In the sequel to the heart-wrenching tragedy of the phone passing away, let me detail the events of the day..
Started out with waking up at 11 am. How I managed to snore soundly while aforementioned love of life was lying cold next to me, is beyond me. Anyhow, made a futile walk to the mobile shop closest to my place, discovering it to be in shutters-down state, which effectively brought home to me the fact that Sundays have their downsides too.
Decided to get a little more structured. Got home, did an online search of Nokia service centers, located one close enough and set out again. But being the true-blue son-of-the-soil that I am, a Nokia service center was to be the last resort. What would make my day and repair my phone would undoubtedly be the entrepreneurial occupant of a small, shady, 10-feet-by-four-feet gap in the line of shops along Bandra station or some such buzzing place; at one-third the price and taking one-fourth the time of a Nokia service center. What's more, he was more likely to let all the important parts of your phone be left intact, not pilfering them for some gray market smuggling.
Called up a friend (a colleague, whose number is the only number in the world I remember since only the last digit is different from mine) who had visited and benefited from such a shop only a couple of weeks ago and got the name, location and phone number of a Mr Aris, aforementioned kindly entrepreneur.
Such inconspicuous shops and their owners also have the bad habit of disappearing, a Sunday driving the probability of such an event occurring sharply northwards..
But where one disappears, several others spring up. Such is life.
On getting extremely reliable information from an auto rickshaw driver on who around repaired mobile phones, I was directed to a picture-postcard-as-described-above-hole-in-the-wall which at the moment was doing a brisk trade in top-ups and mobile phones-Chinamake. (Oh did I mention that the Nokia Service center at Bandra was no longer operational, so I cannot be entirely blamed for partaking of the services of these enterprising tax evaders).
The benevolent people behind the counter assured me that the job would be done in half an hour upon which I would have to separate with 300 INR of the blood and sweat. The look on my face of disbelieving relief must have been apparent. I thanked myself for living in the holy mecca of the below-the-table-ism and hole-in-the-wall-flourishing-business-ism and went and sat at some nearby Barista, for a long due breaking of fast.
After the promised 30 minutes, I headed back to my saviors, and with great anticipation asked for the phone, relishing the thought of having a link to the world again, so as to assure myself that I had not suddenly died.
Imagine my surprise when I was told that the phone's display was not working (oh by-the-way, what was wrong with the phone was that the switch-on button had come off the board and hence the phone wasn't able to switch on). So they went on about the fact that they had, as promised, installed a new heart (yes, I am not a doctor) but the patient had gone blind and hence appeared to be in all certainty, still dead.
What ensued was not poetry. At least not the John Keats variety. I would advise patrons to not be fooled by my size (by which I mean my height, Bipasha may have called me petite, but it is certainly not because I have a 24 inch waist).
I ended up not paying them and came home, humbled. Sometimes, Mumbai fails to deliver.
This incident marked the end of my efforts at trying to get phone fixed pronto and heralded the beginning of a new phase wherein plans were laid of obtaining a proxy phone for the next few days while this one was sent to the ICU.
Life has a strange way of moralizing. The trouble is, it never practices what it preaches.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Technotroubles
One fine day (actually 3 am in the morning) my phone stopped working.
My first reaction was of incredulity. What? My phone? MY phone? My PHONE?
That is not to say that I wasn't expecting something of the sort to happen. Because I was, somewhere in my system there was a small ominous voice. My phone had been behaving funny since long. But as a species of optimistic (read stupid) homo-sapiens (yes, it's DNA programming, not my fault), we always tend to ignore these diligent little things (ominous voices) and I figured this would never actually happen. I would preempt it by getting it repaired or buying a new one before it could die on me.
But no. It's like a heart attack. All your life you think - let me have this last day of indulgence, from tomorrow on no more white sauce on pasta; or let me just sleep a little longer today, from tomorrow it's 6 am jogging; or are you crazy, I can't stop smoking right now, just as soon as this extremely critical project is over and done with, I shall quit.
A tad extreme, I agree, comparing a heart attack to the phone dying on you - at least there's no loss of memory in the case of a heart attack.
My first reaction was of incredulity. What? My phone? MY phone? My PHONE?
That is not to say that I wasn't expecting something of the sort to happen. Because I was, somewhere in my system there was a small ominous voice. My phone had been behaving funny since long. But as a species of optimistic (read stupid) homo-sapiens (yes, it's DNA programming, not my fault), we always tend to ignore these diligent little things (ominous voices) and I figured this would never actually happen. I would preempt it by getting it repaired or buying a new one before it could die on me.
