Why is “driving someone crazy” so easy while “driving a car” so difficult?
The grocer’s shop from the petrol station is 2.5 kms. Why does it feel like 0.5 kms when Amit is driving, and 250 kms when I am trying to drive? Is distance inversely proportional to driving expertise? Why didn’t they say so in our Physics books, then?
Why is it important to “indicate” even when you are practicing steering control in an empty parking bay at midnight? Why is it that nothing makes your husband angrier than when you fail to indicate (even if you have taken a good stable turn)?
Why do I act like I am colour blind at a traffic signal? I surely can tell between a red, green and yellow when I am anywhere in the car apart from the driver’s seat. Again, if colour blindness was related to your position inside the car, why didn’t they say so in the Biology books?
Why is it that I can turn “left” when I tell myself “turn left” but will always turn “right” when someone else asks me to take “left”?
Why is it that my "brain" wants to obey my driving instructor but my "hands and feet" will take instructions from nobody but me?
How many times will I have to tell myself that to indicate “left” I need to turn that thing “up”? Don’t know what it’s called…but am referring to an elongated, protruding, rounded-at-the-tip part that can move up and down and also sideways and even a gentle touch can make it move. (Now will you dirty minds stop giggling and tell me what it's called?)
Why did it take me so much time to understand that while reversing a car, the “back” of the car moves to the direction to which the steering is turned? For god’s sake, when you are “reversing”, you want the car to move “backwards” and what the “front” of your car does is none of your concern! Why couldn’t I get such a simple thing?
And most importantly…
Why don’t they have something in between the accelerator and the brakes? Am I the only one confusing the two and speeding up head-on towards incoming traffic?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Of Faux Pas and Morals - Part 2
If you haven't read part 1, here it is.
At this year’s performance appraisal, I really couldn’t think of anything that I wasn’t happy with. I liked my job, I had awesome flexibility, the pay wasn’t bad, I could work from home when I wanted to, my teammates were competent and friendly and my manager was understanding and appreciative. So I spend hours on the “What you would like to change in your role” field on the self-appraisal form. But it seemed to be quite boring to leave that field empty. So I just forced myself to put this in:
“Would like to be involved in other creative work like advertising and promotional material”
(As if I didn’t already have my plate full with technical writing!)
Anyway, my manager was delighted at the proposition and asked me to prepare this year’s advertisement for our annual conference, which is a BIG event. My brief was to promote the Training team and to get more clients to come to us for training. I was excited.
The world was getting stingy and most companies preferred to train their employees in-house rather than sending them to the expensive professional training departments. So, I decided to make use of a good statistic that I found somewhere. “In-house training costs X% more than outsourced training “(though we tend to believe just the opposite). The idea was to make companies aware that sending their employees to us for training will not only ensure better performance but would also turn out cheaper.
Toying with this idea, I thought of an analogy, which was something around these lines:
“You wouldn’t school your children at home.
Then why train your employees in-house?”
And this would be followed by the cool statistic that I had found.
I also thought of a picture of a bored kid being schooled at home by his mother, with a blackboard hung in the kitchen and the chair next to him being occupied by their pet dog.
Quite happy with the concept, I called a meeting with the key stakeholders i.e. managers of the different departments, the Business Development team and my manager, of course.
When the clock struck 10am (actually there is no clock in my office really that “strikes” with that much drama…but there is something mysterious in saying so, instead of saying “At 10 am…” Don’t you think?)…
…the meeting room looked busy. The seats were taken, the projector switched on, the first slide of my presentation up.
And I decided I would share “how” I arrived at the idea before proceeding with the idea itself.
So I said “We all have memories of our school days. Good, bad, ugly…but memories nonetheless. We may have bunked school, hated exams, faked absent notes, copied homework from friends, waited eagerly for the lunch break, wrote silly rhymes on teachers we hated, bullied the “bulliable” kid and pretended to fall sick just before a test we hadn’t studied for. But we all remember school. And no one can deny that it is a BIG influence on who we are today.”
Saying this, I presented the main slide…with the picture of the bored kid, and the text accompanying it.
After a brief silence, my manager spoke (god bless him). He said “Good work, Deblina. But there are many parents who really don’t send their children to school.”
Annoyed that such a superb concept was so casually rejected, I said “But that’s quite stupid. Why on earth would parents want to deprive their child of an experience that every child deserves? I know that some of the greatest people have never been to school…but that’s different. We don’t do that anymore. Not going to school is not an option for any of us, petty mortals.”
“Actually, I was home-schooled myself. None of my siblings went to school. And you wouldn’t say we did badly for ourselves, would you?” my manager said.
I gaped.
It came to me like an epiphany...
That the greatest morals...
Are born...
Out of the greatest Faux pas…
That the greatest morals...
Are born...
