Office Bitch..

I have come to a conclusion, coming to the office in a stupendously good mood is the sign of an ill omen, a sign of impending doom if one can put it that way.

Like take today for example, I came to the office in a kick ass mood, the weather was really good but unfortunately everything else turned out to be quite the other way. My normally understanding boss, called me 20 mins after i hit my desk and blasted at me.. i believe the poor guy was stuck in traffic and had to go to a meeting so for the day i was to be his scape goat. Then as the day trudged on, we has about 3 arguments, a sure shot sign of a day not headed the way i thought it would. Work just kept on piling up more and more so, till it became a whirlpool that tried to suck me to the dark side. The comp has been crashing for the past 2 hrs now, and i have a annoyingly small file that otherwise would be completed in 15 mins, but no, since its a conspiracy of cosmic proportions, i have a jack ass of an Art Director (yeah rite!) who just cant seem to get it right! And you know just how bad this day (more like evening now) is... the coffee machine is out of coffee.. well now its 9.45 in the evening, I have been at work for more than 12 hrs, slaving in front of the screen and typing away non stop (no, you boobs, not on my blog, but reports and briefs) and as luck would have it, i still have no idea when i will be done... plus now i am feeling hungry as well......

The Bucketlist...

Before one starts jumping to conclusions, no i am not a 60 year old - just diagnosed with a fatal disease - frustrated - counting his days man... I am talking about the wish list that I am sure each and everyone of has or had at one point of life, but its been shelved in a far recess of the mind, gradually collecting dust till its nothing but fanciful thinking of a wistful mind.

Well I do have a bucket list as well, and I have taken a firm standing on ticking off the check boxes as soon an opportunity presents itself.

So as luck would have it, work's been going good, slowly am settling into a regime of my own and finding out bits of time post work (even if post work means 11 pm!). Hence, my latest endeavor... just brought myself a sweet 6 String Archtop Guitar with an inbuilt pick up (am i showing off already, my limited knowledge??). So now the mission at hand is looking for a good guitar tutor to help me start off and downloading as much info I can off the net to give a boost to the ugly sounds that my unfortunate parents are going to be subject to for the next few months...

Typos..

Chat is my primary means of communication with friends, colleagues, family and annoying cousins, and its something i firmly defend by way of excuses like "Market research, finding out effectiveness of electronic media in communication..". What can i say, I seem to have taken the art of making excuses to a new level..

There are downsides to chatting all day, apart from Carpal-Tunnel Syndrome (for my un-enlightened friends, its when your wrist pains like a bitch cause you have spent too much time chatting with me). I tend to make typos. Some typos are innocuous. But some promote profound misunderstanding of my character, along with drawing a few laughs. I was fortunate enough to save some of the biggest typos I did (so that I can use them on a lazy monday, when i realize that I havent posted a blog for quite some time).

I would like to vindicate myself of some of the unflattering impressions I may have created.

• I may have rooted for a specific body part of yours (go tit), but I just meant to say I got it.

• I may have accidentally made sexist comments about random women, (I like her butt), but it was a simple case of an extra “t”. I meant to say “I like her, but….”

• I may have insulted popular people (He is retarded as an authority), I just have regard for them

• I may have sounded like I was bagging quickies in the middle of the afternoon at work, (back in a sex) but I was just taking a break for a “sec” (without sex, of course)

• I may have spread vile office rumors about my superiors (he has 20 people blow him). I meant to say that guy has 20 people below him.

• Just because the PCI port seems to take anything in it, I might have sounded like I was insulting it (stick it in the PCI slut), but I just meant slot

• I may have asked you to do nasty things to your monitor (Did you tryc licking on the icon). I hope you didn’t try that. Just click on the icon.

• I may have sounded like I was asking for sexual favors (Can you do me). I was not. At least, not in this instance. It was just an eager-enter syndrome. I pressed enter before typing “a favor”

Mallu!!

This isn't an original post, but a forward that i received on my mail, yet another one of those long winding tales i thought judging by the length of the matter, however reading through it I just couldn't help but maintain a silly grin throughout. It might not make sense to a lot of people, but to the few who are acquainted with the land down south (and I don't mean Australia over here!!), they will relate to all of it, and for my mallu friends.... guys I really feel for you!!

