Oh Really?

Moral of the picture* above: If you thought bosses belong to the Mesozoic era, you couldn't be more mistaken. They have caught up fast and how! Its not that employees have run out of novel excuses to bunk the day off (one ex-colleague said he injured his left toe and hence could not drive down to office... WTF!! What is your left toe expected to do at work anyway? Do the samba with the office hottie?) The point being - employees will continue to be at their innovative best... the trick is how to make your excuse look genuine and back it up with facts. It certainly won't help if said colleague turns up in the pink of health at the annual sack-race the next day and goes on to beat the others by a mile. A little limping about and a thick bandage around the 'unfortunate' toe (for added effect) will serve the purpose adequately. Also don't take the day off saying you have constipation and end up posting pictures of you and the gang at the local pizza parlor, ODing on your tenth cheese-burst pizza. The cure for constipation isn't aiming for some more constipation. So folks, faff if you want to... but be careful.... your boss is lurking about in your facebook/twitter profile... keeping count of how many animals you bred in your zoo in Farmville (the most irritating game on FB) or how many mafia members you 'iced' in Mafia Wars (irritating again, but highly addictive!).... beware guys! The big boss is always on the prowl for lil' tidbits on you and your virtual hang-abouts! ;)

*Pic courtesy: http://krishashok.wordpress.com/

A Conversation behind Closed Doors

Got this lil' scream of an article in my inbox today and would like to share it with you.... it is a sneering (if not slightly hyperbolic) parody on the global financial mess that was and still is; and is a not-so subtle jab at the CEO's of the mammoth financial institutions that almost ruined the world (poor guys, they are being blamed for everything these days, from loss of jobs to loss of girlfriends). I like this article because it is blatant about facts that are usually not said aloud and is beautifully against the norm of silent affirmations. Although I work at one of them large global banks, I am sporting enough to spare a few laughs at ourselves. But first a disclaimer - like that small asterisk you see at the end of an unbelievably incredible-looking offer - NO, I am NOT part of the motley crew (yes, it took all kinds to create this mess) responsible for the global financial crisis. Infact, I work in a section of my bank that aims to reduce risks that the bank takes, owing to which it has fared pretty well vs. peers. Also, I do NOT know what 'fat bonuses' they are talking about.... they are certainly NOT trickling down to us minions!! Its the big guys who loot it all :(

By Rick Newman (US News)
An imagined conversation:

