Adventures in Arranged Matrimony: Hunt - Or be Hunted!!

Adventures in Arranged Matrimony: Hunt - Or be Hunted!!

"Priyanka, Anusha, Chaitra and 236 others are waiting for you...."the notification read. I was thrilled. If just uploading an incomplete profile would put me in touch with so many potential suitors, I would find the "Right One" in a couple of weeks. I quickly opened an other tab on the browser that said "Popular honeymoon destinations in Asia"

                                        

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 When you don't fall in love at the right time - or rather-get someone to fall in love with you at the right time, the inevitability of arranged marriage looms large. Add to that a conspiracy from the stars (read horoscopes), a script dictated by religion and caste, and (over) enthusiastic participation from a wide circle of relatives - the stage is set for drama like never before. Only, it is happening in your own life.

I still remember the day my Father brought a hundred page note book and religiously wrote Lord Ganesha's name on the first page. "Ensure that you find a girl before this book runs out..." was his first instruction. It was then that I realized that this notebook would be his database of all profiles that were referred to us. I almost ventured to suggest that he start an Excel, but held myself back, as I'd be the one eventually maintaining it if it were to transpire to reality.

Our next task was to bring out the model in me. This involved transformations of humongous proportions: from the hygienic to the well-groomed, from the posture-less to the photogenic and from the presentable to the polished. "Please try to put on some weight" seemed to be the universal suggestion right from the distant aunt whom I got to know existed when we started bride-hunting, to the gym instructor, who suddenly seemed to take more interest in my marriage because the membership renewal was due.
"I'll make you ready for the big day Saar" he used to say with a wink every time, in broken English. And as though spurred on, I would do a couple more routines that day, than the usual.

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"Let's head to the Bureau" declared Father one Saturday afternoon. We were nearing the end of an intense referral phase - with my matrimonial Resume being floated discerningly in the close circle for potential matches. This had not resulted in much tangible progress - apart from tempering our expectations and anxiety levels. My Father for one, understood that a blue tick on WhatsApp doesn't mean that his son's marriage is a foregone conclusion. I realised that wearing dark shades instead of power spectacles in a photograph, doesn't exactly improve my appeal. And most importantly, Mother started appreciating that a girl looking super beautiful in a photograph may look totally different in reality.

Once planetary alignments, Facebook profiles and MBA colleges ensured that we exhausted all possible leads in the close circle, Father decided that we had to cast the net wider. Or rather, I had to be displayed more publicly as an eligible bachelor. It was then that we zeroed in on the Bureau.

Apparently, lot of prospective grooms and brides had found the "One" in the Bureau. It had an excellent database of suitors (I was wondering if it was better than that of Father's) and provided opportunities for parents to network. It was a niche in itself because, it was still only offline with a fledgling presence online - and yet managed to attract people from all over the state.

It was a Sunday when we first visited the Bureau. Through sustained effort, I'd managed to gain a kilo plus three hundred grams - which was visible as a paunch, thanks to corporate life.(The gym instructor was insisting that I'd gained weight - where, was a different matter altogether). My Mother fussed that I wear formals;wearing a Tee would mean exposing my slender arms and bony neck. What if the girls' parents thought I was undernourished? Father complained that lack of a stubble meant I looked 24 and not 29. (This was definitely not under my control). "Behave yourself, cut your sarcasm" was the instruction I received from them as we got down from the auto. The Auto Driver's "All The Best" seemed more a smirk than a wish, as we entered the doors of the Bureau. I asked Mother if I should prostrate for a couple of minutes before entering - for good luck- but she dismissed my earnest question as sarcasm.

Ever since we started discussing the Bureau, I'd developed visions of it in my head. I'd imagined myself entering the Bureau with two jasmine garlands - one around my neck and the other one in my hand, for the girl I felt was my best match. Girls would line up on either side, waiting for me to make my choice. And the one I chose to garland would walk away with me, while her parents' eyes brimmed with tears of joy. In an alternate version, girls were waiting for me with jasmine garlands in their hands. The next moment there were multiple garlands around my neck, and I'd to figure who I needed to accept. It was my parents' eyes that were glistening with tears of happiness now.

The reality turned out to be totally different. The Bureau was one square hall, lined with benches and some chairs for courtesy. Tubelights lined the walls and a couple of fans cooled a rather tense and serious atmosphere. Anxious parents pored over files that contained data of prospective brides and grooms. Each of them, had made their own database ( I could now appreciate Father), which was in a different stage of maturity. 

Clearly, there was a distinction even among the parents' journeys of finding brides and grooms for their sons and daughters. There were parents who had just managed to convince their sons to start thinking about marriage and had rushed to the Bureau with horoscopes and photographs with a plan to find the right match the same day. There were parents for whom the novelty of the process had worn off and who were "going through the inevitable motions" before the perfect match came along. And then there were the frustrated ones - who had passed through the first two stages - who now just hoped that the process would end. There were the quiet ones. And some of them who were boisterous. Some one of them even acknowledged that they should have allowed their children to find the right match themselves.  I was amused at this late realization and silently wondered if the same thought was crossing my parents' minds too. Well, I guess it was too early in the day for that!

My parents were presently in the over enthusiastic segment. Father opened his precious database and wrote the date with the brand new Parker he had bought for the purpose. Mother switched over to her officious mode as she wore her reading glasses. I was soon doing the dual role of a bridegroom and a clerk. My job was to run to the store room, grab a file full of brides-to-be, hand it over to my parents. Father matched the fundamentals of the horoscopes, Mother scrutinized the profile and passed it to me for  final vetting. Nevertheless, it was cursory. If the profile passed Father's checks and Mother's eyes - we would proceed "to discuss at Home."
 
