Banding together against Shaadi Bands

As is wont, post-dinner and a recap of the day’s news bulletin, last night hubby and I began our nightly schedule – walking, that is (What did you think?). We were barely into our second round of the neighborhood park when we spotted a glittering string of fairy lights making its way slowly, strains of a decidedly loud sound system accompanying the light show.

A wedding procession - groom in tow on a white mare, an assortment of animated pink-turbaned men, heavily-embroidered saree / suit clad women dripping with jewellery (never mind that Christmas was a good months away), and some gleeful children - threaded its way to the venue.

It was a usual enough scene.

Except that a few seconds later, the band and the procession stopped right before the main entry gate of the Trauma Care Speciality Center, belting out tunes from the latest Bollywood chart busters. This was the cue for the relatives to plunge into a riotous dance routine, all shaking a leg merrily and making a nuisance of themselves right outside the medical center where hundreds, if not thousands, lay on the road to recovery (or maybe not).

So while inside the medical center, grim surgeons wielded shiny surgical equipment; outside a number of shiny instruments - trumpets, French horns, euphoniums, clarinets, cymbals, saxophones, trombones, drums, boomed and kept the audience on its feet. A few other members of the red-white-blue-and-generously-sprinkled-with-gold uniformed band members shuffled their feet carrying kerosene-spewing light fixtures. An oily-looking thirty-something cleared his throat and looked ready to launch the next song from his endless repertoire.

And then there was silence.

For a moment, a feeling of unbespoke relief swept over me. Perhaps some near and dear ones of the victims that lay inside the trauma center, had taken it into their heads to come and give the giddily-happy wedding party a piece of their mind. The disturbing anomaly of glee looked extremely inhuman outside the gloomy walls that spelled accidents, comas, and frightful deaths. Probably a lathi-charge would not have been out of place for these insensitive ecstatically-cheering and dancing souls, who chose to stand right outside those walls inside which so many people battled for life right that minute.

But that was not to be. The band had stopped only because some inebriated people in the procession had a few music requests for the band. And unlike my gym which frowns upon any music requests, the band was only too happy to comply, knowing that there was no dearth of heavily-lined pockets that would disgorge currency notes any minute. Rightly so. As the crescendo built up, notes of different nominations were flung into the air, much to the delight of the band people who clutched them. Dizzy with dancing men cried hoarsely to the visibly red-faced groom, whose 5-year nephew gave him company on the weighed-down poor white mare.

And the music became louder. Probably to drown out the honking of the cars behind the procession.

A yelling match looked promising. But was soon dissolved as it was time for some pyrotechnics. One after the other, several firecrackers from last year’s Diwali (Festival of Lights) hissed and fizzed to life, zooming off into the skies above, before disintegrating into a million sparkles. Of course, the sound of all these was hardly mild, to say the least.

That, coupled with the still-earsplitting music was enough to drown out my protests….

Talking over the cell while in the loo - a 'bunch of crap'

You are at your workplace. Bladder bursting, you trot to the restroom on your floor. Alas! Both are occupied. You wait (im)patiently, tapping your foot to distract yourself from that all those waves of pressure that are hitting you. Causing your toe to curl, and you to cast woebegone looks at the doors. Your bladder threatens to embarrass you any second now, and you wish you had a couch where you could at least plonk and cross your legs, never mind the drama.

And then you stop dead in your tracks. There it was. No, not the warm sensation of you losing control in little short spurts in your pants. Phew!

But a smothered chortle from the closed door on the left.

And a muffled stream of conversation from the door on your right.

You purse your lips, wondering if there was a secret hole between the two adjacent washrooms, which enabled both people inside to exchange niceties while they did their business.

And then it dawns upon you. They were both talking, not to each other (TGFSM), but over their respective phones. This is also the precise moment when your nightmarish time begins - your sphincter warning you not to take the call of Mother Nature lightly while two exasperating people speak animatedly into their mobiles.

Several thoughts cross you mind as you contend with violent cramps...

Would it be rude to rap your knuckles at the locked doors?
Did you want to warrant a kick with your spanking new leather shoes?
Would clearing your throat give a hint to the two inside to step out?