Out of the greatest Faux pas…
At this year’s performance appraisal, I really couldn’t think of anything that I wasn’t happy with. I liked my job, I had awesome flexibility, the pay wasn’t bad, I could work from home when I wanted to, my teammates were competent and friendly and my manager was understanding and appreciative. So I spend hours on the “What you would like to change in your role” field on the self-appraisal form. But it seemed to be quite boring to leave that field empty. So I just forced myself to put this in:
“Would like to be involved in other creative work like advertising and promotional material”
(As if I didn’t already have my plate full with technical writing!)
Anyway, my manager was delighted at the proposition and asked me to prepare this year’s advertisement for our annual conference, which is a BIG event. My brief was to promote the Training team and to get more clients to come to us for training. I was excited.
The world was getting stingy and most companies preferred to train their employees in-house rather than sending them to the expensive professional training departments. So, I decided to make use of a good statistic that I found somewhere. “In-house training costs X% more than outsourced training “(though we tend to believe just the opposite). The idea was to make companies aware that sending their employees to us for training will not only ensure better performance but would also turn out cheaper.
Toying with this idea, I thought of an analogy, which was something around these lines:
“You wouldn’t school your children at home.
Then why train your employees in-house?”
And this would be followed by the cool statistic that I had found.
I also thought of a picture of a bored kid being schooled at home by his mother, with a blackboard hung in the kitchen and the chair next to him being occupied by their pet dog.
Quite happy with the concept, I called a meeting with the key stakeholders i.e. managers of the different departments, the Business Development team and my manager, of course.
When the clock struck 10am (actually there is no clock in my office really that “strikes” with that much drama…but there is something mysterious in saying so, instead of saying “At 10 am…” Don’t you think?)…
…the meeting room looked busy. The seats were taken, the projector switched on, the first slide of my presentation up.
And I decided I would share “how” I arrived at the idea before proceeding with the idea itself.
So I said “We all have memories of our school days. Good, bad, ugly…but memories nonetheless. We may have bunked school, hated exams, faked absent notes, copied homework from friends, waited eagerly for the lunch break, wrote silly rhymes on teachers we hated, bullied the “bulliable” kid and pretended to fall sick just before a test we hadn’t studied for. But we all remember school. And no one can deny that it is a BIG influence on who we are today.”
Saying this, I presented the main slide…with the picture of the bored kid, and the text accompanying it.
After a brief silence, my manager spoke (god bless him). He said “Good work, Deblina. But there are many parents who really don’t send their children to school.”
Annoyed that such a superb concept was so casually rejected, I said “But that’s quite stupid. Why on earth would parents want to deprive their child of an experience that every child deserves? I know that some of the greatest people have never been to school…but that’s different. We don’t do that anymore. Not going to school is not an option for any of us, petty mortals.”
“Actually, I was home-schooled myself. None of my siblings went to school. And you wouldn’t say we did badly for ourselves, would you?” my manager said.
I gaped.
Moral:
- Never ask for more work when you already have sufficient.
- Keep your opinions to yourself. Better still, don’t have opinions
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
I have sinned
A recent visit to a little church in Fremantle sparked the religious cells of my body. And I realised I was a sinner. That too of the “deadly” variety.
Gluttony
"Gluttony is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be force-fed rats, toads, and snakes."
This one’s going to take me to Hell for sure. Biriyani from Shiraz, momos from Tibetian Delight, fried rice from Lords, mutton rolls from Bedwin, gulab jamun from Haldiram’s…gosh, I have sinned. I have gulped and swallowed and eaten till I almost puked. And I don’t intend to repent or change. So Hell, keep the juiciest rats and the fattest toads ready for me.
"Gluttony is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be force-fed rats, toads, and snakes."
This one’s going to take me to Hell for sure. Biriyani from Shiraz, momos from Tibetian Delight, fried rice from Lords, mutton rolls from Bedwin, gulab jamun from Haldiram’s…gosh, I have sinned. I have gulped and swallowed and eaten till I almost puked. And I don’t intend to repent or change. So Hell, keep the juiciest rats and the fattest toads ready for me.
Lust
"Lust or lechery, is usually thought of as excessive thoughts or desires of a sexual nature. Giving in to lusts can lead to sexual or sociological compulsions and/or transgressions including (but not limited to) sexual addiction, fornication, adultery, bestiality, rape, perversion, and incest.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be smothered in fire and brimstone. Not kisses."
On one of my farm vacations as a child, I once pulled a cow’s tits really hard. That was when an old man (caretaker of the farm I think) had taken us (cousins and me) to the shed to show us the big cows and how they were milked. So that was really bad of me and I hope that cow can forgive me for the torture. But since I did not really rape the cow or want to have sex with it, I think I will not have to walk within the flames. Not sure, though.
