Tube Zodiac

I have lately stopped reading my book in the tube. I find it for more interesting to watch other people while listening to the latest hindi ‘gaana’

 

Like Ms Goodman chooses to classify people into 12 broad categories, we can classify the tube commuter into 12 broad catergories:

 

The Ram: The ram bulldozes his/ her way into the crowded compartment and yells at the top of their voices ‘Move alonnnng, please’. Yes, dear ram, we needed you to tell us that, otherwise, we just so love to leave vast expanses of unoccupied seats and standing space, all to huddle together on the 3 square feet of space you need to occupy.

 

The Bull: The bull just goes a step further and pushes you out of the way. One needs to be especially wary of the female variety, as they just zero in on the seat they’ve spotted through the window. PLEASE, for your own safety and for the safety of those around you, jump out of their way! Once they are comfortably seated, of course, they’re the most pleasant things to have around.

 

The Twins: These are generally of the adolescent variety, and one is seriously tempted to urge them to get a room. They are so entwined that it is hard to decipher where one ends and the other begins. The upside to this, of course is that they occupy one seat instead of two, or if standing, will stand collectively on only two feet at a time.

 

The Crab:  we tend to spot the crab at most major interchanges. They dart in, espy two-odd seat in different direction, mentally calculate the distance from the door to the seats, pick the closer of the two, and with some deft maneuvering (that can only be describe as ‘crab-like’) he’s sitting pretty, while others are still struggling to get in.

 

The Lion: The lion is not afraid to voice his opinion. He’ll have an opinion on the services, on Gordon Brown, on the recession, on the weather, on you...and it’s this last bit that particularly galling, because he’ll be there ‘tch’-ing at the bull, rolling his eyes at the Ram, hissing at the twins… you get the picture. Watching his back must be a full-time job for him.

 

The Virgin: This is someone you’d like to unleash the lion upon. Super –critical doesn’t begin to describe them. They’ll be the ones running their finger over the window sill with a raised eyebrow. A 30 second delay in departures with have them impatiently looking at their watch while tapping their feet. God forbid, you choose to jump into the tube seconds before the door shuts, then you’ve really had it – You will be root cause of any delay henceforth, be it signal failure or a man having a cardiac arrest 3 trains ahead. You Were The Cause. And the Virgo won’t let you forget it. Maybe there’s a reason they’re Virgins?

 

The Balance: These ones would do you proud on a footboard in a Mumbai local. They’ll be the one’s standing near the door, first to hop out as soon as the train stops. No, not just at their station, but at every station – they’re also the last to hop in. At every station. Why they do this beats me, but I suppose it give them a warm afterglow to know that they have successfully shaved 1/625 th of a second off their travel time in a day. 

 

The Scorpion: Beware the scorpion – they strike when least expected. Largely prevalent in shady locations, they normally move in herds.  Their sting, also called switchblade swiftly deprives you of your most prize possessions, and they melt way into the night, never to be seen again.

 

The Archer: The archer loves to, well, ‘arch’. He arches over you to get at the newspaper, arches over to open the window, arches over to grab the hand-hold… erm, hey, archie, newsflash: believe it or not, shoving smelly armpits in peoples faces is not the best way to get them to like you. In fact, it might surprise you to know that it has quite the opposite effect (yes! Really!)

 

The Horned Goat: Or the tube lothario. Normally, despite being hampered by a severe shortage of it, people are quite respectful of each others’ personal space, but the horned goat delights in getting up close. This is because under normal circumstances, the ladies would rather join a nunnery that be caught having a conversation with the goat. With some faces, even that mother of all beauty creams – beer, fails miserably.

 

The Water- Carrier: Thanks to the miracles of modern science, pregnant women can now work further and further into their term. Now if only science could find something to calm co-passengers and they get more and more nervous. The reason for this, is not that they’re worried about the health of the mother and baby, but more on account of the fact that if the water- carrier turns to the water-breaker, there’s a good chance that they might miss the kick-off of the football game they’re going to. Would make a grown man cry, it would.

