The other side of the fence.

It’s sometimes scary to come to terms with reality. The same batch-mates who at any given time could rattle off 13 different alternatives to segment a female population are found discussing the plight of Indian Aviation industry and related dysfunctional government reforms. Although the conversation soon steers off to the air hostesses where the ‘gyaan’ comes in handy but still, the change amazes you.

You have a humbling phase of growing out of a 4*4 crucible into a better semblance of a house – rubber slippers to leather shoes – from a dad’s ATM dependent guy to the Allen Solly Friday man. You find yourself responsible for works you wouldn’t have dreamt of doing  till the age of thirty (and I am not referring to the morning tea). And you like it. At least for a while.

Certain things however, are immune to change. People still live on their college pet names, find it hard to convince the parents that “they know what they are doing with their lives” and still emote a spartan sense of pride in claiming that Maggi was the best thing that could have happened to the human race.

So while I put to test my Linear Regression Model which helps me predict competitive bid pricing for Main line advertisements with 4 KPIs as dependent variables and other cool shit which you won’t have a clue of (which makes it even cooler), I jot down some random thoughts, useless learnings and general sense which may amuse help you in one way or the none.

• I hope that by the time you graduate from college, you relax your email ids off their superhero status. Make sure that your CVs does not read – for example – [Vedang Singh : cool.iceman.88@xmail.com* ]; thus summarizing your birth year, attitude and chat zone  preference. (* the mail client has been suppressed for security reasons)

• Like a good old Samaritan, you should learn the art of evading heavy jargon laden confrontations and scooping them to a friend to the left who is busy scoring his Minesweeper high -

Boss: So Rohit, with the Yahoo – Bing merger, what do you think would be the new CPC levels for the erstwhile Yahoo dominated markets, given that the Ad Exchanges wouldn’t totally align themselves to the Bing Policy at once?

Yours Truly: <gulp> <this is not fair God!> Uhm, Sir, at which point I must tell you that Aditya and I were discussing the same things and he had gone ahead and downloaded some relevant data from the ad center to study the patterns. <point finger at the guy and his computer screen> <sit down in a dignified manner>

The poor meat: <struggles – stammers – stutters >

Show down!

• There are colleagues and there are bosses and then there are the HRs. And they are godsend. Imagine how Christopher Columbus might have felt discovering America (sans the Red Indians) after a long hard toil among the sweltering fellow sailors. Now close your eyes. Internalize. You would feel the same – every time you crane your neck out of your cubicle across the lesser mortals to the lands of the HRs.

• I am no corporate oldie. Neither was I a college prodigy. So, expecting some sincere nuggets of wisdom here would be as hopeful as expecting to see Osama Bin Laden, in his full capabilities, marching down the Washington streets with white roses and dove flags. But still, for whatever it is worth, know that you would rarely be able to associate your dreams, opinions and ideas with another set of crowd – hoping that some of them would come along and stupefy themselves into believing that they are a part of something historic or big! But you could do that in bits and parts in college. Which makes the whole experience lasting and for the lack of better word, magical!

Have fun.

PS – Wrote it sometime back for Bakarz’ edition, but for some reason the magazine did not get through – anyways!

 

The night a day ago…

Earlier tonight, two very adamant males in this house decided to go against the popular wisdom of switching off the television set, tube-lights, their playlists and sleep. One argued that he needs to keep up with the news (however inane) and the other insisted that he be left in the sufism of his excel workbooks.

Now it is ~2. I see my dad splayed all over the sofa. I have been listening to this song ‘Kun Faya’ close to 9 times over. It has a homing sort of appeal – the “Kun faya kun faya kun…. kun” part of it. It spirals in some way, with minimalistic words and intonations – more for the breeds who pride themselves on their bathroom singing capabilities. You can’t go much wrong with it.

Have you heard of this band – Lonely Island? The feat they achieved with Akon. That song, yes. And then this guy – who believes that Disneyland is a part of UN and holds on interviews like -

Ali G: But what harm has violence ever done?
Media analyst: Oh… death!
Ali G: Yeah, but apart from that.

This guy I read, wanted to become a bad ass ghetto boy.

All these guys would be written along with – “He just lurrvvvvs music” or like “This humor will take my life” which makes me emote a pukish sense of wonder on how doped a country is America!

