Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Saturday, October 22, 2005
new outlook
it's been a while since i blogged. things happened besides hurricanes and earthquakes. i switched job. anosha has grown another tooth and she looks not too far away from walking and perhaps talking too. and we had loads of visitors...ajichachan, navanki, jeevanchettan, allumol... we went around town...drove down to jaipur a couple of times...and took lots of photographs...here are some...
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Karat and stick
Here's a little puzzle: a comment on a computer screensaver has cost somebody his 15-year-old job and left him with nobody to turn to; where could it be? Ask any Indian communist and he would perhaps say, why that's where capitalism is anyway leading the whole world to. But it didn't happen in the USA. It happened in Kerala.
Yes, the red hot Kerala that owes its lack of private investments to its notorious labour unions. Impossible? It could have been if Padmakumar, the photographer who lost his job in the most bizarre way, was not working for Desabhimani, the CPI(M)'s official Malayalam daily.
As things happened, Padmakumar, a staff photographer of Desabhimani for over 15 years, allegedly made a comment when he noticed partygeneral secretary Prakash Karat's face on the new screensavers installed in his office computers in Kochi. He, according to colleagues, said the party could do without such "idolising". The walls had ears and the word was spread.
The CPM state secretariat jumped into action. Within a week, it mulled over this act of "grave indiscipline", formed a committee and conducted an official probe. Padmakumar was summoned and told to quit or be sacked. Nothing on record, not even a show-cause notice. End ofthe road, full stop.
Well, the idea is not to dispute our communist friend's comment on capitalism. He may well be right too. We have already heard about the US entrepreneur who threatened to sack any employee found smoking at office or home or anywhere else.
The point is, if capitalism at its worst will bring back slavery and call it labour reforms, the communists will do the same and call it party discipline. These Left guys, who sell this dream of equality among the poor and the underprivileged, are still no different, despite the fall of Soviet Union. They still can't make it any better than AnimalFarm. George Orwell long back told us how some are more equal in aworld of equality.
And, even if they have a problem with God, apparently the Leftists are all for idol worship. Why, if only Karl Marx was born in India we could have had a temple for him. And, who knows, a Marx janmabhoomi issue to boot.
A friend once told me she loves mirrors because they tell you the truth. I said yes, but left side right. Oh that doesn't make a difference, she had said. I laughed her off at that time. But now it seems perhaps she was right. It's all the same. Left, right and centre.
Yes, the red hot Kerala that owes its lack of private investments to its notorious labour unions. Impossible? It could have been if Padmakumar, the photographer who lost his job in the most bizarre way, was not working for Desabhimani, the CPI(M)'s official Malayalam daily.
As things happened, Padmakumar, a staff photographer of Desabhimani for over 15 years, allegedly made a comment when he noticed partygeneral secretary Prakash Karat's face on the new screensavers installed in his office computers in Kochi. He, according to colleagues, said the party could do without such "idolising". The walls had ears and the word was spread.
The CPM state secretariat jumped into action. Within a week, it mulled over this act of "grave indiscipline", formed a committee and conducted an official probe. Padmakumar was summoned and told to quit or be sacked. Nothing on record, not even a show-cause notice. End ofthe road, full stop.
Well, the idea is not to dispute our communist friend's comment on capitalism. He may well be right too. We have already heard about the US entrepreneur who threatened to sack any employee found smoking at office or home or anywhere else.
The point is, if capitalism at its worst will bring back slavery and call it labour reforms, the communists will do the same and call it party discipline. These Left guys, who sell this dream of equality among the poor and the underprivileged, are still no different, despite the fall of Soviet Union. They still can't make it any better than AnimalFarm. George Orwell long back told us how some are more equal in aworld of equality.
And, even if they have a problem with God, apparently the Leftists are all for idol worship. Why, if only Karl Marx was born in India we could have had a temple for him. And, who knows, a Marx janmabhoomi issue to boot.
A friend once told me she loves mirrors because they tell you the truth. I said yes, but left side right. Oh that doesn't make a difference, she had said. I laughed her off at that time. But now it seems perhaps she was right. It's all the same. Left, right and centre.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Femininity
This is an old story I was planning to get published in ET Travel. But these days, they have a theme for every issue. And I don't see an issue on train journeys anytime soon. Hence, and also since I can't think of writing anything fresh right now, here it is, up here (or down here if you wish), MY JOURNEY TO FEMININITY...
I'll tell you about the one F trip I had in my life--my journey to femininity. It started one fine morning when I heard my brother yelling: Hey, Rishi has become a female!