You decide for the last option, clearing your throat in an aggrieved fashion that would have sounded more appropriate in the chambers of a seasoned laryngitis specialist.

Silence.

You wait to hear the welcome flushing sound to trickle into your ears. Some shuffling of feet and a brisk zipping sound of the fly being done up...

No such luck. After 10-seconds, the conversation(s) inside resume(s) from where it / they had been left off – at your all-too-evident and unmistakable throat-clearing. Darn!

You groan – clutching your sides, the call of nature hot on your tail. The last time you had clutched them so tightly was when you had stitches in your side from laughing uncontrollably during a particularly funny episode of your favourite sitcom. Except that that last time had been a pleasurable sensation, as compared to the dreadful one presently that looked intent on making you do what your 6-year old nephew was scolded for – pant-wetting.

After what seems like an eternity, you finally hear the flush. You almost make the exiting individual topple over in your haste to lock the door behind you and sit on the john. Forgetting to give him / her the much-perfected scowl which you thought he / she truly deserved. The startled, still-talking-into-the-mobile dude sails out, talking pointedly about people who could do with some impatience-management. At any other point, you would have stood your ground and retaliated with a seething answer. But today you were just thankful to enter and take that much-needed leak.

Leaving you with the big question...

Why? Why? Why? Why a toilet? For God’s sake? Weren’t there any other places to yap? Had the workplace run out of places where you could ring up people?

I’ve seen people talking over phones and carrying them nonchalantly into the restroom, continuing their conversation and taking care of their business at the same time. Leaving me horrified. Do they even wash up after that? I don't even want to go into that (unwashed) territory...

Just the other day, I was in a theatre, and had to attend to some urgent short business. Right before I could relieve myself, I heard some strains of the latest Bollywood number, and then the sound of a lady answering the ringing phone from the stall adjacent to mine. Now, the call was no emergency I could tell - I overheard Ms Pisser tell another Pisser about the pissing day she had had – in loud and dulcet tones. Well she truly deserved the ‘crappy’ day, pardon the pun, I almost wanted to holler. Especially since after she let out relieved 'ahhs' regularly after each soft but unmistakable 'plop plop,' and passed wind brazenly, the malodour of which caused me to retch and gag, such was the sound and smell show! Blech!

Too bad for her that I flushed noisily when she was about to mouth the second ‘I-lurrrrrve’you’ into her mouthpiece...*evil grin*

I came out repulsed – wondering what was more unacceptable – talking in the loo or talking during a movie?

Don’t people realize know it’s rude? Besides being unhygienic? And gross? All rolled into one.

Or am I missing a pee, oops wee bit here?

Celebrating the Power of Sisterhood

A little over seven hours ago, a number of women walked into our already flooded-with-pink workplace (thanks to a communiqué that went out on Friday requesting women to dress in pink) - the occasion being International Women’s Day.

Despite some fiercely independent-thinking women (me included) who pooh-poohed this conditioned reinforcing of feminine roles and gender-specific color coding pattern, most (me included again) sportingly donned their brightest pinks, spunkingly embracing this oneness of womanhood. So shades of pink – cherry blossom, fuchsia, magenta, salmon pink, rose, pale pink, carnation pink, hot pink – all sailed through the walls of our Organization. Two girls, dressed in - what else - pink, handed single light-pink rose buds to all women employees. And thus the day began….

To add a nice, ‘rosy’ touch (pun intended), Kathryn Bigelow, fortune’s favorite girl these days, walked away with top honors for ‘The Hurt Locker’ at the 82nd Academy Awards in LA today. She’s the first woman to win in both the Best Director and Best Picture category. What must have made this victory taste sweeter undoubtedly would have been the feeling of pipping her ex-husband, five-times married James Cameron, whose larger-than-life (literally), visually stunning epic, Avatar, was nominated in both categories.

Continuing upon this band of sorority, I’d like to make a mention today of those incredible women who’ve touched my life in more ways than one. They’ve been my soul sisters – among them you’ll find a generous sprinkling of doe-eyed candygirls, tantrum-throwing divas, Miss Congenialities, the witty ones, the patient listeners, the beauty advisors, the agony aunts, the bitch-fest champions, the goofy girls, the sunshine sisters who can make the most long-faced person smile, the garrulous and the reticent.