But then we have Wilbur Sargunaraj, so I can’t actually complain.

The time when I was in school, I was a part of a perfmance arts club, where I rose from my modest renderings of the christmas lamb to the tree around which Krishna and Radha pranced to the soldier (among many) who died in the most remotest of Mahabharata battles. Frankly, the play director didn’t give a shit when I most sincerely inquired if I should keep my specs on or not.

When I asked for a more meaningful dialogue than a timed “Ah! – I am hit!” -

Teacher: Hmm… You should go solo as Lalu Prasad Yadav. You have a round face.
Me: Whaaa…?
Teacher: Uhm – Yaa… and also, put some whitener on your hairs. Chalk dust should also help.

So while other folks walked down the stage as the great warrior Arjuna, Jawaharlaal Nehru, Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King – I had to stick saw dust in my earlobes to enact the most celebrated CM of that time.

Since then I have done enough plays on the earnestness of the CM – interviews with dummy reporters as a part of  School’s annual day functions that I ~half qualify for the full dowry which you shall give to your daughters, you parents.

A blog need not necessarily make sense all the time. I actually slept after this and woke up in morning to realize I was 20 minutes late for my call to explained the excel soaked in Sufi music. I feel a need to gaze hard at this monitor to make the number reshuffle at his end. How hard can magic tricks be after all?

Uhm – How do you color condition cells in excel?

Of South dilli aunties and south dilli aunties

You know all those little epiphanies which occur to you in life, from the one sitting in an engineering classroom and realizing that the professor knows as much about the subject as your Mom would know about the Pentium 3 to the one where you go in a supermarket store and look forward to catch up with few confectioneries from your childhood memories and realize that this. is. no. ordinary store.

And in that moment, you feel like that guy from that movie Jumanji, who appeared from nowhere after being trapped in the game for (I don’t recall how many) years and realize, shit! this is Le Marche – there are (only) hot moms and their hot daughters, walking around in hot pants – you can’t expect to make a small talk with them, asking if they know where the store keeps Chatmola!

[Rhetorically] As I swallowed the big lump of change, my thoughts swept across the Jat boayzz in their Ed Hardy’s – the South Delhi aunties doing aerobics on ‘Sadi Galli‘ – the Kitty party moms with IQ levels dipping to sub zero Serbian thresholds – and the gurlfriends who chide their boyfriends for not bringing enough extra ‘Catchups‘ to bathe their burgers with and I thought to myself, “Woah – this is new!”

Out of the last 6 years, I spent 4 studying engineering in a place so primitive that they had classes on how to make fire and the next 2 living in a place so spartan that the mascot for the most eligible bachelor was a quintessential male with deep fried mustache, assorted chest hairs and a lungi lurching perilously low in a Kingfisher calender girl fashion.

I reckoned that things have changed in a “Hamare zamaney mein ye hota tha” style for me. Now when a random kid stops by, and asks “Uncle! Ye rasta Preet Vihar ko jataa hai?“, I should probably keep my cool – just completely ignore the word Uncle – understand that I have gone generations ahead and not send him running off on a one way stretch to the Welcome Metro station.

On a different note, remember my mention about the Kitty party moms association? Well this is what I overheard – “Arrey Rajinder – hum social revolution kar denge Facebook pe uss fruad SnapDeal ke khilaaf – the power of social media, you don’t know. Ek group start kartey hain and posts and likes kar denge. Chal phone chod and you come over to lunch naa. I have to hang you abhi – lunch menu start hone wala hai”

Now if their kids won’t wear Ed Hardy’s and their Mom in Laws won’t sweat out on Punjabi pops and their daughters won’t shop for the pringles at Le Marche, then who will!

The filler post

Admittedly, with my work life balance looking as promising as Akmal’s fielding, I can certainly not hope of a waaaay too relaxed time any soon to write a well lit blog post.

So let me for once put random notes, collected over a period of time -

There is something about this song – “Saibo” from the movie Shor in the city. The way the male voice takes over with the ‘Dheere Dheere” note – It sounds so naturally liberating, that I almost feel like flinging my laptop away and giving my vocal chords a heads up!