                                               
                                                              *************************

I came back home from Office the next evening to a call centre. Father's database was spread wide open on the table. He was on one side of the living room, his customary coffee in one hand and his mobile in the other. "Hello...is this Mr..? We came across your daughter's profile at the Bureau. My son's name is Alok....." he went on. And at the end of the conversation, he would write a response across the profile in his database. There were different updates - ranging from "Accepted - to send profile" "Horoscopes don't match" to "Discuss with Alok". There were a couple of cryptic encircled and crossed out profiles as well.

Mother was on her phone as well, working on the other half of the list - typically where the point of contact was the lady of the house. She would start with an ice-breaker before pitching me more formally. She would even go on to describe what my hobbies were and what I did on weekends. I was almost sure her pitch was much better than mine to any prospective match. At the end of her conversation, she reached out to Father's database. But her evaluation and update were more analytical and critical than Father's. "Tone was cordial. Seemed interested". "Down to Earth. Need to progress this further". "Great background. Alok would be interested"

Both my parents were cold calling prospects!! And their cold calling had sincerity and earnestness that I never managed to imbibe in my share of cold calling as a sales guy.The final straw was my Brother. He was busy WhatsApping my profile to parents of prospects that Father and Mother had already spoken to.

Arranged Matrimony was staring at me in the face. To find someone - I always believed - had to be my objective. The reality was turning out to be different. My family had made it their purpose to find me someone. I was used to calling it social pressure - a blind obsession. But what I was now seeing was genuine concern to help me take the next big step in life. I saw the same energy, enthusiasm and determination that I had seen in them during multiple milestone moments in my life earlier.

I looked at them with pride and emotion. The lens of irony and sarcasm through which I had viewed the proceedings till now was fast melting in the fervor to do something to help my family see this moment through successfully - without much effort. Should I grab the sacred database and start dialing a few numbers myself? Or should I call the Matrimony website to extend my Premium subscription? Or should I vow that I would visit Lord Ganesha the moment an alliance was struck?

My train of thoughts was broken by loud shouts and noise from a couple of Hi-Fives. "It's more than a blue tick, Brother" Akshay was telling me. "They want to meet us next Sunday!"

Was I Hunting.......Or being Hunted?

                                                                                                    - 3rd December 2018

Disclaimer: Events dramatised for fictional purposes

The Ubiquitous Upma

      The Ubiquitous Upma

Nothing else could present the reality of a Monday morning better than the smell of fresh Upma cooking in the kitchen. As my brother and I got ready for school, and Father for office, the smell of Upma, the thought of having to survive two rounds of battle with it at breakfast and lunch – clearly prepared us for the long week ahead.  If Upma was prepared for a second time in the week, it was a clear indication of hostilities in the family. And as Upma made its way to our breakfast plates, surrenders were imminent.

The dry, powdery, colourless and sometimes tasteless breakfast dish has been referred to as “concrete” by men of wisdom, for ages. This lack of subtlety, uninspired preparations and the “use cases” when Upma is prepared have clearly dented its brand image.

For starters, Upma always served as a substitute and would never be the first choice. I still remember Grandmother having Upma on Ekadashi. And post eclipses, we were all force fed Upma for dinner. The preparations were always in a hurry. Switch on the stove, roast some rava, boil some water, add a couple of green chillies – Upma was ready to be served. The intent was always to fill the stomach – and not serve something that pleases the eyes or the taste buds. And if some quantity was left over, it would invariably find its way to the lunch box the next day.

On the lunch table that day, poor Upma competes with Biriyani, Pulao, Bisibele Bath and other delicacies the whole office has been talking about since morning. The grumpy husband thinks a hundred times if he needs to offer the Upma to colleagues, who are passing the more illustrious preparations and decides against it. He is bound by marital code to finish his lunch box while there is overwhelming temptation to dig his spoon into his neighbours’ plates. The meal starts with anger, transitions through frustration and ends in meek surrender.

With this daily narrative in most homes playing spoilsport, Upma looked for resurgence through multiple avenues. Not least, piggybacking on other ingredients to become palatable. A mishmash of vegetables to begin with. Onions, for instance, lent their flavour and “Onion Upma” was considered acceptable. The more imaginative kitchens added colour with turmeric. A spread of cut beans, carrot, capsicum and curry leaves took the attention away from the bland rava. This “Vegetable Upma” earned a few appreciative nods as well. In a departure from tradition, someone served Upma with Chutney, and the masses almost started looking forward to it.

What definitely changed fortunes for Upma was when it started becoming mainstream. Upma, being a traditional south Indian dish found preference for an evening snack just before the beginning or during the interval of a Carnatic classical concert. However, here, it wasn’t powdery concrete anymore. It was a delicacy – a pleasing green with strategically placed beans and carrot, embellished in ghee and cooked with just the right amount of water to make it semi-solid. The aroma wafted through the halls of the concert, playing with your olfactory faculties as the musician played with the Swaras.

Hotels went a step ahead and carved out a “Chow Chow Bath” – a mixture of Upma and Kesari Bath. Upma was now enjoying equal status with a sweet. Hotels, with their panache for presentation, used a bowl in which to fill the hot Upma. When they emptied the Upma on the plate, the Upma took the shape of the bowl. Powdery concrete was finally history in front of this classy looking Upma – with cashews standing out artistically.

Perhaps what sealed the ubiquity of Upma and gave it a sense of social standing was its role in courtship and weddings. When the prospective groom’s family visits the bride’s home, meals are not served as a matter of tradition. The first alternative that came to mind – was Upma. The perception and the reception of the Upma played a critical role in the alliance progressing to the next level. What if a mediocre Upma drove the groom’s family away from the alliance? Worse still, what if this Upma was not great, and the girl was ridiculed years later by her husband saying the first Upma he had in their home was terrible, yet he went ahead and married her?

More importantly, Upma slowly became the de-facto breakfast in weddings. Again, a challenge for the bride’s family- who generally take care of the food. A good breakfast meant a great start to the proceedings. If guests were displeased at breakfast, it would take humongous effort to get back into their good books. And Upma, quietly shouldered this responsibility.

