__
Those who haven't read Part 1 and 2, please read them and then come back here. Don't be like one of those annoying characters in Harry Potter cinema audience who look at Hagrid and say, "Dai machan, adhu dhaan da Vaaldemartu!"
We stopped Part 2 at the point when M had become my die-hard blog fan and had awarded me the Booker prize in the hearts of his hearts, as distinguished writers of mythology are fond of saying. After this point, M and I exchanged a series of emails on various subjects like Art, Literature, Politics, Culture, Cinema, Beliefs, Principles etc. We really ought to publish them and put Nehru Chacha's Discovery of India out of business. These days, a typical conversation between us goes like this:
GB- What to do for lunch.
M- Aiyo. Yesterday's sambar. How much is there?
GB- Enough. If you don't take sambar for today's dosa breakfast.
M- Ok. We'll eat it with molagapodi. Or shall we eat cornflakes?
GB- No boiled milk. Shall I boil the new packet?
M- Bore. Let's eat bread.
GB- Bore. But can you make omelete?
M- Ok. Bread-omelete.
Stage direction: GB and M exchange victorious smiles on having resolved a problem of mammoth proportions after an informed and deep discussion.
So anyway, after these high-level subject matter discussions in which we both acted like this wasn't a ponnu-payan paathufying session over the internet which was arranged...horrors of horrors....with the full knowledge of our parents, M finally decided to come down from Pune and meet me. We both decided to meet outside our respective homes and were ready to put our feet down and go against our parents' wishes. But disappointingly, both sets of parents were okay with this. As a consolation though, my mum disapproved of me meeting M in a cinema theatre (Sangam Cinemas, if you must know) and I got my chance to protest such backward behaviour by the older generation.
We went for Pasanga pillim. And then to the beach. And then back home. (You paparazzi people, stop asking for details.) The parents in the respective houses asked guarded questions to their respective hot-headed offspring. A direct question like, "So did you like the boy?" would have prompted an eloquent speech on how marriages, as much as Menaka Cards would like to proclaim, are not made in heaven and of course, the rap song of our generation- PLEASE GIVE ME MY SPACE.
On the following day, M and I once again met at the beach and I did a dramatic book reading for him from Aana and Chena. Since I was increasingly becoming a traditional good Indian ladies, I decided to exhibit my talents. I can't sing, I can't dance, but I CAN make a variety of faces that have proved to be a hit with many of my friends. If you're interested in trivia, N once wrote a picture story for the Junior version of the magazine inspired by my talent. The story was called- The Faces I Can Make. So I showed M two varieties of Hanuman faces- adult Hanuman and Bala Hanuman; various ways to move eyeballs and eyebrows; Garuda face (after all, I was working in a place where the mythological aura hangs over one and all) and many many more. After these two very poignant dates, M went back to Pune. The respective sets of parents were worried that their respective offspring had not said anything about marriage. Did they, they asked each other, like each other? Do we, they asked each other, ask them this question?
M and I certainly liked each other, but was it enough to go ahead and get married? Wasn't marriage an institution that turns intellectual individuals into people who can only worry about lunches and breakfast? Didn't we know enough people who were divorced or staying together only because of the kids? So after some skirmishes and discussions all round, we decided to tell our parents that it wasn't going to happen. Hearts, old and young, would have broken across borders if I'd been in Pakistan and he'd been in India. But let's just say hearts were broken across the two ends of the city of Chennai.
And then, we promptly started mailing and talking to each other again without the knowledge of our respective sets of parents. This was more like it. We were cool now. We were rebelling. And we were like making our own choices dae. We weren't doing no arranged marriage crap machan. M came down a couple of times to Chennai after this and we had the mandatory secret dates to ensure that we were being clandestine and 21st century. A lot of ramayana and dramayana later, we finally told our parents and decided to get married, with their bewildered blessings.
Woot.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
The Age of Wisdom
__
So I quit yesterday. My longest held job. 1 year, 10 months. Put like that, it sounds so little, but it's felt like an age inside my head. I'm moving on to do some new things. Still very much to do with children's literature and writing, of course. There are many reasons why I decided to quit and in the good old days when I had lava rushing into my ears and a badrakali tongue darting out of my mouth, I'd have ranted over here and described some very entertaining systems of torture for your pleasure. But I've discovered my first grey hair and I must slow down or I will be the new logo for Apollo Heart Hospital.
I was trying to frame my resignation letter and so decided to look at previous ones I'd written. I re-read the letters I'd written- one to the Director of a central government institute (an IAS officer) and another to a Faculty Head in the same place where I'd joined with much idealism and come out feeling like a bat, my world gone topsy-turvy. I was struck by how hilariously angry I sound in these letters. In comparison, my present letter was such a let-down. It was vaguely apologetic and made no attempt to provoke or galvanize a revolution. It was a simple, polite paragraph that had a resigned air all over it. My first two letters were written when I was 21 and my current one, at the grand old age of 24. I showed the letters to M and he couldn't stop laughing. So here they are, reproduced here for your amusement. The names, obviously, have been changed to initials.
