I have a #genuinekoshchan, as they say on twitter, for the menfolk today. And to be absolutely fair, I also pose it to the women who will not identify with what I am going to ask.
How, in the name of all that is holy, do you people manage without handbags? To take off from what Shwetha wrote on her blog some time back, there are things that are essential and must be carried everywhere.
I'm known for my penchant for big handbags. I have, in my defense, tried buying smaller purses in the effort to look more formal or some such thing, but the things just don't fit in! There's my wallet (which in itself is fairly bulky), my keys, my little pouch which holds all the various loyalty cards I have (and as I've mentioned before, I have a lot), the case which holds both my glasses and my sunglasses, tissues and hand cleanser, and basic medicines which I always carry around. If it's the monsoon I carry a little umbrella with me, if it's winter a teeny-weeny bottle of moisturizer, and if I'm headed to work or for meetings, then I usually have a note pad and a pen. Sometimes there's a book. There's also the little Ganesha statue my mum gifted me which I carry. My phone and its earphones are usually in my hand anyway because I use it to listen to music - assuming I know where my earphones are, they are currently missing, does anyone want to gift me a pair?
I change my bags often, and each bag has a bunch of miscellaneous stuff anyway - old movie tickets, earrings I was wearing and took off because they hurt, the receipt from a restaurant or the NH-8 toll gate, the last eyeliner I lost. But the essentials listed above - those I move from bag to bag.
So tell me, how do you manage without all that? I mean, even if I'm going to a shaadi and am forced to discard my nice handbags, I usually have a tiny purse with the phone, some cash, and mayyyybe an eyeliner and/or lipstick to be on the safe side - because you know, we're girls and we need to use/carry these things blah blah blah. And if the car is there, I leave a handbag with everything else in the car!
Most of the guys I know roam around with just their wallet and their phone*. I used to stare open-mouthed at these girls in college who could come with one register and a tiny clutch purse which wasn't even big enough to carry their car keys and their phone. Well, they also wore heels to college, know full well that that was just a disastrous idea given the cobbled paths we had, but that's besides the point. My point is, don't you need all this stuff?
*This may be a good time to point out that the brother is not like that. He perpetually needs music and a book and so carries a jhola everywhere he goes. Very shmart the brother is.
A random tweet that showed up in my timeline a few hours ago reminded me of one of those strange and morbid conversations that get ingrained in your memory, that took place between the father and me more than a decade ago.
We were walking on the side of the road, when a car swerved and passed by him a little too close for my comfort. Of course, I gasped dramatically, clutched him and pulled him a bit to the side, scolding him for being so careless. He shrugged and laughed, saying he was fine as long as an accident, should it happen, caused a quick and painless death rather than leaving him a vegetable.
Needless to say, I was not amused. But then he went on: if death has to come to someone, it'll come sooner or later. And his or her family and friends will have to deal with it. But if a person gets stuck in a coma, it makes everything so much more painful for his or her loved ones. He then looked at me and told me that if that decision has to be taken, I should take it.
At age 14, I was forced to admit he had a point. At 25, I still hope and pray almost every day, like I have ever since that conversation happened, that I never have to take that decision.
I can be a snob of the first order, but something I really don't get is following people on twitter for the singular purpose of retweeting them and mocking them.
Calling someone an orkutiya or a bulb, because their idea of expressing themselves is different from yours? Because their English isn't as articulate as yours? Heck, my English is quite decent, but I'm atrocious in both Bengali and Hindi, so what do I have to be so proud of?
Following celebrities on twitter, and then spending your time coming up witty one-liners to mock them? Really? I have the utmost respect for most of these people I follow on twitter - they're intelligent, well-read, and outrageously funny most of the time. But it infuriates me when they judge people they don't know or have never met simply on the basis of their ability (or lack of it) to articulate decently in a tweet.
A lot of people cribbed about Aisha, and not purely because of its terrible script or the utterly flat and annoying personality they gave to the eponymous character (which, to be fair, was exactly how it was in the book, so you can't really blame the makers of the movie). No, a lot of people actually cribbed about what snobs Aisha and her friend Pinky were. (Like, hello, have you ever been to urban India? South Delhi, or even South Bombay from what I hear?)
