Angst unplugged

Guess I shouldn't have made Kafka staple bedtime reading a couple of weeks back. And it didn't help that I added Camus and Mann to the repertoire. I'm currently reading Mann's Confessions of Felix Krull.
And I was on night shift last week. Altogether not the smartest thing to do when you don't feel particularly good about anything. And now I'm hit by an overdose of angst — urban angst they call it.
Not particularly good when you stay alone. And so I've been ranting about virtually everything under the sun these days. Just check out my Independence Day woes on my other blog.
I need to do two things to get out of the rut — write to expunge the angst and read some stuff which will fill you with hope and a sense of redemption. Hey where's my local copy of Segal's The Class? This is a favourite of mine and I seem to buy a copy wherever I go and leave it there :-(
Don't know about you , but this book really peps me up.
And I've been writing a lot in the last few hours.
I've also discovered a new passion — reading ebooks on my E61i while on the move. Try doing that while you listen to your iPod — it's exhilarating. But peeople driving, a word of caution — I don't drive and do this stuff only on the Metro or in an auto.
But my phone is giving me some trouble. Apparently I've gotta get the latest pdf reader to view all the ebooks and the stuff costs a cool 13 euros!
Mentioning the Metro, I guess everywhere it's the same. Why do people like taking joyrides on them, especially on holidays? We poor sods who work on such days are badly inconvenienced. But guess my rant isn't gonna make these thickheads here anymore conscious.
Omigosh!
there see I've started ranting once more. Gotta cure myself.
In other news, my eyes seem to be failing me — gotta see a doc soon. I don't see as well as I was used to. And if I wasn't so hard up financially, I would have considered buying a digicam or an iPod touch, just to read ebooks. And any new jobs I'm being offered isn't giving me that much of a hike. So I'm caught in the rut till my office agrees to a hike. Its a tough life!
Excuse me please, I feel waves of angst overwhelming me.
Bye

In remembrance (written on the night of 24th June)

Forgive me. This post is a bit personal.
Tonight is the first time I'm spending a night at my grandparent's place in Cal since my Didan passed away. And I cannot sleep. Memories keep flooding me, and yet, no tears.
A couple of things seem to have fired my nostalgia:
I visited my old office the first time after I left. And it felt good to be back, even though temporarily. Today, realisation dawned that my true calling lay here - in Cal with my old team. I think I've always felt that way. But just as a young bird needs to go on its first flight alone to strengthen its wings and return home, so do I. It's not yet time.
There is another painful reason: I can't think of working in Cal staying in this house. Its sacred to the memory of times gone by.
I did not have the luxury of showing my anguish when I first heard the news, dumbstruck as I was with shock. Also, I got the news in the middle of a mass meeting with top bosses. I felt and still feel strangulated.
I'm awake at that point of time in the night when I used to get back. More memories flood me, but still no tears. Guess I'm being selfish, but she was snatched away when I needed her the most. I was close to her in an unlikely manner. All her grandchildren felt closer to her than their own mothers. She was often a sounding board for most of my decisions in life. And I've reached the crossroad thinking about what the rest of my life holds. I needed her words of wisdom now.
yet I can't come back before proving myself.
She had decided on my shift. She was after me to take this decision. The least I can do as her grandson is to abide by it.

A million cars to Noida (written on 13th June)

I had got out of office a bit early tonight. Coming down Nizamuddin bridge on my way home, I was greeted by the tail lights of a million cars. Well, not exactly, but quite a few, let me tell you.
I made a few deductions:
a) a sizable population of the capital was visiting the suburbs
b) most journalists in the capital live in Noida
c) it was a Friday, so everyone wanted to go on a drive on the highway

Nonsense natter

Why do people blog?
Some blog for fame, some for money (a rare category), some to promote themselves, some to stay in fashion (a majority), some because they have nothing better to do (includin myself) and many because they love writing (again, me). Some of us with limited conversational skills find it easier to string together sentences while writing.
I also blog to improve my skills as my teacher from junior school told me that the more one writes, the better it becomes.
But the real reason for this mindless post is that I'm sitting in an auto hurtling towards Noida from Delhi and I can't resist twiddling my fingers. I'm also relishing technological advancement. It's exhilarating!

Miscellaneous musings

I'm growing old. And fast.
I see a single strand of white in my sideburns and a whitish tinge on my beard. I'm thrilled. Grey looks cool... it signifies class and experience. I should be jumping with joy. But instead I feel worried.
Why?
Because I'm on the right side of thirty. And single with no time to mingle. When my parents come to know about my grey look, I'm sure they'll go ballistic. It spells disaster in the marriage market, All things considered this is not exactly the US and I'm no George Clooney.
I'd be happy with this tinge of grey but for the fact that my eyesight is failing as well. I can't see as far as I could a few years back. My 'reading range' has dropped dropped drastically from 750 metres to 150. Millions of hours in front of the monitor seem to be taking its toll.
And my forgetfulness is playing havoc with my life. I just don't seem to remember anything. Earlier, I wouldn't remember anything not connected to work while in office. Now I can't remember anything other than work. I can't even remember how many active emails and credit cards I have and how many posts I've made. I'm convinced I made a post a couple of weeks back, but just can't find it. At this rate I may soon forget who I am.
Oh well! It must be the sweltering heat in the capital, I tell myself. However what is capital is that I'm worrying over something that is natural and a part of life. AndI  see no solution to that.
Great! while keying in this post I realise my fingers can't keep up with my thoughts and I'm making typos galore. Now is that a bad sign or a good one?
Why don't you help me out? I'm too busy dealing with stupid mosquitoes and senility.
And I have to rant about the city on my other blog.
Amen!
May the force be with you!