From:
Ms.GB
Old No. XX, New No. XX, XXXXX Colony,
XXXXXXXX
Chennai- XX
To:
Shri.R, IAS,
Director,
XXX Institute of Youth Development,
Sriperumbudur
18. 03. 2008.
Sir,
This is to inform you that I will not be working in XXXXXX any more. I
have conveyed my decision to my immediate superior, Dr. AM,
Faculty Head, XXXXX, as well as to the administration. I am
not tending a formal letter of resignation since I do not have an
appointment order. This communication is to clarify the reasons behind
my decision.
After my interview for the post of Training Officer in October 2007, I
was given a rejection letter by your institute stating that I did not
have the necessary qualifications or work experience to be appointed
as Training Officer. However, I was asked to report for duty as
Training Assistant from November 1, 2007, by oral communication. No
order in writing, temporary or otherwise, was provided. I am aware
that not all Training Officers in XXXXXX are Ph.D degree holders,
neither did all of them have work experience before they were
recruited. I therefore do not understand on what grounds my
application was rejected. I have a Masters degree [Merit] in Gender
Studies from an international university and I believe I am qualified
for the post, at least, on par with the qualifications of other
Training Officers.
My pay was fixed at a daily wage rate of Rs.450/- per day, which is
below the salary paid to Computer Operators and Stenographers in the
institute. Thus, I functioned as a Training Assistant in XXXXX
Division doing the responsibilities of a Training Officer with the pay
below that of a Computer Operator or Stenographer. The reasons given
for the wage-rate was that I am not a candidate who came through
advertisement. However, when I protested, I was told that my pay would
be increased to Rs.13,500/ per month. But again, no written order was
issued to me. The decision to increase my pay is thus arbitrary as no
procedure was initiated for making the post a regular one. This also
implies that the decision to fix the daily wage-rate previously was
equally arbitrary.
As a person without an appointment order, I have had to face a lot of
friction from the administration to even obtain basic facilities. I
have submitted in writing a note to the administration the very month
that I joined XXXXX stating that I require a computer in order for me
to function efficiently. The note was not taken seriously since I am
not 'eligible' for a system as I am 'only' a Training Assistant and
not a Training Officer. There are three to four computers in the
institute's library, which are used exclusively by certain individuals
to play card games. I have never seen those computers being put to
good use in the months that I spent in the institute. Despite my
repeated requests, I was not given a computer for the reasons that I
have listed above. XXXXX, as all of us are aware, is not short of
funds and it is not too difficult for the institute to provide a
qualified person a computer. I have conveyed to you personally my
dissatisfaction and difficulty in delegating responsibility to other
members in the institute because of my undefined and unclear role in
the organization.
It is only when I informed Dr.N, Faculty Head, XXXXX, that I am
thinking of quitting the organization that my grievances were
addressed in part. However, I was informed that I will not be given an
order in writing; I was informed by the Administrative Officer,
Mr.C, that I will have to ask Mr.R, the Computer
Operator if I wanted a computer.
Two candidates were recruited by XXXXxx as Production Executives
recently for the Adolescent Cell. I am aware that the Adolescent Cell
is currently under XXXXXX and not under UNFPA. Nevertheless, the
candidates were given written contracts and their pay was fixed to be
Rs.12,000/ per month. Though I have worked in the institute for four
months, I did not have any of these advantages.
I must place on record here that my primary commitment is towards
gender issues and not towards any particular institute or
organization. Accordingly, I will only seek work in an organization
where I am convinced that I will be able to efficiently function.
Therefore, I have decided that I will look at the other options and
job offers that have come my way. Thank you for providing me with an
opportunity to work in XXXXXX
Regards,
GB
The second letter was written to Dr. N who was quite fond of me and did not want me to leave the institute- this one is even angrier and funnier:
Dear Sir,
I am writing to you because I think I'll be able to express myself better
this way than trying to convince you over telephone. I don't know what the
problem is in giving me an appointment order. My father says there is no law
that prevents the institute from issuing a temporary order without calling
for advertisement. In any case, I don't see why there has not been any move
to call for advertisement since there is supposedly a gender cell in
existence in the institute which logically means the institute is permitted
to recruit candidates for that cell.