"Lust or lechery, is usually thought of as excessive thoughts or desires of a sexual nature. Giving in to lusts can lead to sexual or sociological compulsions and/or transgressions including (but not limited to) sexual addiction, fornication, adultery, bestiality, rape, perversion, and incest.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be smothered in fire and brimstone. Not kisses."
On one of my farm vacations as a child, I once pulled a cow’s tits really hard. That was when an old man (caretaker of the farm I think) had taken us (cousins and me) to the shed to show us the big cows and how they were milked. So that was really bad of me and I hope that cow can forgive me for the torture. But since I did not really rape the cow or want to have sex with it, I think I will not have to walk within the flames. Not sure, though.
Greed
"Greed is the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual. It is also called Avarice or Covetousness.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be boiled alive in oil."
I exaggerated in my self- appraisal form and wrote the longest list of “Employee’s Achievements in the Financial Year 2006-2007” in order to convince my Manager that I deserved a raise. How very materialistic of me! Can I have olive oil in Hell to boil in, please? I seem to have a cholesterol problem and olive oil is all I am allowed to use. Thank you.
Sloth
"Sloth is the avoidance of physical or spiritual work.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be thrown into snake pits."
If Gluttony takes me to Hell, Sloth’s going to keep me there. Well, I am prepared for the snake pits …I have had my share of cooks and cleaners and gardeners and dishwashers and washing-machines and frozen meals.
Wrath
"Wrath is manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be dismembered alive."
I don’t break flower vases or expensive pieces of china when I am angry (what a waste). But I must confess that I almost bit a piece of flesh off Amit’s palm when I got angry once (can’t remember why). I also tore a handful of my sister’s hair when she refused to share a piece of cake (that too, after I had finished my share). Can I at least nominate which part of my body should be dismembered first in Hell? I’d like my stomach to go first, please. I always wanted to see myself without a tummy.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be dismembered alive."
I don’t break flower vases or expensive pieces of china when I am angry (what a waste). But I must confess that I almost bit a piece of flesh off Amit’s palm when I got angry once (can’t remember why). I also tore a handful of my sister’s hair when she refused to share a piece of cake (that too, after I had finished my share). Can I at least nominate which part of my body should be dismembered first in Hell? I’d like my stomach to go first, please. I always wanted to see myself without a tummy.
Envy
"Envy is the desire for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be put in freezing water."
I have sinned. I have envied Julia Robert’s smile, Ambani’s wealth, Bill Gates’ brains, J. Lo’s ass, Sushmita Sen’s height, Dawn French’s sense of humor, Cliff Richard’s voice, Bill Bryson’s writing style, Oprah’s influence on people and Angelina Jolie’s luck with husbands.
I don’t mind snake pits and being burnt in oil. But freezing water!!! O how cruel!! I usually go without a bath if I cannot have warm water in winter (and sometimes even in summer. I hate taking baths anyway!). Please. Pleeeeaaase. Can I get lukewarm water, if I don’t envy anyone from this moment on?
"Envy is the desire for others' traits, status, abilities, or situation.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be put in freezing water."
I have sinned. I have envied Julia Robert’s smile, Ambani’s wealth, Bill Gates’ brains, J. Lo’s ass, Sushmita Sen’s height, Dawn French’s sense of humor, Cliff Richard’s voice, Bill Bryson’s writing style, Oprah’s influence on people and Angelina Jolie’s luck with husbands.
I don’t mind snake pits and being burnt in oil. But freezing water!!! O how cruel!! I usually go without a bath if I cannot have warm water in winter (and sometimes even in summer. I hate taking baths anyway!). Please. Pleeeeaaase. Can I get lukewarm water, if I don’t envy anyone from this moment on?
Pride
"Pride is excessive belief in one's own abilities that interferes with the individual's recognition of the grace of God.
Your punishment in Hell will be: You'll be broken on the wheel."
Usually, in most matters, I have absolutely “no belief in my own abilities”. But somehow, I thought that I can eat as much as I want…and not exercise at all, and can still remain non-obese. Now that I AM obese, this belief is shattered. So perhaps my putting on weight has some benefits after all…they won’t find a wheel big enough to crush me in Hell [Evil grin :)].
They say that in confession lies redemption. I hope the keepers of Hell are reading this. But if they were advanced enough to read blogs, surely they would have come up with more techno tortures like “data-entry for a 1000 years” or “write formal emails to a zillion people” or “read technical manual (perhaps the ones I wrote) for eternity” or “test buggy software non-stop till you die and are born again in Hell” etc .
Dunno. Any clue?
Sin research: http://www.deadlysins.com/sins/
Image: Google
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Honeymoon
No am not going on my nth honeymoon…in fact am not even going on a vacation before December. But lately I have had many friends (who are hoping , fearing or simply going to get married soon) ask me “So give me some honeymoon tips.” As if people have taken me on their honeymoon since I was born!!!
