Author: nourishncherish

I am at training. The building nearby has lots of windows facing mine, and every now and then, I end up looking at the slides of the presentation passing up the interesting insights I’ve gathered by looking at the neighbouring offices. I have the information, that no amount of HR effectiveness can gather.

For example, I now know that the bearded bloke in the office on the 14th floor, and endowed with a window office drinks too much coffee. He needs to cut the caffeine. I saw him drink 3 cups in the afternoon yesterday. I pardoned him thinking it must have been a stressful afternoon. Now, he is already on the second cup – that is way too much!

The attractive lady in the office next to the bearded bloke has a fantastically decorated officespace. Now, you know where her time and energy is going. I even saw her tidy up her desk this morning.

There is another person who keeps glancing to the right wall while working. I am not suggesting there is a television hosted there. It might well be strategic acquisition plans or telephone numbers. But even though, I tried cocking my head to 33 degrees, and increasing the height of my chair to catch a better snapshot, it is a bit hard. So, I am going to go with the Television idea. OR I could brand her a narcissist in my mind, and assume a mirror filling the right wall.

The office above the bearded bloke and the attractive lady has been empty for 2 days in a row. What sort of employee takes time off during the holiday season – huh? huh? huh???

Gosh……I really need to be paid for stuff like this.

What a paradox that ‘Candy’ and ‘Candor’ sound so similar, yet mean entirely different things. In fact, could there be such a thing as Candid Candy? Interestingly, these two words are etymologically different. Candy traces its origins to the French word, ‘Candi’ and the Arabic ‘Qandi’ made from crystallised sugar ‘Qand’. Maybe that is the origin of names for the Indian sweet Kalakhand too.

Candor, on the other hand also traces its origin to French – ‘Candeur’ and Latin ‘Candor’. Candor implies the absence of sugar-coating, or an honest opinion.

While I value candor, I love candy, and I need both in my life.

Yesterday, as I made my entry into the station, I stumbled upon a former colleague. It has been around half a decade since we had seen each other, and the hour’s journey was not sufficient to catch up. As we were chatting about what happened to various people’s lives, I realised that the particular project we had been colleagues in, was different in many ways. First, it was pulled through against enormous odds and second, most of us were practically living at the Bangalore office for almost 2 years!

So, when I did start talking about the various folks from the project, and the paths each had taken along life, it was certainly interesting. Much like pollen, we had scattered to various corners of the globe, and I suddenly realised that the only thing I remembered about folks were the good qualities in them. The friendly chatter, the kind hearted, the selfless. I am sure that there would have been unpleasant qualities that I’d have cribbed about when I was “in” the situation. As time passed however, only the happy moments stayed.

Though I have not stayed in touch with many them, there have been many a moment when I have thought about each of them. I am sure the converse is true, and the thought that I can go to some of them any time I need to, is comforting enough.

I stepped out of the train, and a person was looking at me intently, before hesitantly asking me whether I was working in Company ‘X’ 7 years ago. I nodded and found that he was the project mate of my best friend.

Well….well!

I am told it is a tradition. Somehow the news of Bush releasing 2 thanksgiving turkeys the day before Thanksgiving makes me really sad. Not for the fact that the turkeys can now live, but for the fact that when sitting down for Thanksgiving dinner the next day, you can visualise that it is remarkably similar to the birds that took flight yesterday.

I try to rationalize that when people are served processed meat, they are not thinking about the animal in question. Fair enough: how often do we think of the condition of the cows when drinking milk? Had we lived on the farm, and Bessie the cow was not feeling well, or wanted a walk instead of giving milk, we might have let Bessie out on the pastures before approaching her when she feels like giving milk. In the store, there is just reduced fat, lowfat and whole milk. Bessie might have been sleeping when the milk was taken from her – but, we don’t know that, and that absolves us of waking a cow deep in slumber.

So now my question comes back to relating the animal to the meat on the table. Do people do that, and when they do, does it trouble them or not? I am just trying to think of the meat-eating thought process here. Any insights are welcome. My vegetarianism from birth has endowed me with only 1 view.

Eyes large as saucers, voices as vehement as can get, we demanded:

“Who/What gives them the right to throw out processed, dry foods, and that too at Bangalore airport?”

The group, gathered around a table with sumptuous food, demanded between tasty mouthfuls. It was actually quite an effort to sound affronted when every movement sent a divine taste surging through the tongue. But, we are all known to be a determined lot, and piqued we were.

The topic under discussion was that one of my aunts was forced to leave behind much of her belongings at Bangalore airport. The “sambhar podi“, and the various dried powders that can be mixed with boiled rice were all thrown out, we were told by our every chagrined parents. They had heard the news from one of their neices, who must have sounded quite convincing, because it actually prevented them from carrying too many things. We discussed the possible causes, criteria used by the airport authorities in such cases, and sounded rightfully indignant about the whole process.

