Reality Check 101

The world and its uncles are getting married. Designer weddings. Choreographed sangeets. Fancy Destinations. Pre-wed shoots. Photoshopped memories. Everything made to look glossy, classy and Instagrammed.

The world and its uncles are also building their first homes. Brick by brick. EMI by EMI.  Not a house. A home. Playing hosts. Throwing parties. Cleaning the mess after everyone's left. The first Holi, Diwali, Rangoli. Straight out of an Asian Paints ad.

The world and its uncles are also getting pregnant. And having babies!! Creating actually living beings. Of flesh and blood. Of pee and poop. Gurgling laughter and late-night cries. Something about motherhood and being complete...now that they have delivered out a part of themselves.

And in the meanwhile. Here I am. Fretting about where my career's headed and when will I add more stamps on my passport. Hmm.

So on a day like today, when my life pauses for a tiny little moment, and I finally get some time to  ponder and wonder, all those seldom-pushed-back thoughts run amok.

'Go ahead...take the leap!' the silly heart prods. 

'Wait a minute here...are you sure about this?' the mind double-checks.

They say its the most important decision I would ever make. Then how come no one ever prepared me for this? After pouring over textbooks and truckloads of photocopied notes (Mumbai University style. Oh yeah!) I thought I was ready for the death by power-point. And I endured...hours of excel, jargons and frameworks. Not just endured...survived. I even gave in and made peace with the system! So you see, I spent a majority of my life prepping for the career while no one bothered to inform me that this was only the second most important thing in my life? Hmmph.

So spare me your raised eyebrows while I google for relationship advice or better still...for a crash course on Coursera. Heck, I have even taken to exclusively listening to romantic music, you know...just to get into the groove. Oh! And I am also reading threads on Quora such as this one here, on friend's recommendations. (One a separate note - Don't we love friends like these who help us a day before exam? Stay up all night just so we don't fall asleep? Making us maggi and coffee and bearing all our last-minute hysteria?) 

And so, my dear readership of 23, I hope that in some time from now - I would have done my research, collated enough data points and drawn insights *sniggers* to finally be able to finally take the most important decision of my life. *insert prayers here*

Phew. Getting married seems like a critical life project with a stringent deadline and no scope for mistakes. Unraveling the mysteries of life with a partner after the dating niceties are done and dusted! *shivers*. So on that upbeat note, just one question to all married folks out there. How long into the dating process did you decide to tie the knot? Before or after you got comfortable enough to burp/fart in front of each other? :D

Tomorrow will shine with promises ahead...

The past tugs and pulls, tying you down,

Leaves a tear stained face and many a frowns.

The battle of past can never be won,

The pain and misery is never undone.

But heed to your heart & it will find a way,

Sooner than later, it will have it's say.

And like worn out robes the past will fade,

Your tomorrow will shine with promises ahead.

Image from here

A woman who touched my life.

She sits in the train next to me. She is knitting today...a light blue, cross-stitched sweater for her teenage son. The son who will grow up to be an engineer and may be even an MBA graduate...who will get a nice job, buy a nice house (on EMIs of course) and finally settle down with a nice girl of her choice (she hopes).

Yesterday, she was picking methi leaves from a bundle. Yes, in the local train. 'It saves time, you see, my husband likes to have his dinner by 8 pm' so she tells me, this middle-aged lady.

I smile back...like I always do. Listening to her stories, her worries, her dreams.  Her shinning eyes telling me far more than her words. They shine with a glint of pride as she talks about her son’s good grades and grow a shade darker worrying about her husband’s knee joints. Her conversations swing her many moods and I slowly realize how less of 'her' do I find in her stories, her worries, her dreams.

She is always busy being a mother while sparing a few thoughtful moments as a wife each day. The daughter-in-law in her is always on a high alert when in-laws drop by for a visit and on rare occasions, she revels in being her dad’s daughter all over again.

She is a science teacher, she tells me, ‘for class VII to X’ she says almost gloatingly. And although I have never met her outside this local train compartment, I have absolutely no difficulty in imagining her as a sweet-stern disciplinarian whom her students would lovingly remember years down the line.

What is her name? You may ask.

Well, that’s not really important. And although I may have met her in a local train compartment; you will see her and her kind all around you.

She is that lady in your office who leaves sharp at 6 pm because she has a kid waiting to be picked from tuitions. She is the one eyeing that unreserved seat in the bus because a week’s groceries can be really heavy. She is that lady whom you just crossed paths with but never noticed.

She is your everyday, regular woman. And no, she may not be very memorable, but she is every bit quite special.

Adhoore khwaab...revisited.

Saved drafts.

Unsaid words.

Unshared feelings.

