the big move

Having lived my whole life in one city, in one country I must admit that leaving everything I have ever known behind and joining my husband across the world was, well, challenging. We were moving to a small industrial town of Duisburg in Germany. Looking at the place on google, it was the least fascinating of all the cities in Europe. I had no idea what I was in for, but I knew I that my ‘year in Europe’ sounded super cool, and nothing else, it would make for a great hashtag for social media.

My husband had one shipment from his company that allowed him to send everything he needed to this new unknown place. That was left up to me. I must admit I had a bit of a panic attack. Sending a life in a cardboard box seemed too daunting for me. I carefully chose toys, books, clothes and food that we may possibly need in this new unknown. Despite my midnight google-ing of this small town, I had no idea what it had to offer. Let me let you in on one of the most random panic questions that crossed my mind: “What if they don’t have Rice?”
Well, spoiler alert, they do.

The first week I was here I could only think of the things I left behind. Travelling with two suitcases packed to the brim with ‘stuff’.

I am no Marie Kondo, but I honestly don’t miss the cupboard bursting with clothes. I don’t miss the toys overflowing from boxes, although perhaps my 4-year old may disagree. I don’t miss the travelling to work, those grueling two hours in a traffic jam. I don’t miss the heat. I don’t miss the pollution.
I do miss some things though. I miss a friendly face in the office. I miss talking in a language that people understand. I miss not standing out like a sore ‘brown’ thumb. I miss my son having the time of his life with his friends, he’s not made any yet here and that is quite sad for a mom. I miss having adults to talk to during the day. As much as I enjoy my son, there’s a limit to the amount of 4-year-old conversations I can take. I miss not converting everything into rupees (yes, my middle-class self is still doing that, do not judge me) I miss, and this may seem strange, ambient noise. The first night I was here I swear I could hear my own stomach rumble (very disconcerting that). I miss my dad. I miss my pillows. I miss chaos.

Having been here over a month now, I realized why I had so much panic as I packed. Because deep down I knew that the things I would miss most of all… could never have been sent in a little cardboard box.

promenade of numbers

There are Six guys, all dressed in black, taking turns to jump from a grassy patch to a slab of concrete about four feet away. I hear claps, as one of the guys makes the jump, the second guy flexes his arms, and spot jumps, prepping for his turn. I'm not sure what the purpose is, maybe it's a new exercise fad? Or perhaps a new Olympic sport? Whatever it is, these guys All have an uncommon interest in it.

There are Five people standing in a circle, a man in dread-locks plays on a small drum, the others hoot and chant. They all look like a rave party in Goa threw up on them. I spot the neon-coloured embroidered "Om" fanny pack from a mile away. I glance over as a crowd begins to form around them. The louder they play, the bigger the crowd. It is some kind of 'drum circle'. The crowd doesn't understand what these people are doing, but in India it doesn't take much to get a crowd.

There are Four middle-aged women all in 'shalwar kameez' and brand new Nike shoes. They squeeze together on a a single bench, all trying to get a word in, gossiping on their routine evening "walk".

There are Three young girls dressed in small shiny clothes, ready for the night of clubbing they have been preparing for. They pose with each other, in every combination possible, and finally ask an innocent passerby to take a picture of them. They all secretly hope they look the best, so it can be their Facebook profile picture.

There are many Two's: couples sitting under trees, on benches, in the bushes, on the rocks. There are crowds of them, each engrossed in their own private moment. Some are in the middle of a lovers quarrel, some are about to kiss, and some have been together for so long, that they stare in opposite directions, but still hold hands.

And then there is the One, Me, walking home from work, slightly hunched from the weight of the world. Bag in one hand and a bright golden inflatable guitar in the other.

high potential...

rut-ted out

I’m having a terrible time at work. I do not like the attitude of most people around me. I have zero help (I am literally the only writer in the team). I have not done a single piece of good work for the last 10 months. And what’s bothering me most of all, I am not getting any money.

I’m fed up. And I want to quit.

But I don’t want to join another advertising agency. I want to really do something I love. I want to maybe start a little restaurant or own a fun store with fun things in it. Maybe paint and sell my paintings and have an art show.

Here in lies the rub.

For all these dreams you need to have mounds of the green.
For which you have to work.

