Baroda-ly speaking

With completely innocent and reader-friendly intentions, I had planned on calling this post “Broadly speaking” because you will find many of my prejudices/biases/opinions/brilliant observations about some recent experiences listed here. However, when I realised that some of those oh-so-ignorant meanderers who chance across my super-awesome blog might make a connection with a certain English fast bowler who was clobbered by a certain batsman from Punjab (when he could bat, field and be seen without a beer belly), I decided to ditch the idea and be my usual punny self.

So, dear reader, please do not read any further if:

a) You belong to Gujarat.

b) You are one of Narendra Modi’s cronies.

c) You are one those prudish folks with upturned noses, who look down upon opinionated folks.

d) You have no appreciation for brilliant writing. (Ha, still reading eh?)

Ok then, it’s been over 2 months in this strange land called ‘Gujarat’. It’s a land of anachronisms – a land of strange paradoxes. On one hand, you see expressways drastically shrinking the distances between places, and factories mushrooming overnight. (That’s when you say, “Wow, the development in this state is fantastic,” and rattle of growth rates and comparative charts and statistics, if you are from that much maligned breed of capitalists MBAs/MBA students.)

On the other hand, you see farmlands being acquired for building factories, with no sustainable income sources for farmers and companies making a beeline to set up shop in Gujarat, to take advantage of the cheap labour and government freebies. (That’s when you lean back on your recliner, take a swig of imported malt whiskey, run a hand through your lush hair slicked with gel, adjust your Aviator glasses, adjust the temperature of the AC and say, “Sheesh, what exploitation! Stop destroying our planet! Down with capitalism! Long live imperialism.” Then, you fish out your latest Blackberry, and with your nicely manicured finger, dial the number of your press contact, giving him/her the details of your next protest march/candle-lit vigil/rath yatra to mobilise support (and funds!) against all this.)

Anyway, I digress from the main point here. So yes, Gujarat is a land of diversity and the average newcomer is likely to be lost or even bewildered for the first few weeks. Hence, a brief guide is being published here to help such newbies. (I thought “Gujarat for dummies” was too lame a title, and moreover even dummies don’t like to admit that they are what they are.)

1) Do not offer a Gujarati any medicines for cold/cough, by way of misplaced concern. When you think they are sneezing, they might simply be talking of arriving soon. (Aaoon Chhoon = Atchoo!)

2) Gujaratis seem to be fond of painting, especially spray painting. In fact, many of them practise this fine art all day long. The Gujarati technique of spray painting involves chewing a mix of different shades and colours, till it attains consistency, and then using the ‘point-and-shoot’ interface. You may stop to admire this artwork on walls and even on road surfaces. If lucky, you might even catch a master artist at work. However, do not touch the paintings for it may spoil them.

3) I’m not quite sure of this one, but it seems that this state lacks some of the basic camaraderie that we experience in the North. For example, there is no back-thumping, effusive greeting with references being made to your (female side of the) family among friends. So much so, no expletives are exchanged among friends to express warmth. Weird! (This trend completely negates Sumit’s law of friendship: The strength of a friendship bond between two persons is directly proportional to the frequency and intensity of the swear words used, per unit conversation.)

4) Non-vegetarians, please bring along a basket of eggs and an incubator to hatch them in. This state is extremely unfriendly to all of you. Apparently, Gujarat is supposed to have the highest number of vegetarians in India. Bah!! (Ahmedabad’s claim to fame: The first city to have an all-veg Pizza Hut in India. POOH!!)

5) Either the people, or the cops in this state are extremely lazy. Reportedly, the crime rate in Gujarat is the lowest in India. For the record, Gujarat is a dry state but I have seen people carrying liquor bottles being waved through a police check post at 5 am. (Don’t ask me what I was doing at that unearthly hour!)

6) The capital of Gujarat is Gandhinagar. Officially, yes. Unofficially, Ahmedabad is THE capital for all practical and business purposes. Gandhinagar is green and clean, and has wide roads. But, for buying books, watching a movie, hanging out, visiting a market, Ahmedabad is the best place.

7) All men are ‘bhai’ and all women are ‘ben’. (‘Ben’ is pronounced as ‘bane’. For example, Shantaben would be pronounced as ‘Shantabane’. I wonder, why ‘bane’? ) Please do not be astonished by names like ‘Rameshbhai Bhailalbhai Parmar’ or ‘Nathiben Nathabhai Raval’. (These are actual examples, not concocted ones.)

8) Prof. Kakani, who teaches Finance (and the art of walking around like an undead zombie without bumping into things/people) was right about the Gujju bhais. Apparently, 35% of our stock market wealth in India is owned by Gujjus. (Theory: Khakra sharpens the brain and stimulates neurons. Note to self: Buy 1 kg of khakra tomorrow.)

I guess all those pointers should get you started. The rest, you will either figure out or will be spoonfed to you through this blog. So, don’t worry. There is no Dantesque inscription at the Gates of Gujarat: “Abandon hope all ye who enter here”. (That inscription has been copyrighted by my employers, for use on their gates.)

Eat. Pray. Love. But most of all, P.R.A.Y. (No reference to any individual with a similar sounding name)

P.S. No references to Baroda, you say. Well, only because no other puns with city names struck me.

P.P.S. I did warn you to stop reading. If after reading, you dislike my views, your problem. HMPH!!

LOTR

 

Statutory Warning: This post is (even more) pointless than some of the earlier ones. So, read at your own risk.

An online conversation with a friend led me to generate the following gem:

Q. What if Sauron from LOTR had been a mechanic repairing car suspensions?

Ans: Why, he’d be the “Lord of the Springs!”