Mysteries of life. Of unrelenting what-ifs and quick hollow sighs. A bubble of our own world with parallel universes of everything we imagined but never dared. The exploring mind wanting to tread the uncharted paths. The meek heart tugging back to comfort and familiarity of the known. Will they ever agree? But they were never meant to. Just as some things and some people are never meant to. So go ahead...dream on. Don't expect them to fulfill. Expectations hurt...dreams, never!

Adhoore khwaab...

choti aankhen dekhe bade khwaab
mushkil sawaalon ke mange jawaab
khwaab dekhne par na thi pabandi
ziddi mann chahe unka hona puri

Why did George O'Malley have to die?

He died. George O'Malley.

During a Sunday afternoon re-run of Grey's Anatomy.

The Mr. Nice Guy. The Mr. Best Friend. Died. Just like that.

And surprisingly enough, it feels like a personal loss.

I went to a very geeky college. The one where people spent hours looking down their microscopes or mixing their acids with bases. Where library late fees made a major dent to pocket money and where guys would grow beard just staring at their HPLCs. And right there...in those chemistry labs and dark hallways of my very geeky college, I met quite a few George O'Malleys. 

I don't wish to stereotype here because they each had a distinct personality. But, they all had this quintessential O'Mally-ness - Generous. Kind-hearted. Always willing to go out on a limb for a friend.

In 2012, I lost my George O'Malley. A friend for over 8 years. 

It was funny how our relationship had transitioned during all these years. 

From a senior whom I adored, admired and even had a crush on from the very first day of my college life. (He would always stop in the corridors for a chat - That used to be the high-point of my day).

To a friend/advisor I ran to with my problems just to always get the most encouraging words.

And finally one of my closest friends, who gave me my first and probably the last nickname, discussed his life issues with and used to rant/ramble for hours at end!

How do you deal with a loss? How to tell yourself that that niche in your heart made by your crush-turned-best buddy is always going to be a vacuum now? Those long phone calls, those chats, his 'hey Rutu, sun na', and all that wonderful time spent together and not to forget his cheerful, heart-warming smile, is never coming back?

Do you 'celebrate his life with tearful eyes and remember his goodness'? I am told that that is the most acceptable thing to do. But then I took to crying in bed till late at night. Of course you can't forget people. It's easier to pretend that they are in some far away land..temporarily unreachable. I hear his 'hey Rutu, sun na'  and 'arey yaar, bas kya?' quite often. (No, I am not losing it) I see his face smiling back at me. And although its been a few months, I still feel, it's a prank. Still.

I remember our conversations. Especially the ones when he was getting married. I had never seen a more enthusiastic groom but then as he said...shaadi toh ek hi baar hoti hai! 

You were there the night before my first job interview - coaching me all evening.

You were there when I landed the job next day - celebrating my success.

You were there as my competitor in GD/PI classes - it was such fun fighting it out with you.

You were there when I had my first heart-break - consoling me, telling me I was meant for better things.

You were my George O'Malley. And you weren't supposed to leave till the last episode of the season. Wasn't that the deal? There isn't a single day I don't remember you. And I am not saying this because that's the most cliched thing to say. I have cried a lot. Alone and in front of lots of people. I have really out-done my quota of tears. And yet, I fail to reach a reason. I changed blogs. I spoke to other friends. But nothing seems to help. So finally today, I blog about it. About you. 

Cause if I can declare it to the world that I am sad because of a sitcom character dying (read: actor ending his contract for better prime time), I can very well say it out loud that I am still grieving your loss and I miss you so much. Still mad at you for not replying my Diwali message. (And dying is not a good enough reason for that!)

Miss you, Apurva.

Things I learnt today

• It's perfectly alright to snooze your alarm and sleep those few extra minutes, snuggled in your blanket, in a dreamy state...that is your time for wishful thinking. 

• What's more alright (is that grammatically correct?) is to stop and catch a few precious minutes of the movie 'UP' even in the mad morning rush. 

• You are allowed to curse and crib about your job...but if you look closely, you will find small fulfilling joys that make things better.

• Make friends at work place. Find at least that one person who you don't have to be competitive with...coffee times can be so much fun (or in my case, gossip-er).

• Be friends with your boss...if he/she is worth the effort. That is a lot of time saved from bitchy office politics and mindless ego hassles.

• Own up a mistake. But don't run to someone for help. Roll up your sleeves and get the goddamn thing going. Sometimes just putting up a fight more than makes up for the mistake.

• Don't work till late hours. No matter how much you love your job, leave when it's time. As someone wise (That would be you, Sunil) once told me, "Working late every night may fetch you a promotion...but is that worth 365 beautiful sunsets?"

• Catch up with a long-lost friend. Not online. Call. Talk. Listen to their stories. You will be surprised how happy that leaves you.

• Complete that one task you promised yourself before sleeping. Then high-five yourself while grinning shamelessly.