Female? Me? I was in the bath, getting ready to leave for Kerala after spending a couple of days in Mumbai. In no time the whole house was in hysterics. There were five of them, all my siblings. What's wrong with these guys? I checked myself in the mirror. My everything's in place. I changed and rushed out, stimulating a fresh burst of laughter. Rajan has a train ticket in his hand. He passes it to me. It reads: "Lokmanyatilak T to Quilon Jn S10 24 SU F 29". That's my ticket. Oh, F!
Lalchechi, who booked the ticket and who's the only female in the gang, tried her best to look apologetic. "Rishi, I am really sorry, hee hee, it was just, hee hee, you know, hee hee hee" She can't hold her breath anymore. "Rishichetta, why don't you go for a clean shave? Then you can get away as a woman," Navan, the youngest one, chipped in.
My train is leaving in a couple of hours. And I have to reach Thane from Borivili to board it.
There's hardly any time to brood over my just-found femininity. So we rush through our 'for the rail' and 'for the female' toasts and set off to Thane.
At the station, there's not enough time to get the ticket corrected. So I board the train. Anyway, I have my I-card and other documents. Only I'll be looking like a fool in front of all those people, which, according to my see-offers, is nothing new. Hmmm.
Its hugs and kisses time yet again, then the waving first at their faces, then at their hands, at the station, at a couple of days of fun. I'll miss them. But then, it's home, sweet home, waiting for me at the other end of the train.
I go to my seat and check my bags to see what all have I left behind. Oh no, the Picasso pen I bought for my father is missing. Okay, I'll make them mail it. The female problem? Let the ticket checker come. After all, it's a clerical mistake. I lean back on my seat. It's a side seat. I like it like this. My mind goes back to the last couple of days as I stare blankly into the endless procession of trees and buildings under the afternoon sun. We hardly had any sleep last night. It was a binge. And it was too good. The best was Lalchechi rushing to the door to check her own address while ordering dinner... I slowly slip into a nap.
It must be the morning's booze on top of the sleepless night, the sound and commotion that accompany the ticket checker fail to wake me. He wakes me. As usual, he's followed by a number of unconfirmed ticket holders. I tell him about the mistake in my ticket. He takes the ticket and declares it's not valid. "C'mon, sir, I've got enough documents to prove that I'm Rishi."
"But I cannot let a man travel with a female's ticket. TICKET, TICKET." He moves on, checking and ticking others' tickets. I follow, now wide awake but eyes still trailing the mind.
"Sir, but it's not a female's ticket. It's Rishi's ticket. Female is a silly, clerical mistake. C'mon, sir, there can't be any woman in the name of Rishi. You know that."
"I know it's a mistake. But I've to follow the rules. That's my job... Madam, aapki ticket?"
My God, what's wrong with this man? It's ridiculous. He knows it's a mistake and he can't do a thing about it! And rules? They are for checking frauds, not silly mistakes. "Sir, please, you have to help me," I'm starting to lose my temper.
"I told you I can't do anything. You have to get down with me at Panvel," he won't slow down.
What he needs is one tight slap, MTV-style. My head is what earth was 20,000 years ago--a boiling planet. All the abuses in the world are at the tip of my tongue. I shouldn't have had rum in the morning. The smell must be there. Any aggressive move would be termed "drunken misbehaviour". "Sir, please, this is the 150th year of Indian Railways. (Yes, this story happened in 2002.) And your ads say customer service is your focus," I make a last plea. It was there in the newspaper. "I have to follow the rules, I told you." He's determined. I must stop chasing this son of a rulebook. Or he'll have it. And that will be the end of my journey. What to do?
If I get down, at best they'll reimburse the ticket fare. Travelling all the way back to Borivili with these two sacks of bags! And even if I manage it, I won't get a confirmed ticket for at least the next couple of days. I can't cut short my Kerala stay; no way! All I have is just a week. So?
What if I say I'm a woman? That I went to Mumbai for a sex-change operation. That the moustache and beard will go only after a couple of weeks. That I'll charge this s.o.r (son of a rulebook, dodo!) with sexual harassment. After all, I am a feminist sympathiser. Come to think of it, I may even have more feminine characteristics than masculine. Or would I be able to sit back and think like this in a critical situation like this?...
I was thinking away to femininity when the ticket checker returned to me. He offers me a berth in the Tatkal coach. But I have to shell out the full charge with some fine for ticketless journey. By now, I'm positively feminine, if you consider safety-first approach a feminine characteristic. I go for it. In case you call it frailty, forget your gender, you're masculine.
But I'm not yet totally converted. I can't let this s.o.r get away with it so easily. I vow to take it up with the railways or approach the consumer court. But on the third day of my landing in Kerala I meet with an accident and break my leg. When one can't pee without somebody's help, one looks for support, not vengeance. And I thought about marriage, for the first time since my college girlfriend's wedding years ago.
