Being Indian has a new meaning! Joy and I were determined to exercise our voting rights this year so we got ourselves registered two years ago. Since we've been living in this city for over 6 years, it was a simple affair getting ourselves registered in the AP electoral process. This is the city where we live and work, so the development of this city is close to our heart.
Usually, we are lazy beings and nothing in wild horses can wake us up early (atleast not before 10:30 for Joy). However, polling day we wake up at 6 am and with all our mixed emotions of excitement, anger against the corrupt politicians, frustration at their inefficiency we set off. Luckily, it's just a 5 minute walk from our apartment. Once we reach the polling centre, we first go off to get the slips to find our serial number.
Once we get the slips, we stand in a queue to enter the ballot area. The person at the entrance calls out our serial number. There is a desk which has five people shuffling through papers. As our serial numbers are called, you see five hands shuffling in unison.
Once they find our numbers, we go forward to sign and get our finger stamped. We are handed across 2 slips. One for the Parliament and the other for Assembly. Finally the moment we have been waiting for. We enter the booth and cast our votes. The whole exercise takes around half an hour. Guess that's coz we went early.
While walking back home, we spot this restaurant selling North and South Indian breakfast. It's 8 am so we decide to have some breakfast. Joy orders Aloo Poori while I order some dahi vada and buttermilk. The food finally arrives. Joy seems pretty disappointed as he gets 3 pooris with one tiny bowl of subji that has one aloo in it and a bowl of coconut chutney. I guess they have demand for pooris and chutney here but that's not for Joy. He keeps ordering more sabji till he finishes all 3 pooris. So breakfast done and all happy with ourselves we head back home.
We have no idea if things will change, whether our roads or the city's infrastructure will improve or will there be all round development ... But we live in hope...that maybe, maybe someone might come along and think about the nation rather than filling their own coffers.
Let's hope so. After all hope is what makes the world go round.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Men Can Bitch
Well! Another one of those days, Friday the 13th...I am neck deep in work trying to finish off a zillion things before I can rush off to shop for our weekend party with Joy. The phone rings persistently and I see that it's a call from Joy. I pick it up and I hear voices at the other end. Keep saying hello and realize he must have dialled my number by accident. Seems like he is in a deep conversation with a few folks (men at work).
I am about to hang up when I hear some words. That sparks my interest and suddenly I am all ears. The guys go on and on about their MIL, their wives, their lives and things they wish I would never hear. Well, I almost heard it all...till I suddenly get disconnected. And to think that there are folks who think that only women bitch. You should have heard those guys. Real entertainment listening to them talk!
My colleagues and I have a good laugh about it. Ash informs me that Indian men generally bitch about their FIL and European men bitch about their MIL. So we figure out that Joy might be partly European...
Well, another year of married life passing by and me wonders what the Pink Sena folks will do if they know we got married on V-Day. Will they ban us as marrying on that day is against Indian culture or will they ban my old folks who came up with that date after religiously consulting the astrologers and pundits for the most auspicious date? Me thinks they should have no issues. After all they are planning to marry off any couples they see that day. Me wonders whether that includes gay couples too.
Me reads that the Pink Diktat has come as a godsend for couples whose parents are opposing the match. My good friend in another continent wishes that the Pink Sena had been active two years ago. It would have saved them so much of effort to convince the in-laws.
I am about to hang up when I hear some words. That sparks my interest and suddenly I am all ears. The guys go on and on about their MIL, their wives, their lives and things they wish I would never hear. Well, I almost heard it all...till I suddenly get disconnected. And to think that there are folks who think that only women bitch. You should have heard those guys. Real entertainment listening to them talk!
My colleagues and I have a good laugh about it. Ash informs me that Indian men generally bitch about their FIL and European men bitch about their MIL. So we figure out that Joy might be partly European...
Well, another year of married life passing by and me wonders what the Pink Sena folks will do if they know we got married on V-Day. Will they ban us as marrying on that day is against Indian culture or will they ban my old folks who came up with that date after religiously consulting the astrologers and pundits for the most auspicious date? Me thinks they should have no issues. After all they are planning to marry off any couples they see that day. Me wonders whether that includes gay couples too.