When I met the director before joining the institute, he told me that I will
be on daily wages and when there is a vacancy, they will call for interview
and I can apply and get the job. However, though I was made to do the job of
a Training Officer in my division, I was on a payscale lower than that of a
computer operator or steno. The vacancy was then filled with
Mr.C because he is an incompetent administrative officer and had
to be removed- this logic baffles me. I don't see why I have to put up with
all this bureaucratic nonsense. I did not protest at that time because I am
anyway not attracted to the job profile of a Training Officer. As far as I
have observed, TOs in XXXXXX do not conduct any training sessions- their job
is to get people from outside to do the sessions. I am truly not interested
in doing that sort of work. I was under the impression that a Training
Officer trains.
As for the computer- I really don't know what I'm supposed to do to get a
blessed machine for myself! I followed the great government procedure of
writing a note saying why exactly I need a system and I submitted that the
very month that I joined XXXXXX. But no action was taken despite my asking
the admo several times about the note and following it up. I've spoken to
the director thrice regarding this, but it has not been executed. I was told
instead that I'm supposed to cajole R into giving me a system. In a place
where everything is supposed to follow 'procedure' and everything has to be
written and given, why should I work without an order in writing? You told
me yesterday that there are several people working in the institute without
an order- are these people in the cadre of FH, TO, or members from the
Adolescent Cell? At the risk of sounding pompous, I say this: I am a
qualified candidate with a Merit degree in a specialized course from an
international university and I refuse to be treated in this shabby manner
any longer. I may not have work-ex, a Ph.D before my name, or grey hair to
prove my wisdom, but I do have some credentials that at least entitle me to
an appointment order and some basic facilities! I kept quiet all these days
because I thought I should give some time for all these government
procedures and stuff, but I realized last week that they have absolutely no
intention of changing the status quo. There is no intention, whatsoever, of
giving me a credible post. I am just viewed as some sort of young,
inexperienced, 'western' [though I spent my one year in the UK writing term
papers on India and giving culture-education classes!], upper-class female
who is here for timepass. I've seen that attitude in most of the people in
the institute, excepting maybe you and D.
I totally agree with you when you say things like you should be in the
system for you to beat the system. But it's possible for a person like you
who has some say in these things to actually do all that. I will only be
wasting a lot of my energy unnecessarily by trying to change all this
redtape. If I want a cupboard next, I will have to run to you to get it
because I'm sure there's no way they will give me one, no matter how many
love notes I write to the Honourable Mr.C. First of all, they
have no idea what to do with me and they only do things when I throw a
tantrum and say I want to quit. Secondly, there is nobody in the institute
who is interested in my subject area and it is extremely difficult to
function when you are supposed to convince each and every person about your
beliefs when they are not going to listen to you anyway. I don't have a
support system. I know you like me, but you don't like my subject and it is
equally vital that I work with people, or at least one other person, who has
similar convictions that I have. As an individual with no order, no system,
no work-ex, no Ph.D, no grey hair and heart attacks, I cannot function
efficiently without a senior person who will at least give my opinions some
credibility with his/her backing in an institute where IAS and Ph.D are
spelt G-O-D.
If XXXXX ever gets serious about the gender cell, let them call for
advertisement and I will consider applying. I am interested in working with
several other institutions and I have no doubt at all that I will be able to
do useful work with them. I am aware that politics exists everywhere and it
will not be smooth sailing wherever I go, but I will at least be allowed to
get on the boat to sail instead of being told that I have to write a note to
see the boat.
I am deeply grateful for all the support that you have shown me. If I can be
of any use to you in future, please let me know.
Regards,
GB
These letters caused quite a stir in the institute and card playing on the library computers was stopped for two whole days. My mini revolution, comrades.
Though I've learnt now that changing people can't be done in a big Ranganathan street hurry, I'm nevertheless glad I was once so inspired to write resignation letters like this. All I need now is some wisdom teeth and I'd be set.
So I quit yesterday. My longest held job. 1 year, 10 months. Put like that, it sounds so little, but it's felt like an age inside my head. I'm moving on to do some new things. Still very much to do with children's literature and writing, of course. There are many reasons why I decided to quit and in the good old days when I had lava rushing into my ears and a badrakali tongue darting out of my mouth, I'd have ranted over here and described some very entertaining systems of torture for your pleasure. But I've discovered my first grey hair and I must slow down or I will be the new logo for Apollo Heart Hospital.
I was trying to frame my resignation letter and so decided to look at previous ones I'd written. I re-read the letters I'd written- one to the Director of a central government institute (an IAS officer) and another to a Faculty Head in the same place where I'd joined with much idealism and come out feeling like a bat, my world gone topsy-turvy. I was struck by how hilariously angry I sound in these letters. In comparison, my present letter was such a let-down. It was vaguely apologetic and made no attempt to provoke or galvanize a revolution. It was a simple, polite paragraph that had a resigned air all over it. My first two letters were written when I was 21 and my current one, at the grand old age of 24. I showed the letters to M and he couldn't stop laughing. So here they are, reproduced here for your amusement. The names, obviously, have been changed to initials.
