GDPR Compliance: I am not collecting any personal information of any reader of or visitor to this blog. I am using Blogger, provided by Google to host this blog. I understand that Google is using cookies to collect personal information for its Analytics and Adsense applications. I trust that (but has no way to verify) Google has incorporated the necessary data protection features in their applications
Showing posts with label Amusing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amusing. Show all posts

17 December 2017

Student discount...

Kaushal told me this story when we were working together in Durgapur...
He did his graduation in Engineering from Birla Institute of Technology, Mesra in Bihar. Both of us had joined as Management Trainees in SAIL and were posted in Durgapur. We were working in the captive power plant of Durgapur Steel Plant and were very close.
Kaushal has this treasure trove of amusing stories and he has an awesome way of telling them. He will gradually build up the stories to a perfect climax. Most of the time you never know what hit you till he ends the story.
We were sitting by the pool side in Durgapur club one evening, relaxing, watching people swim in the pool and having a couple of beers. Kaushal launched into one of his stories.
'Ramu, did you have to struggle to get a job after graduation?', he asked me.
They had royally screwed my name, these North Indians. My parents, in their wisdom, kept it as Ramaswamy, and these guys had shortened it to Ramu.
Those were the late 80s, the only jobs available were in Public Sector (Government) companies. Most of the PSUs (U stands for Undertakings) had their own recruitment process consisting of written test, group discussions (in certain cases) and interview.
The tests used to be held in different parts of the country and interviews used to be scheduled in the four metros, Delhi, Kolkata, Chennai and Mumbai.
The entire recruitment process was very stressful and challenging. There were more engineers passing out of Engineering colleges than what the economy could handle.
I said yes. All of us struggled. Who can forget those days?
'Me and my friends from BIT had written this test for a PSU and few of us including me got called for the interview', Kaushal reminisced.
'Interview was to be held at Kolkata. We reached Howrah (Kolkata has two railway stations, one at Howrah and the other at Sealdah) the previous evening. Since this was our first visit to Kolkata, we asked a Taxi driver to take us to a hotel. After asking our budgets, which were very low, the cab driver took us to a shady hotel in Howrah.", Kaushal sipped his beer.
"We were all tense about the interview. So we had a quick dinner in the hotel itself. After dinner, all of us assembled in my room. There were four of us including me, Rajesh Pandey, Rajiv Ranjan and Ashish Kumar. It was about 8 PM and we were wondering about the kind of questions that could be asked in the interview", continued Kaushal.
"Among the four of us, Rajesh Pandey is a very simple soul. He prays daily, do not use any bad language and is respectful of everyone. When we were in hostel, we used to make fun of him and tell him that he should become street smart. He had always in him to prove his machismo", Kaushal was in his elements now.
I told him that there are one or two such fellows in all Engineering Colleges, who want to live up to the Engineering College traditions (there are always some exploits of seniors to look up to). But they do not have the courage to do any adventurous activities. But almost all of them has a secret life, much like Walter Mitty.
Kaushal told me he did not care for Walter Mitty. He told me not to interrupt his flow of thoughts.
"While we were chatting, the manager came and asked us if we wanted a girl (Prostitute)", Kaushal said.
"Rajiv and Ashish were very excited, I did not have any views. Rajesh was repulsed and excited at the same time. You could see the struggle in his mind", Kaushal sipped the beer.
"Rajiv asked for the rates. He told the manager that we are students and were on a tight budget. Manager told us that we can negotiate directly and went out and in about ten minutes, came back with a girl."
"She was casual and matter of fact. She started explaining the rates for various services"...(he told me the services, but this being a family blog, I can't mention them), Kaushal was in his elements.
"While she was telling us the rates, Rajesh was getting more and more excited, blushing as he heard the services being mentioned.", Kaushal was smiling to himself.
"The rates were high. As students, we could not afford her services", did I notice some wistfulness in his voice?
"She concluded. This is when Rajesh asked a question that embarrassed all of us. He was now so excited that he did not know what he was saying", Kaushal took a strategic pause.
"What did he ask?", I asked unable to hide my curiosity.
"He asked her for student discount"

08 December 2017

On getting old...