On googling “honeymoon”, you get 22,400,000 results. Just shows how much “collective” information there is out there. But no “one” person can be considered an authority, as a person can technically go on a honeymoon only a few times (depending on the number of failed marriages). Of course there are a zillion “honeymoon experts” in the form of travel agents and package dealers…who will do everything that is to be done (except perhaps sleep with your partner).
So here’s my two cents worth, if none of the 22,400,000 results have quite helped you:
Do not postpone your honeymoon for a “more suitable” time. Go for one immediately after the wedding, while the mehndi is still fresh and the mind is in its “spending best”. If you decide to do it later, trust me, it will either never happen….or even if it does, will never be the same. Money will be short, holidays not long enough, destinations never decided, moods never right, and the most horrible “we-have-been-married-3-months-what-do-we-need-a-honeymoon-for” feeling or the "let's-ask-Guddu-and-Mampi-to-join-us-it-will-be-more-fun" feeling. DON’T let that happen. Set off from the reception venue, if you must.
Choose a place that both of you haven’t visited earlier. If one of you has, it will be like watching a thriller with someone next to you narrating the next scene…or worse still someone being very helpful by telling you what’s going to happen at the end. You don’t want your partner to show off his/her geographical/navigational/cultural/lingual expertise when you are on a honeymoon. Go to a new place and see it for the first time…together.
A honeymoon is NOT a usual vacation. So don’t make plans and checklists and places-to-visit lists. Even if you are the adventurous explorer, trust me, you will get plenty of opportunities to visit places in your life. You don’t HAVE TO see all the places that are to be seen…or do all the things that are to be done. Relax by the beach/mountain/forest…or in the spa, drink exotic fluids the names of which you can’t pronounce after a drink, eat the most extravagant meals, and chat chat chat. Get to know each other rather than getting to know the place (I know most marriages happen after a lifetime of “seeing-each-other”. Nevertheless, don’t give up on trying to “know” each other as that’s an exercise you will have to do all your life. Better start it when the weddings rings are still sparkling).
Choose a remote place that doesn’t have internet or mobile connections. You don’t want to check your work mails…or get phone calls from over-enthusiastic friends and family asking you “how is it going?”
Make sure that the indoors are as good as the outdoors (you might not want to go out at all :)). So the hotel/chalet/resort or whatever other cool things they have these days, should be one that makes you say “wow”.
Meditate for 5 seconds everyday in the morning. It might be too much to tolerate your partner 24/7 for 5-7 days at a stretch, with no one else to talk to.
Carry more clothes/shoes/accessories than you need or can possibly wear during your stay. Remember, these days the whole idea of going on an exotic honeymoon is to be able to impress friends and friends’ friends on orkut and facebook!! So you must look as cool as you possibly can.
Last but the MOST important, carry a tripod. Otherwise you will end up with dozens of solo pictures…or distorted and bloated faces of the two of you trying to look at the camera that you are holding as far away as you possibly can (doesn’t really help unless you have long hands like the “petnis” we read about as children ). Worse still, having one or two pictures of the two of you together that a kind passerby had volunteered to click. Remember, kind people are mostly bad photographers…and you cannot ask them to keep clicking till you look your slimmest best. A tripod will help solve all your photographic dilemmas.
So that’s that. Happy honeymooning!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Horrid Horror
I am a wannabe. Someday I want to watch a horror movie all by myself…in an empty house, at night. At the moment, here is what the situation is like:
I need a room full of people (preferably the brave types). These people need to act normal i.e. eat pop corn, cough or sneeze regularly, leave their cell phones in Loud mode, talk to one another once in a while. In short, I need constant proof that they are alive and normal….and have not frozen into mummies or evaporated in the air (as I sometimes feel may happen, during a scary movie).
I need two men on either side of me (men, not women…as most ghosts are women in white, with their long hair on their face). These days Amit usually obliges by being on one side (god bless him). To fill up the other side, I look for other people’s husbands (not a good thing for my character certificate). I end up with the feeling of being watched, all through the movie…double-watched in fact (one by the spirit in the movie, and one by the wife of the husband who has kindly volunteered to sit by my side). That, I’m afraid, is not a particularly reassuring feeling.
I need these two men on my two sides, to not leave their seats for a single second. No, they are not allowed a bathroom break while the movie is on. So Amit usually empties his bladder before taking his seat, and advises the ‘other man’ to do the same. Needless to say, I do so too…and I don’t drink anything after that, lest my kidneys call.
I need all the lights and heater to be on (spirits, I hear, do not prefer light or heat).
I need a blanket to cover myself and my eyes when camera angles and music suggest that something horrid is about to happen. It springs from the ‘if-I-can’t-see-them-they can’t-see-me-either’ feeling. This however, does not work on exceptionally well-directed movies, where the most horrid scenes appear when least expected.