“The Travails of Single South Indian men of conservative upbringing” or

“Why we don’t get any…”

Yet another action packed weekend in Mumbai, full of fun, frolic and introspection. I have learnt many things. For example having money when none of your friends have any is as good as not having any. And after spending much time in movie theatres, cafes and restaurants I have gathered many insights into the endless monotony that is the love life of south Indian men. What I have unearthed is most disheartening. Disheartening because comprehension of these truths will not change our status anytime soon. However there is also cause for joy. We never stood a chance anyway. What loads the dice against virile, gallant, well educated, good looking, sincere mallus and tams? (Kandus were once among us, but Bangalore has changed all that.)

Our futures are shot to hell as soon as our parents bestow upon us names that are anything but alluring. I cannot imagine a more foolproof way of making sure the child remains single till classified advertisements or that maternal uncle in San Francisco thinks otherwise. Name him “Parthasarathy Venkatachalapthy” and his inherent capability to combat celibacy is obliterated before he could even talk. He will grow to be known as Partha. Before he knows, his smart, seductively named northy classmates start calling him Paratha. No woman in their right minds will go anyway near poor Parthasarathy. His investment banking job doesn’t help either. His employer loves him though. He has no personal life you see. By this time the Sanjay Singhs and Bobby Khans from his class have small businesses of their own and spend 60% of their lives in discos and pubs. The remaining 40% is spent coochicooing with leather and denim clad muses in their penthouse flats on Nepean Sea Road. Business is safely in the hands of the Mallu manager. After all with a name like Blossom Babykutty he cant use his 30000 salary anywhere. Blossom gave up on society when in school they automatically enrolled him for Cookery Classes. Along with all the girls.

Yes my dear reader, nomenclature is the first nail in a coffin of neglect and hormonal pandemonium. In a kinder world they would just name the poor southern male child and throw him off the balcony. “Yes appa we have named him Goundamani…” THUD. Life would have been less kinder to him anyway.

If all the women the Upadhyays, Kumars, Pintos and, god forbid, the Sens and Roys in the world have met were distributed amongst the Arunkumars, Vadukuts and Chandramogans we would all be merry casanovas with 3 to 4 pretty things at each arm. But alas it is not to be. Of course the south Indian women have no such issues. They have names which are like sweet poetry to the ravenous northie hormone tanks. Picture this: “Welcome, and this is my family. This is my daughter Poorni (what a sweet name!!) and my son Ponnalagusamy (er.. hello..)..” Cyanide would not be fast enough for poor Samy. Nothing Samy does will help him. He can pump iron, drive fast cars and wear snazzy clothes, but against a braindead dude called Arjun Singhania he has as much chance of getting any as a Benedictine Monk in a Saharan Seminary.

Couple this with the other failures that have plagued our existence. Any attempt at spiking hair with gel fails miserably. In an hour I have a crown of greasy, smelly fibrous mush. My night ends there. However the northy just has to scream “Wakaw!!!” and you have to peel the women off him to let him breathe. In a disco while we can manage the medium hip shake with neck curls, once the Bhangra starts pumping we are as fluid as cement and gravel in a mixer. Karan Kapoor or Jatin Thapar in the low cut jeans with chaddi strap showing and see through shirt throws his elbows perfectly, the cynosure of all attention. The women love a man who digs pasta and fondue. But why do they not see the simple pleasures of curd rice and coconut chutney? When poor Senthilnathan opens his tiffin box in the office lunch room his female coworkers just dissappear when they see the tamarind rice and poppadums. The have all rematerialised around Bobby Singh who has ordered in Pizza and Garlic bread. (And they have the gall to talk of foreign origin.)

How can a man like me brought up in roomy lungis and oversized polyester shirts ever walk the walk in painted on jeans (that makes a big impression) and neon yellow rib hugging t shirts? All I can do is don my worn “comfort fit” jeans and floral shirt. Which is pretty low on the “Look at me lady” scale, just above fig leaf skirt and feather headgear a la caveman, and a mite below Khakhi Shirt over a red t shirt and baggy khakhi pants and white trainers a la Rajni in “Badsha”.

