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My brohter works with a bank that claims to be a global giant, never mind the fact that the giant currently has succumbed to the bear. Fortunately or unfortunately as a part of his job profile he needs to liaise constantly with a team he chooses to call MMSG (read mean, moron, senseless, good for nothings). Sure enough the christening says it all and spares me the trouble to explain the relationship my bro’s team and the MMSG team share! While I completely empathize with my brother, knowing the soft-spoken and considerate guy he is, for all ‘locking horns’ situations that take place on each business day as a rule between the two teams, however, I thoroughly enjoy each incident he relates and am seriously wondering if I should script these and challenge the saas-bhau sagas and give them a run for their money?

The latest incident he related, and this he had to tell us for it was a proud moment that proved the morons were a set of dumb heads happened on the weekend. The company COO had invited the much neglected project management team for an evening of dinner and drinks to prove to them that they were not totally worthless or rather just worth a single dinner and drink in a year, considering corporates have such wine and dine ceremonies at the drop of a hat. The COO’s email invite closed on a ‘no RSVP entertained’ note which created sheer panic among the MMSG-ians. There was nothing less than a round table conference to discuss what the heck the COO meant by RSVP. The discussion on RSVP was so active, loud and serious that JAMs and GDs at prime business institutes could take a hike. The mean guy in the team who wanted to show that he knows it all did a quick google search to inform his comrades that RSVP was the note on wedding invites. The blonde moron on the team could not contain her surprise when she realized she was the one who could decipher the meaning of RSVP – Reserved Seat for Vice Presidents. How could the senseless beauty keep quiet, so quick she dialed a colleague’s extension and cursed him for not being on his seat when needed! After all efforts were in vain the bunch of good for nothings discussed and toiled over phone calls and search engines only to give up finally concluding that RSVP was all about VPs or above and coded to ensure the mere mortals do not understand. They crossed their fingers hoping most ardently that they wouldn’t be dismissed from the party because they could not entertain RSVP! Finally since no one had responded to the email, they decided it was best to follow suit and wait and watch.

My brother who was not attending the dinner party had already responded to the COO’s assistant expressing his apologies and excusing himself due to pre-booked travel tickets and an itinerary that could not be changed. When the COO walked by his desk and wanted to request him to join (only out of sheer formality), my brother responded to his “I told you no RSVP entertained”, which a malicious smile and nod saying I can’t help it and thoroughly enjoyed the quizzical, comical, and ready to pounce glares from his most beloved MMSG-ians!!!!

-Monica

A Simple Smile

It has been exactly a month since I went on a family trip to Goa. BJ Medical College ’64 Batch Alumni Meet organized from Sept 26 to Sep 28 at Kolwa Beach Goa, my dad’s medical college alumni meet it was. I had questioned myself a hundred times, why am I joining in? People would drink like they have never tasted alcohol before, because its cheap and its free actually – something that certainly puts me off-, dad would be too busy catching up with his friends and that is exactly why he is supposed to be a part of that meet, my sis joining the bandwagon with her hubby and kids would as always be engaged with her family, and mom ever reticent and wanting sis to take a break and de-stress would be playing with the kids or taking care of them. So where did I fit in? Nevertheless, since everyone home coaxed me to join, I did, one because I did not want to hear the oft repeated comment of not joining in for any family occasions and second because I was just too fed up of the mundane monotonous and extra stressful routine in Bombay. So off I went trying to put up my most cheerful front and mingle in as well as possible, though I would have loved to curl up on the top berth of the 3rd AC coach with my book, but I decided to be someone the family could associate with, at least for once in life J

On reaching Goa, my patience started to give in, the hotel guys refused to put an extra mattress in the room which we needed, refused to provide mineral water because we had reached considerably late and all hotel staff had left for the day. So I already blew the roof top making hell and heaven one until I was given exactly what I asked for. Blame it on Bombay; we are just too used to ask for it until it is given and to get what we pay for. When we reached the resort garden everyone was showcasing talent by singing, cracking jokes and reading poetry. With due respect to each one’s creativity, my stomach growled for food and I was more than thankful for the scraps that were our share and reward for reaching late. After the fuel was pumped in I looked around and all my apprehensions proved right when I saw no one in my age group around, mom busy with the kids, sis and bro-in-law enjoying the rare get-away, dad too lost with his group of friends, and me sitting all alone in the corner. Last resort for the scoundrel, I picked my phone and began my cribbing session, and cursed myself a million times for joining in. It was plain, as on most occasions, I did not fit in.

