All play and no work makes me a dull worker :(

So, I’m at my new job, but have nearly nothing to do. Last week, they said this week will be busier, and this week, they say the next will be busier.
The work is so-so, and I’m doing extra things on my own initiative, like creating a training manual for writers to avoid simple mistakes. That’s pretty much the only thing I’ve done, actually.
I edited three documents or so, and V. said I’d receive a document today to edit, and it’s 3 p.m., and I have nada. Zip. I’m somehow not able to initiate talk, and don’t quite know what to do with my time.
If they give me a document at 5 p.m. today, I’m going to blow a fuse. They’d better not give me anything today, then!
But doing nothing is awful; never thought I’d be the one saying this.
When I came into this swanky office, I thought this was Corporate India at its efficient best – all smart and well-oiled. But that’s far from the case, as I’ve probably cribbed earlier as well. I’m thinking it’s be great if I had some extra writing work to do – partly why I’ve taken up this side assignment with Vin.
Oh well, let’s see what goes on.
Had dinner with one of my best friends from college yesterday, and she had some insightful things to say about society today.

Update: Just got an e-mail that details some tasks for the next few days. Seems like I have a lot of work coming my way tomorrow!

Support system -- too much of a good thing?

I’m finally meeting one of my best friends from college – and she lives just two streets away. Not quite sure why I didn’t rush to meet her; might have just been general lethargy, or is it subaltern for running away from my past? I’ll never know, because I finally got my ass up and had dinner with her.
After hurriedly getting her 2-year-old daughter some chocolates (which her husband, also a close friend ate with great gusto – turns out she doesn’t like chocolate all that much), I landed at her place. Her daughter apparently did not like me too much, and she has NO stranger anxiety, it seems! After meeting her husband, we bid goodbye to get on our journey, in the bike that must have seen a million potholes.
My friend, whom we’ll call S., has put on quite a bit of weight. Motherhood, I guess.
In any case, we go over a few more potholes, and wait at the gas station petrol bunk for two litres of petrol. Shouldn’t the reading be 2.02 at the pump? I guess not. Seems like the guy is doing some fraud, and I try to be the Jhansi Rani of Chennai, but the kids brush me off like I was crazy. Maybe I am.
In any case, two of us helmeted ladies reach Duchess Restaurant, and S. walks in with a defiant look on her face – like she’s going in for battle. On the way, of course, I’ve heard her tell me she’s hungry (really hungry, dead hungry, will-die-in-two-seconds-if-I-don’t-eat-right-now hungry) about a zillion times. It’s not like I can fly on my bike, but anyways.
So we walk in, and she practically orders for me, and seemed really desolate that I had decided to order vegetarian food. Something about the place made me want to stick on to my roots, or did it? Was it her? Is it India? I had not really eaten any (substantial) non-vegetarian food in Chennai since we arrived.
Anyways, what I got from the conversation was that all around her, relationships were breaking up. People were getting divorced, or sleeping with other people, or generally unhappy with their current lives.
True words. With increased financial independence and that “archenemy” of contentment, choices, women (and men) no longer think of relationships, and marriage, as being something “permanent.” They are, at best, the result of what was the best-case scenario at the time of the wedding.
Like an electron in its ground state (new information I gathered from one of our e-learning courses- hehe), people are constantly looking for ways to make that jump to the excited state. If an outside gamma ray comes and hits them, their bond to the nucleus is broken quite easily.
The concept of the existence something better out there that might not require this much work is ever-present in the minds of some of these high-tech DINK couples. Even DISK couples.
Working on a relationship might be really difficult for them, then. For people like me.
What makes it extra difficult in India is the fact that you have a support system that’s crazy, and will hold you no matter what.
Whenever V. and I fought in the U.S., sheer boredom would drive us back together. Desperate to talk and make up, we would. But here, I noticed (of course we’ve already fought), I don’t have a need to speak with him. I have my parents-in-law, work, friends, hundreds of books, cooking, and lots of other things to keep me busy. And it’s the same with V. – he has regular bridge games, doing little chores around the house, this and that. Actually, come to think of it, it does seem like he has less to do overall here!
So the support system that is looked at wistfully from shores beyond is working in devious ways within the country. Friends speak with each other, get drunk, and communication between partners is not exactly essential for either party’s survival.
I am independent and so are you, so let's all quit getting sentimental!
I‘ll stop my verbal diarrhea now; got to go.
But you get the point.