And then, there were many spinoffs. Some of the less injurious ones are listed below:

Q. What if Sauron had been born as Joe Satriani?

Ans: Simple, he'd be the "Lord of the Strings"

If Sauron had been the CEO of Tehelka, would he be the "Lord of the Stings"?

Q. What if Sauron ruled over Punjab instead of Mordor?

Ans. He'd be the "Lord of the Singhs"

Q. What if Chandler got a chance to be Sauron?

Ans. He'd be the "Lord of the Bings"

Q. What if Sauron were Tiger Woods?

Ans: He'd be the “Lord of the Flings” (This one is credited to Ramaa Ramesh)

There and Back Again

Sorry, Bilbo Baggins. The title of this post seems the same as that of your immortal book, but then you’re a fictional character, and hence your book or its title doesn’t have any copyright protection. Haha. Gotcha, right?

Well, I make this post from my home city of Chandigarh, having returned from an arduous train journey aboard the Jan Shatabdi that plies from Delhi to Chandigarh. Arduous, eh? Yes, in more ways than one.

I think I can be the brand ambassador for Toyota’s JIT (just-in-time) methodology. Never ever have I boarded a train more than 5 minutes before its departure from the New Delhi Railway Station. (Sumit’s law of errr….. train boarding??? No matter how early you start, traffic on the roads conspires to make you miss your train.)

Sometimes, after stuff like this happens to me, I throw my head back, point to myself, say “You loser” and laugh loudly. (This is normally done when no one’s watching.) At other times, I shake my head sadly, look up towards the sky and sigh, “Why me?”

Anyway, so I boarded one of those cabs that ply illegally from Gurgaon to Delhi, stuffing people like birds in a coop, with the driver hell-bent on practicing for Formula I. As luck would have it, the man sitting just behind me couldn’t stay quiet for even a minute. He was rambling, and rambling, and rambling, and…. (get the picture, right?)

Then, the seat was such that we’d all be thrown forward as the driver braked, and then thrown backward as he accelerated. So, the entire journey was spent with the driver cursing other road users, none of whom seemed to have any sense whatsoever, the man in the back seat cursing/talking/shouting in some language I was unable to identify. The journey was punctuated with traffic jams caused by doting parents who tried parking as close to school gates as possible, to avoid their wards any inconvenience.

So what, if they were blocking the way for a few hundred road users waiting behind? I mean, people these days, SHEESH!! They can’t even wait 10-12 minutes, before honking. At least have some respect for family ties.

After the interminable journey, the next part was the much more comfortable Metro ride from Karol Bagh to Connaught Place (Yes, I refuse to call it Rajiv Chowk. Bah!!) and then to the New Delhi Railway Station. I rushed to the platform and found that the train hadn’t left me behind. Whew!! I waded through waves of humanity of all shapes and sizes, before reaching my seat (which incidentally was occupied by a South Indian uncleji accompanied by a motormouth teen.)

I sat there for a few minutes, willing the train to move. The gods heard me! (But, they exploited the loopholes in my wish, and the train ‘moved’ but only just.) Since the number of words the teen was speaking per minute was more than the number of metres being covered by the train in the same duration, I decided to shift to a place much more alluring.

I shifted to the middle of the chair car compartment, where the best possible company for a solitary man travelling alone was present. Having eyed the fortuitously vacant neighbouring seat, I made a lunge for it and made it. I turned to my right and smiled at the object of my affection. (Argh, you useless people! I was ogling the power socket to plug in my laptop. Duh!!)

Then, I pulled out my laptop and plugged it in, but the power socket was out. With a sigh, I settled back into my seat, and began to read ‘The Kite Runner’ by Khaled Hosseini. (Cry out in disbelief if you want, but yes I am a voracious reader who had not read the book till yesterday.)

Eventually, the book turned out to be the only positive of the evening. The TTE came, saw that I was not carrying a copy of my ticket, and rudely asked me to quote the PNR number, all the while muttering under his breath. I mimicked the muttering-under-the-breath bit, and gave him all the details in as surly a manner as possible. He fined me 50/- and issued me a duplicate ticket. Bah!!

I settled lower and lower into my chair, and became totally engrossed in the book. And so I stayed till the train stopped at Ambala. We reached Ambala at 1825 hours and stayed there till 1915 hours. (The 35 km track to Chandigarh is a single line, so we had to accommodate more important trains.) I made some deeply disgruntled noises and went back to reading.

“Trains! Never on time!!” said a voice, breaking into my reverie.

I looked up to see an elderly uncleji looking at me, in anticipation of a reply. I nodded at him and smiled, turning back to my book. I think he took that as a signal to continue. (Little did I realise that I had unleashed an avalanche of words upon myself.)

So, within the next 20 minutes, I got to know that the man was a Diploma holder in Mech. Engg, had been working with BRO for 30 years, had two sons, the elder one being an MBA student at some Hyderabad-based college offering MBA in agriculture and the younger one being an engineering student.

Meanwhile, the train whistled mournfully, and reluctantly moved on. Now, suddenly uncleji asked me about my background and credentials. I mentioned in passing that I just completed my MBA. His face remained blank when I mentioned my alma mater – XLRI. Then, he smiled sympathetically at me and told me that college brand is important and that’s why he only sent his sons to the ‘best’ colleges. When he asked me my specialization and I told him ‘HR’, he wanted to know what MBAs in ‘HRA’ did, and whether they were responsible for managing the HRA of employees in companies. (ARGH!!)

