Saturday, December 18, 2010
- I can define 'core competency' without falling down laughing
- I reply to 'What's Up' using a SWOT Analysis
- Requests for financial aids to parents are referred to as IPOs
- I ask my four-year old niece what the 'mission statement' in her life is
- I advise friends to lend some semblance of 'sustainability' to their relationships
- I talk to my girl about our future in terms of all the 'value' we can 'co-create'
- There are never less than six tabs on my browser
- 'Ctrl' is the most pressed button on my keyboard
- 'Reply to all' is my default action on reading a mail
- I make daily diary entries in MS Power Point
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The good old times were so bloody different. Or probably, it was the ignorance-induced-indifference of my age. Whatever be the reason, the sleeper coaches never used to bother me. They were taken for granted on a family trip. Travelling in air conditioned compartments used to be considered extravagance of the highest vulgarity.
22 hours in the sleeper coach of Purushottam Express brought back everything. It was a kaleidoscope of all the possible colors, dialects and cultures. The toilets stank. Males ogled blatantly at the plateaus of female anatomy. Discussions ranged from instantaneously solving political quagmires to making roadmap of the Indian cricket team to the WC. Hawkers sold spurious packaged drinking water with impunity. Some destitute-turned-junkie swept the entire coach with his shirt – that he would still wear after the exercise – for quick change and some glue to sniff. Ticket examiners made moolah at the expense of the employer. And everyone seemed to flash their ‘chai-neej’ phones squirting the latest Bollywood chartbusters that superimposed with one another making me beg the Lord to enlighten them about earplugs!
Today, I’m one friggin snob. Today I cringe in disgust. Today I travel AC.
Today, I travel with the crowd that throws huge words like ‘civic sense’ and ‘etiquette’ in a split second. The crowd that changes colors like a chameleon. The crowd that does “upar neeche” with the TTE without the slightest of hesitations. The crowd that uses the choicest expletives once it gets out of the coach. The crowd that thinks the world is it’s dustbin. The crowd that contributes more than it’s fair share to the smelly heap of garbage next door. The crowd that knows just one game: that of blame.
Will the buck ever stop? Will Musaddi Lal ever come out of the lazy reluctance bred by the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude? Will we ever start using dustbins, however scarce they might be? Will we stop promoting beggary by offering them food instead of hard cash? Will the stranglehold on spurious water bottles ever tighten? Will the TTE’s wings ever be clipped? WILL PEOPLE EVER START USING EARPLUGS?
P.S. I’m totally convinced that the education system in UP sucks. This is Ishika (niece)’s take on English:
…C-A-T cat, D-O-G dog, E-O-G elephant…
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
- We don't have to guzzle down liquids we can't even afford to smell, sport hairstyles that make us look like buffoons and play sports we don't even understand to be"cool".
- We don't have to spend one-third of our lives looking at our own reflections in the mirror. We recognize ourselves way sooner.
- We don't have to shave more than one-twentieth of our body.
- There is no concept of "tomgirls". We are happy with what we are.
- We can afford our underwear.
- We buy shoes we wear more than once.
- Cockroaches are scared of us.
- We understand music.
- We don't wear t-shirts with quotes at exactly the places we don't like people to stare at.
- We aren't hypocrites. We accept that we think about sex all the time.
- We don't substitute sex with chocolates!!!!
- We think chocolates are sweet brown confectionery. NOTHING ELSE!!!
- We don't eat more than our dietitian recommended when we're depressed.
- We don't have a dietician.
- We are never depressed!!!
- We don't have to harp on about our right to equality to settle down for a "33% reservation".
- We don't need a "beauty sleep". We sleep when we want, where we want and how we want.
- We don't believe in keeping wastes in our body. The world is our urinal.
- We don't care if our best friends forget our birthdays. We wonder if they don't.
- Our clothes are comfortable. We can stretch, bend and run in them.
- We aren't destroyed if someone else wears the same outfit at a party.
- We don't appear in advertisements of products for the opposite sex.
