- I am 95% sure I hate my job.
- Cold Thai curry tastes just as good as hot Thai curry.
- I remember all the lyrics of the songs from Rang De Basanti.
- SRK in Swades is my all-time favourite SRK. SRK in Main Hoon Na is my all time favourite SRK film.
- I can't believe the kind of crap SRK pulls now. Vis-a-vis what he is capable of.
- To be fair, Aamir is apparently still doing good movies. But I seem to have lost interest in him too.
Tuesday, 5 December 2017
Tuesday, 28 November 2017
- Arranged marriages have to be the most fucked up tradition of the world, at least among the ones still going strong. Suddenly, educated, seemingly rational people start espousing horoscopes and gotras and manglikness, and drive their daughters batty in the process. Even daughters who don't really want to get married, and will probably find ways to get out of meeting all potential husbands (manglik or not).
- I would like to conduct a survey of adults to see what percentage would not mind dying immediately. Like they might not want to actively commit suicide, but are either stuck in dead-end jobs or terrible family/personal lives or with washing machines that go belly up with two weeks worth of wet, detergent covered laundry in it, that makes them think that death is not a wholly unreasonable way out of the mess.
- I know I have enough troubles of my own, but sometimes it is also worth the effort to step back and also contemplate the shit pervading this country -
- The Supreme Court of this country is currently hearing a case about an adult woman's supposedly forced conversion because she chose to fall in love with a man of another religion. One of the state's top ranking lawyers has called this a case of psychological kidnapping.
- Actresses in this country are being issued death threats for starring in films based on a period of history, whose events everyone can't seem to agree on. I mean it's brilliant how within a couple of years we have gone from fighting for Freedom of Expression to demanding that we not kill our actresses (or journalists). Like go ahead, burn the film posters, be hoodlumy and don't allow films to screen, but please don't kill the actress.
- Durga absolutely cannot be sexy.
Wednesday, 22 November 2017
- Creative people can be assholes. Even to people who are consistently reasonable with them. Sometimes snapping back can help.
- Sri Lankans, even those working in innocuous think tanks, have terrible work lives - sometimes worse than corporate Indians.
- My current role model is a universally disliked person.
- Adulting can be fatal. Though it's difficult to say why. I mean sure, we seem to work on 24x7 schedules, but previous generations had it worse in some senses. Like when was the last time you stood in a queue for anything?
- It was this morning for me, at the post-office but the reason behind that was my own adulting fails. Point is, I am currently probably suffering the worst of both worlds and this may be my last post ever.
- Yes, I have a love for drama.
- And death.
- What I felt at the post office today was probably similar to what the elderly feel when looking at snazzy technology - utterly lost (which is also how I feel when looking at snazzy technology but that's not the point here). I gawked like a child at the placards on the counters, had to ask for directions thrice (twice for the speed post counter, and once for buying stationery), and asked dumb questions like 'Do I need extra stamps to send a speed-post?', 'The envelope has to be sealed?' and 'Is this glue?'
- I also snarked at a middle aged lady for breaking the queue, and then asked her for help translating the post-office staff's Tamil.
- Which is probably exactly what my current role model would do. So #win.
- Talking of adulting failures, I took out the trash today out of my room, after 1.5 weeks, and only because I could beginning to smell it.
Friday, 17 November 2017
I am willing to worry myself sick about my 'technical expertise' (or lack thereof) in one sector, the outcome of one project, or even worse, one fucking A&M, but I rarely, if ever, take a step back to see where I currently am.
I have pretty much lucked into a profession that seems tailored to my interests - I get to travel, meet people and hear their problems, and try to solve them. Sometimes I get to write about their problems and my solutions. If I were in college (not younger, because then I just wanted to get an MBA and earn pots of money and read books), I would give my left arm trying to be here.
Hence, from today, I'm going to try and see the big picture. Read about development stories of the world (and not just skim through the headlines in India), and understand how they can be solved, if at all (I am still me, after all).