President Obama: Thanks for coming to the White House, everybody. I know how miserable it is to fly commercial, but thanks for doing it and for taking the subway over from the airport. The American people will appreciate that.
Lloyd Blankfein, Goldman Sachs: I got gum on my shoe. It’s ruined.
Obama: Sorry about that, Lloyd. Didn’t we include footwear expenses in the $14 billion your firm got from the AIG bailout?
Blankfein: No.
Obama:. Well, maybe next time. Look, as you all know, I called you "fat cats" recently, and I’ve been bashing you on TV. None of you are really that fat – Vik Pandit here is downright skinny—but I need some villains, and you guys make pretty good ones. I mean, look at you all. Americans are sick of middle-aged white guys in dark suits. That’s who’s been firing everybody. YOU GUYS have been firing everybody. It’s making my job a real pain. I came into office to completely revamp America’s socioeconomic framework, not to run a jobs bank for the next three years.
Jamie Dimon, JPMorgan Chase: We suck less.
Obama: Yeah, that was a good line, Jamie. Bit of advice, though: If you want to become a cabinet official someday, come up with a more uplifting slogan.
Anyway, here’s what I need from you guys. First, you need to lend more money to consumers and small businesses.
10 CEOs in unison: Nooooo!!!
Obama: Now hold on. I know lending is like the janitorial work of banking, and you’d all rather design triple-secret derivatives on your Cray supercomputers. But if you don’t start lending more, we’re going to start making all banking activities illegal except lending.
Vikram Pandit, Citigroup: We can’t lend more. We laid off our entire lending division.
Obama: Can’t you rehire some of them?
Pandit: The stock price would go down.
Obama: What are you at, Vik? Four bucks? You worried you’ll dip down to a dollar again? Tell ya what. Citi wants the government out of its business, so I’ll call Geithner and have him dump all of our shares….
Pandit: Sir, that would threaten the entire global financial sys….
Obama: I know! Your bank is so important that mothers couldn’t feed their babies if we let anything happen to you. So here’s what we’ll do. Let’s cut every Citi executive’s pay by 50 percent. That should free up about, let’s see here, $2 billion. Then you could put that into a fund and lend it to creditworthy Americans who need the money.
Pandit: But sir, if we cut our people’s pay, we’ll lose the talented bankers, brilliant bankers really, that we need to transform our business going forward.
Obama: Those would be the same talented guys who wrecked Citigroup, right?
Pandit: The global financial collapse was caused by a confluence of fac….
Obama: I know, Vik. But just tell me. Where are these talented bankers going to go? Is Goldman hard up for bankers?
Pandit: Well, Dimon’s been hiring.
Obama: Captain America! Jamie, you’ve stayed out of trouble. Do you want Vik’s talented bankers? They’ll work really hard if you give them a job—anything to escape poor old Citigroup and its stodgy government shareholder.
Dimon: Uh, actually, no.
Obama: Anybody else eager to poach [air quotes] talent from Citigroup?
[Silence.]
Obama: Didn’t think so. Let me ask all of you: Can anybody in this room cite one example where your bank suffered because it lost a talented executive?
Ken Lewis, Bank of America: I certainly can. B of A is losing me, because the board thinks I’m damaged goods. But I’m the one who BUILT this goddamn bank from a little North Carolina teller operation into the mightiest consumer bank in the world—
Obama: By buying hot properties like Countrywide and Merrill Lynch?
Lewis: Look, when you’re building an empire, you can’t get bogged down with details.
John Stumpf, Wells Fargo: I hate to interrupt, but could we get to the point of this meeting? Mr. President, with all due respect, you’ve got to stop cutting our pay and spreading the idea that we’re only worth $500,000 per year. That’s ridiculous. And I’m sick of holding company retreats at the Holiday Inn.
Obama: John, it says here that Wells Fargo received a $25 billion bailout from the Treasury Department. You planning on paying that back anytime soon?
Stumpf: And the American people should feel privileged to be able to give us that money! Uh, did I say give? I meant lend.
Obama: Has anybody in this room ever run for office?
CEOs in unison: Ewwww!
Blankfein: At Goldman Sachs, we prefer to be anointed, not elected.
Obama: That’s what I thought. So indulge me for a moment. Until the economy gets better, you guys are the equivalent of elected officials. People are watching. They’re angry. They want to throw the bums out, and the bums are you. So until things get better—Ken, where are you going?
Ken Lewis: I think I hear Bernanke coming. I’m just going to slip out this side door—
Obama: Ken, Bernanke’s on the Hill today. Chris Dodd asked him to testify about a new plan to have the Bureau of Mines regulate the banks, since they’d be more independent. He’s not here.
Lewis: You sure?
Obama: Yep, it’s OK, Ken. Relax. So as I was saying, I need you, the royalty of Wall Street, to think about the average voter. The little guy. The technician who fixes the elevator that goes to your penthouse. Your kids’ governess. The guy who takes your clubs out of the trunk at the club. Those people are out of money, and they need you to lend them some, so they can buy stuff and get the economy humming again.
Stumpf: The economy’s fine! Our stock is up 200 percent! The recession’s over!
Obama: Bear with me, John. So here’s what we’re going to do. I want all of you to lend more.
CEOs in unison: No!
Obama: I want new rules to limit the risky deals you guys love to do.
CEOs in unison: No!
Obama: I want new rules that will let the government break up your banks up if they get too big or do stupid things.
CEOs in unison: No!
Obama: And I want a new consumer protection agency that will stop you from dunning people with bogus fees and deceptive loans.
CEOs in unison: No!
Obama: And if you support me on all these initiatives, I’ll stop trying to cut your pay.
CEOs in unison: OK!
Obama: Glad we could work something out. Thanks for coming

**********

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.

Man on Fire

The annual fire drill at my workplace (pic alongside) has always been a ho-hum event. Before the ceremony, mails fly around with alarming frequency, their jumbo sizes clogging the inbox (courtesy - huge jpegs of the building's plan). Instructions and diagrams of the office building and hidden staircases are flung at you dime-a-dozen, but are dismissed with a mere slight of the hand. The usual laggards who are up to the back of their teeth with overdues moan and groan, and inform anyone who would care to listen about how the drill is one colossal squander of precious time. But wait, barely are they aware of the treat that's about to be presented to them this year once the fire alarm goes off.