Man, growing old is hard..
Not in the literal sense, of course. One is growing old every moment, every second, every minute, every hour...
You get my drift.
You do not realize that you are progressively getting older. Everyday the mirror doesn't tell you about the new wrinkle on you face of the new strand of grey hair.
Or the puffs on your face.
You do not feel the incremental calorie taking shelter on your well endowed stomach, your chest or your temples..
You don't see all these...
Don't worry if you don't see that you are aging. Society will give you clues. Showing the mirror is its self assigned role.
First clue is when the neighborhood kids start calling you uncle. First time it happens, you take umbrage. You shout at them, admonish them and somehow wrench a 'Bhaiyya' out of their stupid mouths.
But for how long?
There is the next gen and the one after that. It is a parade of ever younger next generations. They pound you down till you accept being called 'Uncle'
You console yourself that these are kids. They have earned the right to call you uncle, if you see what I mean.
But that is not the case with the random shopkeeper. You are in the next level of aging when the random shopkeeper starts calling you uncle. 'Uncle, aap chai peeyoge?' asks the chaiwalla in the railway platform.
I run an innocuous hand over my graying side burns while giving him an eyeful. I have half a mind to dump the entire contents of the tea pot on his stupid head. I restrict myself to the mean look.
From 'uncle', it is a quick promotion to 'Uncle ji'. It is a more respectable uncle.
Shall I tell you a secret? 'Uncle ji' is a powerful phrase. You can use it to your advantage. Negotiate the heck out of that shopkeeper who called you 'uncle ji'. Indian society places a lot of importance to age. Use that reverence to your advantage. Negotiate to the last drop of blood from the shopkeeper who dared to call you 'Uncle ji'
He will crumble in the end, mark my words
"Aap se kya bargain karna uncle ji", he will tell you finally in exasperation, "you name your price".
My standard rate is 10% discount on the list price for each 'Uncle jis', including the one where he caved.
While the incidents that I mentioned above are normal, I have come across two situations that flummoxed me.
First was when I was interviewing a candidate for a job. This was in 2015.
"How old are you?", I asked in passing. He told me he was 26 years old.
I did a quick math, must have been born in the late eighties.
"My dad was 26 when I was born. He was born in 64", I am not able to fit this CAT question in context, but 1964 was definitely mentioned.
I was born in 1963, which means that sitting right in front of me was someone who could have been my son. I never saw THIS coming. (of course it had to happen some time, but it was surreal all the same)
My first experience of recruiting a guy who was young enough to be my son.
(As a non sequitur, I was married in 1993. Which means I had never had sex for four years when this guy's dad was reproducing like dickens !!)
Interviewing a guy who was young enough to be my son made me acutely aware of my age and the aging process...
The second episode when I became aware of aging was even more bizarre...
One of the advantages of growing old is that you learn that girls like flirting and aging process comes with a license to flirt with pretty young girls. 
In the office I work, there are two girls in our department, both in their 20s, one from Maharashtra and the other girl, Nitya, from Kerala.
I smile at them everyday and wish them a cheery good morning. I generally comment on their hair style or their pretty eyelashes.  Girls like these, you know.
They also respond with enthusiasm.
I was kinda proud that I was able to flirt effortlessly with PYGs.
I still had that 'Ram Charm'...
One day, while I was signing the attendance register, Nitya, girl from Kerala, came to me.
"Can I tell you something?", she asked.
Of course you can, darling. Ram is always receptive to 'something' told by pretty girls.
"You look just like my dad. Every time I see you, I remember my father living in Kerala"
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn...
All these days, every time she looked at me, she was seeing her dad in me. On weekends, when I work casuals to office, and she commented, "you look different today", she was probably planning to buy her dad a pair of jeans and a T shirt (with words, 'Man for all seasons' written on it) on her next trip to Kerala.
Let me tell you, looking like some one's dad is the worst thing that can happen to you. Especially when they are away from family. It is OK if you did not know. But once you know, you don't know how to handle it. How do you handle that yearning look of love and affection? How do you handle that critical look when you say or do something 'unfatherly'? What is the approach to handle this? Is there an SOP?
Knowing that you look like some one's dad is tough.If that someone is living alone and away from the family, the knowledge can be unnerving.
And finally, if you look like the father of a pretty young girl, it can be downright deflating.
On the positive side, every time I look at Nitya, I also started thinking that had I had a daughter, she would have looked as pretty as her. One of the few times when I was proud of my sperms. They have taste.

On going to airport, or how in life you cannot assume anything....