From:
Ms.GB
Old No. XX, New No. XX, XXXXX Colony,
XXXXXXXX
Chennai- XX
To:
Shri.R, IAS,
Director,
XXX Institute of Youth Development,
Sriperumbudur
18. 03. 2008.
Sir,
This is to inform you that I will not be working in XXXXXX any more. I
have conveyed my decision to my immediate superior, Dr. AM,
Faculty Head, XXXXX, as well as to the administration. I am
not tending a formal letter of resignation since I do not have an
appointment order. This communication is to clarify the reasons behind
my decision.
After my interview for the post of Training Officer in October 2007, I
was given a rejection letter by your institute stating that I did not
have the necessary qualifications or work experience to be appointed
as Training Officer. However, I was asked to report for duty as
Training Assistant from November 1, 2007, by oral communication. No
order in writing, temporary or otherwise, was provided. I am aware
that not all Training Officers in XXXXXX are Ph.D degree holders,
neither did all of them have work experience before they were
recruited. I therefore do not understand on what grounds my
application was rejected. I have a Masters degree [Merit] in Gender
Studies from an international university and I believe I am qualified
for the post, at least, on par with the qualifications of other
Training Officers.
My pay was fixed at a daily wage rate of Rs.450/- per day, which is
below the salary paid to Computer Operators and Stenographers in the
institute. Thus, I functioned as a Training Assistant in XXXXX
Division doing the responsibilities of a Training Officer with the pay
below that of a Computer Operator or Stenographer. The reasons given
for the wage-rate was that I am not a candidate who came through
advertisement. However, when I protested, I was told that my pay would
be increased to Rs.13,500/ per month. But again, no written order was
issued to me. The decision to increase my pay is thus arbitrary as no
procedure was initiated for making the post a regular one. This also
implies that the decision to fix the daily wage-rate previously was
equally arbitrary.
As a person without an appointment order, I have had to face a lot of
friction from the administration to even obtain basic facilities. I
have submitted in writing a note to the administration the very month
that I joined XXXXX stating that I require a computer in order for me
to function efficiently. The note was not taken seriously since I am
not 'eligible' for a system as I am 'only' a Training Assistant and
not a Training Officer. There are three to four computers in the
institute's library, which are used exclusively by certain individuals
to play card games. I have never seen those computers being put to
good use in the months that I spent in the institute. Despite my
repeated requests, I was not given a computer for the reasons that I
have listed above. XXXXX, as all of us are aware, is not short of
funds and it is not too difficult for the institute to provide a
qualified person a computer. I have conveyed to you personally my
dissatisfaction and difficulty in delegating responsibility to other
members in the institute because of my undefined and unclear role in
the organization.
It is only when I informed Dr.N, Faculty Head, XXXXX, that I am
thinking of quitting the organization that my grievances were
addressed in part. However, I was informed that I will not be given an
order in writing; I was informed by the Administrative Officer,
Mr.C, that I will have to ask Mr.R, the Computer
Operator if I wanted a computer.
Two candidates were recruited by XXXXxx as Production Executives
recently for the Adolescent Cell. I am aware that the Adolescent Cell
is currently under XXXXXX and not under UNFPA. Nevertheless, the
candidates were given written contracts and their pay was fixed to be
Rs.12,000/ per month. Though I have worked in the institute for four
months, I did not have any of these advantages.
I must place on record here that my primary commitment is towards
gender issues and not towards any particular institute or
organization. Accordingly, I will only seek work in an organization
where I am convinced that I will be able to efficiently function.
Therefore, I have decided that I will look at the other options and
job offers that have come my way. Thank you for providing me with an
opportunity to work in XXXXXX
Regards,
GB
The second letter was written to Dr. N who was quite fond of me and did not want me to leave the institute- this one is even angrier and funnier:
Dear Sir,
I am writing to you because I think I'll be able to express myself better
this way than trying to convince you over telephone. I don't know what the
problem is in giving me an appointment order. My father says there is no law
that prevents the institute from issuing a temporary order without calling
for advertisement. In any case, I don't see why there has not been any move
to call for advertisement since there is supposedly a gender cell in
existence in the institute which logically means the institute is permitted
to recruit candidates for that cell.
When I met the director before joining the institute, he told me that I will
be on daily wages and when there is a vacancy, they will call for interview
and I can apply and get the job. However, though I was made to do the job of
a Training Officer in my division, I was on a payscale lower than that of a
computer operator or steno. The vacancy was then filled with
Mr.C because he is an incompetent administrative officer and had
to be removed- this logic baffles me. I don't see why I have to put up with
all this bureaucratic nonsense. I did not protest at that time because I am
anyway not attracted to the job profile of a Training Officer. As far as I
have observed, TOs in XXXXXX do not conduct any training sessions- their job
is to get people from outside to do the sessions. I am truly not interested
in doing that sort of work. I was under the impression that a Training
Officer trains.
