Rishte mein to hum tumhare.... huh, kaun lagte hain?

Superheroes have difficult lives ! 

Every superhero must have a tragic personal crisis. Call it destiny. Or a balancing act by nature. When one achieves supernatural expertise at this very huge and humongously important thing (e.g. saving the world, duh! .. if you must ask 'like what?'..), he must fail miserably at some other petty thing that turns his personal life upside down (....like remembering names and faces of relatives; also read: this, this and this...). YogiMan couldn't be an exception.. no, no, no Sir, he couldn't be. 

So, yeah, I am miserably bad at remembering people. I will forget your face, name, where do I know you from, when did we last meet and what did we talk about etc. Problem reaches epic proportions when I am dealing with relatives. I just don't remember! I forget their names even if I have met them a zillion times, I forget how I am related to them, I forget important details about them that every distant family member is supposed to religiously remember. Not only is this pretty embarrassing, this can get people like your parents and wife mighty upset with you as well ('only if you spent more time attending family functions rather than play on your laptop / phone, yeh din dekhna na padta ....'). 

Sample this: 

You are made to attend a wedding. Familiar faces smile at you from all around, making your head go in a tizzy trying to remember who they are. Then suddenly you are confronted by a smiling lady, with a toddler tugging at the hem of her ghagra. 

Unknown Lady: "Vicky, kaise ho? How's Sonia? What have you named the little one?" 

Me: "Umm... accha hoon. Sonia and Ishita are good too. Ishu turned 7 months now", you smile, telling yourself that you obviously know this female, but can't recollect how, why, and other such details. 

Unknown Lady: "Nice..." 

*Long Awkward Silence when you both look here and there* 

Me: "Umm.. you have lost weight" ... (this is usually a nice thing to say to strangers) 

Unknown Lady: "Haha, not at all. Just been watching what I eat", she beams and then tells the kid, "Radhu, don't pull the lehanga beta" 

Me: "Your daughter is cute! " The smile almost vanishes off her lips. 

Unknown Lady: "This is my niece. My son is two years old.... he's over there *points*.. with his father. You are probably confused" 

Me: " (Oops), yeah, sorry, how old is your daugh... umm... son? (wait, she just told you .... you are not making sense, ass!)" 

Thankfully, another lady barges in and steals her away by murmuring about who she needs to meet. Phew!

Imagine the plight if you make such a mistake with your in-laws? ! *shivers* 

Up, up and away! 

Chhatri na khol barsaat mein... !

When I was very very young and impressionable, I had seen an advertisement for Gladrags model hunt in some magazine. It said that men need to be minimum 6 feet in height to be eligible to compete. Somehow, that figure stuck in my head and I always wanted to be taller than 6 feet. But as it happens in most tragic stories, I stopped growing in height after 5'10''. I was shocked, shattered, paranoid and inconsolable when that happened. Buy then I meekly accepted it as my fate. Of course, the fact that I was still taller than more than half of men around me helped to alleviate my misery.

But then, at times, you just wish you weren't as tall as you are. For example, when venturing out of home in rainy season - all you see is a sea of umbrellas in front of you, and you also get poked in the eye (Ow!) with tips of umbrella ribs carried by all the dwarves around you.

I have now decided I don't like umbrellas after all. I don't completely blame my height. It's also the dumbness of people that's responsible for my distrust of umbrellas. Here's my advice to you, umbrella-carriers-on-the-streets-of-Calcutta:

*If you want to carry an umbrella, please also carry a plastic bag, to keep the wet umbrella in it once you have boarded a bus, auto, metro train. It may not seem that important to you, but your co-passengers certainly don't want to get soaked because you are most likely to push that dripping wet umbrella against their bodies!
*When you want to open an umbrella, please either move to a safe spot, or look around to see if anyone is likely to get hurt. Umbrellas have these pointy tips which can be pretty dangerous, in case you haven't noticed.
*Umbrella is to save you from rain, not for dueling. So, please don't rush madly through a crowd of people with your umbrella jostling for space with theirs.

Or maybe don't carry an umbrella at all. Saves so much trouble for me!