 

The Fish: Ah! The fish! Commonly sighted at Pubs, other tube zodiacs magically transform into the fish after football matches, weekends, hours of hard partying, stag dos, weekends, rugby matches & weekends. Look out for the fish’s tendency to assume everybody’s their best friend, a total lack of co-ordination (like the inability to put food into the right orifice in the face), the inability to find their home, and hence, assuming that you’re their best friend, now that they have known you for all of 38 seconds, they can crash at your pad for the night. Naturally, if you’ve transformed into a fish as well, you will not remember any of this the following morning.

Visit to the Homeland

The recent visit to India had me behaving like the typical NRI, as I sheepishly admit.

Here are the following rookie NRI faux pas I committed:

• As soon as I landed, I commented on the noise levels in the city at 1 am in the morning
• Almost threw up in the vehicle after being treated to road-rash style driving
• Visited the temple – in traditional garb, not sparing Pickwick either
• Managed to infest kid with virus
• Managed to catch the aforementioned virus myself
• Was surprised that the country has not frozen in time and has managed to move on in the years that we were missing
• Commented on how expensive things had become and started sentences with ‘I remember back in my days when…’
• Clicked photographs of absolutely arbit. things which I now found hilarious (a key chain advertising ‘steel balls’ and a billboard for ‘sham publicity’)
• Had the junk food off the streets and marvelled at it, swore it was nothing short of gourmet
• However, did drink only mineral water, in case I caught something
• Caught something anyways
• Accidentally let the accent slip to a friend – and didn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the trip.
• Thoroughly enjoyed the rickshaw ride, and pooh-poohed at the natives who were sputtering at the pollution levels – and went giddy breathing in the concentrated levels of carbon monoxide.
• Caught with the 159 relatives who live in the city, mostly on a single day. Had Pickwick thoroughly confused on the number of tatas and pattis he has. He didn’t mind much though – his equation is simple: the number of relatives are directly proportional to the number if goodies you get. (‘pwesents!’)
• Went to relatives houses with chocolate, and got desi sweets in the bargain - and wondered for the nth time, why on earth they preferred the chocolates.
• Stacked up on the DVDs of our traditional mythological heroes (Hanuman and Ganesha) despite Pickwick not watching more than 60 seconds of anything, unless it’s a song and dance sequence
• Refused to move around in anything but tops, capris and cut-offs, and worked on my ‘tan’
• Went overboard with sending off clothes to the ‘ironwallah’ since I wasn’t the one doing the ironing
• Had to be frequently reminded by relatives to ‘just leave the dishes’ after a meal, I didn’t need to wash up afterwards *bliss*
  
  Future visits will possibly iron out these quirks… although I’m rather hoping I can just get back to being the desi who’s visited by the NR relative.

Pick -asso

That's Pickwick's first recognisable work of art. It's a doggie, in case you couldn't figure out what it was... it's got 2 eyes, a nose, and mouth and 2 legs... *sigh* my son's a genius!

Finding David

When one of my unmarried friends was discussing the dearth of eligible men the other day, she was telling me how lucky I was to find Baa- Lamb. Now I’m not about to contend that – far from it, but really, the baa-lamb of today isn’t the Baa-lamb of yesterday. He’s been a work in progress.

I’m generally not a male basher. I have a healthy respect for them. They are essential and vital for the propagation of our species – until medical technology can catch up. So it is not lightly that I say this. Men have to be viewed like works in progress. Take David for example. No, not your hunk of a neighbour that you’ve been eyeing for some time now. I’m talking about Michelangelo’s David. That perfect specimen of manhood that Michelangelo lovingly crafted into perfection. Before Michelangelo could lay his hands on ‘im, he was just a block of marble – a block of marble with potential, no doubt, but a block of marble. It took 25 years of exposure to the elements, the eyes of a Michelangelo and the craftsmanship of a true master to realise David as we see him today.

Just like David, there may have been others who saw potential, but gave up half way, and I guess that’s what the ex-es are. The quitters. You, my love have to be the Michelangelo.