Under the spell

Ever felt this inexplicable joy when you listen to this old favourite song of yours...after ages?

You know the words...by your heart and soul. you probably lived those lyrics in some lifetime. 

But you don't rush. not even in your mind. you wait. like slow-burning passion awaiting climax.
 
The strings don't strum music here...they tug at your heart.

Every note is a long-lost friend, whom you meet at the corner turn of melody.
  
Your heart doesn't sing along. it simply listens. and revels, soaking the mist of music.

Liberation of a very different sort...such is the bondage of music.

The Beginning

It's late in the night and I am contemplating another cup of coffee.

  

Lots of catching up to do - reading my must-visit blogs. I started with Thought Catalog. Don't judge me here. I am in that phase, where every heart-broken story on Thought Catalog seems to be written just for me. And every writer there seems to be nursing a recent heart break. So you see, that place feels like a club I belong to :)

Talking about backlogs - many a posts are pending. So here's what I am planning to do. I will grab that cup of coffee and start blogging.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I was watching Grey's Anatomy tonight [yes, I am in that phase.] where Meredith mentioned that one of the patients may be suffering from Cardiac Tamponade. The term seemed familiar. Quite familiar. Something I had read about. Wikipedia-ed. And suddenly my last 2 months flashed in front of my eyes.

I was home for Dassehra and the first day of my holiday promised home-cooked yummy-ness and endless laziness. Instead, I found my mum intermittently cribbing about some weird noises in her abdomen/ chest [she couldn't pinpoint it then] while blaming it on indigestion soon thereafter. A Doctor's wife and a Science teacher herself, she thought all she needed was a little rest. 

Little did we know then. Three hours and a visit to our friendly, neighbourhood Hospital's Cardiac Department later, she was diagnosed with Pericardial Effusion. From making pohe for breakfast to Pericardial Effusion by 1 pm.  That was the fastest, rudest shock ever. [For those interested in details - she had around 30 ml fluid around her heart.] It's moments like these that teach you the definition of Helplessness.

Within 5 minutes of knowing the words, I had read up the wiki link [that's where I first met Mr. Cardiac Tamponade] and felt stupidly prepared to brace myself for what was going to come. Information does that to you....But no matter how much you grow up and how much ever information you gather, how do you prepare yourself to face your own mother's frightened face?

But prepare, we did. If I have learnt anything from my old lady, was that the 'prepare for the worst and hope for the best' adage still holds ground. Tests and tests we sat through. And we talked. About silly little things. About health and family. About relationships. Some of the best conversations. Not in our drawing room, but in a hospital's patient waiting area.

Information. A little of it - gives you facts, neither insights nor any possibilities. 

But too much of it - makes you rush ahead of yourself, with mind-numbing what-ifs and what-nots - and that was the case with my dad. He went silent - mulling over the cause of PE and calling up his friends for consults. That was a week of utter turmoil.

And then, exactly a week later, my mum had to take the Cardiac CT. The test that was supposed to tell it all. Grim: yes, shit-scared: more so. That was the first time my mum broke down. Anticipation can be quite agonizing, but finally came the test results - the cardiac CT eliminated all the scary possibilities of PE leaving behind the inexplicably simple and yet highly possible viral infection which may have caused the inflammation and hence the fluid around the heart. So, yeah, a viral infection caused all that! Can you believe it?? It was a viral infection - that stupid little thing that must have gone unnoticed and blew up into so much trouble. Viral infection - which btw, is treatable, quite easily, actually. So yeah - viral infection- something that I have come to love ever since!! [Compared to all the sickening possibilities - I take this Viral Infection with much love.Thankyouverymuch]
 
Mum was ordered a month's complete rest and heavy medication. But that's a breeze as compared to the other possibilities! The other possibilities - things that I don't even wish to write down out here. They make me feel grateful today as my mother is back to being hale and hearty. After this biggest scare in my life so far, relief seems like an understatement. Smiles are treasured. And probably for the first time ever, care has been worded out in my family. Heck, I am even planning to say 'I love you' to my parents, one of these days :P

So yeah...it has been a roller-coaster ride. Every day, since then, has been one of cautious looking-over-the-shoulder. It took me 2 months to finally accept and write about it. But gratitude - just like grief, needs to be expressed.

So, Thank You!
Rutuja

The year that was...

Come December, and it's funny how I find myself in a retrospective mood already. The log book for 2012 almost coming to an end. But I have accounts to be settled. So much to say, even though I know it wont get me any answers.

I didn't blog much this year. And most of it was anyway too sad for me to keep returning on my previous blog. So here is me. Trying to make a head start once again. Start out fresh. But not without settling a few scores with 2012.