And, by the way, watch that totally awesome rain song here.

How 'Run Lola Run' inspired our daily lives

Passengers waiting for Metro to stop
so that they can rush inside

I was in Bombay for three years. No, while that is a sad thing, that is not what this blog is about.
So, yeah, in Bombay I used to take the local trains to and from work. No, that's not what I am going to crib about either (I have already done that earlier here).

That was just to drive home the point that even three years of Bombay local trains couldn't have prepared me for the nightmare that is Calcutta Metro Rail. I mean have you even tried boarding a Metro these days? Here is what I wonder of all these morons travelling alongside me my co-passengers:

Did all of you want to be sprinters but actually got stuck in fucked up corporate careers? For nothing else can explain the mad dash all of you break into at the slightest opportunity.
Got off the auto? Run madly towards the turnstiles knocking off everything on the way!
Got through the turnstile? Run towards the platform, panting and heaving!
Train has arrived? Madly push into the already-crowded train!
Got off the train? Dash for the turnstiles before anyone else can make it. For this is your only chance to redeem yourself from that shameful episode.. the ignominy of coming last in 100 meters sprint way back when you were in Class I.

This, when there is a train every four minutes! I mean, I seriously mean man, grow up.

I need to be paid more, because I put up with Mr. Grumpy

I have dealt with a lot of weirdos in my long life of 28 years. And most of them in my short working career of last 4 years. But then there are some people who clearly drive you to the brink of your patience.

So this colleague of mine thinks he is God's gift to mankind and the whole world is out there to make his life miserable. Here's what I want to tell him and yet, being the nice guy that I am (*sniggers*), can't, so I am venting it all out on my blog instead:

*You can't complain about 'work-life balance' when you come late to office, leave early, and play the whole day on your iPad. I mean have you ever looked at people around you and realized that each of us is slogging our asses off, while you sit on your over-sized bottom doing nothing whole day?

*Has there ever been a day when you have come to office and said, 'Wow, what a beautiful day! I am feeling hale and hearty'? I am amazed at the amount of creativity that goes into coming up with ailments such as 'involuntary spasms at the back of my upper arm' - use some of that on work-related things and I may actually like you.

*Are you really that gullible that everyone around you wants to cheat you and you have to have heated telephone conversations with them, demanding compensation, reversals, alleging mental harassment, wanting to speak to seniors of call center employees and what not. And all of this while you are in office. I mean why is that everyone from mobile operator, to credit card company, to doodhwala, to kaamwali bai, to insurance company, to retail chains, to local kirana store, wants to defraud you - within a span of a few hours, and this goes on in a loop?

*If you are walking with me on a crowded pavement, and people nudge past you, you cannot screech like a schoolgirl. No you can't.

*If you do decide to come with me for client meetings, don't expect me to ferry you around in cool-cabs. And if I have managed to cajole you into one of those yellow taxis, don't crib about heat and pollution. I have enough worries in my life that to tend to a 35 years old baby which throws tantrums every other minute.

I have a tough life at work. But then, I sometimes think, wouldn't life at work be boring if I didn't have people like you around.. 

Bring out the Gunda in you

There are very few things in life that I am really touchy about. Actually, I can consider myself pretty much emotionally dead otherwise, but some topics get me talking.

Calcutta has always been one of them.

It's laid-back, but it's warm, I would argue. People are nice, I would tell anyone who is willing to listen. Men are lazy, but they are progressive, I would coerce them. And most importantly, women are safe here, I would make them believe.

Not like Mumbai where passers-by don't care if you lay writhing on the road in pain, where your neighbors don't even know you exist. Not like Delhi where even women spout abuses in every second word, where the men consider raping any woman they see as their birth-right. Not like Bangalore and Chennai where the auto-wallahs can make you repent why you were born in the first place, where the local populace's antipathy towards North Indians will make you squirm.

But time had to catch up eventually. And it did.