First Day at Work!

So, today was my first day at work in corporate India!
And boy, does it work slowly! My computer wasn't set up even when I left, and no one really gave me anything to do, and probably wouldn't have, if I hadn't asked them.
So, I was sent to an absent employee's computer, and just "hang out." I played two games of Spider Solitaire.
Then, I asked someone for something to do. Felt increasingly like the genie who had to always be occupied.
To get me out of their hair, I was asked to peruse some style guides. The files wouldn't open, and I waited for a while to get someone to help me. They couldn't.
Three games of Spider Solitaire followed.
Turns out the file won't open from the server.
So, after about an hour of that, I was bored. Thank God for my colleague, who dropped in with some edited documents for me to look at, so I could at least see what an e-learning course looked like!
Lunch was an elaborate affair, with some kids. The kids were really mostly fresh out of college, I saw a bit of myself in them. Age does funny things to you sometimes.
Well, lunch hour was for about an hour and a half, it seemed like. Way too long for my liking. I guess it's good sometimes, since there's not much else to do. I think I'll eat at my desk from now on. Perhaps join them for the walk later. Some of them walk after the hour-and-a-half-long lunch, apparently.
Anyways, to cut a long boring story really short, I got some work at around 2:30 or so, without a deadline attached to it.
And after reviewing my first real "client-approved" edited version of a module, I started actual work. After about an hour, there was some sort of (irrelevant, at least to my role, at least on my first day) meeting.
When I could return to my (read: Sudharshan's) desk, it was 6:15 p.m. I go and ask the guy what the deadline is, so I can plan my next day, and he says it is due that day.
What with PMS and general irritation, I almost snap back at him that it's not possible.
Anyways, I guess I'll have to finish it tomorrow.
First Day: Just OK. But people are really nice, all over the world.

Of jobs and interviews

Yeah, the job culture sure is a bit wierd -- that much can be figured out from the interview process itself.

So, I'm looking for a job; sort of half-heartedly. I don't want to seem like I'm not looking, but I'm not over-enthusiastic about it either.

My parents-in-law, after knowing that I might be interested, quickly accelerate to fourth gear, while I'm still on neutral, contemplating whether or not to move my car to first. They call on their favors, and put me in touch with many people from different kinds of newspapers.

First up is Deccan Chronicle. I learned that whenever you ask someone for any job opportunity, the first thing anyone says (before even looking into whether or not there IS a job), is "Come and see me/him/her."

So, on a tip ("recommendation") from a reporter (who my parents-in-law might have misconstrued as the sports editor; but I had no heart to tell them), I was on my way to meet a woman who had the very basic information on me. I had nothing on her.

So I made my way to her office, met my informant (recommender), and found myself in the office of a young woman who probably had half the experience in reporting that I did. She didn't seem to understand what I wanted. She said I could start off as a reporter, and I nearly laughed. Not because I didn't want to report, but she had prefaced it with, "Like any person fresh from college..."

Not sure if she read my resume, but as we spoke, I realized the job I would be perfect for, with my experience and background, was hers! She was in charge of the Chennai-specific supplement of the paper.

Any case, after a few questions like: How well do you know Chennai? Tamil? (Turns out she's a Telugu from Hyderabad who knows no Tamil --hehe), we parted ways, with promises of resume forwarding. That still hasn't moved forward, but I had an eerie experience at another newspaper, the doyen of Chennai's journalism.

I met a really nice gentleman, who asked me, again, to "come meet me," or "post me" my resume. He was going on vacation the next day onwards, and was nice enough to go through my particulars. After telling me there were several options available to me, he asked me to fill in my personal details at the end of my one-page CV.

Write your date of birth and marital status, he said. I was tempted to ask how this was all relevant, but held my tongue. In any case, I left with high hopes. He also called me right away, and said there were openings in their sister publication as well. I contacted the person in charge there, and he said the same thing -- "I'm not the person making the decisions, but you can come see me."

Why would I go see him if he cannot make a decision? Not sure, but I did. He gave me some gyan on the general industry etc., and left me sort of hanging. He was supposed to tell the editor-in-chief about me, so that I could call him.

When I called the editor a couple of days later for an appointment, he apparently said, "Who's this Miss Meera?" Not a good sign!

Anyhoo, later!

The Best Diwali Vedi!

At least someone has a sense of humor! Never mind that the bombs were all smoke, no burst.
One other picture attached too...