Me reads that the Pink Diktat has come as a godsend for couples whose parents are opposing the match. My good friend in another continent wishes that the Pink Sena had been active two years ago. It would have saved them so much of effort to convince the in-laws.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
One of those days
It's been one of those days trying to strike a balance while juggling multiple activities. And then the phone rings, distracting me while I am trying to complete random tasks. I say Hello and a voice at the other end squeaks, "Hello, Sir! I am calling from B***** Insurance. Do you have a minute?" Of course I don't have a minute and have never possessed time.
I am ready to explode, but politely inform the squeaky lady that I am not a man and my voice definitely doesn't sound like a Sir. She then unceremoniously proceeds to ask me my "good name". That's it. I can't handle this anymore. I inform her that I don't possess a good name or a bad name and hang up.
I am ready to explode, but politely inform the squeaky lady that I am not a man and my voice definitely doesn't sound like a Sir. She then unceremoniously proceeds to ask me my "good name". That's it. I can't handle this anymore. I inform her that I don't possess a good name or a bad name and hang up.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tales of Sanju Krishna
Well, to begin, Joy and I usually fill our plates with a hastily prepared meal and plonk ourselves in front of the television. However, when my parents pay us a visit, our dining table is converted from a computer table/work zone/dresser/knick knack holder/utility section and so on to a dining table where we get to feast on a real elaborate meal.
No meal is complete without the conversation that goes along with it and before the parents arrive, Joy always tells me Aabar cha baganer golpo shuru hobe (tea garden stories will start again) and acts real bored. Since Dad retired before Joy and I met, he keeps ribbing me whether the stories are true or not as they seem too farfetched from our humdrum city life. I am sure he must be secretly enjoying it as he has numerous comments to pass. Well, my Dad and Mom have been associated with the tea gardens almost all their lives so their stories usually centre around life in the tea gardens of Assam, Dooars and Darjeeling, the clubs, the flower shows, the picnics, the bungalows and of course the numerous interesting characters you get to meet and so on.
My parents were posted at this garden called Rajmai in the late 70’s. A young chap called Sanju Krishna joined the same garden as the Assistant Manager. It was his first job after college. The stories that went around were that his Dad was influential and the Director of a company somewhere in the Andaman’s and that was how Sanju Krishna landed this job. Well, not to say he was bad…in fact he was well liked by one and all as he was charming and sophisticated. He quickly gained a fan following among the female tea workers as he was amiable towards everyone and a great source of entertainment due to his happy go lucky and carefree attitude.
He was fond of music and blew up his first salary on a record player and records of Jim Reeves, Cliff Richard, Abba, Boney M and so on. That left him with no money for other basic expenses. In the tea gardens, you are provided with furnished bungalows, servants, transport, and several other amenities. You have vegetable gardens where you can grow veggies, but you still need to buy your own groceries such as rice, oil, pulses, bread, and so on from the local grocer in the tea garden or from the nearest town that is usually an hour or two away.
Since he was perpetually broke, the cook from his bungalow would arrive at our doorstep almost every morning and borrow 4 slices of bread, 2 eggs, a glass of milk and whatever were the requirements. Sometimes, instead of sending the cook, Sanju Krishna would arrive from the back door, enter the kitchen, make an omelette and toast a few slices of bread, eat and vanish without my Mom noticing his presence. The bungalows were large and rambling and had a pantry attached to the main house. To get to the kitchen you had to cross this long veranda so most of the times the memsahibs were unaware of the coming and goings at the back of the bungalow.
Club nights in the tea gardens meant a strict dress code of formals only. Sanju Krishna used to always look dapper in the various blazers and suits that he owned. Late one Saturday night in early January, Sanju was returning from the club in his brand new Ambassador that he had recently bought. It was a real cold and foggy night as is the case during that time of the year in Assam. Suddenly, there was an accident in the empty tea garden roads where you don’t even see a soul at that time of the night.
My father who had arrived much earlier was woken up by the Chowkidar and could hear lots of voices near the main gate. He came out to see a large bus in front of the bungalow, which is a rare sight indeed as public transport in the narrow roads of the tea gardens is a rare sight indeed. On seeing my dad, the bus driver comes running towards him and says that there has been an accident with the Burra Sahib (Manager) of the tea garden. My dad enters the bus to see Sanju Krishna (the Chhota Sahib) sleeping.
