So for a number of circumstances uninfluenced at all during my short (so far) tenure in the organization, I found myself in Chandigarh over the last couple of days. Apparently, Citi has decided to move to new systems and I was supposed to man the front end for any emergencies. Of course I am just eight months into the business - what would a lowly geek know about a 2 year project, after all?
Anyway, that is beside the point. Here I was, done with two nights and two mornings at a call center (and you all thought CB was cool for doing a conversation with God and screwing with great average American minds in the space of One Night at a Call Center) and thanking my stars that one screwed weekend was all it took away from my life. The office is quite some distance from my hotel and I did not have the luxury of a cab at my disposal.
No, that doesn't mean that my employers were parsimonious. In fact, with the accomodation I was given, I should say it was quite the opposite. The simple reason why there was no cab, was because the Shatabdi from Delhi was delayed, and the cab company had all its taxis deployed there. Which is why I approached a bunch of green autos, with the drivers squatting on the ground on an unclean, chequered tablecloth, with cards and a few glasses in front of them.
Sector 17 jaaNa hai jee. Le chaloge? I ask.
Chalo jee, bas do minute de do. Wahee gaddi mein baith jaao. He dunks the alcohol down his throat.
Inke paas chutta nahin hoga. Mere sou rupaye tod ke do be. He yells at one of his cronies.
I sit tensely in the auto. Was it worth taking this risk? For just a saving of about 80 INR? I could go into the mall next to the office and bide my time till the train from Delhi chugged in. My heartbeat rises as I see this guy throw the bottle of what's-its-name across the pavement. It hits a bike tyre and shatters into pieces.
Finally our hero rises, and yells out. Matka chowk mein jaake aata hoo. Daaru ready rakhiyo. How much more daaru, I wonder. As he opened up the engine under his seat, cigarette in hand, I half conjured images of spark hitting gas cylinder and me dying an unsung hero who tried to take too much risk. Anyway, with his oil soaked rag wound around the engine starter, he pulled something (in normal auto rickshaws this is a lever that boots up the engine - this was a dilaidated blue auto which did not have the said lever) and the engine roared to a loud and noisy life. As the vehicle swayed left to right on the empty road - it was 10 pm in the night - I somehow convinced myself that this couldn't be the worst risk I had taken.
About five to ten minutes later, when I had proudly smsed a few concerned friends about the state of affairs, our man burst into the latest Punjabi hit songs. Full volume on, he was hell bent on entertaining most of Chandigarh. My face must have resembled Madhavan's in that scene in 3 idiots, where Kareena talks about Bush dropping Dhoklas on Iraq. We were going on the road housing the governors of Haryana and Punjab, heavily manned with men of the law, and our man had scant regard for them. As he stopped at the signal at Matka chowk (my hotel was very close to this place), I said a few prayers seeing him thump his head multiple times. He was getting more and more hammered and I suspected a part of him (the part that did not think Bhangra at 10 pm in a running auto was cool) was realizing this as well.
As he revved up outside the Taj Chandigarh, I got down and messaged my worried friends as the guy gave me my change. He was struggling to even put his purse back where it was. Thoda khyaal rakhiyo, paaji, I said in genuine Punjabi concern. Funny how a place can get to your tongue. He nodded his head, shook my hand and said - My name (sic) Baljit Singh....wise person. Aapko theek se le aaya - apne aap ko dekh loonga.
I only wish I had taken photographs of the dude or his auto. It was the ride of a lifetime.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Life calling
After all the applause surrounding Mr. Hirani and the rest of the idiots has died down, I want to raise a hopefully pertinent question that has plagued me since my purse got lighter by a cool four hundred bucks. I've always wanted to ask this to the numerous supporters of the "live life on your own terms" brigade - what do you mean?
For one, life is an experiment, really. You do not go through life calculating every step of the way. What was that poem on the school notice board that told us many things that life was and what needed to be done with it? Knowing your calling and being able to execute it in a planned and rhythmic fashion is not just improbable, it is plain boring. People walk through life - sometimes things go right, sometimes they don't. That should not mean that it's a crime to make mistakes, screw up, feel the heat. Taking the wrong turn is also quite a big part of life.
