December 7th, 2008 by galadriel

When we were kids, going to Madras meant that we could take as many cold showers as we wanted, without the risk of catching a cold. And of course, the existence of a shower helped a lot. The bathroom in our house in Bangalore did have an outlet for the shower, but no shower head. So all it was really was just a tap at a great height. But the house in Madras had two different kinds of showers in each bathroom. There was the one which was directly overhead, which meant the water would fall right on the top of your head, which was always fun after you got home from a day of playing outside in the sand, hot and filthy. It was also very big and very blue (or maybe it seemed big to my own tiny self) and that bathroom had a fancy shower curtain, pink with white flowers. The other bathroom had the one which was at an angle, placed in the corner of the bathroom, at the joint where two walls met. This one was small and silver colored and would squirt water on your face, leaving the hair almost dry. And the best part was, there were always shower caps if you didn’t want your hair to get wet (which was what I used to get yelled at for a lot because I was a constant victim of the common cold and wet hair was a surefire way of catching one). But then, I used to get yelled at anyway because even if I used a shower cap, at the end of it I would fill it up with water and play around with it, making the inside of the cap all wet and useless for the next person to shower.

We used to wait eagerly for the holidays because holidays meant one thing: going to Madras. We went every time we had any extended period of holidays and the summer holidays were always the best. We got to meet all our cousins and the 6 of us would play together and with the neighbors’ kids, get our asses kicked, not understand half the things the other kids said (our Tamizh was too brahmin for the Madras kids and their Tamizh was far too local to Madras for us to understand), fall down and hurt ourselves, hurl things at each other, flick water-bombs^* into buckets of water and watch them explode, pluck green chilies from Samuel Uncle’s garden, trouble Adyar thatha’s Alsatian, poke fun at pakkathatthu Pavithra who was flat footed and couldn’t run very well, make our grandma yell at the top of her lungs to come in and eat, twist grandpa’s garden hose into an entangled mess. It was like the holidays transformed us normally chamathu kids into these monsters that just needed the salty Madras air to let go. Or maybe it was just that our parents were usually out and we were left under our grandparents’ supervision; and they were always too soft on us anyway.

And in the evening after it was dark and everyone had to go back inside, we would shower and change and sit outside in the porch, with the cool sea breeze flowing through our hair, listening to grandma and grandpa tell us stories of the old days, of the times when our parents were kids and it all seemed magical and so much more fun. And the times when Murali Mama came were always the most fun, because he always had the most incredibly funny jokes to tell us, which would have us doubling up in laughter. We would run around trying to catch the fireflies that showed up sometimes, or just talk and pull each other’s legs. Being the only girl on the maternal side of my family had definite advantages. I always got to sit on thatha’s lap and I got yelled at a lot less than the boys too. On the other hand, during navaratri I also had to endure the endless trips to all the maamis’ houses for golu and sing at every one of them. The boys would hide behind the big wooden screen and snigger as I was leaving. But they were always magically there to welcome us when we got back to steal all my sundal (chickpeas curry) packets. I even suggested to my Mom once that there should be one common golu venue and all the maamis should call me there and make me sing only once and be done with it, but the idea wasn’t really a big hit with her and only earned me a menacing glare and some mumbled words about “Madonnannu nenaippu“.

At dinner we would all sit at the big round table and have our mothers yelling and beating us because we were all too picky while grandma would tell them off for yelling at us. It was fun to watch the people who always yelled at us, being told off for a change. We had short forms for everything: RS - Rasam Saadam (we actually call it Saatthamudhu, but that would clash with Sambar so we left it at Rasam), SS - Sambar Saadam, TS - Thayir Saadam and so on. And of course, being the only girl, I had to stick around after dinner to help the ladies clean up while my sniggering cousins ran off to bed and got the best places underneath the fan. But then thatha would come along and chase off the boys and let me choose where I wanted to sleep. I always picked the spot right next to him, which was the most coveted spot. He would then make us all brush our teeth one by one and then turn off the lights and launch into his very famous Munsaami stories. Munsaami was the protagonist of all his stories and was a very naughty boy who always got into trouble for something that started out as noble. His friend Kandsaami had frequent cameos as well. The incredible thing about this, I realize now, is that thatha always spun these stories offhand and built them up as he went on. And the sheer imagination he had never stops to amaze me. Munsaami stories continue to be funny to this day. So after about half an hour of funny stories, crazy laughter and not-so-funny comments thatha would finally end the stories and admonish us to sleep. We, of course wouldn’t sleep, we’d be waiting for thatha’s breathing to become heavy and for him to start snoring, and then we’d launch into our incessant chatter again. Sometimes we’d get loud enough to wake him up and he’d yell at us to sleep, but most of the times we would take care not to wake him up. Sometimes I would sleep in the other room, where my mom and her sisters would be sleeping with my grandma, and I would fall asleep listening to them gossip about inconsequential relatives that I knew nothing about.

I miss those times and I wonder if my children will ever know what it is like to be in a time as magical as the time I have spent with my grandparents and cousins, my wonderful, amazing childhood. And that brings me back to the one thing I have known ever since I set foot here. I have to go back.

* Water bombs are seeds that when put into water burst open and make a “click” noise.

December 4th, 2008 by galadriel

… whoever came up with coffee. It’s the ONLY thing that takes me through the day.

——

<Rant>

I usually consider myself a reasonably fair person who does not indulge in any kind of typecasting. However, I have noticed myself and from what my friends tell me, it is commonplace to observe Indian people behaving unprofessionally at work. And before you slice my neck, I do not mean to say that all Indians are unprofessional or even that there are no unprofessional Americans/Europeans/*insert your choice of ethnic background here* but the few examples of bad work ethic that I have heard of and seen have been pretty nasty.

