Not Again :(

If another soul even as much mutters 'Women's Day' another time, I might just break into a dance. Not a happy jig around a tree, mind you. A very elaborate tandav is what you'll have to endure. Bhagwaan ke liye, stop marking this day on your calendar every forsaken year, to patronize, validate and venerate us. A woman these days, atleast in civilized parts of the world, is NOT defined by her gender anymore. Now, before you brand me as another impractical, star-gazing, dissing, humbug idealist, think again. Yes, I am aware that many of us are still ill-treated, pushed around and bossed about today because of our very sex... the menace of dowry, physical abuse, denial of education, mental trauma still haunting countless women, even in the present, much-hailed 21st century. Yet, half the women I know despise the very idea of having a hot summer day per annum dedicated to pseudo-venerating them... their TVs, newspapers, radio stations and even workplaces densely dotted with a bunch of oddball czarinas talking through their heavily made-up mouths about 'empowerment', 'winning-against-all-odds' and 'liberation' - SO BORINGLY done to death now. All this should no doubt happen. But not just because you're a woman. Why, I know so many men too who have won against all odds. Whether the odds in question are a caste issue, a coming-out-of-the-closet issue, a class issue or a medical issue. Why doesn't anyone celebrate such individuals? Why focus on women, apparently the 'weaker' lot, who have defied convention and carved a place for themselves in society? That's not to take credit away from them... all I'm saying is DO NOT chant for us or pedestal-ize us, because we're women. If need be, go educate those sections of the society - the socio-economic backward regions, about how its not fashionable to ostracize women anymore. Because it simply does not make sense in the world of today. There's nothing a man can do that a woman cannot and vice-versa. (yeah yeah... except for the you-know-what stuff, of course). I think many of us have realized that and can relate to that.

So you may be wondering what is a (scary-looking) Rihanna video doing in this crusading post of mine. For me, women like her symbolize how the woman of today has truly arrived. She is confident, aggressive, even a tad brash and abrasive (qualities we usually tag men with) and does not expect brownie points for being a woman. Oh, and she made life miserable for her jerk-of-a-boyfriend who physically abused her. I'm sure we will soon have her clones everywhere. We don't need a special day in the year to applaud all this. Let this be a continuous phenomenon - day in and day out.

PS: For those of you who've dozed off by now, I apologize for this humdrum topic that I've chosen to rant about. Its just that I'm being harrowingly stifled by all this talk about Women's Day around me... today there is this workshop on the same being organized by my organization and I'm SO dreading it. Not the gaseous talk, of course. The ensuing tandav is what I'm worried about ;)

Confessions of the Honest kind

She isn't here, again. That naturally means I HAVE to fill in her unwanted shoes - this woeful predicament including cleaning/mopping the house, tossing up some godawful-preparation-that-more-or-less-resembles-chapatis, feeding salty bhajis/watery dals to dad & sis (they're probably pleading for mercy by now), filling empty refrigerator bottles (bottomless pits, I tell you), washing utensils, drying clothes, buying vegetables from the swindling bhajiwaala, attending the door (incredibly irritating especially when you're in the midst of burning a perfectly rhombus-shaped chapati), picking up the screaming telephone (ok ok.... I ignore 9 out of 10 calls) and what not! And to top it all - it is such a thankless exercise. Retribution is merely a mirage. Exactly 10 minutes after you've transformed the kitchen into a sparklingly clean place (no magic wand, mind you.... a humble mop does it after 20 minutes of back-breaking effort), devoid of the colossal mess it was half-an-hour ago, it reverts back to its original dumpy state. Classic case of the Midas un-touch. How tremendous is that? Even for someone with the patience of a saint (me), it is extremely exasperating! By now I passionately *hate* household chores, cooking topping the list.... I'm a disaster, you'd rather starve than gulp down any of my pathetic culinary attempts! I wasn't born to do it (yeah yeah... silver spoon and all). My friends tell me with profound wisdom, "Accha 'training' ho raha hai...." Deep, huh? Lord help the unfortunate recipient of all this 'training' that I'm undergoing. He should go jump off a cliff right now and save himself some serious constipation.

So there it is.... I feel SO much better, now that I've got it down in writing and you, poor reader, as usual have to bear the full brunt. The whining 'ol Avanti is back with a dustbin bag.... err.... I mean - bang!!

Anyway, coming to brighter, more promising things.... I have been tagged by the lovely, much-too-generous Anu. Why she (or anyone else) should consider me tag-worthy boggles even the smartest of minds; and since I've hardly ever been famous for having one, I'll cut the needless ruminating about. So, without further ado, I hereby obediently respond to Anu's tag, the awful delay notwithstanding:

Here's the deal - I must enlist 10 honest things about myself. Ha! I think I've been more honest than a real estate agent trying to palm off a haunted house to you. People often ask why I disclose so much about myself in such a public forum. I say it is because I have nothing to hide. Quite simple it is.

I might as well compile the list rightaway. Statutory Warning: If and when you reach the end of this post, most of you will think I'm a freak. Its tough to pick only 10 of my freakiest habits, but a list must end somewhere. So here it goes:

1. I obsess. Over inconsequential things that I ought not to obsess over. Like that renegade drop of water on the floor or the oil ring that a bottle of oil leaves behind (mop comes out immediately, fierce scrubbing ensues). Also other stupid, silly things like which side of the bed sheet covers my face (I tie a little knot at one end to identify the side, so that the side that shrouds the legs will never cover my face the next time), the number of times I should wash my hair in a week, cleaning of own plates/spoons with a paper-napkin before dining at a restaurant, flushing a public toilet even if it has been flushed clean by the previous occupant, the placement of things on my desk (can't leave their slotted place) and other such freaksome habits. So yeah, I suffer from a mild bout of OCD. Painful stuff.

2. I love compliments. Who doesn't? But wait, here's when it gets funny. When I do get a generous word of praise or two, I just don't bluhdy know how to handle it! Sample this -

Instance 1:

Person A: "Nice earrings, Avanti!"