They are unstoppable. They are my friends.

1. Mum – for her unconditional love. For being the bee of my flower. And the smile on those yellow smileys. That drollness doesn’t hurt. Neither does the ability to be my closest confidant
2. Liku – for proving that sisters are the best of best of friends. And no matter how far they may, Graham Bell’s invention sure comes in handy during those de-stressing sessions, which miraculously are more gratifying than a whole bar of Lindt

And now, in alphabetical order…

3. Apoorva – for being the cuddly, gentle sheep that I’ve bulldozed on so many occasions. Thank you for Baa-ing, oops, Being there (and now I need a place to hide. Quick!)
4. Asha – for proving that an over 20 year difference does not come in the way of true friendship. Or for bingeing on chocolate avalanches and frothy Frappes with swirling ice-creams. Or for discussions upon every topic under the sun. Hats off to this real woman of substance incorporated
5. Darshita – for being the bratty younger sibling who makes me see red on many an occasion. But wisens up soon enough and is back to being the adorable kid she is, and earns herself a page in my (variable) good books
6. Jaya and Natasha – for being the lovely mother-daughter duo who shower me with fond affection. And a liberal dose of whiplashing for not traveling to meet them more frequently
7. Gargi – for being an infinite source of books for me on the days I needed to read the most and shut the world outside. And for staying awake even during the coldest of winter nights to listen me out
8. Madhur Di – for proving that a sister-in-law is fun personified. How else can you explain those countless hours shopping, gossiping, bingeing and those blink-and-you’ll-miss-them guilt moments?
9. Neha J – for making me a gentler, calmer person from the wild thing I was in college. And for making me a less superficial person from those days I prefer to call bygones…
10. Neha M – for driving me every year towards my dream of writing professionally. As well as driving me nuts every time I think of her level headedness and how much I could benefit from the same
11. Niharika – for proving that not all 19-year old somethings are giddy-headed. Some can actually give advice. A hell lot of it. Which you oughn’t to pass up
12. Nivedita – for proving that you can have friends at work. Who will stand by you through thick and thin (quite literally)
13. Padma – for being the official in-command of things – be it making online movie ticket purchases, stirring the morning tea after a nightover, driving sloshed souls to their homes, the works. You know you are in good hands there. Except when she subjects you to her scathing tongue. In which case, you are finished. God bless you!
14. Prachi and Sushma – for re-emerging, stronger than ever, even though they may have done the disappearing-off-the-horizon act – yet again. Some people don’t change, but at least they are somewhere lurking in one corner. And thank God for that
15. Priti – for being the loving sister-in-law she is. And for bearing my brother. Patience is a virtue, they say. And she has oodles of it
16. Pooja – for gleefully calling me unladylike names when she knows I am at work and have no option but to hear her out, my ears burning. And for being smart enough to not picking my phone when she is at her workplace, knowing that I’ve called only to settle scores
17. Radhika – for her impeccable style, wicked sense of humor and no-holds barred free-style counseling sessions. God knows how many fashion faux pas she and I have rolled our eyes at – at malls, in resto-bars, while buying popcorn at theaters. She puts the C in Chic. Causing many a woman to cast cold looks of pure venom at her
18. Raina – for proving that being a recent mother will have absolutely no effects on slowing her down. A rebel, her sense of adventure unfailingly makes people raise their eyebrows. As if she cares too hoots for ‘em dumbfounded looks
19. Rashmi – for proving that distance does make the heart grow fonder and warmer. Even if the distance is as significant as being in cold Glasgow
20. Ruchika – my best of best of best friends. For putting up with me over all these years. For refusing to judge me. For providing me with never-seen-before insights. For knocking sense (literally) into my thick head. For being my closest confidant, partner in crime, agony aunt – all rolled in one. Good things come in small packages. And I sure got lucky!
21. Sharmishta – for being an endless source of joy. Just hearing the cheerfulness in her voice over the phone is enough to give me a nice, warm, fuzzy feeling
22. Shital – for proving that sometimes people come in your life for a reason. In her case, to do wonders for my already-bloated ego
23. Smitha – for being the sporting ‘butt’ of all jokes. And for grinning from ear to ear when it’s payback time. And for pinching me unnoticed to an unobservant eye, for added measure. Thank God I'm thick-skinned...
24. Sohiny – for being style personified, for her uncanny ability to put everything into impeccable verse, and for making me feel ancient, what with being called Grandma by her. For proving that not all people in the fashion industry are narcissistic. Some blossom into mature individuals who will patiently hold the receiver all night while you pour hot gossip or inconsolable howls and sobs into it
25. Surabhi – for being the Mother Goose who fusses over her brood (not that they mind). She sure knows how to ease all your troubles, cook you your favorite meal, sing you a hauntingly-sweet melody, and tuck you into a warm bed. And for added measure, even give you a Good Night hug. She’s sure to make the man she marries very very happy
26. Sushma – for being a sole reminder that there are Good Samaritans everywhere in the world. You just have to find them.
27. Titir – for being a willing partner in impromptu shopping sprees, movie viewings, and trips. Not to mention, giving me enough reins to enjoy my free ego trips, sans guilt. But to also bring me back to ground reality with equal elan

