Category: Thoughts uncut

From apprehension to appreciation

I never liked the idea of travelling to or living in Bangalore. From what I had heard, the city is so full of corporates and colleges, with traffic unmoving and pollution unforgiving.

However, ask anyone who’s lived in Bangalore for more than a year and the first thing they’d say is how social the city is. For a lover of the all-night dancing, all-day drinking, and endless cash flow, Bangalore is paradise.

And so when I had to be in Bangalore for a business trip, I wasn’t too excited. Sure, I thought, I’ll have great food and maybe steal a drink. Aside that, I didn’t know what to expect from Bangalore — a city of people from all over the nation, mingling over south Indian breakfasts and east Indian lunches.

I was scheduled to fly with a colleague at 7:30 in the morning, reaching Bangalore in an hour, and begin work at 10. We were attending a job fair (which is a story by itself) and time was paramount. Everything started out well: I met my colleague at the airport well ahead of time but as we checked in our baggage and went up to the boarding gate, a cold voice spoke over our heads: A woman announced that our flight was “delayed due to technical issues” and would depart, instead, at 9 am.

Airport waiting lounges are the worst, I realised as I slopped over a tiny chair, stifling my yawns, trying and failing — again and again — to connect to the airport wifi. I was growing horny and the food counters at the airport stores required a senseless tongue.

By the time we landed in Bangalore, we had already missed the start of the conference. Plus, we had another forty-five minute drive to the venue from the airport. Sucking up disappointment, I looked around the airport.

Even at that moment of annoyance and irritation, I couldn’t help but notice how chilly Bangalore air felt against my skin. Even though monsoon had just begun, Chennai weather still lingered in summer. Bangalore, on the other hand, had taken to the rainy season in far more enthusiastic manner, with temperatures as low as 22 degrees. For someone who had flown in from 32 degrees, the first breeze of Bangalore was miraculous. In spite of my apprehension, I smiled. And hugged myself a little. What a great climate for a nature walk or a mountain hike!

Just then a cab pulled up in front of us. We had to get to work. We drove along without much traffic — it was a Saturday morning with motorcyclists heading towards the nearby Nandi Hills. As we rode alongside the bikers, I felt a pang of jealousy. I would’ve given anything to be on one of those bikes myself. Alas, while they rode on leaving me almost turned on, our driver turned left taking us towards work.

It was the most hectic day of my life. Between the moment we entered at around eleven to the minute we left at around half past six, we didn’t have a single break. We were spoke with potential over-enthusiastic candidates all day. I could neither talk to my colleagues or walk up to them. The morning went by without us noticing it, as did the afternoon and evening. We were aware we were entitled to lunch, tea, coffee, and biscuits, but we weren’t aware when it was time for lunch, tea, and biscuits.

At the end of all, I was too tired to do anything other than kick off my shoes and cuddle up in bed. But my mood changed when we entered our hotel. If it hadn’t been a business trip, I wouldn’t have been able to afford such a four-star luxury hotel. I gawked at the interior of the reception, awed by the sculptures, curved cushions, and the 42-inch television.

Walking into my room, I had to make an effort to behave. As soon as the usher left, I let my glee loose and my jaw drop. It was ultimate sophistication — I had crossed the border from having what I needed to having what I didn’t need, but want.

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A gorgeous double-bed, a small chair with a stool to prop up my legs, a working desk with a comfortable chair, a personal 42-inch television, and a minibar with soft drinks, chips, and a Snickers bar all well above MRP and exclusive of taxes. I knew better than to touch any of those — but I still had a good time caressing the luxury I knew I didn’t need. And when I turned to the bathroom, I saw my wildest dreams realised: a glass bathroom with fancy fittings holding organic soaps.

I had forgotten the growling in my stomach until my colleague called me for dinner. Not in the mood to head out, we headed inside the hotel restaurant instead. Having already seen the reception and my own room, the restaurant wasn’t much of a surprise.

menu
Even the menu had to be artsy.

I scanned the menu many times before deciding to let myself go, and pick a splurge. I decided on salmon wondering how well it’d pair with a beer. I spent about two hours at dinner, nibbling my salmon, biting into sourdough bread, sipping ice-cold beer, and conversing with my colleague. We spoke about work, and yet I was surprised how enjoyable a hearty meal made our conversation.