I shall begin with an example of my friend who works for a big financial company. She has a friend/colleague who works for a different team, and all her (colleague’s) team members are Indians. And they have developed this nasty reputation of behaving very inappropriately at work. Abusing the office phones provided to them, the ability to access gtalk at work, downloading music at work and so on. Consequently, they have been assigned some very minor tasks and in the event of a potential layoff, they will probably be targeted first. Said colleague/friend even shows up for work in the winter in sleeveless tops and then complains that the office is too cold, but we digress.

My workplace is no different. The team that I work in does not have any Indians, which works out both well and not-so-well for me. But my office is also densely populated (quite like our homeland) with Indian people from a certain south Indian heritage which I refuse to name and which most workplaces are swarming with. These people sit right across from where I sit and are truly the most boisterous merrymakers I have seen in a while. And I went to grad school in New Jersey. I know we are a truly brilliant lot and doing the work assigned to us takes us no time at all so we have all this time on our hands to while away, but does it have to be this OBVIOUS? Look at me; I use my free time with such prudence. I blog.

One of the team members of said gregarious team was also extremely annoying. And this whole incident makes me quite proud, TYVM. I sit in a very high frequency zone with people passing by every few minutes and half of my working time is spent in exchanging pleasantries. Accordingly, said gregarious team member (referred to as GTM from now on, the G having even more significance because he is of aforementioned south Indian heritage) would also pass by my cubicle every so often. Now, owing my naturally pleasing personality, he took an immediate liking to me, and chose to express this affinity for me by tapping my head every time he passed me by. [And anyone who knows me, knows that even though I am normally an absolute doll (don't you DARE disagree), the term "wild cat" has been used in reference to me on occasion (read more than often), and not without reason.] So when I am irked, you had better know it and be scared. Be very very scared. So the next time GTM passed me by, I gave him one of my cold stares and made a “tsk-tsk” noise. And then I told him that I’m going to move from this cubicle because people passing me by have started annoying me. Now GTM is a smart man, he knows when to take hints. He hasn’t made eye contact with me ever since. I am happy. And I actually have put in an application to be moved.

Also, what is with not speaking in English??!! I know your team is full of people who speak the same language and so you can communicate in any language you choose, but at least at work, when you are talking about work related stuff, can we please use the language the documentation is written in? I mean, you’re inserting all the technical terms in English anyway, so how about joining those terms using verbs, prepositions, conjunctions and so on in English as well?

That being said, I do have a couple of untoward incidents of workplace unprofessionalism (I know that’s not a word, Firefox is making a red line underneath it) concerning American people to relate as well, so I am not only limiting this to Indian folks. I just wish people began treating their jobs with respect (except you Lost On The Street, you’re allowed to diss at your job as much as you want, I like you. ).

</Rant>

November 22nd, 2008 by galadriel

I read about this today. And then I remembered this. For all the tall claims we make of making new friends on blogs and social networking sites, it is a pity that such incidents should occur. And people, blog pals, friends, neighbors even, instead of stopping them, should actually encourage such things. What have we become? Have we started losing all the traits that were so innately human? Have we lost the ability to feel someone else’s pain? The feelings of compassion and sympathy that make us human beings, the ability to think, to sense, have we suddenly started losing them all? Is this the next stage of evolution? To me it seems like we are going back a step and becoming more animal.

Not one person watching the boy had the sense to alert someone? His family didn’t realize that he was depressed? No one in Megan’s household noticed that she was going through emotional stress? Have we all lost the ability to perceive danger? What happened to the so-called animal instinct? If animals can do it, and humans can’t what does that make us? And how is this different from photographers and news reporters who care more for their story than the suffering happening in front of them? We condemn such people don’t we?

Years and years ago, just after the Godhra incident, I saw a photograph in the newspaper of a woman having hung herself with her brother calling up their relatives to inform them about the incident, despair writ all over his face. That photograph won the Ramnath Goenka award for best photograph or something. The photographer stood next to the f(r)amed photo, with a smirk on his face after having received the award.  I remember thinking then, if I were that woman’s brother  would I have wanted this moment of my life, this instant of death and desertion to be immortalized in a photograph forever? And I am not even getting started on all the publicity the family must have had to endure, making a mockery of their daughter’s death? What I remember most is this gut-clenching feeling in my insides, a feeling of sinking hope that the world is really not getting better and people are not helping either. Reading about these events brought that same feeling back. Is that a silver lining? To know that I still feel?

Abraham Biggs didn’t kill himself. He was murdered. RIP.

P.S: On a much, MUCH lighter note, this website thinks I’m male. I don’t know how that’s a lighter note, but whatever.

Edited to add: Before I wrote this post they thought I was 62% male. I wonder what that means.

September 27th, 2008 by galadriel

Guys,

I am sorry to say, but I’m going on a break. I am going through a bad phase in my life right now, and I’ve decided to take a beak from blogging until it’s over.

This space shall remain awaiting my return. I will still follow all your blogs regularly.

Please bear with me. And pray that my break doesn’t last long.

Cheers,

G.

September 5th, 2008 by galadriel

I got another one from (hehe) Rayshma. And this one is for blogging BFF.

TYVM, babe. Unfortunately, I am not exactly BFF with anyone else except you. Doesn’t say much about my social capabilities, does it… And I have no one to really hand it over to, so this award stays with me!