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Showing posts from 2006

The Escape...

A number of times in my life, I’ve likened myself to a lot of fictional characters. And have behaved what that character would’ve done in that particular situation. Part of this had been accentuated by a wave of Calvin books that swept by me in no time. Calvin thinks of himself as different characters in difficult situations and tries to struggle with his nemesis of the moment accordingly, only to realize towards the end that he actually is not what he thinks of himself to be. Reality strikes and things come back to haunt him. Lately, I’ve wanted a lot to be like Forrest Gump. If, if I could just run away from some of the things in life. The other day, I found a couple of lines a friend had scribbled in my yearbook (and I quote) “…you the complex kid, who’s got all the candy the world has to offer and yet...yet the yearning for that elusive chocolate that you missed. ” Of all the things that my friends have said about me, this to my mind is quite a close description. And lately while

The Art of Superficial Science

I have a problem. Many of my close friends are getting married. The problem I have is I hate attending weddings. And a lot of my friends think that an ideal way for me to express my warmth towards them is for me to attend their weddings. I disagree completely. If you conduct a dipstick among my friends I think most of them will tell you that I’ve been a decent friend to hang around with. I have smiled, laughed, frowned, teased and listened to all my friends. I’ll continue doing all of that and more all my life but one thing that really pisses me off more than eating Mutton Palak (They serve it in our canteen. I don’t know why!) is that one line that I dread hearing from my friends. “You can’t even attend our wedding?” What the bloody f**k? I brought you home on my shoulders when you were pissed drunk. I let you copy from my notebooks when you didn’t know that Gobi Desert was not a sweet dish but a spot on Asia’s physical map. I was the one who actually told that girl you finally marri

The rewritten script

I’m seldom taken in by surprise. Even if I am, I act like I’m in control. Nothing bothers me. The best I’ve always done is when there’s chaos around me. I love tough times because when I’m in one , all I tell myself is how soon I’ll recount victoriously the tale of how I survived that phase. I control the pace of everything around me. I’ve a great set of friends and I live like a millionaire even though I’m not one. I always believe there is a way to make everything happen the way you want it to happen. In short, there’s nothing in my life right now, that isn’t in alignment to the script that I chose to write and I thank my Lord for that. Yet what happened last week is so bizarre that I’m still struggling to figure this one out. For once, I’m a little stumped by what confronts me. Its one thing that I was never prepared for this and it’s another that even my best preparation would have not helped one bit. Imagine reading a book, that you were told, had pictures on all the left hand pag

Looking back. And ahead

Since I’m back after a long time, need to warm up to blogging all over again and hence this is going to be an attempt at flashback over the last month. 1. My radio station finally hit the airwaves in style. The media campaign has been received well and Fever104 FM is on its way to Bombay next. After weeks of long hours at work, I’m retaining sanity and with it signs of survival. 2. Lately I’ve been in love with rickshaw rides as the weather in Delhi is an absolute ripper these days. Have also been spending some gorgeous Sundays between newspapers, movies and friends. On the flip side, I’ve had to quit my theater group. 3. And lastly, there was one and only one thing I thought and dreamt I’d buy for myself after getting a job on campus. It was the only thing that I wanted to own. Not a car, no shoes, no clothes and no watches and no laptops and no cell phone. There was no looking forward to any of it. Just this fervent anticipation in a beauty called a Sony Music System. Last week I fin

A 100 Wishes!

My cell hasn’t stopped buzzing since this morning. I haven’t written the latest bestseller, neither have I scored a half century at Lords nor have I found out that Bin Laden is still alive. I have still not breached my boundaries of a fairly simplistic existence in any manner and yet my cell has been incessantly buzzing with messages wishing me and my family a prosperous, happy, safe and what-not Diwali. Having immersed myself in some of the Freakonomics theories to quite an extent, I found myself asking the question, “Why do people send these mass messages/e-mailers wishing others on festivals like Diwali?” My question is specific to only these “mass dispatches” and not towards people wishing each other on Diwali and the like on a one-on-one basis. I even mapped the profile of people who sent me these messages. Who exactly are these people? I didn’t get too far with this one. There were all kinds. Vendors, agencies, bosses and friends. There was no way I could find a common thread in

The Declaration

"You put all of them together , add an extra 10% and if they can do better than me, I'll never... ever... ever give another shot at this in my life! " Did Howard Roark ever make such a statement? Would I?

