1 week ago
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 02, 2009
A credit card for free.
“ This is for you ma’am, compliments of the store”. The attendant at the cash counter handed me a credit card. I pushed it away as if it was on fire.
“ No thanks. I don’t use them much. And I have one already.”
The attendant looked at me pityingly. I always have this horrid suspicion that attendant kids always pity me.
Next twenty minutes were spent explaining to me, how , with the shop’s own ‘Privileged customer’ card and the additional credit card I was going to save thousands of rupees, not to mention earn brownie points and win free gifts like diamond earrings, DVD players, and a free trip to Goa.
“ And ma’am, it’s free!” That clinched the matter. A free card can’t hurt me much, can it?
After reaching home I pushed the unwanted card at the back of my desk drawer, and forgot about it. One year was over. And I started receiving bills for the never used card. I questioned the shop, and reminded them that they had said – Free card, no service charges.
“ Only for one year ma’am! Now you will have to pay the basic service charges even when you are not using it.”
“Alright! In that case I will cancel the card. I didn’t need it anyway.” Easier said than done as I soon found out. The question was, how does one cancel a credit card. I visited the bank to which the card belonged. I was told, as it was the shop’s promotional scheme, I must get the shop to cancel it. That made sense. The next stop was the shop which had gifted it to me.
“I would like to cancel this card please. I was told I must approach you”.
The attendant looked pained at my ingratitude.
“Ma’am, we can’t cancel it! You will have to send it to the bank which issued it.”
I marched back to the bank. I explained to the lady whose job it was to listen to people like me, that all I wanted was to have the card cancelled and no, it’s nothing personal.
The lady after consulting with a few others gave me a number in Chennai and asked me to talk to one Mr. Muthuswami.
“You see, the card was issued from there, therefore it has to cancelled from there.”
Fair enough, I thought as I dialed the Chennai number. It took me some time to locate Mr. Muthuswami, who when I expressed a desire to cancel my card, took it hard.
“If you have any complaints Ma’am, I will guide you to our complaints department. But please don’t cancel the card!”
After I talked to him for five minutes in a soothing voice, he was mollified.
“Cancellation is a very simple process. Just cut your card in two and mail both the pieces to us in Chennai.”
Finally! I was going to rid myself of the bothersome card.
I cut the card neatly in two pieces, and couriered both the pieces on the address provided by Mr. Muthuswami. Exactly a month later I received a replacement card. Reason? My old one got damaged when I cut it in two pieces!
One more call to Chennai and Mr. Muthuswami. This time I was rather sharp and Mr. Muthuswami was forced to accept the reality of the situation.
“ Ok ma’am, I will file the cancellation papers and do the needful. But are you sure you want to cancel the card?” I banged the receiver down.
In due course I got the intimation that the card was now null and void and I felt like I had stepped out of a long and traumatic relationship. A couple of weeks later I once again got a call, from the same bank, asking me-
“ Ma’am, you are being given a complimentary gold card as an Add on to your old credit card.”
“ No thanks. I don’t use them much. And I have one already.”
The attendant looked at me pityingly. I always have this horrid suspicion that attendant kids always pity me.
Next twenty minutes were spent explaining to me, how , with the shop’s own ‘Privileged customer’ card and the additional credit card I was going to save thousands of rupees, not to mention earn brownie points and win free gifts like diamond earrings, DVD players, and a free trip to Goa.
“ And ma’am, it’s free!” That clinched the matter. A free card can’t hurt me much, can it?
After reaching home I pushed the unwanted card at the back of my desk drawer, and forgot about it. One year was over. And I started receiving bills for the never used card. I questioned the shop, and reminded them that they had said – Free card, no service charges.
“ Only for one year ma’am! Now you will have to pay the basic service charges even when you are not using it.”
“Alright! In that case I will cancel the card. I didn’t need it anyway.” Easier said than done as I soon found out. The question was, how does one cancel a credit card. I visited the bank to which the card belonged. I was told, as it was the shop’s promotional scheme, I must get the shop to cancel it. That made sense. The next stop was the shop which had gifted it to me.
“I would like to cancel this card please. I was told I must approach you”.
The attendant looked pained at my ingratitude.