Later that afternoon we placed a call to the aforesaid aunt, and tried to learn the magnitude of her losses. Come to think of it, my mother started out on quite an apologetic note while asking about it. She explained that she had a tube of Bengay in her hand-carry by mistake, and was forced to throw that out in Frankfurt airport. That apart, some other food packets of hers, were placed in check-in baggage, instead of the hand-baggage. That was all there was to the whole story!

I cannot imagine how many rounds this story must have made, before reaching my parents in its current shape! Every story-teller tied their own ribbons and balloons to the story. Soon the story took its current form:

A monstrous team was out on a vicious rampage at Bangalore airport, stripping legitimate travellers of their chutney mixes, and filter coffee.

I can’t help remembering the cartoon we used to see on Doordarshan about the balloon that burst in a house. Soon, the story takes on epic proportions before police arrive on the scene fearing a violent gunshot crime-scene, only to find a disappointed little girl, looking quite sullen because her balloon burst!

I am now seriously wondering the basis on which religious wars are fought. Most of our religious books were passed down through generations by word of mouth before getting penned as books. So, we use the combined imaginations of centuries to take offense against another form moulded by centuries of … imagination!

I do not wish to belittle the achievement by stating it as another marathon. Nevertheless, yesterday my husband finished another marathon along with 2 of our close friends.

The arduous hours of training, the “interesting” pain(Yes – he does state that the wrenching pain is interesting!), the accompanying medal were all taken in the spirit of a true sportsman. While volumes get written about the marathoners, nothing gets written about the support groups (in this case, a sturdy troupe comprising of the 3 wives, 1 toddler and a teenager). So, I have decided to pen the support experience.

Through the training sessions and the carb-loading phase prior to the Marathon, the support group has no mean task. There you are, with your unswerving loyalty to your loved ones, dishing out all the wonderful dishes. There is the potato fry (just the right shade of golden with the crispy texture), the fluffy rice and the creamy soups. On the subject of potatoes, I could swear they mock you from the frying pan, and just would not stop enticing you till the darn dish is over. I could feel the extra burden during the carb-loading phase. The only thing I can thank God for, is that the carb-loading is a short span of time. I ran a pantry in the kitchen serving hot dishes every 3 hours. You could judge by the loose pajamas I wore that day to make room for the extra carbs.

All the carbs safely tucked in, the marathon day arrived. While the runners braved the early morning weather to venture into the first part of their marathon, we, the supporters braved the roads and got together with bananas, apples and baked potatoes at the Mile 18 touch-point. I had mild butterflies in my stomach, just hoping that they will be fine and running sans injuries. Already, we knew one of them had an injury and had slowed down. At this point I could tell you that no amount of carb-loading prepares you for the elated sensation you get when you see one of your close friends running towards you in steady strides. You want to tuck into some baked potatoes for support, but you refrain. One must have self-control!

We stood watching groups of people run by. The plan was for us to give the runners a boost at Mile 18 with baked potatoes and bananas, and then head to Starbucks to get a boost for our hoarse throats and proceed onto Mile 21 and then to the finish line. It turns out that there was a mis-reading, and that the Mile-18 point was indeed Mile-15, and we had missed 2 of the 3 guys.

We are a sacrificial lot, as mentioned earlier, and we decided to forgo the Starbucks visit, and dash it to Mile-21. We checked our watches, and sped away as fast as our cars would take us without drawing the attention of cops. During this particular ride, my toddler decided to fall asleep. So now, we parked at the 21-mile point, lugged a 2-year old on my shoulder and legged it across a Farmer’s market cum bakery exhibition (I swear the temptation never stops!) to cheer the boys on. Guess what, they just left!

We now had the dubious reputation of chasing the marathon runners by car, and they were leading!

This was no time for dilly-dallying. Decisions had to be made, and fast. We decided to look askance at the wafting smells of baked products, and got back into the car, determined to get to the finish line before they did, and guess what?

WE DID! HA!

We reached the finish line ahead of the runners, and managed a decent photo shoot at the very end at least!

Great job guys: No mean feat. I am proud of you all!
Good job support group: No mean f(e)at.

I may have to acknowledge my brother-in-law’s prophetic powers here. Last year, during their visit to the US, I had blogged a post called ‘Children of Heaven’. The blog drew attention to the shoes my nephew purchased. They were football shoes for heaven’s sake. Of course, we all tried rationalising with him that football shoes may never be used by him. He enlisted my brother-in-law’s support and got himself Nike football shoes.

A whole year has lapsed since. Here is what my sister had to report from Dubai:

You know Siddarth is not ‘into cricket’ these days ‘coz it stinks’! The ‘cool dudes’ are ‘more into football these days’ ! I think the ‘these days’ started soon after the World Cup…the Ronaldo…Ronaldino types started with all those appalling hair styles. Siddarth only wears sleeveless T-shirts nowadays to show off his ‘biceps’ and he eats every meal only for his ‘biceps’!!!