Sociologically too the tam or mallu man is severely sidelined. An average tam stud stays in a house with, on average, three grandparents, three sets of uncles and aunts, and over 10 children. Not the ideal atmosphere for some intimacy and some full throated “WHOSE YOUR DADDY!!!” at the 3 in the morning. The mallu guy of course is almost always in the gulf working alone on some onshore oil rig in the desert. Rheumatic elbows me thinks.

Alas dear friends we are not just meant to set the nights on fire. We are just not built to be “The Ladies Man”. The black man has hip hop, the white man has rock, the southie guy only has idlis and tomato rasam or an NRI account in South Indian Bank Ernakulam Branch. Alas as our destiny was determined in one fell swoop by our nomenclature, so will our future be. A nice arranged little love story. But the agony of course does not end there. On the first night, as the stud sits on his bed finally within touching distance and whispers his sweet desires into her delectable ear, she blushes, turns around and whispers back “But amma has said only on second saturdays…”

What more can u do…????

Spot out the mallu...hehehehehe!! (sorry bro!)

Need a drink...

You get up in the morning, before time for once... the sky is nicely dotted with clouds and there's a cool wind blowing.. you get dressed and get in your car to drive to work, no traffic jams for once (wow is this reality??!).

Reach the office before time, you're all set to face the day with a smile already playing across the lips...the day is definitely going to be great...!! Man, you couldn't be more off the mark now could you. As the morning wears on to a sweaty, sweltering afternoon, where even the car's ac on full blast is rendered useless.. one can just shrug it off with a curse couple it with the fact that there's an endless jam, it gets more irritating, realizing that the client whom you met was in a league of his own when it comes to scumbags your temper is just on the boiling edge...still take a deep breadth..its ok..suddenly you search for that expensive fountain pen that you cherish so much only to find out that you left it at the client's office along with your card holder...can i please punch someone!!!

Reaching the office, the temper's a bit subsided, the war's not lost yet...enter the building to realize that, if possible at all, the rooms are warmer than the sweltering heat outside..the reason?? Very simple, the attendant says "Sir, the generator was running without coolant...will not work today!!". Just a punch now no longer seems to be the answer...

Somehow you mentally equip yourself to handle the heat and continue to get the work done... God's are scheming against me i tell you, the the approvals are just not coming on time, the deadlines are getting pushed more and more.. nothing's going right even with this!

An epiphany strikes you and it seems like chatting with your friend might take the edge off of you, when you remember how badly you were treated by them once.. and how crapped out you felt... on another day; "It's ok! Shit happens.", but no today it seems like a heinous crime that was committed against you...this is getting way out of hand now.. i need a drink..fast!

So begins a ritual of calling up all possible acquaintances, even the ones who irritate you, cause you know the alcohol will dull out that part of the human anatomy which processes such informatin for sure...but no...the day is just not mine, is it? No one, is remotely interested in catching up for a drink cause of relatives, work, tiredness and a million different reasons that do not matter to me, but are out to get me nonetheless.....so continues the endless struggle to find a partner to answer a desperate need to wet the parched throat with some barley water... wish me luck...

Social Acceptance..

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent..."

But that quote makes me wonder, in this continent how much how are the actions of one country governed by the reaction of the rest?? Is it right to assume that one's decision will be avoided just to circumvent the ridicule and mockery of the rest?

Is a person's entire behavioral pattern determined by the masses that surround him?

Now don't get me wrong, herein i don't mean to isolate the souls close to me, the ones whom i look up to when in need for support and encouragement. The ones whom i rush out to, without the slightest hesitance at the oddest of hours, upon being called for help. What i am aiming at is, should i avoid certain actions that appeal to me, that i know for certain are not harming anyone, that i know aren't morally or ethically wrong, just because the people around me would take it as an act of foolishness and brashness and make me a butt of jokes during their endless gossip sessions. What i fail to understand is the fact that, there are a certain aspects of my life where I reserve the right to do whatever I wish, withstanding the points that i stated above are met; yet why somehow time and again i am reminded that I should be avoiding such things?

