Yesterday:
Scene: At Vaayu lounge, two absolut shots and a beer mug down.
“Hey molu, what are you doing?”
“Hi Acha, just came to a restaurant.”
“At 6?, why so early or late?”
“Having a late lunch”
“Why didn’t you have lunch, why don’t you have any thing on time..?”
“achaa…just had a late breakfast”
“What are you eating?”
“Err…(peanut masala?) just ordered a sandwich ( thank god for baristas)
“Who are you with?”
“I am with a person I met at that StartingBloc dinner I had told you about?”
"Person?"
"YES!"
“Alone?”
“Yes acha…”
“Hmm..(read hmph)…bye take care”
Acha is worried now…6 pm, at a restaurant with a stranger. He is sure I am not filling my stomach, he is worried for my liver and heart.
Lets rewind: 6 months back. Just landed in Bangalore, with a new meager paying job.
“Hi molu, how are you?”
“I am fine acha..”
“You sound very low or tired..what is it?”
“I am just tired…”
“Did you have dinner?”
“Yeah had a kathi roll at the food court?”
“Did you have chyavan praash?”
“yes.”
“Yes? Don’t lie..”
“Have bananas, they are loaded in potassium”
“Acha why do you have to call and only give instructions?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like why cant we keep instructions to 3 days and the remaining 4 days why cant we just talk”
“Because you don’t listen to anything and you don’t take care of yourself!”
“But can we try this?”
“Hmm..do you go to the gym?”
“I try to…
“I told you then itself do yoga at home, you wont go.”
“Acha…!!”
“Did you buy fruits, do you drink milk often?”
I am just wondering why I even brought up the point of limiting instructions to MWF and have a conversational TThS!
The monologue went on for 20 mins that day.
The chyavanpraash is not over yet!
Rewind: First year at college.
“Acha, I just tried alcohol”
“How many times will you Try it?”
“I like it.”
“WHAT?”
There is a drowning out of the Mumbai traffic..suddenly all I can hear is him.
“I don’t get addicted so don’t worry, but I like it.”
“Promise me you wont touch it again”
“I am 21…why would I do that?”
He is livid. Mom jumps in to keep the rickshaw from toppling..
“let it be…just calm down”
“Did you hear what she said?”
A spat ensued..I didn’t want to make false promises. My dad just wanted me to be a presentable Indian daughter and his angel.
Further rewind 6 years back
“Who are you chatting with?
“Many people…
“Why did you minimize the screen then?”
“there were too many anyway”
“But you minimized just one, don’t lie to me”
“Acha (I cant even ask him to read my chats because that would mean being grounded after he saw the sweet nothings to my first love)
“why do you always close your door?”
“Because I like it…!”
“What is this a PG?”
“AChaaaa..!!!”
He storms off….
What is with his timing…how does he just know when HE logged in!
“Why do you make such a face when you see Arjun?”
“I don’t…
“Acha you act so strange and scary when he is around, he is terrified of you!!!”
“What is this about?
“Why cant you just like my friends!!! This is so embarrassing…amma , you should see acha talk to arjun…what is this..why don’t you like him? (LIKE DUH…my daughters first boyfriend…why, I would love to adopt him!)
“Pinky don’t raise your voice!”
“I am not…but why cant you just be nice to him!”
A major spat ensued…I knew why he was so 'De Niro'-ish..but I was embarrassed..my then-boyfriend was terrified and too scared to come anywhere within a 5 km radius of my fortress…my dad transformed into a gruff looking monosyllabic person who just looked the trembling guy up and down.
I took my basketball and dribbled for 3 hours till he called me back and kissed me on my forehead. He still never broke the unapproachable keep away from my daughter exterior when he met arjun again.
Arjun is gone. Heart break. My dad,I guess never wanted that to ever happen. Health is non existent with work timings…Liver is not in the best of conditions.Safety is a concern with the happenings that occur daily in metros and the outsourcing business.
It must be so difficult to be a dad, and so much more to be mine. But he tries his level best to make sure I am doing alright,in his own disciplinarian,purely instructional and sometimes defenseless way which melts my heart and makes me choke.
I miss my dad today.
Phone rings.
Daddy Cool calling.
In my contact list, he gets to be the coolest person.
In my life he is my guardian angel with horns of course.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
ramble on.
So here I am, 6 months into corporate life and do I like it?
Hell No! I feel as insignificant as ever, like a drop in the ocean, like any other fish in the sea…and I don’t buy into the million drops- make an ocean concept. That’s not how the corporate world works. It’s the many drops of sweat that make the fat salaries of the sharks above. True we will get there some day but I am failing to see the point of getting there, as each day passes by.
Have I become smarter?