I tried explaining for a few minutes, but then the man had given up on me by then. Or perhaps, his attention was diverted by the train that had stopped again. (For the first time, I thanked Indian Railways for being inefficient, and Ms. Mamata Banerjee for being a nincompoop and a clod.)

I finished reading the last few pages of the book, as the train pulled into the station, and made a beeline for the exit, looking around to make sure that no uncles or any such menacing figures were chasing me. And so, having met my father who’d been abusing Ms. Mamatadi for over an hour, we got into the car and drove back home.

P.S. The book is fantastic! In fact, you shouldn’t wait till an uncle pushes you towards it on a boring train journey.

Sometimes, you just know…

… that it’s not going to be your day.

Well, the day began brightly enough. As usual, I grumpily pulled myself off the bed, and began to deconstruct the happenings of last night as I wiped the drool off the laptop’s keyboard. Well, at around midnight, I had been watching ‘Ek Chaalis ki Last Local’ – having heard that it was worth a watch and had apparently dozed off somewhere in between.

(Btw, you evil mind! The drool was not because of the presence of an ‘oomphy’ Ms. Dhupia in the movie. For the record, I don’t even like her.)

Anyhow, I digress. So, I turned my gaze towards my wrist to look at the time and then realised that I have not worn a watch in ages. (No, I don’t have chronometrophobia – the fear of watches/clocks. It’s just that I keep losing them.)

So, I looked at the luminous display of my mobile phone, and my eyes nearly popped out of sockets (ala Jim Carrey in The Mask). It was 8.26 am. There was no way I could shave, bathe, get my dreadlocks in some kind of order, have breakfast, and reach office before 9 am. On second thoughts, I could do all the things 3-4 times, in the time that it would need me to reach office. (That’s your cue, regular reader, to recall the last post written berating the traffic in Gurgaon. As for the non-regular readers, HMPH!!)

Then began one of the biggest exercises in optimization. I had never tried brushing teeth and shaving simultaneously. (Note: It doesn’t save much time, and should only be attempted if you use a good razor.) After performing other morning ablutions that should not be detailed on a blog, I was ready. Almost.

I literally ‘washed down’ my toast with a tall glass of cold coffee, and made my way to the parking lot. After revving the engine, I took off with all the urgency of Narain Karthikeyan Michael Schumacher, leaving a few startled early morning walkers in my wake.

And lo and behold! It seemed that I had beaten the traffic after all. It was 8.50 am, and looked like the morning crowd was still a few minutes away. I pumped my fist in exhilaration, and stepped down on the accelerator, determined to make my podium finish. A few minutes later, having nearly run over a woman who seemed to be training to be the next Usain Bolt (Either that, or maybe she was just running to board one of the infrequent buses to Delhi. Or maybe, Big Bazaar had announced an ‘early bird’ sale and you know… ), I reached office.

I made my way up to the 7th floor with remarkable agility and speed. (Oh, believe me it takes sincere effort to hold open a closing lift door, and step in.)

I entered the office to find it deserted. Huh? Just because the MD is away, these people are chilling out, eh? (Sumit’s law of punctuality: The day you reach office early, there’s no one to see you.) Muttering furiously at the tardiness of others, I plugged in my laptop and opened its lid, to see that the time was 8.01 am.

Yes, somehow my new-fangled, Samsung Corby had auto-adjusted the time and set it one hour ahead. (Blast you, Samsung! We don’t have daylight-saving time here.)

And so, instead of 9 am, I was in office at 8 am. AAARGHHHHHH.

P.S. No, I’m not ‘employed’. The office being mentioned is that of my Uncle’s company. Till I join my job, I am just helping him a bit in setting up some HR processes. So, I’m not even supposed to have fixed office hours. Double AAAARGGHHHH.

Honk honk! Move, you moron!!

I’ve spent the last couple of days in Millennium City, Gurgaon. And well, my hitherto dull life has taken a much more happening turn in the last 48 hours. I had been fuming at the emptiness of it all, sitting idle and twiddling my thumbs in boring old Chandigarh. (For the record, even though the IPL might have you believe otherwise, twiddling one’s thumbs is an expression that is not to be equated with ‘oongli cricket’.)

Anyway, in just two days, I realised that life in Gurgaon can be anything but ‘emply’ – especially if you’re referring to the streets. If you’re someone who’s used to living in the ‘fast lane’, avoid Gurgaon at all costs. Because, the fast lane doesn’t exist in Gurgaon traffic. Come to think of it, the concept of lane also doesn’t exist. :|

The entire scene at each crossing resembles one at a battlefield. Every inch of space is fought for, and armies emerge from various directions, determined to stall the progress of those marching on from other directions.

I do think India must be among the countries with the least safe driving practices. You find lanes being switched at will, pedestrians walking across the road with utter disdain for their own safety, people with one hand on the wheel and the other firmly clasping the phone to their ear for that urgent-call-that-just-can’t-be-taken-later. It makes you want to scream, kick, punch, abuse, and then kick some more. (Talk about road rage, eh? That’s where it probably comes from.)

Traffic cops stand by the side, leisurely chewing tobacco and checking out girls. Of course, once in a while these guys realise that their incomes are not sufficient to fund their ‘extra curricular activities’ and stop an erring motorist or two. After a few rounds of negotiation and much of the motorists cash-on-hand consumed, these gentlemen resume their vigil.

Praised be the ones who honk, lest we fall asleep due to the ‘speed’ of the traffic.

Joker in the Pack

Cry, Cry, Cry… till you succeed.