“Ma’am, we can’t cancel it! You will have to send it to the bank which issued it.”
I marched back to the bank. I explained to the lady whose job it was to listen to people like me, that all I wanted was to have the card cancelled and no, it’s nothing personal.
The lady after consulting with a few others gave me a number in Chennai and asked me to talk to one Mr. Muthuswami.
“You see, the card was issued from there, therefore it has to cancelled from there.”
Fair enough, I thought as I dialed the Chennai number. It took me some time to locate Mr. Muthuswami, who when I expressed a desire to cancel my card, took it hard.
“If you have any complaints Ma’am, I will guide you to our complaints department. But please don’t cancel the card!”
After I talked to him for five minutes in a soothing voice, he was mollified.
“Cancellation is a very simple process. Just cut your card in two and mail both the pieces to us in Chennai.”
Finally! I was going to rid myself of the bothersome card.
I cut the card neatly in two pieces, and couriered both the pieces on the address provided by Mr. Muthuswami. Exactly a month later I received a replacement card. Reason? My old one got damaged when I cut it in two pieces!
One more call to Chennai and Mr. Muthuswami. This time I was rather sharp and Mr. Muthuswami was forced to accept the reality of the situation.
“ Ok ma’am, I will file the cancellation papers and do the needful. But are you sure you want to cancel the card?” I banged the receiver down.
In due course I got the intimation that the card was now null and void and I felt like I had stepped out of a long and traumatic relationship. A couple of weeks later I once again got a call, from the same bank, asking me-
“ Ma’am, you are being given a complimentary gold card as an Add on to your old credit card.”
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Goa .
I was in Goa two weeks ago. I had promised myself all sort of things. In reality, I just lazed.
I had carried four books with me for a five day vacation.
When actually there, I lazed in the room, by the pool, in the lobby, in my balcony. My friend was there on business and was on call most of the time, and I would lie on the beach on the deck chair all day long, and couldn't be roused to take any photographs, except this one. Getting the camera out of the case. sitting up on my deck chair, and shooting was just too much trouble. I allowed the sound of sea to fill my ears, the blue of sea in my eyes. No phone calls, except from my friend asking me where I was, and if I would be back for breakfast/ lunch/ tea/ dinner.
This idyllic state was short lived though. On day three the chair boy asked me, in what I considered a rather familiar fashion, if I needed sun lotion rubbed on me. I packed my book, hat, big bag and returned to the resort, and didn't go that way again. So I am a coward. Shoot me!
There was an assortment of guests as always. On day one, as I was celebrating my return to Goa after 4 years, I noticed two very young couples, newly weds of course, from Surat.The boys were posing in front of the bar, trying to look ubercool. I offered the boy my glass of wine. He was shocked and assured me that he didn't drink. But when I suggested, he can just pose with it, whats the point of posing in front of the bar otherwise? He was much struck by the logic of it and borrowed my glass, and later even the bottle. I sort of managed the photo session. By the time all four of them ( yes even the girls) had finished posing with my glass and the bottle, the wine had lost it's chill.
There was a group of mallu men in the hotel. Their interest in all the unattached females as very obvious. My friend, a somewhat conservative mallu babe, observed that, feeling that no one here would understand them, these guys were rather free with their observations and opinions.
With a Mona Lisa like smile on her face she continued to listen in to their conversation. Time and again she would tell me what they were arguing about.
" They are wondering who we are....
They want to ask us to join them for coffee".
" NO WAY !!!"
At one point she giggled, but suddenly sat up as her eyes popped open.
" What ???" I had to know.
" Lets go." she rushed me out of there, and after we reached our room, and she burst out laughing.
" What!" There was a limit to my patience. I was being left out of all the fun.
" These guys are really randy!" my friend announced,
" so ?" I mean guys on a vacation..... one understands.
" They were talking about taking a full body massage. One of the guys had one last night, he was telling the others how good it was. Please don't ask me to translate it."
Later when I came across the group again in the dining hall, I was tempted to ask them if it had been good for them......
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Bum bhole!
( By - Bachi Karkaria )
Indra can keep his corner office. The penthouse of the pantheon belongs to Shiva. Its decor bears the imprimatur of a Fortune-favoured designer, and yet, it's unmistakably bohemian. Shiva knows the rules to break them; he's awesome at shifting the goal posts.
