befuddled

So here's what baffles me, 

why would you name a bus service BIAS 

(that's Bangalore International Airport Service, FYI) ..but honestly, couldn't they have fudged the abbreviation a little so that it is a  little less ridiculous?!

Oh and btw, you need to pay a Rs 260/- "airport" tax, just as a passenger taking a domestic flight from the Bangalore International Airport. not to mention they dont have a domestic airport, so its not as if you have a choice. ofcourse except if you could take an international flight with a domestic stopover instead ;) 

(damn why didn't I think of this before paying the tax..grrr my dad's right, I am just not a good baniya!! )

and why does every mumbaikar, atleast all those i know, call their BST buses BEST ???

I mean I am all for patriotism, but honestly my friends, much as I admire your mumbai love,and much as I love mumbai myself, those buses are rickety at best! 

how can some one name their book "How to cook everything" without having the recipes for caterpillar manchurian, baby soup, cow nerves, frog toe nails,...and well grown up human beings too. why not, Everything comes under everything! and but for the last, I know for a fact that all the others are actual dishes.. and well may be except baby soup too :P

you know the hazard of knowing both your parents, and their extended families????

you never get a surprise letter or phone call announcing you the heiress of a fortune, and you never, NEVER get to be the Princess of anywhere...no matter how many diaries you write and how many times your dad may call you that!

yaya i just got off the movie, it hurts evtime I see some one being left a will by a hitherto unknown relative or inheriting an entire country...I am never going to get that! ..sigh...so much for close knit extended Indian families...pffff

but you know whats the most baffling of all??

a full grown 85 Kg woman jumping off her seat and climb the desk and start screaming because she saw a tiny little rat scuttering somewhere...try keeping a straight face when she does that. Not easy my friend, not easy. 

Its so imcomprehensible its hilarious. I laughed so hard my sides hurt, not to mention the poor rat's plight who got so scared I am wondering if it got a heart attack out of sudden shock. I am not fond of rats or mice or any of their kin, but seriously?!!

Ofcourse I am still in hiding to escape the screaming woman's wrath...as they say.."hell hath no fury like a woman laughed at" ...

;)

My Nani..

The creases on the forehead

show the wisdom of experience

the ones below the eyes,

the unshed tears of pain.

She gets up with effort

clutching to a stick

walks stooped , in obvious pain

an endless battle with life

has taken its toll

and yet there she is,

tired in body, vibrant in spirit still.

Happy to see me standing at the door

Her wrinkled face breaks into a toothless smile

Her once youthful beauty

transformed into timeless grace

With gnarled hands, she blesses my head

Her weak fingers run through my hair

Her touch effuses love

I am at home, at last.

Over tea which she insists on making

and brings filled with pride of love

She tells me stories, stories I've heard

Over & over since I was 5,

How she climbed the tree to steal achaar from her mom's kitchen

and how she jumped in Ganga for a swim with her friends

how she caught butterflies in the gardens

and How she met my Nanu...

he's been gone 30 years,

her eyes still brim with love at his mention

We are all grown up now,

busy with our own lives,

caught up in the rat race,

as she sits alone in the house

that always resounded with our laughter

She smiles as I get up to leave,

I turn back to look at her,

standing at the door with her walking stick

in obvious pain, but smiling

waving me luck and love

her eyes thanking me for coming,

asking silently when will I return

and have chai with her,

that she will insist on making

and bring filled with pride of love.

And I wonder...why can't I

Why have I chosen a rat race

over the people who matter the most

Silently quelling all these questions,

I, a mere mortal, move on.

for one of the most phonemenal women I have ever come across...a woman whose faith, hope, optimism towards life and belief in the general goodness of people, a lifetime of struggle and pain have failed to destroy....My Nani. A woman of true substance in every sense of the word

Innovation & Creativity

got this mail a few days ago. This just goes on to show that you are never too small a business to provide excellent customer service and differentiate yourself. and that innovation and creativity knows no bounds

first aid box on the left and a newspaper box on right (which had all hindi-english-marathi-gujrati and economic times)

a tv on the top with cable (colors channel) and below tat is the tissue box. on the left is the mandir types and dont miss the "Only gandhigiri" written there , below that is the calender and a notepad and pen along with a blue fan (which is blowing towards the customer who sits)

25% discount for handicap!! who on this earth can expect something like this from an autowallah!!

I am sure instead of rigging the meters and cheating customers , if all auto-wallahs in India started giving these additional services, people would be openly willing to pay a little extra! and you could technically take this approach on a macro level as well and who knows this world might become a better place!

Jab I Missed!!

