back and had a strong coffee to stimulate the creative elements in myself! I worked again till around 5:00 pm when we had an important conference call with onsite. Long call it was with lots of discussions. Finally the call ended and we had to finish off the pending work. I was just in time for the 7:30 bus. I am now back home and writing this diary…
Now let us look at life from the other side…
Snapshots from diaries of the other people*
*1 – If they had maintained diaries at all
*2 – In many cases may be translated to English for the sake of the reader
Bus Driver: What a painful day! To add to my traffic woes, the company security has put some new rule that all buses should reach office by 8:30 am. And people take their own sweet team in each stop - “Wait for 2 more mins please”- Oh my God, how many people give me this dialogue everyday. And today to top it all - one idiot who can’t ever get into bus on time, stopped the bus right at the signal. If I had not stopped, this guy will create a big ruckus with the transport department. Painful…
Housekeeping Staff: What gluttons we have in this company! In the morning, this team in my wing met up for a long time. Everyone had a coffee in one hand and a packet of Lays or something in the other. And they act like kids with their food and drink. Chips were strewn all around on the table and coffee cups were lying all around the trash can. Conference rooms have become munching havens nowadays! Next day they do this in a team meeting, I am going to kick them all.
Trainee sitting next seat: Man, I thought only I keep getting forwards from my batch-mates but these experienced guys also get so much forwards. This guy sitting next to my seat spent probably one hour in the morning just going through all his forwards. The fool even takes time out to forward those chain mails asking you to forward the mail to 50 people so that they can see God that night!
Server at the nearby dhaba: It’s a big enough pain to manage the shouting lady and her loud son. On top of that, we have extremely loud customers whose decibel levels keep increasing for every 1 second the poor chicken waits before it gets into their mouth! Since they come as groups, they all want to take a crack at the chicken and start pouncing on the plate even before I keep it on the table. Hungry (real) pigs would behave better!
Pantry Guy: How much thought these people put into one small cup of coffee! Like the guy today afternoon who asked for a super-strong coffee with less sugar. Even after two or three attempts, the coffee didn’t seem strong enough for him. Why can’t he have black coffee directly instead of paining me?
Employees from surrounding seats: What all these people discuss in conference calls – that too putting the loud-speaker at full volume. 90% of the time goes in talking about the weather in Pittsburgh, the cricket match in Malaysia, the waistline increase of the person who just returned from onsite, the latest Rajinikanth movie etc. Oh I wish I could be part of these productive calls!
Security at the gate: They have the time to see so many cricket and bollywood sites, don’t they have the time to see our own intranet to look at the buses that go near their house? Asking me which bus out of 100 buses goes to Abithakuchalambal Nagar. As if I am some manual Google for them…
Any more leaflets from diaries you can think of, please do post them as comments!!!
First let us talk about life from our side…
A Leaf out of a typical S/W professional’s diary…
Yo Man! What a hectic day it has been! I almost missed the damn bus – the driver was as usual early by a couple of minutes! He was as slow as a tortoise to the office – thanks to him I reached office just in time for a detailed meeting with my grumpy boss and my team. Oh God - what all the man wants in a single day. Impossible to deliver! After the meeting, I went to my seat and found that there were tons of extremely critical mails to look at. By the time I had responded to those and started working on the day’s tasks, it was around 11:00 am. Then it was lunch time and treat time too since it was my boss’ birthday. Stingy guy – he only took us to the nearly dhaba but food was anyways good! They had everything that crawls, flies, swims or walks on this earth! That was the best part of the day. I then came back and had a strong coffee to stimulate the creative elements in myself! I worked again till around 5:00 pm when we had an important conference call with onsite. Long call it was with lots of discussions. Finally the call ended and we had to finish off the pending work. I was just in time for the 7:30 bus. I am now back home and writing this diary…
Now let us look at life from the other side…
Snapshots from diaries of the other people*
*1 – If they had maintained diaries at all
*2 – In many cases may be translated to English for the sake of the reader
Bus Driver: What a painful day! To add to my traffic woes, the company security has put some new rule that all buses should reach office by 8:30 am. And people take their own sweet team in each stop - “Wait for 2 more mins please”- Oh my God, how many people give me this dialogue everyday. And today to top it all - one idiot who can’t ever get into bus on time, stopped the bus right at the signal. If I had not stopped, this guy will create a big ruckus with the transport department. Painful…
Housekeeping Staff: What gluttons we have in this company! In the morning, this team in my wing met up for a long time. Everyone had a coffee in one hand and a packet of Lays or something in the other. And they act like kids with their food and drink. Chips were strewn all around on the table and coffee cups were lying all around the trash can. Conference rooms have become munching havens nowadays! Next day they do this in a team meeting, I am going to kick them all.
Trainee sitting next seat: Man, I thought only I keep getting forwards from my batch-mates but these experienced guys also get so much forwards. This guy sitting next to my seat spent probably one hour in the morning just going through all his forwards. The fool even takes time out to forward those chain mails asking you to forward the mail to 50 people so that they can see God that night!
Server at the nearby dhaba: It’s a big enough pain to manage the shouting lady and her loud son. On top of that, we have extremely loud customers whose decibel levels keep increasing for every 1 second the poor chicken waits before it gets into their mouth! Since they come as groups, they all want to take a crack at the chicken and start pouncing on the plate even before I keep it on the table. Hungry (real) pigs would behave better!
Pantry Guy: How much thought these people put into one small cup of coffee! Like the guy today afternoon who asked for a super-strong coffee with less sugar. Even after two or three attempts, the coffee didn’t seem strong enough for him. Why can’t he have black coffee directly instead of paining me?
Employees from surrounding seats: What all these people discuss in conference calls – that too putting the loud-speaker at full volume. 90% of the time goes in talking about the weather in Pittsburgh, the cricket match in Malaysia, the waistline increase of the person who just returned from onsite, the latest Rajinikanth movie etc. Oh I wish I could be part of these productive calls!
Security at the gate: They have the time to see so many cricket and bollywood sites, don’t they have the time to see our own intranet to look at the buses that go near their house? Asking me which bus out of 100 buses goes to Abithakuchalambal Nagar. As if I am some manual Google for them…
Any more leaflets from diaries you can think of, please do post them as comments!!!
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