Soulspeak

After earning the reputation of being one of those ‘happier-with-her-job’ among my PG batchmates, I now officially denounce my position.

My current situation and state of mind just go to prove, yet again, how full of ironies and contradictions life is. The story goes like this: During the days of campus recruitment at our institute, I wasn’t particularly kicked about the job offer I got. Let’s leave aside the reasons for now. I could open a can of worms, but I’ll be nice. After all I’ve been surviving on their wages for three quarters of a year now.

So…Gathering all the optimism I could, I came here, baggage and all. As time passed, I began to see the positives in my work profile and the company’s culture. Enthusiasm crept in too, and before I knew it, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. My colleagues and seniors seemed fairly happy with me too; and all seemed well.

So what happened? What went wrong, and when? I shall, here, try to find out. The thread is more or less clear in my mind, actually.

First, I was moved to a different profile. But hey, who complained then. It was a profile which in reality was more promising than ever. But none of what I foresaw seemed to be coming true. I guess this is what happens when your expectations soar…you’re bound to be disappointed. The converse is true too: which probably explains my contentment with the job in the beginning – a time when I expected nothing from it.

So here I am, in a ‘promising’ profile, where nothing seems to be moving. I do not want to blame anyone or anything but fate. I definitely do not want to blame myself for being stuck in a ‘new’ business venture for which the company seems to be as unprepared as it can be. Do not want to blame myself simply because nearly all big decisions and actions are beyond the scope of my work. And after all this, I also I get paid peanuts. No, this is not one of those standard rants against one’s remuneration. By industry standards, what I get really is peanuts. Our oh-so-efficient Human Resources department has even sheepishly admitted this.

So what else is wrong? Without going into sordid details, I’ll say that I have, in a subtle way, in fact in a rather complex way, been alienated from the already limited bunch of youngsters at my workplace. Actually this is the handiwork of one particular gentleman, who for reasons not worth mentioning, has successfully managed to sideline me. The others are probably not even aware of this ripple effect it has had on my relationship with them. To them, all seems normal. If I do not hang out with them anymore, it’s possibly because I’ve other occupations or am just plain disinterested in being a part of them anymore.

What else? Come on now, I don’t usually complain this much. Let me have my fill of venting. Read on. It could just be a phase, after all. For all you know, I could be all bright and sunny again tomorrow.

Well, this city is alien to me too. A Bangalorean cannot like Chennai, try as she might. Period.

But you know what really, really sucks?? The fact that I am here by choice, much as I would like to deny it. We are but makers of our own destiny. Who or what is stopping me from leaving, except my own spineless spirit?

I need to go and find out.

Tickle the funny bone, I say

I believe we live in a humorless nation. (I feel like a modern Martin Luther King with that start…Sheesh!) Anyway here goes – Here, it doesn’t take much to be regarded as witty or to amuse an ordinary person; and on the flipside – to offend somebody in an innocent attempt to be funny. 

I grew up in a fairly humorous household, so to say. I remember being in absolute awe of my father’s ready wit and cheerfulness. Today I reprimand him for repeating his jokes over and over again, but that’s a different story.  

Every month’s issue of the Reader’s Digest would find itself in our home; and I would lap up all the joke columns first. Life’s Like That – Humour in Uniform – Laughter, the Best Medicine – All in a Day’s Work – they were irresistible. Even back then, it struck me that hardly any of those anecdotes were contributed by Indians. One would expect to see more of those, given that Digest was Bombay-based. The scenario is not too different today, as far as I know.  

The trouble with Indians is that they cannot laugh at themselves. I believe the first step towards cultivating a genuine sense of humour lies in nurturing this ability. While a sardar might find a bania joke exceedingly funny, try cracking a sardar joke in his presence and you will probably end up with a cracked skull.  

I remember getting into mild trouble several times for trying to be funny myself. The last such incident I can recall is one that happened during my PG days, fairly recently. Our oh-so-nutty Accounts professor was absconding from class, and I being the unfortunate “coco” (course coordinator) had to go looking for the man. I looked for him literally high and low all over campus, and finally gave up, only to find him in class on my return. He gave me that “you’re late” look, and I hastily explained that I was out looking for him, just about managing to resist the temptation of saying that ‘twas he who was late. Anyway, I didn’t have to, coz he realized it himself and let out a silly guffaw. Presumably to save himself from embarrassment, he quipped, “Where did you look for me, Mahima? Under my desk?” To which I replied, unsmilingly, after glancing quickly at his paunch, “No Sir, I don’t believe you would fit.”  

He never spoke to me again. Notwithstanding the fact that I was coco and there was plenty to be discussed, from the academic perspective.  

A more recent incident happened in my office just yesterday. We’ve got a canteen that’s supervised by our in-house doctor. To cut a long story short, the food is just plain inedible on most days; and many of us clash with doc on this subject repeatedly.  

So yesterday, I was on the way back from lunch and doc dearest was coming in. He asked something about the food and I nearly said…“Same shit different day, doc”. Luckily I checked myself in time and said…“Same shh…khana different day!” Phew. I don’t think he would have found THAT funny, though I sure think it was. Geez, he didn’t even find “same khana” funny. He gave me one of those “you rude girl” glares.  

So, friends, Indians, countrymen, the point of this exercise is to tell you to laugh, laugh at people but remember to laugh at yourselves, remember it was in this country that the concept of laughter clubs was started. Remember that life needn’t be taken all seriously and it is important laugh at your problems, coz others always will. The trick is to make them laugh with you before they laugh at you.  Keep laughing!

