Brief Encounters: A moment of ethical dilemma

When you are not enclosed in an air-conditioned vehicle, the drill of treading in Delhi’s jammed roads on a sweaty July afternoon takes torture to a whole new level. Sitting in an endlessly stuttering auto-rickshaw, waiting for the signal to go green, I plugged in my earphones and switched to coke studio playlist to drown out the traffic cacophony. Just as Lucky Ali started humming into ‘O Sanam’, someone tapped on my knees.

CAUTION: Jargons ahead!

Business meetings might not be as fancy as the power suits of the attendees. They involve a lot of multi-tasking between grasping the colorful chevrons dancing on screen, deciphering graphs, crunching numbers,  and above all understanding/delivering a story that can bring us close to a decision. Amid all this chaos, imagine a clown pops into the room, juggling balls on a unicycle. How’s that for a distraction? Well, sometimes we don’t need a clown. Overused corporate jargons do that task.

Unfortunately or not, in a company, jargons spread like an epidemic. They mix into our vocabulary like salt in water, and before we know it, we are already using it our official and even informal conversations. In fact, sometimes people use them deliberately to pass as professionals. These jargons might sound smart at times, and some of them are even too harmless to notice. While others are more like speed breakers in a formula one race track, unnecessary and fatal to a conversation.

Here’s a list of 12 weirdest jargons that I have come across in conversations and articles:

Dear Nepal

I hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits. No. Hope isn’t the right word. Hope is timid, and expresses neither conviction nor promise. I’d rather pray than hope. A prayer has faith, a cosmic push towards a better future. And I am not sure about the best of spirits either. How do you carry the idealistic burden of keeping high spirits despite life destructing catastrophes? So I pray. I pray this letter shares some of your pain and restores faith in the struggle that is life.

Sitting miles away from you, I just felt the ripples of the doom that was cast upon on you, and it was heart shattering enough. The feeling of ground shaking beneath my feat, the sensation of walls shuddering against my back, the realization that my home, my safe place, wasn't a safe place after all, brought me face to face with the fragility of life as we know it. It is funny and horrifying at the same time how for a couple of days I could not sit at one place without flinching at every movement around me. I would periodically check the ceiling fans, chandeliers or mirrors for a sign of aftershock. The long crack on one of the beams in my house, that wasn't visible till a couple of days ago, now threatens me and mocks me for my erstwhile plans of adorning that place with decorative lights. The memory of sitting in a corner, shivering with fear, and waiting for the tremors to stop still gives me sleepless nights. My mind inadvertently draws safety plans and I evaluate all feasible options to take my family to a safe place in case of any emergency. On the outside, all of us wear a mask of nonchalance and share the stories of our experience with the earthquake like last night’s episode of a thrilling television series. But on the inside, we fear and question, ‘Are we close to the end yet? Is this how everything will go to dust?’

Wanderer

Riches and rags

Once in a year, the Oberoi grounds become a mini shopping hub for Delhi. The whole place is adorned with vibrant handicrafts, gorgeous garments and mouth-watering food. It's a pseudo robin hood event that takes money from the rich (by selling them expensive goods of course) and gives some of the loot to the Blind Relief Association (it is their initiative after all). Although a bit heavy on one's regular festival budget, this mela is easily a must-visit because of its sheer spread of amazing gifts, decorations, clothes... You name it. 

Enchanted by such abundance of colors, I made up my mind to do some serious shopping, hiding all guilt of overspending behind the pretense of charity. Picking and rejecting knickknacks from amid this grandeur, I stumbled upon one stall which rendered all the glamour away.

These were colors too. But they narrated a different story, where glamour was not in the riches but in freedom. Where light was not hanging from expensive chandeliers but glimmering in the eyes that desired that luxury.

To us, who take their possessions for granted at times, was this a painting or a mirror? I wonder.

Brief encounters: Elevator hunk

Like every morning I boarded the elevator dreading office as usual, when a distinctly handsome guy entered the same lift. So you know how it is always good to have a room with a view, the universe had strategically placed me at one such spot inside that 15 people carrier. Like a shy indian girl, I secretly admired him for an eternity of a few seconds, wondering if he by any chance he was in my company. His ironed formals told me that he was definitely not from Google, and lack of a blazer confirmed he wasn't from Michael Page either. He could be in Oracle or Amex but then we had passed those floors. While I was busy playing Sherlock, he spoke up. 