Man, life is tough...
You can't assume anything in life. The default settings are always set against you..
For example,
you go to a restaurant and order,
    a veg do pyaza: the chef would dump his entire stock of chilly powder into it, unless you specifically state 'Mirchi kum'. You can't assume 'medium' spice. The default assumption is that you are the greatest chilly lover in the universe...
     a cup of coffee: The default setting is lots of sugar and 'extra sweet' coffee. If you want less sugar, you have to explicitly state. You can't just assume 'normal' sugar in your coffee
It is not just food. Wrong default setting is everywhere. Have you not heard the saying 'a bread falls with buttered side down'? That is the default setting of a buttered bread, right there
Universe is always conspiring against you. How much careful can you be? Easier said than done.
The incident I am about to narrate happened to me on 7th December, 2017...
It was morning 7 am and I was about to leave my hotel  ('Rush Inn on Bank Street, Meena Bazar Dubai') for the airport to board the Indigo flight to Bangalore. I had three pieces of luggage with me, all heavy, and I wanted to reach the airport well in time, having given an extra 30 minutes, just  in case. 
I came out of the hotel and hailed a taxi...
When you hail a taxi anywhere in Dubai, you will naturally assume that the driver will know the way to airport, right? I mean, it is not a big city by any standard and is a tourist destination. Carrying people to an fro from Airport is the bread and butter of a normal taxi driver in Dubai.
You expect to dump the luggage in the boot (in India we call it Dicky, for some reason), casually sit in the car, tie the seat belt and blithely ask the driver to take you to Airport Terminal 1. And he will be like 'Yes sir, which route should I take? Maktoum or Garhoud?' and you expect to ask him to take the quickest route, preferably with no Salik (toll tax in Dubai)
Right? 
Right? 
Wrong...
When I told my taxi driver (blithely of course) that I wanted to go to airport, the first question he asked is 'Do you know the route?'
Wait, what? 
He was from Pakistan and was new to Dubai. In a place teeming with taxis, I had chosen a taxi driver who did not know the way to my destination.
He switched on his GPS and we started our adventure, him and I. He opened Google Maps, typed 'Airport Terminal 1' and we were on our way.
(If you ask me why I did not take another taxi, I direct you to the section about my heavy luggage. Also I had a buffer of 30 minutes, remember)
Despite working in IT field and all that, I am still getting used (euphemism for 'I have no clue') to Google Maps. I am from the old school that believes that god has given a mouth with a tongue to ask for directions. Here was this driver, expecting me to guide him using google maps.
Nothing teaches you the concept of 'Space Time Continuum' than navigating using google maps. If it says 'go straight for two kilometers', you can be certain that there will be multiple decision points on the way that will strain your concept of 'Straight'.
It it says go straight for '400 meters and then turn right', you will be confused if you have to take t he right after 200 meters, 300 meters, 350 meters (it will feel as if all the roads turn right !!), the first right or the second right at 400 meters. And you will invariably take the wrong right (see the clever play of words there? Unagi !!!)
Even when you finally reach the airport, if you assume that you will be directed to the departure terminal, you are wrong. Unless told specifically that you want to go to departure terminal, the driver will end up taking you to the arrival area, one level below.
If you assume that trolly will be available nearby, you will be wrong...
If you assume that someone will guide you to departure terminal, you will be wrong...
Finally, if you assumed that flight will depart from Terminal 1, they would have rerouted it to T3...

11 November 2017

Signing with Green Ink....

I was talking to my friend, who is a Chartered Accountant, that I was planning to set up a company and as a part of that I was planning to apply for a Director Identification Number (DIN). This is a legal requirement in India. You cannot become a director of any company without a DIN.

"Once I have a DIN, I would be a very select minority in the country who has a DIN and who is eligible to sit in the meeting of Board of Directors", I told him, "That is an awesome feeling"

"I know that feeling, I felt the same when I was able to sign the Financial Reports of a Company using a 'Green Ink' pen", he responded.

I did not understand. He explained that as per convention generally followed in India, only a select few professionals including Chartered Accountants and Senior Bureaucrats, use Green Ink to sign important documents. So getting eligibility to use Green Ink to sign documents is a big deal....

What about you? Do you have some experience like this which made you feel very proud of your achievements?

05 May 2016

Old lady and the villa...

I don't know when I had written this story. I found it very amusing...
 
"Yeah! it's finally over! Today is the last day" I thought to myself as I shutdown my laptop to go and stand in the boarding queue.
 