Women are raped, and then they are mocked by the Govt and police for daring to lodge a complaint. Anyone trying to act as witness is also molested, and officers trying to investigate the case are transferred.
Co-passengers turn their head the other way as a child falls off a speeding auto.
People on a busy street in the heart of the city couldn't care less as a gang of rowdy auto-wallahs molest a lady and beat up her husband for daring to protest against their rash driving. Even after the media highlighted the issue, the auto drivers walk free due to political clout, whereas the couple is being tormented.

Ask any person on the road, and he would seem worried. Calcutta is not the same anymore, he will tell you. He is scared, worried and anxious. He is concerned about his own safety and that of his family's.

So, if we have become more and more like the other cities in India, does that mean that we have re-arrived on the commercial landscape as well.. and that like Mumbai, Delhi and other cities, we too will see growth in industry and employment.

The answer is a big fucking No.

We never deserved that, and we don't deserve even now, as I found out today when I tried to enter my bank's premises in the morning. It's an All-India strike called by some union of bank employees. Funny thing is neither me nor any other employee of my bank is member of the union and yet, we were not allowed to enter office by flag-bearers and slogan-shouters. Colleagues in other parts of the country found it funny, it's a fucking strike of PSU bank employees... why is your branch shut? And then they would themselves answer with a smirk, that's Calcutta for you.

I hate you and why

As my wife constantly reminds me, I spend more than half of my day in office, and the other half mostly sleeping. For the time being let's ignore why she painstakingly points this out to me so often - that can be fodder for another blog. Here, I shall talk about the time I spend in office, and the items people I meet there everyday.

In office, I am this sweet little hardworking soul, whose only aim in life is to spread happiness all around. But that is not how others think and behave. This is what they think and do:

You want me to work as well? - He is plain lazy. And he gets away with it too. If you are looking to dodge work, you can learn a trick or two from him, like staring thoughtfully at the computer screen for minutes altogether (doesn't matter what you are staring at), running around the floor talking on the mobile in urgent whispers, give a disgusting look to anyone who offers you work (this one actually works!), tell everyone how you are doing everyone else's work etc.

I am God's gift to himself. Bow to me already - He is always full of stories, about himself and his spectacular achievements. He would tell you how his boss adores him, how his clients drool all over him, how he won the national golf tournament and how he manages to have affairs with all the hot women in office without his wife knowing.

At home I dress like Lady Gaga. At office, I am just myself - She would shove her cleavage in your face at the slightest opportunity. Many mighty men have fallen for her sense of clothing. And things just get better with time.

My hair fall is not the only problem I have in life - She is the cry baby in office. Give her work and she would tell you about how her husband threatened to divorce her because she returned home late. Point out mistakes in her work, and she would tell you how her son doesn't even remember her face because she is always at work. She would make you look like the monster, for all the problems in her life.

I like to Bully. Deal with it - He marks your boss on all emails, and all of them are nasty to begin with. He would give you work that's not yours and then make you do it by throwing hazaar tantrums. He is a man on a mission: to show the world that he can fuck everyone's happiness. Everyone's. And his constipation-induced actions would irritate you to no end.

Do this for me. Don't tell anyone. I am not stealing your thunder, no I'm not - The quintessential credit-snatcher. And without doing any work at all. This variety lurks in the corner, quietly taking in all that you are doing. And the moment something shout-worthy comes up - zing tang bang - it's his before you can blink. He would also come to you often, seeking 'help'. And then conveniently forget to tell people that you did the work and not him.

Everyone (apart me from me, of course) deserves to be sacked - He would keep on cribbing about how everyone in office doesn't work and they should be sacked. For people who work, he would tell you that they don't work enough and don't do it right.

Abe Bh**ch** - He likes to abuse. In every sentence. You got a problem, sissy boi?

PS: Please feel free to replace 'He' or 'She' with each other wherever you like. And don't be disappointed if I have missed out 'You'. I am planning a sequel. Yay!

What I want 2012 to be like

1. I don't want the world to end. No, really. All my cribbing on this blog may have given you the impression that I am living a miserable life. But, actually, it's not all that bad. I have decided I can live a few more years easily.