We need to stop looking out for David. What we need to identify is the block of marble that with T,L & a whole lotta C can become David. Besides, what, to me is David, is to someone else primitive Gay Porn. And lets face it, we’re no Venuses either (at least I’m not. I’m more Rubenesque, but let’s not mix art forms here). When you’re a couple, I guess that’s what you do; you subconsciously sculpt each other into the person they are today.

I’m a daughter, a wife and now a mother, and I now know the task that lies ahead of me with Pickwick. It’s not my job to sculpt David. I just have to make sure there’s enough in the block of marble to let someone else see a potential David in him.

The Usual Gang of...

Now normally, the many places I've worked at houses a pretty decent bunch of people, but it's not without it's 'regulars' and I've learnt to spot those a mile away.
Primarily the cast of characters would include:

The Boss:
Most of the chaps in this lot are good 'uns, but occasionally you come across the odd exception who takes this description to heart. He's a throwback to the good 'ol days of the Raj where it was perfectly acceptable to flog the subordinate for even having the balls to ask 'why'. Nevermind the fact that the reason you've asked the question is because the man has just asked you to bop him on the head with a sledgehammer.

The Minion:
AKA the snivelling sycophant SS. Specimen will always be found not far from 'the Boss' (TB). When TB barks, 'Jump', SS will respond, 'yes sir! How high sir! And would you like me to do a pirouette while I’m at it sir!' Best not to voice options around said specimen, unless you’d like to have it repeated verbatim to TB.


The Ladies Man:
Disclaimer: the above mentioned term in no way describes the author’s opinion of the individual. It is the individual’s own warped opinion of himself, arising out of years of bad eyesight and massive ego, both left unchecked.

The Barbie Du-uhl:
Used to getting her way just by batting her eyelids, it comes as a shock to these individuals that one has to actually *gasp* work to earn a salary. Undeterred, however, they still try and bat eyelids at the first possible moment to get others to do their work. This works wonderfully well in the short term, but eventually, as queue of ardent admirers dries up, the Barbies hatch plots to bat enough eyelids at a loaded suckers, to get them to marry – to love, cherish and obey until the credit crunch do us part.

The Office Clown:
A throw back to the school prankster who still thinks fart bags are hysterically funny, this individual needs to be avoided like the plague, unless you like having pie on your face just before an important client meet. Usually, one would give in to the strong urge to punch a hole through this chap’s skull with one’s stilettos, but most specimens are blessed with a blooming heart of gold. This is probably also one of the reasons this person has survived this long without any major reconstructive surgery required.

The Drama- Queen:
Not to be fooled by the title, this specimen comes in both the male and female varieties. Life around these chaps is anything but dull, and quite often an epidemic of migranes follows in their wake. Everything from a simple meeting with a vendor to traveling by train turns into an Event – to be described in great detail, to a largest possible audience to milk the last drop of sympathy. Quite often the best way to avoid the DKs taking over your life, when greeted with ‘You’ll never believe what just…’ is to quickly counter it with ‘NO! You poor thing!’ Trust me. It’s ALWAYS the right answer.


The Shirker:
This class has two sub-species – the communist and the dictator.
The communist variety is happy not doing work, and more than happy if you join him in his state of happiness by not working either. As long as no one’s rocking the boat by talking dangerously about ‘performance’ and ‘productivity’, he’s a content chap. The dictator on the other hand is a far more treacherous sub species. In order to continue his state of non-work, it is imperative that someone else, i.e., YOU take over all his work. Don’t worry about the boss finding out. He’ll never know, coz the Shirker, sub-class: Dictator’s right there to take the credit…

The Super-Woman:
This is the most annoying of the lot, coz the lady’s near perfect. I’m sure that a male of this species exists somewhere, but I have yet to encounter them. This is the kind of woman who will be in office on the dot at half nine after preparing a 4 course breakfast for hubby and kids, dropping the kids (who’re all mini Da Vincis in the making) off to school and still looking like she’s stepped out of a magazine cover. The mother-in-law adores her, and the boss thinks the sun shines out of her… oh, nevermind.
Over the weekends, after treating the family to a six-course gourmet dinner prepared from scratch, and throwing the dinner party of the century, ensuring that the house can be photographed in the annual issue of the ‘House and Garden’, she’ll still have time to spend some ‘quality time’ with the hubby while the kids obediently hit the sack at 7 pm.
I have a sneaking suspicion they have a clone hidden somewhere in the garage which they conveniently fish out while they’re actually putting their feet up and stuffing their face with chocolate and reading a chick flick like the rest of us. (Or so one can hope, so that our battered self esteem can finally shout a feeble ‘Yay!’)