I stood among the other passengers at the Changi International Airport thinking, "2 more hours and I would be in the taxi back home"
 
Little did I know that it was the beginning of a very long journey.
 
Just as we began boarding, a petite old lady in a bright purple dress began cheerfully arguing with one of the ground staff saying "son, I would never do that" and then suddenly out of nowhere a few guards appeared holding their AK 47s menacingly.
 
The ground staff was holding an inhaler in his hand.
 
"What is this?" he asked suspiciously
 
"This is an inhaler for my bronchitis. I need to use it in case I develop spasms during the trip" replied the lady pleasantly.
 
"You can't carry aerosol spray in your cabin baggage. I will hand it over to the crew. You can ask for it if you need it during your trip" replied the staff.
 
"Thank you" replied the lady
 
Something about this lady intrigued me. Was it her pleasantness?
 
In the flight, I found the lady sitting next to me. We chatted a bit. She told me that she is from Madrid. And she was on her way to See and feel the 'real India', as she put it. Her first stop was Bangalore.
 
She had made no plans. She will first visit Bangalore and then take off from there to different parts of the country.
 
The flight landed out in Bangalore. After completing the formalities. I got out and took a taxi.
 
Suddenly out of nowhere, this lady got in my taxi.
 
"Take me anywhere. I want to see the real India. You are the only person I know here" she said.
 
It was 12 midnight and I was sitting in a taxi in airport with a loony lady who wants me to take her 
anywhere. I was perplexed.
 
I looked at the cabbie. There was a serene, 'Its-your-problem' look on his face. No help there.
 
"Maa'm where do you want to go?" I asked her.
 
"Take me to Vidhana Soudha" she said
 
"At this time?" I was frantic.
 
"Yes, it says that the structure is brilliant at night." she replied
 
Off we started off for Vidhana Soudha. Once we reached there, as she said, the structure was 
awesome. 20 years in Bangalore, and I never knew that Vidhana Soudha is lit up beautifully at night.
 
Next she wanted to see Shivaji Nagar.
 
I had the ride of the life. We visited Bangalore Palace, Cubbon park, Lalbagh, MG Road, Temples in Vijayanagar...All at night.
 
We had snacks to eat from 'Thindi Veethi' near lalbagh, had tea and bun from roadside stall. The doctor in me told me that junk food is not good, but hey, what the heck? It was delicious.
 
The whole experience was new for me. Driving in Bangalore at night, I saw how much I had missed the color and smell of the city. Bangalore was beautiful by night. And after 20 years in Bangalore, this was the first time I was seeing the city in the night. In the dreary every day life of 'Home-Work-Home', I had missed 'Living'.
 
By about 6 AM in the morning, I was so enjoying the trip that I felt a little disappointed when she wanted me to drop her at any hotel so that she can take some rest. I dropped her at Hotel Atria near Vidhana Soudha and headed home. Before leaving her, I handed her my visiting card.
 
To say that I forgot the whole experience would be wrong. How can you forget such experience? 

I received this letter two months ago.
 
"Dear Ram,
 
Thanks a lot for taking me all over Bangalore that day about 6 months ago. It was one of most cherished days of my life.
 
As you know, I wanted to see the real India. After about 4 months of traveling, I reached Haridwar. There I attended a sermon by Baba Shubhanandaji. He convinced me to give up my material life and embrace a life of spirituality.
 
I have decided to follow Swamiji's advice and give up all my earthly possessions. I don't have any living relations.Since you were the kindest person that I have met in my life (ever since my husband died), I have decided to make you as the sole heir to my fortune."

That would be one heck of a disappointed Swamiji, I think
 
Anyways, I pen this story, sitting in my Villa in my Vineyard in Madrid.

16 May 2014

How Nair sir handled the Village Bully...

Begin Story of Sajimon

Sajimon was the village bully in my native village.

This incident happened long time ago when one kg of onion used to cost 2 rupees and weight of the vegetables procured was far, far higher than the weight of the money given to procure them.

The village used to be shrouded in innocence. A poet might say that 'Nattakom' (our village) was where sun god pays his obeisance (not to confuse with Obesity) before proceeding to bring light to millions across the globe.

A more romantic poet will probably mention that Nattakom was the village where gazelles learned to frolic and swans learned love by seeing the loving couples who used to sit by the village stream and say sweet nothings in each others ears...

Just kidding. Ours was a regular, boring village where nothing happens, any time, ever...

This was the village where Sajimon roamed around as the village bully.

