I once had a long argument with R about what a party is. Everyone seems to have an opinion on parties. "Oh, I love partying". "Man, I attend the coolest parties in town". "Dude, I'm booked on Friday night - there's this party happening with karaoke". Personally, I don't see what the hoopla is all about.
I begin with the worst form of party - the office party. It's supposedly your employer's way of showing that it cares for your work-life balance. Somehow, everyone is presumed to enjoy eating at flashy restaurants, and everyone is presumed to be a hard-drinking party animal. Usually, the boss and the long-serving employees get piss drunk, scream out loud along with the blaring Bollywood music, shake their (substantial) tummies around the table and crack horrible jokes. Then the old-timers gossip the same gossip they gossiped about three years ago. The newbies are scared - what will they reveal to their boss, who will force them to get drunk, how do they react if their boss asks them for a dance. Then there are the ones who hate the whole thing; they will sit quietly at the end of the table and eat finger food all evening. A few critical points to note - attendance is compulsory, especially if you are a newbie; jokes that attack your personal life (especially relationships and sex) are the best and safest jokes; strictly no honest opinions about work and your boss must be expressed.
Then there are the random parties. There's a crowd of a dozen people headbanging away to obscenely loud rock music. Everyone knows a maximum of one other person in that group. Everyone is to be addressed as "dude". Your standing in the eyes of the others is determined by how many parties you have attended in the past week. You find that one other guy who wants a beer as badly as you do and you stick to him throughout the evening, both of you shoulder-barging your way through the crowded floor to the bar. The hot chick in the strapless dress is the target for every man, single or attached, but she is more committed to her drink than anything else. Food is ordered by anyone and everyone, and plates of random stuff are passed around to everyone. Few words are spoken, and sentences always begin with "Err... What did you say your name was, dude?" The exception, of course, is the hot chick - everyone knows her name, her dad's job, her brand of perfume and the date of her next period.
Next in line are the private parties. This usually follows a random party, if you have made the cutoff of 17 parties in the past one week. The guy whispers into your ear or sends you a text message with the invitation. The venue has no furniture - just bean bags and mattresses on the floor. The booze is only beer, vodka and, if you are exceptionally lucky, whisky. Food is pizza or junk ordered from the take-out round the corner. A basketball game runs on mute on the TV - note that cricket and football are for the masses, only the uber-cool American games are allowed. One gang of people is in the balcony, and the air there smells strange. That's pot luck for you. The hot chick is slightly more amenable to a conversation. Just when you think you are approaching jackpot, the hunk in the Benetton pullover whisks her away to one of the bedrooms and shuts the door behind them. By the time anyone realises, everyone is drunk and it's 5 AM.
The best is reserved for the last. These are the parties which you go to with your best friends from college, especially those who live in a different city. Everyone knows everyone's best and worst habits. Everyone knows exactly which girls or guys they dated and why the breakup happened. There are nearly no secrets. The objective is to make noise, and plenty of it. The venue is a comfortable middle-class pub where the music is classic rock and not too loud. Discussing work is completely forbidden. Discussing the "good old days" is a necessity. Singing along to the songs is appreciated, but asking an unwilling person for a dance is not. Jokes are outright silly, or dependent on wordplay. Everyone gets drunk, but remains cheerful and an integral part of the party. You leave the party wondering when you will have such a good time again.
What was the point of all that? I guess it just puts things in perspective. Firstly, no booze, no party. Example, your neighbour kid's third birthday celebration. Secondly, it would have been a much better idea to sink into your couch at home and catch the Saturday evening game. No matter what kind of party. Third, college days are the best. Cheap food, cheap clothes, cheap booze, cheap jokes, priceless fun.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Hello! Do you understand me?
Today began like any other Sunday. The eyes opened at half past nine, but still felt droopy. I dragged myself down for breakfast and turned on the telly. As is my habit, I went to the sports channels first, and saw a ten year old girl attempting to spell "ostentatious" (Yes, that's anoher Indian show copied from a successful American TV series). The aptness of the word for the situation apart, it got me thinking. What is the purpose of having words in the dictionary which only a miniscule fraction of even native English speakers know the existence of?
I remember a panel from the comic "Obelix & Co". The highly educated and talented young economist Caius Preposterus tells the rustic menhir delivery man Obelix "If you can't increase the efficiency of your productivity infrastructure, the market will fall" and receives a glazed-eyed response "UH?" That, in short, is a quick lesson on bad communication. A couple of my friends are absolute masters of the English language, but they find it hard not to use a ten-letter word in every sentence they speak. It's something which I have never understood. It's all fine to wax eloquent and use four words when one would have sufficed, but is it really efficient? Does it achieve the purpose of writing or speaking in the first place?