2. Since I wouldn't be dying anytime soon after all, I want my hair-fall to stop. I have done everything humanly possible (tried all those shampoos, visited far-flung salons, consulted dermatologists, bugged Sonia to apply oil on my head every night), even pleaded to God, nothing seems to work. I can't imagine living life as a bald, ageing banker.

[To make matters worse, all my bald colleagues, after taking note of my stressed looks these days, have started advising me to let go of the moh-maya. 'Nothing can be done', they whisper understandingly.]

3. I want more money in my bank account. What I have is not enough. They say that no amount of money can be enough. But I am not that greedy. I am willing to negotiate on the 'more' bit.

4. I want my work to be a breeze. Every client I meet must become a fan of my charisma instantly. They should  accept my proposals with glazed eyes and marvel at the sheer awesomeness of everything about me. They should have mini-orgasms when I present to them how working with me can change their lives and the way their business works. I want my bosses to think I am the best thing to have happened to the bank.

And all this should be done during 10AM to 5PM. I also have a life outside office (you loser with raised eyebrows)!

5. Since I am too lazy to exercise, I should have a near-perfect body (see, I don't want to be 'perfect' without effort.. and am willing to make do with only 'near perfect'). That would stop Sonia from bugging me about my bloating tummy more than anything else.

6. I want all my Facebook status updates to be 'liked' by ALL my friends and every post should have at least a dozen comments. I want my blog to be listed as the 'most popular blog by a middle-aged banker' by TIME Magazine (isn't that the magazine which brings out all such lists?). I want AdSense to offer to place advertisements on my Blog (which I shall reject) unlike last time when I applied for an AdSense account and they rejected my application *holds back tears*.

There are so many more wishes that I have. But then I don't wanna have too many expectations from the year (of doom, as they say) 2012. Signing out (for now).

Happy New Year folks..... have a great one :)

This time for Calcutta

A shy bride,
a forgotten princess,
a fairy with its ethereal charm,

With hint of glory, old,
A city will regain life,
Faces mirthful, hearts warm,



Streets will light up,
And stars'll shine the brightest,
With people, alleys aswarm,

For the Goddess is here,
And joy is here,
Blessed will be homes, blessed will be farms.

It feels like Home

Potholed roads, dirty streets, people bickering over how Dada was cheated and humiliated by that 'enemy of the land' SRK (personally, I detest them both), election loud-speakers and rallies, overcrowded Metros (God didn't want me to miss Mumbai local trains after all), and the horrid weather making you sweaty and smelly. Still, it feels like home. That must be because it is home, duh.

What I am trying to imply is that I do not want to crib about Calcutta the way I used to about Bombay. And that's because there are so many good things about it. For example:

Ambassador Taxis:
Yes, I am fed-up of the tiny Fiat-taxis of Bombay (after bumping my head n number of times, while getting in, while getting out, while sitting in the cab!). The Calcutta taxis are the massive ambassadors, which not only carry 8 people aaram se, and as many luggage bags as you may possibly want to fit in the boot, they also have some other very unique uses, one of which is displayed in the attached picture.


Didi Fights:
Have you ever seen a stern-looking, Bong Didi? If you have not, you may not really get it. These females have  the same look : thick-rimmed glasses, fat round bindi on their forehead, lots of sindoor, always immaculately clad in a saree, and ready to pick up fights with the drop of a hat. And only God can save you from their wrath should you step on their toes or nudge them in a crowded bus. However, when two such Didis fight with each other (which is very often, believe me), it can make for helluva entertainment.

Mishti Doi, Puchka and Jhal-mudi:
Every time I visited Calcutta, I would hog on these like someone who's returned from Sahara. You would think now that I am in Calcutta, I would stuff myself so much that I would cease to like them anymore. Let's say there is no such thing is too much Puchka or Jhal-mudi or Mishti Doi. Yum!

