Chapter 5: Fast and Furious

The scenery outside has changed now. The floaty, wonderland look has disappeared. I don't see any clouds around me any more. Oh, there they are! We have flown way above the clouds now. Down below me, the clouds form a desert-like appearance. It looks like an expanse of white sand with bluish-grey (or greyish blue) shadows of the little dunes everywhere. It is picturesque in a way that only deserts can be. The sky is a clear blue. It is a dark shade of blue. It looks hot. It is the sun that I can see from the periphery of my window and the flash of blinding white in the horizon that must be giving it that appearance. The air around me looks pretty hot too. The kind of air that one might find in the desert. Is it really hot out there? Isn't it supposed to be cooler as we go higher? I am a little confused by all the science and literature mixing in my head now.

I have always thought sky blue was a pastel colour. I am not sure why I thought that. I guess I just liked that colour better than the other shades when I looked up in the sky. As a kid, I used to want a dress of the pale blue shade of the sky, with white lace. I don't think I ever got one because I wanted the perfect shade or not at all. Even I was never sure what the perfect shade was. I was a strange kid alright. I even used to create my own words and attach meanings to them. I have always visualized words in pictures and colours. Sky blue was a pastel blue with pale edges. It almost sounds like Autism, doesn't it? I am not smart enough, so that can be ruled out.

Ellie, beside me, is scribbling away non-stop. It might appear that I am just looking out the window and thinking strange things but that is not true. I am writing real fast too. I am trying hard to keep up with the speed of my thoughts. She looks as if she has an epic novel in her head and wants to pen it down before she forgets something. I can see her referring to her big book every now and then. If I had not seen earlier that it was a book on Architecture, I would swear that it is a dictionary or a map. She is not quite reading long before she gets back to her writing. A quick peek and she is back to her script. The way she is making those elaborate notes, I am leaning towards project work. She is clearly not writing off the big book. Her body language is screaming to me that the words are dropping off her head on to paper. 

With one seat between us, there is not much I can see. I am looking at her through my peripheral vision, too, as I write. That is not helping either. It is the only way I can do this, though. If I stopped to turn and look, I would not only draw her attention but my thoughts would run away before I can put them down. It is hard enough catching up with the writing as I think. It would be near impossible to think, then form the sentences again on to paper. I already feel as if I am missing a few sentences here and there. 

I wonder if she has noticed that I am writing too. If she has, does she have similar questions running through her head as I do? She seems to be concentrating on her work but girls have a way of noticing things, without letting on. I am fairly confident that she is aware that I am writing. It is not clear to me how aware she is. Has she realized that I only started writing a little after she started? Probably not. She might just brush it off as me settling in, before I started to write. Not everyone walks in with a paper and pen in hand and gets down to scribing as soon as their bum hits the seat. Let me see. She knows that I am writing. She does not know that I am writing because of her. She surely does not realize that I am writing about her. 

Now, that would be funny. Imagine if she found that out. She might want to rip my sheets. If she is sufficiently freaked out, she might make some noise and get one of the crew to throw me out. Out of the seat, I mean, not the plane. That would be ridiculous! They would not kill someone for writing that the girl sitting next to me is writing about something. She does not seem to care anyway. I have nothing to worry about, for the moment at least. This is just me playing out weird scenes in my head. I don't think I have anything to worry about at all.

The air-hostesses are wheeling the food and drinks trolley down the aisle now. I used to travel in flights where they serve that stuff for free but, with the cheap flights these days, I have to buy food. Sometimes I do but today I am determined not to. I have eaten at the airport and I have a bottle of Coke Zero with me. 

"Mmmm, the coffee smells great!" 

I had better take a sip of my coke and get some caffeine into my body. The ladies are just one seat away from me now. I'm beginning to feel a little bit of stress. I have not decided whether I will polite refuse to buy anything or ignore them and pretend to be concentrating on my work. I am not good at acting and I really cannot ignore people. What am I going to do?

"No, thank you", I smiled at her. Not much thinking involved there. I did what I would do, inevitably. 

Elle is not buying anything either. She has a bottle of water she has been sipping from. Apparently, she has better dietary habits than I. I bet she did not buy chicken from Red Rooster at the airport either. 

All this movement inside the plane has increased the contents flying through my head. I am writing furiously now. My fingers are beginning to feel the pressure. More and more sentences are flying past, that I can't seem to pick up. It does not appear to be affecting my narrative, so I will let it be. There is no sense in going back to collect those thoughts now. I need fresh paper, quick. There it is!