There are some other regulars, which I haven’t mentioned (like the best friend in office, sympathetic co-worker, super efficient office boy/ secretary, benevolent boss, fun group of singles, the office hunk/ hottie…) but life in office wouldn’t be the same without these amazing group of people, who’re just nice enough to not be mentioned in this post.

Que Sera Sera

If Pickwick’s antics could give any indication of future careers, he’d be…

A Politician: Coz whenever the Baa-lamb comes over for a cuddle, he plays the part of the Moral Police.

An Actor : Coz he’ll do just about anything for a round of applause.

A Chef: Coz he loves to stir things (up)

A Banker: Coz he knows the currency of chocolate is flattery

An Engineer: You should see the delight he has in stacking up towers – and the greater delight when it all comes tumbling down

A Singer: He SO love the sound of his own voice

A Star: Coz he loves playing dress- up (yes, the bindis, the bangles, the hair bands – the works!)

An Activist: He goes on strike every time the channel forgets to air his favourite ads (‘baby, you can’t control what goes on air…’ is met with a ‘not-yet-but-just-you-wait’ look)

An Astronaut: Coz everytime we ask him where he wants to go, he looks up and says ‘Moon’! (Apart from the occasional, rainbow, and for some strange reason, Bruges)

A Sports Star: If jumping from high places without a parachute could ever become a sport

An Artist: coz he’ll draw a tiny squiggle and launch into an elaborate explanation as to how that’s a plane flying through a cloud and the shadow of the bird on that plane.

A Marketeer: Coz he’ll do his best to convince you that he’s a good boy for eating all his chocolate and politely asking for more from your share.

An IT guy: He’s managed to crash 2 systems, pluck out 3 keys from the key board and ruin 1 mouse in his short lifespan. I’m sure he’s not through yet.

A Doctor: Coz he loves giving people ‘Medicine’ for ‘Owwie’ (never mind that he’s the reason for the ‘Owwie’)

A Mathematician: Coz he thinks, logically, three- teen should precede fourteen, and nineteen ought to be followed by twen-teen

A Vet: Coz he loves to use Great Danes like his own personal Pony, and wants to pet the spider, the pigeon, the tiger, the bear, the fox, the ladybird…

Whatever the future may hold, I know what I'm going to be:
The Proud Mommy: who'll be standing behind him, egging him on, shouting herself hoarse, sporting prematurely greying hair, having the first-aid kit on standby and the emergency room number on speed dial.

resolutions, then and now

What a difference a decade makes...

Then: this year, i shall NOT get drunk.
Now: This year I'm hoping to go to a party which serves drinks that are Not in a spill-proof cup

Then: This year, I shall meet my prince Charming
Now: This year, i hope the Prince still remains charming

Then: Greatest Achievements: radical new building design
now: Greatest Achievements: potty training Pickwick

Then: Most often heard singing: Comfortably Numb
Now: Most often heard singing: Do Re Mi

Then: Ambition: Aga Khan Award for Architectural Excellence
Now: Ambition: Making it home before Pickwick's asleep

Then: idea of a Fun night out: Noisy Disco getting pickled
now: Idea of a fun night out: Any Night out is fun, as long as it's a. Child friendly
b. resistant to breakage
c. lets you get back home without any trips to A & E

Then: fun adventure – para gliding in Goa
Now: fun adventure – a guilty trip to the movies minus Pickwick

Then: happiest when – alone with work and music
Now: happiest when – alone with Pickwick and Music

Then: late nights – back home at four, nap, shower and out of the house at seven
Now: late nights – back home at eleven, sing baby to sleep, load dishwasher, load washing machine, do three sentences of quiet reading, and just as your head touches the pillow, it's morning again – as happily pointed out by a Gleeful Pickwick bouncing on your tummy

Then: Tummy – flat and meant for flaunting
Now: tummy – soft and meant for supporting little (and not-so-little)heads while sleeping

Then: pencil test – passed with flying colours
Now: wont even pass a rolling pin test

Then: when buying clothes, make sure they fit, and the rest is taken care of by mommy
Now: when buying, make sure they're stain resistant, crease resistant and drool resistant. And oh – wait for the sales.