I guess so, at least less rusty than what my grey cells were in college. But at times, I can really hear the music in the distant land, I can see a pristine beach with white sand, I can hear the waves in my head…I can blank out during a client call and then come flailing back into reality to see the stares of my manager and colleagues. A long errrrr…..and then my manager fills in the rest of the err-encrypted message. Smart he is!
Be there wherever you are, was something mom always told me…but that’s my toughest challenge…to be there..and it’s not because I have got an attention span of a fruit fly …if they have one…I think they do, have you seen how they rub their sticky palms before they feast on sugar crystals, and how they hover over a crumb till they get swatted down…I hate the sound they make…ZzzZZzzzz….It sends the heebie jeebies down my spine…just cant stand it…but yes, where was I? How can I be there ma ?…when it doesn’t …it doesn’t fascinate me. It does interest me no doubt. I am an analyst and I look into numbers which tell me a story. It tells me about a honcho who’s buying my client’s product and there he suddenly dumped us! Tough luck…but why…and there’s a pattern. A set of these honcho’s have been attending conferences and jazzy stuff paid for by my competitor. That means limos, 5 stars, wine and a lot of media attention. Wouldn’t hurt to shift would it? Will it be a short term or long term effect? Or maybe my client’s product has a flaw he has not shared with us yet. I am an undercover number crunching snoop dawg!
Yes it does interest me…but my ego starts acting up. Hello? What about me? What about us? Does HE, whoever your client is, know you exist..? To that I proudly say, Yes yes, he does! In fact, he was really impressed by an idea I gave in a client call the other…
Oh really? He might be impressed but he expects it, because he’s paying you for it. Who’s idea is it going to be when he rolls it out to his sharks?
Mine!
Lil miss fantasy queen, its going to be your firms. Oh no..it gets better. It is going to be HIS.
What’s your point? What do you want from me…I’ll prove myself and I’ll climb up this bean stalk.
Does it really change lives? (Echo)
I frown. I am upset now.
That’s my point it doesn’t. It doesn’t make a kid tug at my hand and give me the most beautiful grin. That kid is still going to be clearing my dishes as I leave that tiny restaurant to catch my train for a visa interview. It’s not going to let another girl study because she will not have light from 4 in the evening till midnight, after which there will be no other go but to wait for the sunshine. It is not going to make any one smile
And I try to shhh my conflicts and my existential soliloquy and fall into a troubled lack luster slumber.
Hell No! I feel as insignificant as ever, like a drop in the ocean, like any other fish in the sea…and I don’t buy into the million drops- make an ocean concept. That’s not how the corporate world works. It’s the many drops of sweat that make the fat salaries of the sharks above. True we will get there some day but I am failing to see the point of getting there, as each day passes by.
Have I become smarter?
I guess so, at least less rusty than what my grey cells were in college. But at times, I can really hear the music in the distant land, I can see a pristine beach with white sand, I can hear the waves in my head…I can blank out during a client call and then come flailing back into reality to see the stares of my manager and colleagues. A long errrrr…..and then my manager fills in the rest of the err-encrypted message. Smart he is!
Be there wherever you are, was something mom always told me…but that’s my toughest challenge…to be there..and it’s not because I have got an attention span of a fruit fly …if they have one…I think they do, have you seen how they rub their sticky palms before they feast on sugar crystals, and how they hover over a crumb till they get swatted down…I hate the sound they make…ZzzZZzzzz….It sends the heebie jeebies down my spine…just cant stand it…but yes, where was I? How can I be there ma ?…when it doesn’t …it doesn’t fascinate me. It does interest me no doubt. I am an analyst and I look into numbers which tell me a story. It tells me about a honcho who’s buying my client’s product and there he suddenly dumped us! Tough luck…but why…and there’s a pattern. A set of these honcho’s have been attending conferences and jazzy stuff paid for by my competitor. That means limos, 5 stars, wine and a lot of media attention. Wouldn’t hurt to shift would it? Will it be a short term or long term effect? Or maybe my client’s product has a flaw he has not shared with us yet. I am an undercover number crunching snoop dawg!
Yes it does interest me…but my ego starts acting up. Hello? What about me? What about us? Does HE, whoever your client is, know you exist..? To that I proudly say, Yes yes, he does! In fact, he was really impressed by an idea I gave in a client call the other…
Oh really? He might be impressed but he expects it, because he’s paying you for it. Who’s idea is it going to be when he rolls it out to his sharks?
Mine!
Lil miss fantasy queen, its going to be your firms. Oh no..it gets better. It is going to be HIS.
What’s your point? What do you want from me…I’ll prove myself and I’ll climb up this bean stalk.
Does it really change lives? (Echo)
I frown. I am upset now.