Avanti: Oh, they are? I think they make my ears droop....

(*wouldn't mind if you'd slapped me right then*)

Instance 2:

Person B: " Wow! You drive the car really well"

Avanti: "Yeah well, you see that dent there - I bumped into a big bad bus the other day....."

(*you can shoot me too now*)

Instance 3:

Person C: "That was a brilliant report, Avanti!"

Avanti: "Yeah, but I don't like the 2 spelling errors I made... I just don't know HOW it happened...!"

(Did anyone say modesty is a virtue? Well, I should be hanged for it)

3. Despite the alleged 'opulent' lifestyle I lead (my only claim to extravagance being a car, a Macbook Pro and a closetful of clothes that I own), I honestly will not fret over loss of the same. Neither do I mind being married to a pauper. I do not crave for the material world. Its just that when I have the means, I go ahead and buy insanely expensive stuff. I'm only too happy to let it all go if need be. (this is not some monk-who-sold-his-ferrari crap... I really mean it).

4. If I see a similar outfit (that I also possess) on any other chick, I will NEVER wear it again. Duplicity is unforgivable!

5. I don't drink tea or coffee. Only bhais ka doodh for me. Go ahead and laugh now.

6. Despite the intimidating, fiercely-independent image that I tend to project, I'm still old-fashioned. If I ever pen a romantic tale, in it guys would chase girls and girls would be coy and shy. Darcy remains my favorite hero till date. They don't make more like him anymore!

7. As a kid, I was a tomboy. Right from cropped hair to an astute dislike for barbies, there was a point in time when I excelled at all things boyish. Playing cricket, strumming the guitar, a craze for video-games (Wolf 3D, NFS Underground, GTA3, Quake 3, Ghost Recon and Formula 1 Racing '99 were my forte), watching WWF, F1, having a weakness for sneakers.... you see.... pretty much everything except whistling or hooting at girls (thank God for small mercies). I'm pretty much reformed now, behave more like a girl and do nothing that I did as a kid. Not that I regret doing them. We all have our phases.

8. The best gift to give me is a book. Fiction only, mind you. The thicker it is, the better. I love the smell of new books. Also fresh newspapers, paint and kerosene. That's it. No more weird stuff.

9. I've had 3 serious crushes till now. One lasted a good 4 years. Never spoke to ANY of them till date. Never found the spunk to.

10. I'm not easily amused. Santa-Banta jokes won't work on me. Nope, not even a polite laugh. Only Rakhi Sawant makes me laugh. She never fails. I admire her for that.

There you go! Whew! That was tough. I have weirder stuff up my sleeves, but I'll save it for another time (can hear collective sighs of relief). After all, I still need to maintain my scarce audience, don't I?

Oh, I need to do one more bit - here are the sweethearts that I must tag (rules, what can I do?). Go ahead, darlings! Confess!

Deepti

Shikha

Indy

Ankit

Arslan

Quiet please!

After a fitful sleep last night, I woke up this morning to a rather dubious headline on page 2 of The Times of India - 'City wakes up to a quieter celebration'. Unless you were encased in a soundproof padded cell, let me assure you that this claim is wholly unfounded. Mumbai did not have a quieter Diwali; it never has, and at the rate it is going every progressing year, it never will. In all fairness, a celebration must be a merry affair, and not a muted one. But atleast don't make me feel as though I am right at the epicenter of a war-zone, with every exploding bomb threatening to rip my ears apart. At the rate some maniacs in my locality were letting off crackers, chain bombs and other such deafening monstrosities, I for one, was left a disturbed (and severely hearing-impaired) person at the end of it all. One horrifying chain-bomb lasted a full 10 minutes. At the ungodly hour of 2 am. I can only hope the aged managed to keep their meek hearts in check. I had half a mind to open my windows and direct a well-aimed rocket at the heartless fiends. But they had already achieved their purpose and I would only be adding to the din. So yet again, Avanti suffered, without protest.

Diwali is essentially a festival of lights. Not noise. How lovely it is to see our houses lit with flashing bulbs, lanterns and diyas during this joyous festival! The well-designed rangolis, kids scampering about in new clothes, exchanging sweets and reminisces, lighting up diyas and not forgetting the basic premise of Diwali - that of the destruction of all that is dark and evil through light and bonhomie.

Sadly, these days people are more interested in destroying the tranquility of homes and minds. I humbly exhort all to please refrain from undue noise. Let us celebrate this festival in the right manner - for what it symbolizes. As Ranbir Kapoor wisely says in that ubiquitous Panasonic ad - let us turn down the volume :)

Fine Dine Pantomime

(From Wikianswers)

Fine dining restaurants generally have the following services and requirements:

Dress Code: In most cases a fine dining restaurant will not permit jeans, t-shirts, hats and may even require a suit jacket and tie.

Service: The service at a fine dining restaurant will generally be top notch. Expect each table to have no less than two servers directly responsible for it and a Maitre 'D overseeing service.

Menu: The menu at fine dining restaurants tends to be extremely classy with high quality ingredients and prepared by a well-known and talented chef with years of industry experience.

Food: Top quality produce treated delicately with respect. Small portions paid with extreme details. Combining food and art concept together. Making food taste good and look good.

Price: Expect to pay a little (to substantially) more for the extra attention to detail. This could range from $30 per person to hundreds - depending on menu and wine selections.

Valet Parking: Many fine dining restaurants offer valet parking for their dining guests.

Reservations: You will likely need to book ahead of your dining experience to ensure you will have a table upon your arrival.

Whoaaaaa!! Such elaborate glitz over something as elementary as feeding a hungry stomach??