So the first alarm rings out and is received with cries of 'bhago bhago... aag lagi hai'. Our floor warden appears from nowhere with a bright-yellow cap and seems horribly lost himself. People cluster around him, awaiting instructions. None forthcoming. But then the second alarm goes off, screeching like a banshee in pain now. The door to a staircase opens to our left, that I didn't even know existed. Down we go like little ants in a line. And assemble at one central area. Maybe 2000 of us. So far so good. None of us have been burnt or roasted alive (cause there's no frigging fire, smartypants!).

Then comes THE man of the moment. Fully decked with tie and fluorescent orange lifesaver jacket in place. Also equipped with a mike in hand and a bad-ass public address system (woofers and all) set up around him. Only for him and no one else. (I even reserved a paragraph for his entry - simply cause he over-awed me).

He opens his mouth. A gasp escapes the crowd. Cause this is no winnie-the-pooh kinda voice. Its a booming one. Full of promise, great things and a sensationally heavy South Indian accent. Sample some gems from his speech (which the chap has no doubt been rehearsing for over a year for his big day):

"Keep waaaaking, keep waaaaking", "Only waaaaking, no taaaaking!" (at which the crowd first begins to notice the genius of the man)

Now,

"Can I haaave all the yyyelloww colored peepal with me please?" (reference to floor wardens with yellow caps). He demands that we give them a big round of applause which we hesitatingly do, considering we saved our own arses.

Then,

"I saw two peepal with kaafee cups in their hands... very irrrrrrrrrritating!" (his jarring 'r's were hard-hitting and were a hit with most South-Indians in the crowd, me included).

"Also I saw the ladies waaaaking slowwwly... like in marrrriage function... irrrrrrrrrritating!!!" (this invited sniggers from a sprinkling of the crowd, mostly men, who could relate to this fascinating, knowledgeable man).

"This building is built with most maaderrrrn materials to save yourrr life, like in World Trade Centre, Uphaar theatre etc. etc." (this was mind-boggling considering these places were burnt to the ground). "This (office) is private body, not government body!" (Everyone laughs).

"Can I see yevveryone's IDs please?" (everyone raises their ids). "Rrrrrubbish! That is NOT your ID. THIS (pointing to his face, making circular motions) is your ID my frrrriends! Save that, my frrrriends!!!" (A section of the crowd is impressed, they clap).

"Rrrraise your rrrright hands," (everyone does). "I see some left hands frrrriends.... not left.... left is for somethingg yelse....!!" (Now the whole crowd is extremely amused... gives him a healthy applause).

As if this has boosted his morale, the gentleman goes on with more gusto:
"Safety is yimparrrtant. Like HELMET. H for head, E for eyes, L for lips, M for mouth, E for ears and T for tongue!" (Now completely floored, the crowd gives him another another round of robust applause).

"Bengalooru has one caaaman numberrrr... Chennai has one caaaman numberrrr... 108 for police, firrre brrrigade, ambulance etc. But Mumbai has differrrent numbers... 100, 101, 103 etc. But WAIT my frrrrrriends.... Mumbai will get one caaaman number soon! Till then my frrrriends, don't die!!!" (This was too much for the crowd - they now give him a rousing ovation! Some hoot for him!)

Whatta speech!! Truly stunning! I tell you, if this swashbuckler-of-a-guy stands for the elections, he would be a roaring hit. He would annihilate all competition and make even apna Laloo look like a stale comedian.

Mr. Fireman.... you got my vote for sure! And the odd-2000 'peepal' from my office too!

Road Rage

The guy who picked us up from the station today and was entrusted with the simple, straightforward and you-can’t-possibly-go-horribly-wrong-with-this responsibility of dropping us at the office premises was such a colossal dunce. Downright annoying and oh-please-let-it-be-legal-to-strangle-him kinda bloke. This chap drove the car as if he was possessed. No, not in a Michael Schumacher kinda fashion. It was as if the spectre of a particularly lazy species of the tortoise family had entered his corpus instead. Add the dual disabilities of extreme deafness and hopeless numb-headedness to the said tortoise and you have the man sketched up just right.