What am I not going to worry about? The rest - colours of the PPT, the hours I am working, the hours other people are working, R or Kobo...the small stuff.
Monday, 13 November 2017
- There is a new diplomatic coalition in town, which as always, will achieve nothing but the chance for our diplomats to say nothing while using lots of words. However, I was intrigued by the name 'Quad', since they claim that's the shape that forms if imaginary lines were to be used to join the four countries a part of it: US, India, Japan and Australia. But really, this is quite unimaginative, because a quadrilateral is essentially any four sided figure. The shape that is actually formed is below -
- Reetika Khera makes some good points about why Aadhar Based Biometric Authentication (ABBA) must go. Coincidentally, I have been reading up on these issues lately, and it is surprising to see the unabashedly positive coverage it gets in development literature. I would probably be ashamed to be a development professional, if I had any professional pride in the first place.
- I need a cobot too.
Tuesday, 7 November 2017
- Why does the domestic airport at Delhi offer Chai latte? Are we are now fetishising our own culture?
- Today's Hindu talks about PM Modi visiting Karunanidhi and Chennai, signifying that the latter is not a 'political untouchable'. Weirdly, the only political aspect I find interesting in the piece is the use of the word untouchable.
- Apparently the Kerala govt. wants the use of words like Harijan (and Dalit) to stop in official communication, preferring the more prosaic 'Scheduled Caste'. Am I the only one who feels it's weird that Harijan was used in the first place, given that even the Supreme Court ruled that the term was abusive, around seven months ago?
- I should do a new version of this post. Except now it will be called 'You know you are in advancing age when...'. The main symptom of my advancing age is how I abruptly stop engaging when people starting throwing out words like big data, digital, nano-technology, artificial intelligence and the like.
- I wonder what kind of awkward silence will ensue if a content developer on KBC formulates a quiz question on 'Which of the following names is common to the Panama and Paradise Papers?'...
Wednesday, 1 November 2017
- My personal laptop (which I started today after ages) requires a password to log in. I can't for the life of me remember whether this is a case of my Delhi Person ParanoiaTM or if this is normal behaviour.
- I squealed at a picture of the young Bhutanese prince, who is currently in India with his father. Yes, that’s probably not normal behaviour.
- TIL that IAS officers can be posted to the Stationery and Printing Department.
- TIL that there exist Stationery and Printing Departments.
- I’m sorry, it was a slow news day. Unless you want me to pontificate on Kashmir or the ever-impending Air India sale.
Monday, 30 October 2017
Wednesday, 25 October 2017
Sunday, 22 October 2017
Saturday, 13 May 2017
Update: it holds up.
Friday, 5 May 2017
I learnt how to light the gas. That, as it turns out, does not your culinary skills make. I managed to screw up lauki and whined about it so much that my Tamilian roommate will never forget the Hindi name for the vegetable. Or she might, given my vow to never be stupid enough to voluntarily buy it again.
Podalunga means jhinge (snake gourd) and is a slang term for nonsense.
Manga maria means 'dumb mango' which has to be the cutest pejorative term ever coined.
You would think morning walks would be a universal experience. But a surprisingly large proportion of middle class men here walk in rubber slippers. I can't help think that Delhi uncles would shrivel up in embarrassment if they had to do that.
Men also walk in lungis. If you were not Indian, I would explain it as a wraparound skirt for men whose length can be adjusted according to convenience. And it's often short enough that the same length of skirt on a woman here would inspire scandal.
There is also a gym for adults in my neighbourhood park. To be fair, I have no frame of reference for this in Delhi, not having been to a park in years.
As a child, my mum often took me for a walk to a lane in my neighbourhood which she for some reason called sea beach. I don't know if it was the evening breeze or just whimsy.
My neighbourhood park here is probably equivalent to Central Park in Delhi, going purely by location and its importance on bus routes. Which makes me think wistfully about how lucky Delhiites are because this one is tiny. On the plus side this is not inhabited by loving couples and serial molesters/flashers.
