Wet, wet, wet

There's something about the rains that awakens the poet in people. Something about the dewy freshness of the trees around you that makes the day worth looking forward to for millions. Something about the earthy aromas that tease your senses post a gentle drizzle that makes Bollywood actresses shimmy around in wet sarees lip-syncing to pseudo erotic numbers.

I, unfortunately, do not belong to this ocean of monsoon lovers. For me, tropical monsoons + big city chaos  + Indian infrastructure = 4.5 hours of commute time to and fro from work. Am I complaining?

Hell, no. As Ross Geller from F.R.I.E.N.D.S said in one episode about his long commute to and from work, "I've been given the gift of time!".

Mumbai suburban boat

This is the time that I use to ponder on why the beach front at Chowpatty had all it's lights blazing at 11:30 a.m. today or why rickshaw unions went on a flash strike to protest the effects of inflation on the 'common man'  leaving common women like me standing in a queue for over an hour to get  a rickshaw and head home. Sometimes these musings are nudged aside by the thoughtfullness with which the Mumbai P.W.D ensures they start work on flyovers, roads and bridges in May each year, hence adding to the exciting joyride that we all die for in the ensuing monsoon months.  

As raindrops keep falling on my head relentlessly, I make a mental note to kidnap Lord Indra and make him travel by suburban Mumbai trains in the rains for the next 28,765 years.

Mint

Trepidation. Excitement. Anxiety. Relief. Curiosity. Cannot figure which of these dominated the most all day long today.

Is it normal to feel this jumble of emotions? I don't know. How do I feel at half past midnight reflecting on my day?

Happy. Very.

I guess that's all that counts then.


P.S. Truly hope it only gets better from here.

What do you call these?

Scene 1 : You and your music coasting along in the mad, rush hour, human compression machine that is a Mumbai suburban train and a lady in her mid forties gets up and offers you her seat.
Is she your buddy?
Is she itching to get shoved around in the crowd?
Is the seat about to split into two and she doesn't want to provide entertainment to some seriously hassled women packed into the compartment?
None of the above.

Scene 2:You have a life or death deadline the next day, you're still in office at 11:30 P.M. and your colleague who has nothing to do with the project sits up with you helping you every step of the way.
Does he not have a life?
Does he have a crush on you?
Does he actually ENJOY this stuff?
None of the above.


Scene 3: Your car is hit by a biker who's flown out of his bike and crashlanded on his side on the middle of the national highway. Out of nowhere a stranger pulls up next to you, comes up protects you from the mob that's gathered around the scene, takes the injured guy to the hospital, offers you some good practical advice and vanishes once you've come out of shock.
Was this his idea of fun?
Was he expecting some reward out of the whole thing?
Was he practicing for when he'd have to don little red chaddis over his pants, put on a cape and swoop in to rescue other damsels in distress?
I strongly doubt that.

Each one of the scenarios above is as random as it is true. What makes people do these little acts of kindness that touch our lives forever?

And why do we let them simply disintegrate into meaningless alphabets on this giant Scrabble board that we are all endlessly trying to piece together for ourselves?


The more I think about these people and what they stand for, the more I'm convinced that these are the friends that God sends along when your real friends are not around to look out for you.

With that new lens colouring my vision, as I look back over the years, I discover a brand new meaning to 'Happy Friendship Day'. Thank you friends.

Shitty way to die, I must say!

This is the most ridiculous piece of 'News' that I sighted today - Elvis Presley did not die of a heart attack...he died of constipation!!

[ Click on this link for more: http://in.news.yahoo.com/43/20100508/908/ten-elvis-presley-died-of-constipation_1.html ]

Which gets me thinking, is that why he sounds the way he does in his later songs? But then again, constipated or not, I love Elvis :)

When life threw lemons at me

Yesterday I went shopping for veggies at the 'mini market' outside my housing colony. After picking up the exact assortment that I wanted, I had only one thing left on my list - fresh lemons. 'I sighted' a hand cart with a pile of juicy yellow ones and made a beeline for it. After some hard bargaining, I picked up two lemons ,handed him the cash, tossed the lemons on the top of all the other veggies and headed to the corner of the road where I was to meet a friend.

As I briskly walked away, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I found a panting, teenaged boy with a worried look on his face. Before I could ask him why he'd stopped me, he thrust his hand out and handed me Rs. 95. This was the boy who sold me the lemons. After bargaining with him for 10 minutes, I had paid him Rs.100 for two lemons! With a huge smile of gratitude, I thanked him, took back the change and felt the sky turning a brighter shade of blue.

All's well with the world you think? Not really, all wasn't well with my brand new laptop sleeve, which prompted me last weekend to knock on the doors of this electronics retail giant from where I got the laptop and it's accesories. The laptop sleeve, though not even used yet, had a big rip on one side, which had slipped past me at the time of purchase.