From the melts-in-the-mouth craftsmanship of wedding Upmas, to mustard infested dump-in-your stomach funeral Upmas, Upma has seen it all: The rage of a husband pushing away a plateful of Upma in contempt, as a worried wife looked on. The delight in the eyes of prospective in-laws, as the groom tucked into the Upma and relished mouthful after mouthful. Yet, what could tug its heartstrings would be a toddler, crying profusely over phone saying “Uncle, rescue me! They are killing me with Upma every day!” Some things would never change!

                                                                                                                 -19th August 2018
The article was subsequently published in the Hindu Open Page column, on 26th August 2018

The Journey Of God

                                 The Journey Of God

The Friend

God was His playmate. After all, His grand-dad always told stories about God where he was naughtier than Him. Playing pranks, stealing butter, tying a serpent around the stomach, riding a mouse - all these antics of God seemed inspiring. He definitely wanted to try them at some point in life. Well, may be when He was much bigger and taller. He always liked visiting the temple - which was supposed to be the House of God. And He was always fascinated by how many Gods seem to exist. It simply meant there were so many of those stories that He would hear from his grand-dad. So many different idols to play with.  Krishna, Ganesha, Shiva, Rama - the list would go on. 

The sanctum santorum at his home housed all these Gods and their idols. He had been clearly instructed not to touch any of them. Which he found strange. He would be dressed up as Lord Krishna on Janmashtami - but then he would always wonder why the distance between Him and the Gods prevailed at the sanctum santorum at his home.

He particularly liked the Elephant headed God Ganesha. He seemed all powerful and serious, yet had a funny face with a trunk and a rotund stomach. And his arrival once a year meant lots of sweets and a new set of clothes. He was the God that you had to pray to before starting anything good.

He had his own set of idols - which somehow never got the attention like the ones in the sanctum at his home. He would play with them, make them have food, bathe them, put them to sleep. Gods, afterall, were like everybody else. On their birthdays and in temples, they got special treatment. When He played with them, they were his playmates. He smashed the idols on the floor one moment; cuddled them the next. Hurled an abuse at them when he was agitated; and they rested next to him when he slept.

                                     .................................................................................................

The Rebel

The first death he saw in life was that of his Grand-dad. He was in disbelief for days together when this happened. How could God take away the life of someone who worshiped him so dearly for years together?

And if God really existed, why did he lose three table tennis competitions after reaching the finals each time? He had prayed ever so fervently that morning, requesting God to ensure that he won the finals. It wasn't to be.

After two years of just saying Hello, he finally had mustered courage to ask her out. But then, one minute into that all important conversation, she had spurned him with a giggle that mocked his approach. Where was God when he went through the agony of disappointment?

Well, the simple answer was God didn't exist. God was just imagination. God was just belief. To believe he controlled everything was a myth  - an argument of the weak. It was man with his sheer will, determination, poise and ability who controlled everything.

He watched movies that glorified God and his prowess. He read mythology where good battled against evil and God took some form or the other to save the world. Yet he would watch the society around. The poor, the deprived, the incapacitated. People who were, and would continue to suffer - though they worshipped God with fervour and - as he later realised - fear. Good would never triumph over Evil in all cases.

Youth ignited the fire of science, rationalism and liberalism in him. He argued against rituals that seemed to have no connection with the outcome. How could a promise to shave his head guarantee a job in an MNC? How could the birth star of a girl mean that her in-laws would suffer a tragic death?
Why would God ask a cow or a goat as sacrifice? And why would God of one religion instigate thousands against the God of another religion for a small corner in a room where it was believed he was born? And why did he stay in silence when thousands were killed and blood flowed like water in his name?

God simply did not exist.

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The Prisoner

The battles of Life doused the fire in his eyes. The blows of reality weighed on him and bent his spirit. As he grew battle weary, he found the Elixir that mattered - God. 

He cajoled his rebellious spirit into performing the first set of rituals his family priests prescribed. And Lo! He reaped the rewards immediately. The Gods were propitiated by his surrender and showered their blessings. All his problems at that point seemingly vanished into thin air. The priests claimed victory for Gods, devotion, fear and of course themselves.

And then, he was imprisoned. Within walls of Faith. Handcuffed to fear. Yet free of responsibility - because God controlled his life. God made sure he succeeded. God was to blame if he failed. If he wanted something dearly, all he needed to do was appease God with a Yaga. His wish would be granted. 

He made a beeline to all temples his family and friends recommended. He set aside a portion of his earnings for temple offerings. Pictures of different Gods adorned walls at his home. He sported vermilion in the morning and sacred ash in the evening. He forced his kids to visit the temple once every week. They needed God's blessings.

Debates of God's existence never had any meaning in them. The debate that mattered to him was which God is superior. Ofcourse, it was His God that was superior. His God, his faith were the greatest. And he went to the extent of confusing God and Faith with the country. He derived a strange jingoistic pleasure with this equation. He would worship his God - and that would be his service to the country, he proclaimed.

From a tiny slit in the walls of his prison, would peep in rays of rationale that had nurtured the fiery spirit in his Youth. In sporadic moments of  insanity, he would take a step or two towards the light. As it pierced his eyes and his conscience, he would look away.

The darkness of His Prison had never questioned him 

                              .....................................................................................................

The Veteran

Though delayed, grey hair and wisdom did set in. The lens through which he viewed the world did change - literally and metaphorically. He had seen enough of life to not get carried away by success or cowed down by failure. His family had tided through crisis and his progeny did not depend on him for sustenance. He was finally finding a balance.

God appeared to him in new light now. Somehow, this was close to the way he had viewed God when he was a child. God was his friend. A benefactor. May be he controlled everything and may be didn't. He was there - like everyone else- he was just there. Watching. Not necessarily watching over.