This ought to be the tag line of a bunch of students from one of the premier management institutes located in the eastern part of India. The reason why I say so is because I had the (mis)fortune of interacting with them, when they visited XLRI to participate in the bipartite sports meet. (It’s a little inconvenient to keep calling them students-from-an-esteemed-institute-in-eastern-India again and again, so let’s just call them jokars jokers, to make life simpler.)

They did win the trophy, no doubt. But, in doing so they lost all respect and dignity with some of their representatives plumbing to new-found depths of disgusting behaviour and idiocy. (Of course, one can level charges of being unsportsmanlike conduct on them too, but those would only be the tip of the iceberg.)

And well, one could go on for hours about the various kinds of ahem… ‘illicit familial relationships’ that the jokers were aware of. One wonders, how some of them were so well-versed and knowledgeable… experience, perhaps?

Much has already been said and discussed about their conduct here. So, let’s not accuse the poor jokers who are already deluged-with-hate-comments-posted-by-relatives-and-well-wishers-of-XLers of further misdemeanours.

Still, the meet was a learning experience. A few of the takeaways I’d like to list down for handy reference in the future are:

a) The city is called Kolkata. But, I guess they decided to retain the ‘C’ in the name of the jokers’  institute because it could be used to describe so many things – a ‘C’ry-baby attitude, a ‘C’ribbing mentality, being un’C’outh, or perhaps some expletives in a certain North Indian language that seem to describe the jokers all too well.

b) Some jokers are weak at verbal reasoning and pictorial reasoning – They probably didn’t figure out the meaning of ‘Keep off the grass’ or that garbage belongs in the trash can, not on the road. (Coaching institutes, please take note!)

c) In terms of OB concepts, some jokers seemed to have a high ‘need for affiliation’. They attempted to ‘affiliate’ with some of our players by grabbing their collars (does a basketball jersey have a collar?) or by playfully tripping them on the football field.

d) Collective intelligence is a myth. The total level of intelligence in a group containing more than 10 people is a constant. However, collective stupidity seems to assume gargantuan proportions, as the jokers demonstrated.

e) It does feel bad to lose a trophy. And it feels worse to lose it to someone who has behaved despicably.

f) It is a very warm feeling to politely offer to detach someone’s reproductive apparatus and feed it to him, if he uses foul language off the sports field.

However, all said and done – the above is not a reflection on the repute of the esteemed-institute-in-eastern-India. It would be unfair to dull the sheen associated with it, based on such a small sample set. Also, it is not a reflection on the students of the institute, just on the group that comprises the jokers.

P.S. No jokers were harmed during the creation of this post, though one would feel bad for any of them who suffer apoplectic fits after reading the content.

P.P.S. To any joker reading this, this form of writing is called ‘sarcasm’. Look it up. In case you still manage to miss it, leave a comment and I shall get back at my earliest convenience.

P.P.P.S. Whew! One feels relieved to have not joined an IIM, and joined XLRI instead.

A Journey to Remember…

Term 6 at a bschool - a time for chilling out, having fun, and travelling a lot. Well, considering it is the last term, one ought to do any or all of these. But, one has recently discovered a new definition to the travelling bit. One realises that some people have been 'travelling' throughout the last few terms. Ah, they've been 'passengers' who have been gracious enough to smile at one politely, despite the bumpy ride.

One thinks it is much more pleasurable to be in a group with a few such passengers, so that they can take a look at the life that whizzes by, while one puts one's sore shoulder to the grindstone and slogs it out. After all, one needs to get some external intervention to realise that there's still life out there somewhere. So what, if one is missing out on it? These nice folks make sure that they watch enough sitcoms, sing enough songs, go on umpteen walks with 'close' companions, and do enough social 'butterflying' (or caterpillaring) to be able to share their experiences, and ensure that one gets to enjoy these pleasures, so what if only vicariously? They also ensure that they sleep for a good 8-10 hours a day, so that they're fresh enough to regale one with their exploits, and make life better.

Of course, there are other losers like oneself, who burn midnight oil and work feverishly, to ensure that deadlines are met, if only by fractions of seconds. Thankfully, one has the passengers who occasionally peer over one's shoulder to point out a few defects or errors, or make their contribution by suggesting ways to con those poor, unsuspecting profs who were born yesterday and know nothing about the 'corrupted pdf' technique or the 'Outlook date format' scam.

In fact, classifying one's group mates can be an interesting experience. Let us look at some priceless 'exhibits' to understand them better. (This listing includes both passengers and non-passengers, so that their distinctive features are brought about clearly to you, O discerning reader.)

a) Exhibit A - The Workaholic - He/she is always driven by the sight of that deadline zooming in closer and closer. This person will have reminders, post-its, alarms et al, set to make sure that work is divided, milestones are decided, and the entire process is completed on time, with the necessary quality. An invaluable person to have in your group, though one must concede that one does tend to get a little frustrated when Exhibit A does not allow one to behave passenger-ically.

b) Exhibit B - The Righteous One - He/she has a holier-than-thou attitude, a fiery temper, and the inability to tolerate shoddy work. This person detests passengers. Of course, that could possibly be because he/she is one, and there's only room for so many, on a ride. Right? So, beware! If one's work does not match up to his/her standards (which are presumably copied from some website or another) one is in trouble! However, to set you on the right road, this person will claim to have hoarded tons of data, and information that you can use when you eventually stop being useless and decide to work.

c) Exhibit C - The Spanner-in-the-works - In football, there are some players who accidentally put the ball in their own goal, thereby causing more loss than gain. These people fall in such a category, and one finds oneself wishing that one had steered clear of these folks in the first place! One would rather burn more midnight oil and do this person's share of work, rather than let him/her loose and risk spending even more time, undoing the damage he/she causes.