When The Queen Was Here

Queen Elizabeth II was in Brisbane on what was being touted as possibly her last tour to Australia. Nobody said why they thought it was her last tour. I cannot help but wonder if anyone realized it sounded like she was going to die. Somehow even thinking that seems blasphemous. 

From the news stand, I gleaned information that she is the only reigning monarch from The Royal Family to visit Australia and in her 16 visits to this continent, she has visited all the states. She was coming to Brisbane to pay her respects to the flood-ravaged areas and affected people. 

Thousands of Brisbanites assembled at various points on both sides of the Brisbane River, starting from Brett's Wharf to South Bank, to get a glimpse of the Queen (and more, if possible). When I arrived at SouthBank Parklands, the place was jam-packed. I do not remember seeing this many people in Brisbane even at the famous Riverfire or the glorious Ekka! Jostling crowds? What's that? Do we have that many people in Brissie? Nyah! Turns out we do. It was easy to see what the newsreaders mean when they talk about the pull the Queen has.

What I should have expected, but had not, was the number of old people present on the day. Some of them could barely walk but they were there, waiting for Her Majesty, in the blistering heat of the Sunshine State's summer sun. They were in such awe of the Royal family! A number of kids in fancy dresses, with flowers, cards and gifts for the Queen, waited patiently for her with their parents. The excitement in the air was almost tangible. I heard one parent saying they had been waiting in the same spot for 4 hours! That's one thing that never fails to fascinate me about the people here. They wait for hours, camping with their families, for a 15 - 20 minute event. Don't they have to be elsewhere, doing other things? 

Each time a boat came close to the pontoon, the crowd held their breath. A happy old man to my left was giving a running commentary to the ladies around him. Every time he said the Royal Boat had arrived and he was wrong, the grannies chided him for the slip-up. It was like watching a movie shot at a different time period. A young man with a bevy of ladies on his arm, while he regaled them with his army stories. 

When the police boats arrived, we knew she was going to be here any moment. Click, flash, hands flew up  all around me. The ones at the back of the crowd were hoping to capture something on their cameras to take back home, even if a direct visual was hard to get. The announcer from the news channel that was running a continuous update on her trip said the Queen had been up on her feet waving at people throughout the boat-ride. At her age, it was an amazing thing. The crowd went crazy. 

Finally, the ferry carrying the Royal entourage arrived at the South Bank Cultural Centre pontoon and stopped. More hands in the air, more flashes.

"There she is, in red!". "No, that's Anna Bligh". "Oh look, Anna is wearing a hat!" "The Queen is in green, next to Anna". "I can see the Prince". "Where, where? I don't see anything" "They're on the top deck. Anna is wearing a red hat, the Queen is in green". This last was from our old friend, the commentator.

I stood tip-toe on my 2 inch heels and strained my eyes. It was hard to spot them. The man in front of me, with 2 little girls, had got an eyeful and bend down to let the others behind him get a view. I saw two figures - one in red and one in pale green - standing side by side on the top deck! There seemed to be some men in suits but it was hard to tell who they were. Well, I got my glimpse! By then I had clicked a few randoms on my camera and was hoping that I'd managed to get them in at least one of my frames. Here is what I got.

Ha ha ha! No, that's a picture from one of the newspapers online. Here's what I really got from my camera. If you peer hard enough, you might see 2 little spots in green & red. That's them alright. 

I am not even sure why I went there. In India we do not go ga-ga over The Royal Family, like they do here in the Australia. It was a sort of a historic moment and I suppose I wanted to be a part of it. Even if it meant being one of a hundred thousand specks in the dust. It was not like most of us had a hope in hell of actually getting to see her. In the end, all I got was a glimpse of someone or something in a spearmint green coat and hat that was apparently the Queen. The Queensland Premier Anna Bligh was more easily spotted in her scarlet suit & matching hat. There were a couple of men dressed up in guardsmen outfit, who might have been the Queen's men or fancy dressed men in the crowd. It was hard to tell. It would be a shame not to mention the Duke of Edinburgh but he did not exactly make the headlines or do anything unusual to note. Not even one of his famous gaffes that day. There was a loud roar from the crowd as they got off the ferry and walked down the aisle at SouthBank Parklands. As she walked down the pathway, the noise moved with her and hands flew up, holding cameras, iPhones and SLRs. When she passed a certain spot, the crowd disintegrated in a trice. 

