Chapter 6: A Short Detour

I forgot to mention that I brought the food tray down, to use as a table, to write. This was one of those thoughts that slipped past me, as new came tumbling through. It has revisited me now and I can write about it. I am a little worried that while I do that, there will be more ideas that will disappear before I can catch them. I am going to have to let them pass. What I do not know won't hurt me. Right? 

I had the book on my lap and my sheets on the book. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her pull down the food tray from the seat in front of her and use that as a table. I kicked myself gently for not thinking of that earlier. Heck, I have too many things going on in my head to come up with ideas of my own. Anyway, I could not pull the tray down right then, lest she find out that I have been watching her. To save my pride, I forced myself to keep writing on my lap. 

I can not take it any longer. Down comes my tray. Wow. This is comfortable! Except, I should have taken out another fresh sheet of paper from my bag before I did this. I am pretty sure that I would have thought of using the tray as a table and getting all my sheets in order, if I was not so busy multi-tasking. I am observing her, trying to find out more about her, writing about her, looking out the window and watching the scenery change, writing about that, trying to ignore the pain developing in my fingers and moving up to my elbows. Being a writer is not easy, no matter what you are writing. Enough with fighting with myself. Moving on. 

I am thinking the words aloud in my mind and that is slowing me down too. I tried writing faster once or twice but my fingers fly about, making marks on paper which I am quite confident I will not be able to read later. I need to write legibly or this whole exercise will have been in vain. The nagging thought in my head is whether she has noticed that I am writing and whether she is on to the fact that she is the protagonist in this hour of my life. She probably has noticed and surely has no idea about her involvement. Imagine if I had one of my clumsy moments and one of my sheets landed in her lap! She would casually glance at what I am writing and, if I am unlucky enough, make out a sentence or two that I have written about her. That would be embarrassing and hilarious? I feel like laughing out aloud but I can't. 

Gosh, it is amazing how different it is to write than to type. The handwriting, the speed, the fingers hurting because I grip too hard, the pencil lead running out, etc. Not to mention, no smiley faces!

It is still blazing hot outside. It will be 9:30PM when I arrive in Melbourne. They are an hour ahead of Brisbane. The T20 match will be over. I wonder if we won this one at least. I am almost loathe to check. I know I will. I can't resist. I am not expecting us to win this one, given the way we have been playing recently but it will be welcome. Like an oasis in a desert. 

What is with all the desert references today? 

I may not have written in a while but I find that I remember most of the rules my teachers taught me in school. This is a pleasant surprise. The tab before a new para, the double arrowhead for 2 words inserts, that my teachers discouraged in essays but said I could use in casual letters to my friends. I took advantage of that alright. Letters I wrote to my friends, during school holidays, would be filled with arrows and asterisks. Every inch of the "inland letter" would be crammed. I had eventually moved on to writing in paper and stuffing them into envelopes, so I had more space for my news. The inland letters were reserved for short code messages. I always have so much to say. My thoughts would fly quickly, old ones pushing the new ones out of my mind and I had to write fast enough to be able to catch them all as they made their way past the window of my mind's eye. That is exactly the same thing happening to me now!

I keep forgetting that I am writing with a pencil and I can erase. Another of my habits my teachers absolutely hated and I could not stop myself from doing, was 'scratching and rewriting'. I am doing that now, even though I could just as easily erase and write over. I do not think I am going to bother much with that, anyway. It is easier to scratch and move on, at this speed. I am not being marked for this essay. It does not matter whether I score out words or I overwrite them.

Guest Post #3: PS. You Asked For It

The husband played a cat-and-mouse game or two before he sent me a copy of his blog to post. When the write-up finally arrived, it is a topic close to his heart (read: cynicism).

I am struggling to write an introduction for this one. Here is my one chance to get back at him for all the gibes I've endured since the fateful day of my marriage. A one golden opportunity to kick some serious ass. Yet, I have been typing and deleting words for the last half hour.

Yikes, he's just performed the most heinous act! There's a head in my sink! Oh wait, it's only hair, a head-ful of it! I'd better run. You go on and read his (hic hic) post...

Before I go on and insult a good few million people, let me tell you that when an Indian is going 'abroad' it usually means the USA, UK or if the stars are not so well aligned, somewhere in Europe. Preferably not the eastern parts.