Damn you vicious circle.

shock

I’m not one for grapevine gossip. I don’t like it and I think most of it is just made up rubbish.

But when you hear something over and over again, about a few people you know, and it’s all within the advertising fraternity…one tends to have no choice but believe.
I’m hearing more and more stories of people in advertising who are cheating on their wives/husbands. Most of the time I dismiss it, but then it comes back stronger and with more details.

I don’t know if it is this industry or is it the people? Does this happen in every line of work, and so blatantly and rampantly? I could blame it on the industry, with its long office hours and days spent away from home on shoots and researches and meetings. But come on, just because you have work away or a late night doesn’t make you a cheater.

In the past week I have heard of a couple, both in advertising, who are now getting a divorce because he has realized that he is not compatible with her. I have also heard of a married man sleeping with anyone who is willing in his office. While his wife, also in advertising is oblivious to it. It’s disgusting.

I may be sounding like a pious soul who has not a wrong-doing to my name. But I guess I am one of those people who believe in the sanctity of marriage.

So sue me.

plummet

I was talking with one of the guys in my office when a senior walked by. He continued to talk as she passed, but he kind of got lost and mumbled some rubbish. I snapped him out of it and said, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He looked at me and said, “Oh sorry, I was staring at her ass”

“You find her hot?” I said, mildly surprised. She is a rather attractive woman.
“Smokin’” was his eloquent reply.

He continued, “All the guys think so…and they think the same of (cannot-be-revealed name here) too!”

“What? Wow… Do they think I’m hot?” I asked coyly.

He hesitates, “Er… yea, of course you are.” Comes his fake but over enthusiastic reply. I stare at him, hoping to penetrate his brain with my Truth Eyes.

“You have a GREAT personality! And amazing eyes… and a sense of humour…”

Hmmm, he lost me at Great Personality.
I plummet into the depths of depression…

anti-body

For the first time in my life, or perhaps after the longest time, I am having a huge complex about my body.

I past a Mad Over Donut shop the other day, and I had a mini craving. I walked in and I looked at all the delicious chocolate filled donuts and I had a vision of myself as an obese woman stuffing my face with donuts. It was not pretty. And I walked out immediately.

I am beginning to despise my shape. And that’s not all, I have begun to obsess about other women’s bodies in comparison to my less-than-perfect one (and that’s a first)
Everyone around me seems to be whizzing past me to the ‘Slim Side’, leaving their chubby-ness behind. And the aforementioned chubby-ness is losing grip of them, slapping on to me and clinging desperately on for dear life. Okay, not literally, but I was having one of those Ally McBeal moments.

Speaking of chubby friends moving to the ‘Slim Side’: My cousin, who has always been a large girl has suddenly rapidly lost tons of weight. So much so she is being complimented all the time by people around us. When I asked her how she was doing it, she merely said she washes her clothes everyday and that’s how the weight is staying off. That’s bollocks. And I am jealous.

My colleague has lost an amazing amount of weight too. She is being complimented every single day too. She only eats sprouts though, or rather, that’s all I have seen her eat. I say you can’t live on sprouts for the rest of your life right? Right? But I am jealous.

Another friend is losing weight every minute, or so it seems. She is doing yoga and walking. So what is she doing that I am not? I walk too. And run sometimes. But she is looking so good and I am still a ball. Yup, jealous.

And then there are those friends who are just lucky and shaped wonderfully by default. My friend has a gorgeous body. Of course she is younger than me, and has age on her side (ahem, ahem) But, having said that, she’s one of those bodies who don’t seem to put on weight. Ever.

Jealous.

And then I think, “You’re a horrible person, she is your friend, I should be ashamed of myself”

It’s not like I am obsessed with being thin. Nor do I think I am extremely fat. I just do not like my shape the way I used to.

In fact, another friend, an older woman, (who I am also extremely jealous off, by the way) has three children and what I consider to be an amazing body. She is well-endowed on top and not so petite on her bottom, and man, she is hot. I wouldn’t mind having a body like that too.

I don’t want to be a size 0: I just want to have a shape I like for God’s sake.

old joy

I taught an advertising class for a communication college a week ago, and I was faced with a bunch of 21 year-old wannabes.

I remembered how I used to sit in the back of my class, writing chits, making fun of my Anthropology professor, as she struggled to speak about some random tidbit of irrelevant information. And now, here I stand before a class of fifty students, all looking at me up and down, all wondering if I am good enough to even teach them.

