Musial Chairs - Le Office style

There is a game that is played every morning in office. Men and women in as-crisp-as-you-can-expect-after-travel-to-the-middle-of-nowhere-but-oh-so-spacious-and-green-office formal attire scramble around the office to find their chair. Adults strategize to get that chair they've had their eye on for the last week back into their cubicle in front of their PC. One would expect factory-made chairs bought at the same time to be alike. But reality doesnt conform to expectations. Chairs, like people, age differently. Some age gracefully, some start creaking at the joints, some lose their cushioning due to harsh Nature or the heaviness of bottoms resting on it. It is imperative to find the right chair for one's comfort of body and mind, and of course, it is expected that these would then lead to increased productivity [ Companies dont spend extra for egonomically designed chairs out of concern for your spinal chord].
Every sport must have its spectators and organizers to survive. In this popular game, I believe they are one and the same. The organizers re-arrange the chairs at around 7 am every morning and later grab a pack of popcorn, sit back and watch through security cameras. Think Shah Rukh or Preity might be interested?

Random Acts of kindness by strangers -or- Its Oprah time!

Two weeks ago, I was in the lift between the 7th and 4th floor cursing whoever had unknowingly set off a tragic chain of events by pressing the button on the 4th floor. I knew by the time the person (lets call him/her X) got in, I'd lose two precious minutes not to forget the extra 30 seconds I would have to wait till X got out of the lift on the ground floor before I could shut the lift door. Those few extra minutes lost would mean that the last rickshaw at the rickshaw stand would be taken by that mom with the the two school going kids. I would have to walk a little to catch another rick which meant that I would just miss the signal at SV Road. And miss my last bus to office. This would entail spending 50 bucks and the next 1 1/2 hrs in a crowded B.E.S.T. bus and rick to reach office. All this I thought between the 7th and 4th floor. Honest. At the fourth floor as X, who turned out to be a young servant boy, hopped in, I realized I'd forgotten my cellphone. My last hope of getting into the bus was calling someone already on the bus and imploring them to plead with the bus driver to wait for me. I told X I needed to go up. He chivalrously agreed to go up first instead of down. I pressed the 7th floor button. Rang the door bell, dashed into my room, got the phone and ran out, all the while calculating how much more time I would have to spend waiting for the lift. Then I saw that the lift with X in it, was waiting me. He held opened the door. I thanked him profusely while rushing in. And in my mind blessed him and his family. It was a fairytale ending. I caught the rick, and boarded the bus. Without even running.


College was pretty close to home so I would usually wait for 10 minutes for the bus. If it didn't turn up within that time, I'd start walking home. [Trying to walk on moss covered footpaths during the rainy season is a delightful experience. Also I find it tremendously improves one's sense of balance.] One day, after buying my 3rd Scientific calculator, I managed to catch the bus. When the ticket collector came, I discovered I had no money left. After digging around the bag for 3 minutes, I discovered I had a sum total of R. 2. Back then the fare was Rs 3.5. I looked at my calculator which I had juts bought for Rs 800, the Engineering Drawing compass I had bought for Rs 65, the discman that my sister had gifted me. Even selling them as "pre-owned" I would have got 1000 times the money I needed. But in a moving bus, I was as good as broke. To preempt the conductor's outburst [and I knew there was going to be one about "kids these days"], I got up to leave the bus. Oh, the humiliation! Then this kind voice from behind me asked "How much do you need?" "One-and-a-half rupees" I replied in a small voice. He paid the conductor. I was saved. I was also indebted to this man. Before I could properly express my gratitude, he stood up and said "Thats my stop." I resolved to wait at the same bus stop the next day and thank him and repay him. Unfortunately, I never did.


One day when I was in school, I missed the school bus. Having to go home and telling my parents I had missed the school bus would ensure that they would wake me up 15 minutes earlier from then on. My sleep was precious to me and I was determined to safeguard it. I had 15 bucks 'emergency' money. I hopped into a rickshaw. Yes, it was dangerous but I had my 9 1/2 hours of sleep to think about. The meter fare reached 15 bucks when we were still 2-3 minutes away from school. I quickly told the rickshaw driver to stop, my mind filled with visions of the rickshaw driver beating my up or calling me "chor" for not being able to pay the extra rupee it would have taken to reach school. My class teacher would be called and then maybe I'd have to go to the Principal's office. Or maybe the teacher would wait till report day and then spring this incident on my parents. I hurriedly paid him the money and started walking to school. The rickshaw moved on and then came to a stop. When I caught up with it, the rickshaw driver was smiling and he said " Pehle bolna tha! Chalo, kahan utarna hai?" I jumped in and enjoyed my 3 minute "free" ride.