That’s my point it doesn’t. It doesn’t make a kid tug at my hand and give me the most beautiful grin. That kid is still going to be clearing my dishes as I leave that tiny restaurant to catch my train for a visa interview. It’s not going to let another girl study because she will not have light from 4 in the evening till midnight, after which there will be no other go but to wait for the sunshine. It is not going to make any one smile
And I try to shhh my conflicts and my existential soliloquy and fall into a troubled lack luster slumber.
violate
I hugged Dushy and KK. I had had a wonderful yet scandalizing time staying at their bachelor pad. Now I am no cleanliness freak myself. I love mess and camping in mess, making space for myself on my bed after a hard day’s night, is pretty adventurous and impromptu and it suits me just fine. But this was not a pad…it was a whole new world. Where one entire bedroom was dedicated to a pigeon and her eggs and the others filled into what was left in the house. The men were on a hair today gone tomorrow mission, which meant religious oiling or “champi” session as you call it…and minutes which in their world was hours, combing their tresses and strewing the hair strands all around.
It took me atleast two days to get used to the balls of crinkled black on the floor!
I had a good time. A very very good time. I was back in Hyderabad after 6 months, and it was still intact. A mix of two worlds, a foodie’s abode to heaven and yes for people who enjoy controversy, it was teeming with it. The city was “bandh” for two days that I was there due to the Telangana demands and security threats. The movies were as cheap as can be, and I wanted to watch all the bollywood movies before I got back to Bangalore which is synonymous to mooch-me-off-my-meagre-pay city.
I boarded the bus. This seemed neat, and I started chatting up the lady next to me. A fashion designer for Lee. Interesting. After a bit of conversation everyone in the bus shut their eyes and went into REM land. I have had random jacks annoying the crap out of me before with i-will-stare-at-thy-till-some-telekinesis-takes-place-and-I-can-unbutton-thy experiences so in spite of being a heavy (pun intended) snoozer, I am an owl in a bus.
I finally gave into losing my vigilance and drifted off into a snooze. I covered myself with a blanket right up to my head.
4 30 am. Someone actually uncovers me and soon there is a hand on my breast and I wake up in shock. I see a glimpse of the person in the darkness, but the oaf a lady (you will see why I detest her so much) next to me is so wide, that I miss grabbing his hand. I yell out. I scream out. People around me stir. I am reeling in shock. My left breast is burning.
My co passenger says to me, “ oh that’s horrible. What can be done about it now…just forget it and go back to sleep”.
I want to slap her across the face but that’s not going to help either. I have been violated and there is no one ready to even help. I am in shock.
Around me are men, some the age of my dad. One of them looks at me with a lecherous expression and keeps looking till he dozes off again. I must have resembled an angry porcelain statue because I was stupefied.
I wait for a while. The sun is rising. I wake the bison next to me. I walk up to the cabin of the conductor and driver and knock. They open the window. I complain, I tell them what happened to me.
They pretend that I am talking an incomprehensible dialect. Oh god, why do we have so much diversity than I feel like a freak each time I cross a border. Why cant people speak just one god damn language!
I ask two young guys at the front if they could help me translate. I narrate to him exactly what happened.
The scene is exactly like a bollywood court room drama with the heroine being questioned about her unfortunate violation by Danny.
Where, How…and then sorry, due to the lack of evidence, the case closes and a thousand other men decide it’s that easy to molest a lady.
I am choking…I am angry as hell can be. I can’t pin point to one person though I know it is one of those workers in the bus, who distribute water bottles. He was tiny, a half man.
He is right next to the conductor and he’s got the goose bumps.
He tells the conductor it’s the cleaner. The cleaner, a gruff looking man is woken up and brought in front of me. I say this is not the person.
I can understand telugu, and I heard the conductor asking my violator, you did it right?
He turns to me and says, you should have come earlier. The man must have got down the bus by now.
I refuse. I have been up all night watching. No one around me even budged when I screamed. And trust me the man is very much in front of me.
“Sorry madam , but this is the first time this is happening in our travels.”
“How many more times do you want it to happen before you take action.”
My translators add in vehemence, “You want some one to be raped, katha?” Some people are snickering by now.
Meanwhile the entire bus is staring at me wide eyed. I am sure many of them where thinking, ok this is turning out to be melodramatic. People just staring…Not a single stare of empathy, even from the ladies. Was I speaking the right tongue? It is Hindi right?
I am shaking..I am sobbing…I am not even angry with the boob groper anymore. I am disgusted at the lack of sensitivity in the entire bus. I am sick at the bison who sat next to me,who had a younger sister like me…was it so commonplace for a girl to get molested that it loses its spark of controversy also, and its just not worth fighting for anymore.
I was amused at the number of ball-less men in the bus; this could be an interesting case study.
I walk back to me seat. I wanted to say Thank you all. That will be all. My stand up act is over! You were a dead audience by the way.