This is 12.25 in night and the cab driver just mentioned to me that the brake oil doesn’t seem to be working fine.  To a guy, who was minutes before reveling in his favorite song – this assurance was like telling a honeymoon couple that the plane scheduled to land in Dubai is being diverted to rescue some Talibanis out of their hiding before Americans bomb their behinds out.

He added that I should not worry and that he will manage with a clutch and gear combination. I hope he knows what he is talking about.

The citizens of the Great Indian Summers have welcomed me with open armpits; each of which seem to boast of a week’s abstinence from any source of freshness. I know this sounds disgusting. Actually it is even more unsettling! Even the Metro is no respite. I believe that Rexona roll-ons should be distributed as a part of political campaigns. Or maybe a good water supply.

This happened on Gchat:

Me: Dude, tell me something refreshing?
Dude: Nothing except my webpage.
Dude: So now that you are in Delhi, any increase in social life?
— Rest is a famous wall post on FB —

I rise from the ashes or is it just the alarm

I was sitting by the window seat of this plane to Bangalore. The plane was just about 5 minutes away from landing and I could make sense of the sectors and the roads of Bangalore. From that tiny window I saw even more tinier cars, villas, a certain township and really really tiny people. ‘Tiny’ is such an amusing word. In a very childlike manner, I crazed a thought of assuming the power of the Lego Lord and scramble the yellow red black pieces to stupefy the order of the tiny people!

In that moment of luxurious assumptions and self gratifying supremacy, I wondered if Cosmos fancies like this – When you try to hold somethings close to you and plan your life ahead, it shows you the middle finger.

Uhm, I guess a humorous comeback statement to the blogosphere would have been better than the cocktail philosophy I just shared, but then what the hell I am not feeling being funny. And I am missing all the punctuations. Anyways.

I have usually basked in the self inflicted misadventures, hoping at the same time that no one tries to squeeze the ketchup bottle on my face and see if I keep up with a happy face. Things have been a bit not so bouncy on this side of fence -  in fact they have been as eventful as Venkatpati Raju bowling a flipper with a tennis ball. But I hope to pull up some jig soon. Come alive on networks. Till then I snooze

Almost an year and I am thinking in bullets

• Tomorrow will be another day at work. When I had opted for this job, I wanted to learn all about the web analytics and how online advertising evolves vis-a-vis the social structure of a geography or market per se we had this thing called the Great Indian Economic Recession. Still, when I had joined the company I wanted to learn up the related jargon pretty fast so that I can use it to appear learned about the stuff even though the number of  meaningful suggestions I give would be equal to the box office hits in Vivek Oberoi’s kitty. I am almost there.
• I am searching for that friend who introduced me to this phenomena called Wilbur Sargunaraj. As if already my taste in music didn’t suck, I embraced a whole new level of embarrassment when my manager saw me enjoying the video. Thankfully the headphones were on.
• Reading Woody Allen now a days. Time and again the book presents chapters where he throws his disconnected thoughts and presents half baked stories. Or maybe they are concepts of sorts. But they are quite interesting. Here’s one -

I woke up out of my dream and went to the kitchen and started to eat. I ate everything in sight. If god is everywhere, I had concluded, then he is in food. Therefore, the more I ate, the godlier I would become. Impelled by this new religious fervor, I glutted myself like a fanatic.

• I don’t know how to best put this but I feel good when I see pens being referred to as writing instruments, registers being referred to as notebooks,and  mp3 Cds be called as records. Trust me, if only they could read they would feel so proud. My English teacher used to say, “Words can heal, they can emote raw feelings and make them look even better.” I can’t explain but I have felt the same many a times.
• Suddenly folks at home have become less bullish about me getting an MBA. Phone calls are more about weather and health! But I occasionally find my conversations interspersed with LIC Policies, Child Education plans, Fuel Prices, Gold Rates, EMIs. And still they make no direct references. Talk about improvisation.
• When you try to belittle someone, you compare the lowest in him with the highest in you. This is so shallow.
• Almost a year in work and I have seen both “Another one, and you are fired” and “Great work. Mighty impressed” type emails. If you ask for one learning I have taken out – You are just another guy helping them fill up their excels. The day you stop delivering right results, they will help you pack up your cardboard box. So do well while you can. But don’t stop thinking for yourself.  See how much money you can save on the free coffees. And I haven’t even started on the office stationary

Back in college, I, along with a few friends helped take out a humor magazine. And it had a very cleverly conjured up name – ‘The Bakarz’. That and the people involved in it would perhaps make up for one of my best memories from the  college. Next only to the one where I negotiated with a professor why giving me an F in final semester would not be such a good idea. The magazine will soon see its third edition. I hope I write something for it

PS: This post is full of “I’s”. Purely unintentional. Blame the bullets.