As a lawyer, I must be the last person on Earth to be taking such objections to such grandiose vocabulary, for my brethren hold the unenviable reputation of always attempting to confuse the rest of the populace through the use of two-hundred word sentences. However, I find no percentage in it. If I can't convince a client to cough up my fees in plain English, I don't see how a note that reads, "This is to hereby notify you that a sum of Rupees Four Lakhs only has remained unpaid as a result of your conscious, deliberate, calculated, premeditated, predesigned, predeceased, purposeful, willful and express acts and omissions which are set out in the Schedule hereunder, and your failure to make good all payments outstanding whatsoever and accruing in whatsoever manner without limitation shall give me no option but to exercise any and all means at my disposal, including but not limited to legal action, to move for the recovery of the aforesaid outstanding payments from you, your legal heirs, permitted assigns, successors, agents and representatives" will do the trick. (PS: That reminds me. There is a word out of place in there somewhere. A chocolate for every person that points it out to me.)
Our modern corporate world is no better. I received an email recently: "Dear Anirudh, It will be a pleasure to touch base with you in Bangalore, as I will be telecommuting next week. It is so nice to see someone stepping up to the plate at such short notice. I had been out of the loop on developments, but now we can strategize how we can move forward. We need to build synergies and create value items. My plate is empty, so fill me in on any new ideas which you may have. Regards, xxx" I don't know the origins of any of the phrases above, but everyone in the corporate world needs to have an instinctive habit of spewing any old nonsense in order to sound right. Anyone who says, "Let's meet for a coffee and chat when I am in Bangalore" is either unsophisticated or is trying to curry favours with you.
The gist is I like to keep it simple. The erudite in us demands that we use ostentatious (there's that word again) language, but the real requisite is to be lucid. Curses! The habit's catching. I had better end this before I turn magniloquent.
I remember a panel from the comic "Obelix & Co". The highly educated and talented young economist Caius Preposterus tells the rustic menhir delivery man Obelix "If you can't increase the efficiency of your productivity infrastructure, the market will fall" and receives a glazed-eyed response "UH?" That, in short, is a quick lesson on bad communication. A couple of my friends are absolute masters of the English language, but they find it hard not to use a ten-letter word in every sentence they speak. It's something which I have never understood. It's all fine to wax eloquent and use four words when one would have sufficed, but is it really efficient? Does it achieve the purpose of writing or speaking in the first place?
As a lawyer, I must be the last person on Earth to be taking such objections to such grandiose vocabulary, for my brethren hold the unenviable reputation of always attempting to confuse the rest of the populace through the use of two-hundred word sentences. However, I find no percentage in it. If I can't convince a client to cough up my fees in plain English, I don't see how a note that reads, "This is to hereby notify you that a sum of Rupees Four Lakhs only has remained unpaid as a result of your conscious, deliberate, calculated, premeditated, predesigned, predeceased, purposeful, willful and express acts and omissions which are set out in the Schedule hereunder, and your failure to make good all payments outstanding whatsoever and accruing in whatsoever manner without limitation shall give me no option but to exercise any and all means at my disposal, including but not limited to legal action, to move for the recovery of the aforesaid outstanding payments from you, your legal heirs, permitted assigns, successors, agents and representatives" will do the trick. (PS: That reminds me. There is a word out of place in there somewhere. A chocolate for every person that points it out to me.)
Our modern corporate world is no better. I received an email recently: "Dear Anirudh, It will be a pleasure to touch base with you in Bangalore, as I will be telecommuting next week. It is so nice to see someone stepping up to the plate at such short notice. I had been out of the loop on developments, but now we can strategize how we can move forward. We need to build synergies and create value items. My plate is empty, so fill me in on any new ideas which you may have. Regards, xxx" I don't know the origins of any of the phrases above, but everyone in the corporate world needs to have an instinctive habit of spewing any old nonsense in order to sound right. Anyone who says, "Let's meet for a coffee and chat when I am in Bangalore" is either unsophisticated or is trying to curry favours with you.