It's a hell of a thing killing a man

I paced around my room in worried steps. It was one of those rare moments when I saw cushions and papers strewn around the room but didn’t fidget to put them back in place. A restlessness surged in my heart and overpowered all the compulsive instincts. Once again I looked at the papers that detailed my next move. I hated such crossroads. More than a crossroad, right now it felt like walking on a tight rope, I was doomed to fall on either side. I sat on the floor and hid my face in my hands, as if that would hide me from the trouble that lingered in the air. I heard the door of my room open and was relieved to see Zahir. 

“I can’t do it” I threw my hands in the air in surrender, “I can’t kill Jay”

The Illusion of Wisdom

Wisdom makes you old, or does it come with age, I could never understand. But the irony is, when you are wise enough to know what’s right, you might have already lost the time to do the right thing. We lose many battles to win a few. And in the end, when our life has nothing but a history, we revisit its pages and pause at the unwritten words.

Why do we fall, Bruce?

I stumbled upon this status message that a friend of mine had put up on her wall, and it got me talking to myself.

‘Why do we fall?’

‘Gravity?’

‘No Kidding’

‘I am not kidding. Remember, the apple… the Newton guy in white wig who screwed our lives with his laws of motion... in Physics?’

‘Ok fine. But weren’t you supposed to say “So that we can learn to pick ourselves up”, like Alfred in Dark Knight?’

‘I wish I could, but I don’t want too’

‘Wow! I am trying to get philosophical and you, dumping Confucius or Hume, quote Phoebe Buffay?’

‘Haha! I quote her as I see you are not listening to what I am saying and still playing that movie in your mind. We’ll talk when you have time for me’

‘Ok. You have it. You have my attention. But please don’t give me that gravity shit again or I’ll switch you off’

‘Well gravity sure is an answer, in a way. Before I answer why we fall, tell me why do we don’t? ’

By the power vested in me

Being on the move for studies or job never allowed me to do the paperwork necessary for becoming a part of the Universal Adult Franchise, officially. Or maybe I used my so called nomadic life and the abject political scandals as an excuse to stay away from the ‘dirty’ politics and treat voting day as a holiday of sorts, chanting ‘No one can help this country’. But not this year.

The Homemade Bappa

One of the many fights that I have with my sister is over our favorite Gods. Yes, we Hindus have so many Gods that we can actually afford to fight with our siblings over them when we have nothing better to do. It has become kind of a family activity for us during the festive seasons. I claim that Lord Krishna is the best, while my sister roots for Lord Ganesha, ‘He is the cutest’ being her motto. Hence, there is an eternal Kanhu vs. Gannu fight at the Verma residence.

The 80's kid

That day of the year which God cleverly marked for us to do some introspection is our birthday. It’s the day when we open the log of all the things we gained and lost in the last 365 days. And sometimes that audit extends to the years lived so far. A recap of how everything around us, including ourselves, has evolved with time draws a colorful scrap book in our minds, and it spares no shades. That’s when we realize how far we have come in our lives.

The Unqualified Addict

I hate shopping. There. I said it. But today was different. May be I had a suppressed shopper gene that bloomed so late. And now it’s insatiable… well at least as far as shoes are concerned. I want them. I want them all, in all colors and designs. I know I am not a shopaholic yet, but who knows this might just be the beginning.

Ye Karvan @ Inception 2013

When the GIM chapter came to an end, I looked back at the two years spent with some really amazing people. People who became friends for lifetime, who were the life of that place. People who gave me some wonderful memories. GIM wouldn't have been the same without them. So here's a song dedicated to all of them. I hope to come with a proper music video soon. Till then, here is a clipping from an event called Inception, where I performed this song. It has been written and composed by me. In the video you'll see Aarti and Krithika giving the vocals and me attempting to strum some chords ;)