Yesterday, he was making lists in every scrap of paper in the house….he called it ‘Team Planning’. There were phone calls being made and received from all the ‘dudes’ the whole afternoon and heated discussions were on. I usually do my best to ignore all this unless it gets out of hand and I find it difficult to live in the house..! Then I called and enquired…all hell had broken loose!

Here is the narrative :
Siddu : Amma,you know Pranith? Okay…he is the football hunk of our class and he was the captain of our team!
Me : What ‘team’ are you talking about? I thought athletics practice is going on in school now for the Sports Day?
Siddu : Yeah…that’s going on, Maaa- that’s the first thing we do every morning before class! These are football matches…are you going to listen to me?
Me : Oh…I will listen…go on.
Siddu : Can you believe what Pranith did yesterday? Something real daft!! He went and scored a goal for the opposite team!! He actually ‘sent the ball into the goalpost for 6B’ !! Isn’t that real dumb?
Me : Yeah…I guess it is quite dumb!!! So what happened?
Siddu : The whole team said ‘ Down Down Pranith’ and pooed him out of being the captain! Dumb Pranith!
Me : Ummmm….then…
Siddu : Usually whichever dude is the VC ( Vice Captain!!) gets to be the captain,right??
Me : Yeah right.
Siddu : This silly dude is Pranith’s pal and turned the post down! So all the guys voted me to be the Captain! So the great Siddarth is the Captain of 6A!!!!
Me : Oh! Good. That’s why you are so busy, is it?
Siddu : Yeah…I need to plan the team before tomorrow’s match, right! The Centre Forward,Mid Forward the Defender, Goal Keeper…do you know all this at all??
Me : No da…I don’t know much about football!Siddu : You are such a bore, maa! One day when I have time…I will teach you!
Me : BTW, Siddu when is the match?
Siddu : Everyday,Maa..we play 6B every day during the break!
Me : Oh…who conducts these matches?
Siddu : Us! But ‘football sir’ gave us a ‘thums up’ so that the school team gets stronger!

She then reports that this whole match thing is the break time play of these dumsies, and that there is a big gang mafia going on in the break time!

I wish I were around to see some of these “matches”!

Did you know I was a radio star? I have performed a few times on the All India Radio (I meant that to sound pompous) Before you go and start searching for my name in the halls of fame, let me put it in context. There is only 1 important characteristic in all those programs. Nobody can make out that it was me. The only way one could have guessed is by listening to the announcement prior to the program proclaiming my name in the list of students performing.

To be fair to my father, he recorded one event. When he rewound the tape and listened to the program again, he figured it would be enough to just retain the announcement section, since the rest of the program could have been performed by anybody. So, he promptly used the tape to record M.S.Subbulakshmi songs when he got a chance. It would have been nice to have the announcement proclaiming my performance followed by MS singing. Tut Tut….That was not to be: the announcement got over-written too.

So my claim to fame is solely by word of mouth. It goes like this: List of students in today’s program: Subashini, Venkat, …………., Saumya,……!

I was a versatile performer. I sang at times(never solo lest you start bad-mouthing AIR), and some other times performed in skits. The school stationery manager stepped forward gallantly and mentioned that he had left an illustrious career in the theatrical industry to serve the school, and therefore he should be the person who provided the background music skits. We nodded and the practice sessions started.

To state it as mildly as possible, the background music was HORRENDOUS. Every place in the play where you think some quiet would do, there was music blaring. Some other places where mild music would have done the trick, we had garish music making us shout out every line in order to be heard over the music. I would not call the program a fiasco, but there were no folks waiting outside for autographs. The highlight of all this drama was the lunch we ate at Annapoorna restaurant in Coimbatore (Plus: the day-off from School to drive down to Coimbatore, perform and get back)

There are times in my life when I envision my life as a movie, and there is background music. So I see myself cooking *Sax playing mildly indicating a chef’s beauty being developed* Never mind that I am making Rasam and vendakkai curry. It provides spice in my life! The washing clothes, folding them section gets a banal harmonium. Playing with my daughter and taking her on walks gets melodious flute accompaniment.

I have worked hard at directing my life, so why not revel in my role as music director?!

I know why the US starts wars in far-off lands.

It is a place to groom future presidents.

X: I am going to contest the presidency
X’s much older opponent Y: Which wars did you fight in huh? Come on you! Tell me which war you fought in?
X: None
Y: NONE!!!!
X: But…but there were no wars for me to go to.
Y: Well..too bad. There is no metric to measure your patriotism. I went for the War in Dracola Land. I know the pain and suffering and I would like to use this office to make the world a better place to live in. So you’re out!