I walk back in pain. I am shaken. But my breast is not burning anymore. I have at least fought for myself.
I wonder how many women out there go through this and do nothing about it because they are just too embarrassed or scared.. it’s a horrible feeling. Your body cries out in pain.
Enough of this.
Least to say, the man lost his job. One of my friends saw to that, and though I don’t know how he did that…I am not really vindicated. My sympathy to the families of the dead souls in the bus. May their souls RIP.
It took me atleast two days to get used to the balls of crinkled black on the floor!
I had a good time. A very very good time. I was back in Hyderabad after 6 months, and it was still intact. A mix of two worlds, a foodie’s abode to heaven and yes for people who enjoy controversy, it was teeming with it. The city was “bandh” for two days that I was there due to the Telangana demands and security threats. The movies were as cheap as can be, and I wanted to watch all the bollywood movies before I got back to Bangalore which is synonymous to mooch-me-off-my-meagre-pay city.
I boarded the bus. This seemed neat, and I started chatting up the lady next to me. A fashion designer for Lee. Interesting. After a bit of conversation everyone in the bus shut their eyes and went into REM land. I have had random jacks annoying the crap out of me before with i-will-stare-at-thy-till-some-telekinesis-takes-place-and-I-can-unbutton-thy experiences so in spite of being a heavy (pun intended) snoozer, I am an owl in a bus.
I finally gave into losing my vigilance and drifted off into a snooze. I covered myself with a blanket right up to my head.
4 30 am. Someone actually uncovers me and soon there is a hand on my breast and I wake up in shock. I see a glimpse of the person in the darkness, but the oaf a lady (you will see why I detest her so much) next to me is so wide, that I miss grabbing his hand. I yell out. I scream out. People around me stir. I am reeling in shock. My left breast is burning.
My co passenger says to me, “ oh that’s horrible. What can be done about it now…just forget it and go back to sleep”.
I want to slap her across the face but that’s not going to help either. I have been violated and there is no one ready to even help. I am in shock.
Around me are men, some the age of my dad. One of them looks at me with a lecherous expression and keeps looking till he dozes off again. I must have resembled an angry porcelain statue because I was stupefied.
I wait for a while. The sun is rising. I wake the bison next to me. I walk up to the cabin of the conductor and driver and knock. They open the window. I complain, I tell them what happened to me.
They pretend that I am talking an incomprehensible dialect. Oh god, why do we have so much diversity than I feel like a freak each time I cross a border. Why cant people speak just one god damn language!
I ask two young guys at the front if they could help me translate. I narrate to him exactly what happened.
The scene is exactly like a bollywood court room drama with the heroine being questioned about her unfortunate violation by Danny.
Where, How…and then sorry, due to the lack of evidence, the case closes and a thousand other men decide it’s that easy to molest a lady.
I am choking…I am angry as hell can be. I can’t pin point to one person though I know it is one of those workers in the bus, who distribute water bottles. He was tiny, a half man.
He is right next to the conductor and he’s got the goose bumps.
He tells the conductor it’s the cleaner. The cleaner, a gruff looking man is woken up and brought in front of me. I say this is not the person.
I can understand telugu, and I heard the conductor asking my violator, you did it right?
He turns to me and says, you should have come earlier. The man must have got down the bus by now.
I refuse. I have been up all night watching. No one around me even budged when I screamed. And trust me the man is very much in front of me.
“Sorry madam , but this is the first time this is happening in our travels.”
“How many more times do you want it to happen before you take action.”
My translators add in vehemence, “You want some one to be raped, katha?” Some people are snickering by now.
Meanwhile the entire bus is staring at me wide eyed. I am sure many of them where thinking, ok this is turning out to be melodramatic. People just staring…Not a single stare of empathy, even from the ladies. Was I speaking the right tongue? It is Hindi right?
I am shaking..I am sobbing…I am not even angry with the boob groper anymore. I am disgusted at the lack of sensitivity in the entire bus. I am sick at the bison who sat next to me,who had a younger sister like me…was it so commonplace for a girl to get molested that it loses its spark of controversy also, and its just not worth fighting for anymore.
I was amused at the number of ball-less men in the bus; this could be an interesting case study.
I walk back to me seat. I wanted to say Thank you all. That will be all. My stand up act is over! You were a dead audience by the way.
I walk back in pain. I am shaken. But my breast is not burning anymore. I have at least fought for myself.
I wonder how many women out there go through this and do nothing about it because they are just too embarrassed or scared.. it’s a horrible feeling. Your body cries out in pain.
Enough of this.
Least to say, the man lost his job. One of my friends saw to that, and though I don’t know how he did that…I am not really vindicated. My sympathy to the families of the dead souls in the bus. May their souls RIP.
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