A middle aged man leaned very close to me and wished me a good morning. I'm not sure whether that was an invasion of personal space or just regular politeness.
If he was trying to be creepy though, it was a very poor attempt.
Apparently there is a doggie style asana in yoga. It's where people get on their fours and pant like dogs.
I doubt if it's actually called doggie style.
I may have just enabled a large inflow of traffic to the blog. I would have said inadvertently enabled but then it would be a lie.
I also saw an exercise form where a man was lying on his stomach and another man walked over his back. Right in the middle of the park.
Maybe it was just a bunch of friends doing bakchodi. You know friends, those people you hang out with on weekends and after work.
Yeah I use a lot of words while writing that I wouldn't say out aloud. Bakchodi being one of them.
I figured out a route to the chai shop on my own. Well not my own, I was still aided by Google, but I figured out there was a shorter route. Also I may have pushed myself to walk by promising masala chai.
Monday, 1 May 2017
The only time I think I have too many clothes is when I pack them.
After an entire morning of telling myself that I would cook for myself, I gave up at the first hint of trouble - when I couldn't get the gas lit.
I now think Wake Up Sid had zero insight on urban living by single people trying to make a career. Friends on the other hand, is fantastic. Especially the bit about traipsing about naked in an empty house.
The main problem about having your own place is the existential crisis that strikes you when you realise you like shopping for bedspreads in vibrant patterns.
There is also the issue of spending half of your time doing the dishes. But then that might be a case of my personal incompetence.
I went to a concert by a fairly popular Bangla band. It was supposed to begin at 6:30 but the Bengali cultural association that was organising the programme wanted to first have a prize distribution programme followed by its office bearers guilting the people attending about the lack of audience. And how even a national award winner could not ensure a houseful.
A bunch of aunties opened for the band, with a lovely ditty about how we are all Chennai bashi but how are hearts beat for Bangla. Yeah, I snorted through that.
The main band performance was great though. Anupam Roy (said National award winner) sang all the favourites. He also talked about the time he spent working in Bangalore, and sang something he had written when he was missing Kolkata at the time. What struck me was the kind of love and longing that city can evoke. I have lived all my life in Delhi and while I miss home and miss friends and familiar faces, I can hardly profess to missing the city. At least not enough to write songs about it. (Or to turn up for performances by Delhi bands or just network with people from there).
A man in the audience wanted to know if Anupam had sang the Kolkata song in front of Didi. If she listened and ensured enough jobs, no one from Kolkata would have to migrate to Chennai.
I love that Bengalis as a class, maintain a healthy lack of faith in their political leaders.
Yeah OK, I know Swapan Dasgupta is Bengali.
It's a sample size of 2, but corner cigarette shops here tend to have a mixer that they use to churn out very nice nimbu pani. It's also rather clever. I will never be using my arms to stir the sugar in now.
(Before you ask, no, I haven't started smoking).
The watchman in my building is Hindi speaking. But my Delhi Person Paranoia (DPP henceforth) stops me from chatting with him. And even though he helped me carry my luggage to the flat, my general social awkwardness stopped me from tipping him. Now I'm hoping my parents will do the needful when they visit.
PS: the blog completed 5 years recently.
PPS: Vibrant patterns as below:
Tuesday, 11 April 2017
- What do you do when the nicest person in your life is not a person at all, but your laptop's Operating System that tells you that your wish is literally their command, and no, you don't even have to type anything, if you just tell her to send a text from the laptop, she will.
- It is probably peak loneliness, when seeing a mother-daughter enjoy their evening snack at the roadside eatery can make a lump appear in your throat.
- Of course you still fight with your own mother over the phone. And don't attend her calls later because she has the knack of saying things you don't want to hear.
- There is nothing that will rid you of your tea addiction faster than having to boil the milk to make it.
- Performance pressure is when the office boy is standing over your head to take your lunch order and the only thing you can think of is idli-sambar from Saravana Bhawan.