The Chaap factor:
Now, if you speak to the father of a Bong Class X student (or Class XII or College for that matter), you will know how much chaap his son is under. And that is why, his son needs to be fed by his mom like a toddler and also his father needs to carry an umbrella over his head when he steps out. Unfortunately, the chaap factor never goes away. You talk to the GM Finance of a reputed company, and you know that your proposal is taking ages to get cleared because the GM is under so much chaap. This net net means that you can also boast of all the chaap that you carry on your shoulders, shirk work and be happy!

Crib-Post # 1

This is not to say that I don't crib in my other posts. But cribbing is never the focus and only a by-product.
So I thought of starting this series where I could crib with a focussed approach and complete, undivided attention. So, yeah, here we are:

I have always wondered at how bad I am with roads and directions. I mean you can't even imagine how exactly bad. If the directions involve anything but a straight line, I am bound to get lost. This holds true even if I have been to the place frigging 'n' number of times. It gets quite embarrassing at times, but I got to face the shit if there's a problem with me!

And worst part of the deal is when you get into a taxi and tell the cabbie to take you to a certain place and the cabbie asks you which road should he take. Since you are this God's gift to mankind otherwise (except for this small flaw of being bad with directions), you decide to act smart and tell the cabbie to take the road that would take you faster to the destination. In 9 instances out of 10, I can make out a smirk on the driver's face which reads 'Aaj accha murga fansa hai, lemme take the longer route!'

Then there would be friends and relatives who are visiting your city and who assume that you are a free tourist-guide. They would repeatedly call you for directions and random questions about how to reach a certain restaurant / monument from some godforsaken place they were stuck at. Needless to say, you are in for a lot of taanas should you tell them you don't know the way.

Sigh. Life sucks.

Chal Sanyasi Mandir mein

  

No this post is not about Bollywood. But yes, we do learn lessons from Bollywood. That goodness always wins in the end. That you cannot break away from your roots - that the Sanyasi has to eventually return to the Mandir.

And yes, I never thought I will find myself saying this, but I will, indeed, miss Bombay. And in particular, I will miss:

- The amazingly overcrowded local trains: I guess my body will take some time to adjust to the lack of full-body massage that I get twice everyday here. I will miss the squabbles, the rush and the push, the madness and well, the madness.

- The tapori lingo: I fear that I might just hug the autowallah in Calcutta out of affection if he addresses me as 'aap'. No, Sir, don't you think that I am being paranoid here because this is after 3 years of being subject to 'tereko kidhar utaroon mein?'

- The Mahangai: Being an aam aadmi, I am very concerned about how much I have been shelling out of my pocket for bare necessities of life. Calcutta would see some more money, hopefully, in my Bank account. Hopefully. 

- The Works: Ah, well, I know I have been bitching about my job so much already. So, I need not go down that road again. I will really really miss being treated like a rotten piece of shit. Okay okay I stop right here!

But is there something that I will not miss? The bestest friends that I have made and the memories that I will always cherish? Nopes. For I will be carrying them with me :)

But something tells me it ain't over yet. Or is it?

PS: The picture is there only for marketing value, so don't fret over it. 

Happy Ending

You know when they say that Happy Endings happen only in movies... now I wouldn't say that they are totally wrong. But then often, once in a while, just as if God forgot to throw in that random twist of fate, you do end up being happy in the end. And though it is not really the end, but merely a halt, such happy endings are what we all live for.


So yeah I am happy. But then it is not in my nature to feel good and talk good about others. So I shall crib as usual. I just wanted you guys to know .. you know just in case you guys feel that my cribbing lacks quality today, that's only because I'm happy!

So yeah I have been going through a lot of turmoil these days. And it doesn't help when each and every person you meet on the road / office / train / at the chaiwala's / facebook / Gtalk asks you the same question- 'Weren't you supposed to be in Calcutta already?'

Yes, I was supposed to have fled from this godforsaken city long back. In fact, I shouldn't have come here at all in the first place and taken jobs that promise to suck the last drop of blood outta my body. But then since I did come and now have monsters around me who wanna make my life miserable, all I can do is patiently wait. At least now I know that it's just another two weeks of pain.

So yeah, there, yes you, the moron looking at me from across the road - just know that I will be in Calcutta soon. Very soon. And that should wipe that smirk off your face!