I don't understand 'Fine Dining'. I really don't. I also don't comprehend why such ado is made over the 'fine dining experience'. And why the ones who haven't been through this bothersome ordeal are looked upon as neanderthals or worse. No, I'm not writing this piece out of angst or contempt for having been given the bum's rush out of a swanky 5-star restaurant... instead, I have just observed those who 'fine dine' regularly & wax eloquent (not without the accompanying theatrics) about the whole blessed-event. You'd be forgiven to think they've been to paradise and back. I too have been to several swish hotels during my present work tenure. I was at the Leela recently, on a lunch-out with my office colleagues. But frankly, the food was dismal. First of all, the choice was limited. I am spoilt for more alternatives at the local Udupi restaurant. Then, I am forced to pick from some bizarrely-named offerings. They don't even bother to mention the ingredients. I might as well be eating sponge. On second thoughts, atleast it didn't make my throat feel soapy or bubbly. Small consolation that was. For the the food was not even hot. While I was painfully gulping down the chilly fare, my brain was wickedly propping up images of piping hot rotis (dipped in a bowl-full of ghee) I had at a roadside dhaba on the Delhi national highway 2 years back (Yumm!!!) Dessert was the only respite. But wait, that made us toil too. For each offering was in a bowl so tiny, I could play Barbie with it. Granted that dessert is not to be eaten in tubs, but atleast don't make me feel like I'm with Ken out-for-lunch!

Don't get me wrong, the ambiance at these hotels is fabulous. You've got colossal buildings adorned with the most expensive carpets, sculptures, antiques, chandeliers, artificial waterfalls and exotic furniture that money can buy. The inside of the hotel is a labyrinth in itself. Several rooms leading to other rooms. And each more beautiful than the previous. The valet salutes you, the doorman greets you (a man more than twice my age calls me 'Madam') and the waiters fuss over you. But isn't that all so superficial & hollow? Who knows, the doorman might personally think you're a grand old fart. Yet he salutes you, overpowered by the money jingling in your pocket. I say, cut all that jazz and bring on the food mate! That is what concerns me.... not if you call me Madam or not.

Maybe I'm just not hardwired that way - to appreciate the 'finer' details of life or to demand exclusivity. I have nothing against the suave, I'm-sure-they're-important lot who dash in and out of these hotels, shelling out ridiculous amounts of money on a simple lunch that can be had for under 100 bucks. Good for them. They see something I clearly don't. As for me, I'm dashing to my favorite panipuri-wallah tomorrow. His humble (and a thousand times tastier) dole-outs will receive maximum appreciation from me atleast!

Living Dangerously

The sight was chilling. From the corner of my car's windshield, I saw the mangled remains of what was once a motorbike. The mishap must've occurred minutes before I reached the spot. Pieces of glass and metal were strewn everywhere. Somewhere under the mass of twisted metal lay a man, but only a bloodied arm was visible. It wasn't moving. My heart skipped a beat on watching the ghastly scene in front of me. The sight of blood - gushing out uninterrupted - was rather unsettling. While fervently wishing the driver had survived this terrible accident, several questions immediately popped in my mind - WHY do these bikers drive the way they do? WHY do they risk their lives by speeding like maniacs-on-wheels? WHY do they try to overtake the vehicle in front (from the left side) without giving any indication whatsoever, despite there being very little space to manoeuvre ? WHY do they zip past vehicles in rash zig-zags, with every turn potentially perilous enough to go horribly wrong? WHY do they drive inches close to the vehicle alongside - at risk of making contact with the vehicle any moment? WHY WHY WHY???

No doubt they are cheaper and more convenient than their larger four-wheeled counterparts, but I personally feel two-wheelers are the most dangerous inventions ever created for roads. The entire concept is based on balancing a vehicle that is probably 4 times heavier than you are! At blazing speeds, the slightest contact with another vehicle or a minor oil-spill on the road is enough to render the bike to turn turtle and the cause immense injury, even death. Several lives and limbs are being lost due to such mishaps everyday. Bikes are extremely unsafe and hazardous modes of transport and sureshot disasters-waiting-to-happen for the more reckless lot of drivers.

That one unfortunate sight was enough to make me swear off motorbikes or any other biped. It may not for the others, the ones who live life on the edge, who think they can get away with such brash daredevilry. However, today I make a heartfelt plea to all such motorists - please DO NOT drive amok like someone possessed. Whatever it is that requires your attention - be it at home or work - it is NOT worth your life. Neither does whizzing about at top speeds render you a heartthrob of your locality/city/nation. Live a little less dangerously. Value your lives. We all have short ones anyway.

On a lighter note - here is a bumper sticker (crude painting, rather) that I spotted on a rickety tempo plying the roads. Now if only all of us could adopt this chap's spirits!

The wise words: मालिक का दौलत, ड्राईवर का पसीना - रोड पे चलती है बनके हसीना! (LOL!)

Flopshows

Its strange how you're ecstatic one moment and the next moment, all that chirrup is deflated. Here I was minding my own business, running an errand for Mom (beta, get 2kgs home-made chakki ka atta on your way back home), stepping outta my ride and in the process of locking it. Suddenly, a glittering truck arrives with noisy fanfare, laden with boisterous (and perhaps, half drunk) 'dahi-handi' enthusiasts. They're packed like sardines in the truck; there are probably a hundred of them, and they're dangerously close to spilling over, onto the hard gravel below. There are probably a hundred others too on the road I was walking on, but somehow they filter everyone, and spot me. Suddenly, they turn all the more riotous. They start hooting and cat-calling. They cry out some incomprehensibles. I'm not even trying to listen. I have my head stooped low. My anger is simmering. I have half a mind to pick up a stone I have just spotted (providence, huh?) and hurl it with all might at the truck. At the loutish fiends in it. Wishing it hit one of them in the eye and it popped out. However, what's the point? They'll continue doing what they do best. So many women worldwide are victims of eve-teasing. And I'm positive, 99% of them go unchecked, ignored. What fight can you put up, when you're facing a group of fully-grown (and supposedly, mature) men, who are slicing you, demeaning you with every catcall? I felt miserable the whole day. Not because of the rowdy bunch of losers and their hooting at me. It was because I could do nothing. I was powerless. Utterly and completely helpless.