d) Exhibit D - The Who-me? - Aww, the innocent one!! He/she wonders why YOU, the useless freak didn't ask for work to be done? Why didn't you send out a mail dividing work, outlining what is to be done, and set timelines? Sheesh, this poor babe-in-the-woods type was up till 3 am, wondering why no one has been doing anything. YOU evil one, to have caused so much hurt to this poor thing. Awww....

e) Exhibit E - The Creative One - A brilliant asset to have. He/she can think logically and differently, is prepared to work well, and generates lots of quality work. The only possible limitation - his/her batteries die out at 11 pm, so you have to wait for the next morning for creativity to happen. Still, worth every ounce of his/her weight.

f) Exhibit F - The well-oiled cog - A total group player - this person may debate with you, argue, prove to be a tough nut to crack, but will contribute meaningfully to the group. When one is burning midnight oil, this person will be sitting beside you and helping out. Apart from reducing one's workload, this person also reduces one's carbon footprint. How, you ask? Well, midnight oil is divided by two now, innit?

g) Exhibit G - The push-me-pull-you - The name is derived from a fictional animal that had two divergent personalities, in some story that I read as a kid. This person has two personalities - somewhat like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Still, he/she can be useful, provided you only have a moderate sprinkling of other Exhibits in the group. He/she reacts violently to some of them, and is perfectly at peace with the others. If you are sensible enough, you'll value his/her presence.
Of course, there are many other categories too. But, we shall delve into their intricacies later. The list is barely inclusive, and hardly exhaustive. Moreover, some people cut across categories and display various traits. So use your discretion, dear reader when you try to identify these people who are all around you. (Remember, the use of he/she is intentional, so do not make unfair assumptions, relating to gender.)

P.S. I have worked with some of you in groups, and haven't with others. Hence, kindly take this purely in jest, and do not attempt to map any of the Exhibits to your respective personalities. :P

The Great Escape…

I know, I know! I’ve been missing for too long from this space. Well, if I hadn’t gone away, would you have missed me? Obviously not. (I’m making the gargantuan assumption that you did miss your favourite blogger*, so just play along puh-lease, ok?)

 

*This is another assumption, within an assumption. So, I presume that my programmer friends will call this a nested assumption. :D

 

On Roshmi’s demand, I’m posting a picture of the escaped convict look that I mentioned in an earlier post. I’m nowhere close to my handsomest best**, I guess, but presentable enough, right?

 

**Now now! You’re pushing things a bit too far. That is certainly not an assumption, for God’s sake!

 

 

I shall expect you to be ‘hearty in your approbation and lavish in your praise’. If not, then I shall rightfully presume that you’re still from the Jurassic era and have not had the chance to thumb through Dale Carnegie’s ‘How to win friends and influence people’.

 

P.S. This post is called ‘The Great Escape’ for two reasons:

a) The pic should give you some idea of what an escaped convict ought to look like. (Believe me, the chocolatey folks you see in Prison Break are not real. The ruggedness of the pic above has to be seen to be believed.)

b) I managed to escape the drudgery of daily chores to make this post. Yay!

If God ‘was’ a Banker…

No, I’m not discussing hypothetical possibilities here, at well past the midnight hour.

 

Dale Carnegie did say, “Be hearty in your approbation and lavish in your praise.” But, I think he forgot to mention what to do in case the object in question were to be completely unworthy of praise.

 

Well, I’m referring to the book ‘If God was a Banker’ by Ravi Subramanian, an alumnus of IIM-Bangalore. I picked up the book just out of curiousity at a bookstore a couple of days ago, and just finished reading it.

 

The first thing that struck me about the book was the incorrect title. Ideally, the title should have been ‘If God were a banker’ instead of ‘If God was a banker.’ Since the latter is correct under certain conditions, I decided to give Mr. Subramanian the benefit of doubt. Hence, burying the vociferous protests of my ‘editorial’ self, I bought the book.

 

Sadly, after an hour and a half of reading the book, I feel as if I have wasted my time, and hard(ly) earned money. Even if the back cover had not said that the novel is the author’s first, I’d probably have figured. In fact, there’s nothing ‘novel’ about the story really. It just consists of some half-baked characters, a rehashed, beaten-to-death story, and totally inane dialogue.

 

I’m confident that my 14 year-old cousin could come up with more engaging conversations that Mr. Subramanian.

 

Also, someone please tell him that the word is ‘ma’am’ and not ‘maam’. There are loads of examples of incorrect apostrophes, names not being capitalised, and convoluted sentences. In my opinion, the book could be given to budding editors to practice their craft. Perhaps, one could have a contest like ‘Spot the maximum errors within a minute’ or something.

 

What I fail to realise is why people believe that just because they are at a bschool, they are entitled to dish out lame-duck stories, which people will buy. And why can’t readers be discerning enough? Just because someone from a premier bschool has written a story, it doesn’t become eminently readable. (After reading books by a certain Mr. Bhagat, one ought to have realised that. )

 

But, all is not lost. Perhaps, the book could be made a mandatory read for amateur writers like me. After all, if this guy can write, I can write.

 

Just two points to finish, Mr. Subramanian:

 

a) You say this is your first novel. Please let it be your last too.

 

b) If God were a writer, I’m sure he wouldn’t do such a shoddy job.

Delurking!

Well, this initiative stems from a friend’s blog. The last couple of days have seen a total of 115 people visiting this blog, and spending an average of nearly 4 minutes each.

 

However, in total, they’ve contributed a meagre 9 comments (with 2 of them being replies from yours truly.)

