Ice Ice Baby

The good thing to look forward to during the summers is the chilled (iced) drinks. I like my drinks cold. American cold. So when I want to have a glass of juice, I first freeze the juice till its almost getting slushy, and then I go ahead and add on about 6-8 cubes of ice. I know. Really cold.

But the downside of it is making ice again. I find it to be a wee bit, not-so-interesting a task. I mean, I love the result of having loads of ice ready at my disposal, but I don’t find the will in me to fill the ice trays. It’s a very stressful situation, I feel.

First, filling the tray – now I don’t have the patience to pour water slowly. So, I dump water into it every single time, and obviously, most of the water flows away, and despite pouring two glasses of water in, only half the cubes are full.

Second, carrying the tray to the freezer. When I said earlier that I couldn’t pour water slowly, it’s because I am always trying to multi-task. So again, I can’t amble to the freezer. Then in my haste, the water still flows off the tray, and the whole procedure continues for another round.

Now I know that the easier way is to get it right the first time, but nah ah. It doesn’t happen. But then again, we got to do what we got to do, right? Else how else will I get my super iced drinks at my disposal? How would I get to feel pain, a numbing sensation, and teeth sensitivity all at once, eh?

#If there is a problem, yo someone solve it.

John Denver and Other Oldie Songs

I was very little when my mom sang ‘Strawberries, Cherries, and an Angel’s Kiss in Spring.’ It seemed like that was the only English song she knew and, in turn, the only one we knew. Then came the days of singing Doris Day’s ‘Que Sera Sera,’ post which came another memorable song sung by a teacher in my 10th grade ‘Don’t Cry, Joni.’ I fell in love with the latter. I didn’t feel as bad when Joni cried at the age of 15 as I felt bad when Jimmy went back to her 15 years later. My eyes brim with tears when he says that his tears fell like rain at day. Aw!

I actually sang that song to my good friend Rijo in degree college. He took me out for a meal, and I remembered this song. I asked him if I could sing it for him, and he replied in the affirmative. After I finished singing the last stanza of the song, he was agitated. He was so upset that Joni married John, and he said quite seriously, “This is why, if we intend on leaving town for a while, we gotta shoot all our best friends and then leave.”

But there was something about John Denver’s Annie’s Song. Through my late school years, I used to hear mom sing this song on and off. Mum actually forgot the name of the song, so she always started with ‘You fill up my senses..’ After a while, I began to wonder if that song actually existed, because it seemed like a far off memory for my mother. So I wasn’t sure until I heard it on the radio one fine day. Mom and I had just left Kerala (ran away from there to start a fresh life in Bangalore), and we were wandering the streets of Kamannahalli when we decided to get a drink of water in the famous supermarket ‘Nilgiris.’ As I waited for mum to come back with the bottle of water, a lady on the radio sang the song, and I flipped. The ‘radio lady’ said she would like to sing Annie’s Song for her listeners, and that’s where I found out the name.

I was ecstatic. I was almost jumping up and down, and I couldn’t wait for mum to get back. When she came over and handed the water to me, she saw me all revved up and asked what was up. I told her the name of the song, and she gave me a bright smile. She was like, “Oh, yeeeeeahhh!” I was so happy. I felt like I was that lone warrior who won the battle and came back alive. Weird, I know.

It’s funny how songs can just transcend you from the present to the past in an instant, just like how some aromas, fragrances, and odours take us to a different place in time.

#You fill up my senses, come fill me again ❤ ❤

11th Grade

When I completed 10th grade, my brother infused a lot of excitement in me about the great advent of the unforgettable college days. I honestly didn’t care much back then, because, for me, the college was just 5-odd years of studies. It didn’t make that big a difference. I had another problem – clothing. I didn’t have much, and I was embarrassed. Nevertheless, the college years began.

And it was awesome.

