Twitter is asking me.
Facebook is even more concerned. What's on your mind?
"Trying to edit really boring copy," mind replies instantly. But hey, do I write that? Of course not. It's so everyday and insipid. Instead I think a bit and and ask myself what I am really doing. "Nothing!" replies my most uncooperative mind with glee. Disgusted, I log out of FB/Twitter. What's the point of being on it when I can't even bring myself up to say something witty and observant?
The eighties had incongruities like Mithun Chakraborty and Michael Jackson. We have the status message. Do you ever see a status message on Facebook that goes, X has just got up and switched on the computer and hasn't brushed his teeth? Nope. You're more likely to see something on the lines of X has justed landed in Goa and is on route to his first lobster. If it's Twitter, X will probably be having a bite of that lobster instead of being on his way to it.
Then of course there are the er...status pictures. In fact, given the lack of activity in my life, I'm slowly convincing myself that people probably travel frequently because they need to post pictures on FB and update their cool status messages. I'm probably getting the signals all wrong but you can't blame me. They may not have been anywhere but Manali in the thousand years that I've known them but give them three months on FB and suddenly there will be albums crawling with pictures from Andalusia to Andamans.
Ditto with gTalk. I'm always here and there on it because I feel compelled to tell the world that I am not always around the computer. And not always fully there mentally either. Whether the world wants to know or not.
Long ago, in the sad days of Orkut where everyone could see anyone, I spotted (ok spied/sneaked/couldn't resist) one of those ex-crushes from school who posted pictures of himself in front of prominent monuments across the world. Needless to add, my century old crush vanished in seconds. Makes me envious about how lucky today's girls are. All they need to do is spy upon their object of desire on FB/Twitter or even Orkut to see if the guy is a smarmy showoff or a subtle sikandar. Sigh.
Going now. Need to update FB, Twitter and maybe even gTalk.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
And so, just like that it is over. With a thumb impression and a hastily jotted signature on court paper. No goodbyes. A clean break is perhaps the best of all. I watch their marriage dissolve and think how different the end is from the beginning.
The beginning is handmade paper cards and an afternoon spent dotting them with haldi and sindoor. It's metres of brocade making their way to the must-have tailor and fat gold bangles balanced by delicate platinum rings. Benarasis at Gariahat market and Central Avenue for kundan work gergettes and crepes. It's train tickets booked in bulk to a different city and a red suitcase packed to the gill with zardozi, satin and cosmetics. The beginning is excitement, expectations and trepidation.
The end is simple and governmental. Stamp paper, photocopies, and attestations. Dry and monotonous. The contrast struck me the most. Ironical (or perhaps fitting?)that something which starts with so much abundance should end with so little of it.
The beginning is handmade paper cards and an afternoon spent dotting them with haldi and sindoor. It's metres of brocade making their way to the must-have tailor and fat gold bangles balanced by delicate platinum rings. Benarasis at Gariahat market and Central Avenue for kundan work gergettes and crepes. It's train tickets booked in bulk to a different city and a red suitcase packed to the gill with zardozi, satin and cosmetics. The beginning is excitement, expectations and trepidation.
The end is simple and governmental. Stamp paper, photocopies, and attestations. Dry and monotonous. The contrast struck me the most. Ironical (or perhaps fitting?)that something which starts with so much abundance should end with so little of it.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The FREE in freelancer
In the two and half years that I have been working on my own, on and off, I've realized that being a freelancer is a good way to make many people show their asli side to you. For instance, if I'm working on a story for a well known publication, there are people who'll fall all over themselves to be available at the oddest of hours, get themselves shot at their own expense (with a camera of course) and even proclaim anytime lunch and undying friendship. Call them back the next time with the name of an obscure journal and suddenly they'll develop every imaginable block from network problems to nerve disorders.
There's also the Impatient Editor. She'll ask you to send in ideas at the speed of light and then disappear from your inbox forever. At some point, she will magically surface to demand the story that she had apparently forgotten about. In a few hour's time. Do remember however NEVER EVER to ask where the cheque is, if you do not wish to be vilified by her forever. So what if you spent 500 bucks one way on the cab to Yelahanka?
The editor is only beatable by the Sweet Talker, though both share a common trait. The aversion to all things monetary. You'll end up scrutinizing boring copy for sweet talker late into the night because he wants it "just looked into" as a favour. Sucker that you are, you'll also fine tune his press relase and in the end rewrite whatever is there in it because you cannot bear to edit every word written by the pre-teens he calls his PR girls. After you've got circles dark enough to qualify for the smoky eyes look, talker will thank you profusely, put his tail between his legs and run. What if you turn into a cheapskate and ask him to pay you whatever it was all worth? Money talk is so non classy, isn't it sweetheart? And you are a FREElancer remember? The free part is ingrained in your ahem...designation.
There's also the Impatient Editor. She'll ask you to send in ideas at the speed of light and then disappear from your inbox forever. At some point, she will magically surface to demand the story that she had apparently forgotten about. In a few hour's time. Do remember however NEVER EVER to ask where the cheque is, if you do not wish to be vilified by her forever. So what if you spent 500 bucks one way on the cab to Yelahanka?