But no. It's like a heart attack. All your life you think - let me have this last day of indulgence, from tomorrow on no more white sauce on pasta; or let me just sleep a little longer today, from tomorrow it's 6 am jogging; or are you crazy, I can't stop smoking right now, just as soon as this extremely critical project is over and done with, I shall quit.
A tad extreme, I agree, comparing a heart attack to the phone dying on you - at least there's no loss of memory in the case of a heart attack.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Seven
I got tagged.
After being around in the blogsphere (that is what I believe it is called) for over four years, someone else apart from myself finally decided to call some attention to my dubious endeavor of entertaining the masses, albeit the attention was deceptively called with the wrong hyperlink in tow, undoubtedly in an attempt to obtain exoneration from all blame forthcoming from the click-happy.
Must pay a tribute to the noble soul of Alec in the coffee table book I shall shortly be unleashing on my life and times, the title of which is yet under wraps (which in itself is as good a title as any). Don't worry Alec, shall not reveal your true identity.
So the tag is about revealing seven things about yourself that the people at the gates don't know about. So here goes -
1. I eat my meals - piece-meal. It would be exaggeration to say that I never mix food, because sometimes I do. But in most cases, I don't. In fact, I have been known to separate the buns from the pattie of a MacD's burger and eat them like that. Am unable to provide any clues as to why I do that. Maybe, am just lazy. Does that make sense?
2. I love walking, I would walk to the Fiji islands if I had the time. Of course, nowadays, if I sprouted wings and started to fly, I would be flapping them with the ferocity of a duck caught in a time-warp, so walking is rather on the back-burner.
3. I like shopping alone and even when I have company, I rarely come out of the fitting room and get a second opinion. Shopping alone because then I do not have to feel guilty about trying on ten different outfits and not liking any.
4. I have been making abortive attempts at novel writing since I learnt how to write. I tried writing detective stories (there was even a dog called Raja in it and had anyone decently well-read chanced upon it, they would have found it hugely 'inspired'), mythology, space fiction, fairy-tales, romance, contemporary fiction, and nothing has worked. Maybe I should try my hand at erotica.
5. I have a lousy memory for faces. But I can remember things that were said from as far back as 1988. I also have a special memory for smells. It's like these smells are wafting through the world and if any familiar ones find their way up my nose, they immediately bring back a flood of memories.
6. I am a cusp between a Cancer and a Leo. But I tell people I am a Leo because I want to be dynamic, leonine and graceful instead of loyal, emotional and a good cook.
7. I am a closet foodie. I would have been a practicing one had nature not played one of her cruel jokes and given me a sloth-like metabolism. One could argue that a true-blue foodie would not be deterred by metabolic rates, calorie content and all such balderdash. Maybe.
So here I am, a virgin no more. Let me tag a few people too.
Kavity - The world needs your pearls of wisdom, which are sure to glisten their way through random things you will be revealing about yourself.
Gaurav UP - Just for the simple pleasure of reading what you write.
Manikandan - I can almost imagine chuckling at the sweet little things you will say and equally twittering wickedly at those aspects of your personality which your readership is ignorant of.
AA - Mr Freaky, stop being so geeky and entertain me.
So that's it guys. A little bit of me, for-public-consumption.
After being around in the blogsphere (that is what I believe it is called) for over four years, someone else apart from myself finally decided to call some attention to my dubious endeavor of entertaining the masses, albeit the attention was deceptively called with the wrong hyperlink in tow, undoubtedly in an attempt to obtain exoneration from all blame forthcoming from the click-happy.
Must pay a tribute to the noble soul of Alec in the coffee table book I shall shortly be unleashing on my life and times, the title of which is yet under wraps (which in itself is as good a title as any). Don't worry Alec, shall not reveal your true identity.
So the tag is about revealing seven things about yourself that the people at the gates don't know about. So here goes -
1. I eat my meals - piece-meal. It would be exaggeration to say that I never mix food, because sometimes I do. But in most cases, I don't. In fact, I have been known to separate the buns from the pattie of a MacD's burger and eat them like that. Am unable to provide any clues as to why I do that. Maybe, am just lazy. Does that make sense?
2. I love walking, I would walk to the Fiji islands if I had the time. Of course, nowadays, if I sprouted wings and started to fly, I would be flapping them with the ferocity of a duck caught in a time-warp, so walking is rather on the back-burner.
3. I like shopping alone and even when I have company, I rarely come out of the fitting room and get a second opinion. Shopping alone because then I do not have to feel guilty about trying on ten different outfits and not liking any.