Scriptures, mythology, religious texts seemed different. He grasped their meanings and purpose at a different depth. The journey was on the intellectual plane. He was not reading them for peace. He was reading them because he was at peace.

If anything, he started believing the concept of Karma. As you sow, so you reap. Work was Worship. A good deed would beget a good one. And not necessarily in you next life which no one knows if it exists. But here and now. Justice would be delayed - but never denied.

He still made a beeline to the temples. But the purpose was different. The purpose was the journey and not the destination. The Gods were nestled in the mountains, amidst nature, for a reason. You could trek through the greenery, work hard to reach the temples. The long journeys themselves provided an opportunity for reflection. And the vacation provided a much needed break from the problems we were grappling with day in day out in our lives.

He stopped offering money to the temples and instead started spending the same on the poor and the destitute. He now saw God in service. During his morning and evening walks, he made friends with people of all faiths. Visited their places of worship and listened to their preaching. He realized Gods never discriminated. 

 He went to his childhood cupboard and opened the trunk with the idols of Gods. The Elephant God smiled at him. He always did.

God had come a Full Circle.

                                                                                                         - 2nd August 2018

A child playing with an idol is the moment inspiring this post. 

Corporate Musings: Of Peace, Productivity and Purpose!

Corporate Musings: Of Peace, Productivity and Purpose!

I closed the laptop even before it shut down. My hand was already reaching out for my mobile phone. I'd checked it about ten minutes ago. But life can change in ten minutes. Especially if that girl you've been tacitly hitting on chooses to initiate a chat-even if the message reads just "Hi". Or what's better - the notification that makes your heart skip a beat: "A recruiter has viewed your profile"

A few cubicles away, Rahul and Vinay were closing their laptops with a thud and reaching out for their phones. I could guess that Rahul was shopping for his date. And Vinay was already checking his mail on phone, for issues that could have occurred in the last forty five seconds to one minute.

There was a comfortable silence in Office. The silence that marks the end of a hard day. That happy silence that prevails when the rest of the to-do list can wait for tomorrow. That easy silence which lends to philosophical conversations with colleagues you could safely call friends.

"Yours is an OCD, Vinay" I mocked, as he feverishly unlocked his mail on phone. He ignored my comment and continued checking the mail. "I've always wondered how anything we do here, any issue we resolve...impacts the world outside. So after a certain time....things can wait. Peace."

"Which is why you should focus equally on personal life"said Rahul.

"Like you focus on your girlfriend?" Vinay interjected, looking away from the phone for the first time in the last five minutes.

"Fiancee now. I have personal commitments to look forward to. Productivity - in here and outside." corrected Rahul.

" I haven't thought about personal life much. My goal is the corner office by 45. Here...or anywhere else. I'm willing to do anything it takes. Purpose." said Vinay.

I pulled up a chair and settled down in between the two guys I'd come to befriend in office in the last year. All of us had embraced corporate life- again - after post graduation. The second innings, we had hoped, would transform our lives and careers. And on the surface, it quite did. We had better salaries, more glamorous sounding designations and mouthful of jargon that we could throw to confuse external and internal customers alike. Yet, a couple of years on, there was something gnawing at our spirits which refused to go away - after crunching numbers, wiping to do lists clean and closing that coveted order on Salesforce.

"Are either of you....concerned about Peace...and being happy in life? I've always wondered how being corporate is going to get us there." I thought aloud, while my eyes continually scanned the job site for the next corporate opportunity that might help me earn that thirty percent more. I must admit I'm continually torn between the practicality of life and the detachment one might experience if we simplify it.

"That's for when you are sixty. Now it's about ambition, success. Climbing the ladder" Vinay said, with closed fists that punched the air in energy. This guy could become a motivational speaker. 

"But for all the effort you are putting my friend, your name still hasn't reached Headquarters. And everyday, you put yourself under unnecessary pressure" I said, with the serenity of a monk on my face, but knowing full well that I needed to step up my game at office.

"Listen guys" Rahul interjected. "May be, you staying peaceful and oblivious to your growth won't help....and may be stressing about performance all the time won't either. Do your bit and leave the rest. There are plenty of things to look forward to....in this wide world"

But what were those things....I always wondered. The bugger Maslow had put useless words and ideas into our system. While most people were happy with a stable job, decent pay and the perks that it brings along, here we were, looking to make sense of life, thinking how we could put our boundless energy and limitless intellect (no...we were not exactly humble, as we chatted up that day) to benefit us and if possible, the society at large. The path to "self-actualisation" - whatever that meant!

"We need to do something that shoots us to the limelight" urged Vinay. "A startup idea that is the next big thing. The Bansal's shipped books in their car...look at where they are now"

"Agreed...their net worth is hundreds of crores now. Imagine what they could do with all the money" Rahul joined in. The mention of money had the same effect that his fiancee's message had on him, give or take a couple of decibels in voice and a shade or two of the light in his eyes.

"I would retire and pursue my interests - if I had so much money. Enough of being corporate."I said, as a matter of fact. Ambition was never my strength. To be good at something, had no higher motive. I was going to school. So I better be good at studies. I played cricket. So I'd rather be good at it. The company was paying me - so I'd rather work hard. The rest somehow didn't matter. Hikes would come. But I'd never fight for the better-than-my-neighbour-hike. Being simple and single, meant I had more than I could spend anyways.

"Rome wasn't built in a day guys." I continued. "Growth takes time. It'll come when it has to come. Focus on it. But don't obsess." I had perched on top of the table now. "Let things be....just be...." I extended my arms, mimicking a sea of calm.

"Haan..this is one way to lead life. Just be. Don't worry, the wind will take us to an island. And the island will be our home. We will have a home anyways. Why do you want to take that particular course to reach that particular island? This is your point right...Alok?" asked Rahul, the tinge of sarcasm evident in his voice.

