nourishncherish

A new pair of Jeans

To the rest who did not know! I am wearing a new pair of jeans.

Though new clothes don’t exactly require an occasion anymore, I am still a little girl when it comes to wearing new clothes. I love them. When we were growing up, new clothes were worn only on festivals, birthdays etc. I remember my birthday falling close to Diwali, and both occasions being satisfied with one set of clothes. To this date, I exhibit a certain reluctance to release new clothes without an occasion.

Regardless, I wore a new pair of jeans without any occasion, and as I was running towards the station, some friendly stranger called me, and told me I looked really good in my jeans. “Thanks!” I beamed, before realising how on earth she knew. For one thing, there is little way of telling whether a pair of jeans are new, they all look the same. Could it be the glow on my face?! I had run a little ahead before it struck me – I must have forgotten to remove one of those infernal tags! I had removed three of them, but had forgotten the fourth.

So, there it is for the rest of the world who did not know – I wore a new pair of jeans today! Glad to have got that of my chest 🙂

I pat your back, you pat my back

Disclaimer:This post is not aimed at any set of individuals or corporations. It is months of diligent observation culminating in this highly unscientific post that many can identify with, and yet nobody can quote.

Primates have been known to use this technique. This technique has undergone Darwinism, and is perfected by few in work environments and offices across the world. I’m fuzzy on the specifics, but most scientific findings are fuzzy on some level, and just define fuzzy better, so here is my theory.

People with a high talk to work ratio indulge in this technique for survival. In general “talk to work” ratio is also related to “talk to volume” ratio. The louder you are and the more indignant you sound, the more convincing you sound. In a cubicle farm, a marginal achiever with a high talk to work ratio, and a voice that has a high bass quotient can be viewed in different ways. For people with the MBWA (Management by Walking Around) syndrome, it is a sure strategy to pull attention towards oneself.

People who fit into this elite bucket, congregate in groups every once in a while to pat each others backs. This associative behaviour is required for a sense of belonging, and a sense of fortification on one’s stand and technique verification. While in the gathering, one also has the opportunity to gather irrelevant points of problem areas in other teams. This hitherto irrelevant information can then be wielded to one’s own advantage in another gathering.

Such behaviour finds itself being rewarded because the higher echelons of said organization themselves would have indulged in this to get ahead of the breed. A candid self appraisal should let one know whether any of the techniques need to be perfected if one wishes to surge ahead.

Once ahead, one would think the club member would shift allegiance to the next higher level group, but this is a technique that needs constant practice. So much like a pregnant waistline, the sphere of influence expands. In order to do this, one must spend time in multiple circles patting each other’s backs, talking more, talking louder and achieving less. This only means the Talk to work ratio just got higher, while still maintaining a knowledgeable aura.

Good leaders are charismatic speakers – I rest my case.

Run Away!

“Amma – why isn’t appa home yet” asked my daughter while we were reading her bedtime story last night. I answered her saying her father was held up at work. When she persisted, I explained that her father had a bug, and that was why he was late.

“Then he should run away right? Ms Chato said if you see a bug, you must run away! Is it a snake or a small bug?” (Ms Chato is her teacher)

I did not explain that running away from a bug in a software engineering department is not going to bring you any accolades in your career.

I laughed, and enjoyed the sweet fragrance of innocence that the scent of childhood bears.

Perspective

I had the strong urge to not cry – I could feel the pressure of the welled up tears against the blood vessels surrounding my eyes. There was a lump in my throat that had no business being there. I suddenly wished for the familiar confines of my bedroom where I could let my tears flow on unbridled by the demands of maintaining a public facade. My mind raced and stood still at the same time. I thanked God, my stars or destiny (whatever name you could call it) for the life that I am enjoying compared to those I had identified with in the mystical world of fiction in the last few days.

I was reading ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’ by Khaled Hosseini. I could see it was difficult writing this book – the author uses two voices throughout the book – that of Mariam and Laila. Using two voices, and maintaining the tempo through out the book is a daunting task, but one well accomplished by Khaled. I felt like the luckiest woman alive for the life I am leading. For my loved ones, some of whom may be separated by more than a thousand miles, but all connected through the feeling of unity, of sharing some things in the past/present together.

