Blogathon Day 2: My serious introspection

I like to introspect. Mostly in the shower. And today I was introspecting a lot. Not about the year gone by. But about how cows manage to itch right right where it is itching.

I mean seriously, have you ever noticed a fly sitting on a cow. If a fly comes and sits on my right arm, I’ll lift my whole arm, or I’ll try to shoo away the fly with my left arm, or I will shake myself completely to move the fly. But a cow, wouldn’t bother as much. Same with a lazy person.

Imagine Ms cow eating her hay with gay (not the illegal one), when a fly comes and sits on its sirloin. The cow doesn’t care. Sirloin shakes itself, while Ms cow continues to eat. The darn fly then moves to sirloin’s neighbour, the tenderloin, which then makes a small frown. The fly jumps two blocks away to the shankle, the shankle shakes, it then climbs to the forehead, and the fore (head) skin only moves. The fly is now challenged. It hops and hops and hits the eye of the storm, literally. The cow blinks. 

I mean c’mon, what would it take you to nod your head? A Fanta perhaps ?

For those of you, who don’t enjoy steaks, here is a diagram:

And just FYI, Rib eye is not the eye of the cow. It is the rib instead.

The Resolution that was

Every year on the 31 December, what you hear a lot is “resolutions”. If you ask me, well, mine is 2.75 megapixel. Yes, thats the closest to a resolution I have ever been. Except once.

 Once, couple of years ago, when I was still a young stork, I decided to give my relationship with Salman Khan a serious chance. At that time I genuinely believed that if I approached him and held a very serious man to (wo)man talk with him and explained to him how it made perfect sense for him to marry me, he would have no choice but to agree.

 My case was solid. I knew where he lived. He was rich, I was intelligent. He was single, I was almost. He was being rejected time and again by beautiful women, and I was an answer to all those beauties, who wouldn’t match my brains. He was short, I was shorter. And finally the deal maker - He was Khan, I was Ms Khan. Where do we sign now?

 However, there was only one problem. How do I get to speak to him? Well, the plan was simple. I, along with my two other girl friends would go to Salman’s Bandra apartment. And in the middle of the night, we would start singing. All Salman Khan songs. Starting with “Oonchi hai building.. lift teri band hai”. And if you have heard us sing, we sound worse than Anu Malik. Poor Salman would eventually give in and come wave at us from his balcony. Thats when I would throw keywords at him. He would get the hint and call me in for a chat. The next we know, we would be in Ibiza getting “papped”.

 All of this was worked out in extreme detail. Nothing in this could fail. The date was set, the team ready and I even got my manicure, just in case there is a ring involved. But then, poof! came my future husband’s “expression of interest” on shaadi.com.

 I had to choose between finding a perfect wife for Salman, or a perfect husband for myself. Ofcourse I chose the latter. I chose to go for a Coffee with my Mr K rather than a “Koffee with Karan”. Plus there were those rumours of him dating certain other Ms K. I can take everything, but not infidelity. Huh.

Queue-ki naaki

Not so long ago I was shipped to Dubai. And I have lugged this blog along in my large brown bag. And here I open it first thing at the Carrefour super duper hyper store. Thanks to the forever due FDI in retail we havn’t yet discovered the Ikea meatballs (or was it horse-meatballs?) and the serpentine queues in India.  Or for the latter, have we?

 At the Mumbai local ticket counters, at the immigration department at airports, at the passport office, at the college admission counters, at the ATM, at the bus stop, at the water tap and also at Mcdonalds? Delhi ofcourse, is not included in this. There, you just mob around for everything, call out names,  and rape someone if you can.

 Anyway, back to queues (did you know it is spelt like this?), if you have ever been to one, chances are you agree that they are highly frustrating!

These forever 21 queues (21 is the number of people ahead of you) make me hate mankind (and womankind) and hope I was in a country, where they sell guns with 21 bullets in supermarkets, so I could shoot the queue ahead of me and suffocate the billing executive under the 21 corpses.