Enjoy!

Anatomy of a bus ride

T. Nagar has become crazy this Diwali season (perhaps always is during Diwali). The coming of the mega clothing stores (Saravana, SKC, Pothys, RMKV) has concentrated all the shopping within one square kilometer – so you can imagine the rush, the craziness and the commerce that goes on.
Sunday was the last weekend before Diwali – traditionally the busiest day for shopping for the entire year. Auto rickshaws are prohibited on the main shopping route in T. Nagar, and yet, the traffic was standstill or, if you're lucky, moving inch-by-inch.
My MIL has a friend, who operates an orphanage and old age home (these two institutions seem to go well together, as seen in many NGOs), has an annual concert and we were going to attend that. We, meaning, me, MIL, Maha, Vijay, and Govind (who had never set foot inside a bus, not even in the U.S., I might add).
After my idea of calling a call taxi was rejected (with good reason, apparently, no call taxi will ply to T. Nagar anyways), came a bus filled with people. Never mind the day of the week, Diwali means crowds, we gathered, but we wanted to wait for a bus with at least a square inch of footroom for each person.
Another bus arrived soon after, which might have been better. It didn't have the promised square inch, we learned, after we somehow got on. It was one of those buses where the front of the bus is reserved for ladies, and the back of the bus, for men. Earlier, there used to be buses where these two sections were separated by a grill, and was nicknamed “nai” bus (Dog bus) by my sis – it was quite amusing, especially when the ladies section would sometimes have a few free seats, while the men’s section would be bursting at its seams!
We all got in, or were shoved in, and the bus started before Vijay and Govind could get on. There was a mini-crisis in my mind, as I contemplated having everyone get off, but they both got on fine. Next came the task of getting Govind to a comfortable position (not possible, I learned). My MIL tried to get him to hold one of the poles in the bus, or even sit on one of the seats, but so terrified was he, that he just hugged my MIL’s knees, paralyzing her motion as well.
After getting the tickets (premium price, I must mention, as the bus was ‘Deluxe.’) we thought the bus would move. But it was stuck In traffic. We saw people walking by us – what’s more, we saw them walking back, after competing their chore as well, while we were stuck in the same place. T.Nagar is accessible by a subway (from our home), and the bus was stuck forever even before we reached the subway, which was known for its traffic snarls anyways.
My MIL had another bright idea – to get off before the subway (even though there was no bus stop), and cross the railway line (somehow, I’m sure it must have involved something illegal, not quite sure, as the lines are quite blurred). I was vehemently against this idea, and as we debated back and forth, the bus lurched forward, and braked immediately, of course, pushing us all a few feet in front. I looked down to see Govind was still holding on to his grandmom’s sari, and had now buried his face within her sari’s pleats.
After what seemed like an eternity, we got off at another unscheduled (but encouraged by the conductor) stop. The program itself went well, and we got a mix of some good songs, although the volume was really high. Our sitting right next to the speakers didn’t help, of course.
The way back was uneventful, as we hired an auto to get home. Of course, auto rates in Chennai are always negotiated, and the meter lies purely as a decorative piece.
I realized that I would have enjoyed this bus ride, had I been on vacation. It would have been something to tick off on my “local things I did when I went home.” Being local when you live locally is not all that attractive, I realized.

Personal what?

Personal spaces: Eh, what?

So, on Vijayadasami Day, I found myself screaming across the grill gate to the old woman next door, “No, I haven’t seen a doctor yet.” My nephew, Govind’s balloon became the starting point for a conversation that took me by surprise, but apparently it is quite common.

Anyway, to back up, Govind, my nephew, was playing with a balloon, and it fell over the fence to the next house. I went up to the gate and called out for permission, and the lady of the house (I think) said I could take it. Before I could move, an 80-plus old lady came out, and seemed happy to see me. I hadn’t seen this woman before, only heard her in general ambient sounds drifting into our house. She thought I was Govind’s mom, and after I clarified I was not (she was hard of hearing, so I had to shout too) she said, “oh, you are the second daughter-in-law. So how long have you been married?” I had to shout, “Four.” No sense complicating with months.

She immediately looked disappointed. “No kids yet?”

“No.” (Screaming at this point)

“Why?”

Not quite sure how to answer this, really. Should I be telling this woman anything about my life? I shrugged.

“Did you get yourself checked?”

Which was the statement I was totally unprepared for, but wasn’t exactly astounded by. I saw the old woman, and realized, “This is India yaar.”