He's comfortable with it;if you've got it, flaunt it; he can swim with the sharks, and still find place in his heart for the littlest minnow. He wears the suit of divinity lightly. Yes, Mahadev is a maha-dude.
We've gone through a mind-churning manthan, through asceticism and socialism which have been sucked to the bottom of the centrifuge, and up has surged the cologned freedom to live life on our own terms. In our new consumerist avatar, Ganesha is invoked to bless the triumphal entry of the Indian Elephant carrying the world in its howdah. We've shed our hypocrisy. Who other then to iconize than the patron saint of iconoclasts? Lord Shiva.
Hinduism's original persona of rinam kritva ghritam pivet loosely translated as 'Njoy'! had for long been suppressed by our pretensions of being an otherworldly, spiritual people who abjured the materialist high rise for the moral high ground.
It cost us dearly on several counts, from delaying the economic miracle to delaying AIDS control. But we've woken up and not only smelled the coffee, but learnt to make a Frappuccino.
Shiva is the original free radical.
Today's zeitgeist is unshackled creativity, thundering-hooves materialism, aggressive hedonism. Unlike the 60's version, it's not confined to the elite. Boley to, Middle India, even Mofussil India has abandoned itself to the multiplex of experience. Shiva is the god who segues most seamlessly into this spirit of our times.
He demands no rigid ritual of his bhaktas. He is propitiated even if you make a funny sound or face.
He lives life to the full. The Skanda Purana tells us of his rampant libido, not thinking twice before seducing even the wives of the rishis, and with no great subtlety either.
Yet, he is the paragon of conjugal devotion. When he went to make love to Parvati, the clinch lasted so long that time and the world came to a standstill. Witness his grief when Sati jumped into the yagna vedi; the entire earth trembled in the paroxysm of his rage.
Before the advent of sexist Manu-ists, Hinduism celebrated gender equality. Consider the deep symbolism of Ardhanarishwara, the fusion of Purush (Shiva) and Prakriti (Parvati). They cannot exist without each other, and together they create the most beautiful dance in the cosmos.
If todays liberalism presupposes a tolerance for the other, Shiva is the original free radical. Shivji ki baaraat is a rainbow coalition of the otherwise marginalized, an all-inclusive procession with the groom dressed in next-to-nothing, to the mortification of his would be mother-in-law. Shivratri is the celebration the wedding day of Shiva who defied convention every which way; look at his fondness for bhang and ganja. But it's really his attitude to boundaries which makes him the ultimate post-millennial god.
The observance of Shivratri says it all. Right up to the present, marriage has remained an alliance of families, not a matter of self-choice.
Unmarried women fast and visit Shiv temples on this night, praying for His intervention to fulfill their dreams even within the circumscribed boundary of parental choice. He is the only deity they can invoke to Thodi si lift kara de.
And married women appeal to Him for a bliss-filled conjugal life. Shiva doesn't subvert the boundary, he just elasticizes what you can do within it. Metaphorical poisons can be contained.
He drank the cosmic poison to save the world, but he did not swallow it and jeopardize himself. He may have been the untrammeled, even indiscriminate, lover, but he destroyed Kamdev who tried to break his samadhi.
His respect for the boundary is also there in the legend of the Ganga, whose hubris he trapped in his matted locks.
No deity offers quite as much with quite as much attitude. Shiva is cool. Linga over him.
p.s. - no wonder no man comes even remotely close to my Mahadude...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Tito and the spirit of Satsang
Tito and the spirit of satsang.
“You want me to do WHAT?” I asked in a calm voice. Those familiar with that voice, recognize is as the Early Tsunami warning signal. Tito ignored the warning and blithely carried on.
“Why not! After all you claim to be a poet, so I thought, maybe it is more Your cup of tea than mine. I want it by this evening by the way, if you can manage it please.” That ‘Please’ was an after thought I could see.
“There is a difference between writing poetry and writing a Hindi bhajan to the tune of a film song you know! H-how could you even ASK me to do such a thing!” I sputtered. “And anyway, what do you need a bhajan for? If your mom having a satsang, My dad has loads of bhajan cds. Take any one of them. “
Tito looked mulish. His heart was set on a filmy bhajan.