Salmon
And beer

When I went back to my room, my double-bed beckoned me. I turned away from it — just for a while, I told myself — as I cuddled up in the cushioned chair with a book. I had to leave the following afternoon, and so I wanted to experience every part of the room I had. Reading a wonderful book, I didn’t know when I fell asleep. When I jerked awake, it was 2 am, and I moved over to the bed. Cuddling the soft white pillows, heavy quilts blanketing me, I bid Bangalore a good night and lost myself under the covers

I know business trips aren’t meant to be fun, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.

Reading now

reading

Books never cease to amaze. I’m reading such a book at the moment—one that came with trusted recommendation. I’ve been reading it far longer than my usual pace, but I attribute that to work and insufficient leisure. Nevertheless, it’s the first time that reading a book for a prolonged period hasn’t bothered me. Other times it happened, I got bored and lost my involvement soon enough. This one, however, keeps me coming back every evening, even if it’s only for a couple of pages.

Somedays I don’t even have the time to read through and appreciate an entire chapter. Even then, the narrative is captivating enough to grip my curiosity. It’s not a detective story—there’s no Sherlock-like whiz running around in handsome overcoats solving crimes and annoying cops all over the place. It’s not a romantic comedy with a bride to be, a confused groom to become, and fidgety bridesmaids arguing over nail colours. It’s not even adult fiction with the heroine trying to battle her adolescent pangs and a drug addled mother. All those story lines are common—I’ve seen them in movies, I’ve heard about them from friends who’ve been to the movies, and I’ve read them myself or reviews of such books.

The one I’m reading now, however—which shall remain unnamed until I finish it—is about a woman and how she’s accepted what’s become of her reality. And each page leaves me a terrified. So much so that I turn the page by instinct to find out what happens next. I relate to the main character, but it’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want a life like hers and yet I can feel her terror, her disgust, and her mindset carrying over to my own. When she squirms, I do too. When she glows for the tiniest of victories, so do I. As she turns away from the people who command her, as do I. I feel her and know her as if she’s me. And in the fleeting second in between turning the page, I wonder—in terror—she could well be me. And that’s what keeps me going, wanting to get to the end of the story.

Despite my eagerness to know what happens at the end of the story, the build up so far also has me apprehensive. What if it doesn’t end well? I won’t want to read through, to live through, this woman’s life only to figure out that she ends up with what she endured: disappointment. And so a part of me wishes this story would go on, that the weirdness would continue—ironic though it seems.

Stay tuned for more detailed observations.

Jobseekers

I participated in a job fair a couple of days ago, and learnt so much that I wasn’t prepared to learn. I saw how convoluted our education system is, and how twisted and desperate it’s made our graduates. Also, how difficult it is to find jobs and how the pressure transforms even the respectable into shameless persons.

Let’s take it one at a time. It was my first time attending a job fair as a recruiter, on behalf of my employer. I arrived a little late and the first thing I noticed when I walked in was our stall groaning with a mob clamouring to shove resumes at my colleague. The volume of the crowd stunned me. I had expected a maximum of two hundred people visiting our stall over the course of the day, but in reality, we had two hundred people in the booth at any time during most of the day—from 10 am to 6 pm.

Every person had the same look and the same mentality: to give out their resumes no matter what role we needed. Most of them were fresh graduates, eager (read desperate) to land a job, and it didn’t matter that we needed technical qualifications and experience they don’t possess. Some of the folks I spoke to were blatant and honest: they needed a job, any job they can get. They didn’t mind which city they’d work in, they didn’t mind which role, the compensation we’d offer, the responsibilities they’d undertake, or the amenities they’d receive. I collected over hundred resumes of such fresh graduates. And it amused me—how flexible they are, their eyes screaming a yearning to find a job regardless of all that matters.

That’s when I realised it’s the fate of most graduates in India. We’ve colleges in every other street, with almost every politician chairing a chain of educational institutions. The result is an army of graduates, few qualified but most of them mediocre, unable to find proper jobs that pay what they deserve. And so to make up for lost time and time, these graduates hunt for whatever jobs they can find. From there stems the desperation that reeks through their skins.

It’s sad.

But collecting these resumes, promising them I’d forward them to my team knowing well that I wouldn’t, I could only squirm with disgust. I know I shouldn’t blame them for almost-begging for jobs. I know they have no choice, that they have loads of loans to pay off, and parents who moan at their unworthy degree. This system’s been around far too long to change in a heartbeat. I doubt it’ll ever change. Until each of these graduates realises—before they fall into the pit—how futile it is to take up an expensive, once-prestigious, course in a country that’s made education an unaffordable bounty, and replaced quality with cheap textbooks, and campus buildings in disarray.