My point is, people criticized, or even mocked the utter snobbishness displayed by the characters in that movie. But you, who retweets a guy because his opinions aren't completely in tune with yours, or mocks the guy who tweeted his admiration for that celebrity who may not be so great in your eyes. How different are you?
When I was in school and college, the morning of an exam invariably meant I would have this tight feeling in my arms, and a pain in my left shoulder. I called them my stress pains. For the past few months, I've been having them almost perpetually, and for no good reason either.
The last few months hasn't been the best of times, as my various blog posts may have indicated. There's just been too much I've been trying to juggle, and sort out, and y'know, get it all together. I think I've gone soft even - the slightest bit of niceness makes me all weepy these days. Tchah, I say.
As a result, once again, I find myself needing to do a post of this kind. Without further ado, therefore, let us have the drumroll, and a list of things I like:
Second-hand books, with decades-old dedications written in a squiggly handwriting, and the lovely musty smell of old books.
Finding money in the pockets of a jacket I'm wearing after a long time.
Sweaters with long, loose sleeves that cover half my hands.
The torn winter jacket that my father bought for himself when I was a baby - I borrowed it when I was 15 and haven't returned it yet!
The sound of the princess drinking water.
Compliments that come out of nowhere, which you know can't be anything but genuine.
An evening out with the gal pals - or even the guy pals actually. Both are interesting in very different ways!
People I've never spoken to in my life asking me why there hasn't been an update on my blog for two months.
The sudden crumbling of my writer's block, when the words coming gushing out.
Friends who worry about me more than I worry about myself.
The feeling of satisfaction when I manage to drill some sense into a friend's head.
The warm feeling when I wrap my hands around a cup of chai or soup.
Leaving the car windows down and feeling the breeze - especially if it's just after a spell of rain.
Saying "y'know which episode of Friends this reminds me of?", and having at least two people present bursting into giggles.
Realising someone who was just another acquaintance has become someone very important.
Looking out the window as a flight takes off or lands and trying to recognize landmarks in the city below.
The mother is one of the best teachers I've ever come across. Students she taught in Class III more than a decade ago still keep in touch with her, and talk about how she impacted their lives. She genuinely loves children, and for her, it wasn't so much about teaching, but about helping the kids she taught.
Despite all this, she was always very clear that she wouldn't put up with organizational politics. Whenever things got messy, she chose to leave a school rather than have to deal with the murkiness that politics can bring.
Right now, at this very moment, I really really wish I had the courage to do that. I am sick and tired of people not showing ownership for their work, of whining because they have to handle five things simultaneously, and going and pulling down colleagues to cover up their own mistakes. And I am really sick and tired of people allowing interpersonal issues to affect project delivery.
We're all multi-tasking, for God's sake, and we're all working to meet our clients' requirements. And we're all dealing with numerous phone calls, emails, and cranky clients while trying to actually meet our deliverables. If you can't handle that, get the hell out of consulting.
I'm a workaholic, yes, and I have no social life. So I will probably continue to give everything I have to this organization. But when people behave like that, you really wish you could just drop everything and go.
And for once, I wouldn't give a damn if my colleagues read this post and got to know exactly what I think of them: that they're juvenile, petty, and immature people, who don't know the meaning of the word loyalty.
The mother, on reading the post I put up about her attempts to reason with the princess: Why do you eavesdrop private conversations between two sensitive souls?
The brother is back home, and expected to be here for the next couple of months. He is also unwell, which means he is being more mollycoddled than usual. The mother asked him the other day what he wants for breakfast. This is the conversation that ensued:
Brother: Can you make that white thing?
Mother: What white thing? Upma?
Brother: No, no, that white thing.
Mother: Eggs? Idlis?
Brother: Arre that white thing which has leaves and peanuts in it.
Mother: Upma?
Brother: Yeaaaaaaah.......
The recent Bharat Bandh meant there were posters of all Opposition leaders all over the roads. Being clueless as ever, I struggled to recognise some of them.