As for the computer- I really don't know what I'm supposed to do to get a
blessed machine for myself! I followed the great government procedure of
writing a note saying why exactly I need a system and I submitted that the
very month that I joined XXXXXX. But no action was taken despite my asking
the admo several times about the note and following it up. I've spoken to
the director thrice regarding this, but it has not been executed. I was told
instead that I'm supposed to cajole R into giving me a system. In a place
where everything is supposed to follow 'procedure' and everything has to be
written and given, why should I work without an order in writing? You told
me yesterday that there are several people working in the institute without
an order- are these people in the cadre of FH, TO, or members from the
Adolescent Cell? At the risk of sounding pompous, I say this: I am a
qualified candidate with a Merit degree in a specialized course from an
international university and I refuse to be treated in this shabby manner
any longer. I may not have work-ex, a Ph.D before my name, or grey hair to
prove my wisdom, but I do have some credentials that at least entitle me to
an appointment order and some basic facilities! I kept quiet all these days
because I thought I should give some time for all these government
procedures and stuff, but I realized last week that they have absolutely no
intention of changing the status quo. There is no intention, whatsoever, of
giving me a credible post. I am just viewed as some sort of young,
inexperienced, 'western' [though I spent my one year in the UK writing term
papers on India and giving culture-education classes!], upper-class female
who is here for timepass. I've seen that attitude in most of the people in
the institute, excepting maybe you and D.
I totally agree with you when you say things like you should be in the
system for you to beat the system. But it's possible for a person like you
who has some say in these things to actually do all that. I will only be
wasting a lot of my energy unnecessarily by trying to change all this
redtape. If I want a cupboard next, I will have to run to you to get it
because I'm sure there's no way they will give me one, no matter how many
love notes I write to the Honourable Mr.C. First of all, they
have no idea what to do with me and they only do things when I throw a
tantrum and say I want to quit. Secondly, there is nobody in the institute
who is interested in my subject area and it is extremely difficult to
function when you are supposed to convince each and every person about your
beliefs when they are not going to listen to you anyway. I don't have a
support system. I know you like me, but you don't like my subject and it is
equally vital that I work with people, or at least one other person, who has
similar convictions that I have. As an individual with no order, no system,
no work-ex, no Ph.D, no grey hair and heart attacks, I cannot function
efficiently without a senior person who will at least give my opinions some
credibility with his/her backing in an institute where IAS and Ph.D are
spelt G-O-D.
If XXXXX ever gets serious about the gender cell, let them call for
advertisement and I will consider applying. I am interested in working with
several other institutions and I have no doubt at all that I will be able to
do useful work with them. I am aware that politics exists everywhere and it
will not be smooth sailing wherever I go, but I will at least be allowed to
get on the boat to sail instead of being told that I have to write a note to
see the boat.
I am deeply grateful for all the support that you have shown me. If I can be
of any use to you in future, please let me know.
Regards,
GB
These letters caused quite a stir in the institute and card playing on the library computers was stopped for two whole days. My mini revolution, comrades.
Though I've learnt now that changing people can't be done in a big Ranganathan street hurry, I'm nevertheless glad I was once so inspired to write resignation letters like this. All I need now is some wisdom teeth and I'd be set.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Ohh, Sir is Here
__
Yesterday, somebody knocked on the door and I opened it. It was a nervous salesman who was trying to sell an Oxford dictionary (will they never sell anything else?!) and some encyclopedia series (Birds. Animals. Countries. Moonjies). So since I felt bad for him and his "Hai Madam, I'm Prasad" confident-type opening line, I beamed at him and started to listen. Just then, M came to see who was at the door- mainly because he thought it was another friendly neighbour who'd come to deliver a bag of mangoes (we have so many now we don't know what to do with them. What is this life so full of care/ with no time to put pickles fair- as TR once wrote.). Then this Prasad person said "Ohh, Sir is here!" and then proceeded to completely ignore my existence. Because you see, if Sir is there, then I'm the dumbbell in the house who can't understand him at all. PFFFTTTTTT.
M listened to him patiently and gave him his standard rejection line- Maybe later? and sent him packing. Then, of course, I spent the next ten minutes ranting about what a discriminating Prasad pandaram the man was. I get irritated when these waiter boys go and give the bill to M and the customer review form to me. I know they don't mean to offend, but I get bugged nevertheless. I am making the monies, you know, boys. I can pay. I have it the several cards. I got it the credit and the debit, boys. And I do pay also. Why can't you put it in the middle and let us decide who's going to pay? How's that, huh?