“Ok, so take any bhajan from movies. Like Alla tero naam. That is a good one.
I have the CD right here.” I started to rummage thru my collection.
“ Nooo. That is a boring old bhajan. Everyone has heard it for hundreds of years.
I will look like a beggar singing that. Next, you will ask me to sing that beggar song from Dus Lakh. No way!”
I was a little mortified because that was the next song on my list. I decided to investigate a little. I had not noticed any spiritual leanings in Tito before.
“Tell me a little about it. I am not saying I will help, but call me curious.”
As I had suspected, it involved a girl. Her mom was known to hold a satsang every Friday night. Tito had attended last week and was planning to be there again this week. Realizing it will not be an easy task to dissuade Tito I asked him, what kind of bhajan he was looking for.
“It’s very simple! Do you remember the song from Jab We Met? Yeh ishk Hai, baithe bithaye.” All that might be simple enough, but a bhajan to the tune of Yeh ishk? Mind boggled.
“See, it goes this way, you hum the tune and start adding appropriate words to it. Like- maiyya hamari, sabse nirali, darshan dikha de maa! O rama !!!” Tito crooned the line repeatedly for my benefit.
“See how simple it is? I would have written the whole thing myself but got stuck after the first line, so thought that you, a poet can do it better. Will you? Please?”
“NO I won’t! This is no poetry! I do not know what to call this! Bastardization of poetry perhaps. But not something I would like to do!” I tried to slide out of the whole predicament.
“So what! What is a good song ? Good music and good words. When the good words are devotional, we call it bhajan. It is Your job as a poetess, to give good words. That is how most music Directors work anyway! So... write!. Please write this for me !”
“Oh Well! I will do it just this once. I do not want to see your face next Friday and you better find a girl friend with better taste than this, like Lit circle chicks or someone like them. I will be most happy to write a love sonnet for you.”
I had finally caved in. Tito had won and I was rewarded by a loud WHOOOOPIE! and a bear hug.
Completely ignoring my woebegone expressions, he took his leave,
“ Will come by around 8-ish. Keep it ready. I will need a little time to practice.”
“ Remember- you owe me one!” I shouted to his back.
I sat at my desk feeling mighty sorry for myself. I rued the day I wrote my first poem. Nay- I rued the day I learnt my alphabets! Why did I have to boast about my poems, and all that talk about my writer’s circle! In addition, just see where it had landed me! I strove to forget every word of every poem I had ever read as I kept humming “ Maiyya hamari” to myself, waiting for the spirit to come to me.
It was mortifying to see that this was not a difficult task at all! Within half an hour, my bhajan was ready. I tried humming it and found the words, which fitted perfectly in the tune. With grim satisfaction I messaged Tito” The Deed is done”. He messaged back- “Thankee thankee O bardess.”
Tito turned up around 8-ish as promised. Never before having seen him in a spiritual mode, it took me a few moments to recognize him. I do not remember if I have mentioned it before, but Tito is a good-looking dude and a natty dresser. Today he was his spiritual best. In long kurta and chudidar, he could be modeling for Fabindia.
He walked in, giving me a slow benevolent otherworldly smile. For a second thought I saw a halo around his head. It turned out to be the lamp behind him.
He sat on the sofa and asked me gently, ” Where is it?” In a trance, I walked to my room and got the paper with the lyrics. His mood was rubbing on me. I wondered if he was on some substance. His smile has stared to look eerie by now. He was by this time sitting with his eyes closed, his face serene.
With a slight nod of his head, he took the paper, scanning it started humming the words. The old Tito had emerged again. Sitting up straight, he said-
“WOW! This is GOOD! I never realized just how good a poetess you are! This will knock their socks off!”
“Maiyya maine saare jamaane ko thukra diya,
dekho mai chala aayaa!
Chhode maine moh- maya ke bandhan sabhi,
Hai tuney jo bulaayaa
Dekho na dekho mujhe kya mila hai teri chhayaa mein aakar.
Poochho na poocho mujhe kya hua hai tere charnon ko chhookar
Maiyya hamari, sabse nirali darshan dikha de Maa.