 

So you, you, you and YOUUUUU are doing nothing but lurking! Come on, write a little note. I’d like to know who you are, what you like reading, what brings you back here, or what drives you off.

 

It would be so much nicer, if you’d invite me back to your blog, and I could come and read what you have to share. So, let’s declare this day as ‘Delurk Divus’ and pledge to not lurk anymore. (This is not to say that you shouldn’t visit, but merely to suggest that you be less lazy and comment.)

 

If you hate me, say so! I promise to not let my henchmen come after you, and subject you to the Italian Mafia treatment. :D

 

If you love me, of course you ought to say so, especially if you belong to the feminine gender! (I’m not desperate. We’ll have a proper selection procedure, of course. However, I believe in equal opportunity, so I’d still like to know you *wink wink*)

 

If you couldn’t care less, so what? Still write!

 

Now stop lurking, and help me delurk…. please….

 

P.S. All copyrights for the term ‘delurk’ rest with Ms. Parul Sharma, who resides at Bringing up Adi.

Going Camping... Part II

After having built up the suspense about live frogs and scorpions in Part I the blogger is back with photographic evidence of the adventures. Unfortunately, all those creatures refused to pose, so we didn’t click them, fearing their retribution, if they were to be displeased.

 

However, to compensate for the lack of fauna, we clicked a lot of flora (who had no choice :P ) and some humans (who also didn’t have much of a choice when they were being clicked).

 

 

 

 

 

We’ll start with introducing the humble abodes of the participants - ‘tents’ which were more like cottages, with thatched roofs, metal cots, attached baths, and electric lights.

 

Of course, everything was among sylvan surroundings with no traffic, no pollution, no cellphones/laptops, and perfect tranquillity all around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was nice to be in such simple surroundings, though I’ve always considered myself a city hick who can’t survive without a phone and an internet connection. Surprisingly, I adjusted pretty well. Though, being akin to a hyperactive kid, I find it tough to sit still for more than 60 seconds. Hence, it is a rare shot of me when not dozing off during the session. (No offence to the facilitators, who were awesome. It’s just me… I am what I am! :D )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was super-excited to learn that I’d be staying in an ‘Alpine’ tent though I had not the faintest clue about what an Alpine tent is, or does. So, I was almost like a kid who has seen his new toy, when I was shown my tent. Obviously, it rocked more than those other ‘tents’. HMPH! (By the way, I realised that a tent is larger from the inside, than it appears from the outside.)

 

There, in the backdrop is MY tent. A much more peaceful and beautiful location, I assure you except that at night, I just felt glad at not having brought a horror novel along. :P (However, I did consider returning to the location alone, and staying for a week or so, in the hope of writing a horror story. Haha!)

 

 

 

 

At night, we had a little party with a bit of alcohol for those who partake of it, and soft drinks for those who don’t. The funny part is me wearing a ‘Carlsberg’ jersey and posing with a can of Thums Up.

 

(For those who’re wondering, NO that’s not the HR dress code. Maybe, it’s just that people tend to see ‘Red’ when they think of HR. )

 

Now, comes the tricky part. The photo that follows has been given some ‘interesting’ captions by a creative bunch of creeps that I call friends. As long as you don’t laugh or grin, you’re allowed to proceed further. (Smiling is allowed, of course. Who did you think I was? Hitler? Stalin? Castro? Ha!)

 

 

 

 

Some of the captions that have been suggested for this picture (not in any order of preference) are:

a) Stairway to heaven

b) Mujhe pata tha ladka bahut upar tak jaayega! (Loosely translated as, “I always knew that this guy will scale lots of heights in life.”)

c) Moving up the corporate ladder

 

I needn’t say that you are free to unleash your creativity and suggest more such.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, the really uncomplimentary ones were reserved for the next photo. However, I’m still including it, because I’d like you to focus on something. (I’ll let you know what… ;) )

 

Comment: “This is how and why wireless technology was invented. Some idiot sent Sumit up on wires!”

 

Anyway, the reason why I’m asking to you take a look at the pic is… Check out the biceps! :D

 

So, like you saw, the trip was fun! There are lots of pictures, but most of them have not been shared by the lazy ones responsible for sharing them. As and when they arrive, they will be shared. (Of course, you’re expected to keep your wisecracks to yourself.)

The week that was...

Well, I guess the rather prolific me has been not-so-prolific lately. I think that can be blamed partly on office work, partly on catching up with friends, and the rest on sheer, blatant laziness!

I'm starting to resemble a sloth bear, both in terms of shape/size and temperament. (And when I say temperament, I certainly don't mean a fondness for honey.)

This week was different, though. For the last four days, I was out of town on an official training camp, which provided lots of learning and loads of fun too. (I will be writing more about that, so hold yer horses pardner!)

But now that I'm back, I see that truckloads of work have piled up, and my workstation resembles a landfill site. Figuratively, dodo! Not literally, of course. (It's my room that resembles a landfill, but no more about that for now.)

Hence, it shall be a busy weekend, and apart from work, I need to sneak out time for:
a) a personal project
b) writing my travelogue on this blog (That rhyme was unintentional!)
c) washing clothes
d) getting a haircut
e) planning a party for the juniors
f) (re)organising my room

Loads to do, ain't it? And the sad part is that you're still reading! Tch tch.. and you call yourself a friend? Call me, email me, text me, or simply walk over. I need help...

I'm disturbed, disgusted, distressed, disgruntled, dispondent (That's deliberately misspelt to rhyme, ok?) and lots of other dis-ses! HELP!!