But I tried to be cool. I tried to talk in a casual tone.

I remembered again how my communication class used to make fun of this fuddy-duddy advertising woman who would take our class. She had no real knowledge of the profession and her entire personality annoyed me. And then again, there I was whining on about the importance of knowing what you are selling to a bunch of blank-faced children.

I tried to make it as interesting as possible; I tried to sound less like a “teacher”.

I remembered how my frustrated Math professor would yell and scream for me to ‘get up and get out’ of his class, only because I was a backbencher who made a lot of people laugh. And then there I was, watching a young boy in a green scarf surf on his laptop, while all his friends giggled around him.

It took all I had to ignore him. But after about an twenty minutes of his nonsense I pointed at him and said, “You, guy in the green scarf, if you are not interested in this class, please leave because I am not interested in having you here either…”

And with that one sentence, everything I was trying not to be, I became. I became ‘Ma’am’. I became the woman they asked ‘can I go to toilet?’

I became a fuddy-duddy, advertising professional. I became old.

But for the first time, I was very, very okay with it.

poor poor you...

There is truly nothing more pathetic than a desperate creative person...
Truly nothing...

rimmer

Dear Rimmer,
It must be awfully tiring to be such a sugar-coated, ass-licking suck up!

real life is a sitcom

I just walked up to my account management guy and asked what he was doing.

Without looking up from his computer he said, "i'm finishing a PPT".

Then as I was leaving he said, "You know, someone told me that PPT (peepeeti) in Konkani means a woman's private area..."

So, i said, "Eww, i didn't know that..."

And he said, "Neither did I, but my boss just came and asked me to quickly clean up her PPT"

:P

this is what sitcoms are made of..

pre-mental syndrome

Yesterday I took PMS to a whole new level.

I left my office all ready to go to meet the new guy in my life. I stood at the same spot I stand at everyday to get a cab. And I waited. And waited. And waited. For about twenty minutes I waited. And not a single cab was willing to go to where I wanted.

The poor sod who stopped his cab for me did not know what he was getting into. He slowed down in front of me, I told him where I wanted to go. He said no. I told him there was a new rule and he cannot refuse a passenger. He said he didn’t have any gas left, and the gas that he has would not even take him as far as the next road.
So I asked him why he asked me in the first place. He said if I was going somewhere which was convenient for him he would have taken me.
This is when I began to lose it.

I opened the back door and sat in the car, and in a low, calm voice I said, ‘Drive’.
He turned around and touched me on my knee, trying to explain to the ‘crazy lady’ that he didn’t have gas.

I told him not to touch me. I told him I did not care if he did not have gas, he was going to drop me where I wanted to go. I told him that there were two gas stations on the way and he could stop at any of them and fill his cab up.

He told me that he was not going to go and that I was only wasting my time.
Then I yelled. I told him I had a lot of time to waste, it was only 7:30 in the evening and I would sit in his cab until he started moving.

So he did. And miracle of miracles he dropped me right to where I needed to go. On an empty tank, mind you. He was not happy, but then I don’t think he wanted to mess with the sniffling, slightly psychotic lady in the back seat.

Good for me. I got mine.

this too shall pass

My father just had a bypass surgery. This week was full of stress, appreciation, anxiousness and hurt, in different measures for different people at different times.
The incompetent trainee nurses poking him on the arm leaving bruises, the writing of wrong prescriptions with spelling mistakes, the rumbling air-conditioner and the fan that creaked all night long in a supposedly deluxe room, the callous security guards at the ICCU and the general apathy of the staff—Stress.

The brilliant doctors, the kind-faced physiotherapist, the anonymous friends and acquaintance who donated 10 bottles of blood voluntarily, the support of my aunts and uncles, my parent’s friends, the constant prayers, the genuine caring without pretence, my friends who called and cared and constantly showed support—Appreciation.

Spending four nights in the SICU waiting room, the single phone in the waiting room that would ring in the middle of the night with an emergency, the constant fear that it may be your father’s bed number that is called out, the wait outside the operation theatre wondering if everything is ok, knowing that your father’s heart is being operated on—Anxiousness.