I know this may sound weird, but I feel like the weather through 11th grade was terrific. It was always pleasant and gay. It felt surreal. It smelled of freedom because that year was one of the best. We were the first ARTS batch in the college. Since there were very few of us, we were given a small room on the college’s terrace. But we loved it. It was almost like we were studying out in the open. The trees around made sure that every time we stepped out of the room for a break onto the terrace, we were welcomed with cool breeze even through the hot summers.

The best part of it all was that we had only four hours of classes—morning from 7.30 to 11.30. But I told my mum that the classes ended at 3.30 pm. So I had a whole 4 hours of fun every day before I got home. Our break time was 9.30. It was a short break time – just about 15 minutes. During the break, we would all try to run down five floors to the basement, ordering vegetable-grilled sandwiches and choco pies.

The run-down used to be funny. We would push, nudge, and try to meander through the immense crowd to ensure that we return to class on time. Often, the group was so thick that we were moved from floor to floor, just floating in the thrust of the crowd. Our feet would honestly not even be on the floor; we would be moved around like invisible angels carrying us from floor to floor.

I had taken up History, Economics, Political Science, and Sociology as the four arts subjects. And man, I did well in them all. I also made some excellent friends. We had such good times that I wish I could go back to those days and stay there in limbo.

#When will someone create a time machine?

Would It Be Fair to Myself If I Started Talking to My Step Sister?

My dad left us when I was in the first grade. No one was sad about it. We all moved on with life. We carried on living the miserable heights-of-OCD-life with my mother. But we never complained. When I hit 6th grade, dad said he wanted to meet us kids. We were delighted. Meeting him was an escape into an ordinary world. We jumped and frolicked around him, until he said, “There’s something that I need to talk to both of you about.” We knew instantly that he probably came bearing some not-so-good news.

We sat in the car, and he said, “I have decided that I will marry aunty Rita.” We were speechless. Numbed. Not because we were hurt, but because we didn’t know how to face mom and tell her of this new development. Rita was a prostitute he hitched up with, 5-odd years earlier. My brother asked him, “Why?” Dad said, “Because I am a man of principles. I got her pregnant, and now I must get married to her.” We never bought that.

After my step sister was born, he tried to get us involved in his life for years. But we wouldn’t because we were mom’s soldiers. Still are. We gave her unconditional love, unwarranted support, and believed every word she uttered – which were accusations of the unjust life given to her. We lapped up every bad thing she said of dad, which was mostly right. But irrespective of it all, we loved dad and still do. Sadly, the one thing he wants from us is something we can’t give him. He’s been asking us to talk to Samantha – my step sister. He asked my brother if he would take care of her when he does pass away. My brother responded in the negative.

I do feel bad for dad. But then I wonder, would it be fair to myself to start talking to her, laughing with her, and sharing girly stuff with her? My mum, brother, and I had a tough time – financially – ever since he left. We barely managed to eat a square meal a day, while he splurged all his money on her. I had just a pair of pants and two shirts when I was in college, while she had a whole wardrobe of clothing. I struggled to get to college from home and vice versa, while she went on trips to foreign lands.

To sum it up, she had everything while we had none. So now, would I be fair to myself if I should forget everything that happened and get pally with her after all these decades? I do love my dad, so would it be fair to give him the one thing that he wants?

#life is always unfair; so do we go with what makes us feel good about ourselves or what makes someone else happy that could eventually make us kind of happy too?

When I Thought I Was In Love #1

The day I became a postgraduate in new media journalism, I decided that I would tell the guy I had a massive crush on, that I was in love with him. He was my ‘movie’ lecturer. Before I go on, that one solid year of new media journalism came with learning the trades of news reading, documentary creation, content creation, and everything related to journalism, which included classes on how to make a movie. That’s how he became my ‘movie’ lecturer.

His name – Vinod.

He was tall, dark, and not handsome. But there was something about him. He was charming in a funny way, and he was scared of me. That’s right. After getting the results of the first test we wrote, I was super upset that he didn’t give me full marks for the brilliant answers I had written. I stormed up to him, and started fighting with him tooth and nail (I’m hyperbolic here), and made sure he gave me a 49/50. Post that, there were times when he would take a movie session, and I would be so engrossed in looking at him, that he would freak out and ask me what’s up with me. He always told me he felt like I was staring at him and plotting his murder. I kind of thought that was funny.