Dear 2012,

You were mean. And harsh. You snatched away two of my people this year, none of whom deserved to leave so soon. I shall remember you for a lot of things, but mostly this. For being one of the cruelest years ever.

You were a teacher to me. And may I add, a very tough one at that. You ensured a lot of quick learning from me with very little scope for re-tests.

You were my reality check. I started 2012 with Bambi-like twinkle in my eyes [or may be it was just wanderlust from my Europe trip], but you grounded me back to reality. You crushed a few of my plans and a whole lot of dreams.

But having said that...

You brought me unexpected joys. Friends who showed up least expected. With warm food and warmer hearts. Rented apartments that soon became home. Laughter that brought tears and tears that I can now smile back on.

You taught me to love people. Irrespective of the vast differences we shared. You taught me to love my parents again. And see them in a whole different light. As people, not parents.

And finally, you showed me that a little self belief can really take me places. That I need to trust myself before anyone else. Love myself, more than anyone else. That words like - dream, hope and belief - don't just make good poetry. And that it's not selfish to watch out for oneself every once in a while.

You were such a weird year 2012. I can't look back fondly at you but I can't help thank you for the tough lessons and much growing up that I have experienced.

Looking forward to a very different 2013. I hope you shall oblige much.

Love,

Rutuja

Packing life in cartons..yet again!

Come this weekend and life as I know shall never be the same again.

In a few days I move into a one BHK apartment [rented ofcourse] and for the first time after moving to the new city almost 1.5 years ago, I shall be truly independent. Sharing a place with flat-mates was fun...more like a hostel with a canteen attached for a midnight maggi session where you never feel the burden of responsibilities.

However, renting a place all by oneself seems like a big deal. Rent, maintenance, maid, electricity, gas, cable, internet - just a few deductibles one needs to remember each month. Simply to survive! I already shudder at the thought of having to keep the laundry bag empty and the fridge full at all times [probability of the reverse is always higher]. I already need to buy stuff like bed, cupboard, TV, refrigerator and a gas stove. yeah, did I mention the apartment is unfurnished? But I kind of like it that way. It's better to have no furniture than being stuck with the bad one.

So let me describe you my cute little place. It's got an L shaped drawing room, a perfect square of a bedroom, a washroom that's just the right size, a narrow rectangular kitchenette and a lovely balcony that runs along the bedroom and kitchen space. That's it...All mine! :)

Oh! Did I mention it's on the sixth floor and gets some seriously lovely breeze in the evening? 

Curtains, carpets, cushions...all in the colour scheme!! The mind is already drawing endless shopping lists. Want to buy a fridge? 165 or 220 litres? Single/double door? Frost/de-frost? Which brand? Which model? What guarantee? Phew!! So many decisions...and I haven't even come to the colours yet!

Whatever said and done...I know I await this experience. I feel almost ready jumping into this role of being super-independent. From where I am looking, it seems pretty well-timed and well-transitioned. But one can never be too sure, right?  

Packing my life, yet again, in bags & cartons, I can't help but feel like a nomad, who is just a bit too eager to make every place her own. 

Wish me luck,

Cheers.

A love like that...[II]

She was such a goon growing up. Beat many a boys in her school corridor. Once, she even slapped a senior on the school-bus back home [In her defense, he was sitting in HER seat!] She loved to argue and considered herself quite good at verbal duels. 

Times changed. She didn't. Soon she was in college. Her long tresses cut short. Boy-cut was what they called it. Collared half-sleeved shirts and a ragged pair of jeans. And the boy-cut. Almost a boy, you see. Strangely enough, she now made great friends with the guys. They no longer feared her. She was one of them. She laughed at their jokes about other girls and even added her own witty one-liners. They came to her on days of journal submission. They rallied around campaigning for her during college elections. and as weird as it may sound - they cared for her - like a buddy, in a brotherly sort of way - the girl, with the boy-cut.

Times changed again [how irritating is that!] And yet again, she didn't. There she was working in the corporate world. Cut-throat competition. Who knew being a bully at school would come to so much use later in life! She loved the aggression. The dominant streak that gets passed off as leadership qualities. And once again she became the 'man on the team'. Gym buddy. Smoke buddy. Booze buddy. They ranted about their girlfriends, she listened. They raved about their trophy wives and she listened. She smiled. She understood - something that always surprised the guys.

Times changed quickly thereafter. Her long tresses grew back. Her dark eyes shone when she laughed. She was suddenly noticeable. Second and third glances [and accompanied male attention] became a part of her life. A girl friend gifted a kaajal pencil and insisted she try on some. That day she became aware of the magic of kohl eyes. People seemed nicer, friendlier and worse, no one wanted to fight with her any more. No more verbal duels. No intelligent [or even lame] arguments.