Before We Say Goodbye

Life’s but a journey. This has been said by quite a number of writers in different ways, in different languages, and is felt by all of us, especially in moments like these when we stand at the edge of one phase, ready to jump into another. It is amazing how faces that we never saw before suddenly became an important part of our lives, our highs, lows, photo albums, and their names got written with indelible ink in our memoirs. We enter new seasons with every new person we meet. Some people are like summer, free, independent, inviting and exciting. Some are like winter, cold, dark, reserved and harsh, if not in tone but in attitude. Some people are like the rain, relieving, refreshing, and reviving, taking away all the scorches that the heat of time left on you, making everything around you pleasant. They give way to spring, for new joys to blossom, new friends to come in. We live these seasons, see life in its different colors and flavors, sunny and crisp, cold, dark and rough, wet and comforting, flourishing and happy. We collect experiences, lessons and philosophies and keep moving. Without them our life would be monochromatic. Some people become so special that you wish you can somehow keep them in your pocket and take where ever you go. They are that page from where your story was never the same. They are someone you always want to fall back on whenever you get tired of walking. They are ageless for you, they are not just seasons, in fact they make every season beautiful. If it’s a hot summer, they’ll be the soothing breeze. If it’s a cold and dark winter, they’ll be the comfort of warm sunshine, if there’s rain, they’ll be the fragrance of wet earth. These are the gems you should never let go as they are what you’ve truly earned when you invested your heart and soul in life. They’ll be the ones that might become a tree when you need rest when you proceed in your endless journey. So let this farewell season be like Spring when you shed all your illusions, inhibitions, doubts, hatred, ego and just prepare for the new life to arrive while holding hands with friends you’d want to cherish all your life. Tell them that you love them, before it’s too late and secretly make a promise to be there for them, as they’ll be there too.

Is Santa for Real?

Knowingly or unknowingly innocence gets killed in all of us. Somewhere deep down we regret that a lot. Remember the days when Santa Clause and Tooth Fairy were true and one of the much awaited visitors? As we grew up, these angelic characters faded away behind the curtains of so-called reality. Either we caught our parents secretly putting gifts for us tagging it with Santa’s signature or we got mocked down by our friends for believing in these fantasy creatures. Both ways, a little hope is us died and suddenly world became more ‘practical’. I don’t say that we shouldn’t face the reality and should always remain in a make believe world where everything is ideal, but I beg you to keep that child alive in you, the child that makes you believe in miracles. Because it is this child that will help you sail across the most troubled storms of your life.

Here’s an article I came across. It’s about an eight year old girl called Virginia, who was hell bent on keeping her Santa real, despite being teased by her friends. She didn’t want to give up on her belief in miracles. Somehow I could relate to it. I guess you might also spot a little part of you hidden in this article.

Back in 1897, New York’s newspaper, Sun, was the most credible source of information to people. It was believed that ‘It’s true if it’s in the Sun’. So, little Virginia sent a letter to the editor of Sun, asking him to clarify once and for all if Santa was for real. Here is her letter and what the editor Francis Pharcellus Church replied to her. Both of these letters went into print and became history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial.

Virginia’s letter: Dear Editor, I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.Papa says,  'If you see it in THE SUN it's so'. Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus? VIRGINIA O'HANLON. 115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET Response of the Editor: VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism  of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can  be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether  they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere  insect,an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him,  as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and  knowledge. Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and  generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your   life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were  no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS.  There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable  this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.   The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies!  You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on  Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus  coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no  sign that there is no Santa Claus.  The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.  Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no  proof that  they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders  there are unseen and unseeable in the world. You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is  a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united  strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy,  poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal  beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there  is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand  years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will  continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

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Merry Christmas friends

Don’t stop believing in miracles. There is a Santa who sees all the good and bad you do, and he rewards you with miracles when you need them the most.

The Big City Therapy

Big cities are a blessing sometimes. Living in a small place like Goa, that too in a meager fifty something acre campus, our scope of thinking gets limited. Sometimes it doesn’t even cross the hostel room where one can spend hours wondering about things that are may be just a myth. Myths that haunt, that divert us from reality and restrict us from looking forward to something. Since there is almost negligible exposure to the outer world, these thoughts create a claustrophobic cell around us, which, after sometime, make it impossible to find a crevice that may let some light in. Things just keep getting darker. At such a time, coming to a big city, sprawling with people, embedded with tall structures, rushing at fast rhythm which leaves no time to stay put and think, strangely becomes the source of the kind of oxygen you badly needed. In the crowd you feel tiny and all the troubles that you imagined you had, seem to dissipate in it. All your focus goes into matching your pace with that city. Unlike the walls of the hostel room that echoed your thoughts, the buildings around absorb them to a great extent. The voice in your mind is silenced by the noise everywhere.  Now sometimes, this is more relaxing than sitting on a beach at sunset. Truly said, everything has its own benefits and excess of everything is… dangerous.