There HAS to be some way to stop such hooligans from displaying such intolerable behaviour. A million women would breathe easy if there was a way to put a fullstop to their public shaming (however minor it may be). I'm not a feminist, but its time such treatment of women as mere objects come to an end. Only then would we able to celebrate true independence. But I'm at a loss - what could the solution be?

Confessions of a Freak

After a tiring & long day at work, I was unwinding a bit, watching TV casually, zapping across myriad channels that were dishing out their daily dope. At 11.30 pm, suddenly, my phone beeps out aloud, startling me outta my lazy reverie. I make a mental note - I must change my SMS ringtone. Its way too loud. In mild irritation, I pick up the phone and read the message. It read thus:

"Pls reach office tomorrow by 9 am sharp as we have an urgent deliverable. Call me as soon as u reach. Will be in Bombay by afternoon. Urgent GN."

Now... wait a minute, I think. My office doesn't function this way. Nor does my boss SMS his employees at late hours, demanding that they come to office by whatever time at whatever place. Most of all - we do NOT use terms like 'urgent deliverables'. We are not a goods-courier company or a maternity hospital. So, this SMS is certainly not from my boss.

Concerned that the message should reach the right person, lest some important deadline is missed, I SMS back to the number:

"You seem to have reached the wrong number."

Behold the impudence of the chap when he replies:

"Is that supposed to be a joke at this hour?? I want u by 9 am."

I am not to be talked to in this manner. And who is this Smart Alec, who thinks he's frightened me enough to dream about the bad-boogeyman during the night? So I reply sternly, but politely:

"Please leave your name."

I then receive a strange, cryptic reply.

"Thats OK. Will discuss in detail tomorrow. No problem, really"

No problemo with me as well. Intentionally omitting to reply back, I fall into a deep slumber. It has indeed been a taxing, bizarre day.

Next day, true to his promise, the oaf SMSes me again!

"Have you reached office?"

I am in the middle of a meeting, and hardly have the time to entertain some queer bird's idea of a noontime shindig. I ignore the intruding SMS again.

Imagine my surprise when the guy actually calls up! It's a sophisticated, well-heeled voice, "Is this Vaishali?" he asks innocently (as if he doesn't know! Two days of constant ignoring of messages, he still expects me to be the one he is looking for!). I was about to lose my cool, but somehow, I calmly say, "No, I DON'T happen to be her. Please do NOT call me or SMS again. And please check your number." I disconnect the line.

When I receive his message again, at 11 pm... I am distinctly amused. This is a prank, for sure. Has to be.

"Pls accept my heartfelt apologies for the faux pas. Appreciate the poise. Cheers"

Compliments now, huh? I decide to play along:

"Will do"

As if this served as a green light, he happily SMSes back:

"Poise, alright! Thanks much"

I am mighty bored by now. The prank has run its course. Someone, somewhere has loads of free time on his platter. I do not reply back, dismissing the entire operation as a failed one.

Eerily, a couple of days after, the jerk SMSes again!!

"Sorry for the bother.. was watching an interview. Gayatri Devi.. you sound so much like her, methinks of course, the poise.. must be similar?? Cheers"

Gayatri she-is-so-freakin-dead Devi??!! WTF??!! I can't decide what I feel more - amusement or irritation. But this has gone far enough now. Whoever you are - friend or foe, this is NOT funny. I will not entertain some goofball who thinks this persistent stalking will make me shit bricks. One more SMS/call from you.... I gonna report you. I have your number, you idiot.

And you certainly won't find anything 'poised' about me then.

The First Time

The first scratch on a brand new car hurts. A lot. Especially when the car is your own. It is as though you're bruised and relegated to a world of pain. What bothers me the most is that my car didn't acquire the said scratch as an outcome of frenzied driving from my end (which I do occasionally, much to the chagrin of other motorists on the roads). It didn't happen 'cause I was speeding the tires off the car or bumped it into a rickshaw (that suddenly changed lanes) or an aggressively-looming-in-your-mirrors BIG, BAD BEST bus. These days, I drive my car to work daily, and ply on the Western-Express highway, Aarey and Andheri-Kurla roads which are plagued with motorists that drive amok, like lunatics. You have to be super-alert during every second of the drive. However, nothing happens then. My drive is event-free and quite smooth. Instead this particular deed was done while turning into a very tight corner in the backyard of my very own building! A turn that I have been taking for the past 7 years! Something I'd perfected and mastered. And now, here I was.... taking a turn that I presumed I was taking appropriately..... and suddenly there's this grating voice. As though someone took a knife and grazed the skin off your knees with it. Savagely and brutally. My insides churned and my eyes shut tightly close. But to what avail? The deed was done and the scratch was there, sneering at me like a stubborn child who's just got its way.

The scratch isn't significant and can hardly be noticed, but its right there.... just like an old lover whose memories won't fade away. I am pretty upset with myself for being so careless, so clumsy. Maybe I'd fix the scratch during the next service for the car. Paint over it a bit and patch it up. But sadly, the dent will remain. Forever.

From Hell (and still in it)

I make rapid, disorderly zig-zags through the swarm of bustling, harried humans at the one-stop nightmare called Andheri station. I mutter a quick prayer - Thank God I don't suffer from claustrophobia; meanwhile cursing the careless chap who has just stepped on my foot. He is making a desperate dash for the train which is already leaving the platform. Maybe he has an important meeting, or his first job interview, or has an ailing mother at home, or the most important of all - perhaps he has a date with his girlfriend (God save him from the woman's wrath if he reaches late!). But I have no more time for such menial musings. I must make myself scarce, get away from this crazy place that threatens to engulf me, as the hour progresses, with more and more humans. My vision is filled with them - young and old, students and office goers, hawkers and salesmen, beggars and ticket checkers. If you're lucky, you may even spot a few mangled dogs fighting over the day's spoils (most likely leftovers from snack-stalls). You will find them all, astonishingly crammed in one place, running helter-skelter to things, from things, away from things. The time: 9 am - an ungodly & poorly-chosen hour to be at this place - for the influx of commuters reaches its zenith, transforming the station into a jumbo-version of the infamous Virar-local itself. Visualize around 3 Virar locals at their peak-loads emptying themselves on platform number 5 and you've got the number of people occupying Andheri station at any point of time between 9 am-9.30 am. It could set a world record - Between 9 am-9.30 am, this station is easily the densest location in the world (Dadar is another worthy contender, but Andheri beats it). And if you emerge out of it unscathed, unblemished and unaffected by its many severities, you pass the test mate. You are now officially a true, brave citizen of Mumbai.