After the movie, I need an escort everywhere I go, including the bathroom. The distance between the escort and me is directly proportional to the passage of time after the movie (as more time elapses, the distance can increase) and inversely proportional to the degree of fear (the more scared I am, the closer I need the escort to be). At the moment it works somewhat like the following:
Day 1 (immediately after the movie) - Escort needs to be inside the bathroom, with his/her back turned to me. He or she is allowed to sing in order to distract themselves from the sounds that my digestive tract or an over-eager flow of pee can make.
Day 2 – Escort can stand outside the bathroom door, which will be left open. Again, singing is allowed.
Day 2 – Escort can stand outside the bathroom door, which can now be shut, but not locked (so that he/she can rush inside in case I get any sudden attack of fear).
Day 3 – Escort can stand outside the bathroom door, which can now be locked. However, he/she needs to keep singing so that I know that they haven’t left their posts.
Day 4 onwards – I am pretty much independent again. Escort should however be ready for providing service in an emergency (a nightmare or a scary scene on television).
Acknowledgements: Ma was my most loyal escort all the years I was at home. Amit has reluctantly taken up her position, after our marriage. God bless you both!
Inspired by a recent viewing of The Ring, at a friend’s place.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
My Drawing-Book Fantasy Land of Yesteryears…
A neat mountain range…The bright yellow sun peeping from a valley…
A winding red-soil road leading nowhere…
Dark green meadows…
Clear blue sky without a trace of cloud or fear…
Some pink wild flowers that bloom all year round…
Three birds flying in formation…
Has anyone been there?
Will I ever be there?
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Brick Lane
I had promised myself that if I managed to read any book that was over 500 pages, I would write about it. The lazy reader that I am, I can barely ever finish a book that fat.
Brick Lane by Monica Ali was 491 pages, close to my 500-page criterion. Not only did I finish it, I wanted more.
Brick Lane by Monica Ali was 491 pages, close to my 500-page criterion. Not only did I finish it, I wanted more.
Trimming your husband’s nasal hair, or scraping the corn on his feet, may not be your idea of marital bliss. But for many women, it is! At least when they are not beaten, bathed in acid, or abused in return. For Nazneen, it was the only life she had known…the only life she tried to be grateful for.
The story in a sentence is:
Nazneen, a simple girl from a village in Bangladesh, settles down in the UK with her husband Chanu.
I am going to take up parts of that sentence to give you a perspective.
‘Simple girl from a village’ – Nazneen grew up with her mother’s teachings, one of which was ‘never to question fate because if God wanted them to ask questions, He would have made them men’. Her childhood in her village serves as a repository of stories…stories that she tells herself when she is alone…stories that she tells her two daughters when they want to peep into her world.
Bangladesh – The spirit of Bangladesh breathes through Nazneen’s small UK apartment…and her life. She gets a taste of her motherland, in the letters from her sister Hasina…in the gossips of her neighbours…in her sewing machine…in the food she cooks…in the Dhakai saree she wears…in the Brick Lane where many more Bangladeshi immigrants have build their new homes.
‘Settles down in the UK’ – UK, or UK as seen by Muslim immigrants, is where most part of the story unfolds. The cultural confusion faced by the second generation kids, the effect of 9/11 on the world and on the Muslim community of the world, the drug abuse and ‘gang’ formation in the dingy dark alleys, the hard work that mostly pays but often doesn’t…and yet the promise of a better life. In short, it was her life in UK that introduced Nazneen to that part of herself that she would have never known.
‘with her husband Chanu’ – In spite of the nasal hair, corned feet, yellowish nails, a humongous belly, a tongue that never stops talking and a mind that never stops weaving impossible dreams, you cannot help but like Chanu (played by Satish Kaushik in the movie…so now you can visualize him). In his eternal battle against the ‘ignorant types’ and the ‘peasant types’, Chanu wishes to carve an identity for himself. An identity that he thinks would make him more acceptable in the society that he is so desperate to be a part of. When all his ‘battles’ fail, he rejects the society that wasn’t generous enough to accommodate his dreams…and plans a flight back home.
The Brick Lane is about the life that they end up living in between their efforts to settle down…and their efforts to go back to their homeland.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I wonder...
Statistics show that one in every 481 forwarded chain mails, is actually good reading, and won’t threaten you if you break the chain (OK. I just made that up. But I believe that it could be true). Having grown old to mushy ‘Friendship means’ and ‘Jay Tirupathi’ mails, I have mastered the art of spotting these miscreants and clicking Shift+Del instantly. However, lately I was too bored, and happened to read one. And I think it was one in the 481.
A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars. Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100.00 each. This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be:If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing some of the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing....?
These questions led to some more (I think a scan of my brain at the moment would look like the image above).
These questions led to some more (I think a scan of my brain at the moment would look like the image above).
Have we really forgotten to stop and wonder at the beauty that surrounds us?