It had been an hour in the sun and I had seen all I could. As I made my way back, I saw a woman sitting on her husband's shoulders trying to get a better view. Cameramen from news channels trying to capture the excitement for their audience were thrusting mikes at her for a commentary on what she was seeing. When they left, I asked her if she saw the Queen and she said she didn't. Well, she got her 15 seconds of fame while the poor husband was straining under her weight. Someone yelled that the Royal entourage was in the QPAC building and everyone turned in that direction. Sure enough, we could see unmistakable green and red figures surrounded by black suits, through the glass windows. 

By now, I was hot and hungry. It would have been impossible to try to catch my friend who was somewhere among the thousands. I messaged her that I was heading back, quickly waved at the construction workers peeking through the different levels of their building (lucky bastards got a good view without leaving their workplace) and took off.

As I weaved through the crowd, conversations floated into my ears. A group of teenagers were excited that they had seen a red hat, green had and squealed when one girl announced that she had seen Prince Charles. Of course, she meant Phillip but who cares, she saw him! An middle-aged woman was telling her friend that some people had fainted from the heat. An old man holding his wife's hand was making his way through prams and people, yelling "woman with a baby, woman with a baby". His wife might have been a "baby" to him but he didn't look like a woman to anyone. The Victoria Bridge was filled with barely moving people. The 3-minute walk across it took me 15 but I finally made it. Not before I heard one last comment from 2 young women - "Next time, we should get here at 7 in the morning, with blankets and deck chairs, so we can get a good view". I almost felt ashamed for wondering if it was worth coming this time. 

The Girl On The Train

She was already there when I entered the train, occupying the entire square of 4 seats to the left of the door. Dressed in a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a chocolate brown singlet (that I later found was open at the back, save for 4 buttons that held it up), a coffee brown scarf and dark brown boots, she was reading. Her handbag and shopping were strewn on the aisle seat while she sat at the window seat, her legs crossed at the ankle across the space over the aisle seat in front of her. Occasionally, she operated a little square gadget that might have been a calculator, mobile or a music device. She held a pen in her hand and noticing that the book was fairly bulky, I decided that she might be studying rather than reading.

She looked so much at ease that I could not resist trying the act myself. I did not have as many bags as her. Definitely no suitcase to place on the floor, occupying the only free space between the two double-seats that she had got comfortable in. I merely placed my backpack on the seat next to me (aisle, it was), placed my feet on the window seat in front of me (in case somebody would like to occupy the other aisle seat) and started reading my own little book. Soon, I got engrossed in Paulo Coelho's pilgrimage to find a sword. 

As is evident, I did not have the same cool attitude as Shelly (we'll just call her that, for the sake of the blog). Now and then, I looked up from my book. I could not help stealing a glance at her, I tried to imagine her story. She sat as if she was unaware of her surroundings but I was pretty sure that she was alert. This was confirmed by the slightest hint of a smile that appeared at the corner of her lips when the driver announced the wrong station and quickly corrected himself. My smile stopped half-way as my mind worked overtime, trying to capture everything about this girl who fascinated me simply by her demeanour. 

We had to get off at the next station, to transfer to a bus that would take us to the city. She surprised me with a restlessness that was obvious without being overtly so. She walked towards her bus, asked a few questions and got in. While she was loading her luggage, I got into the bus and found myself a seat not too far from the door but not right next to it. She moved into the first seat and this time, I was not surprised because I had learnt by now that she was one of those people who were constantly in a hurry for no particular reason.

I went back to my book and got off at my stop. I forgot about her as I made my next plans for the evening. The weather was perfect for a day out. I was not ready to go home. That was more pressing than a girl on the train. I never found out her story but the spell was broken the moment the veil of the classy confidence shifted to bare one of slight arrogance.

Is This For Real?

Some kids grow up believing Santa Claus exists. At some point in their lives they wake up to the horror that he doesn't. What about the other way around? Some of us grow up "knowing" Santa doesn't exist. What if we find out one day that he does? Ouch!

Those of us who don't believe in Santa also don't believe in some other things. Vampires. Unidentified Flying Objects. Pirates. Etcetera. At different variations, there's the athiests, the fanatics and so on. No matter what we may believe in or not, we all enjoy fairy tales and all sorts of fictitious stories. 

After spending about 30 years of not believing in the make-believe fantastical creatures that supposedly roam this world and firm in the knowledge that aliens are figments of imagination of science fiction writers, you begin to nod in agreement when you come across arguments that the people who claim such things exist are merely hallucinating. Or lying, of course! For such people, talk of UFO sightings and vampire attacks are rubbish.