Its like I'm destined go through this daily nightmare. Andheri has always been the unloved gateway to 'life-out-there' for me. Be it my 12th grade classes, CA classes or my workplace, I've spent a solid 7 years travelling here. I know every nook and corner of the place. Every stall, every kaccha rasta, the hawkers who hawk illegal books/VCDs in shady corners, the Jumbo vada-pav wallahs, the ticket counters, the bright-maroon ATMs, the broken indicators, the ditches and the pan stains. The very mention of Andheri elicits a scowl from me. I hate the place. Passionately. But its also where I gained knowledge, learning, my profession, my livelihood. I hate it but I can't do without it. Life is full of cruel, unforgiving paradoxes. And I'm cursed with a major share of them.

Sleeping Duties

What is with people who are traveling in public transport who subsequently lose control over the position of their eyelids, the latter steadily descending downwards, the brain slowing losing its consciousness and the head gradually lolling over onto the unfortunate, unaware chap parked beside? To the left and to the right, sometimes northward bound and sometimes southwards, the head rolls (not necessarily in tandem with the movements of the transport), the said unfortunate neighbour being completely petrified of the possibility that it will at any moment land on his quivering shoulder and finally come to a staid rest there. And then what? What does one who is at a total and absolute loss of wit to deal with such a situation do? I can think of 3 points-of-action (1) Should he politely tap the ill-behaving, nodding-off-into-oblivion, insensitive Kumbhkaran-clone and request him to have a control over activities that should only be best adopted at night and mores so, when one is prone on a horizontal surface so as to cause minimal discomfort to the person sitting beside? (2) Or should he simply lift the erring head off his shoulder with an insulted finger and throw it off, having no care whatsoever for its well-being? Or the best option - (3) Should he simply move aside sharply, causing the dozing beauty to roll over to the seat/floor, thereby causing him extreme embarrassment and shame?

Despite having 3 interesting options at hand, each one being nastier than the other, I chose to go with the first option. I politely tapped the wayward gentleman and asked him to please be seated correctly. My action caused him to wake up with a start. He obliged, but without apologizing for his actions. What an uncouth soul! I had a good mind to embarass him further by getting up from my seat and switching places with someone else, but I let it go. No point in that. The nitwit would probably start dozing away on the next poor commuter too. So, I endured him for the remainder of the journey, but thankfully, a hard glance at him was enough to prevent him from repeating his actions.

So people, remember there are sleeping duties that you need to follow while catching the forty winks. High on the list is to refrain from nodding off. If you're feeling sleepy kindly do not travel. Have a nice little snooze at home itself, fix yourself a refreshing cuppa of coffee and then step out into the big, bright world outside. Rest assured, you'd be doing yourself, but mostly the others a huge favor.

Apathy at its Worst

41 - The figure left me astounded. No, that's not the reading on the weighing machine with me perched on it, hoping and praying for a higher reading (it reads 44 now!). Instead, that's the percentage of people residing in this maximum city who came out, braving the blazing Mumbai heat, and voted on Thursday. What about the remainder 59%? What did they do on election day? Some perhaps went on a 4-day long holiday; some must've thronged malls; the others must've visited clubs, restaurants, theatres and the remainder must've snoozed their way to (apparent) glory, lying prone on a hammock in their favorite Versace swimsuit, alongside the sun-kissed beaches of Goa. I'm willing to bet that most of these lethargic souls, on their way back home, must've whined-eloquent about Mumbai's traffic snarls, the pothole-infested roads they were traveling on or the crowded trains/buses that they are forced to commute in everyday. Tell you what, Mister/Miss you're-one-of-the-pathetic-59%: you have absolutely NO frigging right to complain. Tomorrow if your taps run dry, the power conks out or your children fail to get admission to schools, don't you dare place the blame squarely on the government-of-the-day. Cause you all had your chance to vote for someone who could probably address these issues. Seasoned cynics in their pressed-suits/summer spaghettis will mutter the done-to-death line: 'ALL politicians are the same!' But brother, if you are mighty pissed at the ruling government, you are given the freedom to choose among several others. If not vote for, atleast vote AGAINST someone. Even that could make a difference. My constituency had 23 candidates, spoiling me for choice. I would be fooling myself if I said all 23 were crooks, goons and criminals, having no regard whatsoever for the constituency they were representing.

Owing to these very dispassionate 59%, a majority of the other 41% being illiterate & poor (who vote on the basis of religion, caste and who-paid-them-more-this-year) have voted for the very same goons who will undoubtedly come back to power. Praise you Mr. Educated Banker who didn't vote in these elections. Perhaps you need 10 more Kasabs pumping bullets into you and your loved ones to awaken you from your listless stupor to come out and vote for a change, to put an end to reigning apathy and misery. Thanks to you, I will now have an inept and hopeless government ruling my country, again.

I came across another statistic that threw me aback with surprise. 60% of the world's population do not have the privilege to choose their governments. And here, this beautiful country of ours provides us with the very same prerogative, something that our forefathers fought for, even laying down their lives for it. We have become so accustomed to the freedom that has been handed down to us, that we take it for granted - if something is amiss somewhere, it is easily SEP: Somebody's Else's Problem. Maybe I am being preachy and dramatic, but the current state of affairs saddens me deeply. If we don't act now for the betterment of this country, I don't know when we will.

My vote

From Zero to... well... Zilch!