This frightful character who was deemed fit to navigate the foul roads of Mumbai by some lamebrain of a transport supervisor, got me considerably worked up in the wee hours of a bright, sunny morning, a morning that should've progressed mirthfully, had it not been for this dimwit. Rows and rows of vehicles (yes, even the laggardly rickshaws & tempo types) overtake our car, quite justifiably, as the road ahead is uncluttered, unpopulated, free for the uninhibited soul to tread upon. But no, our chap here is in no particular hurry. Ah, we're gonna reach anyway aren't we? I mean, even if I don't want to, I will be coerced to by a plethora of honking motorists behind me. Allow me to indulge, meanwhile, in simple pleasures like toying with the FM stereo, even though the vehicle bang ahead has traveled atleast a kilometer away from me. Oh, I find the seatbelt amusing too. So much so that I may just attach and detach it several times, just to check if its length can support my wide girth. When that bores me, I think I will stare at the bloke sitting next to me (who is probably fuming, turning a bright shade of pink by now) or even better, pick at my stained teeth. Meanwhile, a barrage of motorists who pass by, give me a glance that surprisingly seems nasty, which I do not appreciate at all, considering what a nice, little chap I am. Oh, chuck it all. I think I will just ignore them and trundle along at my own sweet pace.

Mind you, I am NOT exaggerating at all. These are the exact sequence of events that took place, the exact lethargic indifference that the driver displayed and the exact feeling of increasing frustration that I was containing in myself (a mere 20 min ride took an agonizing 45 mins); what with myself already running an hour late. I say, to the bottom of the heap to all such inept species-on-the-roads and please-oh-please God, I hope I don't ever meet the idiot again.

Coz I don't know what I'd do to him.

Nillionaire

I am broke. No lollygaging on this subject. No preludes and interludes. No festooned descriptions of how, when & why. Coz no matter how hard I try, every subsequent purchase seems to be more frightfully extravagant than the previous one. Resultant, I am well and truly deep into Chapter 11 now. Almost cleaned out, dirt poor & near-penniless.

Until the next 23rd (when my monthly salary will be dutifully, I fervently hope, credited to my depleted account); don't allow your jaw to plunk onto the floor if you find me prowling the streets with a begging bowl in hand & a kilometer-long bill in tow (much like a bridal train). Coz at the rate I'm dishing out the good ol' greenback/plastic, you may more likely than not find my-self-indulging-person in that unenviable, austere position. Either I must soon untangle myself from this dangerous shopping binge (ranging from imprudent bags/exorbitant shoes/expensive apparel to a brand new car) that I seem to getting myself rapidly tangled up into, or face the consequences. And I think you will unwaveringly agree with me that the consequences do not look very shimmery-sunshiny.

Need to buck up and rid myself of this disease that has inflicted me, else might end up in a very special home of sorts.

A remand home, no doubt.

Raison d'être

What is it about 'new years' that make otherwise perfectly reasonable chaps conduct themselves like a bunch of bozos? A flurry of resolutions are hastily made that will be broken in equal speedy fervour. Undoubtedly, the most popular query doing the rounds is "Hey, what plans for new year's?" (How I hate the word 'plans'!!) And if you don't have any grand 'plans', God help you! You're looked upon as a speck of dust, something a fastidious luncher is prone to do, on spotting a caterpillar doing the merry-go-rounds on his freshly-ordered salad.

You live with that. The run-up to midnight is annoying, for lack of a more apt word. Needless to say, it never does to turn on the TV unless you've got a I-want-to-turn-lunatic-this-year wish for yourself. To subject your senses to the madness floating around, you'd have to be loony yourself to be in sync with all that fancy brouhaha. Little known telly 'stars' jiggle in garish costumes, hosts yell out the customary 'happy new years' in screechy tones and your eyes are subjected to a gaudy bonanza of confetti and cheap crackers that are in fact released weeks before the new year. Somehow, your remaining senses limp to the midnight hour and the wall-clock then chimes in cheerful innuendos, announcing midnight with the same droll disposition that it did with last year around. Firecrackers light up the dark skies all around the world, no doubt making for quite a spectacle, but a menace nonetheless to even the dullest of ears. Funny part is they last 1 hour past the celebrated midnight. Surely not running late, are we? Revellers rule the decked-up streets, getting boozed up to the backs of their teeth, making pests of themselves to the general public. And the ones who make a killing out of all this ballyhoo are pubs, discotheques, restaurants, malls and the like who leave no stone unturned in fleecing the last dime in said reveller's pocket. What a waste all this!