Life and Blah!

This post has been a long overdue. But then again, when have I followed up a routine. And so again,  incoherent stars – making sense only to some.

• Its both magical and cathartic to see how your dreams and thoughts grow out of those yellow – blue shorts to a more somber sober semblance of suit. But I find it hard to change the interiors. Can/Should they really be changed? Why does everyone needs a gimmick?

• Peter Pan syndrome is a deep-seated belief that one will never, and must never, grow up. It is named after the legendary character of the same name who lived in Neverland, a place where kids are immune to aging. But then, this is also true; Fairies only exist if you believe in them.

• You don’t need to have a big affiliation or an equally big degree to re-enforce life’s first principles. I met a guy who used to drive a Mercedes for his employer. He then used his savings to buy an Auto-rickshaw and put down his papers, so as to say. Now, he drives his vehicle at his will – at his ease – and according to his needs.

• Being an atheist is either a fad or an emotionally  gratifying assurance that we are in control of ourselves. Is there anything such as free will?  Anyways, here is an awesome – awesome quote from a soap,  Supernatural:

Think of the million random choices that you make–and yet how each and everyone of them brings you closer to your destiny. Do you know why that is? Because it’s not random. It’s not chance. It’s a plan that is playing itself out perfectly. Free will’s an illusion, Dean. That’s why you’re going to say yes.

• I hate fence sitters. And I stick to this aversion as unequivocally as I can. You cannot and should not denigrate something, just because it does not falls under your sense of pleasure or taste. It was amusingly distressing to see an acquittance of mine going on lengths to prove how Google Chrome is a bull’s excreta and how Google is winding itself into its innovation pit by jumping onto the OS, Web, Mobile… business all at the same time! He is working in an IT firm. Debugging some one else’ creations.

• I have started using small sentences or maybe I so like using caps-lock and probably so. I have always accepted the fact that I am an outlier in some sense. But then every one is, in one way or the other.  We all live in a mandatory need to affiliate to a tribe. And I am still in search of mine

• Nice guys are suckers and easy targets. Okay, and now I know this blog should end. God these digressions.

Adios

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For the departed

Dear Diary,

I have been told to type out a mail to the Indian Government. We killed a few more of their people today and they are having a hard time reporting their progress  to the media, so maybe this just might help. I don’t know who were killed or why they were chosen. My brothers say that I need not know and I believe they are just about right that I am not told everything. It kind of helps my conscience to stay put, you know.

Perhaps my people know some big technology things that prevents the Indian Government to track my internet wares. Or maybe they do not. But any which way, I would be happy to sacrifice my life for Allah. And then my life shall be worth something. I shall have the best of vines and the best of girls in heaven. At least this is what they say. And I choose to believe them. What else can I do? You have been with me ever since I learnt how to type. You know that with my otherwise socially awkward standards, I was good for nothing. At least, here I feel valued. I feel motivated. I have a family. This family. I am told that my actions, however small, will guide Allah ke bande to conquer the world. Which I feel is just right. And so I have a sense of purpose! And also later I shall get a beautiful woman and vines which Allah promises.

I wonder why the Indian media is so eager to know how many foreign nationals died. Is it some kind of a statistical study they are carrying on? To tell the ministry that this place is good for holding tea parties and that is not! As far as I know, we hit crowded places. Elite or otherwise. My brothers don’t as much tag the victims. Why the fuss about how many Koreans, how many Americans?

And also as time passes on, I shall get to see those lovely Indian damsels draped in beautiful sarees, sharing screen spaces with a brooding politician, fretting over the attacks, cursing the ministry and that cameraman who’s glares his spotlight over his bald patch. Chill Maadi people, I say. Chill Maadi. And hey, this is one of the Bangalore slang I have learnt here! I guess when the Indian Turbaned King visits our Foreign Minister, this is what shall happen,

The Turbaned King: What the hell. Another bomb blast!
Foreign Minister: Chill maadi boss. Why chumma tension. Murg-de-Pyaaza, shall we!