Bend Over and Dont Scream

Launch. Radio. Vendors. No.No.No.Exciting. Getting fucked. Transmitter.18th Floor.King of Delhi.What am I doing? This is Great! Fuck! Theater.Screw the Virgin! Fantastic.Intellectual.9 am to 9 pm. Calvin and Hobbes.Shirts. Sony Deck.Radio Sets. Bitch! RJ's. HT House. Merchandiser. Jack Daniels. FM104. No Network. Voice Artist. Pyongyang. "Been there myself!". Marketing. Three cubes of Ice. Building. Updates. Music. Post launch, shall be coming up with an autobiography on the making of the marketing launch campaign for 104FM titled, "Will Survive, Wont Survive..." :-)

And I am...

It’s been a long time given my working hours in the last two weeks. Since, in the meantime, I couldn’t find enough time to write a story or think of something worthwhile to write, this post is a random collection of useless trivia. The format of this post is inspired by the column titled “Gleanings” that appears in the Cricinfo magazine. Friends I’ve trouble managing my friends because I’ve trouble mailing and calling them and I can never manage to meet all of them I find the celebration of birthdays and wishing friends on their birthdays meaningless. There are 364 other days and numerous other ways to make my friends feel special. My best friends are those with whom I’ve spent time roaming on bicycles on the streets of a town called Ghaziabad. Love I’ve been in love once. It was beautiful. Women The first time I proposed a girl was in Std. II. I think her name was Bournvita. Or something like that. For me, an intelligent and humorous conversation with a lady is as good as making out.

The Remixed Halo

When I chose HT 5 months back on-campus, there was a certain halo associated with it. Today after the 3 and a half months after I've spent at HT , I think I'm just glad that the halo has'nt eroded. I think if I were on campus right now fighting for a job in Final Placements, HT would still be my #1. I interacted with the the entire Management Trainee batch after a long time today. I used to categorize my friends as school friends, college friends, SP friends and Dell friends. The latest addition is this batch of "MT friends". They're all kinds in there. A normally distributed curve of individuals yet they're nice people. All of them. You should meet them! :-) And you would agree for a company that went to campuses for the first time ever recruiting for an MT batch, picking up 15 students across every B-School that counts in India, HT Media Ltd. did'nt do too bad! 5 months after I selected HT, the halo is remixed. Just that bit jazzier than before...

Money Money Happy Returns

Inside Dome-2, I was fielding questions from one of the directors of the BPO division of Hexaware Technologies. “So you really think the idea of being a big fish in a small pond excites you and hence you want to join Caliber Point?”, Guhan asked. “Well, actually yes. I think your company has tremendous potential. Joining Caliber Point at this point of time makes sense for my career because I like the idea of being in this high growth BPO Sector.” “Hmm… so is Caliber Point your first choice?” “Yes. Among BPOs, it is.” “Among BPOs… did you say? What about among other companies?” “I think my #1 company is HT Media. I want to go to Media. ” I was hoping he wouldn’t ask me the oft-repeated, staid and stinking question of: Why Media? Thankfully, he didn’t. “So do you have an offer from them?” “Umm… I don’t know. I’d just finished my interview and had to rush into this room.” “How did your interview with HT go?” “Excellent, actually.” “So you’re expecting an offer…” “I’d be surprised if I do

The Irony

All throughout school, I listened to my teachers. All through college, I listened to my professors and wardens and principals. At work at Cadburys, Dell, Progeon and now HT, I listen to my boss. At times I’ve also listened to my friends as an obligation. When I was seeing someone, I used to listen to her. All my life, I’ve listened to my Dad. At church, I listen to the priest. If God spoke to me, I would listen. If Satan did, I would be just curious to know what he has to say, so I’d end up listening. Why cant I just be silent and let somebody else listen now? What a stupid thing this life is? All your life (at least till you’re 23 ) , you grow up listening and by the time it’s your turn to talk, it’s not even worth it...

Dude... Where's my Pluto?

I find even the name funny. I’ve Walt Disney for company. He has a character named after it. Pluto. And I find the backlash against the International Astronomical Union (IAU) for demoting Pluto to being a ‘dwarf planet’ even funnier. What got me thinking about this was an article in HT about how different groups are coming out in support for Pluto’s planethood. In it was a mention of a society called “Society for Preservation of Pluto as a Planet”. I find this funniest. Different people, different views. It is also one of the reasons why the world is such a fascinating place to be in. I, for one, couldn’t care less about it. And the way I see it for a substantial percentage of people in the world, this hardly means anything as well. Apart from this chunk of astronomers and those students who are still in school. Even for the students, it’s just another line added to their textbooks which they’ll forget right after their next exam. Calvin was right on the money when he said that all h