And last, but not the least,
Honorary mention – Faiz and Amit. For being themselves.

(And now I surely am dead. Got a place for me to hide? )

Good Bye (and Good Riddance?)

There it was again – another sleep-inducing, farewell email from a fellow colleague, who had no doubt done a not-so-neat cut-copy-paste routine from his predecesor not so long ago.

I dissed it, barely glancing at what I knew would have read somewhat like this:

Hi All / Dear Friends,
With mixed feelings of happiness and sorror (yeah right!), finally the time has come for me to bid you a fond farewell / As some of you may know, today is my last day at XYZ Company.
It has been a professionally rewarding experience here (tongue-biting). Thank you for the unending support you have constantly provided me during my golden (huh?) carrier (yeah some of ‘em do write that) here.
I hope you stay in touch with me. Though my official email id would get deactivated by today evening, please keep in touch with me at abc@yahoo/gmail/hotmail.com
Good bye!

Is it the boredom of reading a done-to-death valedictory email? Is it the sheer repetitiveness of it all that shrieks Fake Fake Fake in bold lettering? Whatever be the case, this is the exact moment when my eyes get droopy and leaden, yawning gets the better of me, and I roll my eyes exaggeratedly.

Of course I can cut the guy some slack – on his last day at work, there are a hundred pressing issues to be dealt with – accounts, tax, clearance certificates, reference letters, the last shared coffee and lunch, much hand shaking and back-thumping…leaving the poor chap with hardly any time to compose a farewell email.

Yet, in all objectivity, how much time would it really take to put together a brief, decent paragraph? Nothing fancy, mind you. Just a simple draft in which he a) bids farewell b) mentions the memories he takes ahead with him and c) includes the personal email address bit? And leave the recipients to nod their heads and smile in unison instead of making them gag in disbelief at the OD display...

He needn’t mention the fairly obvious truths he may have come across in his work-spell, like Chris Kula, the comedy writer, whose farewell speech was ripped and re-hashed by a guy from JPM and floated across the Firm in a stinging email, burning bridges in the process. Both make for equally amusing reading, but are strictly avoidable, unless you fancy the idea of your F&F payment never making it to your bank account.

Now, while many would not be as game (or as good) as him in whacking the management with a malacca cane, is it really asking for too much to abstain from one of them a dime-a-dozen B-O-R-I-N-G Good bye emails that sound like soporific movie award speeches?

Nobody really pays attention to the cine stars as they clutch their awards and rave about who all helped them achieve their dream, their (over)generous thanking of everyone under the sun (dog included), and the all-too-obvious-contrived tears..(Years of hastily-applied glycerine looked primed for a decided death).

Can we please at least have some genuine-sounding Bub-Bye emails, if not the flashing-the-middle-finger-boldly ones?

Though we’d like to add that we do enjoy the occasional witty verbal treat too, you see. Thank you.