And one day, she met him. He was smart and funny. Sensible with questionable sensitivity. But there was a spark between the two. He wasn't at his best behaviour with her. He didn't think twice before saying things on his mind. He didn't even offer her the last piece of the pastry..instead eyed hers hungrily. He didn't open doors or pull chairs for her. And he never, ever carried her laptop that she chugged around everywhere. He just walked beside hers, hands in pocket. Sometimes slowing down a step or two to match her speed. He didn't ask her how the day went by. He probably read it on her face. And he always, always started the conversation with the lamest of his jokes.

Times changed yet again. Thankfully, they both didn't. They still walk side by side, carrying their own baggage. No favours on each other. And yet they know when the other is tired. He still doesn't treat her 'like a lady'. But she knows he is the one coz he treats her the way she always wanted to be treated - a girl with a boy-cut.

A love like that [I] here

“Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help.” - Calvin

Ever had your computer hang when you try to open too many browsers or tabs? That obviously has been due to too much of an overload for the poor machine. [Ok geeks - do not get technical on me and explain how a computer actually hangs]. 

The human mind [at least mine] acts in a much similar fashion. Too many emotions sends it into a temporary numb state and one either needs to sleep it off or shake it like crazy to shut-off and re-start.

This week me and my people went through the shock and grief a colleague-friend's sudden death. The experience was traumatic for many of us. But personally, nothing was more mind-numbing than watching my friend's funeral [the traditional Hindu way]. Yes, I stood there...by her pyre. Watched her cold body go to flames. It felt unreal. Like a movie scene. Yet very raw. In the face. Standing less than10 feet away. The priest chanting the shlokas, the old uncle shaking from head to toe crying his guts out and the cousin holding onto to the uncle from collapsing. And as surreal as it may seem the person who laid down on the pyre was the same person you had your lunch with and went to gym together the earlier day! 

Never before did the fragility of this life seem more blatant. It was in my face. Like a 'Take That!' moment. I know several colleagues who revisited their insurance plans in the past 2 days. After all the friend we lost was supposed to have her new car delivered the same morning she had the fateful accident! Take that! Like death seemed to say to us optimists. Uncertain? Yes. Cruel? Oh yes.

And yet, like the sickening proverbial 'Show must go on.." we were back in our office formals the next day. Meetings lined up, sales figures drawn, excel sheets opened and made love with. The days were tactfully spent pushing back the thoughts of the lost one so as to have a productive working day. But its really hard to gulp down the lunch with an empty chair at the table.

Push away a thought. Pull back a memory. Linger on. Revisit good old times. Feel like a punch in the tummy. Shun that thought. Open a blank ppt. Forget what to type. Suddenly remember the last joke we cracked. Smile to self. Oh, will you concentrate on the ppt here? Just a thought. Now whom will I go to the gym with? Wonder a little. Scold self for the selfishness. All tugging of thoughts...and the mind seriously calling it a day.

You wish to cry but crying becomes an action/ function of a well identified emotion like grief or sadness and when numbness takes over, all emotions get jumbled into a big fuzz ball that the mind is better off not dealing with for the time being.

And then some time later, much later, after you have slept over the numbness a couple of times and the pain becomes more jaded and less sharper and you are just having a random conversation on a very different topic, something in you tells you it's time. To shed those tears that have been waiting for too long.You find yourself weeping mid-sentence and getting it out of your system. And indeed, good cry later you feel emotionally lighter.

You call an old friend you have been meaning to call for ages but hadn't. You talk to mom and dad (actually making 2 separate calls on their individual mobile phones.) Look up the calendar and plan a trip home. Hug someone. Eat an icecream. Cook some pasta. Sing aloud while doing so. Read some funny blogs and visit, re-visit and keep visiting here & here. And then you blog a little on this tiny blog of yours, post a post with Calvin & Hobbes title. Not because you want people to read you right away. But if you aren't there anymore some day...you don't want them to forget you.

Rest In Peace Dear Friend

20^th Feb, 2012 began like any other Monday morning. The reluctance to get out of the bed followed by getting ready while making a mental check-list of things to be done at work.

Little did we know it wasn’t just a regular every-day morning.

The news was told as soon as one stepped into the office. And that was it. Sealed with a grim confirmation. No space for doubts. Or even hope. She was gone. Just like that.

How do you say goodbye to a friend who leaves you suddenly?

How do you express that sharp sudden stab of shock, pain, horror and then grief and sadness? How do you deal with the sudden vacuum left behind?

The brain is a wonderful thing I tell you…the minute I heard the news, it went on a blank mode. I didn’t feel any pain or sadness. I even went thinking – What a lousy prank is this! She would come marching up to my seat any moment now and laugh out loud at this sick prank. The brain still thinks that’s precisely what’s going to happen.

The first time we met – she told me she hated MICAns. Can you believe her guts? And yet, she went on to become a good friend of mine. There must be something about her.