The Poetess

“Hi… waiting for someone?” “Yeah, you too?” “Yep. Same here. It's funny. Some people just can’t be on time!” “True. It’s weird. My friend even stays close-by while I traveled quite a distance to get here, yet I was on time.” “And who wants to go for a movie, half an hour late? I’m actually thinking about chucking this movie now. You wanna take a walk? “Yeah, but I can’t go far. My friend would expect me to be here.” “Ah… that’s okay. You study or work?” “I work for a small company in South Delhi. What about you?” “I’m working too. Work for Hindustan Times. Just down the road…” “So… You an engineer?” “Naa… Graduate in Arts.” “Hmm... Which college?” “Correspondence actually… And what do you work as?” “I just joined the Radio Division’s Marketing Team. What’s your name?” “Kaavya. And you are? ” “Issac… I-Double-S-A-C” “Hmm... does it mean something?” “Yeah… something like a smile in the Hebrew language.” “You know, it’s interesting how names come about. In India a lot of names are der

Mr. and Mrs. Arora

Mr. Arora wouldn’t mince words when reminded of his childhood days. “Yeh poora Nehru pariwaar kameeno se bhara hain…” He was born months after Partition and could relive those days like yesterday. And every time Mrs. Arora would listen like never before. She must’ve heard this story a hundred times yet wouldn’t fail to take her place on the sofa when her husband would recount those instances all over again. This time, Mr. Arora was narrating the story to his newly moved in South-Indian neighbor, Mr. Swamy. This was a Sunday morning and they’d invited the Swamys for a breakfast. Ms. Arora’s culinary skills were legendary. The last time she’d invited her relatives for dinner, food kept flying into the plates till 2 in the morning. Nevertheless, to return to Mr. Arora's story, he was born in September, 1947. And at the height of the rioting in Noakhali and Punjab, his father was trying to get in touch with his mother. His father owned a flourishing cycle business. Flourishing, because

Smitten

A number of times, I have thought of this and refrained from posting it. As I had mailed a close group of friends this was lest it be seen as a sign of an emotional weakness rearing from a casual and jovial demeanor. I’d been to SP for a couple of hours last weekend for a rather basic Placom talk and since then I’ve been on a rather different plane altogether. What affected me was probably having seen the juniors’ AKB video and them orienting the batch of 2007. There’s very little, I can compare that feeling of thrill and excitement of being in Second Year at SPJIMR. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing in my life that can ever equal that. And for me, if you’ve never been at SP, you’ve lost out on an education unparalleled, unseen and unfathomable. Something about the place is mesmerizing. The languid feel of the place cocktailed with the dichotomy of the hurried sense of being at the Bistro is near inexplicable. I think even a Salman Rushdie, if he were an SP alumni would struggle to c

News is that!

For over a month now, I’ve been an employee of a leading player in the print media landscape in India. Having observed from close quarters, an industry that thrives on news every single minute of the day, here are my top ten reflections from the industry I depend on for my daily bread. (…and butter and jam and the occasional sandwich!) 1. Being in the newspaper industry isn’t just as glamorous as it seems. It’s just that bit more you never thought of. Suddenly Vir Sanghvi, Mrinal Pandey and Farhad Wadia become your bosses and you also get to flaunt that ‘PRESS’ sticker on your car. 2. It’s okay not to be entirely committed to it. As long as you are okay fiddling with news you can get away with a lot of things. E.g. the landmark Bombay Times , the trendy HT Style and the challenger in DNA After Hours. 3. Working for a newspaper is like playing a One Day Series. The catch being you never get to choose whether you want to play a day game or a day and night game. You just play along! 4

Disconnected

Something’s moved me immensely and it’s a train of unconnected thoughts. I was winding my day at the HT office at Mahim when a non-descript gentleman at the office declared that there had been a blast at Khar Station. While people were just reacting to that, another voice boomed, “Blast at Mahim too. It’s serial!” And before we even knew we were rushing upstairs to the Editorial floor. It was on Television. 4 blasts had rocked the western line of local trains ripping through the heart of Mumbai. Anywhere in the world such news would be depressing but watching the events unfold on television monitors on the editorial floor of Mumbai’s HT office was nothing less than spine-chilling. After this, I don’t know when exactly this evening, I felt disconnected from everything else. Myself and my colleague walked the distance from Mahim(W) till our Bandra Guest House and in between I spoke to my dad disinterestedly and lost my temper with my colleague on a discussion that on an average day would

Travelling Mist

She stood there. And he thought to himself, “She’d be one hell of a woman to make out with…” She looked familiar but he also knew of this theory he used to console himself with. If you kept staring at a girl, she would seem familiar in no time. For that matter Sameer also knew that if you kept staring at a girl, it would also seem that she’s staring at you. Nevertheless, in this case it was only Sameer who was gaping at the lady. He’d nearly finished his daily dose of business news in the Metro. He must’ve been so engrossed in devouring those stock market tips in the paper that he didn’t even notice when and where she got into the train. His was a daily 52 minutes ride from Dwarka Sector 14 to Barakhamba Road and all he did every day travelling in this train was to finish off his newspaper for the day. He quite preferred it that way. Morning would be such a mess with Sarika, both racing with each other to beat the clock to get out for work. Both of them had a rather small courtship per

Anti-Socialite?Me? Err...