It seems that after the accident, Sanju Krishna got down from the car, walked some distance to the main road where the night buses ply all over Assam and hailed a passing bus. He convinced the bus driver he was the Burra Sahib of the tea garden and that’s how the bus managed to navigate through the small and winding roads to reach the tea garden to drop him off. My dad paid the driver and sent him off. Then he did a thorough checkup of Sanju Krishna to see if there were any bruises or broken bones and could not find any. Then he asked him where the car was and what happened that night. This is what Sanju Krishna had to say.
He was returning that night after an enjoyable club night (movie, dinner, a couple of drinks and of course good company). Suddenly, a beautiful lady in white appears in the middle of the road, which is located in the middle of a thick jungle. To avoid hitting her, he swerves to the right and the car lands up in a tree. Sanju Krishna manages to get out of the car safe, walks a couple of miles to the main road and hails the bus to drop him off. My dad asks him what happened to the lady. Sanju Krishna says she had disappeared by the time he managed to get himself out of the car. Since it was late, my dad decided that next morning they would go to the accident site with the garden tractor and get the car. So they go off to sleep.
Next morning, Dad and Sanju Krishna go in a jeep to the accident location. The tractor follows them. When they reach the accident site, my Dad sees a large crowd gathered at that spot and that the car is halfway up the trunk of a large tree. Everyone wonders how a car can get up so high. It’s a mystery. Somebody, in the crowd mentions that definitely there would have been no survivors. The laborers manage to secure the car with ropes and after a lot of struggle manage to get the car safely down. Everyone wonders whether the car will start. The key is still in the ignition. Sanju Krishna gets in, starts the car and drives off.
No meal is complete without the conversation that goes along with it and before the parents arrive, Joy always tells me Aabar cha baganer golpo shuru hobe (tea garden stories will start again) and acts real bored. Since Dad retired before Joy and I met, he keeps ribbing me whether the stories are true or not as they seem too farfetched from our humdrum city life. I am sure he must be secretly enjoying it as he has numerous comments to pass. Well, my Dad and Mom have been associated with the tea gardens almost all their lives so their stories usually centre around life in the tea gardens of Assam, Dooars and Darjeeling, the clubs, the flower shows, the picnics, the bungalows and of course the numerous interesting characters you get to meet and so on.
My parents were posted at this garden called Rajmai in the late 70’s. A young chap called Sanju Krishna joined the same garden as the Assistant Manager. It was his first job after college. The stories that went around were that his Dad was influential and the Director of a company somewhere in the Andaman’s and that was how Sanju Krishna landed this job. Well, not to say he was bad…in fact he was well liked by one and all as he was charming and sophisticated. He quickly gained a fan following among the female tea workers as he was amiable towards everyone and a great source of entertainment due to his happy go lucky and carefree attitude.
He was fond of music and blew up his first salary on a record player and records of Jim Reeves, Cliff Richard, Abba, Boney M and so on. That left him with no money for other basic expenses. In the tea gardens, you are provided with furnished bungalows, servants, transport, and several other amenities. You have vegetable gardens where you can grow veggies, but you still need to buy your own groceries such as rice, oil, pulses, bread, and so on from the local grocer in the tea garden or from the nearest town that is usually an hour or two away.
Since he was perpetually broke, the cook from his bungalow would arrive at our doorstep almost every morning and borrow 4 slices of bread, 2 eggs, a glass of milk and whatever were the requirements. Sometimes, instead of sending the cook, Sanju Krishna would arrive from the back door, enter the kitchen, make an omelette and toast a few slices of bread, eat and vanish without my Mom noticing his presence. The bungalows were large and rambling and had a pantry attached to the main house. To get to the kitchen you had to cross this long veranda so most of the times the memsahibs were unaware of the coming and goings at the back of the bungalow.
Club nights in the tea gardens meant a strict dress code of formals only. Sanju Krishna used to always look dapper in the various blazers and suits that he owned. Late one Saturday night in early January, Sanju was returning from the club in his brand new Ambassador that he had recently bought. It was a real cold and foggy night as is the case during that time of the year in Assam. Suddenly, there was an accident in the empty tea garden roads where you don’t even see a soul at that time of the night.