"Yaar...am atleast trying to enjoy the journey! We'll all get to be on the journey only once...right? Why do you have worry so much to be on a particular island? For all you know....once you reach the island, you may not like it! You were thrilled when you took up this role.....and within a year...you are already up for a change!" My voice had some conviction for the first time that evening. It felt like scoring a brownie point in a group discussion for a job back in college.I'd attended quite a few of them before I landed a decent job. And I was now eager to attend a few more for the same purpose.

"I'll never get this funda about islands" Vinay interjected. "But all I know, is that I want to be the captain of my ship. I'll not buckle down and take orders from someone...anyone" And his phone started ringing. The Universe seemed to have heard his vow. "Yes Sir. Will do that right away. Oh no...my laptop is not shutdown yet....next ten minutes...I'll create the chart too...Sure Sir. Yes.." Rahul and I burst out laughing as he cut the call. "Arey....wo tho Boss tha" Vinay explained, remembering what he had said a moment ago. "I need to captain his ship too...." Nice recovery indeed, we thought.

The conversation lulled into silence. Irrespective of the views we expressed, fact remained that we tried to answer a lot of questions to ourselves. We wanted to matter to the world, to our kin and though we hated to admit, we wanted to matter to ourselves. The last one probably was the toughest. Many jobs later, lakhs of rupees later and crucially, millions of minutes later, when we'd look back.... questions would come back to haunt us.

Did we live the Life someone else envisioned for us? Was our Success defined by our parameters or did Society decide that for us? Did we make money....or did we make memories? Was our construct of happiness defined by us or did we bluff ourselves to feeling happy? Did we bluff about being happy too?

Was being successful...being happy? Or was being happy....being successful?

Vinay had completed the task assigned by his Boss. His eyes were slightly red. He noticed it that we'd noticed that too.

"You are right Alok.....may be I shouldn't fuss about all this so much. I'll take some of your Peace" he said, in a sombre tone.

"On that note, my evening now has Purpose Vinay. She is upset I haven't responded to her texts in the last half hour I spent with you guys. Need to do some fire-dousing!" Rahul said, and rushed out.

I looked into my phone for the first time in the last half hour. She still hadn't seen my forward that was an implied conversation starter. I flipped windows. Nope. No recruiter had viewed my profile in the last half hour either. Clearly, my Productivity had a long way to go!

                                                                                                              - 30th May 2018

Adventures in Arranged Matrimony: The "AM Date"

Adventures in Arranged Matrimony: The "AM Date"

Hi….I slept over this…and I don’t think we can make this work in the long run. All the best to you!” I pondered for a good ten seconds if I had to insert a smiley. Decided against it and hit the send button. She was online. And within a few seconds, the dreaded blue tick appeared. “Sure. All the best to you too!” she replied. I enlarged her DP for one last time, before deleting the number forever.

                                           …………………………………………………..

“So….how is that you’re looking for AM?” She asked, as we settled down across a table in a café.

“AM?” I asked, not quite aware.

“I’m tired of calling it “Arranged Marriage”. So for me, it’s AM now!” she said casually. Wow! I understood I was in for a grinding “AM date”.

Not that I’d had many. And quite honestly, I wouldn’t prefer many. Like every guy trying to getting hitched through arranged marriage (yeah…quite a paradoxical phrase), I wished the war ended before I became a veteran. Some said it was basically “selling” yourself to the girl and her family - not that I was great at sales either.

“It’s an arrangement” she broke my chain of thoughts. “You look at if you and the girl are compatible on paper...and then proceed to meet a couple of times…..and may be take a while to decide…” Her hair was shorter than what I had seen - or imagined that I’d seen- on her matrimonial profile. I somehow preferred girls with longish hair.

“You could say “you and I” right….let’s make it more personal?” I said, trying subtly to flirt a little. I clearly wasn’t sitting there to “analyse” compatibility. You either felt a spark or didn’t. We stared at each other mutely for a couple of seconds. And then the inevitable happened. The waiter arrived. It’s amazing how Providence decides the course of action sometimes - or all the time.

The bigger problem I had to grapple now was what I could order. Being a filter coffee person, I was sitting here in a Café, choosing between Cappuccino and Latte. Not that I’d never been to a café. But I’d always had wiser friends to guide me. And I had to make sure I was sufficiently knowledgeable and a tad sophisticated this time around! I had a cursory glance at the Menu and ordered what I thought was vaguely familiar. She knew her choice pretty well. And thankfully, we agreed on fries - regular.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, we resumed our conversation again. The most interesting part of these conversations is that they are never direct. You are expected to talk about hundreds of random things and then magically - somewhere there is intuition that this might work. “I forgot my dabba today” she said, with a smile. Finally something personal. I felt better. “That has happened to me too…”.  “So don’t mind if eat a better share of those fries” she continued.  The conversation meandered along for a while. The agenda was pushed to the background and small talk took front stage. The waiter returned with our coffee and fries and arranged them on the table.  Both of us were momentarily distracted. It was evident that we were finding the coffee and fries more interesting.

“I know we are discussing arranged marriage. But I’d prefer to fall for the girl even in this case. I guess it is much better that way.” I said - voicing my views firmly for the first time that evening.

“Then why didn’t you love someone?” She asked me immediately, in between dipping the fries in the ketchup. It seemed the most obvious question. Yet answers weren’t obvious. “The tricky part is to get someone to love you back.” I wanted to say, but held back, considering it was our first conversation. I remained silent. The silence seemed to egg her on, surprisingly. “Ahaa….so you did love someone. Who was she? Where did you meet her?”  She asked, with almost a mischievous smile. The conversation was really heading along an unplanned trajectory.

I let out a false laugh and brushed it off. It was time for a break again. “So how is it you never take the Metro?.....” I asked her, attempting a distraction that thankfully worked.  I could sense myself perspiring a little. It was like being part of a sales call where the customer asks exactly those questions you don’t have an answer to!