P.S. I can't seem to find my thesaurus. I had a dream this evening, where I dreamt that Roget had launched a chocolate bar. It did seem yummy that time, but I wonder why I'm feeling ailing, diseased, unwell, sick, nauseated, run-down, and debilitated. Any diagnosis, conclusion, interpretation, pronouncement, or prognosis?

Thin is in...

This post is purely in response to one by a Bloggerville neighbour, one called Nikita. (It is strongly suggested that you read her post before reading this one, to get the context right.) The views and opinions expressed are of the writer alone, though he will not be responsible for any kind of trauma caused.

Dear Nikita

I found your post extremely offensive and demeaning to people like me, who (try to) live on the other end of the spectrum. To convey my anger, I am replying point-by-point to you.

1. It isn’t fun when you go shopping and come back empty handed because eleven out of the ten outfits you thought of trying looked like you were wearing traditional tribal dresses worn in Andaman. It is worse when you shopping companion meaningfully glances at the tent house next door, hoping you take the hint. And even worse, when you actually take the hint, but don't like the colour of any 'outfit'.

2. Ditto!

3. When people ask how much you weigh, they expect the answer to be in ‘quintals', and not ‘kilos’. It makes you wish the metabolic process existed (and worked).

4. It is assumed that you are the reason why people (like Nikita) survive on air.

5. Everything, from falling sick to failing an exam is attributed to your weight. Period. There is no other problem that plagues your life besides the excess of a few kilos.

6. When travelling in an overcrowded auto with friends, you are always the one to seat someone on your lap. Once you learn to give someone your seat, people standing just ahead of you stare at you fearfully, as if you'll crush them like a juggernaut if the driver brakes.

7. No comments on this one... YOU WIN!

8. No comments on this one either... DRAW!

9. The word 'starvation' (of others) is considered synonymous with your name.

10. If someone ignores you, they think it’s a perfectly valid excuse to say they just didn’t see you, and must be suffering from weakening eyesight. Innovative. Ha!

11. It is as embarrassing to weigh yourself in front of someone as it would’ve been if you were underweight. Probably more...

12. People in the Metro quite sincerely believe that three of them would've fit in the space that you are occupying, and continue to give you baleful glares till you give up your seat or get off. The former is worse, because they then discover that three of them plus a Nikita-esque person can fit into the space vacated. :|

To add to that, my frame, if you can call it that has spurred on the jokers in the pack of 'friends' that I have.
Sample conversation:
Me: That didn't appeal to my funny side.
'Friend' - You have a spherical shape - and a sphere has no sides... haha....

In this case also, the 'Friend' survived because the 'conversation' happened over chat and not in person.

Still, Ms. Nikita, I appreciate you airing of you concerns, and believe they cannot be taken lightly. (no pun intended)

Hoping for a prompt response.

Sauron

“UNHOLI” Thoughts

It’s a mad, mad world. There’s obviously no denying that. But, the other 364/365 days pale into insignificance when compared to Holi, the Hindu festival of colours.

 

The festival has its origins in Hindu mythology. Lord Krishna, a Hindu god, was rather dark, whereas his consort, Radha was very fair. Hence, the god suffered from an inferiority complex, and complained to his mother. The doting mother promptly applied some colour to Radha’s face, to mask her fairness.

 

(Incidentally, that seems to be the first recorded case of racial discrimination ever. And you thought it was a recent phenomenon, huh?)

 

Well, there is a whole plethora of other reasons, behind the celebration of Holi. If your’re really keen, you can read more by clicking here. (Although, if you ask me, one shouldn’t really need so many reasons for celebrating a festival. Just celebrate, duh!!)

 

In earlier times, it used to be a festival that involved the use of colours made from crushed flowers, tree barks, and other such stuff. However, it is a festival that has kept up with modern times. Human ingenuity has lent it an all-new flavour. Now, eggs, coal tar, mud, chemical colours, beer, soft drinks, ink, and what not is applied to others, in the name of ‘celebration.’

 

In fact, in parts of India, the celebrations are even more unique. The menfolk sing lewd songs, and the women drive them away by beating them up with sticks. The men attempt to shield themselves, and continue singing. (Wow, are the moral police who protest against Valentine’s Day aware of this?)

 

Plus, people partake of a drink called ‘bhaang’ made from the leaves of the cannabis plant.

 

The part of India that I’m in – XLRI, Jamshedpur, has an even more unique concept here. Apart from the usual rigmarole of mud baths, dunking people in colour, smearing them with whatever comes handy, getting drunk on ‘bhaang’, and dancing away, there was ahem… an added ‘feature’. Somehow, the ‘culture’ is to rip off the t-shirts of all the guys, and then colour us poor folks. Quite insane, if you ask me! (Actually, I think it’s quite insane, even if you don’t ask me.)

 

One of the most decent pics of the lot is posted here. Due to ahem… various considerations that one has to consider, the rest have been kept away from your eyes. However, imaginations often run wild, and you’re free to let yours loose as well.

 

I rather think that we look like a bunch of folks from the movie 300, minus the six-pack abs, or rather, plus some six-pack ‘flabs’.

 

What say?

 

Edit: On demand from Scriber, here’s a pic of the girls…

 

Football!

This time it’s a serious post about football. No jokes, huh? So, if you’re looking for humour in this post, QUIT right now! No point reading further, because I’m a strong believer in the philosophy of one of Liverpool’s legendary managers:

 

Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it’s much more serious than that.

 

 

I think that statement echoes my feelings perfectly. Of course, most of my friends will vouch for my die-hard following of the game, and fanaticism for one of the greatest clubs ever, football. Another quote of Shankly’s tells of my devotion to winning.