M and I went to open a joint account (Wodehouse once said the saddest words in the English language are not 'if only' but 'joint account', but so what ya?) and this individual-attention-we-give person just kept talking to M alone. Hellloooos, it's my monies too, men. I got it the monies. How many times do I have to tell, huh? At least, you can look at me when talking, no? I'm sure you'd look at me if I were walking down the street because of my hotness and shiny personality, but how about looking at me right now when you're dealing with my money, huh?
I'm not really angry in a vengeful way. I know these people don't intend to offend and they in fact believe they're being polite. But it irritates me nevertheless. What's going to happen if you look at me, Mr Prasad? I was nice to you. I looked at your Oxford dictionary. And the encyclopedia series too. I didn't say shoo. So what if Sir is here? So am I, Mr Prasad. So am I. Next time I open the door, we can even shake hands. It won't give you chicken pox.
P.S- For those who are waiting breathlessly for the finale of the Why I Got Married series, I'm sorry...I was planning to do it today...but Mr Prasad knocked on my door.
M listened to him patiently and gave him his standard rejection line- Maybe later? and sent him packing. Then, of course, I spent the next ten minutes ranting about what a discriminating Prasad pandaram the man was. I get irritated when these waiter boys go and give the bill to M and the customer review form to me. I know they don't mean to offend, but I get bugged nevertheless. I am making the monies, you know, boys. I can pay. I have it the several cards. I got it the credit and the debit, boys. And I do pay also. Why can't you put it in the middle and let us decide who's going to pay? How's that, huh?
M and I went to open a joint account (Wodehouse once said the saddest words in the English language are not 'if only' but 'joint account', but so what ya?) and this individual-attention-we-give person just kept talking to M alone. Hellloooos, it's my monies too, men. I got it the monies. How many times do I have to tell, huh? At least, you can look at me when talking, no? I'm sure you'd look at me if I were walking down the street because of my hotness and shiny personality, but how about looking at me right now when you're dealing with my money, huh?
I'm not really angry in a vengeful way. I know these people don't intend to offend and they in fact believe they're being polite. But it irritates me nevertheless. What's going to happen if you look at me, Mr Prasad? I was nice to you. I looked at your Oxford dictionary. And the encyclopedia series too. I didn't say shoo. So what if Sir is here? So am I, Mr Prasad. So am I. Next time I open the door, we can even shake hands. It won't give you chicken pox.
P.S- For those who are waiting breathlessly for the finale of the Why I Got Married series, I'm sorry...I was planning to do it today...but Mr Prasad knocked on my door.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Of Cabbages and Marriages
__
S is one of my acquaintances from college. She's presently in the same city that I'm in. Ever since we bumped into each other here, all I've been hearing is how surprising she thinks it is that I'm married. I'm surprised about it too, but it still annoys me that she finds it surprising.
To start with, S has always annoyed me. She's a little like a cabbage that never gets over. You keep hoping you can make something interesting out of all this cabbage before you, but in the end, one must give up and agree that as a vegetable, a cabbage is naturally inclined to be boring. However deep a cabbage pretends to be, every layer of cabbage you unearth gives in to only more layers of cabbage. The only vaguely entertaining thing about cabbage is Charles Babbage who featured prominently in 3rd standard jokes about technology.
I gave S some paayasam I made for Vishu and she made about ten exclamations about how domesticated I've become. Consequently, she did not receive any of the mango halwa I made. Ha. It also got on my nerves that she refused to believe that M taught me to make the dish. As if I was born with a priori knowledge about paayasam. Why would I lie about this anyway? It's paayasam for god's sake. Not Madhuri Gupta level spy secret.
But somewhere in the conversation, I also felt myself becoming defensive. I felt compelled to prove to her that I wasn't exactly swabbing the floor with my self esteem every day. According to S, I had settled down and my life was officially over. She, on the other hand, was travelling all over the country, had a long distance boyfriend she wasn't intending to marry anytime soon, and best of all, was living by herself.
Throughout the conversation, I was trying to tell her that I was doing the same things I did before getting married and as a bonus, I now had a cupboard where my clothes lie in beautiful disarray without inviting a lecture from my mother. I was trying to tell her that I was never interested in running around in Jharkhand saving other people, so I don't envy her life at all. I can't take the sun and I really don't want to go for protest marches with Lakme sunscreen. I'm doing well professionally, I get to see eagles from my balcony. And on some days, I feel blessed when I see M expertly tossing the omelete on the tawa. Really, I'm happy, S. But S wasn't listening.