But then the year came to an end, and it was my graduation day. I was hell-bent on making him, my boyfriend. I walked up to him and asked him to join me for lunch. He hesitated but then relented. While we were having dessert, I told him that I had a massive crush on him and inched towards proposing him. He gave me an apologetic smile and said, “I’m married.” What happened post that was a whir of embarrassment. I refused to believe that he was married. He then called out to two of the lecturers in the college and asked them to let me know if he was married or not. They both responded in the affirmative, but I didn’t give in.

I mean, for crying out loud! He didn’t look old at all. I asked him how old he was and he said he was bloody 23!! I was furious. He was obviously lying, and so were the other lecturers. 23 and married, and this was back in 2011…riiiiiight? He attempted to get up and dump his plates, but I didn’t let him. It seemed like he was beginning to get petrified. I tried to make sure he was glued to his seat until I could convince him to go out with me. But that ship didn’t sail. He did manage to convince me that he was not single and that he was married. He showed me his ring, and another lecturer self-invited herself to the conversation and spoke about how he had a love marriage.

I zoned out. It was just like you see in movies (you will hear this line every time I talk about my weird love stories) Everything seemed to be a blur: their voices, faces, and annoying gestures. When I came to in a couple of minutes, I got up and walked away. He was polite enough to follow me and apologized. I graciously accepted his apology, wished him well, and walked away. Away from that college, away from him, and away from the memories I created in my mind of him and me living together.

#Crush No. 4

P.S. The #1 in the title doesn’t indicate that that was the first time I fell in love. It’s just a reference to my first post on the topic of my many crushes. Heeee.

Mom-related Insecurities

I had mentioned a while back that my mum’s long lost love was back in her life – which is absolutely excellent. I love that she is finally talking to a man after decades. I love that her interest in men has been rekindled. I love that when she’s done chatting with Sam – her ‘lover’s’ name – she looks pleasantly happy and flushed. I would like it if he could come over and spend time with her. I daydream that he comes and takes her away to London – that’s where he stays – and they settle down and live a happy-ever-after life. She deserves it, right?

But there’s this vicious part of me that is so insecure that she will leave me and go. I know this sounds super whacko. Generally, it’s the parents who behave in this manner and are scared their kids will forget them. I get it. Though I probably have Stockholm, I really feel like I have invested so much of my life in her. I have done everything she asked of me, given her quite a bit of what she’s wanted, taken her on ad-hoc trips, and always abided by her OCD-riddled life.

All through my young-age, through school, college, and workdays, until I was 29 -until three years back, I wanted to leave her and live a free, oxygen life – if you know what I mean. But life has taken a strange turn. I now want to be with her. I want the remaining of our lives to be happy, I want her to never want anything else, and I want her to enjoy life with me. I knew a few days back that I am going overboard when I decided to leave my husband again, just to go spend time with her for a year.

Not that my husband and I are separating or the like. He and I have a great bond, and he understands my predicament. He does have his fair share of complaints where he tells me I spend way too much time with my mom and demands that I spend an equal amount of time with him, but the fact is that he gets it. He really gets it and doesn’t make me feel bad about my decisions.

But now that Sam is in mum’s life, I wonder. Will she leave me to be with him? While I know the answer is a hard no, I still have my insecurities. Why is it a hard no? Because I know she loves me like crazy, and nothing can deter that. Why then do I doubt her love? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fear of newfound love and companionship?

#just some raw feelings

Overworking Is Now the New Escalation

When your colleagues perform better than you, I agree there’s going to be a lot of jealousy on your part. That’s obvious, no? But what’s baffling is when the team leader has a problem with you (in this case, me) performing better than the rest.

