Am I A Rebel?

Happy New Year!!! :-)

It has been so long since I wrote something here. The last year has seen me go from the happiest person on earth to a sad and pathetic little soul that’s trapped in a job that seems keen on sucking the life energy out of me. The only writing I have done in the past year are long emails to my friend about me and my surroundings. I wish I could publish them some day.

Anyway, all that aside, I was thinking yesterday about how there is a rebel inside each one of us. Some accept it; but most live in denial.

For example, I love cooking. I enjoy cooking. I find it therapeutic; I think it is a great stress-buster to listen to and sing along with music while cooking. I like making food that looks colourful with fresh ingredients that are great to look at and taste even better. I like the way the aroma of tempered spices spread and fill the house. I forget all my problems and tensions in the sound of music and the pressure cooker’s whistles and the motor sound of the mixie. It satisfies all my senses. You get it, right?

So everyone by now thinks my husband is a lucky man, right? Wrong. I don’t cook very often these days. I restrict my cooking to making dosa/idly and simple chutney or easy-to-make mixed vegetable rice. I don’t spend a long time in the kitchen; I don’t put on music. I don’t enjoy the process. I do it more out of duty than out of love.

And that is simply because I am EXPECTED to do it. I don’t know if it makes any sense to any of you, but I want to cook because I enjoy it, not because I MUST. It is expected out of me, as a wife, to cook for my husband. But then the rebel wakes up and says, “Hey, you must not do it because they expect you to. You are not anybody’s slave.” And out goes all the goodness that I had housed inside me all these years. The “nee enna solradhu, naan enna kekkaradhu” (Who are you to say and why the hell should I listen?) attitude is something I have not been able to shake off since I was 5 years old. And I don’t seem to regret it that much either.

Cooking is a simple example. There are other things that I have stopped doing (or stopped enjoying the activity) just because somebody wants me to. That my job certainly belongs to that category is no secret. And I am not the only one feeling that way about one’s job. But we still do it because we have put on the dog costume and so we bark.

I want to be able to give in to others’ expectations and not feel rebellious at every opportunity. I want to live a normal life without having the urge to put up a fight at every slight possibility. Because frankly, I am tired of it. I am tired of having to fight back against every single thing expected out of me even though I’d have done it by myself anyway.

What do you think? Is it just me or is it normal to be rebellious? Or is it just that the degree of rebelliousness varies with each person? What are you like?

Mr.Stinking

Not all of us are the same. And thank God for that! Thank God, not all of us are creepy idiots who have the IQ of a cabbage.

I will abort the child if I come to know it is a girl.

Imagine that from a well-educated (a professional degree holder from a decent college), IT professional who I happened to work with. The nerve he had to tell me that, without the slightest inkling of sensitivity or respect for the life of a child! All I wanted to do at that moment was to just punch him in the face and break a tooth or two in that mouth of his that uttered those stinking words.

But fortunately for him, it was within the office premises and I was in no mood to get fired for physically assaulting a colleague. Believe me, I am physically and mentally capable of killing that mosquito (oh, have I given out too much about the identity of the person already?)

I mustered up all my patience and asked him, “What if your father had thought the same way? You wouldn’t have had a sister who you love so much today.”

You’d think that would have reached the non-existent brain of his or at least strike an emotional chord with him. He coolly turned to me and told, “Sandhya, I am talking about getting my wife to get it aborted; not you.”

I don’t use expletives (at least not in public forums), but that fucking asshole actually said those words to me!

He continued, “Where I come from it happens all the time. Hospitals there help the would-be parents determine the sex of the unborn baby and they get the “problem fixed” too.”

What the hell is wrong with this country? If it happens as often as he says it does, what are the police doing there? Is our law just something to laugh about after breaking it? Well, I know most people break the law, but I thought we had grown out of hatred towards the female child, at least in our so-called educated urban youth.

That the guy is not even married yet is another problem. But God help the poor girl that agrees to marry him. Oh wait, maybe where he comes from, the girl’s opinion is not sought while “fixing” her marriage with Mr.Creepy Creeperson with a mind narrower than a strand of his hair.

I personally know so many couples yearning for a baby in their lives; and then there are people like this one that makes me wonder why God created these infinitely stupid beings.

Should I just go and report this to the police? Will there be any action? You know, like checking if there are hospitals that do this?

The story of a...

My name is Ton. That’s right. Even I have always thought, “What did I do to deserve a dumb-ass name like that?” But I could do nothing about it, really. That was my name and I had to live my life with it. I was born into a big family with a lot of siblings. Our house was always full of people. Happy people. Whoever saw us, their faces lit up, much like our own.

I don’t remember the day I was born; but I distinctly remember the day my brothers and I were shoved by unknown men into a dark room that was surrounded by strange noises. It was suffocating in there. All of us were young and adventurous, and fear was not something we were familiar with. But we couldn’t wait to get outside and play.