“You like big words Laila, don’t you? Let me give you one – Perspective” says Rasheed in the book. That statement said it all. My little worries, minor irritants – both human and otherwise seem fine.

Olympic Torch

Morning:

Today I get to witness the Olympic torch relay in San Francisco! I am so excited seeing the crowds milling on the street with flags, and the crowded trains. There are loads of buses carrying police forces from nearby Richmond and Oakland areas. I feel slightly disturbed by the protests – to me, the Olympics is the human unifying spirit, and should not be marred by anything political. I already feel slightly dumb at not having brought my camera – but, my friend has, and I am sure we can take some pictures. I feel this is the closest I have ever gotten to anything “Olympic”, and I am filled with a strange sense of excitement.

Hope the event passes smoothly!

Afternoon:
I went out with my friends – I was so excited. The streets were milling with people – protests in different hues and flavours! Some people got up in the morning, and put on their protest hats, and began randomly protesting. I think they just forgot that the protest was against the Olympic torch. A majority of the protests could be classified against China, pro-Tibet, pro-Human rights etc. But there were some protests to ‘End the war in Iraq’, ‘Darfur’ and ‘Free Burma’! Free Burma from whom?! This protest took the cake though : a bunch of stark naked guys turned up, apparently calling for legalizing nudity in an Olympic Torch relay ceremony!

Of course, by the time I post this, you all would have known that San Francisco city officials changed the route, and actually had the torch bused to another route, and had the relay pass the torch every fblock or so. The closing ceremony was cancelled citing the protests, and the whole episode was all-in-all a dampener!
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/04/09/MNDS102IIM.DTL&tsp=1
The olympic torch hid behind the police, and was safely moved by bus from one point to another, and only made it out in the open to streets heavily armed with police as spectators, and did not even mark the event with a closing ceremony – this for the only run in the North American continent.

Evening:
Hard to describe my feelings since I did not get to see the torch – a once in a lifetime experience for sure, and was snatched away from the thousands of people waiting patiently for the torch to appear!

Olympic Torch

Morning:

Hope the event passes smoothly!

Another week-end went by:

Another week-end went by:
I felt strangely tranquil this week-end, an inner peace if you could call it that.
It could be any or a combination of all these things that contributed to that particular feeling:
1) I was excited because of the new dish I was preparing – I tried making vegetarian lasagna. Everytime I try something new, I behave like a child looking forward to cutting their birthday cake – eager and enthusiastic.

2) It may be because the cleaners came and rummaged through the house, and left it looking squeaky clean! The immense satisfaction I feel looking at a clean house, when I haven’t passed out doing the cleaning, cannot be compared to any material pleasure in the world. I am not the only one – my daughter was so thrilled with the “cleaner uncle” around – a trip to Disneyland could not have made her happier.

3) I had a shelf which I was thinking of disposing, thanks to the closet overhaul the dear husband did with the closet organizer – the cleaners took it to their apartment to use. Boy, did that feel good?!

4) The trees in my backyard have now started sprouting flowers, and I even saw the first green apricots appear. Have I told you about this squirrel? He appears frequently in the epics of the cat and the squirrel enacted in our home at regular intervals. He is also overfed! The first time I moved into our home, I watched on idly as this little guy tottered on the fence, and ran up the fruit trees. Slowly, the bloodbath started. The greedy one, did not spare a single fruit. We were competing to lay our hands on fruit before he got to it. I am determined this time: that squirrel needs to go on a diet. I am taking all the apricots and freezing them this year! He can content himself with the plums in my backyard, not the apricots!

5) Spring meant that I could get up late on Sunday, and go to the park for a run, and play in the park in the middle of the day!

Aah….lethargy! How I miss you!

10 Things

Archana tagged me, I hemmed and hawed, because I did not want to answer the question. I was happy just letting life lilt along. But, I did tell her that I would answer her tag, so here I go.
Ten things I want to do in the next 10 years — hmm. There is no priority here, just mentioned as I think of them.
1) I want to read more varied works – lots of books spanning different subject areas.