The gist is I like to keep it simple. The erudite in us demands that we use ostentatious (there's that word again) language, but the real requisite is to be lucid. Curses! The habit's catching. I had better end this before I turn magniloquent.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
The Thrill of the Chase
She glanced at her watch for the seventh time in five minutes. As if history lectures weren't boring enough as they were, this professor wanted to conduct "extra" classes on Saturday afternoons to catch up with the syllabus. Extra classes were where your parents thought you were while you dried your eyes on Rohan's shoulder while watching Shah Rukh Khan and Karan Johar spin the latest tale of woe and love. They were not meant to happen, you know. TRRING! The harbinger of freedom rang loud and long, heralding an evening with Rohan.
She grabbed her bag and ran out of the building. He would have gladly picked her up from college, but she did not trust her classmates to keep mum about him. Instead, she walked for a fair distance and stood in the calming shade of the large Gulmohar. She glanced at her watch again; it was 3.30. Where was he? Why wasn't he here yet? Does he remember they were to meet today? She couldn't call him because she had spent the last of her prepaid currency arguing with him the night before. 3.45. She was getting desperate. It was not like him to be late for a date. Had she told him off too harshly? Had he taken her angry words seriously? Will he never love her the same way again? She couldn't even call him to apologise.
4.00. She was nearly in tears. OH! What was that? A flash of red and green streaked past her eyes. When the streak settled she saw the most beautiful bouquet of red roses in front of her. She heard his voice from behind her, "Surprise!" This moment of sudden joy followed half an hour of frustration and anxiety, and it was too much for her. A lone droplet traced a joyous path over her cheek into the side of her mouth. Her arms moved as though on remote control and wrapped themselves around his neck. "Thank you so much!! I was so anxious!" He merely smiled and led her by her hand into his car.
She was late getting home. Her father gave her a look which said, "I don't know you". Her mother asked her a hundred questions. Why are you so late? Why did you have to wait for the direct bus only? Why is your history teacher such a sadist (a point which she gladly agreed with her mom, though)? Don't you know that good girls are back home before dark? She was hungry. But her father stepped in. "No food for you tonight. Somehow, I don't think you like history all that much." Mother looked aghast. How could her daughter sleep without dinner? The atmosphere was thick with tension. Father knew, but didn't say it out aloud.
She quietly went up to her room and picked up a book to read. She had spent her evening watching a movie and then they had driven to the hilltop to watch the sun go down. She quickly closed the book she was reading. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger, but she slept with a smile on her face. Her sacrifice was not in vain. The thrill of the chase was worth it.
She grabbed her bag and ran out of the building. He would have gladly picked her up from college, but she did not trust her classmates to keep mum about him. Instead, she walked for a fair distance and stood in the calming shade of the large Gulmohar. She glanced at her watch again; it was 3.30. Where was he? Why wasn't he here yet? Does he remember they were to meet today? She couldn't call him because she had spent the last of her prepaid currency arguing with him the night before. 3.45. She was getting desperate. It was not like him to be late for a date. Had she told him off too harshly? Had he taken her angry words seriously? Will he never love her the same way again? She couldn't even call him to apologise.
4.00. She was nearly in tears. OH! What was that? A flash of red and green streaked past her eyes. When the streak settled she saw the most beautiful bouquet of red roses in front of her. She heard his voice from behind her, "Surprise!" This moment of sudden joy followed half an hour of frustration and anxiety, and it was too much for her. A lone droplet traced a joyous path over her cheek into the side of her mouth. Her arms moved as though on remote control and wrapped themselves around his neck. "Thank you so much!! I was so anxious!" He merely smiled and led her by her hand into his car.
She was late getting home. Her father gave her a look which said, "I don't know you". Her mother asked her a hundred questions. Why are you so late? Why did you have to wait for the direct bus only? Why is your history teacher such a sadist (a point which she gladly agreed with her mom, though)? Don't you know that good girls are back home before dark? She was hungry. But her father stepped in. "No food for you tonight. Somehow, I don't think you like history all that much." Mother looked aghast. How could her daughter sleep without dinner? The atmosphere was thick with tension. Father knew, but didn't say it out aloud.
She quietly went up to her room and picked up a book to read. She had spent her evening watching a movie and then they had driven to the hilltop to watch the sun go down. She quickly closed the book she was reading. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger, but she slept with a smile on her face. Her sacrifice was not in vain. The thrill of the chase was worth it.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Plane Infuriating
8:10 PM. Thirty-five minutes before the flight takes off, not more than twenty before they finally (like, finally) shut the boarding gate. The roadsign flashes past - "Bangalore Interanational Airport - 13km". More nail chewing. I glance at my watch every 30 seconds. Suddenly, the turn-off leading to the airport is seen. Some sigh of relief.