Day 2 was more interesting as we went sight seeing and saw old architecture, museums, churches and beaches of Goa. I was enthralled by the beauty and sanctity of it all. Writing about it will simply mean saying all that has already been said. I enjoyed listening to the history of who and what and capturing as much as possible on the lens. After the excursion for the day ended an evening was planned on the cruise. Music and dancing, finally I was on home ground. All it took was a few beats to get my feet tapping, but to my dismay no one from the group wanted to dance. One after the other the DJ played songs hoping to entice the crowd into making a move but all they did was smile at each other some what forcibly and wait for some action. My initial thoughts were, what a bore, how can people decidedly not enjoy. Branding them to be people not only of a different age group and generation, I branded them as people of a different era all together and muttered my favorite, I care a damn, and pop I was on the dance floor. It took only a few seconds to forget that I was the only one in action, dancing to the disco beats, folk tunes, as well as remix. What I missed was the reaction, and did not realize that the people whom I had just branded as ‘I don’t know you’, were clicking pictures, capturing videos, and applauding the loudest. In an hour, everyone knew me as the girl who brought life to the evening, more than whose daughter I was. After which, like they say, there was no looking back. All the medical geniuses came and spoke to me, and I came to know more about my dad’s friends and what they do currently, more than he does, and I can bet on that. Wow, I always knew what dance means to me, but did not know it could make such a difference. By the time it was time to leave the next day, I was saying good-bye to aunties and uncles and noting email id and contact details. OK all is well that ends well, and I thought the Goa experience ended, until a couple of days back, the organizer of the alumni meet, true to his word, sent us the family picture of the entire batch. It proved to be a harbinger of memories, but not just that, it made me go beyond thoughts and take some action too!
I created a gmail id for my dad, who is as alien to the internet as I am to customs and rituals. I wrote an email, and yes I write really long emails, typed the email id’s of all the docs on the list, and sent it out. While it took some minutes to explain to dad, how the whole thing works and how the email would have already reached his friends, and that he should expect a reply, a reply already popped in. It was from a friend in UK who had not been able to make it to the reunion. I made dad read the email. While I was busy raising my eyebrows at the incorrect sentence construction and spelling mistakes in the email, my dads smile changed to laughter and he started relating all about this doc who had written in. By evening there were several replies that came in and each time dad smiled and told me an incident about the person who had written. By the end of the day, it felt like being a part of the BJ 64 batch!!!!!! Going to Goa had not made me as happy as this simple smile on dad’s face did. He was plain happy. Though some emails claimed that it was surprising that Dr Handa would ever bother to write an email sending Diwali Greetings, cos Dr Handa was the perpetual back bencher interested in sports alone and in pestering people, someone not remotely connected with social pleasantries, yet each one thanked and acknowledged that he had started a chain and the others would follow. These simple emails gave me an insight into the person my father is. We all know him to be a fun loving, ever cheerful person, who loves to make slight of everyone and everything, who enjoys mimicking and singing, who loves to be tagged as the most mischievous brat , and who can act like a 4 year old with a 4 year old, yet, a one liner from his friends can make his eyes moist. Calm and stoic on the outward but emotional to the core, not a person who you would find beside you each moment, but when the moment doth come, one person who will certainly stand beside you, come what may. A doctor who does not run his OPD 24/7, but an ethical practitioner who refuses cut practice. And above all my dad, my core strength, my unshaken belief, my innocence, and the truth of my life, I will not claim all that I am today is because of you, as I know I am not really all what you would have expected me to be. I bow down to you in reverence Daddy and yes I love you, these are not oft repeated words in our family, but in spite of what it may seem, I really do.

Deepawali Wishes!!!

Wish you and all your loved ones a very happy and prosperous Diwali.
I was sending out an email this morning to wish everyone a very happy Diwali and what I have scribbled below are the thoughts that crossed my mind and took the shape of the email I sent out.
Sometimes I wonder, aren't these festivals more than just new clothes, sweets, gifts and fun? To me the most important part of each festival is it makes us reconnect. I know it sounds ironic, is writing a one liner to wish festivities reconnecting? Perhaps not and still, yes it is. As I typed or selected each email id from the contacts list, I walked down the memory lane and remembered why this email id is in my address book. Each one at some point in time has been an active part of my life. Maybe a friend, a teacher, a mentor, a student, a co traveller.... but the best part is I remember each one distinctly. I also find in my list of email id-s that there are some contacts with whom I have just chatted online, some who read my blog and comment and some on whose blog I am a visitor!!!! It simply feels special to be a part of the life of so many lovely people. And then somewhere the whole distinction fades away. Some on the list are a part of my active life today, some have always been there and will ever remain a part of my very being, and some with whom I have lost. But hopefully, like with me, I hope with them also, out of sight does not mean out of mind. It brings fond tears to my eyes to remember at some point in time we have been an integral part of each other's life, personally or professionally and that has certainly helped me grow as a person and all I can say is the journey continues. I strongly believe people come and some people stay, but I equally I believe that no one ever goes out and away, because like I said we have shared the bond of togetherness at some point in time, and today whether we are together or far apart that bond of togetherness remains a part of the wonderful world of memories. I wish the best for you and hope that our paths will always cross, if not in Mumbai where I currently am, then certainly down the memory lane, where you and I permanently reside together. Happy festivities and loads of love.
-Monica

nothingness

and then one day i wake up from a sleepless night to knowit is a part of me now
an overnight change that has left me unchanged
the pain doesn't speak the tears don't sting
it all just flows within ceaselessly
and a smile camouflages it all!

