How many words can you make from it?
At least a hundred?
I might as well list them.
I got the time, you see.
On the other side of my cubicle
Is another, where
A worker toils, sweats blood
But I have nothing to do.
Some stress for lack of work
And some just on account of it
Is it not possible for parity
In any aspect of capitalist life?
Something’s choking me
Oh! It’s the eight hours I need to log
It never seems to go away
However hard I try (Hope this helps).
Sphinx: A mysterious person
Whose intentions are not quite clear
She’s said to kill those
Who could not solve her riddles.
Phat: It’s passé, the Web tells me
Used to be “Pretty Hot And Tempting.”
A way to call a woman fat
And ensure she never blinks an eye.
Sap: There’s many meanings
The verb weakens
The nouns are fluid and stupid
The all-caps version concerns computers.
Ax: They say the Americans economized
Dropped the final “e” and no one missed it
Cos it didn’t serve any purpose
Oh wait – we are an American company!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
From a Narrow Viewpoint
I dream of a better world for myself,
For my friends, for my family, for people I know
And those I don’t.
To be free from tension;
From looming deadlines
And increasing pressure,
From 8 p.m. meetings
And pizza desk dinners
From automobile smoke
And humming computers
That all seem to be saying
That 60 years have passed
But you don’t seem to know
That it’s too short a time,
To shake off the shackles.
For my friends, for my family, for people I know
And those I don’t.
To be free from tension;
From looming deadlines
And increasing pressure,
From 8 p.m. meetings
And pizza desk dinners
From automobile smoke
And humming computers
That all seem to be saying
That 60 years have passed
But you don’t seem to know
That it’s too short a time,
To shake off the shackles.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Lines--And How to Cut Them
Yesterday, I was at a reception of someone who I had not seen even once earlier in my life. I was emotionally dragged into attending it by my mother-in-law, who, to be fair, is usually the only one attending such events, because of an extremely home-bound husband. If Fevicol were looking for a concept for its next installment of ads, I’d generously recommend my father-in-law, who stays at home, come hell or high water.
Anyway, as usual, I digress. On entering the reception hall, we spot a serpentine line snaking its way to the back of the room. “Let’s go stand in the line,” suggests MIL, and it seems like a good idea. We pick up our glasses of grape juice, and evade a few friends who might otherwise hold us up in our quest for eternity in the “X Weds Z Reception Veedeo: CD IV. 27/4/2008.”
After a few minutes, I notice that the line isn’t moving as fast as the camera flashes indicate. However, it has only been five minutes, and I think I must be over-reacting, as usual. We reach within ten feet of the stage, and a man in a blue short hails the guy in front of us (GIFOU) in the line. Gives his hand for a handshake, and they’re chatting. Pleasantries, I supposed. Soon, I notice he is part of the line, in front of us. What’s more, Mr. Blue Shirt (Let’s call him BS) then calls over his wife and kids, as if he wants to introduce them to GIFOU. They smile too broadly at each other, and the lady actually looks guiltily at us, while BS convinces her to stay on. Now, they’re part of the line too, in front of us. In another world, I tap BS on the shoulder and ask him, “Padichhavanga dhaane neenga (You’re educated, aren’t you)?” and, of course, he is overcome by shame.
In the real world, clearly, nothing of that sort happens. He happily carries on, and there are several others who join right in, both behind us and in front of, and we continue on, until we pose for the photo that is a sure candidate for the inanest instance of social propriety. By the way, after the reception photo is taken, what are the people supposed to do? I’d think, make small talk for the video. But most of us are still standing in the photo pose—wouldn’t that look horrible on video?
Well, after the “congratulations,” we make our way to the dining room, where another line awaits us. But as soon as a few places are freed up, there is a rush of people toward the empty dining seats, forget who was where first.
Why have we become so obsessed one set of social norms that we flout another so brazenly? Why does cutting forward in line count as acceptable behavior, while skipping the wedding of a near stranger does not? Is it because we have a closed circuit of people whose opinion we care about, and the rest can go to hell?
What makes a person wax eloquent about traffic rules, but run a red signal when the opportunity presents itself? If the wife of BS had that one iota of guilt, what made her jump over to the land of the obnoxious? Was it BS’ encouragement? Or was it the fact that cutting a line isn’t exactly seen as a crime?
When I first encountered this behaviour, I did take my fantasy role: I tapped the woman in front of me on the shoulder and told her that she cut forward. She proceeded to explain to me how they were part of the same group. She “let” me go in front of her, but the person behind me accepted her intrusion. I was now looked at with derision. “As if she can’t adjust. All these people from America always talking rules,” she said!
America or not, I have a dream – of a line that no one jumps, of a reception that is more meaningful than a few handshakes and 15 seconds of video.
Anyway, as usual, I digress. On entering the reception hall, we spot a serpentine line snaking its way to the back of the room. “Let’s go stand in the line,” suggests MIL, and it seems like a good idea. We pick up our glasses of grape juice, and evade a few friends who might otherwise hold us up in our quest for eternity in the “X Weds Z Reception Veedeo: CD IV. 27/4/2008.”
After a few minutes, I notice that the line isn’t moving as fast as the camera flashes indicate. However, it has only been five minutes, and I think I must be over-reacting, as usual. We reach within ten feet of the stage, and a man in a blue short hails the guy in front of us (GIFOU) in the line. Gives his hand for a handshake, and they’re chatting. Pleasantries, I supposed. Soon, I notice he is part of the line, in front of us. What’s more, Mr. Blue Shirt (Let’s call him BS) then calls over his wife and kids, as if he wants to introduce them to GIFOU. They smile too broadly at each other, and the lady actually looks guiltily at us, while BS convinces her to stay on. Now, they’re part of the line too, in front of us. In another world, I tap BS on the shoulder and ask him, “Padichhavanga dhaane neenga (You’re educated, aren’t you)?” and, of course, he is overcome by shame.
In the real world, clearly, nothing of that sort happens. He happily carries on, and there are several others who join right in, both behind us and in front of, and we continue on, until we pose for the photo that is a sure candidate for the inanest instance of social propriety. By the way, after the reception photo is taken, what are the people supposed to do? I’d think, make small talk for the video. But most of us are still standing in the photo pose—wouldn’t that look horrible on video?
Well, after the “congratulations,” we make our way to the dining room, where another line awaits us. But as soon as a few places are freed up, there is a rush of people toward the empty dining seats, forget who was where first.
Why have we become so obsessed one set of social norms that we flout another so brazenly? Why does cutting forward in line count as acceptable behavior, while skipping the wedding of a near stranger does not? Is it because we have a closed circuit of people whose opinion we care about, and the rest can go to hell?
What makes a person wax eloquent about traffic rules, but run a red signal when the opportunity presents itself? If the wife of BS had that one iota of guilt, what made her jump over to the land of the obnoxious? Was it BS’ encouragement? Or was it the fact that cutting a line isn’t exactly seen as a crime?
When I first encountered this behaviour, I did take my fantasy role: I tapped the woman in front of me on the shoulder and told her that she cut forward. She proceeded to explain to me how they were part of the same group. She “let” me go in front of her, but the person behind me accepted her intrusion. I was now looked at with derision. “As if she can’t adjust. All these people from America always talking rules,” she said!
America or not, I have a dream – of a line that no one jumps, of a reception that is more meaningful than a few handshakes and 15 seconds of video.
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