8:31PM. Fourteen minutes for the flight to take off. I plead with the cute girl wearing the tight red jacket. Something is said about missing a friend's wedding party. Right. I'm allowed in. It's a good thing I block my seat when I book my ticket.
8:34 PM. The plane is full. I feel smug about sitting beside the window. And even better that the middle seat in my row is empty. When will I be able to afford business class for personal trips? More immediately, why aren't we taxiing for takeoff?
8:47 PM. The little girl in row 23 starts wailing. She's hungry and she wants to use the loo. Mommy and baby get up. The tall one with the shapely legs approaches them and orders them to sit. Baby wails loudly. Mommy yells even louder. Oh, brother!
8:53 PM. We are still on the ground. Why did I tip the cabbie to drive me faster? Oh look, here's the root cause walking up the aisle. Must be the largest root cause in the world. All 130 kilos of him make a beeline for the one empty middle seat left on the plane. No points for guessing which seat that is. Oof!
9:09 PM. It sounds like there's an earthquake in the kitchen, or like a death metal band gone mad. Something creaks like a window on one hinge in a haunted house. Then the airport lights look like little dots on a map. Confirmation of the fact that we have taken off is received in the form of a banshee wail from row 23.
9:25 PM. The problem with seat 29A is that it's too close to the head. That's what they call a loo in an airplane. Most Indians never flush the toilet outside their homes. It's their answer to Hitler and his gas chambers. End result - I ring for the long-legged hottie if they have any air freshener on board. Plastic smile followed by a hollow apology. What's worse is they don't allow liquids on board these days - so my bottle of Dior is safely inside the hold. I wish I was there too.
10:10 PM. Time for dinner. I have a fabulous lesson in eating within a confined space. I can survive the Black Hole of Calcutta now, I'm dead sure. The mountain next to me orders three cups of coffee. If there's anything worse than a fat man sitting next to you in economy class, it's a fat man who stays awake through the journey and keeps shifting his elbows about. I'm thankful I don't have to hear his tigerish snores.
10:44 PM. The sexy voice on the PA enquires if there's a doctor on board. This sounds interesting. Who's had a heart attack? Who's collapsed from a stroke? I am to be disappointed. A lady who looks like she's swallowed her smelly socks is throwing up. If you ask me, it isn't a doctor that's required. Just clear the row next to the emergency exit, open the same and show the lady her place. With luck, she may land into a doctor's clinic. The way the ruling party blows its trumpet about rural healthcare, it's highly likely too.
11:46 PM. Too much traffic over Delhi. They got rid of traffic snarls on the road and put 'em smoky buses and trucks in the air. That explains the brown muck that floats over the capital 365/24/7. Another half hour with the lump of lard, the pair in row 23 and the lady with the socks. Can I have a bottle of water please? No sir, the pilot has asked everyone to return to their seats.
12:23 AM. The outside air temperature is 29 degrees celsius. At midnight? You've got to be kidding me! I wish these scientists devote their time to design an airconditioned shirt. I don't have cancer, so why waste time discovering a cure for it? I thought we lawyers had our head up in the clouds.
8:31PM. Fourteen minutes for the flight to take off. I plead with the cute girl wearing the tight red jacket. Something is said about missing a friend's wedding party. Right. I'm allowed in. It's a good thing I block my seat when I book my ticket.
8:34 PM. The plane is full. I feel smug about sitting beside the window. And even better that the middle seat in my row is empty. When will I be able to afford business class for personal trips? More immediately, why aren't we taxiing for takeoff?
8:47 PM. The little girl in row 23 starts wailing. She's hungry and she wants to use the loo. Mommy and baby get up. The tall one with the shapely legs approaches them and orders them to sit. Baby wails loudly. Mommy yells even louder. Oh, brother!
8:53 PM. We are still on the ground. Why did I tip the cabbie to drive me faster? Oh look, here's the root cause walking up the aisle. Must be the largest root cause in the world. All 130 kilos of him make a beeline for the one empty middle seat left on the plane. No points for guessing which seat that is. Oof!
9:09 PM. It sounds like there's an earthquake in the kitchen, or like a death metal band gone mad. Something creaks like a window on one hinge in a haunted house. Then the airport lights look like little dots on a map. Confirmation of the fact that we have taken off is received in the form of a banshee wail from row 23.