- We can wear whatever we want to a water park. (if clothing's a compulsion)
- We choose "just the right gifts" in 58 seconds straight.
- We don't fake accents.
- We don't use creams for everything from fairness to "enhancement".
- We don't stuff our clothes to look "big".
- We know stuff about the Italian Mob.
- We know the difference between a USB and a URL.
- While fixing a bulb, we don't have to stop and think which way to turn.
- We don't have to seduce our bosses for a promotion.
- Our clothes are never wrinkled. At least to us.
- We know no one cares about the fingernails.
- People look into our eyes when we talk.
- We can afford to wait for year-end sale schemes.
- Our phone bills are minuscule.
- We don't know what peach, burgundy and magenta mean. We don't care.
- We find beauty in everything. And everyone.
- Our shampoos don't nauseate us.
- When we take more than five minutes to take a bath, we're having fun.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
It was a night of ecstasy. Of liberation. Of emancipation. Of flight. Of fantasy. Of love, or whatever was left of it.
He had never been there before - in the concaves of her body. But she didn’t stop him this time, ironically, when she was about to walk away from it all in a few moments. How else could she have carried his memories with herself. She had to. She had to, if she wanted to survive among the ghosts of the past and the wolves of the future. And she did. A part of him: his being.
And then it happened. Beads. Big ones. All of a sudden. Uncontrollably. Inexplicably.
She hadn’t cried for ages. Ages, that had been dark and cruel to her. Times, that had made her feel like a worthless blot on humanity. Today it whelmed over. Over and over again.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
There was a time when programmes on TV made sense. Today, they make an ass out of themselves and a mockery of our intellect. Today, they make money.
They make my blood boil. And I make no bones about it.
Gone are the good old Sundays that started with BQC and ended with Filmy Chakkar. Today’s tube could make the veterans cringe in their retirements/graves. Glamour is in and so is the melodrama. What’s out is substance. I’m seriously!
I’m sick of this new plague that has come upon “entertainment” – reality shows. It’s a wonder how it has weeded the quizzes and the game shows totally out. All we have today are the same semi-celebs dancing in one reality show, anchoring the second and judging the third. Imagine Bindu Singh judging a dance competition!!! I’m ashamed of the times I’m living in! [Bindu Who? Well, sigh!]
I’m sick of painfully long “talent shows” where the exhibition of talent takes a minuscule proportion of the telecast while the majority is dominated by judges’ “commenting”/fighting or participants/their families/their neighbours/judges/anchors/all having their eyes and nostrils all welled up. Awwww!
I’m sick of the anchors who give their unwarranted opinion after every performance before redundantly turning to the actual judges who come onto the stage after every third performance and use standing ovations more liberally than Sony Entertainment Television telecasts CID.
I’m sick of Rakhi Sawant featuring on some or the other reality show round the year, promising to bid adieu every time some “drrrama heippins”. The Swayamvar thing took reality shows to a whole new level! Proud of you, girl [or whatever you are]!
I’m sick of Saroj Khan, her weird arrogance and her truck loads of make-up. I’m sick of the king of pelvic thrusts Mithoon Da judging the “biggest” dance competition on the tube. I’m sick of Geeta Ma who has not known how to shut her speech-hole up. I’m sick of Anu Malik and his instant shayaris on his only means of employment that are worse than the spam SMSes. I’m sick of Abhijeet Sawant who finally has a job and thinks he’s funny making a schmuck of himself. I’m sick of Shilpa Shetty who still thinks she is the hottest diva in the country. I’m sick of Ravi Behl. Period.
I’m sick of flop heroes of C-grade movies [read: Sameer Kochar] and not-even-that skimpily dressed females hosting the cricket shows. Sometimes, honestly, the awe-inspiring cricketing knowledge of these pretty faces and the sheer quality of the questions they ask the veterans on the show make me miss even Mandira Bedi!