My father who had arrived much earlier was woken up by the Chowkidar and could hear lots of voices near the main gate. He came out to see a large bus in front of the bungalow, which is a rare sight indeed as public transport in the narrow roads of the tea gardens is a rare sight indeed. On seeing my dad, the bus driver comes running towards him and says that there has been an accident with the Burra Sahib (Manager) of the tea garden. My dad enters the bus to see Sanju Krishna (the Chhota Sahib) sleeping.
It seems that after the accident, Sanju Krishna got down from the car, walked some distance to the main road where the night buses ply all over Assam and hailed a passing bus. He convinced the bus driver he was the Burra Sahib of the tea garden and that’s how the bus managed to navigate through the small and winding roads to reach the tea garden to drop him off. My dad paid the driver and sent him off. Then he did a thorough checkup of Sanju Krishna to see if there were any bruises or broken bones and could not find any. Then he asked him where the car was and what happened that night. This is what Sanju Krishna had to say.
He was returning that night after an enjoyable club night (movie, dinner, a couple of drinks and of course good company). Suddenly, a beautiful lady in white appears in the middle of the road, which is located in the middle of a thick jungle. To avoid hitting her, he swerves to the right and the car lands up in a tree. Sanju Krishna manages to get out of the car safe, walks a couple of miles to the main road and hails the bus to drop him off. My dad asks him what happened to the lady. Sanju Krishna says she had disappeared by the time he managed to get himself out of the car. Since it was late, my dad decided that next morning they would go to the accident site with the garden tractor and get the car. So they go off to sleep.
Next morning, Dad and Sanju Krishna go in a jeep to the accident location. The tractor follows them. When they reach the accident site, my Dad sees a large crowd gathered at that spot and that the car is halfway up the trunk of a large tree. Everyone wonders how a car can get up so high. It’s a mystery. Somebody, in the crowd mentions that definitely there would have been no survivors. The laborers manage to secure the car with ropes and after a lot of struggle manage to get the car safely down. Everyone wonders whether the car will start. The key is still in the ignition. Sanju Krishna gets in, starts the car and drives off.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Spooked in the ESA
Each jaunt onsite, I have called ESA my home for a month or so. I absolutely love this chain of hotels for their comfort and the main reason being they have a kitchenette attached to every room. Since I absolutely detest anything bready, I prefer to buy my own groceries and cook myself a very Bengali fishy meal. Grocery shopping is an absolute pleasure with the sheer variety available.
Well to begin, this summer I landed myself a new project onsite and checked into ESA for over a month. During the day, slogged away at work and at night back to the hotel to cook, eat and sleep. This was the boring story of my life…until one night something strange happened. I was chatting away on my laptop around 11 pm with friends and family back home in India and had placed a glass of orange juice just next to the laptop. Suddenly, the glass began to move. I checked if there was any water underneath the glass because sometimes glasses shift positions if there is water inside, but this glass had no water. It was absolutely dry. The windows were closed so couldn’t be the breeze. I just ignored it and continued chatting.
The glass moved again (this time a considerable distance). I mustered up all my courage and moved the glass back to its original position. It moved again. I literally froze at this point of time and could actually feel a strange sensation of being watched at the back of my neck. I managed to get up and place my glass in the sink and switch on all the lights. I called up few of my colleagues in the other rooms and they immediately came over. I could barely sleep that night with all the lights on and had a miserable day at work the next morning.
A week or so passed and things appeared to have gone back to normal. The weather had turned sultry and humid, so I switched on the AC located near the window and sat down to watch a movie on TV. Barely 2 minutes passed and I heard the AC going off. I got up to check and saw that the knob had been turned off. I found that strange and turned the knob back to Hi-Cool and sat down again. It went off again. I called up the reception to check as sometimes they regulate it to cut costs. They informed me that they were not the ones turning it off. I checked with my colleagues in the other rooms and it seemed to be working fine. Made me wonder who was turning the knob off? And to think that back home I would ensure that it was pitch dark before I could sleep. However, at the ESA it was becoming a regular feature for me to sleep with all the lights on.
The following weekend went sightseeing to all the beautiful places nearby. Reached the hotel room around 11 pm and before dozing off, I was channel surfing to find something interesting to watch. I started watching an episode of “Friends”, my all time favorite. Then suddenly I am not sure what happened. I was transported to the early 20th century.