The first time I went to her place…she made me clean her house and do chores!!  [Of course, this is my version of the story! She claimed much khatirdaari!] and yet, I waited to be invited over again. There must be something about her.

She was more absent than present in the office. A hands-on field-work pro, was she; passionate about her brands and a fighter/striver to no end. We didn’t see each other for months at end. But whenever she was back, we made sure to grab our cups of coffee and warm that black couch for hours together.

We sailed the same boat. Our brand woes brought us together. We cribbed in unison. We laughed, we gossiped together. When one complained of a useless agency work, the other nodded with understanding. The lunches that extended up to an hour and the gym sessions that never quite managed to make it to one hour mark. Time spent together was time well cherished.   

There was a distinct streak of good spirit in her. I wish I could tell you what a fighter she was, in her personal and professional life. Stood by what she believed to be right. Firm and strong. And yet, she wasn’t all grown up with grown-up issues. She was a kid at heart. A devil, if you ask me. (Probably the reason why we got along so well!) She was naughty, dramatic and a certified ‘laugh out loud’-er.

How I wish I could tell myself and everyone else around that you are in a better place now. But I refuse to accept that!  You were happy here and would have never ever wanted to leave this place for a really long, long time!!  Can’t stop wondering why this had to happen.

To all those coffees that would never happen

To the black couch that would never heard your booming laughter again

To office gossips that would never be the same again

To lunches that will never stretch too long

To the office gym where I won’t see you again

To all those moments where we will now sigh and say, wish you were here now…

Will miss you my dear friend.

2011: You were a darling!

The thing about naming your last post as 'Not the Year-end Post' is that it comes and bites you in the rear when only 25 minutes just before the Year End you are actually compelled to write one.

2011:
The Year of Challenges. Welcoming Change. Embracing it.Infact, embracing it so tightly and refusing to let go that change became me.

From Mumbai to Hyderbad
From Account Manager to Brand Manager
From Online Marketing to Pharma Marketing

From holding-on-for-too-long to letting-go
From 'mom-wheres-my-blue-shirt' to drawing and doing my own laundry lists
From lazy interdependence to embarrassing self-reliance

From Queen's necklace in Mumbai to Queen's Crown in London

Cheers to you 2011 for the AWESOMENESS that you have been.
And you, 2012, better match up!!

Wishing for a healthy, happy and divine New Year!
PEACE.

Not the Year-end Post.

Lots of questions on my mind. 

Batch-mates getting married, some buying their own houses. Some having babies. Babies!!

Much collective growing up seems to have happened rather very quickly in last few months.

The parents seem to be asking - when do you want to take the leap? A leap without someone I trust, believe in, depend on for life? ...seems a bit too silly to me, right now.

Work still involves learning. Studying. Applying. So it's still fun. At least for now.

And predictably enough, personal life is non-existent. One does spend on mall visits and multiplexes religiously but no new books/hobbies/personal projects lately.

Staying by oneself in a new city has been a big growing up experience.

Learned the big 'A' word. Adjustments. Add to that Responsibility. Planning. Blame-self-not-mom-when-things-go-wrong.

Lessons 101:

• Vegetables do not miraculously appear in the refrigerator every week
• There is a reason people cook at home. Simple Maths. Aloo = Rs. 12/kg; Aloo ki sabzi at local reastaurant = Rs.120/250 gms.
• Electricity gets cut off when bill stays unpaid for 3 months. More importantly, it isn't actually cut off but switched off from the meter-box downstairs. Can be re-started by pleading to watchman uncle. Gets really cut off if said bill stays unpaid for one more week.
• Maggi shall always be Celebratory food, Comfort food and Survival food.
• Be nice to neighbors. Especially those who make chicken curries on sundays.

 Experience is indeed a great teacher. But others experience is a smarter teacher. So do share tips/learnings/crash-courses on staying alone, staying alive.

Till then...

While waiting for bum ke neeche aag lagna...

Post start time: 1:40 am

I have never quite talked much about my every day life here, those mundane days when things follow their boring well-set patterns and nothing is overtly emotional or outburst-y. For me, somehow this blog has always been a place to pour out emotions and sadly normalcy never found a place here. But you know what? Mundane is good. Coz mundane is what makes 99.5% of our lives and we better learn to make peace with it. 

There is a lot happening currently in terms of lifestyle changes in one's life....the kind that sounds an alarm bell once one reaches the quarter-life. In simple terms, the gym happened. A best friend from schooldays and a MICAn senior on the very same day (eerie na!) extolled the virtues of "weight-loss = looking awesome + feeling awesome + getting attention from boyz" so much that one was convinced beyond doubt that thou shalt live without having a life, but thou shalt not miss gymming.