Doing more of what you love

doing more of what you love

Photography, nowadays, is thriving as a hobby. I look around and every other Tom and Dick seems to have a DSLR, caressing it as it’s their life’s dream to caress it. Some of those wannabes, though, turn out as good photographers. In fact, they’d become so good that people start paying for them to come take pictures at their wedding. Or pre-wedding, or pre-engagement, or maybe even the pre-proposal—preposterous though it sounds.

It’s a good thing to earn by doing what you love, yuo might think. I thought so, too, until I looked into the eyes of a professional photographer at a wedding yesterday.

We weren’t the early birds, meaning the new couple and the old photographers had already gotten through at least a hundred people posing on stage with shiny white teeth, pouting lips, flashy jewellery, and studded dresses. The bride and groom though tired, received us with happy faces, but the photographer and his accompanying videographer weren’t tired—they looked bored, instead.

Drooping eyes, stifling yawns, dawdling walks, forced patience—they symbolised everything that points to someone who’s been doing what they’ve been doing for so long that it speaks to their soul no more. Then I wondered: At what point does doing what you love become such a vexing routine that you no longer love it?

Perhaps the photographer had reached it, the tipping point. Perhaps the idea of capturing blooming faces, grooming parents, ruling aunts, and unruly children didn’t thrill his heart anymore. It looked to me like he wished to be anywhere but there. And I felt sorry for him.

He would’ve had a phase in life, young and excited to achieve what he has now. He would’ve spent eager hours in the darkroom looking for something that would light up his life. He would’ve tossed and turned in bed wondering if his applications would get through, if he’d get the job as a photo journalist or even an assistant; he would’ve thought it a great opportunity to get coffee for a popular photographer, just the idea of being in close proximity with them keeping him up till the crack of dawn. He would’ve dreamt awake, slept in dreams, and waited with bated breath. He would’ve once given anything to have what he has now.

Except now, years later maybe, he has not a sliver of joy in his eyes. Perhaps he didn’t sleep the previous night, perhaps he spent it in the darkroom in his studio developing photos from the previous wedding, perhaps he was trying to figure out how to make space in his calendar for all the people booking his service. Perhaps the blooming faces and ruling aunts got on his nerves now. Just perhaps he would now give anything to give up all of it.

That’s what his eyes told me during the couple of minutes we were on stage, holding our not-so-natural smiles for the photographer to capture the moment and the videographer the moments. By the time we left the stage, the photographer turned his attention to the next group, our faces, our smiles, and our moments once a source of pride, now just a fleeting flash in his memory, from an event he cared naught for.

Morning’s here

My alarm goes off as it always does, and I wake up to my well-crafted routine: yet another week of working all day and reading through the night.

I’m awake tireless as the fresh morning oxygen spreads through the room, seeping through me, soaking me from within, waking the rest of the deep-sleeping cells in my brain.

Though it’s only five AM when I look through my mosquito-proofed window, I see that the navy sky has already lost most of its depth, while lighter hues of blue appear in batches like patches on rough skin. Day breaks early, the long-lingering aftermath of a dry and scorching summer; a May that followed months of rainless skies.

Somewhere far away, a lone young cuckoo calls, jerking the others in the family awake. They all call to each other greeting the rising day, as I turn away—it’s time for my workout.

A few burps, some burpees and lunges later, I put a pot on the stove and cast my window’s curtains aside. Turquoise has replaced the navy and white streaks meld with the blue as the morning prepares to wake the sleeping sun. Grabbing my tea, I sit facing my window, looking through the checkered mosquito-net, looking beyond at the now cloud-filled sky.

I look closer, harder, squinting my eye at the unblemished white blanket that hangs over my roof, trying to catch a glimpse, a peek, at the waning crescent of a moon while she waits in stillness for the gliding clouds to gobble her remains. As she goes by, a gentle breeze wafts through the bars of my window, bringing with it, scent of warming wet sand and photosynthesising begonias from the neighbour’s balcony. It tricles my ears, whispering morning hope as I close my eye lids to embrace it. It kisses my eyelashes, teasing me to fall back, to grab a pillow pressing my face against its cool surface.

Breathing in deep, I open my eyes. For to fall back asleep would be to waste away the glory of day rise I had experienced. I drown my tea and reach for my towel. Turning away from the window where the sun steps out from under his covers, I head for a shower, a rhythm in my head.

Ah, June, how I adore thee.