They come in the best of their formal wear in tune with the latest fashion... Their ears jammed with headfones switching from chartbusters to client calls... They get into the swanky elevators with other tagged professionals... They reach their respective floors, swipe their yellow red blue I cards...
They enter into their snazzy workstations, switch on their machines... Their cubicles decorated with memorabilia that reflects a part of their personal identity, thats the only space to "show off" your personal taste...
Women head for the washrooms.... The touch ups continue... Finally they add the last coat of lipstick and exchange pleasant glances... and another day starts
It starts with exploring the over flooded mailbox... Forwards, junks, irrelevant information, missed conversations, deadlines, failure to meet deadlines, unimportant events and so on...
Then its work, intercepted with regular bitching sessions... These bitching sessions are almost endless... It completes a full circle always--A to B to C and back to A and the saga continues.... What goes around comes around...
Well if you are curious about the subject of conversations well it can range from your appearance, lifestyle, your wardrobe, your personal life to your so called corporate character... Criticism is a stress buster for the modern day corporates... In case you don't criticise, you are way behind the bandwagon... So play on fellows... join the group...
Apart from bitching another game is "mud slinging"... In the middle of a conversation, just spot your prey and make him/her the laughing stock to boost your ego... If your prey is insignificantly submissive, it surely adds to the pleasure quotient... sadistic pleasure? no not at all.....its all about taking a break!
And while doing all this, never forget to blow the trumpets... Shout scream speak... the louder the noise, more easily you will be heard...
Well after the usual sessions of bitching, smirking and over indulgently oiling..Its again back to work and slogging hard... At the fag end of the day as they leave their workstations in their crisp formal wear, they are tired, back to their own lives, exploring the left overs of their personal space...
Exhausted, drained out, unbuttoned shirts, a quick splash under the shower, kohl smudged eyes--- they are all heroes...Bruised and battered heroes borne out of everyday mundane struggle, humiliation, pain, success and failure...Some win, some lose and some give up... but the urge to get to the top continues... the urge to dethrone is carefully nurtured by all of them every single day...
In the end the tired soul, stressed out with the tough battles of life, comes back to its cocoon...
And again yet another day begins amidst airconditioned cubicles, amidst deadlines, amidst the rat race....the heroes fight it out again...
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Crash...
The blurred glass windowpanes wore a shade of grey. The empty coffee mug stained with the brown elixir stood on the bedside table. Pages from an unread book, her newly bought tees, her blue comb were scattered on the bed... Her dressing table was cluttered as usual... junk neckpiece, tribal earrings, safetypins, make up kits, broken edges of kohl and over used bindis sticking on the mirrror...
On the other end of the room, the books were stacked ... Her jeans was hanging from one end of the chair as it legs almost kissed the marble floor... The Denvers, Floyds and Jovis were all piled up... She loved this disorganised flavor about her room...
Her cellphone was lying on the bed as well... No one ever saw the phone as it was always sticking to her ears... Her huge leather bag was almost like a portable curio shop... from age old movie tickets to long forgotten bills all were stuffed inside... She carried a wallet always which had a photograph, a letter from Riju and her driving license...
Riju's flight had almost reached.... They would be meeting after a long time... She was speeding through Bypass... And it was then she saw the yellow cab at a distance...
The asphalt road was smeared with blood, a few confused shrieks over and there, shattered pieces of glass, a curious crowd, the monotonous whistle of an ambulance, her huge leather bag on one end, the overbearing smell of disinfectant in the morgue....
"Rash Driving kills woman"-- the headlines on one insignificant corner of the Monday newspaper had a few lines about the accident.
On the other end of the room, the books were stacked ... Her jeans was hanging from one end of the chair as it legs almost kissed the marble floor... The Denvers, Floyds and Jovis were all piled up... She loved this disorganised flavor about her room...
Her cellphone was lying on the bed as well... No one ever saw the phone as it was always sticking to her ears... Her huge leather bag was almost like a portable curio shop... from age old movie tickets to long forgotten bills all were stuffed inside... She carried a wallet always which had a photograph, a letter from Riju and her driving license...
Riju's flight had almost reached.... They would be meeting after a long time... She was speeding through Bypass... And it was then she saw the yellow cab at a distance...
The asphalt road was smeared with blood, a few confused shrieks over and there, shattered pieces of glass, a curious crowd, the monotonous whistle of an ambulance, her huge leather bag on one end, the overbearing smell of disinfectant in the morgue....