The story starts as soon as the said person hears that he has to fly and starts the visa application process. Status among peers immediately goes up. 'Lucky bastard', becomes a common nickname. Furtive glances are cast and the thought that LB will make a lot of money jumps from one greedy mind to another. LB does a lot of shopping, usually for copious amounts of warm clothes,  clean underwear and socks (one hopes). On the fateful day LB is to fly, the whole extended family turns up at the airport. Even uncles long thought to be dead and buried show up. It does not really matter if LB will be back before Kyuki Saas Bi Kabhi Bahu Thi airs the next week. Tearful hugs, blessings and lots of unnecessary advice later, LB enters the airport. LB usually has no problems with baggage rules. Every bag is carefully weighed at home, and every bag is invariably filled with pickles and packets of precious Maggi.

Nothing interesting ever happens on planes and airports everywhere are designed to suck the soul out of people who stray within a 10-mile radius. Except for cabbies. I'm willing to bet that the Flying Spaghetti Monster is more real than the Mile-High club. Imagine a few speeding frames in your head and LB is out of the airport and 'abroad'.

Remember the image of the quintessential Japanese tourist taking pictures of every damn thing in sight? LB and his ilk put Mr. Yamaguchi to shame. LB is crossing a street. Click. LB drinking out of a fountain. Click. Hot dog stand! Click. 

Indian food suddenly becomes more important than air. (I've been dragged around on trams on a snowy weekend in a city where the collective population spoke 7 words of English in totality. Of course, we sought an Indian restaurant. Any Indian restaurant). If LB turns out to be vegetarian, then god help him. Any of the billion Indian gods would do. Oh, and the local cuisine be damned.

LB does have a list of touristy places to visit and this is generally accomplished with the equivalent of 2 dollars, 17 cents and a suspicious looking piece of dried potato. A thousand photos and some carefully chosen souvenirs later, there is a list of places to be crossed off LB's list.

Thanks to Levis, Lee, Nike, Adidas and others peddling their wares in India, LB doesn't buy any shoes or jeans for people back home. However, there are still shopping lists thrust at LB by relatives, friends, neighbors and colleagues. Ka-ching. Loads of chocolates are bought too, usually in duty-free stores at the airport.

Many boring days (or weeks or months) later LB heads home to a hero's reception. For years all of LB's stories will include amusing anecdotes of his fascinating stay abroad.

How can I caricature LB so well? Well, I'm Indian and I've been 'abroad' a couple of times and have had the pleasure of LB's company each time. Oh, and LB comes in all shapes, sizes, both genders and from any of the gazillion states in India.

I assure you I was not sitting on top of the moral tree when I was writing this. I may have been leaning on it and smoking a cigarette, looking awesome, but that's another story.

Looking forward to some comments on this one, definitely. Help me where I have failed. 

Men Smart While Working With Smarter Women

A classic example of digression. When I clicked on this link, I expected a bunch of wise-ass comments from a number of men and women alike, possibly a meaningless debate and some arrogant comments, as are normal in most Man Vs Woman discussions. No matter what the topic is or how defined the agenda may seem, it inevitably strays into a Man Vs Woman discussion, mostly inconclusive and goes horribly into another tangent.

This write-up was not really an original article. It was what someone defined as an "interesting research" and contained a few comments from men who have worked with women bosses. Why a topic about men working with women consisted only of men with women bosses is beyond me. What I found even more baffling is that whereas some men spoke of difficulties and some others said they didn't mind working for a woman boss, I did not quite see anyone say nice things about working for women (I refuse to accept that this article is about working with women). In a write-up, is the author not supposed to present both sides of an argument? Don't tell me it is because the title has something about "men smart"ing when working for women. Even then, I repeat, the article must make a reference to some men who might have had an uneventful, if not pleasant, experience working for/with women. Wait, does he mean to tell me that no man ever worked for a woman and happily so?

I do not think that the article itself is bad. It bothers me because it seems a bit lop-sided. It is not something I might want to share with others, for I am not fully satisfied with the content. So, why am I sharing it now? It's not only the article that is "interesting" but the comments that follow. There are some very entertaining ones. Also, the comments are in horrible English, awful spellings and full of dyslexic typos, which make the reading more fun.