no yearning no memory no moment to call my own
the past is lost and the future an unwanted promise i have learnt not to trust
so the past is no more a problem and the future no more a concern
it is the present thats a trouble a challenge i cannot face
and time my undaunting enemy whom i cannot kill

i want to fight time
i write the lyrics of my favorite song and try to sing it loud
my voice is lost i remember i stiffled it last night

so i wait for the day to change to noon and the noon to melt into the evening
an evening with no colors gives in to another dark night
this feels home and i comfort myself with the selplessness
and then one day i wake up from a sleepless night to know
it is a part of me now

A Road Mate

I see her everyday on my way to work. We cross each others way at the vegetable vendor’s cart. So in a sense she is my ‘time-check’ also. If I happen to meet her at a point before the vegetable vendor’s then I am late, I’ll probably miss the bus. If I meet her at a point after crossing the vegetable vendor’s then probably I am before time and will have to await the bus. It is only now when I sit back and write about it that I wonder, well it can even be vice-versa, me being on time and she being early or late. But maybe I have never had that kind of right confidence about myself. So then I quicken or slacken my pace depending on where we meet.
There are thousands of faces I cross everyday and maybe the same ones considering I walk the same routine path more or less at the same timing and the others would be doing a similar thing, but her face remains in my memory. I can close my eyes and see her face in my mind. She wears a bored and exhausted look for having been woken up from sleep. Maybe she does not like to get up early. She slouches with the burden of the bag she carries on one shoulder. Maybe she is not happy with whatever classes she is taking early morning. She seems lost in thought and unaware of the world around. Maybe she is making a mental list of the million to-do things for the day. She drags her feet with an effort and has ear phones plugged always. Maybe she hates walking and loves to shut the world out with music. She stops and makes her pick of vegetables by pointing only never uttering a word. The vendor also seems to have gotten used to her techniques. Maybe she is a very confident person who can make others work by her rules and then she simply moves on. This has been happening for the past 18 days since I have taken up a new job and need to walk all the way to the bus station. It’s the same everyday with the only change in the color and pattern of the clothes we wear. In spite of this I try to take a close look at her, without letting her know. There is something intriguing about this young lady who seems to have taken the world in her stride and still cares a damn about it. She probably does not belong here. Her self-worth seems creditable; there is no trace of being a snob or being egoistic.
Wow! I have made quite a few conclusions about her without even having exchanged so much as a smile. I am no face reader or any aura specialist, wonder then what is it that makes me not only look at her but also think about her and the sense of mystery she holds. I don’t know if some day we will cross this barrier of being strangers and talk to each other having the ‘common path we cross’ as a starting point. And will she read this write-up some day and burst out laughing saying, not a word of what I concluded is true or will she start wondering if I have been spying on her since I have so much information about her? That will happen the day it does, till then maybe I’ll have to rest my case and ensure that curiosity does not kill the cat!

Big City! Small City! Identity?

The thought started troubling me when I was walking to the bus station to take a bus to office. It even surprised me that such thoughts continue to brew in my mind, considering that I have already resigned my self to routine existence and acceptance of the fact that this is life and one has to continue existing. Getting back to my thought, ‘Where do I belong?’ No, I am not venturing into the arena of unanswered secrets of life, like who am I? What is my purpose in life and what shall I be when I die? My question is a very direct one as to where exactly do I belong? In the identity crisis of the small city big city syndrome, I find that I fall on neither side of the fence and nor am I walking the thin line.
Maybe a retrospect would help. So I go back to the story of my life. I was born in a middle class, well to do family, with tradition as its foundation and education its aim. Maybe there is a conflict in the making already. On one hand our family was well to do, so that we could afford the basic necessities and comforts of life and at the same time it was tagged as ‘middle class’ because luxuries of life did not come easy. Grounded in tradition we followed all the customs and rituals of the religion and at the same time, holding education high, my parents educated me to the highest levels that I desired to learn in spite of all odds hoping to broaden my horizons. Only now the breadth seems to be a complete misfit.
Every belief I had, all my ethics and principles, all code of conduct has undergone the test of challenge and I find myself today with little that I firmly believe in or find solace in. Things like ‘this is the norm of the family’ faded soon after I left home to venture into the big world of universities and corporate business. But I have never been able to pick the ‘big city lifestyle’ and ‘corporate culture’ either. The result is I am all high and dry with nothing to call my own. Neither am I surrounded by cool guyz and gals who party every night, nor am I able to walk the streets with my head down and eyes lowered. Agreed I am probably making a black and white distinction between the small city public and the big city junta, but then, how many grey outcasts like me do we have anyway? Probably I have answered my own question, and the answer is people make an effort to fit in. Either they pack their bags and get on to the ‘settled life’ bandwagon or they transform themselves into a new being all together from accent to aura. It is the grey-ing ones that are lost into the wilderness. Is it not ironic that I want to hold my ground and not change, not fit in even though it translates into losing my identity in the wilderness?

Chaos

I lie on the bed of thoughts,
I think, think, think.
The soft pillow deadens darkness,
In wilderness I blink.

A glass breaks, it shatters peace,
The pain seeps deep, deep, deep.
I drink from the bleeding edges,
An echo of insanity weeps.

-Monica