4. I have been making abortive attempts at novel writing since I learnt how to write. I tried writing detective stories (there was even a dog called Raja in it and had anyone decently well-read chanced upon it, they would have found it hugely 'inspired'), mythology, space fiction, fairy-tales, romance, contemporary fiction, and nothing has worked. Maybe I should try my hand at erotica.
5. I have a lousy memory for faces. But I can remember things that were said from as far back as 1988. I also have a special memory for smells. It's like these smells are wafting through the world and if any familiar ones find their way up my nose, they immediately bring back a flood of memories.
6. I am a cusp between a Cancer and a Leo. But I tell people I am a Leo because I want to be dynamic, leonine and graceful instead of loyal, emotional and a good cook.
7. I am a closet foodie. I would have been a practicing one had nature not played one of her cruel jokes and given me a sloth-like metabolism. One could argue that a true-blue foodie would not be deterred by metabolic rates, calorie content and all such balderdash. Maybe.
So here I am, a virgin no more. Let me tag a few people too.
Kavity - The world needs your pearls of wisdom, which are sure to glisten their way through random things you will be revealing about yourself.
Gaurav UP - Just for the simple pleasure of reading what you write.
Manikandan - I can almost imagine chuckling at the sweet little things you will say and equally twittering wickedly at those aspects of your personality which your readership is ignorant of.
AA - Mr Freaky, stop being so geeky and entertain me.
So that's it guys. A little bit of me, for-public-consumption.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Welcome to the real world?
Ages ago, when I used to be a little girl, I used to be quite fruity.
Yes, bonkers, if you please.
So looking at those cotton-wool clouds, with the sun streaming through, the whole deal looking like a painting (absurd similie this, comparing the real flesh and blood sky to an unreal, albeit exquisite painting as if the latter were the actual and the former just a pale comparison), I used to imagine feeling a strange stirring in my chest - like somebody was calling out to me from the over and beyond. Yes, really. Hazards of an over-active imagination and a curiously romantic take on life.
Just the other day, watching the Alice movie, brought back memories of the time I had read the book - Wonderland and The Looking Glass and how much I had loved it. The inane conversations, the ridiculous but extremely hilarious and clever poetry - The Walrus and the Carpenter and A-sitting on a Gate (if I remember correctly) and many many more, it was all rather brilliant. I would hugely identify with this Alice chippie, spending more time day-dreaming than anything else. Ruchi DD was my moniker for sometime (for those who don't know, Ruchi is my nick, my parents call me that). I remember growing up getting into all sorts of troubles due to this habit of mine to switch off from the here and now, with a dreamy glazed look coming over, so that several ditches, manholes etc had the pleasure of warming my butt over the years, many poles suddenly found themselves looming horribly out of nowhere and getting attached to my person and various detours were taken on the way to or back from somewhere simply because I never knew directions, too busy dreaming. I also remember at a point of time feeling like it was all a bit much and that I should attempt taking on a more normal hobby which didn't interfere with the other important functions of my existence. That is when I started rationing out time for these metaphysical musings. Insane, totally insane is what I call it now.
I still suffer from a hyper active imagination, and so it happens that I dream every night. Everybody does perhaps, but I even remember my dreams and they mostly feature people I know, engaging in strange activities which may have some connection with my deepest darkest thoughts and fears, or so would Freud have me believe. I remember some of my dreams from ten years back too. The subconscious in my case is a living, breathing humongous hippopotamus.
I can just go on and on. There are many and hundreds of tales which prove beyond doubt that I was a special kid. Still waters, rippling with the sub-surface tensions of growing up, listening, absorbing, reflecting and holding it all within, juxtaposing all these images into a rich alternate universe to where I would retreat at the slightest opportunity. Always a little disdainful of the real world.
Yes, bonkers, if you please.
So looking at those cotton-wool clouds, with the sun streaming through, the whole deal looking like a painting (absurd similie this, comparing the real flesh and blood sky to an unreal, albeit exquisite painting as if the latter were the actual and the former just a pale comparison), I used to imagine feeling a strange stirring in my chest - like somebody was calling out to me from the over and beyond. Yes, really. Hazards of an over-active imagination and a curiously romantic take on life.