Don't tick me off as a killjoy who derives passing pleasure in preventing people from enjoying themselves. Or someone who is perhaps too ugly to get a date on new year's eve. I find all this its-new-year-lets-go-bump-a-daisy stuff a bit too much of a facade. Its the same shit happening all over again the moment the clock stops chiming, the firecrackers finally cease crackling and the revellers all go back home, the booze receding to the darker recesses of their intestines. What has one gained from the above transactions, other than contracting a golly heavy headache the morning after? If we must celebrate, let us celebrate when villages reeling under utter darkness are equipped with electricity, when starving kids get 3 decent square meals a day, when AIDS has been wiped off the face of the earth, when poverty is just something witnessed in the past, where education is free for all and when we live a peaceful and harmonious life, free from bondages of terror and hate.

Then I shall celebrate. Cause that will be an event worth celebrating for.

The Aftermath

Attention: The following post may contain descriptions of a graphic nature. Reader discretion is advised ;)

Have you tasted and swallowed your own blood? For 14 straight hours? The bloody barbarians extracted TWO of my precious (but pesky) wisdom teeth!!! Both within a span of 20 mins. In a way, the said troublesome teeth came off quite easily than the last single wisdom tooth, which alone took an agonizing 30 mins. It nearly dislocated my jaw, that one. But this time around, the blood just wouldn't stop flowing out... all night and all morning... you can say I had blood for dinner and breakfast. Turned myself into a vampire-of-sorts. Only I was gulping my own vital fluids. It wasn't until 9.30 am (a full 14 hrs since the kasai-like op) that the flow was stemmed with a quick prescription of tiny, gem-like pills that worked like magic on the misbehaving wound. But the damage was already done. I feel like I'm swaying in mid-air, a good litre or two light of blood.

Funny how the Seal number keeps resounding in my head - 'I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky...'

Oh... and Happy Christmas to you as well! :)

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...

Weighty Issues

'18 days off from work! You're sooooooo lucky, yaar... you can rest all you want!' Rest?? That does not figure on my immediate to-do list and I wouldn't be wrong to hazard a guess that it would most certainly be the last thing I'd subject my crumby corpus to. Instead, I have every intention to rid it of its despondent skeletal frame that has become increasingly tantamount with me (the word 'skeletal' I mean), what with the general public eyeing me with that condolatory look, 'Now here's a poor lass who could really do with some feeding.' Some even manage to bump into me, thinking I'm not there at all (yes, I have quipped this stinker of a line many-a-times before... but those who know me would damn well vouch for this theory!!) And more often than not, poor ol' Mom is subject to admonition and speculation, 'Don't you give her enough food?'; 'Bahut kaam karwaati ho kya?' (The last rebuke, in particular, leaves Mom royally peeved; as my aversion to help her out with daily chores is, best as I can put it, fairly conspicuous as well as notorious... the sole bone of contention between her and I).

Back to the key issue at large, I intend to solve the matter of wagging tongues and disapproving heads, once and for all. Infact, one chatty aunt who has a rather dim view on the subject of 'How-many-kilos-go-to-maketh-Avanti', has decided to wager the meager income at her disposal on my gaining atleast 5 kilos in two months... a tall (or rather, fat) order... but I humbly accepted, nonetheless. I stand to gain a paltry 'I-can-buy-roasted-gram-with-this' Rs. 100 in case I achieve the mean feat; so I'm pretty sure you are convinced that the monetary bait does not excite me enough to pile on the pounds. I ain't going the whole mile for no-one. This one's for me.

It is not going to be a joy-ride. Bones are going to ache (if not break), muscles (what little there is of them) are gonna be stretched and a lot of sweat is going to ooze out. Plus, there is the additional matter of juggling my daily routine with gym timings. Take Dad for his cardiac rehab/physiotherapy sessions at Bandra, go to work, have the weekly catch-ups with friends, get my unruly hair in order, file my investment proofs with my organization, manage the numerous bank accounts that have been opened in my name, get my annoying 'other' wisdom tooth out (yes, it has begun to ache profusely again), get new clothes stitched... and.... eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! What am I doing here, typing furiously on my keyboard? Gotta scoot.... a million things cry for my attention already!

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!