- Remember forever that your mom and your sister are a tag team. Never tell one what you don't want the other to hear.
- ''Anna'' comes naturally now.
- I'm still hugely embarrassed about using any Tamil.
- Auto-wallahs of Chennai are certifiably worse than auto-wallahs of Delhi.
- No amount of moonlit beaches can compensate for the lack of company of people who care about you. Specially because the moonlit beach is far off and the city is alarmingly desolate as early as eight.
- I could summon enough fucks to go to the Bengali restaurant only once after my parents left. Now I have found a roadside stall on my way home that claims to sell Kolkata rolls. Maybe I will throw Bangla at the seller tomorrow.
- I can't believe that a month back I cared about gol-gappas enough to write about them.
- I stopped using the bus because I moved closer to my workplace. The share auto drivers are almost as terrible as the regular auto-wallahs.
- Nothing in Chennai feels like home. Specially not my place of residence.
- Life is like a box of Bertie's all flavoured beans that have been rigged so around 95% of them taste like boogers.
Monday, 13 March 2017
It is my theory that if you think of something as being the least likely scenario, the Universe will conspire to make that happen.
The most disorienting thing about Chennai is that you have to talk to cab-drivers and auto-wallahs in English. And that they don't respond to 'bhaiya'.
North-South, Us-them are all very fluid concepts. This Tamilian cab driver we drove with yesterday asked us where we were from. On hearing 'Delhi', he said he was from the North too, and intensely missing Hindi in Chennai (his home-town otherwise). To him, 'north' included the North-east - specifically Arunachal, where he worked till a week ago.
The auto wallahs in Chennai are as bad as the auto wallahs in Delhi. Maybe worse.
I think any city is worth living in if it has a beach. And land breeze in the evenings as a consequence.
I found a Bengali restaurant in the city when my father wouldn't stop ranting about how bad the food is here.
The cook in my hostel put pieces of fried bread in pulao.
My father's rant wasn't completely unjustified.
The beach is connected by train.
I am all for local pride and everything. But Triplicane is easier to pronounce than Tiruvelikeni. And Mylapore easier to remember than Tirumailai.
If my father were left alone on the roads of Chennai, I am pretty sure he wouldn't make it back. As a result of never being able to recall/ pronounce the location of the guest-house.
My mother should have been a travel show host. She can fit in anywhere. Though she has a weekly hankering for fish.
They sell fried fish on the beach.
I haven't tried it myself but I have heard on good authority that they put rasam in gol-gappas here instead of imli ka paani. I am reasonably sure that trying this in Delhi could get you arrested.
After more than a week of taking an Ola everywhere, I finally rode to work and back by a bus. The buses are as crowded as in Delhi, and I was seated so I don't know whether men have the proclivity to grope women in this city too. They are extremely polite when you have to get down though. Everyone near the door gets down at each stop to let people de-board. You would know what a big deal that is if you have had the chance to ride the Delhi Metro in a compartment filled with aunties and college girls.
I had veg biriyani at someone's house and liked it.
Is it weird that I find the idea of a mustachioed man in a white lungi and aviators, riding a bike...appealing?
I am the only person in the city who seems to want to know where Rajnikant and Kamal Hassan live. The cab drivers here are far more interested in Jayalalitha's address.
Some traditions are worth preserving. Like the way they serve tea/ coffee here - in small steel tumblers (I almost spelled it as Tumblr) accompanied by a small steel bowl. You have to continuously transfer the drink from the tumbler to the bowl and vice versa to cool the drink down and also to dissolve the sugar. I know it's inconvenient, and that a large mug and a spoon make more sense, but I just like drinking it the traditional way.
What does it say about me as a person that the only place in Chennai that feels like home, is the neighbourhood mall?