Moi: That one's Nitin Gadkari, right? The second one from the left?
Father (not looking up): Does he look like a toad?
Moi: Umm, yeah?
Father: Then that's Gadkari.
BUT. It's not just my family which is entertaining. My job involves some amount of interviewing these kids who keep applying to us. Today, a girl from Bombay sent in her resume. Looked good on paper, so I gave her a call.
Moi: So before we take this forward, I wanted to check, are you comfortable relocating to Gurgaon?
Her: Well, I'm not against relocation per se, as long as the profile is good you know?
Moi: Sure, fair enough.
Her: Also you will have to arrange for my stay and food you know. I mean, food ok, I can manage. But we keep hearing how Gurgaon isn't very safe, so...
Moi: (deep breath) Well, you know, we could always give you suggestions on where to take up accommodation, but you will have to kind of arrange for it yourself. But...
Her: But you people will help? Because Gurgaon's not very safe for an alone girl you know
Moi: I suppose...?
The conversation then went on for a bit, with me saying that we'll call her again on next week when my colleagues are in office also. As we were concluding the call:
Her: But tell me, do you think Gurgaon is safe for an alone girl [NB: I swear, that is the phrase she used.] to move to?
Moi: Well, I've lived here for 15 years because my family lives here. But we have a few girls working with us who live on their own here, and they haven't had any problems.
Her: Really? But isn't Gurgaon in, like, Haryana proper?
Moi: Umm, yes?
Her: Hmm. Are you going to call me tomorrow evening again?
Till today, I can never tell what he thinks. He's one of those passive, non-expressive men - stoic, strong and silent. He's also the most intelligent man I know, as well as the most upright. He loves children. And animals. He thinks an experience is worth it only if you learn something from it. He has a weird sense of humour which no one gets, and uses long fancy words - correctly. I love him to pieces. He's my father.
Baba's never told me in words that he disapproves of anything I'm doing. He'll drop subtle hints. Are you sure you want to do that? Will that career option really give you the satisfaction you're looking for? Maybe you should meet some people from some other field and see if they can guide you. Do you really plan to go out of the house wearing that? But if I ask him upfront, "Do you think I'm making the right decision?", I wait till the end of time, and I won't get an answer. And when I go ahead and take decisions that he doesn't approve of, he'll still support me in them.
He never buys anything for himself, just because he feels like it. He can be very stubborn. I just watched him put tape on his old, frayed wallet, because he likes it better than the brand-new one lying in his cupboard. Both his laptop and his phone are about as useful as a floppy disk, but he won't replace them because he's "looking at options". And I mean that very literally - he's going to get the specs of ALL possible options, compare them, and will hopefully come to a decision sometime in the next decade.
I've only ever seen him break down twice - once, when Dadu passed away; the second time, when Thamma passed away. Ask him what he wants for his birthday, and he'll say he'll have to think about it. Gift him the complete DVD set of the LOTR movies, and he'll look at you puzzled, wondering why you spent money on something so unnecessary. But the first chance he gets, he'll pull them out and settle down to watch.
Till a couple of years back, he was an out and out workaholic. As kids we only ever saw him on Sundays, and the family holidays he would make a point of planning and taking us on. It was Mamma who was always there for us, Mamma I related all my day's happenings to, Mamma who I considered my best friend. Recently, that's changed. Three years ago, Baba quit his job with the company he'd been with for 28 years, and decided to do his own thing. Not only has this made him a lot more relaxed and chilled about his work, it also means I've got to spend a lot more time with him since then - especially since he pretty much appointed me as an unpaid secretary in the initial months (I'm an expert at doing travel bookings, don'tcha know?). And since I also stated working around the same time, and started needing/wanting to talk about work-related stuff, he and I have grown a lot closer than we ever were when I was growing up. Which I cannot be thankful enough for.