This is a great season for anyone who’s remotely interested in Sports. The French Open has just given way to the Wimbledon, the Champions League to the World Cup and the ODI’s to a Test Series. The Heat have just wrapped up their maiden NBA title and Alonso looks on track for a second successive Championship. All in all unless you are a hardcore pole vault fan you should get ‘some’ slice of sporting action that you might like. Now, all this means that I find myself quite clueless when I sit to write about something else. I could possibly write about my favorite team itself but they just got knocked out last evening. I could also dwell on HT but you would hardly take me seriously especially because as of now I’ve little to crib about HT. I could also go on ridiculing ToI but that, coming from an HT employee, wouldn’t be to your mind an objective assessment. Nonetheless for the record, if you are on Orkut, do check out a community called ToI-LET Sucks. (Ahem… Sorry, but how could I let

Hi! I'm Ted...

Hi, my name is Ted. I’ve lived in India for over 18 years now. I’m 29 years old and I keep my feelings to myself, even my most intimate ones. I make friends easily but I forget everything about them even more easily. It’s not that I want to but I just can’t seem to remember their faces, their voices, their birthdays and their Moms and Dads. People have told me that I’m too full of myself. I don’t disagree. The way I see it I’m just too happy with myself. One of the reasons being, I live in Delhi. This city is a little too violent for me. I can’t see myself happy with anyone else. I never recollect having traveled 25 meters on the bus without anyone foul-mouthing the conductor or a bystander or if he is too bored just mouthing obscenities to himself. A friend once told me he was losing his sense of humor. His favorite pastime must’ve been commuting in the Delhi private buses all through the day. I also have trouble getting along with intellectuals. Like the autowalahs in this city who a

B.E.A-You-Tee-Full!

I’m not sure if Bruce Almighty might have spelt it that way. He definitely pronounced it like that. But I took my chance because I’ve just wrapped up one of the best Sundays of my life. It was so lazy and casual that I could live every minute of it all over again. It began with a visit to the Church in the morning, a grand breakfast later and catching up with Sameer before lunch. Thereafter, I returned to the hotel for a sumptuous lunch with friends and that was capped off with the finest of Rasgollas. A blissfully peaceful siesta followed. When I woke up I got to gulp the perfectly heady cocktail of Tennis, Football and Cricket on Television. Later in the evening, the Chidambaram interview by Karan Thapar proved to quite an icing on the cake. And then it got even better. I went out to catch some roadside food with my colleagues and got back for another heavenly meal and this one was followed with one of the finest desserts I’ve ever had in my life. Phew…. Loved every minute of it. I

Righto!

Righto, as Tony Greig would say , I leave home for Delhi for a new one all over again! HT Media beckons... This blog will lie low for a couple of weeks while I get my bearings right in Delhi. Meanwhile, all those who keep dropping by (few and far as they may be...), thank you and good on ya mates!:-) I leave you with the words of David Gilmour's Learning To Fly... Another ripper of a song from the Pink Floyd stable . All I can say is that it comes quite close to expressing what I am thinking these days... "Into the distance, a ribbon of black Stretched to the point of no turning back A flight of fancy on a windswept field Standing alone my senses reeled A fatal attraction holding me fast, How can I escape this irresistible grasp? Cant keep my eyes from the circling skies Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I. Ice is forming on the tips of my wings Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything No navigator to guide my way home Unladened, empty and turned

Migration Express

It’s hard to restrain your forever migrating thoughts. Atleast I seem be to have little control over mine. Often I begin to write about a theme or an incident and by time I have it complete, it turns out to be vastly different from what I’d begun with. Hence I am trying to make this one a little different. I guess, in this post, I will record the few things I’ve thought about writing in the last couple of days. It's gonna be a thorough potpourri or as I would like to believe an experiment... :-) Most of us must’ve read/heard that actresses are dumb. I, for one, seldom believe in anything that I haven’t evidenced myself. However, I was presented with enough proof of the actresses-are-dumb theory on the talk show “Face the Music” hosted by Vir Sanghvi (VS) on NDTV. He was interviewing Neha Dhupia (ND), an ex- Miss India and film actress. VS: So which political party do you prefer? ND: Well…actually I might seem dumb when I say this and I know it is but you know… VS: Ah well…come