So armed with my warranty card (duly stamped), my bill and of course the offending laptop sleeve I went seeking a replacement or atleast a repair. A matter of mere minutes, the process should've been, right?

Well, that's what I thought too, till the sales guy who sold me the lappie, told me ' Madam, you should have come earlier for this replacement, it's too late now'.
I waved the warranty under his nose and said 'The warranty covers my laptop and it's accessories and is valid for 1 year! What are you talking about?!?'
'I'm sorry madam, those are the rules of our store.'
'How about the warranty from the manufacturer then?' I retorted.
'I'm sorry madam, I can't help you.'
I was dangerously close to screaming my head off, but decided to give non violence one more attempt and asked to speak to the store manager. The sales guy gave me a bored look and called out to his manager, who decided to allow me ample time to admire the store's scenery till he finally showed up. On being briefed about the issue at hand by the sales assistant, he turned towards me and parroted the exact same lines that the sales assistant had already told me.
I tried to explain to him that all I wanted was a replacement for the torn laptop sleeve, at the very least I wanted it repaired. But nope, the gods of organized retail refused to bestow their kindness on me.

Finally, having reached the end of my tether and feeling extremely unjustly treated I called up the consumer care number of the laptop manufacturer, requested to speak to the floor customer care head and recounted my problem to him. He asked to speak to the store manager, and surprise surprise, the manager grudgingly asked me, 'Madam, what model is your laptop, let me check if I have an extra sleeve in stock'
'Justice delivered!', I danced inwardly, and helped the man with the details he wanted. As the sales assistant headed off to the store room to get my spanking new laptop sleeve, I grinned away triumphantly at all the other customers who were curious witnesses to this drama.

Maybe it was that grin that jinxed it. Within seconds of his exit to find a replacement for my laptop sleeve, the sales assistant was back saying 'Sorry madam, we're out of stock for that particular model's accessories'
I couldn't believe my ears!! I led the sales guy to the display counter and showed him the same model that I had bought and said 'If you're out of stock of this model's accessories, how will you sell that piece?'
All I got in return was a grave nod of the head, saying 'I'm sorry madam, there's nothing I can do. We're out of stock. Maybe you could try another outlet of our chain (which was two suburbs away) or maybe you could come back in a week's time, by when we'll definitely have the sleeve available.'

Rage mingled with helplessness, for being made to run from pillar to post for a small item that formed a part of a purchase that costed me Rs. 35,000. I finally gave up, took the torn laptop sleeve from the counter and got it repaired at the neighbourhood cobbler's.

This organized torture that I had suffered at the hands of a organized corporate retail chain, flashed into my head on that bright summery afternoon, as I took my change back from the scrawny teenager selling lemons for a living. Mark Twain famously said, 'Principles have no real force except when one is well fed'. I don't blame him for saying that. After all, he never almost paid Rs. 100 for two lemons.

Can't help falling....

Some guys write poetry. Some guys travel to 24 countries before they hit 24 years of age. Some click brilliant pictures.Some can cook up a storm.

Mine rescues beaten up little kids. And sick puppies. And flood stricken villagers. And cynical ol' me.

Thanks for being you, sweetheart.

Men...what's that?

Who among us has not pondered the reasons that attract us to the object of our affections?

Most of us come up with stuff like intelligence, looks, humour, etc etc. Some of us scratch our little heads, wonder for a while, and then brush off such unnecessarily complicated thoughts to return to channel surfing on the TV at 1:30 a.m.(that's me!).

Science has a different answer to this question, though. One of the primary reasons for love or attraction to the opposite sex (I'm sorry folks, for now we shall tackle only heterosexuals - someone keeps telling me that I'm terrible at multitasking), is propagation of the species. In fact, this could well be the sole reason, scientifically speaking. In other words, all our traits - physical, intellectual etc are geared towards finding the best potential mate (ewww...rotten term), with the optimum combination of genes, who will ensure that our species continues to thrive.

Given that this scientific mumbo-jumbo has been drilled into our brains since our first biology classes in school, imagine my surprise when I discovered that males as a sex, can one day become totally redundant!!

A lot of women will now snicker and think, 'Hey, we always knew that guys were useless, we didn't need science to tell us THAT'! Dolly the sheep and cloning probably put this idea in our heads first, but now with parthenogenesis being spotted even more commonly in the animal kingdom, guys, you sure have another reason to worry!

Simply put, parthenogenesis is a form of reproduction by females (only) of various species without any inputs from the male of the species. This is sometimes spotted in aphids, bees, reptiles (the komodo dragon) and even birds and sharks ( hammerheads, white spotted bamboo sharks. It can also be induced in other species under laboratory conditions. Human embryos have been produced using parthenogenesis (i.e. without any sperm at all), but these are so far used only for stem cell research.