Always itching for fight, was Sajimon. Nothing good ever came out of his mouth. Always needling people, always wanting to fight (but backing off at the first sign of aggression from his prey), terrorizing the village maidens, speaking loudly and crudely to women making them cringe by his comments...

Sajimon was a bully, a class one at that...

( It is funny. In Malayalam language, 'Mon' is the affectionate term for a boy and 'Mol' is for girls. You will hare names like Sajimon, Shajimon, Sunnymon, Lizymol, Rosamol...)

Etc.

Like any typical bully, Sajimon was bad at studies. Even with a very lenient educational system which tried to push and shove students from one grade (Class) to the next, Sajimon was like a snail, taking his own time to move from one class to the next. He spent two years in class 6, another two years in class 8...

One gets the point. 

People either avoided him or used him. Those who wanted to take revenge on others used Sajimon as a tool. Like a typical bully, Sajimon was always susceptible to manipulation. A well placed news about someone would see Sajimon extending his wrath on a mostly unsuspecting person.

This was Sajimon.

And then there was Nair Sir.

Nair sir and his family relocated to our village when Nair Sir joined as a Professor in a nearby Engineering College and was allotted a free accommodation by the college. He had two daughters Beena and Sheena. Beena was about our age (did I mention earlier that Sajimon was of my age? No? Must have missed it) and Sheena was about 3 years older. They also had a brother names Aji and a step brother named Gopi. 

Along with his wife, that completed Nair Sir family.

Though she was of our age, Beena was small and cute (In English Language, it is called 'Petite', I think). She was very pretty, with dimples as deep as Grand Canyon. In addition she had a faint squint (which made her pretty and mysterious, in my opinion) and Sajimon took a morbid fascination to her squint. Every morning he will stand in the path that Beena took to go to the school and bullied her about her squint. Every evening he bullied her as she returned from the school.

It was bad. It was only a matter of time before something gave.

That came one afternoon. I was sitting at home playing marbles and thinking things. Suddenly, Kosh, my childhood friend came all a'runnin. Panting like a dog, was Kosh, and his eyes bulged out like Google Glass. To say that he was excited and little scared would be correct.

Kosh was one of the minor recipients of Sajimon's bullying largesse. A minority shareholder, if you will. 

"Did you hear about Sajimon?", asked Kosh, all inhaling and exhaling laboriously (Panting, I mean). 

"What happened to him? Did he get religion?" I inquired, all sarcastic.

That was our fond hope. That Sajimon will one day get religion and realize the futility of bullying.

"No, no. Nair sir found him bullying Beena and caught him and tied him to a pillar in his house. He has sent for Sajimon's brothers to come. He want to discuss with the brothers before releasing Sajimon."

In a village where the only exciting thing that happens is when Pillachan runs after his chicken, to catch them of course, in preparation for afternoon repast, this was news.

Sajimon tied to a pillar. This was big news

Breaking news...

We kids went to see Sajimon. From outside the gate we could see Sajimon. And he could see us.

We gave him a sympathetic smile. He responded with a sheepish smile. As limp a smile as you can imagine. Tied to the pillar, Sajimon was as listless as a Pelican caught in BP Oil Spill.

But his eyes said it all. He was scared. He had seen the limits of his bullying. He had seen that power did not lay in shouting, rather power laid in quite firmness. Power laid in moral authority rather than loud sound. Power laid in deeds and not in words.

(Later his brother came and got him released)

From that day, there was a perceptible change in Sajimon's attitude. A few of our friends encouraged (needled) Sajimon to seek revenge on Nair sir by actively targeting Beena. But other than occasional shouting at night while walking in front of Mr.Nair's house, or an occasional long distance whistling as he espied Beena on the horizon, Sajimon was like a mouse when he approached Nair Sir's house. The pillar seemed to scare him.

And slowly his bullying tendency also reduced.

He had a series of failures since then. He failed class 10 multiple times. 

These failures can take a toll. They can either make you into a more vicious bully or as it happened in Sajimon's case, can mellow you and can even lead you to religion (this did not happen in Sajimon's case).

Thinking about those times, I still wonder. What if someone had given a good direction to Sajimon when he was growing up. In this case, he was unfortunate, that his family was not very educated and they did not have it in them to give a good direction to their kid. Sajimon had talent, it was obvious, but he lacked direction.

That is how it happens. That is life.

End Story of Sajimon.