A naughty thought is creeping into your head, huh? Well, go ahead, break his leg, be it your son or your brother who refuses to talk about marriage. Success guaranteed.
It's four years since then and it's the fourth year of my marriage. My F trip hardly ever came to my mind until the other day when I went to book tickets for our vacation. There was this man who returned to the counter after collecting his ticket--it had F against his name. He had to cancel the ticket and take a new one. Poor thing, missed the train to femininity!
I'll tell you about the one F trip I had in my life--my journey to femininity. It started one fine morning when I heard my brother yelling: Hey, Rishi has become a female!
Female? Me? I was in the bath, getting ready to leave for Kerala after spending a couple of days in Mumbai. In no time the whole house was in hysterics. There were five of them, all my siblings. What's wrong with these guys? I checked myself in the mirror. My everything's in place. I changed and rushed out, stimulating a fresh burst of laughter. Rajan has a train ticket in his hand. He passes it to me. It reads: "Lokmanyatilak T to Quilon Jn S10 24 SU F 29". That's my ticket. Oh, F!
Lalchechi, who booked the ticket and who's the only female in the gang, tried her best to look apologetic. "Rishi, I am really sorry, hee hee, it was just, hee hee, you know, hee hee hee" She can't hold her breath anymore. "Rishichetta, why don't you go for a clean shave? Then you can get away as a woman," Navan, the youngest one, chipped in.
My train is leaving in a couple of hours. And I have to reach Thane from Borivili to board it.
There's hardly any time to brood over my just-found femininity. So we rush through our 'for the rail' and 'for the female' toasts and set off to Thane.
At the station, there's not enough time to get the ticket corrected. So I board the train. Anyway, I have my I-card and other documents. Only I'll be looking like a fool in front of all those people, which, according to my see-offers, is nothing new. Hmmm.
Its hugs and kisses time yet again, then the waving first at their faces, then at their hands, at the station, at a couple of days of fun. I'll miss them. But then, it's home, sweet home, waiting for me at the other end of the train.
I go to my seat and check my bags to see what all have I left behind. Oh no, the Picasso pen I bought for my father is missing. Okay, I'll make them mail it. The female problem? Let the ticket checker come. After all, it's a clerical mistake. I lean back on my seat. It's a side seat. I like it like this. My mind goes back to the last couple of days as I stare blankly into the endless procession of trees and buildings under the afternoon sun. We hardly had any sleep last night. It was a binge. And it was too good. The best was Lalchechi rushing to the door to check her own address while ordering dinner... I slowly slip into a nap.
It must be the morning's booze on top of the sleepless night, the sound and commotion that accompany the ticket checker fail to wake me. He wakes me. As usual, he's followed by a number of unconfirmed ticket holders. I tell him about the mistake in my ticket. He takes the ticket and declares it's not valid. "C'mon, sir, I've got enough documents to prove that I'm Rishi."
"But I cannot let a man travel with a female's ticket. TICKET, TICKET." He moves on, checking and ticking others' tickets. I follow, now wide awake but eyes still trailing the mind.
"Sir, but it's not a female's ticket. It's Rishi's ticket. Female is a silly, clerical mistake. C'mon, sir, there can't be any woman in the name of Rishi. You know that."
"I know it's a mistake. But I've to follow the rules. That's my job... Madam, aapki ticket?"
My God, what's wrong with this man? It's ridiculous. He knows it's a mistake and he can't do a thing about it! And rules? They are for checking frauds, not silly mistakes. "Sir, please, you have to help me," I'm starting to lose my temper.
"I told you I can't do anything. You have to get down with me at Panvel," he won't slow down.
What he needs is one tight slap, MTV-style. My head is what earth was 20,000 years ago--a boiling planet. All the abuses in the world are at the tip of my tongue. I shouldn't have had rum in the morning. The smell must be there. Any aggressive move would be termed "drunken misbehaviour". "Sir, please, this is the 150th year of Indian Railways. (Yes, this story happened in 2002.) And your ads say customer service is your focus," I make a last plea. It was there in the newspaper. "I have to follow the rules, I told you." He's determined. I must stop chasing this son of a rulebook. Or he'll have it. And that will be the end of my journey. What to do?
If I get down, at best they'll reimburse the ticket fare. Travelling all the way back to Borivili with these two sacks of bags! And even if I manage it, I won't get a confirmed ticket for at least the next couple of days. I can't cut short my Kerala stay; no way! All I have is just a week. So?