The natural progression of thought says that with the advances in science that we see everyday, the day is not far when human parthenogenesis for reproduction and 'propogation of the species' becomes a reality.

So all you women out there who are driven up the wall by the men in their lives, despair not. It's only a matter of time till men gain the distinction of having become totally useless in every sense of the term :)and we women would then have the option of having a male, human version of Sony's Aibo to amuse ourselves with!

P.S.: We would then always have the option of pulling the plug or simply taking out it's batteries when it starts leaving dirty clothes on the floor and wet towels on the bed!

The house of GIANT mangoes

Remember the days when a girl twirling around in her spotless white frock with a bunch ladies crooning ‘Washing powder Nirma, Washing powder Nirma’ in the background made memorable advertising and sold tonnes of detergent?

A large chunk of brands that Gen Y (people born in the 80’s and early 90’s) grew up with developed a distinct personality using just one tool from the marketing armoury – good ol’ advertising. There was Britannia with its ‘Tink tink ti tink’ , ThumsUp asking us to taste its thunder, Maggi that could be had in ‘Just 2 minutes’, or Cinkara that could revive any ‘bechara, kaam ke bojh ka maara’.

Cut now to the present, where marketers are FAR better equipped to attack the simpering targets – you and me. Behind every tree, bush and mouse click are brands waiting to ambush us with pop up ads online to ad flyers with our credit card statements to free cookies, complimentary shampoo sessions and foot massages at malls to Hrithik Roshan wanting to drink only Bournvita in his super hero blockbuster ‘Krissh’ (which, by the way had 36 other brands that were peddled by our masked super hero!!).

Hey, but this isn’t really news to any of us, right? Spot on.

What ‘I sighted’ today was a crazy blend of the 80’s and 90’s delivered in typical post millennial fashion. Frooti (yes, yes, you’re now humming ‘Mango Frooti, Fresh and Juicy’ in your head) just launched their new TV commercial with a complete guerilla approach to the whole affair.

Taking a leaf out of reality TV, dozens of unsuspecting passersby were ambushed (yes, again) by giant, 9 foot high mangoes falling from trees right at their feet. The looks of shock / surprise / nonchalance (!) recorded using 8 hidden cameras, and each episode integrated seamlessly to form one whacky ad. No script, no models, no tall tales, just pure mango pleasure (as Frooti’s competitor would’ve said). 

Check out this link to see the actual commercial: Frooti goes guerilla! 

Really smart combination of old world TV advertising with the flavour of the season; spy cams; to communicate the brand essence ‘surprisingly juicy mango juice – Frooti’.

So if you thought hidden cams in changing rooms were your only worry, think again, you might just unwittingly star in “Attack of the killer mangoes – Episode 2”.

Go figure!

How many of us could do 500-125 in our heads at the age of 6, in 30 seconds flat? Count me out. (In fact, I'm not sure if I can do that even now in 30 seconds flat :P)

Which brings me to this waist high, chubby, colourfully pigtailed little girl who sells jewellery on the 09:03 Thane - Mumbai CST local train. Dressed in a long floral skirt and a matching top, this little girl scampers between rush hour crowds in the Ladies Compartment, carrying 2 trays loaded with clear plastic jewellery cases on her head between plump ladies squabbling over the '4th Seat', harried latecomers trying to squeeze into the compartment and women peacefully dozing on their neighbours' shoulders.

Speaking of neighbours, the college girls sitting beside me were the reason this little girl now stood expectantly in front of my seat, her soft black eyes filled with the hopes of a good early morning sale. After much picking and choosing, one of the girls finally settled on a 'pearl and diamond' jewellery set.

"How much?" she asks and the little girl replies "150 rupees".
"Way too much! I'll give you 100 rupees for this" says the college girl, "No aunty, that's not even my cost price."(Economics at 6!)
"Ok, 110 rupees then." says the girl, as her friends snicker at 'aunty'. "Make it 125, and I'll not ask for a penny more" says the cherub with a sudden smile displaying a perfect set of pearly whites.
The girl, taken aback by this new tactic in haggling, quietly hands over a 500 rupee note to the kid.

It was at this point that I really got interested and what did I know, amazed too. Within seconds, the kid whipped out two hundreds, two fifties and then with another hundred rupee note in her hand came to me asking "Aunty (grr..), could you give me change for 100 rupees?"

I handed over the change to her, she carefully counted out the notes and gave exactly 375 rupees to my neighbour. Filled with a mixture of admiration and pity, I asked her "Do you go to school?". She looked my way, gave me a smile as bright as the knickknacks in her tray and said with pride "Of course! I'm in first grade"

As she gathered her wares in preparation for her next pitch, all I could do was wonder whether this little kid working the suburban trains each morning was a victim of oppression or a fighter; whose job helped her educate herself, adding wings to an already nimble mind.