 Even in a store with 21 queues, it always seems that you are stuck in the slowest one. Its either the slow billing executive who can’t count money right, or doesn’t have keys to the teller, or it could be one of those annoying customers ahead of you who want to change their mind about items just after they are scanned, or those who want to reach out to pick chewing gum 7 feet away from the counter after all their items have been scanned, or better still, there are stealers who stuff a bag inside a bigger bag, thinking it won’t be noticed and they could have it for free. Whatever the reason, the ice-cream in your cart will sure melt before you reach the billing counter.

 Worse is when you are standing at the express counter and a hot looking girl walks to the guy at 7 and points to her buns. This guy is the typical “chomu” who is too happy that a girl spoke to him and she let him stare at her buns. Even though they were edible ones. Apparently she had only one item to scan to she can jump the queue. And the chomu lets her. And how many items did he have? A pair of slippers. While, I at number 21, can fume and do nothing else.

 Take my suggestion, if you want to remain sane, don’t ever go to a supermarket on a weekend if you have less than 20 items to buy. Its not worth the heart-ache or the back.

 PS: Have you heard that song "Isshq ki naaki"...?What is "naaki" anyway?

Lust at first sight

She crossed her legs as she stared at her own reflection on the glass panel at the metro platform. Adjusting her hair she craned her neck to see the metro arriving. The train arrived, and she stepped in. "Al abwabu tuglaq", "the doors are closing". And just then, their eyes met.

His steel grey eyes looked like made from the same glass she was staring at a while ago. A few strands of hair strayed on his forehead from his perfectly gelled mohawk. His lean tall structure stood firm and unperturbed by the moving train. He looked at her straight in the eye, but he wasn't looking. He was thinking.

After a brief pause and a soulful glance, that seemed to melt her in her shoes, he went back to reading on his tablet. Not realizing what he was inflicting upon her. He looked deeply involved, carried away and in control at the same time. His laptop bag snuggled between his legs on the floor.

Despite the dark business suit that covered his frame, she couldn't stop admiring the sculpture it camflagued.  She stood next to him. Close enough to smell the Givenchy perfume he was wearing. She noticed the intricate network of veins on the back of his hand that moved as he swiped screens. She adjusted her dress, and her hair and tried to look out the window. But his presence was just too distracting for her.

Lust at first sight. She thought smiling at herself. And put on her wayfarers.

"Al mahakkal kadima hiya Abrajul Emarat"

Talking Stomach

Some people like to talk a lot. Well, I am not one of them. But my stomach makes up for it. It has the guts (literally!) to break into the awkward silence of any room, be it an office, a funeral or a classroom. Ok, this might just be turning into a very gross subject for some of you readers, but well, there is an elephant in the room I am trying to address. And unfortunately that elephant is in my stomach.

Reading from health and wellness posts online, I conclude that many of you must have experienced some sort of growling in your stomach when it raises an alarm that your body needs food. Sometimes these sounds a more like murmurs, sometimes little louder so you can hear it.. or maybe your loved one can hear it, if sitting very close. But mine are more like roars from Jurassic Park. Even the water in the glass begins to shake. And now I am exaggerating. But they are loud enough so that everyone in my modest office of 4 can hear them. Although, I try to type really fast and create camouflaging sounds, I am sure it manages to break through the walls of my stomach and into the ears of those who may or may not understand where that sound is coming from. I eat my words and swallow them with water, but that doesn’t help either. The only thing that helps is sneaking out, snacking in, or snickers.

You know, I suspect that there is some sort of rhythm or secret message hidden in it. It happens at the same time everyday - between 10:30am and 11:30am. It growls, and whines and mews and most definitely says something. Maybe it is saying that my hair is looking very good today. Or maybe that I am a great driver. Maybe it is just blabbering like little babies and expects me to give company.  I don’t know. Maybe it is a song growing in my stomach. They say that good music comes from inside. Hmm. I’ll know someday.

And I ate an elephant for dinner last night. Stomach that!