Life in a.... Metro

(This post was made on the 17th evening, but could be uploaded only now)


My third post begins with apologies to the maker of the movie of the same name.
I plead guilty. I flinched his title. But the best title was already taken.
Yes, this post, too, deals with life in a Metro... but a different kind of Metro... not the city, but the mode of conveyance. And interestingly, I'm writing this post on board an Indigo flight to Mumbai from Calcutta. (It's bad, you have to buy the food!).
One should start at the beginning: Calcutta — that is where the Metro rail started.
I've been living in that city for about three years now and I am a regular commuter.
The Metro is nothing short of a living being... it has its own quirks and hustle and bustle.
My profession requires me to be a good observer — and I have a few observations. You might find them interesting.
1) The Metro is way too loud. Try listening to classical music on an iPod at full blast and you'll understand what I'm talking about
The doors are always more crowded than the rest of the compartment — either people revel in making life difficult for others or they don't have an iota of civic sense
A ride on the Metro is a pleasure trip — no questions asked. Count the number of such people on any given Sunday. I'm sure you'll agree
Park Street station is on the right — I've witnessed numerous occasions when passengers jump out of their reverie at the mention of that hallowed address and promptly troop to the right, only to realise their mistake and create a mini-melee within the rake
Escalators or slapstick comedy? Ever seen the throng waiting for the “ride” of their lives? Not only do they hamper hurried passengers, they provide a lot of entertainment with their “non-intentional” antics
Smart/unsmart entry/exit: Commuters with paper tickets make it a point to fumble at smart entry/exit points. It becomes even more irritating the station has single smart points as opposed to three or more paper points
Oglers/nudgers/lechs: Does one need say more? Except that such people exist from both sexes.
I guess that pretty much takes care of enough banter for a day. And I really need to put away my notebook as we are about to land in Mumbai!!!

Living with accents

Contrary to popular belief (especially by some ignorant high-school
acquintances), I did not spend my childhood or any significant amount
of time in the UK.
The idea was given rise to in junior high because of the "impeccable" accent I had. My Brit accent, like many other Indians, is thanks to listening to and watching BBC news religiously while I was a child. My immodest self tells me I pick up accents pretty fast, guess all thanks to my teachers in kindergarten who impressed on us the need for a "perfect" accent.

By the time I joined university, I had lost count of the number of accents I had learnt and unlearnt. To me, it was my private game -- picking up accents, surprising others with them, unlearning them and going on to a new one.

However, all my experiments were limited to the Queen's tongue. While my standard accent remained Brit, I was experimenting with different accents of different countries. I enjoyed myself immensely by foxing all with my accent during my Aussie phase.

Sir Geoffrey's "roobish", an Indian favourite, tickled my interest about dialects. They showed my inadequacy with a foreign tongue. While I was able to pick up Boycott's Yorkshire, after a lot of hard work, I gave most others a miss.

Looking across the Atlantic, I found more interesting possibilities in the dialects/accent/tongue at the melting pot of cultures -- the US. It was much easier picking up separate accents, rather than dialects, in the US. Thus began my Transamerican quest.

I had started learnig Deutsch in the meantime and Deutsch Wella television came to my rescue for the "perfect" accent. My TV teacher outlasted my German professor -- I took the course for three months, but still am able to read out everything in German just the way it should be, though I don't understand a word of it.
My first job was with an Indian software major's BPO wing. I was a tech support guy for the world's largest manufacturers of PCs, handling US clients. Their intensive training made sure our accents were "neutral" -- rather American. But I still lapsed into my Brit accent whenever I let my guard down.

All of us at the BPO spoke to each other in our "taught" accents for practice... we were speaking in US English 24/7 --- either with clients or among ourselves.

This accent took its toll -- my Brit accent was lost and we started speaking the US way wherever we were.
I started putting to good use my years of studying US accents at separate places. While this helped me in dealing with US customers, it also gave rise to speculation among some acquintances that I had spent some of my university years in the US. They would never believe me when I said this all was thanks to my hobby of learning and unlearning accents.

The first thing I did after chucking my BPO job was to practice a faux Indian accent --- more specifically a Bong one - I never had before. But even two years of practice hasn't cured me -- the way I speak is a mish-mash of accents and when I talk on the telephone, my US accent
comes to the fore unconsciously!

I guess I'll have to live with it all my life.