On re-reading the above, I find that all of them have to do with transport. The following one is one of the best presents I got :-

Some years ago on my birthday, when the doorbell rang, I ran towards the door, all hopped up on birthday cake. When I opened the door, there stood our raddiwalla. Our raddiwalla is a sweet, sweet old man who always wishes "Good morning, baby, paper hai?" That is our cue to go to the kitchen and get the pile of newspapers out so that he can weigh and take it away. Today, before he could speak, I wished him "Good morning" and half-turned towards the kitchen, waiting for his customary question. Instead, he said "Happy birthday, baby". As I was grinning away and started to say Thanks, he gave me a bouquet of roses! It turns out that the previous year he had come to collect newspapers and mom had given him a piece of cake [I was away in college]. And this man who is probably in his 70's, he remembered! And it was the first bouquet of roses I ever received.
I'm gushing, I know it. Oh, you would too.

Attempted Limericks

She sang the song
Her tune all wrong.
The friends tolerated
The neighbours berated
All month long.

Those who had belief
Prayed for relief.
Then there was no sound
till the police found
her body by the reef.

An ode to content lost due to automatic restarts

The day before yesterday, at office, I was in the process of writing a blogpost using Notepad. After finishing all my assigned work for the day, honest. Anyway, some unexpected work came up that kept me occupied till about 10 minutes before the 9 o'clock bus to Andheri. As anyone who has ever used the 9 pm company bus to Andheri knows, 8:50 is still good enough to board the bus and get a decent seat.As anyone who has traveled from Thane to Andheri knows, it is very important to get a decent seat. Or at least a seat. My desk, however, is at least a 5 minutes' walk away from the bus stand. The walk includes a trek up a staircase. Mid-way through what you would expect was a conventional staircase, you meet grass. You have to move to the extreme left of the step to find the remaining part of the staircase. I wouldn't be surprised if the landscape artists in their wisdom had designed this to test if we consume drinks that may inhibit our abilities to walk in a straight line. I also wouldn't be surprised if they've hooked up security cameras to capture the puzzled followed by embarassed expressions, followed by a quick look to see if anyone else saw them, on newcomers faces as they step onto grass instead of a step that takes them higher. Anyway so I had all this to worry about, so shutting down my PC was not a priority. I stuffed whatever I could see on my desk either into my bag or locker. I remembered to lock my locker. And ran. Navigated the stairs, paused, ran, paused, walked, ran and arrived gasping for breath at the bus. Phew! There was a seat. True, it was a seat between two men with shoulders and girth that did not confine themselves to the seat they were on. But it was a seat nonetheless. I smiled at my good fortune. Little did I know that Windows works in insidious ways. While I was thinking happy thoughts, Windows had decided it needed an update so it went ahead and downloaded that update. Then that update needed a restart. Next morning I came to office to find my computer, all smug and restarted. Blog post was nowhere to be found. Of course. Windows doesnt auto-save-recover lowly notepad stuff.


At work, whenever anything goes wrong, after haranguing us in very polite language, they ask us to contribute to Lessons Learnt. Something that we can take away from the incident, precautions that must be taken to ensure that the incident is not repeated.

I learnt or, rather re-learnt the following lessons from the above episode :

1) If using Notepad,Save. All it takes is a Ctrl-S about every 2 or 5 minutes, depending on your typing speed, to spare yourself the anguish.

2) Or use Word

3) Shut down PCs every night before leaving. Not only do you get to save electricity and earn bragging rights, "Of course I am doing my bit to save the earth " , but you have all your documents and potential posts. The good, bad and ugly. All of them.

Laziness

Everyone has heard their parents say "I walked 'n' miles to school and you kids these days have it so easy..you'll have become so lazy"
I was quite looking forward to the time when I would tell my kids "I had to wait 15 minutes for the school bus and the potholes in the road etc". This was at a time when I was sure that The Jetsons' lifestyle was just around the next decade.
But mostly I wanted to say " You've become so much lazier than we were back in the day."
Keen observation and diligent research shows that I wont have to wait that long.
No, I am not talking abt the sms culture that has been the subject of many a debate.
In defence of the much maligned sms short forms, mobile phone keys are too frickin tiny to type anything properly and predictive test is ANNOYING.

As per my observations, our mode of greeting within the last years has changed from :
"Hello. How are you?" to
"What's up?" to
"Wassup?" to
"sup?"

[ Though what hasnt changed is the questioner's lack of interest in the answer. ]

We, as a generation, have become lazzzzzz...[snore]

CAT hangover.

Your best friend tells you horrible things about yourself. You realize that all those mean things may have been said in a rage but they're true and you had hoped that no one else had noticed.

Mr Douglas Adams' The Total Perspective Vortex shows its victim the entire unimaginable infinity of the universe with a very tiny marker that says "You Are Here" which points to a microscopic dot on a microscopic dot.

CAT is worse.

Even the most carefree, "Im just taking it for the heck of it", "I had no other plans for the 3rd Sunday of November so .." person who does not remember a single mensuration formula* entertains a secret hope that he has a chance. That he will get The Call. If one is really honest, The Calls.