But of late I have been thinking on what really matters. I mean, you know… I did not really chose this thing. I was a devout Muslim. Not the one for whom religion is like an opiate for masses. I loved Islam. And I loved the scriptures. I needed my time out of the regular life chores to read something soothing, know something different. And I needed a small help with its translation. So I got connected to one of them and now this. And now I wonder if it really is this, which I know it is. Or I am just doing something directly opposite to what is right. I am afraid if I should share my concerns with anyone here. Everyone seems to be like dead sure of it. Allah it is. Allah the way. But then why do I feel bad when one of my fellow brother gets killed in this process? I cry at his death. Curse his fate. Take out his kid’s photo from his wallet and place over his grave. Then go to his village and bring his kid over and tell him that they killed his abba. I don’t know… then maybe give him an AK47 or a pistol whatever he fancies. Hmm…

Or maybe, this is just the Allah’s way of telling me that his work has been done. His life put to worth. Come on for the eternal treat. Hmm… This is more likely to be. Amen.

Stay good,
xyz.

The Voodoo Banana

Disclaimer:

The following write up might give wrong impressions to some people. I mean the “He’s gone bonkers” and such likes. Not that the blogger gives a tiny rat’s tooshie on others opinion but for what its worth… uhm… Gurrls, just to note, he can be easily influenced otherwise.

Still, should the gurl’s fathur doubt his Competitive Credentials or that Mensa International membership he flaunts, they should know that the blogger once lived amongst those great men and women who even sleep walked the corridors of great places taming that technology bitch (not necessarily the cpu’s insides or that mixer’s circuitry).

To code his humble beginnings; he learnt his wares from a well known institute of engineering in eastern India and is now crunching numbers at a well known company in southern India. He masquerades the learned world gawking at excel sheets, making power-point presentations and on few occasions, craning his neck – across cubicles – beyond code ridden brains – to the land of HRs. But competitive that he is, when he is not evaluating a certain Durban Watson Tests for the Best Fit Linear Regression Model, he is circulating “For Manager, With Love” mails among his peers. Manager in BCC. Just for the phun.

But as we talk of phun, some not-so-good memories of those unearthly hours flash before him when he and his brother were used to be woken up outta their beds, suitably attired, and tastefully scooped outta their home in search of their morning nirvana. Morning Walks for the uninitiated.

Half reluctant, half awake but totally disoriented minds, used to find refuge at the community bench and revert to their blissful state of trance. But there was something special about this morning snooze. Nothing unexpected; almost routine-like, but special. That occasional waft of a fresh breeze hitting the already moist iron metal splotch on their behinds. That occasional well timed Cosco ball directed at their bench. That morning cricket. Barefooted players in multicolored night-suits. All the fake dive fielding attempts on the grass bed. All those quick singles with a premeditated dive at the crease.

You know, That was some real fun. Uhm… or maybe also because being a 10th grader, you had that option to fight for a no-ball if you had given a catch to that kid but still wanted to play more. You know, with those “Jerk bowl thi yaar” or “His foot was this aaaout of the crease mann!!“, where ‘this’ was the measure of distance. Or the ultimate, “Faaine, ab hum aadhi crease se bowling karenge. Aur tu to beta gaya”

And I digress. Focus. Right. So we were talking of these fun things which we still remember of but now find less worth in doing them. Maybe because we have genuinly evolved over time and our definition of fun has changed and we now enjoy other things like boozing our brains out, creating our FaceBook empire, or maybe writing blogs and ‘Buzzing’ on gtalk. Which is okay for it gives you happiness! Nothing about the Booze is bad or FB makes you sloppy and obese. But I was wondering if this change is because we have grown up or because the others have grown up. I mean, you know, maybe you still want to do it but uhm… that guy does not. And then that guy is cool because of this, this and that and so my idea must be childish because I otherwise suck at this, this and that. And so on…

Is it not wrong on one’s side. I mean, leave the academics and career where the rat race rules. Does the rat race continues everywhere!

But we shall continue for we must do. And so… we present to you …The Voodoo Banana.