In my mother's generation, you were wasting your life if you were unmarried. In mine, you are wasting your life if you do get married. At least, if you belong to the urban art-student clique. I used to wonder and I still wonder about why people want to get married to complete losers. I'm still not convinced that marriage is the best thing that can happen to everybody. But I'm starting to see how ironic reverse stereotyping is. I'm guilty of it too. I've turned my nose up at many a just-out-of-college bride. Getting married back then did seem like carving your own gravestone.
It could also be that of all the marriages I've seen, I didn't really find one that I'd like to emulate in terms of what I wanted. It seemed like such a waste of time to get married just so you could wash vessels and cook meals for somebody else. When I was teaching an MA Women's Studies class in Bharatidasan University, one of the students commented that instead of buying a TV, fridge, car etc for the groom and getting married, she might as well buy all of these for herself and stay happy. Makes perfect sense. If that's the sort of marriage you are being pushed into. This last sentence, I've come to add after the wisdom that's newly dawned on me.
Some things I've discovered about marriage through my own experience:
a. It doesn't matter if the boy hasn't read The Catcher in the Rye. M read his first novel at 19. He read quite a bit after that in his Amru library, but he never read Salinger. I gave him a copy of The Catcher and told him to please kindly read it and become eligible for marrying me. He read only half.
b. It is terrific to finally live in a house where the fridge can stay open for more than ten seconds, you can wear lungis all day without receiving censuring glares, have a messy cupboard (M says my cupboard resembles a thuni kadai after a bomb explosion), and best of all, eat only the vegetables you want to eat.
c. I get taken seriously when sick. In my porandha veedu, my mum thought my ailments were all examples of Sivaji Ganesan's melodramatics. As a result, I would have to quickly self-cure myself if I didn't want to eat dry bread every day. Now, I get an extensive sick-menu of soup, various fruit juices, rasam, hot jeeraga water and shawarma. The last item is my sick-surprrrrissseee. When I'm depressed due to severe illness, a shawarma cheers me up to no end. Never mind if it's oily and greasy and unhealthy. Not to mention roadside.
d. I can watch Maan Aada Mayil Aada in peace without having people comment on the depths to which my intellect and taste have fallen. I'm very glad nobody changes the channel to Lok Sabha TV where grey haired people are congregating. I'm sorry, I really do love Kala Master and Namitha. I enjoy what they have to say. I really do.
I can go on. I really can. But I don't want to. This isn't a cabbage, it's a lettuce. It's crisp and tastes best with vinegar.
To start with, S has always annoyed me. She's a little like a cabbage that never gets over. You keep hoping you can make something interesting out of all this cabbage before you, but in the end, one must give up and agree that as a vegetable, a cabbage is naturally inclined to be boring. However deep a cabbage pretends to be, every layer of cabbage you unearth gives in to only more layers of cabbage. The only vaguely entertaining thing about cabbage is Charles Babbage who featured prominently in 3rd standard jokes about technology.
I gave S some paayasam I made for Vishu and she made about ten exclamations about how domesticated I've become. Consequently, she did not receive any of the mango halwa I made. Ha. It also got on my nerves that she refused to believe that M taught me to make the dish. As if I was born with a priori knowledge about paayasam. Why would I lie about this anyway? It's paayasam for god's sake. Not Madhuri Gupta level spy secret.
But somewhere in the conversation, I also felt myself becoming defensive. I felt compelled to prove to her that I wasn't exactly swabbing the floor with my self esteem every day. According to S, I had settled down and my life was officially over. She, on the other hand, was travelling all over the country, had a long distance boyfriend she wasn't intending to marry anytime soon, and best of all, was living by herself.
Throughout the conversation, I was trying to tell her that I was doing the same things I did before getting married and as a bonus, I now had a cupboard where my clothes lie in beautiful disarray without inviting a lecture from my mother. I was trying to tell her that I was never interested in running around in Jharkhand saving other people, so I don't envy her life at all. I can't take the sun and I really don't want to go for protest marches with Lakme sunscreen. I'm doing well professionally, I get to see eagles from my balcony. And on some days, I feel blessed when I see M expertly tossing the omelete on the tawa. Really, I'm happy, S. But S wasn't listening.
In my mother's generation, you were wasting your life if you were unmarried. In mine, you are wasting your life if you do get married. At least, if you belong to the urban art-student clique. I used to wonder and I still wonder about why people want to get married to complete losers. I'm still not convinced that marriage is the best thing that can happen to everybody. But I'm starting to see how ironic reverse stereotyping is. I'm guilty of it too. I've turned my nose up at many a just-out-of-college bride. Getting married back then did seem like carving your own gravestone.