Bumbleday

On a lazy Sunday morning, so trademark you could almost see the ® on it... I'm startlingly awakened from a profound slumber by Deeps... It has occurred so often, I always experience a sense of deja-vu when my phone trings rudely. In between a heightened state of grogginess and a longing desire to fall back asleep (meanwhile muttering obscenities), I try to be as coherent as my protesting brain would allow. I mouthe an equivalent of a 'hello' and get back a shrill 'Avz! Were you sleeping?'. 'No,' I desperately want to say, 'At 8 am on a Sunday morning, I am playing cricket for India at Wankhede and boy-oh-boy, ain't I hitting some mean sixes!' But sarcasm is not what you begin with on a sunny Sunday, so I say 'Yeah... whats the plan yaar?' 'Movie' she says. 'Rock On... 10 am show.. Cinemax yaar... subah ko tickets milegi'. I was pretty excited bout this flick too, so I agreed nonetheless. Dragging my lazybones off my bed, I suddenly enter into autopilot mode. Its like those things they inject you with, and you instantly have this energy bursting in you. Zoom! goes my bedspread, neatly folded... whoosh! goes me brushing my teeth, splash! goes my 15-minute bath and zippp! goes my outfit on. Mom is at her Sunday best - yelling at me for not informing her sooner, preparing yummy breakfast at the speed of Wonderwoman (she is one!) and attending dudhwaalas, paperwaalas, kachrawaalas, watchmanwaalas and the like in the meantime... I wonder if she's got 10 invisible hands and legs to assist her in her daily drudgery. Anyway, my breakfast done, I scoot outta my abode into the sunny world outside! Suddenly I feel refreshed and feel a new enthusiasm in me. Going out does that to me.

Our plan-schedules are always tight, something like trying to fit into a size-26 jeans when you're in fact a size-28 (happened with me once, and though I managed to get them on... jeepers! It was excruciating to get out of them!). I hurriedly hail a rickshaw while on the phone with Shikhz who's to meet me at 9.15 am. Our show's at 10 am BTW, and we need to board a 9.29 am train. What happens next isn't a great shake, as Deeps is horribly late as usual. We miss the train and to our exasperation, there're no trains for the next 15-20 mins. In between some teeth-clenching and occasional giggles at our own silliness, we (finally!) decide at 9.50 am that we should take a rickshaw to our destination. We walk half-a kilometer to get one, and goad the driver to display his speedy best. But alas! All traffic lights had conspired to turn red at us today. We reach the station, cross to the east dodging spit, muck and what-not... we board another rickshaw.... time: 10 am... we know we're gonna miss atleast the first 15 mins. This rickshaw-guy was a real jerk... he persuades us to travel 4 in his rickshaw!! What if the cops nab us? And me being the skinniest of all, was forced to sit on Deeps' lap (I know how this sounds... I felt extremely stupid too) and suddenly, a 5 minute distance seems like an eternity..

But all said and done.. the movie more than made up for all the clumsiness that was the order of the day (and after a long time, a Bollywood movie catches my fancy). Fabulous performances by all actors, special mention goes to Arjun Rampal.... gosh! I've never seen any man look as sexy as he did with the loooong hair! Kudos man! And Farhan too... your unconventional voice did wonders to some very silly lyrics. And Prachi, darling... you look like an angel. Truly, you guys rock!

For you... Priyu!

I've been (unfairly) accused of using extremely difficult language by my good friend Priya (hear hear... I hope you're reading this Priyu... *makes a Bachchan-like-pose* Aaj khush toh bahut hogi tum). She would rather breathe easy if I use some simple (read sensible & comprehendible) sentences in my blogs. You know... get rid of overtly-used adjectives, never-ending sentences, exclamations (!), brackets (boxes, braces or normals), random thoughts (@#$%*) and the like (in short, she means STOP! educating people with crap) Well.... mera blog hai yaar... meri marzi... but I'll try my best to keep this entry short and devoid of any rubbish sentences (do I hear collective sighs out there?). Gee, I didn't even take my English teacher as seriously as Ms. Priyu (a.k.a. Nautanki a.k.a. Dhakkan a.k.a. Ms. Directionless a.k.a. Her-Mind-Is-Out-Of-Her-Mind). So Priya... this is solely for you... short and simple (I hope).

I took a break to write this to ease my troubled friend
I left my work lying somewhere in a pile.. to which later I'll tend
I watched my screen fill with gooey goos
I feel there's nothing I can do...
*Insert guitarwork here*

I watched my screen fill with gooey goos
I feel there's nothing I can do...
Until the boss comes and fires me for my mid-day blues
I really don't mind what happens now and then
As long as you'll be my friend till the end...

If I go go crazy, will you still be my super-friend?
If I'm alive and well, will you be there with a hand to lend?
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might...
O my shining light...

(Apologies for any inspirations from 'Kryptonite' by 3 Doors Down)

Psst: I know this stupid, stupid rhyme sucks BIIIIIG time... but then again, you wanted something simple innit? Applause please... for the immensely lame & suckiest rhyme of the year!