TGIM - Thank God Its Monday

I have a problem…I have a problem with this breed of people who walk around office with so much excitement, who behave like they would rather be at work than spend the time lazing around at home and I have a problem when they carry an attitude of a Friday when on a Monday. This breed of people is the breed that is on their way to greener pastures or in corporate terms, is going through their notice period. In fact I don’t even like this term “notice period” …, I get the feeling, if you don’t put in your papers, you go through an “unnoticed” period. It rubs it in…doesn’t it?
Have you observed these guys during meetings…no deadline is impossible, no business requirement is difficult and they come out of the meeting feelings like the rest of us are lesser mortals. This is possibly the way the Neanderthal man would have looked at the pre-historic men and said…ok monkey men…we have invented the bow N arrow…so you continue to throw your stones at each other but we have upgraded!
Also the other thing that annoys me…the way the announcement of people leaving is made. So, we are already going through this predicament of seeing our colleague get a 60% hike with a fancy job title and the announcement from our boss goes like…well Loganathan has decided to move on…and all us stand like a jack ass feeling even more stagnant. I mean, what is this “move on”, who came up with this term. The person that coined this term...has he cared to even think about how low and small the rest of us would feel?
To all you leavers and movers…Life comes a full circle…just a matter of time before you get into the rigmarole of deadlines, work pressure, screw ups and appraisals! Remember…like in life, honeymoon can’t go on forever…enjoy it while it lasts, because very soon marriage would take over! Amen!

H for Hen

I come from a family where curd rice (“thayir sadham”) with mango pickle (vadu manga) is considered staple diet. No amount of convincing that even a badly cooked chicken tikka tastes better than a well made brinjal curry could discourage their love for vegetarianism. Afternoons are normally spent talking about the engineering line that my three year old should pick up or about the latest entrants amongst my relatives into the marriage market and their possible pairing, the right fixed (with an emphasize on the “ed” in typical south Indian fashion) deposit schemes and on Sumathi’s dilemma. The last one is a character from a popular sun TV soap.
It was one of those afternoons where my son was going through his drill of weekly coaching of slogas that he can recite, songs that he can sing and on his ability to call out the English alphabets, a legacy left by our forefather’s the Britishers. He was confidently calling out Apple, Ball, Cat etc every time the alphabet card with a picture was pulled out…it was a treat for the entire family. Even as the recital performance was one, my grandfather in his characteristic 1960’s tone and English speaking style was like…see I told you he is a brilliant boy and will make the family proud…” and even before he could complete the sentence the “H” card with a picture of a hen was pulled out and Sashank confidently blurts out “Chicken”. There was a stunned silence, a grave sin has been committed , blasphemy indeed…and the entire family looks at me and in unison go like…see what you have done, Sashank said “chicken”!
It’s been a week since and I am still trying to get him to say…”H for Hen”

The perils of an admission process!

Did you check out the new gal that has joined ….Purple haze continues to rock man!, a tattoo on the right shoulder looks so kewl dude, did you check out this other gal that has joined…a matter of time, marriage and kid(s) before all of these conversations become a distant memory and you get to that point in life where most of your conversation revolves around “school admission”.

As frivolous as it sounds, this seemingly simple process has a lot of intricacies which the lesser mortals (read “happy” single men/women, SINK & DINK couples) fail to comprehend. Until recently I was completely oblivious to the thought of little Sashank having the need for a 14 year long education program; corporate experience has “gyaned” into me that some solid spreadsheet expertise and classy presentation skills with MS power point is all that it takes to “excel” in life and I was planning to let my son tread this path instead of going through the rigmarole of algebra, grammer, newton’s laws and kabir ke dohe. Of course, sensibility prevailed in the form of my wife and it took just one afternoon conversation to start preparing an illustrious list of “school” with pros and cons.

The next couple of weeks were really interesting. This is when it dawned into me that almost everyone in my apartment complex is only talking about schools. I realized this topic was always on, but in the past I only heard all that I wanted to hear. It is amazing, the interest and enthusiasm with which parents (most often the moms) talk about their analysis on schools. They go like…this school has a student to teachers to class room ratio of 18: 2.75: 3.015 and I reckon this is bloody good. And another one goes… this school starts IIT coaching from class 5 onwards and you are either guaranteed an admission into IIT or into a top school in the US. And as I hear all this, I go like…damn……why dint my parents think of all this…look what they did to me!

After all the analysis and paralysis, my odyssey into the first school admission process began. Kavita ensured I am well groomed, clad in a neatly ironed attire and hair well kempt so that when I present myself as a parent, I get an instant respect and possibly an admission as well. The last time I went so early only to stand in a long line of forlorn people is when I went for my US visa some ten years ago. To beg and plead for an “admission” into a place that does not hesitate much to show its displeasure in having you, comes naturally to me. I had rehearsed at least a hundred times on the hierarchy of classes- nursery to mont1 to mont 2 and in the most husky voice possible asked for an admission form to mont 1. And then followed it up with the obvious question (which is a strict protocol in this procedure)…my son would be 3 years and 10 months and 5 days and 20 hours at the time of admission – so will it be ok. The lady at the counter did some math in her head and followed it up with a half nod. I think the single most proof that the person you are in conversation with is least interested in you is if she responds with a half nod. I am ok with the full nod or even the blink of the eyes gesture…but half nod…huh! But here again having gotten used to this response from numerous women to whom I have expressed my “feelings”, I went ahead and picked up the admission form.