9:25 PM. The problem with seat 29A is that it's too close to the head. That's what they call a loo in an airplane. Most Indians never flush the toilet outside their homes. It's their answer to Hitler and his gas chambers. End result - I ring for the long-legged hottie if they have any air freshener on board. Plastic smile followed by a hollow apology. What's worse is they don't allow liquids on board these days - so my bottle of Dior is safely inside the hold. I wish I was there too.
10:10 PM. Time for dinner. I have a fabulous lesson in eating within a confined space. I can survive the Black Hole of Calcutta now, I'm dead sure. The mountain next to me orders three cups of coffee. If there's anything worse than a fat man sitting next to you in economy class, it's a fat man who stays awake through the journey and keeps shifting his elbows about. I'm thankful I don't have to hear his tigerish snores.
10:44 PM. The sexy voice on the PA enquires if there's a doctor on board. This sounds interesting. Who's had a heart attack? Who's collapsed from a stroke? I am to be disappointed. A lady who looks like she's swallowed her smelly socks is throwing up. If you ask me, it isn't a doctor that's required. Just clear the row next to the emergency exit, open the same and show the lady her place. With luck, she may land into a doctor's clinic. The way the ruling party blows its trumpet about rural healthcare, it's highly likely too.
11:46 PM. Too much traffic over Delhi. They got rid of traffic snarls on the road and put 'em smoky buses and trucks in the air. That explains the brown muck that floats over the capital 365/24/7. Another half hour with the lump of lard, the pair in row 23 and the lady with the socks. Can I have a bottle of water please? No sir, the pilot has asked everyone to return to their seats.
12:23 AM. The outside air temperature is 29 degrees celsius. At midnight? You've got to be kidding me! I wish these scientists devote their time to design an airconditioned shirt. I don't have cancer, so why waste time discovering a cure for it? I thought we lawyers had our head up in the clouds.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monkey Business
Every Indian worth his salt knows the Ramayana. Or he knows at least the point that Lord Ram's army consisted of monkeys. Well, yeah, they are mythological creatures; so they are "holy monkeys", but monkeys nevertheless. The less divine monkeys that we are familiar with are known to be nosey characters who love to pluck a shiny object out of your hand, love to screech and make faces at passers-by, and generally make themselves a nuisance. The more advanced form of monkeys (we call them apes, I hear) make ugly faces at you and thump their chests while issuing a bellow.
At the cost of being grossly misunderstood and misquoted, I say that we have a brand new army consisting of completely non-divine and non-blessed monkeys. And guess what, they are also known as Ram's army! Some vital differences exist, though. For instance, the old Ram's army took pains to cross an ocean and rescue a damsel in distress. The present one takes pains to put damsels in distress. Second, the mythical army had outstanding leaders like Hanuman and Sugriv, each boasting of an impeccable code of ethics and honour. The present army has dodgy politicians in charge, whose only claim to infame is that they never married; so they don't see what joy women can bring (oh Lord!).
And in the middle of the whole hullabaloo, two points are to note. Some young women, not dissimilar to many friends I have and am fond of, got roughed up and had their honour violated by this gang of monkeys and still cower in fear of the society which has labelled them as women of loose character for absolutely no fault of theirs. Secondly, despite all the hoopla, Valentine's Day did not create any demand and Bangalore's shopkeepers continue to face the heat of the recession.
It seems like Harbhajan Singh must now look not in Melbourne but in Mangalore for his next monkey. Although the official version of what he called that burly, curly Aussie would sound better if used against this modern monkey army.
At the cost of being grossly misunderstood and misquoted, I say that we have a brand new army consisting of completely non-divine and non-blessed monkeys. And guess what, they are also known as Ram's army! Some vital differences exist, though. For instance, the old Ram's army took pains to cross an ocean and rescue a damsel in distress. The present one takes pains to put damsels in distress. Second, the mythical army had outstanding leaders like Hanuman and Sugriv, each boasting of an impeccable code of ethics and honour. The present army has dodgy politicians in charge, whose only claim to infame is that they never married; so they don't see what joy women can bring (oh Lord!).
And in the middle of the whole hullabaloo, two points are to note. Some young women, not dissimilar to many friends I have and am fond of, got roughed up and had their honour violated by this gang of monkeys and still cower in fear of the society which has labelled them as women of loose character for absolutely no fault of theirs. Secondly, despite all the hoopla, Valentine's Day did not create any demand and Bangalore's shopkeepers continue to face the heat of the recession.
It seems like Harbhajan Singh must now look not in Melbourne but in Mangalore for his next monkey. Although the official version of what he called that burly, curly Aussie would sound better if used against this modern monkey army.
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