Just the other day, watching the Alice movie, brought back memories of the time I had read the book - Wonderland and The Looking Glass and how much I had loved it. The inane conversations, the ridiculous but extremely hilarious and clever poetry - The Walrus and the Carpenter and A-sitting on a Gate (if I remember correctly) and many many more, it was all rather brilliant. I would hugely identify with this Alice chippie, spending more time day-dreaming than anything else. Ruchi DD was my moniker for sometime (for those who don't know, Ruchi is my nick, my parents call me that). I remember growing up getting into all sorts of troubles due to this habit of mine to switch off from the here and now, with a dreamy glazed look coming over, so that several ditches, manholes etc had the pleasure of warming my butt over the years, many poles suddenly found themselves looming horribly out of nowhere and getting attached to my person and various detours were taken on the way to or back from somewhere simply because I never knew directions, too busy dreaming. I also remember at a point of time feeling like it was all a bit much and that I should attempt taking on a more normal hobby which didn't interfere with the other important functions of my existence. That is when I started rationing out time for these metaphysical musings. Insane, totally insane is what I call it now.
I still suffer from a hyper active imagination, and so it happens that I dream every night. Everybody does perhaps, but I even remember my dreams and they mostly feature people I know, engaging in strange activities which may have some connection with my deepest darkest thoughts and fears, or so would Freud have me believe. I remember some of my dreams from ten years back too. The subconscious in my case is a living, breathing humongous hippopotamus.
I can just go on and on. There are many and hundreds of tales which prove beyond doubt that I was a special kid. Still waters, rippling with the sub-surface tensions of growing up, listening, absorbing, reflecting and holding it all within, juxtaposing all these images into a rich alternate universe to where I would retreat at the slightest opportunity. Always a little disdainful of the real world.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Ratnagiri Ramblings
Me: Er..Could I have a word with you?
L: I hope it's about removing that silly plastic film that you have covering me. How would you like wearing one on your face?
Me: Well, people have become maniacal about keeping you guys dust-free nowadays. I know this person, who first bought some elaborate liquid-solution-set for the purpose and has lately added a mini vacuum device to his arsenal. Would you like that? This is simpler!
L: Who is this guy! Stop hanging out with him!
Me: Errrr..hmmm..yes, will think about it. So, as I was saying, this is important..hmm..ho..hummm..yes, here it is - IthinkIwillgoexplorethetown.
L: Okay, I pick up signals which are of the speed of 3-into-ten-raised-to-you-know-what. But this even I couldn't understand!
Me: Hahaha, you are funny!
L(incredulously): Explore? But you never do that! You spend all your time only with me! Especially when you are not in Bombay, oops, Mumbai (Small Saffron dots blink up everywhere)!!
Me (patiently): I know, I know. But suddenly I feel that I should have some more perspective about the places I visit apart from knowing their godowns better than the back of my hand, you know?
L: No, I can't say I do.
Me: There is a world outside of this hotel room, you know.
L: Again, no.
Me: Okay look, I think you need some time off too. What with all those blue faces you have been pulling off-late. Why don't you spend some time alone and I will remove myself from the premises.
L: I have been sort-of over-worked. And spending a large part of the day cooped up like this, with nobody to talk to, while you go around gallivanting to all sorts of interesting places, it's not easy, you know.
Me:
L: Hmm..sounds ok.
Narrator: No sooner than this reluctant 'ok' makes itself audible, a hole in the shape of the author appears in the door as a fast getaway is made. I mean, really fast. Before something can come up which has the potential to push all thoughts of arbit ambling through the streets of Ratnagiri to the dark recesses of said author's mind. And as you may or may not know, she has many of those. Last seen, she was sitting on a dark sandy beach along the Konkan coast, staring somberly at the sea, undoubtedly thinking thoughts of great psychological depth or universal importance.
Me: Damn. I wish this place had some Diet Coke.
Monday, March 08, 2010
S
The cognition of sadness
Startingly grabs you when
No self-pity however righteous
Can really help
The tragedy in high art
Is glamorous no more
And martyrdom is not
Treacherously desired
Not a searing-second's job
But a dull persistent ache
Which by evil design
Plays imp-like
It seems to go away
When the mind is occupied
But it comes to roost
Like a scavenger to its home
Startingly grabs you when
No self-pity however righteous
Can really help
The tragedy in high art
Is glamorous no more
And martyrdom is not
Treacherously desired
Not a searing-second's job
But a dull persistent ache
Which by evil design
Plays imp-like
It seems to go away
When the mind is occupied
But it comes to roost
Like a scavenger to its home
Thursday, March 04, 2010
BOP goes the weasel
I found myself in a village called Daruj the other day, a small dusty place, with a population of around six thousand. It was your typical village, a rather big one, with four five dukaans, people sitting around and generally passing time, the few big men - the influencers, moving around with that special arrogance that comes out of being the big fish in a small pond. Nothing special.