"Rash Driving kills woman"-- the headlines on one insignificant corner of the Monday newspaper had a few lines about the accident.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
15th Aug' 2009
Woke up early morning... switched on the television.... our independent spirit was in full swing by then... the Prime Minister's speech, music channels blaring out patriotic chartbusters, the Indian flag all over my television...sms-es poured in wishing "happy independence day" ....
Loooked out of my balcony... the para club had got some dusty faded string of paper flags .... they were busy decorating the club premises with the national flag (keeping the ma mati oops trinamool colors aside)...
Switched on the radio...The RJs aimlessly blabbered on..."whats the meaning of independence for you".... listeners, over enthusiastic callers sang in patriotic songs, criticized corruption, praised our freedom fighters and finally hanged up after being assured of food vouchers and discount coupons...
Flipped the pages of the newspaper... Mother dairy had released its tri color ice cream named "Swad Desh"---Glanced at the page 3 sections... celebs sporting the whitest of the white had celebrated pre Independence party at some infamous pub...
Went to the nearest multiplex to buy tickets of Kaminay for the Sunday show... The mall was over crowded at 11 in the morning.... From sniffer dogs to sniffer bitches!.... School kids, teenagers, love birds, socialites, hot babes, ma mashi dada boudi .... sporting the best of their kurtas, sarees, salwar kameez and to top it all the miniature national flag sticking on to them as the icing on the cake...
All the shops offered 50% discount to celebrate independence day... from United colors of Benetton, Tommy Hilfiger, Levis or Victoria's Secret.... all were a part of the Indian independence... and the music which played at the backdrop was none other than Lata Mangeshkar's "Vande Mataram".... tri color baloons, tri color sarees, tri color kurtas... independence smeared all over....
While coming back... got stuck in a terrible jam... the ruling party had organized a reddish tri color procession... celebrating independence and abusing the opposition in its own way!
Back home, sipped my cola and back to my television....Channels were busy flashing SRK's humilation at the airport while wannabe pg 3 ites shared the space to voice out their grievances at different airports in the world!!!! US inconsideration, racial discrimination again highlighted at its peak with independence at the backdrop...
15th August' 1942:
A woman in her mid 30s had walked 10 miles, just to get a glimpse of Bapu... She would be meeting Mahatma for the first time...She was a middle class housewife of 1940s in rural Bengal. A mother of five, married at a very young age, she was deeply moved by Gandhiji's fiery speech. She wanted to do her bit for the nation......
Her gold bangles were the only ornaments that were left..... She had saved them for her elder daughter's marriage....She touched Bapu's feet and handed it over to him....Her eyes were moist as Bapu blessed her.... She dreamt of an independent India someday....
I live in an independent India...
Happy Independence!
Loooked out of my balcony... the para club had got some dusty faded string of paper flags .... they were busy decorating the club premises with the national flag (keeping the ma mati oops trinamool colors aside)...
Switched on the radio...The RJs aimlessly blabbered on..."whats the meaning of independence for you".... listeners, over enthusiastic callers sang in patriotic songs, criticized corruption, praised our freedom fighters and finally hanged up after being assured of food vouchers and discount coupons...
Flipped the pages of the newspaper... Mother dairy had released its tri color ice cream named "Swad Desh"---Glanced at the page 3 sections... celebs sporting the whitest of the white had celebrated pre Independence party at some infamous pub...
Went to the nearest multiplex to buy tickets of Kaminay for the Sunday show... The mall was over crowded at 11 in the morning.... From sniffer dogs to sniffer bitches!.... School kids, teenagers, love birds, socialites, hot babes, ma mashi dada boudi .... sporting the best of their kurtas, sarees, salwar kameez and to top it all the miniature national flag sticking on to them as the icing on the cake...
All the shops offered 50% discount to celebrate independence day... from United colors of Benetton, Tommy Hilfiger, Levis or Victoria's Secret.... all were a part of the Indian independence... and the music which played at the backdrop was none other than Lata Mangeshkar's "Vande Mataram".... tri color baloons, tri color sarees, tri color kurtas... independence smeared all over....
While coming back... got stuck in a terrible jam... the ruling party had organized a reddish tri color procession... celebrating independence and abusing the opposition in its own way!
Back home, sipped my cola and back to my television....Channels were busy flashing SRK's humilation at the airport while wannabe pg 3 ites shared the space to voice out their grievances at different airports in the world!!!! US inconsideration, racial discrimination again highlighted at its peak with independence at the backdrop...
15th August' 1942:
A woman in her mid 30s had walked 10 miles, just to get a glimpse of Bapu... She would be meeting Mahatma for the first time...She was a middle class housewife of 1940s in rural Bengal. A mother of five, married at a very young age, she was deeply moved by Gandhiji's fiery speech. She wanted to do her bit for the nation......