The Dacoit with a Heart

It is often said that while auto rickshaw drivers in Bangalore can be called robbers, the ones in Chennai are no less than dacoits. I can vouch for that, being a Bangalorean now living in Chennai. Could even author a biography on their awfulness.  

For those in the know, a character sketch would be redundant. But let me fill in those who aren’t. Here is how auto drivers operate in Chennai: You name the destination; they deliberate for a few seconds before agreeing to take you, in a rather condescending way. The meters in autos here only have ornamental value; so the next step is finalizing the price. These undisputed kings of Chennai’s roads usually quote a figure close to three times the actual estimated price. If you’re lucky/speak Tamil/are a master negotiator, it can be brought down to only two-and-a-half times the actual. Also, if he doesn’t know the place, you had better know it, correct directions et al. Or gear up to hear the choicest of abuses in Tamil. 

But maybe they aren’t all bad, not all mercenary. Take one that I ran into last afternoon. Here’s the background: My brother, who I was staying with in Chennai, moved to Bombay since yesterday. While the idea of staying alone looked welcoming at some level, realities that finally hit home when my brother actually left ruined it all. Apart from the strain on my financial resources, I would have to deal with having no one at call to listen to my nonsensical ramblings I feel the need to dole out every now and then. No one to use as a punching bag at my disposal. No one to just vent my frustration on. No one to ask why I did not eat. Or at least, no one as reliable and unconditionally available as my brother. I’m a firm advocate of the belief that there’s no support system as good as family in this world. And my brother’s the best of ‘em all. I sometimes wonder if I even deserve a sibling so perfect. Could go on…But wouldn’t want to embarrass him J  

So there I was, walking down the street towards the shops soon after my brother left, overwhelmed by emotion. So much so that I thought nothing of sobbing noisily, right in the middle of the road, in broad daylight. I flagged down an auto, hoping he would comply. Barely had I mentioned the destination that he agreed to take me. Too weak to even realize what just happened, or even to ask him what he would charge, I sat inside and continued to sob.  

I gave him a hard time finding the place, given my hopeless sense of direction, unfamiliarity with the area and of course my mental state. But to my surprise, not only did he remain patient and unfazed, he even smiled kindly every now and then. Finally, when I did get off, I took out 30 odd rupees and handed them over. 30 rupees to a Chennai auto driver, even for a short distance, is no less than a slap on the face. But our man smiled, took the money unquestioningly, and went his way.  

While there is every chance that the man was genuinely nice, I can’t help but believe it was the tears that made him that way towards me. The only disheartening angle to this episode is the fact that this kind of attitude is the exception rather than the norm. And it seems to take a teary-eyed, depressed soul to evoke that attitude. Maybe this isn’t even that big a deal…But being a victim of several vile auto drivers, to me it really was a big deal.  

It’s nice to be important. And important they are, the auto drivers of Chennai. But it’s more important to be nice, and maybe there still are some who know that; and even practice it. Or maybe, we could open our minds too, be nice, and give them a chance.

Indenglish

We’ve all heard of Hinglish. English with a touch of Hindi, mixed so appropriately that it hardly sounds unusual. “Mood kharab ho gaya”, “Mera toh bad luck hi kharab hai” are some of them. 

 But there’s another version of Indianised English too. In the strict sense, it’s purely English; it only uses English words and there’s no contribution from Hindi or any other Indian language. And yet, it will make an Englishman roll his eyes in horror. I call it “Indenglish”.  

The thought struck me last evening while at my office canteen. Ours is a workplace where we have to wear a uniform five days a week. Yeah, just like we did in school. (I’ll reserve my comments on that for now.) We get a breather on working Saturdays though, when we’re allowed to dress as we please. (Hallelujah.)

 So coming to the point…people here refer to this Saturday attire as “colour dress”. The first time I heard this phrase was in school. But hey, we were kids and all that. During later years these terminologies were remembered and laughed at. But today, here I am, in a corporate environment, surrounded by highly educated people. And yet, any clothing that isn’t the uniform is referred to as “colour dress”.  

This is just the tip of the iceberg – one place, one example. All over the country, the use of Indenglish is rampant. Another one that never fails to tickle my funny bone is “I had headbath today”. A bathing ritual that includes washing of the hair is apparently a “headbath”.  

Some forms of Indenglish come very naturally even to relatively fluent speakers of English. The word “prepone” is the best example of this phenomenon. Contrary to common belief, there is no such word in the language. A previously decided date is never “preponed” to an earlier date, it is “advanced”. The opposite of “postpone” is not “prepone”. It is also incorrect to ask someone what his/her “good name” is. This is the literal translation of the Hindi phrase “shubh naam”. I reckon that since most Indian names have auspicious meanings, “Aapka shubh naam kya hai” is just a polite way to put it. But it does not work the same way in English. People just have names, not good ones!  

My work involves calling and meeting up with partners and customers. When I ask to be connected to someone, pat comes the question from the receptionist, “Yourself??” I cannot but suppress a giggle each time I’m asked to introduce myself in that manner.   

The list goes on. Singularizing of words that must always be used in the plural form is another common mistake. “Pant”, “trouser”, “knicker” are some of them.

Did I hear someone say, “We are like that only!!”  

The afterthought…

So my first post didn’t quite start off on a great note, huh. As is obvious now, the sole objective of starting this blog was so I could vent. They say writing about your troubles is a great way to bust stress. Didn’t really believe that, but what the heck, I gave it a try anyway. And yeah, I kinda sorta do feel better now.

So now that I feel a li’l stronger now, let me introduce myself and all that. Lets just call me “Smartie”. Daydreamer par excellence. Interested in theatre, languages, travelling. Most of the time I just exist. Will procrastinate until a minute before doomsday.

Watch this space for more!