So here’s the context. I hate that witch. It’s a fact that female bosses are always a pain in the arse. I am sure when I get there, people will hate me too. That’s just how it goes. Period. But she and I have been having issues ever since I stepped foot in the project. We’ve been at loggerheads, mostly with me insulting the fuck out of her team-leading skills. We had quite a few back-and-forth emails with all the management marked on it, after which the delivery manager gave me a call and had a friendly chat with me.
He agreed with most of the stuff I mentioned in my mails, gave me kudos for the excellent work I have been doing ever since I joined, and requested me not to ‘rip’ a person. I could see he was on my side, so I adhered to his request and moved on with my work.

But then they went and fired a dear guy who was the job assigner and got this particular team leader to start assigning jobs. And oh my god! It’s been hell having to communicate with her. Last month my productivity was a good 183%, and I continued to be among the top-performing associates. I think she was so pissed with that, that now she doesn’t assign a lot of jobs to me. I would ideally work around 12-14 hours a day and pitch in on my weekends because the productivity and quality reports give me a high. So I started doing more. But now that she has taken over, she doesn’t allow me to work on weekends, gives me no jobs, and has told me blatantly on my face, “you cannot boost your productivity at the cost of other QAs.”

Seriously? So now, her problem is that I am overworking and trying to be the best? I am filled with rage, and this rage is eating into me and making my work life quite difficult. While I can’t get back to ‘ripping’ her, I need to find a way to combat this issue. I shouldn’t have to feel embarrassed or awkward about working more, right?

#female bosses suck

The Bible Tells Me To Never Call Someone An Idiot – My Day Is Incomplete Without Calling At least 10 People the Same.

downloadI know it’s not right to abuse people – verbally, physically, or emotionally. But it gets hard to deal with nincompoops day in and day out. I work in a process that has stupid people. Like, the whole process has dumbasses – from the management to the juniors.

I work as a process lead, but I am a proofreader, which means I check content for fundamental grammar issues, syntax, and the like. Now we have a team of writers who don’t know shit, and I wonder, how the hell have they been surviving in the process for two darned years? I just joined the process back in December, and I think (at the risk of sounding crass) that I have been able to perform way better than the ones who have been doing a crappy job for years. So I wonder, what is the management doing to combat incompetent employees?

The answer is – NOTHING! They agree that the team has “crackpots,” “idiots,” and is probably the worst team that they have put together, but it ends there. So I wonder, how are the excellent, efficient employees supposed to deal with an entire group of employees who get easy money? It gets difficult.

Now with the lockdown on, work has become more hectic than it was working in the office. Because now work begins at 7 am and should ideally end at 5 pm, but it goes on till midnight at least thrice a week. That means those many hours of dealing with dimwits. Argh!

Most of this post didn’t even make sense, but ok.

#work feelings

Money Heist – What’s Gonna Progress BTW Alicia and the Professor?

download (1)What’s going to happen to the Professor now that he has been caught red-handed? People have been saying that Alicia is probably Berlin’s wife, who has come to take revenge on the Professor. Hmm!
Now, this is what I think. Alicia is screwed, left, right, and center. Either way, if she hands over the Professor to the police or not, she will still be in prison for the rest of her life. I mean, after she screwed over Tamayo, she knew damn well that she was in for some kickass music. Probably death metal kind of music, no? But in the end, she does figure where the Professor is and comes face to face with him. What happens next?
What I think will happen next is that the Professor will get her to join him and his gang. I don’t see another go. He will offer her a considerable sum of money, he can hide her and keep her protected for life – if she adheres to the dos and donts, and she will be able to bring up her child the way she wants. If she doesn’t join him and his gang, then she is again doomed, because it’s not like the Professor will allow her to catch him and send him to the cops, right? I mean, he’s well-versed with all sorts of fights (I am presuming). Plus, she knows the ins and outs of the Force. Right? It will be a great idea to join the Professor if she wants to have a secure future.

What decision is Alicia Sierra going to take?
#money heist thoughts