I pass a river on my way to work everyday. When was the last time I stopped to look at the waves? Or the swans? Or the mossy green river bank that has some strangely pretty shrubs? Did anyone plant them there? Did a bird drop a seed? Where did the swans come from? Where do they go at sunset? Are these questions too irrelevant or insignificant? True, answers to none of these will help me earn my next pay check or help me with my deadline, or solve my issues with my teammate, or pave my way for a promotion, or a hike. But am I so busy trying to make a living that I have stopped living?
Have we been programmed to ‘like’ things only when we are expected to ‘like’ them? Has appreciating the beauty of art, music, literature, food or nature become a ‘social status’ thing? Do we ‘like’ in order to be accepted? Do we ‘like’ in order to be perceived as intellectuals? Have we stopped ‘liking’ for our own pleasure? Do we like to ‘like’ things only when we are paying a big price for it?
Q: Food at a plush restaurant that is the latest talk of the town?
A: Like
Q: A little ‘kasundi’ with the good old spinach cooked the Bengali way?
A: Kasundi? What’s that? I like oregano on my pasta, basil in my rice and thyme in my soup.
Q: An exotic cocktail that has a tongue twister of a name, at an award-winning pub?
A: Like
Q: Nimbu paani at home?
A: Who has the time for squeezing lemons? (I thought if you could make it to the pub, you could squeeze a lemon once in a while)
Q: A Bryan Adams concert?
A: Like
Q: Bryan Adams from an old cassette (that you had complied while at school, and written down the names of the songs yourself, in childish handwriting, on the cassette cover) at home?
A: Don’t you at least have a CD? Or a CD Player? Are you stingy? Are you the boring ‘stay-at-home’ kinds?
In fact, are we ashamed to admit that we ‘like’ certain things in a certain way because we are afraid that we will be judged? Is it so difficult to own up to our little ‘favourites’? Why do we then talk about ‘accepting others for who they are…and not what they can become’? I have come across that line a zillion times…in Self-Help books on the shelves of bookstores, in philosophical chain emails that are supposed to make me feel good in the morning. If we can’t accept ourselves for who we are and what we like, who are we kidding by talking about ‘accepting others’?
How much has society…or our upbringing contributed to this strangely depressing phenomenon? Does it sprout from our same obsession with taking the traditionally safe paths? If you are not a Doctor or an Engineer, or at least a Lawyer or a Chartered Accountant, you can invest in some good quality cyanide. If you haven’t listened to Bach or can’t quote from Tagore, you can tattoo ‘I am an idiot’ on your forehead.
What if I have read enough ‘Chacha Chowdhury’ to win gold at the ‘Annual Pran Quiz’ organised by the boys of the local club during Ganesh Chaturthi? Am I not chic enough for you? What if I have never held a golf stick…but could beat you any day at kabaddi? Won’t you smile at me at the shopping centre any more?
What if I have never heard of Dostoyevsky but can name all the Govinda movies that were released or got shelved halfway through (because of the producer’s connections with some underworld don)? Am I a social shame? Most importantly, am I a shame to myself?
I wonder…
I pass a river on my way to work everyday. When was the last time I stopped to look at the waves? Or the swans? Or the mossy green river bank that has some strangely pretty shrubs? Did anyone plant them there? Did a bird drop a seed? Where did the swans come from? Where do they go at sunset? Are these questions too irrelevant or insignificant? True, answers to none of these will help me earn my next pay check or help me with my deadline, or solve my issues with my teammate, or pave my way for a promotion, or a hike. But am I so busy trying to make a living that I have stopped living?
Have we been programmed to ‘like’ things only when we are expected to ‘like’ them? Has appreciating the beauty of art, music, literature, food or nature become a ‘social status’ thing? Do we ‘like’ in order to be accepted? Do we ‘like’ in order to be perceived as intellectuals? Have we stopped ‘liking’ for our own pleasure? Do we like to ‘like’ things only when we are paying a big price for it?
Q: Food at a plush restaurant that is the latest talk of the town?
A: Like
Q: A little ‘kasundi’ with the good old spinach cooked the Bengali way?
A: Kasundi? What’s that? I like oregano on my pasta, basil in my rice and thyme in my soup.
Q: An exotic cocktail that has a tongue twister of a name, at an award-winning pub?
A: Like
Q: Nimbu paani at home?
A: Who has the time for squeezing lemons? (I thought if you could make it to the pub, you could squeeze a lemon once in a while)
Q: A Bryan Adams concert?
A: Like
Q: Bryan Adams from an old cassette (that you had complied while at school, and written down the names of the songs yourself, in childish handwriting, on the cassette cover) at home?
A: Don’t you at least have a CD? Or a CD Player? Are you stingy? Are you the boring ‘stay-at-home’ kinds?