Poison with Karan

I despise Karan Johar. I used to think Karan Johar as a director is dull and would never progress beyond ending all his movies with SRK delivering the climax with quivering lips laced with a piteous mishmash of a twisted nose, glycerine-d eyes and trembling hands. In fact, if an e-mail forward doing the rounds is to be believed, even his forthcoming film’s ending has SRK delivering the climax which means I see hardly any scope for improvement in the needlessly mawkish technique that Karan Johar employs in his movies. For a change though this time, maybe SRK’s Mom would hear his oncoming footsteps through the earphones of the Nano I-pod that she would’ve plugged in her ears. Since the Indian public at large seems to love it, so be it; no qualms. What I do have a problem with is Karan Johar, the person. And I am not referring to his sexual preferences. Twice on television, he has projected himself as a pompously pathetic loser who hasn’t learnt a lesson about grace and dignity ever in hi

Jacks, Aces and Queens

I had been thinking about writing this one since a long time. It’s like one of your special suits that you would wear only if the boss who is supposed to promote you would invite you to dinner. Like one of the very few leg breaks that Kumble has in his repertoire or like one of the few legal deliveries Murali has in his armory. This one’s a selected collection of the memoirs of my encounters with women. The endeavor is simply to unearth some of their mannerisms, recall some of the excruciatingly painful occasions when their sheer stupidity left me speechless and provide a handful of caveats for the simple and humble men-folk who’ve been traumatized to unfathomable depths of agony by women-kind since times immemorial. (Did you just notice? ‘Women’ and ‘kind’ did not sound nice together…) . First of all, a quality that I detest in all women is their mushy, over-sentimental and overflowing love for kids of all ages. Picture this. You are taking out your gorgeous lady to a friend’s engagem

When will I learn?

I think there’s a beauty to knowing something new, delving into something unexplored and learning about something that you have never seen, heard or felt before. That’s why I have half a mind to do a PhD. someday in Contemporary Theater or Behavioral Science or maybe even Victorian Literature… (Yeah, I made that last one up…:D. Someday if some of us bloggers do go onto write for magazines or newspapers, I wonder how we would make our readers realize the occurrence of a joke or the failed attempt of one, without these irresistible smileys. Would we stand any chance with the editor? ) Nevertheless, when I was at SPJIMR we had a programme called ADMAP. Different brochures had offered different expansions of that acronym and since the ADMAP brochure itself has been in WIP since the last six years, we shall never actually know what it stood for. I am wont to believe though since I was personally involved in this committee that it stood for Assessment and Development of Managerial Aptitude a

A Question of Art

Three days! This was a first. He could hardly remember a time when she had taken this long to call him. On a regular day it would never take even three hours before his cell would ring a familiar tune with the screen reading “Sonia calling”. He could almost predict it. Sometimes when predictability decides to go in for a siesta, one’s at a loss. What was taking her this long? He had sparred with her parents long back and there was no way he could call them to find out her whereabouts. She wasn’t responding to his messages either. Her cell seemed to be incessantly busy too. They had seldom mailed each other before but in desperation yesterday evening he had even mailed her and there hadn’t been a reply. “Damn.” , he said to himself “Even when one has so many options to communicate...” Sonia had shifted to Delhi for her Masters in Architecture only a few days back and he didn’t know anyone in Delhi he could call. It was a rainy evening in Mumbai and Rajesh took a deep sigh. They say your

The MBA Hitchhiker's Guide

The following post comes with an inherently flawed assumption - that I have received my PGDBM degree which is still subjected to the vagaries of nature and the powers at my institute. It is an attempt to demystify some of the myths surrounding MBA education and a guideline to survive a two year journey during which one not only undergoes an emotional turmoil, financial backlash but also a personal renunciation of joys like watching cricket 24/7. I must confess that one of the most important reasons I wanted to do an MBA was to have the security of a solid six-figure salary in the shortest possible time. It was in Standard VII when I read an India Today cover story profiling some of India’s hottest professional profiles. All of them were MBA’s from India’s top institutes. I read about this chap called Rajeev Balakrishnan whose salary at the age of 24 read an eye-popping six-figure sum. I was damn impressed by our man’s grey suit and I told myself- “ Gotta be like that , Issac, gotta be