It is turning out to be not such a good day. Like any other constituent day of the week, it is nuanced by highs & marred by lows; but on this particular Friday, the lows far outweigh the highs. So much so, that they have performed the dual incredible feats of rendering my otherwise-cheery spirits to the ruddy bottoms of a WC bowl & equalizing my disposition to that of a grumpy ol' nag. Not that we weren’t expecting grim news from the bank - something that would make me jump from my seat & perform a mini-samba dance; but it is quite clear that we got the definition of ‘grim’ bungled up in the first place. I mean, how can there be nothing to distribute? Zero! Zilch! Naught! Nil! Nothing! (Gee, even 'zero' has more synonyms than the eponymous value itself). On the flip side, I sort of understand the haplessness of my poor, tied-at-the-hands employer. Struggling with the worst financial crisis in recent times (perhaps even of all times), posting a colossal $6.3 bn loss for FY08 & amid a furore to raise its capital levels, it has barely managed to scrape through the year without sinking nose-first into the sub-prime mess that is well into its second torrid year. So any advances to its employees, no matter what quarter of a sprinkling it may be, will be welcomed by me with open arms.

I wonder what the final disbursement will be though. And whether it will even cover my grand plans for a spankin' new expensive phone this new year's. Or perhaps to cover the down payment for a spiffy lil' car of my own? (building Taj Mahals in a crowded Mumbai now, are we Avanti?) It better be a decent enough figure, else my neatly-laid plans are gonna go take a long jump into the nearest Mumbaiyya pothole - a bottomless pit from which there is no emerging back!

Keeping my fingers & toes crossed!

Dental Woes

The dreaded words were out -

"Avanti, we'll have to extract this wisdom tooth out as well."

Before one erroneously assumes my pearly whites (okay okay.. pale whites) to be rotten, loosely-hanging-by-the-gums and populated with more holes than your local club's housie ticket that's just won the coveted full-house, let me clarify that my dental woes are confined to merely having a small jaw. I have always prided myself on never having visited a dentist (other than for the annual delivery of Mom's pickles to the Doc-in-discussion). Never did I indulge in sweetmeats, candies and other such sworn enemies of the tooth. Plus, I religiously floss them twice a day and keep 'em spic and span. So naturally, when in possession of the latest facts pertaining the configurations of my jaw, I was aghast. I barely kept myself from yelling at the Doc, 'Small jaw??!?? Well, what did you expect?? Me sporting a dinosaur-like jaw? An enchanting idea, but no thanks, we can save the Face Warp sessions for lighter times!' Sigh. I guess I'll have to live with a narrow jawline for the rest of my blessed life. Though I don't know if I'll come out of the second extraction session (the first one left me a mere shell of my former self), clapping my hands in glee and singing hallelujahs. Instead, like the last time around, I'm gonna have to contend with a swollen jaw, immense pain and sleepless nights. Not to mention the persecution that one undergoes while the said troublesome tooth is being pinched out, what with the instruments that are used to facilitate the process resembling something that would grace the sets of a horror film instead. Or a veterinary hospital for that matter. Maybe a psycho's lab would be more appropriate.

The pain does not give me the heebie-jeebies. I've always found physical pain more endurable than mental anguish. Given a choice, I'd pick the former. But to watch someone afflicting the same with spine-chilling instruments is a no-no for me (reference - the movie 'Hostel').

I step into the war-room with a small prayer on my lips and my eyes stubbornly shut... Wake me up when it all ends...

Peeving times

I am sitting back at work late today and I'm terribly cross. There's no reason for this petulant frame of mind (does there have to be? I'm a woman.... now go figure!) that justifies the foul mood I'm in. Maybe its those dratted numbers I look at everyday on the smug, blindingly white screen in front of me. Rows and rows of numbers (down to the 4th decimal.... aaaargh!) all waiting for me to deconstruct them and formulate an opinion. Isn't it funny (or irritating in my case) how the only things in this world that cry for my attention are numbers (not telephone numbers of Greek hunks, dum-dum, but financial numbers.... in annual reports, equity reports, credit reports, report of reports and all that fancy jazz.... damn them all!) Is the entity-in-question in trouble or will it sail through? Does its rating deserve a downgrade? What! An upgrade? In THIS environment? Have you been drinking again? I say, they could all deep fry in hell for all I care. But then, I get paid for analysing such numbers, so maybe I shouldn't grumble much. Coming back to the crux of this very vexatious post, I'm still not done being generally pissed off at the whole wide world at large. So much so that I want to hurl this keyboard at someone really annoying, for instance and watch the unfortunate chap wince. To add more depth to the present intense mood I am in, I start thinking about things that really bug me. It could be anything - people, their acts, freaks of nature, nature itself.... anything and everything qualifies for my complete and unwavering distaste for them. So here's the infamous list I've annoyingly compiled, the end-result of which only irritates me more as it makes me wanna hurl the entire row of computers in my immediate line-of-vision at anyone who dares meddle with me today. So, before you brand me as an obnoxious & insufferable fusspot, without further ado, I present the 10 things that put me off, royally. (This is infact an exercise in futility, as it hasn't calmed me down at all). Anyhoo.... here they are:

1. Reading annual reports (no grand surprise at all, as that's what got me started on this fret-trip in the first place, innit?)
2. Loud talking on the phone (missed the No.1 spot by a whisker; this particular act is really bothersome as it makes me feel like I practically know the person at the end of the day, thanks to his/her ear-splitting voice)
3. Too much talking (some people just won't stop... zaraa zubaan be lagaam daalo, berehamiyon!)
4. An irritating 'No' when you ask the rickshaw-wallah 'I.C. Colony jaaoge?' Grrr... why are you driving your gas-guzzling, fat-arse rickshaw in the first place if you don't wanna go anywhere?
5. People wasting water - the maid with the water tap on when the bucket's full; Mom, when she's washing vegetables atleast 5 times (totally unecessary!); public toilets where the water tap keeps running; that huge tank carrying water, half of which is leaking away etc etc.
6. Ego-maniacs, show-offs & self-obsessed people (do I need to elucidate more? I meet my fair share of such losers DAILY!)
7. When it rains just when I step out from home. Now there's no avoiding that muck that will generously spray on your brand new outfit today.
8. Liars. I truly despise them.
9. Mumbai's crowded trains. Not to add, the filth around (spit, garbage, dead crows, stray dogs, plastic... yuck!)
10. The 'Work in Progress' sign on the road. Our safari-clad-babus have a knack for handpicking the smoothest of roads for digging by giving some godforsaken reason: telephone cable repair, sewer repair, pothole repair etc etc. This 'progressing work' will invariably go on for a decade. Even ants work faster! Its such a nightmare to drive on Mumbai's dug-up roads.