(In)Carnation

On an eventful Thursday, which we girls dedicated to various indulgences like wandering, eating and shopping, I came out of a crowded mall in Panjim hand tied with shopping bags. A short spell of rain had given the road outside a rejuvenating makeover and everything glistened as the droplets retired from their surfaces into the soil that flaunted its new scent. As my friends stirred around to find our car in the parking lot, I got imprinted by an innocently beautiful white carnation sitting coyly in the basket of a flower seller. I just couldn’t move on. So I bought it, for myself and no one else. And now, it soothes my room with its tranquil beauty.

Carnation belongs to a family of flora, Dianthus that means ‘a heavenly flower’ or ‘the flower of the Gods’. The effect it has in my room justifies the claim. In the limited luxury of my hostel room, I could just offer an empty mineral water bottle to this flower as a vase. But it compliantly adapted to it and now smiles at me as it dances with playful monsoon breeze that pays regular visits through my window. I never thought that looking at a simple flower that seldom gets unnoticed in bouquets, can be so delightful. It seemed as if it understood my displeasure and yet it encouraged me to smile.

Like many other flowers, each type of carnation stands for a meaning. Where light red carnations speak of admiration, dark red announce deep love and affection. The white ones whisper pure love and good luck, while purple ones are for whimsicality. The pink carnations have a holier significance. It is said that when Lord Jesus carried the Cross, Virgin Mary painfully shed tears and the places where these tears fell, carnations sprang up and bloomed. So, in many countries, pink carnations are gifted to mothers on Mother’s Day! It’s so amazing to know that how many meanings and stories are associated with so many things around us that we don’t even notice in our daily lives. I guess it is truly sad, ‘God is in details’. And right now, I am in love with this white carnation that is for me and only me.

Summer of 2012 - 1

After boarding Goa bound flights since last one year, boarding Delhi-Mumbai plane was nothing less than a cultural shock. In flights going to Goa, our co-passengers are mix of holidaying families, honeymooning couples and ultra-excited youngsters looking forward to a dil-chahta-hai-flavour holiday. And we, the students of Goa Institute of Management (yes we are real and normal students who STUDY here, and our classes are NOT conducted in the beach shacks… mind it), appear to be a depressed bunch of overdressed people. But flight G8-229 showed us how we have still not reached the pinnacle of sophistication, despite one year in a ‘serious’ management school. Being a Monday morning flight, the plane had an overwhelming attendance of erstwhile ‘blackberry boys’. The skilled and high income section of our workforce, dressed in crisply creased western business formals, titter-tatting on their smartphones with one hand and carrying all varieties of laptop bags in the other. I and my friend Karishma looked at them and then at each other and then at ourselves, ending the tour with a hesitating gulp. Same thought echoed in our thought clouds, ‘Dude! We are so not corporate material yet… And that is our future!!’

Anyways, that did make us feel a li’l younger amongst our co-passengers. We hurriedly grabbed our seats and even before the flight took off, both of us dozed off. I woke up to a ting, a sound which the push button above your head politely and sophistically makes to call the stewardess for you. Outside the window, a serene stream of white cotton candy clouds rested peacefully, giving us an illusion of motionlessness. That soothing picture was suddenly interrupted by a rocky mountainous terrain, just like the entry of a villain in a hindi film immediately after a romantic duet. But they seemed more like dependable guards than evil sentinels, as following them were the high rising buildings of Mumbai suburbs interjected by comparatively grass level slums. With this sinuous skyline I knew that we have reached Mumbai.

As I thumped my Delhi-feet into the Mumbai airport, a huge sign with a Gateway of India picture greeted us saying ‘Welcome to Mumbai’. I am always happy when I come to this city. Although I don’t know this place well, I can never be an alien to this land where I took my first steps, which would be somewhere in Goregaon East. We had no time to rest as we had to immediately proceed with our shelter hunt in Thane. So we took a cab, loaded our massive luggage and commenced with our project. Traffic jammed Mumbai kept surprising us with a random sequence of warm and cold breezes and salt-dunes replaced slums and buildings, while we tried to keep a mental record of what came when, Santa Cruz, Ville Parle, Andheri etc. etc. Finally, sometime after paying the toll tax, we reached Thane.

We spent the whole day searching for accommodation. At everyplace we went to, after calculating its distance from office and station, and our monthly payable, I would try to form a mental picture of me inhabiting that place. Some places fell short on surroundings, while the others smugly mocked our tiny pockets. Unfortunately, the search is still on, but not for long I hope. I have seven hours long induction to attend tomorrow, and unlike classrooms, I can’t afford to sleep during it. So here I am, signing off from the first post of my ‘Summer of 2012’. Ciao!