In the dark, we couldn’t see each other’s faces. But we could all feel each other’s strength. That kept us alive and sane. We held each other when we felt low. No matter what happened, we all had each other for company, after all.

Then one day, as if by magic, a small ray of light entered the room and a few of my brothers were freed from the darkness. We were hoping that they would return to free us and describe to us what the outside world looked like, if it was really as brilliant as we had heard in stories that our parents used to tell us. But they never returned. Although most of us were worried sick about what the world would have done to them, I was plain furious.

How could our brothers leave us in distress and enjoy outside? Bloody traitors. They ought to have come back to free the rest of us.

My mood was as dark as the room itself.

Suddenly, there was some noise from outside the room. We heard men talking.

“I spoke to her all night, machi”, one was saying.

“You only spoke all night, no? Let me guess; you called her, right? If she had called the call would have been over in a matter of minutes”, said the other.

Bangalore Traffic

Almost a month after I went to Mumbai, it is now time for me to tell you what the hell has been going on since that fateful day. So I reached Mumbai, found my way to the hotel at midnight, made it to office the next morning on time. Everything was going great until two days I got a call from the husband back home at Bangalore telling me he wasn’t feeling well. Now whether he was sick because he was missing me or he partied too much and ended up falling sick, I can never be sure of.

So I got back to Bangalore to take care of him and have been here since then. So my Mumbai dreams came to an end in a week’s time.

Never to be the one bogged down my unexpected turn of events (I can almost see my mom’s lips curling up in a smirk and saying, “Yeah, right!”) – I have embraced my Bangalore office with a never before glee. Trying to cheer myself up by doing a things that I love doing – reading and writing. Not that I am making much progress in the latter as is evident from the (lack of) updates on this blog.

Another major event that has happened is that, much to the horror of my mom, I went ahead and bought for myself a Scooty to commute to office. It happened after a bad day in BMTC buses when I had at least 4 X 100 kg aunties falling on me. It is just ridiculous. Either there should be more buses in that route (wait, that’s not possible. Because there is just NO ROOM in the road for any more buses) or all companies should give 100% work from home option to their employees. Save some fuel for the next generation too.

That Tin Factory – K R Puram stretch is the one that is the most amazing bottleneck. It takes a full 20mins to cross that 1-1.5km stretch. That said, simple things done by BBMP can make the situation a lot better. The road right outside the railway station is a mess – which leads to the vehicles slowing down to make the impact of the bad road lesser – this at an already ridiculous bottleneck of a place! There are open sewage drains along the road (on the right hand side of the road). Can’t they be closed with cement planks so that they seem like an extension of the road providing the much needed space for at least the motorists? Also people should not be allowed to alight/board buses/cars right on the main road outside the railway station. And how difficult would it be to have an overhead bridge built for pedestrians to cross the road?

And the BBMP is not the only party that can change. There should be co-operation from the people as well. Most of the cars I see are occupied by one person only. In some rare cases, two. Why can’t people do car pooling? That way you save on fuel AND you get to travel in lighter traffic and reach your destination earlier.

Companies could have flexible timings to accommodate people arriving office early/late to avoid peak hour rush. Company shuttles and cabs could be provided at different timings to reduce time “wasted” in travel.

Simple solutions to complex problems; problems that take at least 20-30mins of about 2000 people’s mornings; time that could be used for more productive work. Will the solutions work? Hell, yes. Will they be implemented? Hehe, we all know our city corporations and ourseleves better.

Firsts

They say there is a first time to everything - anything great or trivial has to start from somewhere. And when I was chosen for an assignment that required me to travel quite often, I thought I have to start traveling without complaining, start packing by myself (else it has always been Amma/Sabal packing my bags for me - and I had to admit, I had a minor "Up In The Air" George Clooney feeling), start meeting new people with new cultures and different languages - it all gave me a whiff of excitement. But the negative thing was that is what it was - a whiff. If you have to survive in a different place for 12 or 14 weeks, a whiff is generally not enough.

But this assignment filled my life up with a lot of firsts - my first traveling job, my first assignment with a French team lead, my first month-long visit to Mumbai, my first long stay in an hotel - with so many exciting firsts, I also had a first that virtually my butt kicked by my mom.

I missed my flight – a first. It was the first time I had missed a bus or train or flight and it came at the most critical time ever. I am supposed to report at work at 8:30am tomorrow and my flight is rescheduled for 9:35pm from here – I would probably reach my hotel by midnight, if I am lucky. Phew!

Bad timing. But I have to hand it to myself – I have been most calm and positive through the whole thing. A far cry from my usual “analytical mind” that worries about everything and gets all worked up when things don’t go the way as planned. That was a first too (but it was probably because I wanted to show to my mom and others that I was in control of the situation to escape the aforementioned butt-kicking). Or maybe, just maybe, I am growing up and becoming more mature person, or something!

So, off to some awesome vada-pav at the awesome Mumbai!

PS: This post was written while waiting for the gates to open for boarding @ Bangalore airport and posted later.