There was this strange flowery wallpaper on the walls. Reminded me of the old English movies I have watched. The furniture was old fashioned and a stove-top seemed to have replaced the refrigerator. There was this table at the centre of the room, where the ironing board was placed and it had a wicker basket filled with fruits. A gentleman with a long, white face and an equally longer nose sat at the table and was reading a newspaper. There was this equally hefty lady with short hair (looked like a white wig) busy spreading marmalade on bread for breakfast. It looked like a morning room and suddenly another girl in black appeared. She looked like the parlour maid and was busy cooking something at the far corner of the room.
I realized with a jolt that this was not TV but my room with a different look. The room had totally changed and I had been transported to a different era. I wondered whether I was dreaming but my eyes were wide awake. I closed my eyes and opened them again but the scene remained. I tried to scream but no voice came out. I realized that I had to get up and switch on my bedside lamp and then the apparition would disappear but I just couldn’t. It was like something had taken a hold of me and was preventing me from getting up or moving how much hard I tried.
It seemed like eternity where I was watching a different world play like a movie in front of my eyes. Finally, I managed to pull myself together and switch on the light. My room changed back to normal that instant. I looked at the watch and saw it was exactly midnight.
Well to begin, this summer I landed myself a new project onsite and checked into ESA for over a month. During the day, slogged away at work and at night back to the hotel to cook, eat and sleep. This was the boring story of my life…until one night something strange happened. I was chatting away on my laptop around 11 pm with friends and family back home in India and had placed a glass of orange juice just next to the laptop. Suddenly, the glass began to move. I checked if there was any water underneath the glass because sometimes glasses shift positions if there is water inside, but this glass had no water. It was absolutely dry. The windows were closed so couldn’t be the breeze. I just ignored it and continued chatting.
The glass moved again (this time a considerable distance). I mustered up all my courage and moved the glass back to its original position. It moved again. I literally froze at this point of time and could actually feel a strange sensation of being watched at the back of my neck. I managed to get up and place my glass in the sink and switch on all the lights. I called up few of my colleagues in the other rooms and they immediately came over. I could barely sleep that night with all the lights on and had a miserable day at work the next morning.
A week or so passed and things appeared to have gone back to normal. The weather had turned sultry and humid, so I switched on the AC located near the window and sat down to watch a movie on TV. Barely 2 minutes passed and I heard the AC going off. I got up to check and saw that the knob had been turned off. I found that strange and turned the knob back to Hi-Cool and sat down again. It went off again. I called up the reception to check as sometimes they regulate it to cut costs. They informed me that they were not the ones turning it off. I checked with my colleagues in the other rooms and it seemed to be working fine. Made me wonder who was turning the knob off? And to think that back home I would ensure that it was pitch dark before I could sleep. However, at the ESA it was becoming a regular feature for me to sleep with all the lights on.
The following weekend went sightseeing to all the beautiful places nearby. Reached the hotel room around 11 pm and before dozing off, I was channel surfing to find something interesting to watch. I started watching an episode of “Friends”, my all time favorite. Then suddenly I am not sure what happened. I was transported to the early 20th century.
There was this strange flowery wallpaper on the walls. Reminded me of the old English movies I have watched. The furniture was old fashioned and a stove-top seemed to have replaced the refrigerator. There was this table at the centre of the room, where the ironing board was placed and it had a wicker basket filled with fruits. A gentleman with a long, white face and an equally longer nose sat at the table and was reading a newspaper. There was this equally hefty lady with short hair (looked like a white wig) busy spreading marmalade on bread for breakfast. It looked like a morning room and suddenly another girl in black appeared. She looked like the parlour maid and was busy cooking something at the far corner of the room.
I realized with a jolt that this was not TV but my room with a different look. The room had totally changed and I had been transported to a different era. I wondered whether I was dreaming but my eyes were wide awake. I closed my eyes and opened them again but the scene remained. I tried to scream but no voice came out. I realized that I had to get up and switch on my bedside lamp and then the apparition would disappear but I just couldn’t. It was like something had taken a hold of me and was preventing me from getting up or moving how much hard I tried.
It seemed like eternity where I was watching a different world play like a movie in front of my eyes. Finally, I managed to pull myself together and switch on the light. My room changed back to normal that instant. I looked at the watch and saw it was exactly midnight.
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