I’m sick of “Film Festivals” that serve the same old Bollywood crap in a new package. I’m sick of the daily soaps where the sole bread earner for the show is feminine rivalry and 61.62% of the time is wasted on close-ups of the faces of everyone present in the scene after every dialogue. I’m sick of the Expletive Channel, formerly MTV. I’m sick of Hindi electronic journalism. I'm sick of the long narratives. I’m sick of what makes news today.
I’m sick of India TV.
It’s time to wake up and bring some goddamned shape to this mess. Enough of rona-dhona. We make the TRPs. We bring the advertisers. We are the change we want to see but are reluctant to put our fingers on it. Lets not degrade ourselves in absence of options. JAAG!
There are a few things that bother me. Rather, they piss me off. And what’s the most discouraging, if not disgusting, is the scale that these ‘evils’ have adopted. The text above was the second in the series of a campaign of sorts that I’m starting – JAAG! Help me if you want to by spreading the word. I am no hardcore optimist. I don’t hope this text is going to make any substantial difference in the way people think. But I’m a dreamer. And there’s a difference between the two.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Disclaimer: Possibly coarse content. Strictly personal views. Offence intended. Tinge of MBA jargon.
Who has actually seen God, has had a tete-a-tete with Him over shots of Tequila/milkshake? Has He ever come down upon Earth and set the damn protocols in stone? I’m an agnostic at times but this is not that. This is the God-believer talking. I believe in Him, His omniscience.
My concept of God is CEO, World. He handles the Finances, the Operations and the HR. And there are no broad issues with the three departments barring a few recessions, earthquakes and suicides. But where the bugger has fallen flat is the Marketing. Unclear of his positioning, he has inadvertently gone into various line extensions [read: religions] and brand extensions [read: castes, sects and all that shit] managed by radically autonomous brand managers.
I think he is a pretty cool bloke. He isn’t too much excited by Ramzans, vrats or yajnas. If you do any of these because your heart tells you to do so, carry on. But if you do it because your faith dictates you to, well dude, you’re an impotent pushover with no friggin’ intellect of your own! Start questioning!
And the sacrifices of blood! Holy blabber! Doesn’t ‘kindness leading to God’ ring a bell??
I believe He likes genuinely nice people. Not the perfect ones. No body’s perfect. He just likes people with a genuine concern towards humanity and an empathetic heart that can feel the pain of others.
He doesn’t give a skeletal ass to microphone chants and colossal bronze bells that make the life of others hell. The processions that bring the traffic to a standstill are plain jokes to Him.
Also, the places that have made Him a business, He makes sure He steers away from those. The Tirupatis, the Meccas, the Vaticans: there is more to Him than these. You do not have to go somewhere to seek Him. In this age of Bluetooth/Wireless, why stick to InfraRed? When we say he’s omnipresent, it means that even if you talk to Him from the confines of the walls your ping reaches his chat window instantly!
He never made any priest, imam or pandit the brokers between Him and you. They just reached there first and lay their claim. You don’t need these middlemen. The longer the supply chain, the greater the Bullwhip Effect. Deal with Him directly. Talk to him: make jokes, share sins. He likes it. He’s one big voyeur. But He’s a patient listener. And the Guiding Light as well!
And the riots in His name: Oh, what an absolute insult to Him! Some bastards, sitting at the top in peace, make their living by making you kill your friend from a different faith. Grow up. Open up your widely shut eyes. There is nothing – absolutely nothing – to die for, kill or rape. It’s the temporary insanity that overtakes your conscience and the ability to think properly.
Make religion a strictly personal domain and respect the rights of others to subscribe to a different brand of faith. JAAG!
“You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will still be one.” – John Lennon
P.S. Un-dear Feminists, kindly notice the use of ‘He’ for God. I honestly believe He’s male.
There are a few things that bother me. Rather, they piss me off. And what’s the most discouraging, if not disgusting, is the scale that these ‘evils’ have adopted. The text above was the first in the series of a campaign of sorts that I’m starting – JAAG! Help me if you want to by spreading the word. I am no hardcore optimist. I don’t hope this text is going to make any substantial difference in the way people think. But I’m a dreamer. And there’s a difference between the two.