Last week my mother and I were strolling down a deserted road in the middle of the afternoon. Anyone slightly familiar with Chennai's climate would tell you that it's inadvisable. Especially if the only retail establishments on the road sell hot tea and cigarettes. As my mother tried to explain to the vendor that we needed Coke/Sprite, and the man mimed that he didn't stock them, a young man dressed in the generic blue uniform donned by private security guards offered to take his moped and get a couple of bottles for us, from a distance. (We understood him because he spoke in Hindi). My mother gave him a 100 rupees hundred note which I was convinced was the last we saw of it (and him). As the minutes ratcheted up, I became increasingly confident that my general lack of faith in humanity would be vindicated. Close to half an hour later, the man returned - with two bottles of Sprite, pushing his moped by hand. Turns out it had broken down, hence the delay. When my mother tried to tip and I (sheepishly) tried to give him one of the cold-drink bottles, he refused. He said this was the least an Odiya brother could do for his Bengali brethren.
Saturday, 25 February 2017
Aali re from No one Killed Jessica describes its heroine not as having chandan sa badan, but something akin to cactus ki dali.
She is all patlun mein junoon and of garam khoon, and if she has kali kali ankhen or hirni jaisi chaal, the song prefers to not tell us. (I think at one point it tells us that she is kali, and though she may be dilwali, she is quite given to muh khole toh gali re.)
And she is probably not the type to disappear after churaoing the hero's dil, because she is too busy spinning webs through surkhiyan. All we know about her love life is that jiski lugayi banegi woh bhai, uski tabahi paper mein chhapegi, hatt.
The other song is the polar opposite of the first one in that it is as conventional as it gets - a love song between people separated by borders. I don't know its origin but is currently being featured on the show POW on Star Plus. The song itself is quite unremarkable but I feel it deserves a mention because of the context where it plays. If you are not watching the show, India has just found a lost POW who has spent 17 years in Pakistan and who managed to escape from there, after ostensibly neutralising the chief of a large terrorist organisation (in cahoots with the ISI). However, in reality, he has been turned, and is now trying to execute an attack on India from within its borders. The song talks about his love for his Pakistani wife, and their relationship is depicted in such a way that you can't help empathise with the couple, even as they are, most decidedly bad news for India. I think that's a win for storytelling, though the good-looking leads obviously don't hurt the show's cause.
Saturday, 28 January 2017
Like what could cause more violent wars than whose biryani wins-Hyderabad, Lucknow or Calcutta biryani unless it was a question of who makes better gol gappas?
FYI:it's Hyderabad and Delhi for me.
Wednesday, 25 January 2017
Thursday, 19 January 2017
Monday, 16 January 2017
Cheery professional emails make me happy. The ones that dispense with Dear XYZ and Thanks & Regards, and use exclamation marks unabashedly. Especially as I have a compulsive need for ending my mails like a 15 year old sitting for board exams.
Friday, 13 January 2017
Yeah, I skipped out on posting. But I like to think that I kept my resolution since I at least registered a happy thought every day, just didn't make the time to post it here. So here is a list of happy thoughts I remember having over the past few days-
- I pulled other people (well, one other person) on to the deck of HMS Dramione.
- I love Agar main kahu from Lakshya, even as I barely have any recollection of the movie itself, except of course Preity Zinta's hair and Hrithik Roshan's doped expression. It is a gentle, good-natured joke on Bollywood love songs and their tired cliches, even while sticking to the time honoured format of a lip-syncing hero-heroine traipsing among ruins. Also I am a sucker for ruins.
- I have realised I take failure in my stride now.Though I am not sure if this a very happy thought.
- The Sri Ram Centre canteen has re-opened. Or it always was open, but I was choosing the wrong times to visit it. In any case, that jinx is broken.
- Episode 2 of Sherlock Season 4 is excellent. I am still not sure I want to re-watch it obsessively, the way I did with the first two seasons. But that may be a function of my current age and current obsession (Refer to point about HMS Dramione), than the quality of the episode.
- I no longer like Koffee with Karan or have any appreciation for any Bollywood gossip. This has to be a sign of growing up, right?