We were sitting there for more than half hour now. I was still figuring how to frame my innumerable questions and expectations in a way that didn’t sound desperate and immature. On the contrary, she seemed quite well versed about how to steer these conversations. We continue to live in times where caste and horoscope still figure as the primary qualification criteria in arranged marriages, before the parents get into discussing the more practical aspects. With umpteen filters already in place, it is hard enough, getting a prospect to reach the meeting stage. Once this stage is reached, there is immense pressure to actually make things work and close the deal - with almost everybody in the social circle looking to get you married every alternate day. Yet here I was, jittery and confused, as she sat focused on her Cappuccino and the fries that seemed to be running out. I played my next card.

“Why did you choose to meet me in the first place?” I asked. This is my standard question to find out what a girl likes about me. It gives me a chance to know something positive about me and boosts my ego, obviously. Everyone likes to hear good things about themselves. “Well…you approached our family. And when I saw your profile…I thought I could just meet and figure things out! Had no expectations really.”  

This was entirely new perspective to me. When the conversation started, I was in the frame of mind that this would be one of the most important conversations of my life. I was excited at the prospect of meeting her. I was looking forward to this conversation for about a week. Yet, here she was - approaching the same meeting with overwhelming practicality.

About an hour into the date, we realized the conversation was running out of steam. We had emptied the fries long time ago, so there was nothing to distract us either. I’m sure we had our initial hunches if things would work out. The waiter must have noticed our silence too. He wandered close to our table one time too many to make sure we asked for the bill.

My confusions started again. Do I be chivalrous and offer to pay the entire bill? Or did women prefer to split the bill these days? These little things were tougher than the conversation itself. When she offered to split, I readily agreed.

We decided to walk together to the Metro Station.  During the walk, I decided to give it a shot. I told her the reason I had wanted to meet her was because of the way she had phrased her bio on the matrimony site. That I had really liked the way she said that she preferred someone who treats everyone equally irrespective of their background. “I really resonate with your opinion” I blurted.

She stopped. Looked at me for a couple of seconds with that mischievous smile I got earlier in the Café. “You clearly are a nube to this process, aren’t you?”  We continued walking. And just before we parted ways at the station she said “For all your emphasis on falling for a girl, just know that every marriage heads south after a few years!” the smile and that sense of reality never leaving her face. Clearly, we had different trains to catch!

                                …………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Disclaimer: Events dramatized for fiction!

                                                                                                            - 2nd April 2018

Don't Kill the Fire Within

Don’t Kill the Fire within

The Bandwagon stopped in front of me

 I was waiting for it all along

People inside were laughing and happy

I asked the destination, they said there was none

“But then it’s a jolly ride, so hop in for some fun”

The wagon trundled along for days and months

Years, as I lost track of time

We were all still laughing and happy

Curtains of lifestyle draped the windows

Mattresses of comfort put the Spirit to sleep

We wined and dined with everyday pleasures

Ofcourse the Wagon was ours to keep!

People hopped in at every station

The merriment was never meant to cease

Even as the rest continued to laugh and be happy

I looked at myself in the Mirror

The smile at the corner of my mouth, would never reach the eyes

The silence within was louder than the laughter outside

The Spirit that once growled, now purred inside

Curiosity had withered away; I’d left my zeal behind

I summoned sparingly the will and courage as I parted the curtains

The Other World looked surreal from here; I was shocked I never went Beyond

People outside were laughing and happy

But it was happiness of a different kind

Their eyes shone like beacons of Purpose

Their bodies steeled with resolve

The minds emitted limitless energy

I was speechless, as I saw their World evolve

The Bandwagon chugged along, the Other World couldn’t care less

They sweated and toiled; blazing paths that didn’t exist

Through mountains and rivers, through valleys and streams

The people outside were laughing and happy

And so were the people inside

Yet when I looked into their eyes a moment longer

I felt their souls mirroring mine

Beyond the hustle of everyday life

Was emptiness eating us away

Little by little we were killing our Spirit

As Master Bandwagon held sway

In that moment of crooked enlightenment

I ran towards the Door

My Spirit had started growling again - and I felt alive

People continued laughing harder and seemed more happy

I had to pause and observe

A Choice between Society and the Other World

 ‘Twas a Game I was unsure I’d win

The battle raged on, but the Voice was clear,

“Don’t Kill the Fire within!”

                                                         

                                                                                               -19th March 2018

Corporate Musings: The Transformation

                        Corporate Musings: The Transformation

“We will be changing the way we do business” Messiah said in an e-mail that arrived early one morning. It was amazing how he had personally addressed the mail to me. “Dear Alok…” it began.

For someone like me, the very fact that Messiah had taken the pain and effort to address the mail to a “nobody” in the organization was a reassurance of self-worth. I mean, I know it is all technology. But motivating yourself to stay driven in a tough sales life is also an art.

As I commuted to the office on the Metro later on, I read and reread the mail several times. The Messiah was clearly sharing his vision with me. “We need to stay relevant to the customer in the ever changing and dynamically evolving market scenario”.  

“Aye Aye Sir” I felt myself saying. What power in the language! What leadership in thought! I was trying to imagine his baritone and the posh accent with which he would deliver these lines. On top of my agenda that day was to watch Messiah’s speech video on the transformation.

“Transformation” the term, in letter and spirit had captured our imagination. Things would never be the same again. Messiah, with his team of blue-eyed executives, had drafted a masterplan that would alter the course of the organization and disrupt the market in the next 5 years. “We are at a pivotal moment in the journey of our organization” one of the lines in his mail said. My chest swelled with pride at being part of something so monumental. It was the fervour of a rookie, employed with a behemoth.

I entered the office to frenzy and excitement on the entire floor. Messiah’s mail seemed to have invigorated a rather run-of-the-mill Wednesday. Customer calls and requests seemed to be put on hold as we discussed Messiah’s plans for the organization.