Then: choosy about food – I'm not putting that into my mouth
Now: food? As long as I'm not cooking, who cares?

Then: idea of a good house – fit for the architectural digest
Now: idea of a good house – one where Pickwick wont manage to cause major harm to either himself or the furniture

Then: Idea of travel - 2 pair of jeans and plenty of clean undies, trusty SLR
Now: Idea of travel - 2 pairs of jeans, plenty of clean undies, baby buggy, six pairs of spare clothing, healthy snacky food, juice, sunhat, first aid kit... and baa lamb if there's space

Then: Nothing cheers you up like good food and the company of good friends
NOw: Nothing cheers you up like good food and the company of good friends

Glad to know some things never change...

A Blogger's Guide to the Real World

There have been many , many self-help, money-spinning guides that guide a beginner through the wonderful world of blogging. None, however, that recognise that there are millions of bloggers out there who actually need a guide to function during the time that they spend away from the safe haven of the computer screen.
The world is a mean and cruel place that makes no allowances for techno geeks who're totally at sea with any communication that does not involve a monitor and/ or Avatras. This does not bode well for bloggers such as myself. Thus the need fo the guide: 'A Bloggers Guide to the Real World'
This guide should be a step-by-step process of discovery of how the rest of the world (those strange, unnnatural, unevolved beings) communicates.
It should include useful tips such as what to do when a member of the Opposite sex talks directly at you, how to react if another member of our species attempts to indulge in physical contact - like trying to shake hands (it is not to be construed as an act of over aggression, in fact, strangely, it is supposed to mean quite the opposite) and even how long should one engage in eye contact before it is considered creepy , at first, and if a bit longer, disturbing. Of course too short a duration (of eye contact, that is) , and its' considered impolite, or symptomatic of ADD. See - tricky stuff, this.
Geeks such as myslf, all over the world, who think the face looks most luminiscent when viewed bathed in the reflection of a flickering monitor and people who've been outdoors too long have an unnatural glow would naturally think it most foul to indulge in any sport that does not involve a keyboard or a joystick. But considering the fact that so far, the Olympics have not included the video games category (and I'm still wondering why not) we are apparently in the minority. Thus when asked by one of the 'others' as to what sport do you pursue, the guide would tell us that it's not a good idea to tell them 'Ultimate Speed Racer Level XX' at Such times, infact it would gives us uselful little white lies we could use, for example: I used to be a footballer in colleges, but after my knee injury, I'm now more of a viewer, than a doer. or I love skiing, but now that I've moved to Chennai, there's not many places where I can indulgein this passion.
It is also not a good idea to tell the 'Others' that their so called password protected files and systems are ridiculously simple to hack into, and you could wipe out their entire credit history if you so chose. This is apparently not a subject that has them rivetted. These strange beings hate to be told how vulnerable they are, and how much we control the world they live in. They would much rather hear about your opinion on the most recent movie release, and how much CGI has changed entertainment. This guide should give you access to an online site that has the latest movie release with their reviews, which is updated every week. All you need to do is log in to this site before your evening of intermingling and brush up on the latest news.
I have searched the realms on the world wide web for such a book, and have found nothing. Zilch. Nada. Maybe such a book does not exist.

Or maybe I should go to an actual, Physical book shop. One hears that these things are located at every street corner. Hmm... perhaps tomorrow. For now I'm happy in my little cubicle with the tap-tapping of the keyboard to soothe my nerves and my IM friends who're a very very safe distance away.