Dare to lead - Winning Strategies for Women

“I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an' pretend
'Cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again 

Oh yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to
I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman”

                                     --Helen Reddy and Ray Burton

If you are a woman reading this, I’ll ask you to go and hear the song. It’s beautiful, strong, feminine and in your shoes! If you aren’t, you should hear it anyway, to realize what I am talking about.

Being a woman and being out there is an achievement, so much so, that it is worthy of ballads. Because being a woman with a career means breaking the norm and keeping it at the same time!. On one hand you break the convention of spending your childhood and youth not in becoming Lizy of Pride & Prejudice but becoming Mr Darcy with a better body and prettier shoes. On the other hand, you don’t want to give up the pleasure of cooking for your husband, helping your kids with their homework and booking full day spas. That’s two roles in one. Only a woman can manage that kind of multitasking!

But just like any achievement worthy of praise, it is not easy being that power puff girl. What keeps these women ticking and what makes them win? I asked few women around me (and put in my own two cents).

The top answer is surprising for the uninitiated. Family. Women are probably more emotional and sensitive than their males counterparts and hence it is important for them to have the support of a family around them. A great husband, loving kids, parents. Women lay lot of emphasis on having things sorted back at home. Having a supportive family helps them focus guiltlessly on work and accomplish more in their careers.

Gossip and women go hand in hand. But it seems that when it comes workplace, women want to stay away from it. Excluding the discussions around whether your boss is in a foul mood because he had a fight with his wife, women are generally distant from work related gossip. More specifically, workplace politics. Most women are interested in quickly finishing what is assigned to them and saving manipulation for their friend circles.

The glass ceiling. Who hasn’t heard of that. But the trick is in believing it does not exist. Sometimes, women seem to presume that their bosses will prefer their male counterparts over them for higher responsibilities, get demotivated, and don’t perform anyway. Those who don’t get into this trap, easily cross the holy grail in an unbiased work environment.

That brings me to the last factor, your boss. This is irrespective of gender. But women, as far as I know, respond very well to mentorship and positive reinforcement. The more trust & responsibility, you put in them, the more you reap. Most women who have an ascending career graph, agree that it woudn’t have been possible without a supportive boss and open work environment.

I am sure there are many more experiences and learnings to share. I am woman still learning.  

The Portfolio Life

I came to office early today. To work. Alas, things don’t always happen the way we plan. So here I am writing this post  and checking jobs on naukri before others walk in and start applying for the same jobs.

In this post I am going to steal the idea of one management thinker and repackage it and sell it back to you. Heard about Charles Handy? .. Go wiki on him and his theories. And you can also google and flipkart him. But I am going to copy him.

So he talks about this theory of Portfolio life. Imagine if you treated the days of your life as coins in your kitty and you needed to spend them on a basket of goodies. Essentially building  a portfolio of things you would like to do each day instead of doing the same thing everything day. Imagine everyone following this theory in their lives.. Oh what fun will it be! And full of funny too!... Let me tell you how..

So imagine our good old Ramu kaka suddenly switches to portfolio life. He wants to be five different things on 5 working days of the week (yes.. atleast in the perfect future, everyone works only 5 days!). So on Monday he is ramu kaka himself when he brings you your morning tea and spills it on your brand new arrow shirt you were planning to impress your lady boss with. Yes ofcourse, not a cool start of the week! Ramu kaka gets some piece of your spotless mind.

On Tuesday, he is Ramesh Pandey, the traffic hawaldar who places himself at the same traffic light that you decide to jump. His revenge shall drill a hole in your shirt!

On Wednesday, tables turn and he is the night guard for your building. Your dog Edward makes sure he doesn’t sleep a wink.

By Thursday, you can imagine how annoyed Rammaiya, the waiter the at idli dosa eatery is. So when you order you favourite sambhar, he doesn’t forget to spit in it. And to top it up, on Friday he skips his turn at the post-office and checks in as the dhobi who will burn your Arrow shirt!

Thankgod the future is far away!