One guy thinks that a woman's smile reduces the pressure in him (blood pressure or the one you sit down for every morning?). Another guy wonders how you can put a man and a 'suitable' woman in a "cosy room" and expect them to work! His office is a cosy room? So, he wants to take her to bed! There's comments not just on a woman's mood-swings but also how you cannot have an argument with her because you can never predict how a woman behaves (laughing out loud). One guy writes a sequence of events that could occur in case there is a female boss and a female colleague in the team (kudos to him for being the first to talk about a female colleague): Step1 - They become fast friends, Step2 - They become stark enemies (he says to ask your wife why they do that, he doesn't know), Step3 - You are the go between, where the colleagues bitches about the boss and the boss is watching you to make sure you do not help the colleague.

In the midst of all this, there is one guy who replies to a girl's comment asking if he could be friends with her (clutching my stomach, can't stop laughing). Add to that, an unexpected series of comments (unexpected, inspite of all those email forwards which talk about how you can find a mallu wherever you go, even on the moon). Then there's a response to comment, by a Malayalee (in English) which is followed up by another guy who agrees with him (in Malayam) and a further response to that by a third guy who says something on the lines of "Ah, you're both malayalees aren't you? No wonder you share this opinion". By now, I am rolling on the floor laughing.

Have a read, make sure you get to the end of the trail of comments...

http://www.siliconindia.com/shownews/Men_smart_while_working_with_smarter_women-nid-60454.html

I found this link at work, among a few others that were posted on a sharepoint, as part of Women's Day activities. I am not sure it was entirely appropriate for Women's Day (even though the title might sound like it is). Given the nature of comments, I am not even sure it was appropriate to be posted on an office website. Whether it was right nor not, all said and done, it made a woman laugh (me, me, me). A lot. Happy Women's Day.

Yeah, yeah, I know it is on 8th March. Happy Women's Day, in advance!

Language Hungama

Lakshmamma is the soul of our locality. She knows everyone in every house in the four or five adjacent streets, where I live. She works in almost every house and where she doesn't, she has some sort of a connection with the residents.

A Tamilian at home, her nature of work (maid) has taught her to be able to communicate in many languages, albeit in a broken/mixed lingo. She speaks in Tamil with Tamilians, a mix of Kannada and Tamil with my mother (who also speaks a mix of K & T with her), Hindi with the North Indian bachelors in the flat below ours and so on.

Here's an exchange between one of the bachelor boys who was searching for someone (possibly his roommate) and Lakshmamma.

Boy (in Hindi):   "Kidhar gaya woh?"  (where has he gone?)

Lakshmamma: "Udhar illiya? Gate-u open madibittu chalagaya? Anga veetukki gaya?" (Isn't he there? Has he left the gate open and gone? Has he gone to that house?)

The only Hindi words in her reply are Udhar, chalagaya & gaya. Illiya, anga veetukki are Tamil, madubittu is Kannada and a smattering of English words that have seeped into our local languages (gate, open).

Reminds me of my days in Engineering college!

When I left school, I spoke impeccable English, thanks to my wonderful English teachers who insisted on us crossing our t's and dotting our i's and getting it right every time. It was a bit of a culture shock when I joined the Pre-University course, for everyone spoke to each other in their local languages, Kannada being predominant (of course, in Bangalore!). Over time, I learnt to speak a mix of Kannada and English. By the time I finished college, my spoken English included a fair bit of Kannada with a few Tamil and Hindi slang words chucked in.

A few days into Engineering college, a newer crowd, more varied dialects of Inglish (English mixed with Indian languages) and at one point, some people had to make me repeat myself to understand what I was saying. One of the girls, stopped me in mid-sentence one afternoon and whined that I spoke in atleast four different languages in a 6-word sentence, could I please pick one language, any language, and speak a complete sentence in it? After my initial reaction of being stunned, I realized that she was right. I eventually got my point across (in Kannada, with a few English words snuck in) and all was well.

Like a turning point, I made every attempt to fix up my language since then. When I went to Mumbai, I learnt to speak better Hindi and to understand Marathi. Fortunately, I made a conscious effort to keep both languages out of my English! My Kannada-speaking friends and I had fun trying to speak Kannada without a word of English (my Kannada improved so much in Mumbai!!).

The flip side of it was that the two years in Mumbai took away my beautiful neutral accent in English. I picked up a slightly Marathi-Hindi style of speaking. Over time, I've tried to dull it down. My English still has a very Indian accent, with an occasional slip into the Kannada/Marathi-Hindi style. Maybe the association with an English speaking crowd has helped in some ways. Thankfully, I haven't picked up a US or an OZ accent or a mix of all those that I hear at my work-place. It is now not embarrassingly bad but I wish I could go back to the neutral!