Walking into the office and having your closest friends not bother to ask about your father because they are too wrapped up in their own lives—Hurt.

stuff and nonsense

I have not had a lot to do this past weekend. And when I don’t have much to do, I start thinking. Now, mind you, this is never a good thing. But, and this is the proverbial silver lining, I do unearth some precious thoughts that ought to be archived.

Thought 1: If I wear a white, poofy dress, throw myself a huge party, invite all my family and friends, be the centre of attention and enjoy it, pose for pictures, get presents, dance the night away, vow to love myself through sickness and health and end it all with a nice long vacation...do I still need to have a man in a suit to be my groom?

Thought 2: This can hardly be attributed to me, because it came from the mouth of a very pregnant woman: It is a myth that you feel like a ‘woman’ when you are pregnant. In fact, you are manlier than ever before. First you have a beer belly at leaves you wondering if your feet have changed. At best, the most you want to do is sit in front of the television and vegetate. You crave junk food. You’re moody. You’re horny, but because of your giant-sized belly no one wants to sleep with you. You have neglected facial hair. And what’s worse, you have constant gas that seems to follow you around.

Thought 3: Recently, a friend and ex-colleague and I exchanged work. I needed a line and so did he, so we decided to do each other’s work with a fresh perspective. I know, it’s probably against all company policy, anyway, the line I did for him got approved in a flash. The line he did for me did not. Instead I had to write another line, which is not stuck in some advertising purgatory. This is an especially crap case of the grass being greener on the other side. (Okay, this is not a thought; it’s just an excuse to vent a little.)

Thought 4: Have you ever noticed how married people always tell you how awesome marriage is, and urge you to do it as soon as possible? It’s almost like a peer pressure to join the ‘cool’ crowd. This gave me a thought. What if marriage is a secret cult, which is only about stress and persecution? What if, every time a couple gets married, they have to take a vow to urge at least 3 other couples join this cult and then they get some bonus points or something...like a referral scheme?

Thought 5: I read this article about how women should not wait for their ‘Prince Charming’ because he doesn’t exist. Instead, settle for Mr Right Here and Now, who ticks most of the boxes you have in your head about what your perfect man should be. What happens if no man ever ticks the right boxes? What happens if you have 12 boxes and all the men you meet only tick an average of 5? Would that mean women around the world are so desperate not to wait anymore, they settle for 5/12?

I have to get back to work now. And besides, three days of idleness can only come up with so many pearls of wisdom, right?

remains of the day

Today I spent 45 agonizing minutes standing in a stalled train with sweaty women all around me. My ipod had died and I had no access to music or anything happy.
The morning wasn’t good.

I walked into the office sometime in the afternoon, hot and tired and one of the first things I see is the Shape Shifters butt crack. The first thought I had was, 'hmmm… looks better than her face..'. That's a new low, even for me.
The afternoon wasn’t good either.

All fingers crosses that the evening is better.

I love how optimistic I can be sometimes.

*sigh*

You know you've reached a new low when you put a reminder on your phone to 'Smile'.

he's just not that into you...

This is a mail dated 14th November 2006, written to a guy I had a huge crush on:

Hello You.

It's four thirty two in the morning and I have just finished the last
bit I had to do before the presentation this morning. Yes, I am still
in the office and soon will enter the sleepy room and make genuine use of it.

There is no greater pleasure than to see your hard work being printed
- no wait - scratch that, there is a greater pleasure and that is SLEEP. Which i intend to do in five minutes cause my eyes are already half closed.

I hate sleeping in the office. I am constantly worried about who enters - Is my ass looking too big? Is it sticking out in the air? Has my top ridden up? Am i drooling?! Is that the Hammerman? Can I take off my bra? Will people notice? Does that camera work? Is the security guy a psychopath? So I end up having this fitfull sleep that doesn't really mean much in the scheme of things.

My boss has a bottle of whiskey in his drawer which he consumed steadily since 8pm... he is now not only slurring, but with bloodshot eyes, yelling at his computer. I think it also may be the Acid I believe he has every morning. He just came up to me and told me he has a nose (which either means he just grew one or he's in the know, i can't be sure)

My other boss, the fat one, has gone home - at about 8pm claiming to have 'finished everything'. He's all about the work, but when someone mentions food, cake or calories, he is the first to get up from a "really important" meeting to stuff his face.

