T.G.I.F...

THANK GOD ITS FRIDAY/WEEKEND (For Desis in the US)

(Was written some 10 years ago in the US)

Friday is always an interesting day. Particularly if the weekend, according to the weatherman, is going to be "bright sun, blue skies and gorgeous days". The expectations show up in everyones faces right from the time they get to work. This is an attempt to portray various characters of Desis in their best Friday and the following weekend behaviour...

The first class is set of people called “trippers”: who plan on a trip. Their morning is spent on making phone calls interspersed with work. The phone calls usually are the means to collect various info like which might be the cheapest motel to stay and relative coordinates of the nearest "minimally attired" joint to that motel. In this group you find three kinds of guys - the first are the guys who plan quietly (those phone callers), the second are the overzealous guys who would like to drive all the way to New York across USA (particularly, if the fairer sex are part of the drive), just for the sake of driving and the last are the guys who are not really bothered - all they want is to go to some place so that they can bulk up their photo collection.

Then there are people who follow religiously the dictum - Friday is for fun and believe in “Constancy is the change”. Their idea of fun starts with a lunch outside as against the daily-go-home-at-12-cook-the-same-old-left-overs-and-eat-it-and-be-back-at-1PM routine. These guys have so very precisely planned their change in routine that every Friday they end up going to the same restaurant for the same “delicacies” (pardon my artistic freedom here).

The third class of people are the ones "who are sadly married". You can find them asking "whats that that is different on a Friday". The weekend eve is just another day for them. They come home for Lunch as usual, go out during the weekend just for the sake of going out and whatever they do during the weekend is to alleviate the guilt of having a spouse at home doing nothing and getting bored during weekdays...

Then there are some mavericks. A maverick is the one who doesn't really have any plans. Preferably alone, sometimes he deigns to have another in his vicinity. His only plan is to drive for about 6-7 hours, so that his friend can drive the same amount of time from 1000 miles away and both of them can meet in some remote place where English is spoken with an accent. Usually his plans include driving to middle-of-somewhere for 6 hours, missing the exits (he does not stoop down to plan to such minute details) and going round for 4 hours, waiting and meeting up with his friend for 2 hours, setup camp (2 hrs - includes searching for firewoods) and going all out not to remain sober (4 hrs), sleep for 4 hours and drive back from middle-of-somewhere in 7 hours. His return is mostly accompanied by hangover on Sunday and a latecoming to work on Monday...

An honorable mention about the final class of people - those who go to work on weekends...very little can be said about their characteristics since very little of them do this...

The Healer

I think I have had enough. I’ve had enough at work, enough of this traffic, enough of everything.

It has been a pretty tiring week. For that matter, it has been a tiring month and perhaps even the whole year. The work has been relentless, coming at you in waves; particularly within an organization in major transition and transformation, where the understanding of what needs to be done and commitment to it varying from apathetic non-existence to complete-harmony; and the underlying tension between those two extremes. The past three days at work was an offsite planning session – it was ugly – there were quite a bit of disagreement amongst the group; the opinions proffered and the engagement to the cause spanned the spectrum of ridiculous to the passionate. Of late, I find such meetings to be emotionally tiring and at extremes, draining. It seemed to me that such meetings had become retrograde, regressive and a forlorn exercise in mental regurgitation and jumping through hoops needlessly…for someone who wants to do forward progress, I find extraneous noise and the high ratio of noise to signal quite disconcerting and often frustrating; to the extent that in the recent past, it has made me think – perhaps I’ve had enough…

I’m jolted to the present as the car brakes to a halt – an auto driver has cut in front of the car. I realize that the there is a traffic jam building up. As the speed slows down to the crawl, I see the traffic slowly turning into the chaos – slowly, starting with the bikes, then autos, then cars and then bigger trucks, start passing the line of vehicles on their wrong side and stack up the breadth of the road and slowly choke up the lane for oncoming traffic slowing them down; the traffic in our direction has stopped. I see a lone traffic policeman struggling to keep the order. A moped tries to thread the needle and pass between my car on the left and kerb; he nicks the car and looks back sheepishly; my first instinct is to get out of the car and talk to him; but then I see the absurdity of the situation, the traffic is so logged that I cannot even open the door; I stay in and loudly curse my luck… I give up, I’ve had enough…

Finally, what seemed like eons later, I reach my home… I’m really tired and hungry. I haul the heavy laptop bag, the luggage bag packed for the 3d stay outside; as I go to the elevators, I see a sign that the elevators our out of order. That seemed to be last nail into the coffin!!! Sigh… when it rains it pours. I manage to carry the bags up two floors and knock at the door. I’ve had it up to my ears – its enough !!!

