The other day we went for dinner to a fancy new restaurant. Seeing it pretty much crowded, we decided to give it a try. Only when we had taken our seats did we realise that most of the diners were foreigners, with an Indian face or three as part of the group.
In MNC-infested Gurgaon, this generally means ‘the introduction to Indian food outing.’ It usually has four bewildered looking white people (no blacks ever!) accompanied by two officious looking Indian chaps who loudly proclaim, ‘No yaar, they should try the Tandoori Naan (accompanied by a knowing nod from the whites), Methi Matar Malai and the Butter Chicken. The rest of the stuff here isn’t
that good.’
This makes me wonder whether all those bewildered looking whites really want to have Indian food. Would they have gladly traded the culinary delights of ‘Punjabi Rasoi or Tandoori Tadka’ for the salami sandwich at the office canteen instead? And, with such do-gooders, do the poor souls get to choose anything on their own
at all?
Anyway, the restaurant we went to also had a heavy and gilt-edged menu listing its delights and being looked into with great interest by the firangs. Given the descriptions, it took us a while to figure out it was Chicken Do Piaza it was talking about. It went somewhat like this: Succulent pieces of boneless chicken, marinated in saffron and yogurt and sautéed with whole spices and baby onions.
We also broke our heads over pickled baby mushrooms and peas sautéed in garlic and onions, served with cream. Turned out to be Mushroom Matar, in gravy suspiciously similar to the chicken’s.
After a not-so-hot meal and a completely unjustified bill, we walked out and wondered what got this lowest-of-dhabas-masquerading-as-posh-restaurant going. I decided it was probably the menu. Name anything in an exotic way and even your run of the mill ‘rajma chawal’ will sound exciting enough.
Cubed potatoes sautéed in cumin and coriander with a lime dressing, sounds so much better than plain ‘jeera aloo,’ n’est pas? Check out any French food menu. Nothing's never described in less than five lines. No wonder that the bread and snail cuisine is so hot around the world. Time we learnt.

Was trying to remember how we dug out telephone numbers of government organizations and paranoid corporate houses, special reports on events that happened in 1957, backgrounders of people to interview in the pre-google days.

Sadly, I couldn’t. I’m that old.

The pre-google era, when one had to actually call Ask Me, get the BMC headquarter’s number and then beg them for the number of their Chembur ward seems a distant past. I have very hazy recollections, despite having worked in such circumstances for at least four whole years or maybe more.

The worse bit was finding out about people and their claim to fame before you went to interview them. Either you risked asking dumb questions that later made dumb copy or you had to request the PR (usually inefficient) for a backgrounder (usually insufficient) or make your ‘own enquiries.’ All you need to do now is type the name or subject in google and you are an instant authority, sometimes even on the person’s underwear preferences.

Weirdly though, I think I worked but better (and faster) then. Wonder why…

Thank you people. :)

To tell you the truth, the real 'push' to chuck the job came with the imminent move to a new city — Bangalore. We'll be there sometime in May.

Had the 'move' not happened I'd be probably sitting on my resignation letter still, waiting for the 'right time.'

As they say, a change is always good. Looking forward to it.

So long and thanks for all the shit.

Should’ve said that ideally in my resignation letter but am one of those strong, silent types. I stay silent no matter what ;)

Will be here for the required notice period but saying bye feels great. Although a little unnerving as have never quit without a job in hand earlier, unless I count that two-month break after I shifted to Delhi post marriage. And that wasn’t exactly unnerving. The dotcom my friend worked for had shown significant interest so had the secure feeling that if nothing worked out that would.

Have no idea what I am going to do next. And in the strangest of ways that just feels great :)

HAPPINESS!!!!!

It’s a very strange feeling. To move or not to move. To quit or to stay. It's stranger when you don't particularly like the place and its policies but when you seem to have grown roots, without any reason for you to do so.

I’ve wanted to freelance for months, because even if the money is slow to come by, it does give an amount of flexibility in the kind of work you want to do.

Years back, when our joyride in a small publication suddenly ended, thanks to a publisher with illusions of false grandeur, I’d freelanced happily for some months, made some money, lost some. The stories I ended up doing weren’t always exceptional, the projects I took up weren’t always that great, but it was my decision and my time and I had fun with it.

Wonder what’s stopping me from doing the same now?