When I first heard about pirates attacking ships in the waters at Somali, I was not sure whether I should believe it. Pirates? Really? I looked at my room-mate and said, "So, is it real? Pirates are for real?" Fortunately for me, she is a non-believer too and was equally surprised. Atleast, I didn't feel like I was asking a dumb question. Ever hear of the story of the sane king who had to drink water that drove people mad because all his subjects were and they thought he was off the rocker? I absolutely love Jack Sparrow and the Pirates Of The Caribbean, like many others. But... but... pirates? They're real? I thought they were a thing of the past - so long ago that it could almost be mythical. Like mythology. I wonder if a bunch of lazy buggers got inspired by JS and decided to start a new career. Anyway, there's a lot of noise in the news, the US army are killing them by the  dozen, people are dying (so says the media), so we might as well believe it. 

Move over terrorists, the pirates are here!

I couldn't help wonder if it will be vampires next. Somebody in the US saying they now have vampires. I mean, you do hear about tribes eating human beings - yummy too, supposedly. How long before somebody runs out screaming they've seen a vampire or been bitten by one or some such? 

I was still digesting the pirates stories and being sarcastic about vampires when the next one hits me. UFO sightings and alien kidnappings! No kidding! Seriously? Supposedly they're being sighted pretty often in US, Australia and some parts of Europe these days. The last I heard, they were being sighted for a while now (yeah yeah, I read a rather cynical/comical write-up about something along those lines, when in school) but it's happening often enough to alarm people now. What the beep? It's incredulous to hear news reports of pilots and air traffic control executives talk passionately about UFOs they saw and so-called kidnappings. A couple of nights ago, one of the news channels showed pictures where you could clearly (it wasn't clear to me, duh) see the kidnappings. Whoa! Stop right there! Who was kidnapped, do we know? They aren't even sure it's a human that was "kidnapped by an alien" or whether it was even a kidnapping. 

Now, that's going a bit far, don't you think? I'm not ready to believe this one yet. Alien attacks? Are you nuts? What do you think they're after? Seriously, those things really exist? 

Moving on. I was watching Bones on the telly last night. If you didn't know, it's one of those cop shows where Bones (specialist in bones, bravo) & her partner Booth solve murder cases. Shit like that. In this one, they were investigating the murder of a wedding planner and are talking to the bride who had visited the planner on the day of the murder. When they tell her that they found her DNA at the site, she squeals, "Really? These things exist? DNA and stuff?"

It sounded stupid, believe me. I bet the script was written for it to look like that. Stupid, pretty girl getting married. Bones & Booth are shocked she can be that dumb. It made me wonder about all the is-this-for-real-does-this-really-exist questions I've been asking of late. I am a non-believer and am not embarrassed that I do not believe in some of the ethereal stuff. I wonder if I would sound as stupid as the chick on the show, if I kept saying that everyday. The stuff in the media isn't helping, you know.

This made me think. We think it's dumb because we believe in the DNA. When I say 'believe', I mean we know it exists. Why is that? Have we seen it or felt it? We simply believe it because some scientist(s) claim to have seen it, gave us the diagrams we see in our text books, our teachers told us first and then we read about it, and reasons like that. The truth is that most of us know DNA as well as we know vampires. Not less not more. Yet we believe in the former and laugh off the latter. What decides what we want to believe? Clearly not experiencing it ourselves. We are willing to believe some stuff, yet we laugh at others who believe what we think are unreal.  

Do we disbelieve in things when somebody or the other raises the first question? As if, we are scared to doubt it until we know that someone else will back us up too. 

Say what you will... the world may be divided by country borders, races, religion, etc but one thing won't change. Irrespective of whether we like it or not, we are all homo sapiens. We are all alike on some level. We come from the same prototype. So much for wars and attacks, eh?

Toilet Signs

We've all seen graffiti on the walls and back of doors of public toilets. Off late, it appears to be common practice to put up notices - posters, print-outs - appealing to people to keep it clean, flush the toilets, etc. I even saw those in Singapore which is, by far, the cleanest city I've been to. That's understandable... public toilets are used by so many people, some of them think it's "unclean" to touch the flush buttons/handles, etc. Yuck but hell, it's true!

I have found it rather disgusting that this has been a necessity at many offices. It's shocking! Educated professionals, why do you need to be told? 