Don't ask me while I am maling you. Guess I haven't spoken to you in a while and feel the need to vent? Maybe it's cause no one talks (and by that I mean, let me talk) non-stop.

Remind me to tell you something very funny about ponies. Trust me its frikking funny. I think the one thing i know is funny. I mean, I know a good funny thing when I see it. Like for example - the Ghendu thing i messaged you yesterday. I was talking about my boss in my head and said he was a FAT ASSHOLIC .. errr..errr HIPPO -which means hes a GHENDU... Cause Ghenda is hippo and ... (it's one of those dot dot
jokes - like the cunning stunt one)

So I was thinking of a couple of more reasons we should get married. One was so we didn't have to miss each other.

Anyway, Before I turn into a slurring, bald, acid-consuming, computer-yelling, work-shirking GHENDU - I'm off to bed. Well maybe not. Maybe I will surf the net and learn something of Wiki.

Shucks. I took a while to write this. It's almost 5am.

Goodnight.

This is his reply, dated 16th November 2006 (two DAYS later)

Hey. Thanks for the mail, it's always nice hearing from you. You shouldn't work so hard, by the way.


Ugh. I've realised I haven't changed one bit. I will still be perfectly nice to every asshole that comes my way.
Damn it.

this made me fall of my chair

a post written by the brilliant agent green glass:

I’m going to hunt down the person who wrote the whisper line “have a happy period”. Then I’m going to take his/her spine and yank it off their back, vertebrae by vertebrae.

After which I will dance on the said person's head and tear out clumps of their hair with my bare hands.

Happy period my ass.

ahahaahahah
damn that's funny :D

clarity

I’m watching a show on TV. About a bunch of doctors who are possibly having the worst bout of luck with their patients.

This is what they do though, this is their life: In one room, an intern holds gauze after gauze against a man’s bleeding artery until he dies, and she could do nothing to prevent it. In another room is a man who has been crushed under an ambulance, he’s watched his partner die and his heart is volatile. And in a third room a black doctor refuses to stop operating on a white supremacist even though it is compromising her marriage. Why? Because she took a vow as a doctor.

I am reminded that what they do, is so important to everyone around them.

The program breaks. And I see one teenage girl telling another teenage girl how they should wear a silly fake nose ring to their show. But the other girl can’t wear the silly fake nose ring, because she has oily skin. But luckily, her friend has a handy tube of face wash that washed the oil right off and lucky for her friend, she can now wear the silly fake nose ring to the show.

And suddenly, I am reminded of what I do.

the shape shifter

I’m really not into office cliques. But I do have a set of really nice friends in my workplace and I enjoy their company very much. However, in the last year or so, there has been a new addition to our little group— a loud, intrusive, overly in-your-face people-pleaser addition.

I know I sound like I complain a lot about a lot of people, but honestly I have tried my level best to like this person but I just cannot seem to do it no matter how hard I try. There is something about this person I just cannot seem to like.
The saddest part is, this person, whom I will now refer to as ‘X’, doesn’t seem to annoy the rest of the group, which is why X is always around—at every party, every outing, every lunch, every tea break and, in effect, every god damned waking moment of my life.

X has to be the center of attention. X has to be the one that laughs the loudest; the first to give a ‘high-five’, the first to feign concern if you’re having a hard time and the first to poke its nose into other peoples lives. X shows off their work— something that I never can do. X never says no. X has also complained to my friends about how it thinks I don’t like it much. The pity vote.

X is a shape-shifter. X changes its personality with different company. X mimics your thoughts and acts like you until you think, “Oh my God, we’re so similar, she should be my best friend…” X has done this with all of my friends leading them to believe X is one of them.

I am not afraid of admitting it, I do not like X one tiny bit. But my friend’s do, and I love my friends, after all they are my core group at this point in my life. I wouldn’t dream of making them pick one over the other because I don’t want to be that person. X annoys me so much sometimes, that my mood just gets ruined entirely. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work at all in my favour because X looks all jovial while I am portrayed to be the moody, easily-angered, uptight person—making X more fun to hang around with.

So I am living with it. And I am working on trying to like this person and not nurture thoughts of ripping X’s head out.

I know it’s my issue and I need to stop letting it affect me so much. I’m working on it. But until then, let this be my catharsis.