It could also be that of all the marriages I've seen, I didn't really find one that I'd like to emulate in terms of what I wanted. It seemed like such a waste of time to get married just so you could wash vessels and cook meals for somebody else. When I was teaching an MA Women's Studies class in Bharatidasan University, one of the students commented that instead of buying a TV, fridge, car etc for the groom and getting married, she might as well buy all of these for herself and stay happy. Makes perfect sense. If that's the sort of marriage you are being pushed into. This last sentence, I've come to add after the wisdom that's newly dawned on me.
Some things I've discovered about marriage through my own experience:
a. It doesn't matter if the boy hasn't read The Catcher in the Rye. M read his first novel at 19. He read quite a bit after that in his Amru library, but he never read Salinger. I gave him a copy of The Catcher and told him to please kindly read it and become eligible for marrying me. He read only half.
b. It is terrific to finally live in a house where the fridge can stay open for more than ten seconds, you can wear lungis all day without receiving censuring glares, have a messy cupboard (M says my cupboard resembles a thuni kadai after a bomb explosion), and best of all, eat only the vegetables you want to eat.
c. I get taken seriously when sick. In my porandha veedu, my mum thought my ailments were all examples of Sivaji Ganesan's melodramatics. As a result, I would have to quickly self-cure myself if I didn't want to eat dry bread every day. Now, I get an extensive sick-menu of soup, various fruit juices, rasam, hot jeeraga water and shawarma. The last item is my sick-surprrrrissseee. When I'm depressed due to severe illness, a shawarma cheers me up to no end. Never mind if it's oily and greasy and unhealthy. Not to mention roadside.
d. I can watch Maan Aada Mayil Aada in peace without having people comment on the depths to which my intellect and taste have fallen. I'm very glad nobody changes the channel to Lok Sabha TV where grey haired people are congregating. I'm sorry, I really do love Kala Master and Namitha. I enjoy what they have to say. I really do.
I can go on. I really can. But I don't want to. This isn't a cabbage, it's a lettuce. It's crisp and tastes best with vinegar.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Thhllleeyyyeewww
_
Hello, hello, hello. I know it's been a long time and all that. But I've been busy in life and everything. I've learnt some Hindi words and all. I can even read some Marathi numerals. I've progressed so much that if I were in LKG, I'd have received stars all over my notebook. Stars stars stars. Thaare zameen par, people. Zameen par. In case you didn't know, in the Hindi type poetry genre, you have to repeat yourself with a wistful air.
What else. I've discovered that I'm unable to sleep beyond 6.30 AM these days. Though I'm letting this drop so casually, I'm deeply disturbed by this. I'm gradually becoming an Old Person who wakes up early and then starts complaining about young people who sleep till 11 AM. All that's left for me to do now is to brush my teeth, gargle loudly and play MS Subbulakshmi. Today, I woke up at 5.30 AM. Soon, I'll wake up at 4.30 AM and go for Laughter Club meetings.
In other news, everyone I know is getting married or is pregnant. I mean, even I got married. Cha. Oldens oldens oldens. Aunty life beckons.
M is going away to Mussoorie on some training thingy for 12 days. I'm planning my yen-purusan-ooruku-poitaaan moment. N has promised to visit for a few days during the said period. N and I had an awesome time in Bombay when we went for some conference. Two blind non-Hindi speakers conquering the city in taxi cabs. I sort of know where everything is in Pune. The eating places I mean. So it should be okay.
There's a new noise I've discovered this week. It's Thhllleyyeewww.
Hello, hello, hello. I know it's been a long time and all that. But I've been busy in life and everything. I've learnt some Hindi words and all. I can even read some Marathi numerals. I've progressed so much that if I were in LKG, I'd have received stars all over my notebook. Stars stars stars. Thaare zameen par, people. Zameen par. In case you didn't know, in the Hindi type poetry genre, you have to repeat yourself with a wistful air.
What else. I've discovered that I'm unable to sleep beyond 6.30 AM these days. Though I'm letting this drop so casually, I'm deeply disturbed by this. I'm gradually becoming an Old Person who wakes up early and then starts complaining about young people who sleep till 11 AM. All that's left for me to do now is to brush my teeth, gargle loudly and play MS Subbulakshmi. Today, I woke up at 5.30 AM. Soon, I'll wake up at 4.30 AM and go for Laughter Club meetings.
In other news, everyone I know is getting married or is pregnant. I mean, even I got married. Cha. Oldens oldens oldens. Aunty life beckons.
M is going away to Mussoorie on some training thingy for 12 days. I'm planning my yen-purusan-ooruku-poitaaan moment. N has promised to visit for a few days during the said period. N and I had an awesome time in Bombay when we went for some conference. Two blind non-Hindi speakers conquering the city in taxi cabs. I sort of know where everything is in Pune. The eating places I mean. So it should be okay.
There's a new noise I've discovered this week. It's Thhllleyyeewww.
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