And so has begun 'The 40 Day Challenge'. 40 days and nights of healthy living. 40 days of working out in the gym, having healthy breakfast every morning, eating fruits everyday and only home/self-cooked food for dinner. (Oh God! Please don't let this jinx it...now that I have gone and  announced to the entire world readership of 22.) "Now why 40 days?" you would ask, dear reader..so here it is. The challenge will end with a celebration of much awesomeness (since weight-loss = looking awesome + feeling awesome + getting attention from boyz) along with one's birthday!!

So every day, these days, I walk down my lane for like 40 seconds, proudly carrying 2 bags - one chugging along the laptop and the other -  the gym wear, cross the road and enter the office building (Ok. This statement was sheepishly added to tell the world that I stay 1 min away from office. Which. Is. A. Big. Deal. Ask any Mumbaikar). 

Now office gym gets limited "hunk footfalls". (Actually Hunks: Non-female ratio is pretty bleak in my office - but one tries to work around the situation). But then it was identified that hunk footfalls is a critical success factor in the successful execution of 'The 40 Day Challenge'. One needs this for  constant motiovation and more so in the case when the one's body shows the tendency of shedding not more than 5 gms/day and hence any self-motivation is a goner. So, after a few days of careful data analysis, it was derived that hunk footfalls are highest in the evening hours coupled with excellent timing of good TV shows (one shamefully does not own a TV and has to do by watching cricket matches of critical importance - including the World Cup Final at neighbour's place). After much calculations of the day's work-loads, work hours and gym timings of the said hunks, one tries to strategically coincide one's timings (while appearing to be highly casual about it) just so one can blissfully huff-puff-sweat on the very next treadmill while the said hunks can throw deplorable sighs at ones measly running speeds. Such is life and all that!

Oh btw, 2 new mckinsey guys, consulting a team whose performance was going down the drain (and more so after paying hourly charges to the said guys) are seen frolicking around in my office these days with an air of well - "consultants". Difficult to probably define. But yeah, once you see it..you get it. And what is with their diet coke consumption? As if they have signed a bond while taking up the job - 'Thou shalt replace all body fluids with Diet Coke with immediate effect'.

Any way, on the work front November was Sweet! :D

My brands (my babies actually) did much better than before (2 of them, with all modesty, did brilliantly!) and my team did fabulous. And so here I am staying up late in the night, pretending to work on a ppt for a v. v. imp meeting tomorrow while munching on Kellogg's Special K cornflakes like a chivda (and an expensive one at that!) 

And that is all that has been happening in my life for the past few days. 

Hoping to keep up with 'The 40 Day Challenge' - shall keep updating about it.

And now I shall return to my ppt that's been shouting out for attention since some time as the proverbial 'bum ke neeche aag' finally lag gayi hai.

Post end time: 2:30 am

Difficult to Digest...

Reader's Digest. It was the ultimate reading delight while I was growing up. Like the Holy Grail of grown-up-ism that one wanted to achieve in their teens. A monthly magazine subscription with MY name on it!! And one that arrives in a very 'official' looking envelope - that was possibly the only mail I received in that age.

An RD issue - coming at a princely price of 38 rupees (subscription price, 42 rupees - stall price) was indeed a luxury for middle class families when I was in school. Silly how time changes quickly and one doesn't even bat an eyelid while ordering a veg burger in college canteen at a price twice that. 

But RD was good education and every good education comes at a heavy price - and so my parents spent hundreds on year-on-year subscriptions on what they thought was a wise investment for their bibliophile daughter. Little wonder, to this date, I have never thrown away any issue of RD (firsthand or other-wise) that I ever laid my hands on. It is a treasured possession in my book-shelf sitting proudly next to other literary classics.

RD opened up a whole new world and culture that was quite alien initially but welcoming nevertheless. If Enid Blyton took me to English countrysides with picnic baskets in hand and having tea and scones on lazy summer holidays...RD brought along a pragmatic outlook of the out-spoken American lifestyle. 

It was quite dizzying initially - there was crime, suspense, love stories, life crises and day-to-day humour. What made RD different, was the fact that all was very REAL! Nothing was left to imagination - those were stories that had happened to real people just like me - only sitting on the other side of the world. Also the fact that RD wasn't a children's magazine but one for a mature audience meant that it wasn't a watered down, over-simplified version of life stories.

To say that I wasn't up for a lot of rude shocks while reading RD would be an understatement. Especially the medical crises section - there was always this one story on a victim of a grave medical problem and his/her battle to stay alive. I still remember so many of them and especially unforgettable is Lee's Story. I still remember crying myself to bed that night on reading the story was a boy named Lee who was suffering from cystic fibrosis. His battle for a normal life against the fatal congenital condition gave me the glimpse of real life heroes at a very early age. What made it all the more poignant was the fact that the story was written by his mother. I guess I was in 7th std then and spent a sleepless week accepting the fragility of life.