Shameless, shameless take off from Jab We Met! but you will soon know why I learn the art of getting inspired from a certain Mr. Malik ;)

So I have a friend whose cutest little girl was turning 1 and of course we all were going to celebrate this occasion. So after a few hours of the best of time which always leaves you wondering why you don't it more often, we dragged ourselves out of his home and headed back. the only problem, we weren't really sure where exactly we were. taking advice from another friend, who has since then gone in hiding , told us "Just take a cab, its not that far off, u'll reach in 15 minutes"

so we took a cab, and this is where the fun began. and for those who don't know, Cabs in Singapore, specially at night , end up costing a fortune. which of course, students like me have no traces of :P

11:30 PM
My friend: We need to go A(his place) and then to B (my place)
CabD: A half-singapore la, B full singapore
both of us: speechless!!
my friend: do you know what time the last MRT reaches X (the nearest MRT)
I : let me call and find out
***----****
11:35 PM
I: 11:45 PM
My friend: please drive fast
CabD: No, no! no more fast la, speed limit ollreadyy
I: (muttering) Oh crap!! I wish this was Delhi!
My friend: Please please, we need to the get the MRT

***____***

11:44 PM
we both jumped out of the cab before it even stopped and ran. Before descending the stairs of course, we saw on the board "Last train to B - Leaving"
I: Dammit!!!

and so we ran back and fortunately got the same taxi.

My friend: Next station please. fast!!

By now I was no longer looking at the watch. the taxi stopped and we ran, across the street in Singapore, where Jaywalking can cost you $500. But of course we weren't thinking. the bulletin board read " Last train to B : Just arrived"

We ran down the stairs, pulling our cards out, punching them at the entry stiles [ it was the fastest I have ever been able to fish out my card from my bag, and never while running ] and we ran up the escalator and on to the platform

and the train left. inches away from us.

"Arghh" , I remember pulling my hair and throwing my hands in my face. After 2 minutes of silent condolence, we had a light bulb moment. The bus!!

The buses run for atleast 40 minutes later than the trains. With renewed energy, we ran out, cursing the lost $1 uncesserily at the stile, and reached the street, a major traffic light. Only, we had absolutely no idea which direction we were supposed to go in, where the nearest bus stop was, which bus we were supposed to take and what time would the last bus leave. and of course none of us had any helpline numbers either.

So we picked one direction randomly and started running. We hit a bus stop and saw it wasn't the one we needed. So off to another direction, and after 3 failed attempts, at 12:15 am , we finally found the bus we were looking for. We just had to cross the street, and take the bus. Err..last bus at 12:20 am!

So we decided to run again, only the traffic didn't let us. cursing the damn traffic, by the time we finally crossed the street, of course the last bus had come at the stop. So we ran again, only, we missed the bus!

Hopeless, we just crossed the street again, bought a can of coke each from the nearest 7-11 and flopped on the sidewalk. Deciding to make the most of it of course, then we got up and with our coke we walked the streets for a while playing antakshari, extending the time with friends, which always makes us wonder why we don't meet up more often and then finally took a cab home.

Of course the whole fiesta ended up costing us much more than even the "full singapore" woudl have and hence i am still looking for the friend who had said "its just 15 minutes"!! :)

i remember receiving my first letter from my then best friend. i must have been about 10, . we went to the same school and saw each other every day. and we obviously lived a walking distance away. but i still talked her into writing letters. having no phones and no medium to communicate, especially during holidays, made my task easier. so during the summer vacations, when she was visiting her grandparents in 'then' Madras, I wrote to her. the first letter of my life. i don't remember the contents but i am fairly certain there was nothing in it that was any different from our everyday chatter, the usual everyday chatter of any two 10 year old "best" friends. yet, writing a letter to her had its own exotic charm. an elated sense of privacy. it was like the first step to freedom, the first step to growing up. and though i don't remember the contents of her reply either, i still remember waiting anxiously every day for her reply; and feeling like on top of the world when i had finally received it.

for years after that we used to send cards on birthdays and other occasions to various friends and cousins...saving for months before a festival from school pocket money, going to the shop and spending hours picking out the right cards, wishing they weren't so expensive...there was such a sense of accomplishment after every festival, i still remember the happy feeling that lingered for weeks after that. with time that tradition too faded away

as the years passed the need to express freedom through letters disappeared. i got my own phone, email id, it was so much easier to just call, so much faster to email. it was excitement and convenience. but every once in a while, while cleaning the closet i would come across these old cards; they now looked silly and childish and yet so simple n happy. they always made me smile. and happy, wistfully happy.

it was almost 11 years after i wrote my first letter ever, when i finally ran into a person who was equally mad and who thought that in this age and time of instant communication, writing letters was still the best form of long distance communication. and after 11 years, once again i made a trip to the post office, bought a few inland envelopes and wrote my first letter. and i realized what i had been missing all these years in phone and email.

holding a pen over a blank piece of paper waiting to pour down thoughts and emotions, waiting for days to receive the reply, opening the mailbox to find envelope with a hand written address on it amidst all printed bills, a piece of paper with someone's handwritten emotions on it, irrespective of the contents...letters are a ritual..an elongated process that requires time, effort and patience and in return gives a feeling of belonging

a letter may not be unique in its sense of privacy..but it is, in its sense of intimacy.

its like running into an old friend by accident after years, having no idea that person would be there despite having him on ur facebook, orkut, linkedin , e-mail contact list and phonebook....