…As my wife opens the door, I see the eight-year old wide-eyed innocence full of joy and optimism, standing at the door-way, behind his welcoming mother; I see genuine delight in his eyes and in his gait. He rushes in jumps up and gives a bear hug with an accompaniment of hi-appa and unadulterated joy… As I feel his soft hands and his energy, I feel all my frustrations drain out… As my son loosens his hug, I hold on for a bit more – that healing touch is never never enough…

I have my personal healer. Miracle worker. I’m ready for tomorrow’s battles; Tomorrow’s frustrations. And Tomorrow's possibility for that joy at the end of the tunnel !!!

Perspectives

(Reads the same as "healer" but branches off :)

I think I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough at work, enough of this traffic, enough of everything.

It has been a pretty tiring week. For that matter, it has been a tiring month and perhaps even the whole year. The work has been relentless, coming at you in waves; particularly within an organization in major transition and transformation, where the understanding of what needs to be done and commitment to it varying from apathetic non-existence to complete-harmony; and the underlying tension between those two extremes. The past three days at work was an offsite planning session – it was ugly – there were quite a bit of disagreement amongst the group; the opinions proffered and the engagement to the cause spanned the spectrum of ridiculous to the passionate. Of late, I find such meetings to be emotionally tiring and at extremes, draining. It seemed to me that such meetings had become retrograde, regressive and a forlorn exercise in mental regurgitation and jumping through hoops needlessly…

I’m jolted to the present as the car brakes to a halt – an auto driver has cut in front of the car. I realize that the there is a traffic jam building up. As the speed slows down to the crawl, I see the traffic slowly turning into the chaos – slowly, starting with the bikes, then autos, then cars and then bigger trucks, start passing the line of vehicles on their wrong side and stack up the breadth of the road and slowly choke up the lane for oncoming traffic slowing them down; the traffic in our direction has stopped. I see a lone traffic policeman struggling to keep the order. A moped tries to thread the needle and pass between my car on the left and kerb; he nicks the car and looks back sheepishly; my first instinct is to get out of the car and talk to him; but then I see the absurdity of the situation, the traffic is so logged that I cannot even open the door; I stay in and loudly curse my luck !!!

After what seemed to be eons later, I see more cops coming into the intersection just ahead. They switch off the traffic lights and start directing the traffic; with a one of the sergeants screaming at the truck driver who wanted to get ahead on the right side. As the traffic starts moving back again, I reach the intersection; right on the cue, that dame, Luck nudges the policeman to stop our side of the traffic and start with the other roads…

…As I sit contemplating my misfortune and cursing my luck, a small by-play on the sides catches my eye. There was this small girl not older than 9 years with another kid about 5 years doing a mini-circus routine of acrobatics, gymnastics and whatever routine they could fit in, in the confines of the narrow kerb and a set of small iron-rings. First she does a two hand somersault, then one-hand and then without them. She slowly builds up the crescendo as she adds rings to her routines; first she contorts her body to get through the ring, in what seemed impossible; and then introducing the other kid into the ring routine it became all the more enthralling and engrossing… The routines almost morph into a ballet and the hoops and rings become an instrument in her deft maneuvers…

The dame luck certainly seems to have smiled on those two kids, since the traffic jam had provided them with the captive audience. As I see them perform, it dawns on me – sitting in the AC comfort of the car, being driven around and getting paid to be at an agreeable place to do work… now I’m not so sure if I’m the one who is going through the hoops…

Big Evil vs Evil...

In the whole mess around the BPO incident, will the elite socialites blaming the "big bad evil empire" actually stand up to be counted for supporting capital punishment for the real evil ?

Are Palindromes irreversible ?

As the so-called Karate-kid pointed out, 33 is irreversible, so is 44... In another couple of years, where would I be... (with no allusions to the Roman Sentries)...