Oh I could go on and on. But then your brain would perhaps suffer a haemorrhage (its a miracle if you're still reading this by now). So, in cognizance of your well-being and the fact that its 8.05 pm now and I haven't left the office (GOSH!... I gotta run!) I will stop. Until my next tirade!

Yap Masters

Ever wondered why men never listen to what women say? Simple. Because we yap too much. To add further anguish to agony, we don't just beat around the bush, we take 'em poor men for a royal-safari-ride around an entire friggin' jungle. Why go far, take this very blog as a shining example. How many times have you muttered to yourself - 'why doesn't the pompous lass just come to the point!?!' What prompted this post was one extremely annoying incident in the train this morning. This motormouth-of-a-woman was faffing to the hilt about her righteousness at the workplace. On and on she rattled - 'bout how her boss was one mammoth pain-in-the-arse, 'bout how she told this prick of a colleague to back off her territory, 'bout how she challenges the HR with intelligent questions, 'bout how some Vikas-guy is as adept as a limp monkey and blah, blah, blah. I didn't bother to listen to the rest of her moan-marathon. I had tuned out by then. On came my earphones and the rest of the journey was spent in casting occasional glances at the loud, stupid woman to see if she was done boring her audience to death. No such luck, she was still jabbering loudly, evidenced by flailing arms, her rotund eyes ablaze and eyebrows shot-up to their highest-attainable point. The only reason she's still alive is because it was illegal to kill her right there n' then. I know I sound like some Nazi by-product, but this obnoxious woman simply got on my nerves today (very few people have that kind of an effect on me). Left me wondering how the she managed to stand her sorry self.

Moving on to the more pressing point/moral of the story. To all the women around the world - You may be the most successful dame in your profession, you may look like a billion bucks or may have the entire freakin' world eating outta your pampered hands, but forget this not - For mankind's sake, STOP YAPPING! Beyond a point, that is (Cause a tight-lipped person is a more irritating phenomenon). State your point briefly and then wait for a response. I guarantee you will get it.

Oh and BTW, this only applies when you're talking. Not blogging. So don't book me for hypocrisy!

The Domino Effect (not the pizza, silly!)

The financial world is witnessing a bloodbath, as I type, that has not been observed since the Great Depression of the 1930's. Is there anything more pathologically distressing than the term 'depression' itself, you ask? Thats the sort of picture we're looking at right now. Billions of dollars have evaporated (and still are) since August 2007, when the subprime crisis first raised its diseased head. The contagion spread, and how swiftly! Centuries-old, mammoth and elite institutions are being massacred like contaminated poultry being culled on some third-world farmland. Only this time the farmland is NOT that of a third world country. It is that of the financial behemoth we know as America. The golden land of financial innovation & byzantine products (so complex that even their makers would not fully comprehend) is being brought from lofty heights to its knees. CEO's and other management hotshots who were once hailed for their financial wizardry and made to look as if the sun shined out of their polished arses, are now cowering under shadows of their own brashful actions. They have been humbled (albeit with fat-severance packages for their efforts). The entire US of A has been humbled. Mind you, I'm not anti American hegemony and hence, reveling in their miseries. Neither am I trotting around with the smug air of someone who is insulated from this mega-mess. Because I am indeed affected. I work at a global bank which, although has been shielded from major carnage, is not completely immune to headwinds swiftly coming its way. It is sailing in murky waters and all it takes is one ugly event (or a combination of many) to rock the boat. Just yesterday, one of our peers - Lehman Bros. filed for bankruptcy. And with it, around 2000 employees have lost their jobs in Powai, a few kilometers away from us. Where will they go? Do these financial biggies know the far-reaching effects of their greedy, irresponsible behaviours? When will this recklessness stop & accountability begin? When will the 'regulators' really begin to regulate?

A few crestfallen faces apart, not many are appearing to be affected by the grim situation that faces us. The bank assures us that we are safe. But I've heard that one before. And I've learnt not to bet the last dime in my pocket on such sunny assurances. Fortunately I do not have bills to pay and EMIs to repay on time that would necessitate manic anxiety and sleepless nights. But what about those who do? For their sake, I hope we sail unscathed through these choppy waters. God save us all. Oh, and PS: You can kiss goodbye to your bonuses for this year. 'Pudchya varshi lavkar ya,' is all you can plead!

Meanwhile, I have instructed my financial advisor to stop investing my money in the market for now. For a while now she's been trying (with award-worthy patience) to convince me that one should invest when markets are bearish. 'Okay,' I say for the time being, 'take the money and park it somewhere nice'. But a few months down the line, the only direction the markets are going is southwards. I have this impending urge to yell at her Jerry-Maguire-style: SHOW ME THE MONEY!! 'Patience, Avanti,' she calmingly says, sensing my unease, 'Patience is the hallmark of a successful investor!' Patience can go take a deep dive into the nearest pothole, I say. No more stock markets for me. Even if I'm a long-term-and-hence-you're-guaranteed-returns investor. I'll park my funds in a prim lil' bank. Oh, wait! Aren't they all in serious-shit too? Back to the top of this post. Did someone quip 'vicious circle'?