Her gold bangles were the only ornaments that were left..... She had saved them for her elder daughter's marriage....She touched Bapu's feet and handed it over to him....Her eyes were moist as Bapu blessed her.... She dreamt of an independent India someday....
I live in an independent India...
Happy Independence!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Techtalk
After I completed my post graduation in Mass Communication, all I wanted to be was the next cropped hair Barkha Dutt spending stormy nights in Jammu Kashmir war camps or interviewing Shahrukh Khan in glossy airconditioned comfort! But as fate would have it, Peter Grainge overpowered Barkha Dutt in the long run!
After a few years of my short stint in freelancing, copywriting and content writing, I finally ended up as a Technical Writer. Well before this job, I really had no clue about technical writing, nor I had the slightest idea that where this would lead to. But as they say, Capricorns (goats) have a tremendous sense of belief in their career decisions.
During my content writing days, I received a job offer as a technical writer from a reputed multinational. The job offer came with a huge role description (people were really sure of my knowledge in this area!). The role description was almost Hebrew at that point.
With my limited knowledge, the day before the interview, I tried to do a small research on tech writing over the Internet. I really did not know where to start. There were a number of sites which had loads of information related to tech writing. But as luck would have it, I ended up reading a blog named “Tina the technical writer”. I was so interested in Tina that I did not waste my time in reading anything else. Alas! Tina was of no help!
The next day I went for the interview all dressed up. There was a round of security checks, which made me look like the next Osama in town. After waiting for sometime, I heard someone calling my name.
After all these years, I can hardly recollect the questions or the answers, but I still remember that someone had asked, “Do you know how to make Table of Contents?” I was feeling almost blank at that point but that did not stop me. There was a quick reply from my side: “Well of course I know. You have to write the content and then you arrange it in a table!”
Well I will not blabber any more about my profound knowledge in this area but creating a TOC was the most memorable lesson in my tech writing career!
After a few years of my short stint in freelancing, copywriting and content writing, I finally ended up as a Technical Writer. Well before this job, I really had no clue about technical writing, nor I had the slightest idea that where this would lead to. But as they say, Capricorns (goats) have a tremendous sense of belief in their career decisions.
During my content writing days, I received a job offer as a technical writer from a reputed multinational. The job offer came with a huge role description (people were really sure of my knowledge in this area!). The role description was almost Hebrew at that point.
With my limited knowledge, the day before the interview, I tried to do a small research on tech writing over the Internet. I really did not know where to start. There were a number of sites which had loads of information related to tech writing. But as luck would have it, I ended up reading a blog named “Tina the technical writer”. I was so interested in Tina that I did not waste my time in reading anything else. Alas! Tina was of no help!
The next day I went for the interview all dressed up. There was a round of security checks, which made me look like the next Osama in town. After waiting for sometime, I heard someone calling my name.
After all these years, I can hardly recollect the questions or the answers, but I still remember that someone had asked, “Do you know how to make Table of Contents?” I was feeling almost blank at that point but that did not stop me. There was a quick reply from my side: “Well of course I know. You have to write the content and then you arrange it in a table!”
Well I will not blabber any more about my profound knowledge in this area but creating a TOC was the most memorable lesson in my tech writing career!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Notebook
“Let it grow, let it grow. Let it blossom, let it flow. In the sun, the rain, the snow. Love is lovely, let it grow.”
She looked at the notebook again. He had scribbled those lines years back. The worn out pages of this notebook was all that was left. It treasured a few scribbled thoughts here n there, scattered in the whirlwind of time.
He had called her after all these years. He wanted to meet. She was in a dilemma.
She came to office that day. She looked into the mirror. 10 years ---a long time. Once a petite 20 year old she has now turned into a married 30-ish woman. Her day starts with making scrambled eggs, dropping her kids to school, driving to her workplace and at night reading books as Vipul dozes off to sleep after taking a drink.
Her life was going on, when one late summer afternoon he called her. The images flashed again. How she waited for him for hours at the bus stop desperate to let him know, but he never turned up.
His voice sounded strange after all these years. He said he wanted to meet her. She was curious, excited. She thought for a while and then she called him.
She took a half-day from office. She got an Eric Clapton for him from the bookstore. She spent an hour at the beauty parlor, desperate to reduce those fine lines, those strands of grey here ‘n there and get rid of that tanned tropical look.