In terms of personality, I'm like the mother - volatile, hyper, quick-tempered, and not the most reasonable person around. The brother's like Baba - calm, logical, passive, but impossible on the few occasions they lose their cool. Despite this, or maybe because of it really, the brother is Mama's boy through and through, while I'm so much more a Daddy's girl. It's him I now go to when I need to whine about anything, when I need advice about something, or even if it's just to talk about the day's mundane details.
Mother's Day and Father's Day are a huge deal in our home - because I make them that way. The brother goes along with it (mainly because the alternative is listening to me nag), the mother just likes the gifts and the meal out - no cooking for one day. And the father, well, who can tell what he thinks really?
Last year, the brother was in town on his summer vacation. We made this huge plan of going out for lunch on Father's Day. As we entered the mall, we saw a huge banner advertising a Father's Day special fest - for two weeks later. I'd mixed up the dates, so two Sundays later, we again got up early, made him a nice breakfast, and took him out for dinner. He got TWO Father's Days. And yeah, I think he quite enjoyed the extra attention.
Baba and I are both nightbirds. When I was 17, preparing for my Class XII Boards, and applying to colleges in the US, I'd come down to drink a glass of water or get a snack to munch while studying (or pretending to) late at night. I'd peep in on the father, and invariably find him in front of his laptop, having dozed off while working. I'd shake him awake, and make him go to bed. I once asked him what he would do when I went away to college - who would come take off his glasses for him?
Eight years later, I'm still living at home (and probably continue to, till the end of time). I still stay up late, and I still go to peep in on him most night, and find that he's dozed off while reading a book. I still take off his glasses, and switch off the light for him.
A lot of people are going to react to this post by asking why the big fuss about Father's Day; the same argument comes around on Valentine's Day and Mother's Day - why do we need one day in the year to express our love for loved ones, and it's all a bunch of commercialized propaganda anyway. Maybe so, but the fact remains that in getting caught up in the mundaneness of our everyday lives, we tend to forget to tell the people we love that we, well, love them. So three hours from now, I will get up (hopefully), and nag my mother into helping me make omelettes the way Baba likes them. And I will give him the book I ordered from Flipkart because he wanted it. And I will wait for the brother to come back from his silly internship, and then the four of us will go out for dinner. All this to celebrate Father's Day.
Because my Baba may not be someone you ever heard of, but he's the best kind of father any girl could ever ask for. And I really do want to remind him that I love him to pieces.
NB: I also tried introducing the celebration of Daughter's Day into the family - unfortunately, this did not succeed. Much sadness comes.
My rides to office have become very reminiscent of my school days. In school, it was a well-known fact that I never reached the bus stop on time. My poor kid brother would have to tell the bus driver every morning "meri Didi aa rahi hai", as I would come running round the corner (unless the father had agreed to drop me) and board the bus with everyone glaring at me.
My colleague and I share a cab to work these days, since neither of us drives. The cab we've hired drops us to work and goes to pick up kids from a summer camp, and since the driver can't be late for them, we have to leave much earlier than what we're used to as well.
I suspect he's soon going to lose his temper with me. My house is the first stop, and three out of five mornings, I exit from the house, he sees me and starts the engine, and then stops it again because I've had a facepalm moment and gone back in to get something I've forgotten.
Every morning, while I wait to pick up my colleague outside her apartment building, I see this group of security guards looking thoroughly bored while they're briefed for the day by their supervisor. Briefing over, a whole lot of backslapping and waving to each other happens, and then they disperse to take up their positions for the day in the various apartment buildings along that road.
The kitchen is the only room in the house the princess is not allowed to enter. Well, OK technically she's not allowed to climb on beds or walk on carpets either, but there's only so much you can discipline her.
Anyway, so last evening, she was as usual sitting just outside the kitchen, looking longingly inside, making a woeful expression as if she'd never been fed in her life (as opposed to one hour back). The mother, who disapproves of the way the brother and I say "kiiiiitcheeeen" very grimly to make her move away, decided to use logic with Kyra:
"Why you do kitchen kitchen? I spend all my time in the kitchen. Trust me, it's not all that exciting once you're in here."
Previous attempts at using logic with the princess:
"We don't watch you when you eat; why do you stare at us when we eat?"