So, when I did not find such a note up in the 'ladies room' at my new workplace, I was pleased. Enough to notice it. There was another note, though. Rather strange. 

New airlock flushes. Please press button hard.

I nearly laughed. Until I tried to press the button and realized what they meant. Yeah, if it was not for the note, the place might stink. I mean, seriously, you need mammoth strength to get this thing working. Whoa!

I don't know if I had missed it earlier or it was only put up recently but I noticed another instruction yesterday. A printout on the door. It started with a cheery 'hello ladies' and continued to say that this was a reminder for us to keep the place clean... yada yada yada. Then, the real message. I don't have the exact words here but it is pretty much this

Please flush after using the toilets and check to ensure that it has worked

I struggled to control my laughter. Imagine a woman laughing by herself in the restroom,  my colleagues would think I'm mad and it is far too early for them to know that! Every time I walk into the restroom, I have to rush in because it is hard not to laugh and that makes me want to pee. LOL!

Why Do You Get to Define Morals?

In a discussion about women of the (g)olden days and today, the group supporting the latter spoke of how much bolder and confident women are today. As a counter, one of the guys argued that women were bold and courageous even in the years gone by. He cited an example of how the great Alexander was first defeated by a woman. I cannot help but wonder... if she had not defeated him, would the same guy have spoken of her with such regard? If she had failed, I'm willing to bet anything, the guy would have said (if he had to cite the same example) that women should remain confined to indoors and not try bravery. 

In another point made during the same discussion, one of the men drew a parallel between Beluru shilabalike (the famous stone sculptures of Belur depicting women in various poses) and the girls strutting down M G Road in skimpy attire. It seemed to appall his opponent, who dismissed the comparison by saying, "If you are going to compare Beluru shilabalike with the half-undressed chicks on M G Road, then I have nothing to say to you". Obviously, he has nothing to say. Our defendant said it was just the costume that differs. I  tend to agree, it is just your view that differs. The way you choose to look at it. 

You gawk at the shilabalike with awe because everyone talks about it's awesomeness, even though you may not understand what it is that you are really admiring. Is it the stone art or the visuals that are fantastic? Do you even know? If it is the stone art, then the costumes, or lack of them thereof, should not matter to you. If it is the visuals that you admire, then how is our defendant wrong? Are you just a hypocrite who can stare at a pair of breasts carved in stone and openly claim admiration for it but will ridicule a pair of uncovered legs in real flesh? Hang on, why were you staring at those legs, in the first place if you are such a saint? Do not tell me that when you walk down M G Road, you have these 'skimpily-clad women' jumping in front of you and flashing their stuff. 

I am amazed by some of the ideas and beliefs people hold about women rubbing shoulders with men, in modern times. I might understand that in somebody from an older generation, they may be set in their opinions, but to hear the same from the younger people is a revelation to me. How can you not see all the development around you? What world do you live in? What is with all the moral-policing? Why are your close-minded notions right? How is that our culture?

On a somewhat unrelated note: Muthalik's rent-a-riot issue is slowly gaining ground. People are discussing it and insisting that the government clamp a ban on the Shri Ram Sene. With the Chief Minister Yediyurappa refusing to impose the ban, Pramod Muthalik seems to be making the most of his new-found ally.

Nine On Nine by Nandita C. Puri

Front Cover Drawing by Khushwant Singh

A courier arrived yesterday morning, from Citibank, bringing me the book I had ordered in exchange for my reward points, many weeks ago. The moment I saw that it was a series of short stories and that the author was the wife of an Indian actor, I was put off. I am not so keen on reading short stories and I presumed that it might be another case of wannabe writing or the rich being able to publish anything they write. The appraisals by Shobaa De and Khushwant Singh or the foreword by Gulzar meant nothing to me. Of course, they were friends from the industry, what is the big deal?

After I finished reading A Case Of Exploding Mangoes, I picked up this book. I read the first story and was surprised to find it good. Then another and another, within an hour and some time later I had finished all the nine stories in the book. I would not recommend this as a great read. I might not have bought it if I had walked into a book store. It is not a worthless piece but I would read it only once. Priced at Rs.295, one is probably better off walking past the bookshelf. 

Nandita seems to have a fair command over the English language and a flair for writing that I have found lacking in so many Indian writers. However, the stories are nothing unusual. They are little narrations of events she may have seen in real life and she chose to tweak them a bit to make stories out of them. The stories towards the end of the book reduce in quality as compared to the earlier ones. The reviews, foreword and feedback all are from friends. I guess if I made a book of my blog posts or wrote a series of short stories based on events in my real life and had my close social circle appraise it for me, I could come up with something like this. I might not have priced it so high, though, my conscience would not allow me that!