O Ramaa!”
He continued to hum as he put the paper safely in his pocket.
“My advice to you is, that you must start doing this professionally. Forget about the sonnets and stuff. There is a big market for this thing. Every auto and cab will be playing your songs. You will mint money!”
And before I could throw a book at him, he walked off.
Next week I wrote one more bhajan. Tito had become a star of his satsang. The girl and her mom are now his adoring fans. Like a tiger who had tasted blood, Tito kept coming back for more and I kept delivering a new bhajan every Friday evening.
Currently I am working on a little song, which I am sure will become a chartbuster.
“Maa tere charan, hum nahin chhodenge...
Chhodenge dum magar teri bhakti naa chhodenge!!”
“You want me to do WHAT?” I asked in a calm voice. Those familiar with that voice, recognize is as the Early Tsunami warning signal. Tito ignored the warning and blithely carried on.
“Why not! After all you claim to be a poet, so I thought, maybe it is more Your cup of tea than mine. I want it by this evening by the way, if you can manage it please.” That ‘Please’ was an after thought I could see.
“There is a difference between writing poetry and writing a Hindi bhajan to the tune of a film song you know! H-how could you even ASK me to do such a thing!” I sputtered. “And anyway, what do you need a bhajan for? If your mom having a satsang, My dad has loads of bhajan cds. Take any one of them. “
Tito looked mulish. His heart was set on a filmy bhajan.
“Ok, so take any bhajan from movies. Like Alla tero naam. That is a good one.
I have the CD right here.” I started to rummage thru my collection.
“ Nooo. That is a boring old bhajan. Everyone has heard it for hundreds of years.
I will look like a beggar singing that. Next, you will ask me to sing that beggar song from Dus Lakh. No way!”
I was a little mortified because that was the next song on my list. I decided to investigate a little. I had not noticed any spiritual leanings in Tito before.
“Tell me a little about it. I am not saying I will help, but call me curious.”
As I had suspected, it involved a girl. Her mom was known to hold a satsang every Friday night. Tito had attended last week and was planning to be there again this week. Realizing it will not be an easy task to dissuade Tito I asked him, what kind of bhajan he was looking for.
“It’s very simple! Do you remember the song from Jab We Met? Yeh ishk Hai, baithe bithaye.” All that might be simple enough, but a bhajan to the tune of Yeh ishk? Mind boggled.
“See, it goes this way, you hum the tune and start adding appropriate words to it. Like- maiyya hamari, sabse nirali, darshan dikha de maa! O rama !!!” Tito crooned the line repeatedly for my benefit.
“See how simple it is? I would have written the whole thing myself but got stuck after the first line, so thought that you, a poet can do it better. Will you? Please?”
“NO I won’t! This is no poetry! I do not know what to call this! Bastardization of poetry perhaps. But not something I would like to do!” I tried to slide out of the whole predicament.
“So what! What is a good song ? Good music and good words. When the good words are devotional, we call it bhajan. It is Your job as a poetess, to give good words. That is how most music Directors work anyway! So... write!. Please write this for me !”
“Oh Well! I will do it just this once. I do not want to see your face next Friday and you better find a girl friend with better taste than this, like Lit circle chicks or someone like them. I will be most happy to write a love sonnet for you.”
I had finally caved in. Tito had won and I was rewarded by a loud WHOOOOPIE! and a bear hug.
Completely ignoring my woebegone expressions, he took his leave,
“ Will come by around 8-ish. Keep it ready. I will need a little time to practice.”
“ Remember- you owe me one!” I shouted to his back.
I sat at my desk feeling mighty sorry for myself. I rued the day I wrote my first poem. Nay- I rued the day I learnt my alphabets! Why did I have to boast about my poems, and all that talk about my writer’s circle! In addition, just see where it had landed me! I strove to forget every word of every poem I had ever read as I kept humming “ Maiyya hamari” to myself, waiting for the spirit to come to me.
It was mortifying to see that this was not a difficult task at all! Within half an hour, my bhajan was ready. I tried humming it and found the words, which fitted perfectly in the tune. With grim satisfaction I messaged Tito” The Deed is done”. He messaged back- “Thankee thankee O bardess.”