"Why??" I asked during one heated discussion with my mom one evening, and the answer that I got, though was run of the mill, and an absolutely Indianzed sentence, yet it was utterly confounding for me for i had always assumed that my mom was a rock queen and would not regress to such a statement. She simply told me, "What would people say?". Now how do you make someone understand that I simply don't care about what people say. Those who actually do care about me, well I can understand their concerns and my responsibility to pay heed to them. But at the end of the day, these people are content when they see that i am happy where i am. As for the rest of the people, why does it matter that I am fueling a gossip session of theirs. How does it matter that they will look down upon me, I for one know that I am cheating no one, I have not caused malice to anyone, and if even then i am somehow a cause of amusement for these people and add a bit of excitement to their dreary existence, then let it be.

The question now arises, should a person follow a certain well trudged path, just to makes oneself socially more acceptable, even if it comes at the price of being left wanting more out of life. Why is the need of being universally loved so great that it becomes a focus point of all activities personal or otherwise.

Now I, with all conscientiousness invite comments from anyone who's spared time enough to go through my writings and had the stamina to finally reach till this point. Please do give provide me an insight as to whether I am being a selfish character, caring only about my well being; should i pay heed to the fact that a career shift from a well established, lucrative profession to a place where i yet haven't grazed even the surface, will be looked down upon by a lot of people around me. Is this reason enough to continue with a life that makes me miserable. Am i somehow wrong, or not being able to strike out a balance that would bring some sort of semblance to my life.

I think its a whole lot to ponder for a sunday evening, and I don't really want to addle any more brains. So while I leave this post for the time being to dwell upon my confoundedness. Please do enlighten me with insights that might help me understand the complexities of being a social animal and yet have the independence of being able to enjoy exclusive rights to my life.

Morning...

Waking up in the morning is never a pleasant experience. A typical morning madness begins with me just refusing to budge out of my bed while having a sharp lookout at the clock and groaning with the knowledge that each minute spent in this struggle of cosmic proportions will lead to a hurried and hassled routine.

I am in the habit of putting on the radio as soon as i am up and about and let me assure you, the nauseatingly chirpy voice of the RJ doesn't help in any ways. Add to this the fact that the first song i heard in the morning goes something like this "I keep bleeding, i keep keep bleeding in love...". Just imagine, groggy with sleep, possessing the knowledge that you will be late to work, an overly enthusiastic RJ and on top of that a girl crooning a song bout how shitty love is...its great it be up and about everyday ain't it??????

Somehow, fate was a bit on my side and the lack of unforeseen events enabled me to leave right on time. Somehow this day wasn't going to be as bad as i had assumed... yeah right!!

How many guys out there have, if not in reality then in movies at least, seen the vision of a beauty, in a summer dress, standing on the road side, with the wind just so slight that it makes her hair dance just that small bit, her hand across one side of her face trying to shade herself from the sun. Having said that, as luck would have it, i chanced upon this in the chaotic roads of Delhi. And this chanced encounter led to a comedy of sorts. As i was busy admiring this beauty, trying to cross the road, i forgot that i was responsible for the movements of a steel beast, cruising at an easy 50 k's...apparently so did the drivers of the two cars that were ahead of me. When the realization finally struck them to revert their gaze back on the boring roads ahead, it led to an immediate application of pressure on the brakes. As one can guess, it led to the 3 cars "slightly" bumping into one another. As all three drivers got out of their cars, in tandem the reaction was as follows:
1. Dismayed look at the damage done to the car.
2. A longing gaze at the beauty a few metres away.
3. A sheepish grin to the other two drivers.

Upon realizing the stupidity of the whole situation we all just got back into our cars, I still cant believe that no words were exchanged, no altercations took place... just a very strong feeling of being an ass was common between us.

Finally have reached my office without any more undue excitement, have ol' franky boy queued up and am determined to make the tide turn and see through the day...