 

 

If you are first, you are first. If you are second, you are nothing!!

 

 

That’s precisely why I was up at 3 am to watch my team thrash Real Madrid 4 goals to zilch! Awesome!

 

And then, I decided to write about some awesome quotes from the world of football. Sample these:

 

Football is a simple game based on the giving and taking of passes, of controlling the ball and of making yourself available to receive a pass. It is terribly simple.

(Another example of Shankly’s sharp wit)

If you’re not sure of what to do with the ball, just pop it in the net, and we’ll discuss your options afterwards.

(Simple really! No wonder, Shankly was such an awesome manager.)

I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest, I just squandered.

(George Best has a nice perspective. I wish my dad agreed with this too.)

 

We lost because we didn’t win.

(Thanks for explaining that, Ronaldo. Duh! We’d never have figured it out.)

 

If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing.

(Wow, really?)

 

After reading these, you might be misled into thinking that I don’t have anything else to write. I’m not saying that you are wrong, all I’m saying is that you’re not right.

On The Recession…

I guess the recession is taking a toll on all of us. One of my friends is suffering from a ‘receding’ hairline. For as long as I can remember, my wallet has been hit by recession. The same can be said about my report card. My roommate’s waistline has also receded in the last week or so, though he has managed to remain remarkably upbeat about it. (I wonder how!)

 

Luckily, one thing that’s not changed due to the recession, is my brand of humour. (I know… I know… you’re rolling your eyes and thinking that it’s as bad as ever. Right?)

 

Hmmm… did anyone call me a mind reader? ;)

Football – The Beautiful Game

This post is dedicated to my football-illiterate friends, who keep cribbing that they don’t ‘understand’ the game. It’s a simple game, really. There are no complicated techniques one needs to learn, like cricket or tennis, or any other sport. (The only sport I think is simpler than football is boxing. All you need to do is punch, right?)

 

The basic idea in the game of football is to score a ‘goal’. Of course, there are teams that forget this basic idea, and do anything and everything except scoring goals. But, we shall completely disregard them for now, and focus on the steps to be taken, to score a goal. So, here goes:

 

1) Reach the field, usually covered with grass.

2) Place foot on ball, with force. (This technique is called ‘kicking’.)

3) The resultant force will change the direction of the ball’s movement i.e. the ball will fly.

4) Place one foot before the other, in rapid, consecutive movements. (This technique is called ‘running’ by advanced football players.)

5) Move towards the ball’s new location.

6) Try and kick the ball away from your opponent. (Normally, there’s a man with a whistle, running around you. If you can give him the slip, kick your opponent instead of the ball. Much more effective, I assure you.)

7) Repeat step 4.

8) Find the goal. It is usually made of white metal frames and net.

9) Aim for the goal.

10) Kick the ball towards the goal.

11) If the ball flies into the goal, celebrate by performing some hideous actions. (If it doesn’t, grimace, shake your head, and perform some more hideous actions.)

12) Repeat from step 2.

 

There you go! That knowledge should suffice to help you understand the basics of the game. Of course, the game is not quite so simple. There are advanced techniques one has to learn, to truly master the game.

 

a) Diving – Deep-sea divers would probably do a good job at this game. Diving is a very useful skill, and can help your team a lot, in times of need. The best exponent of this art is a certain Mr. Cristiano Ronaldo.

b) Theatrics – Playacting and drama are essential skills. Once again, Mr. Ronaldo displays them in ample quantity. He is closely matched by Mr. Didier Drogba.

 

Once you’re familiar with the content mentioned here, we shall progress on our journey. Football is a beautiful game. If you don’t realise it even now, you will, pretty soon. Hopefully…

Love in December

What I’m writing about might seem almost blasphemous. Today, when the world is celebrating the Oscars, and we Indians in particular, are celebrating the victory of ‘our’ film, here I am, extolling the virtues of a completely different piece of art.

 

On a friend’s recommendation, I downloaded a copy of a play staged at IIT* Mumbai - ‘Love in December’. To begin with, I was rather skeptical of it. In fact, I distinctly remember waving a hand, with a dismissive expression, and saying, “What nonsense! IITians staging a humorous play? Ha!”

 

In fact, like those crusty, old British curmudgeons, I probably would’ve offered to eat my hat, if proven wrong, but thankfully, I don’t wear a hat. Moreover, I guess I’m too prudent to offer to eat any other item of clothing.

 

Anyway, let’s cut right to the chase. At first glance, it sounds like a typical, run-of-the-mill story – boy meets girl at railway station, the train is delayed by 4 hours, they start talking, and towards the end, they realise that they used to know each other in school, and had major-time crushes on each other.

 

However, the acting, the direction, the sound editing, and the dialogues are simply fabulous. Even if you are a die-hard cynic (I’m not!!!) or an Indian-movie hater (Ahem…. sometimes I am one), you probably will grow to like this one.

 

Sugat (my roommate) and I had organised a special screening of the play in our room for ourselves and a few friends. And it would’ve been a perfect experience, if only we’d had popcorn and cola.

 

We loved it so much, that we’re planning a repeat broadcast.

 

Of course, academic constraints are acting as a major deterrent. The worst part is that you can’t even crib about the rigors of academic life. The moment you say that, people shut you up, saying, “Who asked you to ditch your job, and go study for an MBA? Now that you are at XLRI, obviously, you will have to study.”

 

Thank you for those wise words, all ye folks! But for now, stop reading this, and go check out that play if you can.

 

*IIT stands for Indian Institute of Technology. The IITs are the most prestigious engineering institutes in India.