In fact, are we ashamed to admit that we ‘like’ certain things in a certain way because we are afraid that we will be judged? Is it so difficult to own up to our little ‘favourites’? Why do we then talk about ‘accepting others for who they are…and not what they can become’? I have come across that line a zillion times…in Self-Help books on the shelves of bookstores, in philosophical chain emails that are supposed to make me feel good in the morning. If we can’t accept ourselves for who we are and what we like, who are we kidding by talking about ‘accepting others’?
How much has society…or our upbringing contributed to this strangely depressing phenomenon? Does it sprout from our same obsession with taking the traditionally safe paths? If you are not a Doctor or an Engineer, or at least a Lawyer or a Chartered Accountant, you can invest in some good quality cyanide. If you haven’t listened to Bach or can’t quote from Tagore, you can tattoo ‘I am an idiot’ on your forehead.
What if I have read enough ‘Chacha Chowdhury’ to win gold at the ‘Annual Pran Quiz’ organised by the boys of the local club during Ganesh Chaturthi? Am I not chic enough for you? What if I have never held a golf stick…but could beat you any day at kabaddi? Won’t you smile at me at the shopping centre any more?
What if I have never heard of Dostoyevsky but can name all the Govinda movies that were released or got shelved halfway through (because of the producer’s connections with some underworld don)? Am I a social shame? Most importantly, am I a shame to myself?
I wonder…
Friday, June 26, 2009
My Firsts
We all remember our firsts…some embarrass us now…some make us smile…or cry.
Here are some of mine:
- First day in school/preschool – I don’t remember this. But Ma tells me I wore a red dress with matching red hair clips. At the end of the day, I had so much fun painting, building shapes and playing in sand that I lost one of my hair clips (I had two). When I realized it was gone, I threw such a tantrum that the teachers who thought I was ‘such an angel’ all day…changed their minds and thought I was possessed.
- First wristwatch (my love for them shall never die) – Was a blue one with Mickey Mouse. It was just a toy, and did not tick. But I loved it nevertheless.
- First pocket money – I think I bought ice cream and ‘jhal chips’ in school. When the money was gone (I think it was 10 rupees), I felt my first pang of jealousy because the elder sibling/neighbour's kid got more.
- First poster bought for my room – A ‘Funny Quotes’ type…which started with ‘Farting is liberating.’ My parents signed me off as having bad taste.
- First swearing – At my dentist who pulled out a particularly strong tooth that defied alignment. I think I said ‘Faal’ …a combination of the F word and the B word (in Bengali), because his damn hands were still in my mouth!
- First time I came home after midnight – No, not because I was partying hard (never such luck). But because my friend had an emotional breakdown after a very bad haircut…and I had to stay by her side till she slept!!! (talk about ‘issues’ in life)
- First salary – Six neat 100 rupee notes, placed in an envelope. That was my fee as an English tutor of a 10 yr old brat, who I met once a week.
- First crush (blush) – Believe it or not…it was in class 5. And it was our ‘jamadar’s’ (sweeper’s) son. He came with his daddy everyday to collect garbage…and he also collected my shy smiles and a piece of my stupid school-girl heart (blush again). Ma still doesn’t know why I was always so keen to take the garbage bin out for the sweeper, when I showed no interest in any other housework.
- First cigarette – With school friends…at one of the pajama parties (sleepovers) at my best friend’s place (very typical).
- First date (proper) – Don’t ask me about it. It led to my marriage!!! Damn, I don’t believe that was my first…and ‘probably’ my last.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The day I felt HUGE!
There are bigger things in life…health, job, house, salary, bills, duties, global warming, global financial crisis… (can’t think of anything bigger at the moment!). But your birthday seems to be that day in the calendar when nothing is bigger than YOU. I mean…literally! Crossing the road, I felt like a Hulk…or a Dinosaur straight out of the sets of Jurassic Park (my nephew’s favorite movie at the moment, and hence the simile.) It seemed to me as if I ruled the world…I was HUGE (now, don’t spoil my moment by reminding me that I anyway am…all days of the year!).
As I climbed up the stairs to my office, wearing my new top, new earrings and new shoes (of courses I wore other pieces of attire that are necessary to cover oneself...just that they don't deserve a mention here, as they were old), I beamed. It seemed that I was on stage, and all eyes were on me (though I don’t remember seeing anybody on the stairs). That’s what birthdays do (or should do) to you. You smile all day…at others and by yourself. You feel alive, awake and energetic (even at midnight when on other days you are like a sleepy worm curled up on bed under the blanket).
This feeling, would be a material for a dark comedy or Mr. Bean-like tragedy, if others don’t encourage it. I mean, if I was to smile by myself all day, without anybody to tell me that it was OK to do so because it was my birthday….that would be quite tragic. That’s when all you special people walk into the stage (OK, not the stage, as it was all mine that day….let’s say you’ll walked in as my very special crew, without whom I would look quite like a fool on stage).