The editor is only beatable by the Sweet Talker, though both share a common trait. The aversion to all things monetary. You'll end up scrutinizing boring copy for sweet talker late into the night because he wants it "just looked into" as a favour. Sucker that you are, you'll also fine tune his press relase and in the end rewrite whatever is there in it because you cannot bear to edit every word written by the pre-teens he calls his PR girls. After you've got circles dark enough to qualify for the smoky eyes look, talker will thank you profusely, put his tail between his legs and run. What if you turn into a cheapskate and ask him to pay you whatever it was all worth? Money talk is so non classy, isn't it sweetheart? And you are a FREElancer remember? The free part is ingrained in your ahem...designation.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Eat, drink, man, woman*
He: I'm going for drinks with my colleagues this evening. Just got planned.
Me: Ok. I hope you have the keys. You do? Great! Don't ring the bell. Bye
End of conversation. Zimble!
Me: I'm going for drinks with R this evening. She just called.
He: Great have fun.
(Calls back 10 mins later)
Please ask S (the daytime help) to stay back late if she can. Can't reach home before 7 sorry.
Me: S, can you stay back a little later than usual? Like umm...7?
S: Theek hai didi. But Thursday ko chutti chahiye.
Heave sigh of relief. Rush to kitchen. Cook pasta & soup for father and son. Keep packets of popcorn handy. Keep A's favourite toys and books, special chocolate milk cup, jam biscuits etc, etc in the line of father and son's sight.
Run to wardrobe to look for nightclubby tops. Most have holes due to lack of usage. Realise after wearing standard Cottonworld/Fabindia uniform that one of the holes-in-the-top is actually a sexy sleeve! Make mental note to a)read highheelconfidential/vogue etc and stay updated on fashion AND most importantly b)GO OUT MORE OFTEN!
Call R to say I’m ready to leave. Dejected voice answers my call.
R: Sorry darling. Was just about to call. N is getting back late. Apparently has to do a business dinner (Stops for some heavyduty swearing). The live in maid is away this month, so tough luck.
*The title is a fabulous Ang Lee movie. In case anybody is wondering :)
Me: Ok. I hope you have the keys. You do? Great! Don't ring the bell. Bye
End of conversation. Zimble!
Me: I'm going for drinks with R this evening. She just called.
He: Great have fun.
(Calls back 10 mins later)
Please ask S (the daytime help) to stay back late if she can. Can't reach home before 7 sorry.
Me: S, can you stay back a little later than usual? Like umm...7?
S: Theek hai didi. But Thursday ko chutti chahiye.
Heave sigh of relief. Rush to kitchen. Cook pasta & soup for father and son. Keep packets of popcorn handy. Keep A's favourite toys and books, special chocolate milk cup, jam biscuits etc, etc in the line of father and son's sight.
Run to wardrobe to look for nightclubby tops. Most have holes due to lack of usage. Realise after wearing standard Cottonworld/Fabindia uniform that one of the holes-in-the-top is actually a sexy sleeve! Make mental note to a)read highheelconfidential/vogue etc and stay updated on fashion AND most importantly b)GO OUT MORE OFTEN!
Call R to say I’m ready to leave. Dejected voice answers my call.
R: Sorry darling. Was just about to call. N is getting back late. Apparently has to do a business dinner (Stops for some heavyduty swearing). The live in maid is away this month, so tough luck.
*The title is a fabulous Ang Lee movie. In case anybody is wondering :)
Monday, May 04, 2009
A weekend of nothing
We left for Kuruva Island in Wayanad on the May Day weekend. And yes, that's the highway. As we discovered soon, the whole of Bengaluru had packed their bags and left on that very same day.
Standard jumbo darshan en route in Bandipur. These were with their mahouts.
Though this one wasn't...
No prizes for guessing what excited the boy most :)
Rich wood & red floor...mmmm
A sit out by the river...
And the obligatory winding village road that tempts you to take a walk that you never do because a) you are playing Jenga with the kid b)You do not wake up on time c) It rains in the evening d) You are ONE hell of a lazy person
What you do however is to read endless cups of tea on the inviting verandah and plan nothing...
And sometimes you actually stir yourself enough to go on a jungle walk with enthu father and son
The son incidentally had a great time and did all those ideal childhood type things that our dads and uncles and even 35 plus men are always going on about. Stuff like climbing over rocks, throwing stones into the river, killing ants with a chappal, playing football with a raw mango, dozing on the verandah, trying to eat kaaju straight off the tree and checking out chamelions while the mother shuddered and photographed it from the greatest possible distance.
The mother meanwhile spent her time gazing at the river, photographing the flowers (and a ladybug which came out blurred) and trying to finish a chick lit and The English Patient. For the record of the book snobs, she finished the chick lit first. Eng lit...er...patient is still on.
Standard jumbo darshan en route in Bandipur. These were with their mahouts.
Though this one wasn't...
No prizes for guessing what excited the boy most :)
Rich wood & red floor...mmmm
A sit out by the river...
And the obligatory winding village road that tempts you to take a walk that you never do because a) you are playing Jenga with the kid b)You do not wake up on time c) It rains in the evening d) You are ONE hell of a lazy person
What you do however is to read endless cups of tea on the inviting verandah and plan nothing...
And sometimes you actually stir yourself enough to go on a jungle walk with enthu father and son
The son incidentally had a great time and did all those ideal childhood type things that our dads and uncles and even 35 plus men are always going on about. Stuff like climbing over rocks, throwing stones into the river, killing ants with a chappal, playing football with a raw mango, dozing on the verandah, trying to eat kaaju straight off the tree and checking out chamelions while the mother shuddered and photographed it from the greatest possible distance.
The mother meanwhile spent her time gazing at the river, photographing the flowers (and a ladybug which came out blurred) and trying to finish a chick lit and The English Patient. For the record of the book snobs, she finished the chick lit first. Eng lit...er...patient is still on.
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