It was 6 in the evening. A busy Rashbehari crossing. She came out of the parlor. There was a lump in her throat. She was nervous. She looked at the watch. Its time to give him a call. Is he waiting for her? How does he look? Will he look at her in the same way as he used to years back, during her college days…She remembered every li’l detail, every late night conversation they had…
She finally dialed the number. It was busy. God! He must be calling her. She dialed again. The monotonous ring tone on the other side and then that voice picked up. She said “Ki re byasto khub? Dekha korbi bolechili”
He replied: “Oh tui… na re aj ektu byasto achi…aj hobena…some other time may be…
He uttered the same thing years back after she waited hours for him…
Mrs. Bose looked at her watch. Vipul will be home soon. It was time …Her lipstick was feeling sticky... She was drained out after a tiring day at office...Time to get back to her life… Time to get back to her world... The some other time never comes… Their time never came…
She looked at the notebook again. He had scribbled those lines years back. The worn out pages of this notebook was all that was left. It treasured a few scribbled thoughts here n there, scattered in the whirlwind of time.
He had called her after all these years. He wanted to meet. She was in a dilemma.
She came to office that day. She looked into the mirror. 10 years ---a long time. Once a petite 20 year old she has now turned into a married 30-ish woman. Her day starts with making scrambled eggs, dropping her kids to school, driving to her workplace and at night reading books as Vipul dozes off to sleep after taking a drink.
Her life was going on, when one late summer afternoon he called her. The images flashed again. How she waited for him for hours at the bus stop desperate to let him know, but he never turned up.
His voice sounded strange after all these years. He said he wanted to meet her. She was curious, excited. She thought for a while and then she called him.
She took a half-day from office. She got an Eric Clapton for him from the bookstore. She spent an hour at the beauty parlor, desperate to reduce those fine lines, those strands of grey here ‘n there and get rid of that tanned tropical look.
It was 6 in the evening. A busy Rashbehari crossing. She came out of the parlor. There was a lump in her throat. She was nervous. She looked at the watch. Its time to give him a call. Is he waiting for her? How does he look? Will he look at her in the same way as he used to years back, during her college days…She remembered every li’l detail, every late night conversation they had…
She finally dialed the number. It was busy. God! He must be calling her. She dialed again. The monotonous ring tone on the other side and then that voice picked up. She said “Ki re byasto khub? Dekha korbi bolechili”
He replied: “Oh tui… na re aj ektu byasto achi…aj hobena…some other time may be…
He uttered the same thing years back after she waited hours for him…
Mrs. Bose looked at her watch. Vipul will be home soon. It was time …Her lipstick was feeling sticky... She was drained out after a tiring day at office...Time to get back to her life… Time to get back to her world... The some other time never comes… Their time never came…
Monday, June 8, 2009
Eternal Wait
It was a busy Monday morning...The vehicles queued up near AJC Bose Road.. honked monotonously to reach their destination...tagged professionals inside air conditioned comfort, sweating salesman in jam packed buses and uniformed children dragging the burden of life on their shoulders....set for another day...
It was then I looked at the blue whitewashed mansion on the other side of the road.... I saw them... Sitting on the balcony, listlessly staring at the busy scheduled lifestyle where they once belonged....
It was only a few days ago they were a part of this world. They had to meet deadlines, walk through the air conditioned corridors, engage in corporate power plays, or were busy preparing lunch boxes for their husbands and kids...it was just a few years back they were busy in their own world...It was only a few days ago they were carrying their school bags and they had started for school..Their tiny fingers gently clutched daddy's warm hands...It was only a few years back they had their crushes.... It seemed just a few moments back when they had exchanged sweet notes with their loved ones... It was all there...It seemed just a like a moment that has faded away in the blue distant horizon...
Now with wrinkled vision and parched lips they sit motionless in the blue balconies of St. Johns old age home... Life has pushed them to an edge which is beyond schedules...Its just an eternal wait for them as the clock ticks in an off hand way...
It was then I looked at the blue whitewashed mansion on the other side of the road.... I saw them... Sitting on the balcony, listlessly staring at the busy scheduled lifestyle where they once belonged....
It was only a few days ago they were a part of this world. They had to meet deadlines, walk through the air conditioned corridors, engage in corporate power plays, or were busy preparing lunch boxes for their husbands and kids...it was just a few years back they were busy in their own world...It was only a few days ago they were carrying their school bags and they had started for school..Their tiny fingers gently clutched daddy's warm hands...It was only a few years back they had their crushes.... It seemed just a few moments back when they had exchanged sweet notes with their loved ones... It was all there...It seemed just a like a moment that has faded away in the blue distant horizon...
Now with wrinkled vision and parched lips they sit motionless in the blue balconies of St. Johns old age home... Life has pushed them to an edge which is beyond schedules...Its just an eternal wait for them as the clock ticks in an off hand way...
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