So here goes…a big THANK U to all those who visited, called, e-mailed, posted cards (how I loved them!) messaged, scrapped, sent me lovely songs (thanks R!), sent me musical e-cards (that even made my colleagues smile when I played them again and again at work), wrote on facebook. I had made it a point to change my settings on Orkut, so that my birthday did not come up as an alert (am not sure if that worked). That was to test how many of you REALLY remembered my birthday, and not relied on automated alerts! I was so happy at how many of you passed with flying colours in this test.
There were so many calls that my mobile ran out of battery (either there are too many people who love me…or my mobile needs replacement). I spoke in Bengali over the phone all day…even at work…and my lovely colleagues did not mind. In fact, I think they picked up a few Bengali words themselves. One said ‘hyan hyan’ (meaning ‘yes yes’), each time I said ‘hyan hyan’ over the phone.
For my friends overseas…thanks for remembering and calling (I know it’s a real effort to work out the time differences, especially those of you in the U.S.). I miss all of you…and remember how we spent our birthdays together when we were not so far away.
For those in Perth, thanks for all the cards, and cakes (planned and the surprise one), and gifts and most of all…for your company!
As I climbed up the stairs to my office, wearing my new top, new earrings and new shoes (of courses I wore other pieces of attire that are necessary to cover oneself...just that they don't deserve a mention here, as they were old), I beamed. It seemed that I was on stage, and all eyes were on me (though I don’t remember seeing anybody on the stairs). That’s what birthdays do (or should do) to you. You smile all day…at others and by yourself. You feel alive, awake and energetic (even at midnight when on other days you are like a sleepy worm curled up on bed under the blanket).
This feeling, would be a material for a dark comedy or Mr. Bean-like tragedy, if others don’t encourage it. I mean, if I was to smile by myself all day, without anybody to tell me that it was OK to do so because it was my birthday….that would be quite tragic. That’s when all you special people walk into the stage (OK, not the stage, as it was all mine that day….let’s say you’ll walked in as my very special crew, without whom I would look quite like a fool on stage).
So here goes…a big THANK U to all those who visited, called, e-mailed, posted cards (how I loved them!) messaged, scrapped, sent me lovely songs (thanks R!), sent me musical e-cards (that even made my colleagues smile when I played them again and again at work), wrote on facebook. I had made it a point to change my settings on Orkut, so that my birthday did not come up as an alert (am not sure if that worked). That was to test how many of you REALLY remembered my birthday, and not relied on automated alerts! I was so happy at how many of you passed with flying colours in this test.
There were so many calls that my mobile ran out of battery (either there are too many people who love me…or my mobile needs replacement). I spoke in Bengali over the phone all day…even at work…and my lovely colleagues did not mind. In fact, I think they picked up a few Bengali words themselves. One said ‘hyan hyan’ (meaning ‘yes yes’), each time I said ‘hyan hyan’ over the phone.
For my friends overseas…thanks for remembering and calling (I know it’s a real effort to work out the time differences, especially those of you in the U.S.). I miss all of you…and remember how we spent our birthdays together when we were not so far away.
For those in Perth, thanks for all the cards, and cakes (planned and the surprise one), and gifts and most of all…for your company!
For those in Sydney...what can I say! Rai (3.5 yrs) wore lipstick to kiss on my birthday card and leave her 'mark'. Rio (2.5 yrs), scribbled on my card to leave some very bold pen strokes :) Ma and Didi sent me the most touching bookmarks (am hoping the books are on the way!) and Parthada chose such a beautiful card for me (these are apart from the other gifts they gave me...which I will not mention here, as I need a whole new post for all the gifts I got.)
A special thanks to Amit. For making me feel special on my red-letter day…and all days of the year.
I woke up today with a horrible Birthday hangover (no, not the alcohol). It is the hangover that you have after every special day/days/event/events/vacation…I have Durga Puja hangover, Christmas hangover, New Year hangover, Wedding Anniversary hangover, Vacation hangover, even Sick Leave hangover…you get the drift. In short, it is the feeling of going back to routine, having left behind something very special. I blinked at the cards and the left over cakes (I had 4 this year!! Yippee!)…and wished that all my future birthdays turn out to be as special as this one…and all those I love, have equally special birthdays!
A special thanks to Amit. For making me feel special on my red-letter day…and all days of the year.
I woke up today with a horrible Birthday hangover (no, not the alcohol). It is the hangover that you have after every special day/days/event/events/vacation…I have Durga Puja hangover, Christmas hangover, New Year hangover, Wedding Anniversary hangover, Vacation hangover, even Sick Leave hangover…you get the drift. In short, it is the feeling of going back to routine, having left behind something very special. I blinked at the cards and the left over cakes (I had 4 this year!! Yippee!)…and wished that all my future birthdays turn out to be as special as this one…and all those I love, have equally special birthdays!
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