2) I want to learn Carnatic music. I may not have the best voice in the world, but I love it, and there is no harm in trying.

3) I want to learn swimming very well. It has been my dream since childhood, and I finally managed to fit myself into a swim-suit – though, the way I wear one is probably the most unsexy way any swimsuit can be worn. Regardless, I love swimming, and want to get better at it.

4) I want to be a person who is able to embrace myself for who I am. This has more to do with building a sense of overall achievement in all spheres of life. Sometimes, I tend to fall into the drag of a uni-dimensional lifestyle, and lose out on the big picture.

5) I want to undertake at least 1 academic course in the United States

6) I want to be able to spend more time in my daughter’s activities – ideally, I would like to volunteer at her school for one afternoon every week. What better way to understand her world? This is a totally new ballgame for me, and I need to understand her world. Right now, this seems like a long shot, but I am hoping that I can eventually do that.

7) I definitely have to find a way to understand the economics of different things, and also how they tie into a cohesive whole. I know bits and pieces about the stock market, about interest rates, about forex reserves and exchange rates. I still don’t understand the ripple effects that one produces on another.

8) I want to be a good parent – I want to be a friend, guide and disciplinarian all rolled into one. I find this an especially daunting task, since the world my daughter is growing up in, is very different from the world I grew up in. Point #6 maybe a sub-task of this one in that sense.

9) I want to excel in my profession.

10) I want to be able to do all of the above!

When I started out with 10 things, I found myself thinking really hard to come up with a list of 9 really! Anyhow, thanks Archana!

The Colourful House – By the daughter of the colour blind father

I like how furniture can set the tone of the home. I love the way you can transform a dull home to a vibrant place with the right colors and the right furniture. Furniture complements a house. Everytime I walk into Ikea, the interior designer in me springs to life, and my mind buzzes with possibilities.

Here is my pet peeve – the interior of my parents beautiful home never looks good in my eyes because of the ghastly furniture. Bookshelves littering the house, each one a different colour, dimension and size! Unnecessary tables, that once served their purpose.

I sound harsh, you may think, but what house boasts of a green dining table, with a pink stool near a maroon fridge? Which house boasts of 3 sky blue almirahs, sharing the wall with a yellow shelf (70 by 30) and a parrot green shelf (65 by 40)? Oh, and I did forget to mention the bright blue tiny almirah with a white archaic typewriter on it!

The furniture was not always like this – our house did have stately furniture at one time. The furniture grew old, as it is expected to after 30 years. The sheen was gone. One day my father called in a handyman and handed him our dining table, and asked him to relaminate it. “What colour sir?” asked the man innocently, and my father assured him that he left it to his fine
judgement, and any colour was okay with him. The handyman left with a sense of satisfaction – he liked green, but none of his customers seemed to have an eye for green table-tops. Secondly, the table wasn’t going to live in HIS house – and that my friends is the story behind the green table-top!

One would think that this bad experience would have shaken his trust in humanity, and subsequent furniture transactions would be handled with more care. This is where you under-estimate my father. He may be a whiz-kid with stocks, never once making the same
error in reading the balance sheet, but when it comes to furniture, “Egregious” is the word I would choose.

He had our house painted, and while at it had another idea – why not paint the pale shelves? He asked the painter about the colours he had remaining. “From the painting of this house sir?”, he asked, his face dripping with innocence. My father was taken in by this simple soul who was willing to give away paint that he had remaining from other jobs. He flushed, and told him to use any paint he may have remaining.

The painter and the aforesaid handy-man were thick pals no doubt, and the handy-man had probably thrown a drink on the house at the local pub that he had gotten rid of his green laminate. The painter not to be out-done used his bright pink paint on the stool, parrot green on one shelf, bright yellow on the other shelf, bright blue on the small almirah. Word is that the local drunkards had a party unheard of in the parallels of Uppilipalayam town Panchayat – it was all on the house, paid for by the painter.

This is how the house looked after the dining table and paint jobs:

The sky-blue colour cupboards have another story. Appalled at the uncanny choice of colours by the benign painter, my father decided to normalize the equations by painting the remaining almirahs the same colour (his favourite colour: sky blue)
So, that’s how our house looks now.