“I knew about this long ago” said Mr. White Beard, scratching his chin. His claim was audacious. But his influence in the organization was tremendous and nobody challenged him. 

“Whatever Messiah does, has sound rationale.” chipped in Mr.Sales. His role was to sell and sell he did. His skills at selling were excellent both internally and externally - the reason he had grown so fast. “Remember how he turned the organization around 5 years ago? Man...This man has a magic wand!” he exclaimed. No wonder he was one of Messiah’s clear favourites.

“Luck was on his side then” argued Mr. Forever, who seemed to have been in the organization forever.

Rookie One, Rookie Two and I looked on. We were getting our own tidbits for gossip and speculation. Being part of a “transformed” organization would definitely give us some brownie points in the next interview!

The chattering stopped suddenly, with several heads turned towards the aisle. Miss New-to-the-location had just walked in.

                                                    *****************************

Several e-mails on the impending Transformation flew into our mailboxes in the subsequent weeks. While some talked about the reasons for the Transformation, some of them talked about the people driving it. The most popular were the ones that talked about “cost transformation”.  Mr. Management Jargon was extremely excited whenever he saw these terms. “We need to focus on EBITDA. We need to do a profitability analysis at the Group Level. Some restructuring is inevitable” While this drew gasps from the rest of us, he was visibly excited that he was witnessing something that he had read only in his Management course.

From that day on, talks on restructuring dominated the lunch tables, post-lunch strolls and coffee breaks. For Rookie One, Rookie Two and me, girls from neighboring office blocks seemed less interesting, as talks about transformation dominated our post lunch strolls. “Bhai…we need to update our Resume” Rookie One started saying every day. He was constantly on the lookout for new opportunities from the day he joined the organization. But somehow, still wanted to update his Resume. “We are small fish” suggested Rookie Two, thoughtfully. However, I had a hunch he was giving interviews every other day. “Let’s wait and watch” I said dreamily, imagining the transformation catapulting me to a position that was more significant.

One department that had come alive during the entire buzz about Transformation was Marketing. “Organisation 2.0” they called their initiative. Mail IDs that I received no response from, when I mailed them constantly for leads and insights, were bombarding my mailbox with teasers and flyers.  The glass windows of our pantry were covered with posters in a couple of weeks. Each poster focused on different aspects. While one talked about how we would position ourselves as “Future Ready” for our customers, there was another that focused on making the organization “The Best Place to Work”. There were some skeptical glances at the second one, but most of us were hopeful.

To ensure that they did not fall behind, the HR department jumped into the bandwagon too. Appraisal frameworks were revised. HRs sat huddled with line managers in meeting rooms for hours. While some of the discussions seemed one way, there were a few animated ones too. And line managers always came out of those meetings with an air of superiority- obviously derived from the fact that they knew a little more than we did.

Mr. White Beard and Mr. Management Jargon were now constantly busy visualizing new organizational structures. They decided roles and responsibilities for everyone in the organization. We were so convinced by their arguments, that we believed their speculations would be reality sooner than later. I almost ventured to change my mail signature, when Rookie 1 rightly cautioned me saying nothing was official yet.

In between all this, Miss New-to-the-location had stopped coming to office for a couple of weeks now. Yes, a part of the lunch table speculations were reserved for her as well.

                                                      

                                                    *********************************

“Welcome to Organisation 2.0” read Messiah’s mail. I sat upright on my bed, startled. It was the middle of the night. Just past 2 AM. I’ve got a bad habit of waking up in the dead of the night and checking my messages and mails. Well, it proved to be useful now!

“Dear Alok, thanks to your efforts in the last few months, we have now completed our journey of transformation. We are now Organisation2.0 - an organization you have built and an organization you’d be proud to work for!”It went on.

Messiah was taking direct cognisance of my efforts in the transformation too! All I had done was taking up online courses for a few propositions we were expected to sell…though I was still clueless about how to make them relevant to my customers.

But even at that time in the night, I was thrilled. We were finally there - the mail said. The journey is complete - the Messiah said. And if Messiah had said it, it had to be true. I couldn’t wait for morning!

I got up early and dressed well. I was part of Organisation 2.0 now. Our values now were Informed, Intelligent and Imaginative. The “I” in all these words stood out in Bold Blue, the vision being each employee would now embody these values and the values thus would reflect in our work. This was one thing that marketing had finally been good at. If someone asked me what was the change in the organization, I’d definitely say I was now (more) Informed, Intelligent and Imaginative about the marketing team in the organization.

The journey to Office that day was a blur of excitement. As soon as I entered the office, Receptionist Ms. False Accent stood up ever so courteously and said “Morning Alok, Welcome to Organisation 2.0”. I smiled the most genuine smile ever to her and entered the work area.

The scene didn’t quite capture my imagination. It seemed business as usual. Everybody would have got the midnight mail. Weren’t they excited about it? We were Organisation 2.0 now! Informed, Intelligent, Imaginative!

Everybody was at their desk. Busy. Poring over mails like they did every day. Mr. Loud Mouth was haggling with a distributor. Mr. Sales was pacifying a customer and assuring that the delivery of goods would happen by end of next week, if not in the beginning. Something was amiss.

Mr. Forever, Mr. White Beard and Mr. Management Jargon, along with a couple of others were having their early morning tea break in the pantry. I was sure they were discussing Organisation 2.0. I made myself a tea too and sat at their table.

“It was almost the same exercise…five years ago” Mr. Forever was saying. “We received the “Transformation complete “mail while we were in office…so it was a little more exciting.”

“They called it Organisation 1.1 then…”said Mr. White Beard, and everyone burst out, laughing. I smiled, a little clueless. And continued to sip the tea.

“We need to have a strong vision and mission statement. Just changing values doesn’t help” Mr. Management Jargon said, all animated. “What about the structure we envisioned, White Beard? Messiah could have implemented that. We are soft at decision making.”