But this is India. Even if you are not looking, you will find something in every inconsequential corner that will blow your mind away. And it is my job to look.
The B-O-P. That oft-used-abused phrase which in recent times has mainly been used to outline the growing needs of the bottom of the famous pyramid (which my company insists will become a diamond soon, yes, now that is practical application of geometry.) The theory that there is a fortune there for companies has been sufficiently debated and discussed. I myself have had conflicting opinions about it at different points in time.
What I saw that day in Daruj was testimony to the fact that companies are paying close attention indeed to CKP.
Now we have all seen those cute little parachute bottles that come for a rupee each. Among others, they are meant for the consumers who live in shanties and cannot risk purchasing a big bottle out of fear that it shall be purloined. We have also seen minuscule Fevicol and Feviquick sticks, add to that small units of milk and surprisingly even Lassi. Yes, Lassi at Rs 1.5 for the adventurous but thrifty consumer. Shampoos sachets are old hat - people have found multiple uses for them even. In UP, they are used to wash cows and give the family goats their daily baths. In many other places, they are used to wash bikes and cars. Then there are mobile top-ups which start at Rs 3. Yes, talk is cheap nowadays.
But nothing beats this - that day, hanging next to a hundred different kinds of sachets of detergents, shampoos, paan masala, tobacco, toothpaste and what have you, I saw perfect miniature versions of international brands of perfume - the likes of Charlie, Lomani and John Musk, for all of Rs 3!
Perfume?! Is that what the rural consumer demands nowadays? I can understand the urban poor, they are hugely aspirational by association. But gaonwale bhi? To maybe wear to the christening of that new pair of bullocks that the Sarpanch recently bought. Or on a 'date' by the local pond, or community electric pump perhaps. Perfume? Really?
Will they 'upgrade' to bigger bottles? Because the company must be losing money on the sachets. Will there be sufficient word-of-mouth publicity? Are these sachets even selling or are they just hanging, literally, some fresh-from-the-oven MBA having won accolades for this brilliant idea? Or have they always been there, only we never noticed? Have they been flying off-the-shelves in cities, and somebody thought what works for a vegetable seller's kith in Mumbai would also work for the vegetable grower's kin in Shegaon?
Questions, questions. But one thing is for sure, this country never ceases to amaze me.
But this is India. Even if you are not looking, you will find something in every inconsequential corner that will blow your mind away. And it is my job to look.
The B-O-P. That oft-used-abused phrase which in recent times has mainly been used to outline the growing needs of the bottom of the famous pyramid (which my company insists will become a diamond soon, yes, now that is practical application of geometry.) The theory that there is a fortune there for companies has been sufficiently debated and discussed. I myself have had conflicting opinions about it at different points in time.
What I saw that day in Daruj was testimony to the fact that companies are paying close attention indeed to CKP.
Now we have all seen those cute little parachute bottles that come for a rupee each. Among others, they are meant for the consumers who live in shanties and cannot risk purchasing a big bottle out of fear that it shall be purloined. We have also seen minuscule Fevicol and Feviquick sticks, add to that small units of milk and surprisingly even Lassi. Yes, Lassi at Rs 1.5 for the adventurous but thrifty consumer. Shampoos sachets are old hat - people have found multiple uses for them even. In UP, they are used to wash cows and give the family goats their daily baths. In many other places, they are used to wash bikes and cars. Then there are mobile top-ups which start at Rs 3. Yes, talk is cheap nowadays.
But nothing beats this - that day, hanging next to a hundred different kinds of sachets of detergents, shampoos, paan masala, tobacco, toothpaste and what have you, I saw perfect miniature versions of international brands of perfume - the likes of Charlie, Lomani and John Musk, for all of Rs 3!
Perfume?! Is that what the rural consumer demands nowadays? I can understand the urban poor, they are hugely aspirational by association. But gaonwale bhi? To maybe wear to the christening of that new pair of bullocks that the Sarpanch recently bought. Or on a 'date' by the local pond, or community electric pump perhaps. Perfume? Really?
Will they 'upgrade' to bigger bottles? Because the company must be losing money on the sachets. Will there be sufficient word-of-mouth publicity? Are these sachets even selling or are they just hanging, literally, some fresh-from-the-oven MBA having won accolades for this brilliant idea? Or have they always been there, only we never noticed? Have they been flying off-the-shelves in cities, and somebody thought what works for a vegetable seller's kith in Mumbai would also work for the vegetable grower's kin in Shegaon?
Questions, questions. But one thing is for sure, this country never ceases to amaze me.
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