All I want is love.
My drink, yes, my alcoholic beverage, needs to be prepared a certain way to be perfect. I need an old-fashioned glass, with 3 cubes of ice, let me rephrase that, with 3 perfect cubes of ice. Then, we pour 30 ml of JD and then we top it with Coke.
How difficult is that?
Well, very.
Firstly, I am not that fussy, so, I can deal with a not perfect glass. But the ice. What’s with the ice!?
Exhibit A: small, tiny insipid cubes of ice floating around, melting too soon, ruining my drink.
Exhibit B: Giant cubes of ice that do not budge, and destroy the JD: Coke ratio. Chheh.
Exhibit C: Those fake ice cubes that are hollow! Now, if the Exhibit A situation needs to be fixed, I up the ice cubes and for Exhibit B I go easy on the ice. But these fake, pretentious cubes are hollow and not evidently so! How can one be sure of them being hollow from one peep into the ice bucket? Argh! Ruiners of all things beautiful and worth living for, I hate ‘em hollow ice cubes! Hate.
Then, we have the JD, which in my opinion, is a sweet smelling, beautiful, well-rounded drink that leaves one wanting more. More of oak, more of the hints of caramel and more luscious lipped kisses and copious amounts of love.
Coke. Coca Cola, not Pepsi, not Thums Up, not the premix shite, but Coca Cola. If you get this wrong, or worse, try and lie to me about it, I will kill you.
Now, SCOOT. Get me a JD and coke, with 3 ice cubes, please. :)
sing sing
Today, yesterday seems forgotten. You smile as if yesterday never happened. I decided to let it go a long time ago. It slipped away, slowly and steadily, sometimes I had to push it away while holding on to you. I was always a terrible swimmer, you knew I couldn’t hold on for the both of us. You knew. And you jumped in anyway. What were you trying to do? Rescue me while I tried to save you? Didn’t we both just survive this? My heart was in the right place, all throughout yesterday. It was, all right.
Today, belongs to me. It does. And if you can’t pretend to smile or act like you are here today, please tell me how it ends. I need to stop traveling this road, I’ve done my time, I wish to sing along now, even if I don’t hit each note. So, smile for me. And smile with those eyes each time you feel yesterday lurking nearby.
A view from the bottom?
Every year many, many management books are sold; a million trainings/ conferences/ seminars/ webcasts/ podcasts/ presentations are created/ delivered to a gazillion Managers/ Managers-in-training/ Manager-hopefuls. All of these are trying very hard to become Corporate Whores or reap the benefits while they claim not to be Corporate Bitches. What do these books and trainings do? Nothing really, they give you hope or turn you into a bigger cynic. They make you realise how much more jargon you need to pick up and also, reiterate the importance of your network over your errr talent. Heh.
The Whores rule over the Bitches, for they tickle Big Daddy. The Bitches clobber the Slaves, for they provide support to the Bosses. The Slaves in turn will, if needed, gouge your eye out for some attention. That’s what it’s all about, attention. Who gets some, who gives some, how someone reaches a position where just your designation ensures you get some, and allows you to give some. Some people might disagree with me and claim that attention giving and taking is very unprofessional. I would like to tell them to retrieve their heads from their asses and then breathe. Ah, you smell that? Doesn’t smell like your head is full of shit eh? Take some time off, de-stress and tomorrow, you may try communicating.
Obviously, all this Corporate Whoring has a lot to do with the money. They say, if you’re good at what you do, you can always earn enough. Alright then, let’s assume, you may be able to earn enough by free lancing. Then what? Where is the office cab? Where are the air-conditioned interiors? What about ‘em perks? Medical and HRA and all that jazz that can be charged as Expenses to the company. What about the steady monthly income? What about the yearly humiliation called the Performance Appraisal or some such. What about the beautiful and much-awaited bonus? They turn you into dependent leeches! They do.
Some accept it, some except it. Some sell their soul and declare it to the world. Some claim their soul is intact. Yeah right! When you do this 5-6 days a week, ignore every other committment in your life if something urgent comes up and consider 40 hour weeks a luxury, then how is this not about your soul? You sold it. Yes, for that annual vacation or for your kids or your siblings or even your parents for they did so much for you. Didn’t they? Or just to repay the education loan or the rent on your close-to-office-apartment or the EMIs on your car, which you had to buy because of your work. The irony? of it all. Sigh.
The Bid Daddy, the Big Boss, the Boss’ Boss, the Boss, the Gods, the Friends, the Backstabbers, the Whores, the Bitches, the Bastards, the rich brats, the idiots, the Hardworkers, the Aggressors, the Politickers, the Ass lickers, the Ball ticklers. Baby, who says you need to be busting your ass in Advertising or Movies to have an “interesting” job. You see people bending over here too! You see favouritism, you see immature choots, you see it all. You are promised transparency and growth and the sun and the moon. What you get is material, for jokes, for cussing sessions, for torture plans that remain in your head. And the saddest thing, is that the Hardworkers who end up being sincere and not the Aggressors, are usually the Doormats. The doormats.
Maybe not, but my job has only taught me how I need to exaggerate and at times exacerbate.
PS. It’s still pouring here. If only transportation wasn’t an issue.
Why me?
Everytime I think, this is it, this day just cannot get any worse, some moron ensures I contemplate throwing myself off the 9th floor of this ridiculous building.
Have you felt completely insignificant, just because you don’t want to be obnoxious and in your face? Have you felt sidelined by someone who claims to be your friend? Have you wanted to tell someone they are stupid but couldn’t because of their seniority and your lack of diplomacy due to smoke coming out of your ears? Well, that is my day.
It was my day, up until, a complete moron decided to stamp on me in stilettos. Note to self, do not write down anything in an email, which you don’t want to be shared with the whole world. Of course, more important note to self, never, for one second, stop doubting someone’s intelligence, cause when you do, they will surprise you and almost cost you your job or reputation. How does one forward an informal one-liner email to the entire team you are delegating to without realising he’s making a mistake? Do the words, pressure/ name of seniors/ instructions of putting pressure on the same team/ procuring approval etc NOT make you realise it’s an email NOT to be forwarded?
What the fuck is up with the world today? Fine, I get it, I’m not your favourite, but what the hell did I do to deserve a coalition of self important, self obsessed, egotistical, dumbfuck idiots? None of them will even pay for the JD I need RIGHT NOW.
September. Already?
How can it be September already? The massive-post-New-Year’s-eve-party-hangover seems like it was suffered last week! The winter didn’t live up to the usual hype, the summer crushed us and the monsoon never really happened. I only saw 2 or 3 movies in the theatre. I haven’t even seen any plays. I didn’t headbang at any gig. I got only one bad haircut and it’s September already? Alright, so she got married but she had left Delhi for another long time back… Yes, he got engaged, but it involved only one roadtrip. I haven’t baked or cooked all day. I haven’t had nihari or phirni. I have hardly had enough cravings, the chilly chicken hunt is the only one I can think of. I have had only one expensive pedicure and, and… this is all very hopeless.
How can it be September already? Where did the past eight months go? Oh, well, at least the new shampoo works. And I have shopped enough to be broke and/or in debt! And I did sing on a mic, to Toni effin’ Braxton! So, what if I might be a corporate-whoring-emotional-wreck-of-a-wannabe-psycho-sociopath? That can be worked on, it’s only September eh?