“I still think that’ll happen soon. You can’t overhaul structures overnight right?” Mr. White Beard said. I must say I was amazed at this man’s conviction. Overnight? Messiah had been harping on Transformation for half a year now.

I looked at the glass windows of the pantry. They seemed naked now. All the posters from the marketing campaigns had been removed. Mr. Facilities was rather clinical in the execution of his duties.

I went and sat down at my desk, next to Rookie One and Rookie Two. I looked around for the HR. Hers had been a constant presence in the last six months. She wasn’t there too. She had vacated with all her memorabilia that had adorned her cubicle. I glanced at the monitors of Rookie One and Rookie Two. Both were busy on job portals again. Maybe I needed to take that plunge too! Updating my Resume was at the top of my agenda now.

The system clock indicated a minute to 11. And it was time for the team call with the Boss. I joined the call, full of fervor, hoping he would have some news on the Transformation and how the way we did business would change.

“Good morning everyone! And Welcome to Organisation 2.0” he said cheerfully. I was upbeat. “So…let’s start with you Alok. Is mahine me kitna number karoge?”  I was always the last one to update on the call, given I was the junior most in the team. I was taken aback that I was asked to go first. May be this was Transformation! I was almost sweating when I finished my update. Rookie One and Rookie Two were smirking. The pantry group had finally dispersed and people were now busy in their own work. The scene was not different from what it had been months ago.

Suddenly, Miss-New-To-The-Location walked in. I looked around, expecting to see people turn their gaze away from their monitors, in a different direction. Nothing of that sort happened. Rookie Two punched me in the ribs and pointed at an e-mail. It said “Congratulations to Miss New-To-The-Location, who is now Miss Newly Married…” it went on.

Clearly someone else’s life had been Transformed, elsewhere!

                                                                                           

                                                                                              -4th February 2018

If there's something constant, it's change. Creatively adapted from different transformation anecdotes I've heard, with liberal doses of imagination. Any resemblance to a real person is purely coincidental.                                                          

A Writer's Woes 7: Why do I need to Write?

                    A Writer's Woes 7: Why do I need to Write?

Never have I been more perturbed by the question "Why?". It has been almost a year since I published a blog post. And when I question myself why I didn't write for so long, the immediate retort that hits me from the back of my mind is "Why do I need to write?"

After all, life has been the same. I was occupied with my profession when I used to write...and more so now. There were a few people who used to appreciate my writing when I used to write - but not one has asked me why I have stopped writing in a while. My literary language has lost some of its sheen and is rusty - but my job doesn't demand the style. 

There were triggers to write - though few and far in between. But none of them creating a disturbance enough in the mind that drives one to give shape to the thoughts and bring them to life through words. And then the assumption of maturity - that you don't allow thoughts to disturb you. Rather, you just turn a blind eye to them and pretend the triggers don't exist.

The way I used to turn a blind eye is by pretending I was busy. Not entirely busy, but just busy enough to keep myself away from a session of writing. It was as though I was losing the art of setting aside a time to just observe my thoughts. And subsequently, losing the urge to document and reflect upon them.

Ofcourse, the most mundane explanation is I was(am) lazy to put pen to paper or rather...fingers to keyboard. Come to think of it, laziness is just a manifestation of lack of intent. Again, a consequence of "Why?" Whenever Why has an extrinsic answer and not an intrinsic one, the urge dies down with time. (This is something that I heard a lot of times recently, from eminent speakers to a friend and can connect with the statement). The laziness in a vicious cycle is bound to feed the lack of intent. 

Another conflict that has been running in parallel is the one between motivation and discipline. What is more crucial? Do you stay disciplined because of motivation? Or do you remain ruthlessly disciplined that motivation is only the initial spark that kindles the fire? I've heard of people who sit for a fixed time everyday to write - in rigorous discipline. I understand this strategy for a sport - say cricket. You turn up every day and bowl a few overs to get better at the art. But how do you manage to get yourself to be creative at a certain time everyday, if you don't have content that inspires and motivates you to write? On the other hand, I have been waiting for a year to find a trigger that motivates me enough to write....but could I have just sat down for a while, observed my thoughts and started penning them, to generate a flow? May be the incremental success through discipline would have motivated the next trigger of discipline.  

Let's take these ideas to the next level. The question "Why do I need to write?" still looms large. And I firmly believe the lack of motivation or discipline is a direct consequence of failing to answer this question. There were a couple of my articles around two years ago that were received quite well. And I remember my focus gradually shifting towards trying to write pieces that garnered more appreciation if not the same. Anything less interesting or intriguing would mean a fall in standards. May be I didn't want to write unless I was as good. It was more a fear of failure. The extrinsic response was suppressing the intrinsic satisfaction of lending words to ideas and thoughts. The "Why?" probably had more external connection than internal resonance.

And as such, the external connection sputtered and died. My profession is steeped in logic than creativity (I would stand corrected if convinced otherwise). I failed to realise not all people would read everything I write till I'm worthy of a read.(this worthiness doesn't come if I didn't sit down and write loads of less worthy stuff and get better by the day). Consequently, the triggers too seemed insignificant in their appeal to the external world.

A few months into the lull, I missed writing. Over the years, this was one skill that had stayed with me. By design or destiny, it gave me an identity. No,not with the external world- but to myself. When questioned what I did apart from my course, or my profession, I instinctively said I write. And I lived that too.  And to pen something once in a while gave a sense of satisfaction and achievement. It was this internal reasoning that I missed in the last year or so. It was this simple truth that to write was somehow connected with a purpose greater than external recognition. And I'm glad that the reasoning kicked in, albeit a little late.

I'm completely aware that this little essay doesn't guarantee a return to the fecundity or quality of better times. What I'm earnestly hoping for is incremental discipline and motivation to trigger the next wave of growth, learning and creativity that has been missing for quite a while now!

                                                                                                  -21st January 2018