I don't really remember when and how, but I stopped reading RD's. In a hurry to grow up I somehow forgot the one thing that really made me grow up. Today after all these years, I found the October issue of RD in a colleague's hand. Even without me asking for it, he offered me the copy. I guess the joy of meeting an old friend showed a bit too much on my face. But it felt like the friend had changed....45 advertisements in 180 pages!! Infact I stopped counting after 45 and there were still more to go. With dwindling readership, one can imagine the kind of firefighting that even a good content needs to put up to survive in print media these days...the media management major in me understands that. But a little girl whose first ever glimpses of real world around her were through the windows of Reader's Digest feels like shedding a tear.

I don't think one can quite put into words the relationship one shares with a good book. Great memories. Amazing life lessons. Learnings that go a long way into shaping the very you. How do ever say 'thank you' to a teacher like that? How do we share this feeling of gratitude towards perhaps one the best teachers in the world - a humble book? May be the answer lies in treasuring those lessons all your life and revisiting that old teacher that sits snugly on the book shelf, time and again. After all every teacher loves a student dropping by, once in a while, for a visit...

Goa...of Mical Bar & Mario Miranda

I have been trying ways to put this across gently. Without much damage to my reputation, you see. What the hell...I'll take the risk..label me crazy but I went to Goa and did NOT step on a single beach and yet came back having a fantastic experience of an altogether different side of this tiny, green, crazily warm place called Goa!!

I was in Goa for work-related stuff and the frenzied schedule did not spare much time for respite. May be that was an excuse and I could have really spared some time had I wanted to. But Goa in a hurry? Sounds like a stale fish curry! Not my thing...I preferred not visiting any beach rather than rushing through them without appreciating..simply to tick them off my list. You see...appreciating Goa needs to be a leisurely, slowly intensifying experience...like gentle love.. 

The hotel where I stayed had a small store dedicated to this guy. Mario Miranda.  

The Mario Miranda
- the man behind those popular TOI cartoons...
- the man behind those quirky Bombay portraits... 

- and most famously, the man behind the popular walls of equally popular Cafe Mondegar in Mumbai. 

Needless to say I stole time from work, sometimes even wee hours in the mornings to go through the immense treasure-hold of books by Mario Miranda in that tiny little souvenir-cum-bookshop in my hotel lobby. Reading and understanding Goa from the seasoned eyes of a local...his portrayal of the life in Goa gives a rustic and all-new perspective quite different from the touristy stereotypes..

Mario's Goa

Goa..of the Portuguese and the Konkanis...

Goa...of the Sunday Churches and Kunbi marriages...

Goa...of those lively and colorful markets and colorful lives of the simplest of humankind...

Mario Miranda makes one realize that there is so much more to it than the sun, sand and beach-shacks...

Oh...and I HAD to buy this. (2 copies!!) 

Finally, I have come to believe that everyone has a favourite in Goa...the beaches, cheap booze, flea markets, relaxed-afternoon-naps-under-the-beach shacks-with-chilled-beer-in-hand, Zante's cashewnuts (:P)! Do you have a not-so-obvious Goa favourite? Come on...share along. We can always do with one more reason to love Goa, can't we?

Dear readership of 21,

Silly how I cannot bring myself to write in spite of great many things to write about. The Opposite of Writers' Block - something like a Bottle Neck.

Anyhow. There are stories and stories and stories I wish I could pour out on this blog right now. Let me start off making a list of things to clear some of my cerebral clutter.

1. My oh-so-awesome Europe Trip...ok, UK trip...but Scotland, Ireland & London man!!
2. Latest obsession - Pygmalion & other works of George Bernard Shaw (He is half Irish, half British...no points in guessing my UK trip hangover is far from being over)
3. My first impressions of the Rosogulla land  - Kolkata. Oh! and how I stayed at the country's first Floating hotel aptly named Floatel on Babughat opposite the marvelous and majestic SBI HQ office and a mere hop-skip-jump from Eden Gardens Stadium!!
4. Staying alone...Staying alive.. in Biryani land - Hyderabad
5. And finally since my work involves some bit of traveling, I am contemplating writing my own version of 'The Terminal" (Desi Tom Hanks anyone? Feel free to contact me :P)  

And so deadlines and hectic schedules be damned. Here I am..making a start all over again to make peace with my blogging alter-ego so as not to piss her off and shoo her away for months at end like last time.

Its nearly office time...and I hate the fact that this post doesn't really have any purpose other than a quick 'hi, wassup world. me still alive, ok bye.'

So a post this is! And  I promise to update to my lovely audience of 21 followers and any other misguided random lurker...thou shalt blog regularly from this day onwards...till death and/or bad internet connection do us part.

Amen.