It is not a book that would remain on my bookshelf. After I read it, I thrust it in the box that has the books I want to sell to a second-hand book store. Desperate to improve the quality of books I have been reading, I have now picked up Contest by Matthew Reilly as my next book. Let us see what it does to me...

Bib Numbers 392, 393 and 637

We have a biker and a runner in the family - the husband and the brother, respectively - which means that every weekend, there is atleast one cycling or running event that somebody is participating in. Recently, thanks to all the encouragement from the husband and a friend, I took up cycling seriously. I did my longest ride, so far, yesterday - 31k in an hour and twenty. When bro asked me if I would like to do the 5km run on Women's Day, I said why not.

Bro could not do the run as he had a bigger event to participate in, at work - Toyota Greenathon - and the wife backed out, for she fell sick. The husband and mum stepped in, to do their runs. At 5.55AM, we set out by car and reached the venue, minutes in advance of the kick-off. 

The plan was that mum would walk the 5km, I would run the 5km and the husband would run the 10km. The 10km runners took off approximately 10 minutes before the 5km runners. Mum started with her walk and I broke into a slow run. 

The last time I ran in the Sunfeast World 5k run, I had taken off at the beginning and tired soon enough. The 5km run had consisted of a number of fast runs, slow runs and walks interspersed as I tired and picked up intermittently. This time, the plan was to maintain a uniform pace, a slow run and keep going as much as I could. I was hoping to run atleast 3km of the 5km run. 

I managed the half-way mark, running all the way, stopping only once for a sip of electral-water. It got harder towards the end but I was determined to make it. The stomach was wobbly and a wee distracting but I ignored it by helping myself to the myriad sights around me. I took a few pics but not of very good quality, some even shaken as I did not want to stop to click and break my run. 

There was a father and son, in a striking similar attire. Brown shorts and white tee. The father was struggling to run, so when the son took off he went, "Don't run, don't run!". That was funny because aren't we doing the Women's Day Run?

There were a host of people, running in the T-shirt of the Sunfeast World Run. Mum, the husband and I were among the first 500 to register, so we got an Adidas event T-shirt. 

Closer to the start and end points, there was a band, indicating that the destination was closer. It was like a sign of encouragement, "Keep going, you're almost there"

Finally the half-way mark, the 2.5km sign where the 5km runners had to make a U-turn. The 10km runners had gone past this and had to do three 'rounds'.

As I turned at the half-way mark, my stomach was aching unbearably. I had to slow down, so I started to walk. It was disappointing to have to walk back. I had not even done my 3km target. I was disappointed but so be it. A few minutes into the walk, approximately 1km later, I heard someone calling out my name. Mum! She had walked and how fast! Just minutes behind me! I clicked a picture as she kept walking (look for the woman in the long white tee and black tracks) and then broke into another run, the stomach ache forgotten. I had to run.

Either the walk was the rest I needed or mum, the encouragement, for I ran to the end from there, stopping once again for a sip of cold water about half a kilometer from the point where we had started. On the way, I met the husband running his last round of the 10km run - sweating profusely. I took another picture (Superman is the guy in the centre) from behind, for both of us did not want to break our speeds.

Entered the gates to a round of applause and cheering from those present there, encouraging everyone who finished the race running. Suddenly, the cheering turned crazy with people calling out "Neera, Neera". I turned around, just in time to click the first of the women's 10km runners (girl in pink). 

I collected my certificate and waited for mum, as I tried to cool down before I went for the water/banana/biscuit/juice available in the various stalls setup for the runners. 

Mum arrived, running the last 50m in the spirit of the run (she can't run because of a painful uterus condition). I led mom to the queue that had, by then, formed for the certificates. As we stood there, I was getting restless, for I wanted to click the husband running in. I was so proud of him! He ran the 10km, with barely any training. Before I could head back, he had finished. Ten kilometers in under one hour. Bravo!

Water, a banana & biscuit and juice (Booster Juice - an awful mix of flavour, preservative and water) later, we clicked a couple of pictures atop the stage with the background announcing the organizers, sponsors and the NGO being supported. 

We waited around to watch the winners being announced, bought some groceries on the way back to the car and headed home. I bought my mum flowers to tell her how proud of her I was. A beautiful way to start a Sunday morning.

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!