What if I say I'm a woman? That I went to Mumbai for a sex-change operation. That the moustache and beard will go only after a couple of weeks. That I'll charge this s.o.r (son of a rulebook, dodo!) with sexual harassment. After all, I am a feminist sympathiser. Come to think of it, I may even have more feminine characteristics than masculine. Or would I be able to sit back and think like this in a critical situation like this?...
I was thinking away to femininity when the ticket checker returned to me. He offers me a berth in the Tatkal coach. But I have to shell out the full charge with some fine for ticketless journey. By now, I'm positively feminine, if you consider safety-first approach a feminine characteristic. I go for it. In case you call it frailty, forget your gender, you're masculine.
But I'm not yet totally converted. I can't let this s.o.r get away with it so easily. I vow to take it up with the railways or approach the consumer court. But on the third day of my landing in Kerala I meet with an accident and break my leg. When one can't pee without somebody's help, one looks for support, not vengeance. And I thought about marriage, for the first time since my college girlfriend's wedding years ago.
A naughty thought is creeping into your head, huh? Well, go ahead, break his leg, be it your son or your brother who refuses to talk about marriage. Success guaranteed.
It's four years since then and it's the fourth year of my marriage. My F trip hardly ever came to my mind until the other day when I went to book tickets for our vacation. There was this man who returned to the counter after collecting his ticket--it had F against his name. He had to cancel the ticket and take a new one. Poor thing, missed the train to femininity!
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
pimper's paradise
here's my latest realisation: that am in a pimper's paradise.
and it seems am stuck in this well that's my workplace. i've been around here for more than a decade now. i get to feel needed and i get to believe am a solid hand. but when it comes to promotions and increments, it's never a great deal. and that's the only time of the year when am made to feel down. otherwise things were ok. my happy private life, 6-hour duty, 70-day leave, an intact ego and a lack of ambition kept me going.
of late, things started changing. our new boss cribs about leaves and talks about long hours. and it has become difficult to take leave and bugger off after finishing my day's duty. there at home, bindu had to leave work to take care of anosha. and suddenly we were facing a financial crisis.
now, in the indan media scene, one is made to believe that if you wish you can change jobs as frequently as you change your undegarments. everybody around is discussing job offers from newspapers, tv channels, news agencies, equity research agencies, content outsourcing firms etc, etc.
the truth about me is i haven't got a single job offer ever since i took up my first job back in 1992. but anyway since i had nothing to suspect my talent or credibility and there was an urgent need to imprve my earnings, i decided to enter the job market.
and in the last one month, i approached five prospective employers. i took one test and two interviews. but none of them offered me a job.
i wonder how long can i keep blaming my luck...
and it seems am stuck in this well that's my workplace. i've been around here for more than a decade now. i get to feel needed and i get to believe am a solid hand. but when it comes to promotions and increments, it's never a great deal. and that's the only time of the year when am made to feel down. otherwise things were ok. my happy private life, 6-hour duty, 70-day leave, an intact ego and a lack of ambition kept me going.
of late, things started changing. our new boss cribs about leaves and talks about long hours. and it has become difficult to take leave and bugger off after finishing my day's duty. there at home, bindu had to leave work to take care of anosha. and suddenly we were facing a financial crisis.
now, in the indan media scene, one is made to believe that if you wish you can change jobs as frequently as you change your undegarments. everybody around is discussing job offers from newspapers, tv channels, news agencies, equity research agencies, content outsourcing firms etc, etc.
the truth about me is i haven't got a single job offer ever since i took up my first job back in 1992. but anyway since i had nothing to suspect my talent or credibility and there was an urgent need to imprve my earnings, i decided to enter the job market.
and in the last one month, i approached five prospective employers. i took one test and two interviews. but none of them offered me a job.
i wonder how long can i keep blaming my luck...
Sunday, June 19, 2005
musings
sexy page! it's rocking, man!
welcome to the news desk. we're into the business of news. producing and packaging news with the same precision a nike does its footwear. and building up your brand the way a coca-cola does. so what if heat waves claim hundreds of lives across the country, as long as it doesn't go with your brand image nothing's news. after all, in the news commodity market, there are thousands of sexy items we can acquire for free and sell for a fortune. and every brand conscious businessman knows the worth of news space. so we sell that also for...yes, much much more than 30 silver coins that god was worth for judas.
welcome to the news desk. we're into the business of news. producing and packaging news with the same precision a nike does its footwear. and building up your brand the way a coca-cola does. so what if heat waves claim hundreds of lives across the country, as long as it doesn't go with your brand image nothing's news. after all, in the news commodity market, there are thousands of sexy items we can acquire for free and sell for a fortune. and every brand conscious businessman knows the worth of news space. so we sell that also for...yes, much much more than 30 silver coins that god was worth for judas.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)