I quickly promised her I would have a child as a ”humanly” p, and then she went on tangent about her accident, and about my mother-in-law’s stroke. “She would have died, you know,” said the old paati, as if we were unaware of it. Her words were quite dramatic, as if my mother-in-law was on her way to heaven and was brought back by some stroke of luck. Turned out she was a close friend of my mother-in-law’s mother; that was her claim to closeness.

After her, the local ironing lady asked me the same question too. “Nothing?” she asked matter-of-factly, tracing out a bump in her belly. I said, “If I keep eating like I do now, I’m sure I’ll get one.”

She didn’t seem to get it. Well, goodbye space. Hello, world; welcome to our bedroom!

Fights and fisticuffs, almost!

So I picked several fights today-- on Saraswati Puja.
I'm still trying to make sense of this country called India. While many of its residents are riding its wave of success, many more have not just been left behind, but are trying to make sense of all that is happening around them,including the presence of huge supermarkets like RelianceFresh (loved the place), and manifoldincrease of the prices of everything from petrol to day-to-day essentials.
Anyways, the first fight (maybe not exactly a fight), was with a random roadside rowdy. Maha and I were going on the bike, to enquire about a school closeby. The bike seemed to be a bitout of whack, and stopped after going a few feet everytime.
A bike, who was behind us, was continuously honking (with some good reason), as we were snaking on the road. Two kids passing by said something to the effect of 'Ladies,don't disturb." There was another lady in front of us,a vendor who was carrying a basket of greens, or something like that.
I called out to the guy, and followed him to his office, and started shouting outside the office. I scolded the guy outside, and told him that the world was going places, and this guy was interested in teasing women. I gave a spiel about women being offended and how we were not able to walk in peace blah blah. I asked for the supervisor, but was not given a proper answer. We wanted to ask Amma about the bike, so we parked the bike there and walked toward home.
The guys probably thought we were going to call the police or something. After we asked Amma, who advised us to keep giving it the choke constantly.
When we went bak to where the bike was parked, a few boys (hardly 15-16), were standing outside and asked for our forgiveness. They said that boy was crazy, etc.! I felt good for a little bit, but then started thinking about the boy who teased us. Where was he getting all this? From movies? Around him? His parents? How far had he studied? Why did he stop?

Anyways, the second was hardly a fight -- a taxi which was parked right outside our house was blasting music, perhaps oblivious to the fact that it might disturb others. I went to the taxi, and was almost ready to switch off the music manually (the windows were open), but turned out the driver was awake, and speaking on his cell phone. I told him it was disturbing us,and he immediately acquiesced, turning the volume down. I realised the concept of personal space was a bit different in India.

Then, I went to Maha's parents' house, and then to Vijay's peripa's.There was the real fight, quite unnecessary, i might add. Our hosts were on the third floor, and we went with my nephew Govind (three years old, I might add). He was already cranky, and we were sure making him climb the stairs would worsen him. We were directed toward the elevator, but there was a puja in progress right outside it -- a Saraswati Puja of the building, sort of. I asked the gentleman there if we could use the elevator. An older man, he said something roughly translated as, "What would you do if there were no elevator?"
Already on a short fuse, I got mad. I asked the man why we couldn't use it, and he muttered something under his breath. I went off on a tangent, clearly misunderstanding what he said. Then, even after he offered us the lift, I used the stairs, dragging poor Maha and Govind along. I muttered inanities ("They worship God, but clearly don't worry about human beings," etc.) all the way up. On the way down, we used the lift, and dropped straight into the proceedings! After some jostling, we got out, and an older lady said, "This is why he asked you to use the stairs." I thought to myself, "I understand, but isn't there a way to say everything? Why say something like that, instead of something nicer, especially to guests of the building?" Again, I guess presentation is not an important part of Indian culture.

Well, I feel like "Anniyan's" Vikram, Rules Ramanujam. I was speaking with Malar about the whole staring thing today, and she asked me, "So what's wrong with staring? It's just an indian thing. Just because Americans don't do it, doesn;t mean it's wrong, does it?" Point taken, I guess.

I'm also feeling a general sense of lethargy. Haven't really established contact with anyone except Malar and Soap, minimally. Don't know why. I guess I'll figure it out.

Gym salwars!

So it’s been two days since I joined “Rambo’s” gym.