And there I was going over the admission form and what baffled me the most was this innocuous column that read “Parents salary”. I mean…really…I never thought I would be put in a predicament where I am forced to flaunt an embarrassing number in my life. I think there should be a protocol…two numbers that you should never ask one in a public forum – the salary and then the waist size. So, I went ahead put in this “number” and added a footnote – “salary hike expected very soon”. The footnote of course was put in with an honest effort to “better” the chances of an “admit”.

But really…a salary figure for an LKG admission! Boss…if you are reading this, please please …give me a good rating this year end. I think…it is just a matter of time before schools go like…am sorry, you have been an under performer this entire year and I am afraid I can’t give a nursery admission to your kid!

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WTF - Rated (U/A)

Have spent hours on my couch eating potato chips, so many after noons reading forwarded emails about tweety birds and a large part of my life thinking about girls, but nothing, just nothing makes me feel as much guilt about wasting time, the way it does when I wait for the traffic signal to turn green. So here I was patiently waiting for the red to fade into a green. And suddenly, there is this guy in a cycle who squeezes in-between my car and the median, in the process disturbs my rear view mirror and nonchalantly moves ahead. It was Friday…I was in a good mood…so I go like…hey mister…what are you doing. Almost immediately this guys goes like…”get lost Ass%^*@”. Experience along with some sophisticated schooling has taught me that whenever am put in an adversity like this where my very character is getting tarnished, I retort with some thing even stronger. So, I immediately blurted out…”F*$%# off Ass%^, with my middle finger gesture complimenting the said statement. There was contentment even as I said that…ya…the state of bliss the learned call “nirvana”.

The signal turns green and having won the battle I drive ahead and took a quick peek at my rear view mirror…and what do I see…there is this guy in all rage following me at lightening speed. And here is when I notice…this guy is BIG…six foot 4 inches…that’s not all…he is 6”4 on all directions. Have you ever noticed this sign in mirrors that read “objects in mirrors are closer than they appear”. I didn’t either, till this incident. This Godzilla was growing in size and I was sure it was just a matter of time before he made minced meat outta me. The benefit of a superior car engine and a clear road helped me narrowly escape the clutches of this violently enraged man. Its only after I reached some distance of safety did it occur to me…isn’t it amazing that a small hand motion of mine instills so much rage in an otherwise passive person. I mean… think about it…all I said was “fuck“…isn’t that what is running in 90% of guy’s minds all the time…well ya 99% of the guys…or maybe all of us. So then, why get angry? Who came up with this really? This small movement of the middle finger...If only getting laid is as simple as that. We gotta change this people. This middle fingers action ain’t working. No idea why this was meant to be derogatory in the first place. Instead lets show him the bum as a symbol of insult. Think about it…you are driving, you take the pain of slowly getting up even as you maneuver the car and then show him the bum. Boy! That can be quite insulting. Imagine people going like…gosh! This is humiliating, he showed him the bum. Well…that’s some thing!!!

We are like this only

Could have written like a Wordsworth
had the English teacher not been a distraction

Could have left behind a Tom Cruise
had I pumped in a little more iron

Could have strummed like a Hendrix
had I attended my classes a little longer

Could have led like the Mahatma
had personal interests not come in my way

Could have acted like a super star
had my last name been "Khan"

But sadly am none..and jus'
leaving behind someone that
tried it all but got no where;
Cheers to all those under achievers
who create the over achievers

My tryst with...

She was jus inches away from a really personal part of my anatomy. She was looking straight into my eyes and I was looking into hers. I had no idea what she was thinking…but for me this is the first time being in a situation like this. I have read about it, heard about it and even seen it a couple of times; but never been a part of it until today. She was breathing hard. Is this really going to happen, I thought to myself? Expected this moment since the time I moved in as her neighbor…but didn’t expect it to happen this soon. Should I stay still or move away? The latter was hardly an option. There I was standing helplessly with two grocery bags on both my hands with my neighbor’s dog sniffing all over me. And this lady nonchalantly walks towards me…and says with a smile…don’t worry she wont bite. Then why the F*$% do you have a dog. I almost blurted it out, but abreast of the compromising position I was in, I stayed quiet.

All you dog owners…if you are listening…please leash your dogs. Contrary to what you may think, they actually bite. They have been designed to bite…then why wont they. I really have nothing against dogs… if at a distance. In fact I love them…I think about them many a times in my life. Every time my boss goes like…this work is horrible, want this completed by eod…I think to myself…every “dog” has its day. This is not all…whenever I do a self-appraisal of my life, I go like…ya right! It’s a dog’s life.

Relationship

I cajoled you,

I pampered you,

Fed you with gallons of time,

You promised you would be mine,

You made me smile,

You made me laugh,

Now you make me cry,

Until I die,

I wonder why,

And I wonder why?