Tito turned up around 8-ish as promised. Never before having seen him in a spiritual mode, it took me a few moments to recognize him. I do not remember if I have mentioned it before, but Tito is a good-looking dude and a natty dresser. Today he was his spiritual best. In long kurta and chudidar, he could be modeling for Fabindia.
He walked in, giving me a slow benevolent otherworldly smile. For a second thought I saw a halo around his head. It turned out to be the lamp behind him.
He sat on the sofa and asked me gently, ” Where is it?” In a trance, I walked to my room and got the paper with the lyrics. His mood was rubbing on me. I wondered if he was on some substance. His smile has stared to look eerie by now. He was by this time sitting with his eyes closed, his face serene.
With a slight nod of his head, he took the paper, scanning it started humming the words. The old Tito had emerged again. Sitting up straight, he said-
“WOW! This is GOOD! I never realized just how good a poetess you are! This will knock their socks off!”
“Maiyya maine saare jamaane ko thukra diya,
dekho mai chala aayaa!
Chhode maine moh- maya ke bandhan sabhi,
Hai tuney jo bulaayaa
Dekho na dekho mujhe kya mila hai teri chhayaa mein aakar.
Poochho na poocho mujhe kya hua hai tere charnon ko chhookar
Maiyya hamari, sabse nirali darshan dikha de Maa.
O Ramaa!”
He continued to hum as he put the paper safely in his pocket.
“My advice to you is, that you must start doing this professionally. Forget about the sonnets and stuff. There is a big market for this thing. Every auto and cab will be playing your songs. You will mint money!”
And before I could throw a book at him, he walked off.
Next week I wrote one more bhajan. Tito had become a star of his satsang. The girl and her mom are now his adoring fans. Like a tiger who had tasted blood, Tito kept coming back for more and I kept delivering a new bhajan every Friday evening.
Currently I am working on a little song, which I am sure will become a chartbuster.
“Maa tere charan, hum nahin chhodenge...
Chhodenge dum magar teri bhakti naa chhodenge!!”
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Kala Ghoda is here...finally!
After waiting for years...or so it seems, the Black Horse is back, and how !
I will keep changing the slide shows here as the events unfold.
I will keep changing the slide shows here as the events unfold.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
My celebrity look alikes.
I happened to stumble upon this website which, among other things helps you find your celebrity look alikes.
Out of curiosity I checked out myself. I am like that, curious ! I always wanted to look like. Halle Berry. Don't ask me why! Maybe its that famous cat suit. Can't resist cats.
It was quite simple actually. One thing I have realized about web. Everything is always very simple. A couple of clicks of buttons is all you need to order something or accidentally send a spam mail to the whole world.
Directions said-
Upload a photo, full front. I did. Then the programme ran a face recognition. It was all very impressive. It gathered my image data and came up with this-
I think the programme needs to be fine tuned. A few bugs still seem to be partying in the system. I mean, how else can anyone explain the choice of my look alikes?
Now, I don't mind Julia Robert, Marion Jones is pretty cute too, especially her hairstyle. I have been toying with shaving my head since the mercury has shot up and if I am going to look like her I don't mind. But Ozzy Osbourne ??? Why Ozzy ? Why not Lennon ?
I have been practicing smiling like Julia ever since.
Out of curiosity I checked out myself. I am like that, curious ! I always wanted to look like. Halle Berry. Don't ask me why! Maybe its that famous cat suit. Can't resist cats.
It was quite simple actually. One thing I have realized about web. Everything is always very simple. A couple of clicks of buttons is all you need to order something or accidentally send a spam mail to the whole world.
Directions said-
Upload a photo, full front. I did. Then the programme ran a face recognition. It was all very impressive. It gathered my image data and came up with this-
| http://www.myheritage.com/collage |
I think the programme needs to be fine tuned. A few bugs still seem to be partying in the system. I mean, how else can anyone explain the choice of my look alikes?
Now, I don't mind Julia Robert, Marion Jones is pretty cute too, especially her hairstyle. I have been toying with shaving my head since the mercury has shot up and if I am going to look like her I don't mind. But Ozzy Osbourne ??? Why Ozzy ? Why not Lennon ?
I have been practicing smiling like Julia ever since.
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