Come Sunday. The lucky pen which helped pass that atrocious System Security paper is carefully put into the pencil box where it will lie unused. The pencils are examined for that HB mark and pointiness of the writing end. Tea/Coffee is gulped. Prayers are said. The examination centre is reached 1 hour before reporting time. Because you never know with traffic. So what if its 8 a.m. on a lazy Sunday morning? You never know. Seating arrangements are checked. And the wait begins. If you are lucky you have a chatty benchmate or someone around you has a chatty benchmate. Else all you will hear is the sound of old fans whirring. And tall people constantly trying to adjust to the fifth grader's bench.

You wait for the bell. Then you wait for the answer sheet. 15 minutes is spent in filling in your details in those little circles. And then resume waiting. The question paper is distibuted. Safe inside a plastic cover that you are not allowed to open unless they tell you to. You read the instructions. Some people try to squint through the first and last papers to get a glimpse of the questions inside, hoping, perhaps, to gain that crucial edge over others.

The invigilators calmly inform you, " You may open the question paper". You open the page to the section you decided to start with, as part of your strategy. whhaaaaaat? You turn the pages hoping to find a familiar type of question. Panic sets in. You dive in. Before you know it 40 minutes are up. Switch to the next section. They've got to be playing a prank! Lift up the chin n do the best you can. Whhooosh. It's time for the next section. Whooooaaa! 10 minutes left. You look at your answer sheet for a 'holistic view'. The shaded circles are like pathetic flotsam and jetsam in the vast ocean of non-coloured circles, mocking your effort, intelligence and foolish hopes. You bravely try to ensure that the ones you have filled in are like the one with the approving tick mark beside it in the sample answer sheet. Time's up.

My advice to CAT '08 takers: Prepare. Start now! Think out of the box. Colour inside the circles!

* I'm sure the people who did not learn Geometry formulae for CAT '07 are all smug!

This is a Diwali story. Warning : it has a moral

I've been making rangolis for the last 6 years. Over the years, I thought I'd become pretty good at it. This illusion was fostered by neighbours' and family's compliments. [ I intentionally put neighbours first because they do not have an obligation to be kind and that makes their compliments a little more credible. No offense, mom and dad. I realize it must have taken a lot of effort to appear astounded and terribly interested when I first performed the feat of rhyming love with above.] I didnt think I was professional and never entered in any competition but I still thought I was..you know pretty good at it.

Come Diwali time at the Office and project managers are very busy in the very serious game of one-upmanship of decoration. There cant be too much crepe paper or too many gaudy lanterns. And then of cuorse..there has to be a ...rangoli.So, my PM is in my cubicle [my cubiclemates having fled to their hometowns] conferring with other leads. He's calling the other girls in my team and asking if they know how to make rangoli. He is shouting across the office to ask women. He doesn't even think to turn around and ask me.
Which is why I was compelled, the next day, to volunteer my services to the girl who was in charge of making the Rangoli. Just to stick it to my bosses. Mistake. She really knew what she was doing. She didnt even use chalk to make the outline! I am someone who uses a chalk and duster to make the design. For me, the duster is a very important part in making the design. She, on the other hand, just took the white powder and made the design. It was a beautiful design. Just like that. And then started discussing colour combinations. I usually choose the colour depending on what I have left over from the previous year factoring in the surface to be covered and quantity of colour left. She was talking about brightness and contrast! And then she started filling it in. Fast. I thought, "thats ok..even If I am slow.. mine will be even and ..better". The coloured sand fell obediantly from her fingers, smoothly filling up her part. I looked at my part. It looked more like a frickin landscape in yellow with hills, valleys and the odd crater. She very sweetly did not say anything. But the illusion was shattered. I smiled weakly and went back to work.

The next day, I debated whether to make one outside our home. I had been doing it for 6 years. My sister had been making it before that. Traditions are funny things. They sometimes make you do things you do not particularly want to. Thats not always a bad thing. I brought out the colours, chalk and my trusty duster.
Two hours of listening to Pearl Jam and Pink Floyd later, I was done.
My neighbours came in and complimented it. I smiled artificially. Then some more neigbours complimented. And I wondered why. I saw the rangoli again. I saw the lumps, splotches, the place where my headphones' wire had dipped into the rangoli and which I had tried to cover up. I saw the lack of symmetry, different shades of yellow in the opposite parts which I had hoped to pass off as shading but was actually the yellow colour getting over and being diluted with white. It was certainly not the best. Hardly even good. I wondered why they did it. Compliment it. I went around the building. There were maybe one or two other rangolis. That's it. And I think thats why they did it. To appreciate that someone had made one. To encourage someone to make another one next year. It didnt have to be amazing or colourful or perfect. It was enough that it was *there*.
[This is where I drive in the point if you skipped the previous paragraph] The next time you think "Oh, I could make a better movie than that" or "I can code more efficiently" or " I can do that with my eyes closed" or "I can writter better than that" or "I can sing better than Enrique" : What are you waiting for? Go ahead, do it. Because that other guy? He's actually doing it, making something.

P.S : Here's a pic of my Rangoli :




P.P.S: I *can* sing better than Enrique.