Atleast I can tell my grandkiddos I was THERE when the big giants were falling like mere ninepins. Though I'm willing to bet they wouldn't envy it. Or even give two hoots 'bout it, for that matter. Just like we didn't learn from our past follies. And so, history will repeat itself for this very fallacy of man.

Aaaaaaa....chooooo!

Excuse me for the unabridged release of countless bacteria into our atmosphere which, in any case, seems to be teeming with the former these days. A tormenting 4 days of nonstop sneezing, a booger-dripping nose, whooping coughs & a burning forehead to contend with - all your facial faculties are in deep anguish; even the most basal of human functions - breathing, becomes an ardous task. To add to your plight, you're looking at your worst best with a circus-clown-like-reddened-nose, frizzy hair and heavily-sedated eyes (as much as I hate popping pills for temporary effect, they were thrust down my thoat by dear ol' cooing mom along with haldi-infused-dudh.... ugh!). Funny thing is, 6 of my colleagues are inflicted with a similar misfortune. Looks like liasing with the flu is in fashion these days.

Aaaaannnd... breaking news of the week (for me atleast).... Tadaa! *I finally got my passport!* After 40-odd days of submitting countless documents, xeroxes and grinning photographs, filling out endless forms, doling out karcha-paani for the cops and eagerly clicking on the stubbornly-staid 'Passport Status' button on the website (yay Indian bureaucracy!); it finally arrived! Apart from granting me a ticket to the wonderful world, it also reinforces the fact that I'm a pure-bred Indian citizen (D-uh!). You and me already know it.. lekin sarkari stamp zaroori hai na..?

Much ado 'bout trite, you think?

Looks the flu hasn't done anything to abate the gibberish-twaddling that has become staple on this blog. But then again, yehi toh zindagi hai.... the shit must go on! ;-) Adios then! Until my next prattle!

Some Independence

I'm not talking about larger, national issues here. Like how liberated we really are, or not for that matter. Don't get me wrong or categorize me as an unpatriotic cynic... its not as if I dismiss the past 61 years of so-called independence as periods of zero-achievements. I'm proud of my country. We have attained a lot, scores of people are definitely better off than they would have been in that era; globally we are emerging as a powerhouse, we are nuclear-equipped, Indian companies are acquiring foreign ones, men are being outsmarted by women in both schoolplaces & workplaces and yes, Bollywood (and its audience) finally accepts mainstream smooches, much to the delight of frontrow whistlers.

I think we term it 'independence' because the only independence we gained is from the British, and that too, territorially. Individually, we are still enmeshed in webs of our own mentalities. We may possess more moolah than our forefathers ever dreamt about, but where is the tranquil life that they led and we so desperately seek? Today we have lost ourselves in the whole rat-race of roti-kapda-makaan. Isn't it funny how we've turned the most basic of human needs into a parade-of-affluence itself? Nah, I don't want a simple roti with boiled vegetables. I want a jumbo McBurger with extra fries and yes, you can add 2 extra layers of cheese too. I don't want to don a salwaar kameez (jeez, I'll look like the local behenji)... I want that new autumn-mid-half-winter-or-fall-whatever ensemble from Versace. A two-room bedroom? Gee, thats so 1990's. I want a plush new apartment with min. 4 bedrooms, a jacuzzi and a pool to play water-polo in. And that too, not in some 'gawti' place like Mira Road. Nothing further than Malabar Hill will do for me.

Nah, I don't think we are liberated at all. We are all silent, unprotesting slaves to the oldest enticer of all - avarice. It consumes us with all its opulence & insatiability and leaves us begging for more. Greed is the source of all troubles. And I'm afraid, it is a bottomless pit we're all falling into. And still falling. There's no coming out of it.

Some independence we have obtained from ourselves indeed.

Rotten day, anyone?

Just when you thought the day couldn't get shittier... it just goes ahead and does.

Got up late today, had mom yelling at me coz I snapped at her, missed the bus, missed the train... you know...the chain of events that follow thereafter (how typically Mumbai!). Ended up late at work, had noisy colleagues for company (apparently a combination of Friday, the Beijing Olympics & 08.08.08 gets them all frenzied-up like a nation of 1 billion+ does when it wins ONE solitary medal at the games..... do the correlation-math now, won't you?). Could contribute only a single paragraph to the entire report for the day. I *hate* an unconstructive day at work.

Just when you look forward to an end to the long, wasteful day (you have a friend to meet.... yay!) it goes ahead and pours like there's no tomorrow!! Braving the smashing pellets of water, wading through the muck & bumper-to-bumper traffic at Andheri station (I tell you, that place oozes foulness & hazard), having a dozen scurrying feet trample over your own, & boarding a wrong train, you end up at Bandra, realizing thats not your destination. And to top it all, I had this amazingly bright idea of wearing heels today. Now imagine me running amok on railway platforms with them one-and-a-half inchers! Amid pushes, shoves, near-trips & muttered curses, I finally board a train back to the correct destination. Only to discover the friend is late by 20 mins. The way back home isn't amicable either. The train, for some reason, decides to take a recess at Malad station. For a whole 20 mins. A simple 20-minute ride back home took an agonizing 45 mins. And no.... the day's woes don't end there. I commit the crime of hoping I can catch a rickshaw back home. But surprise, surprise, all of them vanished the moment it started to pour again. They could win a disappearing-act award hands down, you know. So, there goes another 15 mins. I can sense parts of my brain screaming at other parts now. Patience girl, patience. Patience is the word of the day.

I came face-to-face with my competition too. Thats some serious stuff out there. Of the good kind. And I must say, I lost. I give up. I'm just too exhausted to fight anymore.

Also realized what a fool I've been made of today. I've been lied to & subjected to constant insensitive behaviour for some time now. Early signs were right there, flashing like bright neon lights at me. But perhaps I was too blinded to allow better sense to prevail. Flattery & praise can do that to you. Night makes a fool of you in daylight. Learnt my lesson though. Beginning from today I will follow one mantra.

I will begin to unlove (yes, thats a new word).

And I promise that newness to myself.