The place where I see women in spotless salwar kameezes working out at 6 am! These are mainly working ladies who want to slim down, mostly to get married. How they can go to the office in those clothes soaked in sweat, or indeed, how they are comfortable in them while working out is beyond me.

I did that yesterday, but went out and bought some gym clothes (I could only get it in the men’s department, in something called “LoungeWear.” Really sweet girls, and they immediately asked my name and all that.

Not to be a comparer, but for all of Arlington Health and Fitness’ squeaky-clean atmosphere and the spotless equipment, nearly one-and-a-half years there got me no further than a random “hi.”

The first day I went to Rambo’s, I was subjected to a half-hour lecture from Rambo Vimal (former Mr. India and three-time Mr. Tamilnadu) on the importance of working out and keeping your body fit. “No one in India, indeed no one in the world gives such a talk,” he said. Never mind the obvious question: How does he know this? The talk was initially interesting, then became mildly funny, then boring. But he was sincere and earnest in whatever he said and that was the best part of it for me.

He also gave me a diet diary, and a diet chart, which stipulates five glasses of milk a day! Guess he thinks Dhoni’s secret really is in the milk!

Even the first day I met him, I thought he got what I wanted to do. The equipment (if you could call it that) was really rusty, but I took to this hulk who seemed genuinely interested in what he was doing.

I think it was Hrishikesh Hirway (a U.S.-based singer that I interviewed once) who said that the one thing inherently South Asian about his work might be its sincerity – how even in his lightest lyrics, there is a sense of sincerity that he finds reflected in Bollywood. I now know what he means.

Although most girls must be in their 20s (gosh!) there was one 56-year-old mami working out in her sari! Quite the change from Arlington’s gym, I must say.

The only thorn is that I have to get up at 5:30 a.m. to walk there – the session starts at 6!

Look for a muscular Meera in the months to come!!

Finally here!

I'm finally here! Things are chugging along, slow so far, still got a bit of a jetlag, am sleeping all the time. Mom thinks it's the stress of the past four years showing now.. hehe..

The first thing I noticed as soon as we landed, were the stares. It was not directed at me because I was a woman, or because I was perceived to be from America, or any such thing. It was just plain staring -- from women and men, both.
No sooner than my feet landed on the walkway than I assumed what might be my attitude throughout my life here in India -- one of offense.
I stared right back at people, until they would look away. And if I thought someone was staring at me because I was a woman (backed up by no particular observation even), I started ignoring them and walking past as if I was above such petty staring games.

My offensive stand came in useful at the counter when one of our bags was reported to be missing. The woman at the counter said the bags would come home, but no mention of any compensation. Now, I did not really have many clothes in the bag that I needed right away, but the bag was mine and the airlines was British Airways, and I hated them.
So I asked the woman (by now, my tone to anyone outside my "known" circle was already belligerent) if we would get any compensation. She said, point blank, no.
I immediately started complaining like the good NRI (RI I guess), and wanted to know where her supervisor was. She disappeared for a few minutes, and returned saying the supervisor was very busy.
I saw an older man who seemed to be answering everybody's questions, and I shouted out to him, "Sir!"
The lady seemed to understand and said immediately, "This is not my supervisor," and pointed me out to a man in a pink shirt (real men wear pink, of course).
V., by now, had unsuccessfully tried to dissuade me from getting into the mess, and had retreated. I followed the man in the pink shirt, and said I needed to speak with him, and he said, "wait there."
I seemed to think that being a pest will work best, and told him, I'd just follow him around. He was a nice guy, though, I must say, he also had a cute lisp!
He said he won't be able to do his job if I followed him around, but I stood my ground, and I might have gotten on his nerves a bit, I think.
Anyways, long story short, we got about 35 pounds as interim compensation. Not that the money was important, as I explained to Vijay -- it was the principle of the thing.

As soon as we got out, however, another thing hit me -- something I had forgotten during my days in Boston-- the humidity. It was around 5:15 a.m., and we were sweating like pigs. The weather -- still not used to it, and I like the heat too! I guess I like it when I don't have much of it:)

Vijay was here yesterday, and we planned to leave for my in-laws' house today, but I wanted to stay over an extra day. Think that didn't go down too well with my parents-in-law. My brother, meanwhile wants me to stay here until Sunday, when I leave for Mysore with my mom. Oh, whatever!

Am at my parents' house now, and they have broadband, so Internet is easier here. Looking forward to the Mysore trip.