When Mr. Jobs talked about the dots connecting backward, what we probably need to remember is that there need to be dots to connect. That brings me to fallacy number two - if I sat all day thinking about the philosophical question - "What should I be doing in life?" I'd remain where I was - I wouldn't change at all. Worse, I'm losing valuable time when I could have tried out things inspired by my tendencies. At least I would know if I sucked at something even though I had a fantasy for it.
Three, a man's got to be practical. Sometimes, doing what interests you is not what is in the best interest of the people surrounding you. That need not mean just one's family. Following a dream many times means taking a risk - it is defined by the thin line between a hobby and a career. I also believe this gets complicated by the fact that most people aren't interested in what they are good at and vice versa. While it's what you are good at that gets you two square meals a day.
That said, losing oneself in one's limited world of practicality is probably uncalled for. Dreams are to be pursued, passions are to be stoked. No question about that. Only you can't start pursuing your calling at the press of a button.
PS: I wrote this because I talked to a lot of people about what's important for them and why they aren't doing what they claim interests them most. Most people, including myself, gave answers that were attributable to one of the above. It sounded very confusing because when I was studying, I came across a number of people who criticized being very conventional, "taking pressure", not living life to the fullest, etc. But when it comes to the real game, apparently life takes a U-turn. Do let me know what you think.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Thought jam
It is times like these that finally make me realise why the concept of work as opposed to the concept of "sitting idle" had to be invented. Beyond, of course, the whole I-need-to-fill-my-stomach-so-I will-work-for-it. I don't think I can just sit idle and not do anything at all - even if I totally intend to. The millions of thoughts and opinions and judgments that pass through my head even as I try to take in the world around me and digest information flowing in from everywhere without someone or something to vent it out on...
...like the time I read the email on party celebrations after everyone at my college had found a job despite the gloomy cloud of discontent engulfing most of our minds.
...like the time I sat at said party sipping a Mirinda watching everyone get drunk and dancing away to glory; and wondering how alcohol makes people forget pretty much everything.
...like the time I watched one ex-consultant advising another to-be-consultant on God-knows-what; and wondering how they could even confer given their fundamentally different persuasions.
...like the time I traveled home after said party in an auto and wondered what the deaf, dumb and handicapped old man selling coconut water outside our campus would have to say about my job, the recession and the whole why-can't-India-grow-at-8% worry.
...like the time I watched the Rasna kid energetically shout "Papa! Swimming!" on television and then a teleshopping ad on Vibrating Sauna Belts; and worrying that my interest was gradually shifting from one to the other.
...like the time I watched Charu Sharma simply tear apart the Indian bowling attack for its lack of consistency and dedication and its total sloppy fielding; and wondering what the fuss was all about after we beat New Zealand by over 84 runs without losing a wicket.
...like the time I switched off television after said match and pondered on whether I should write my research paper on how Duckworth-Lewis is the CAPM of cricket.
...like the time I simply stood all clean, doing nothing for ten minutes, in the midst of half naked colorful bodies and listened to a remark from someone: "Yaar, aaj kisi ne holi khelaa hai toh tumne ! "
...like the time I did ten rounds of cleansing over and over again with detergent, shampoo, toothpaste and soap to get the color off me; and wondering if the whole purpose of Holi was to reiterate the importance of bathing, and whether the British would've called it Shower Day if they had gone on to adopt it.
...like the time I put up a totally colored picture of myself on the Gtalk client, and received at least ten remarks saying "amazing pic" or "superb pic", when none of my formal or cool-looking profile photos ever earned that remark.
Thought jam. All in a day's work.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Used to winning
Black circles on a white sheet
No room for the sleepless cheat
Soft scribbles of graphite racing against time
Tom, Dick and Harry want to be in an IIM
Done with all the apti-tests
Wowed the profs with gyaan and jests
All three were living the great Indian dream
Just when it looked life could get no more gleam
They say free lunches don’t exist
The lavish dinners had to have a twist
Tom liked neither the consult jargon nor bankers’ show off
Harry had no clue anyway; At Dick they did all short of scoff
Dick wanted nought but grades
While Tom was a jack of all trades
Child in a toy shop, put fight, the mentors told Harry
Markets are freezing, they expounded, be wary
‘Twas time to buy jacket and sweatshirt
TDH wanted to, with fachchis, flirt
Pre placement offers were cause for celebration
In times of sinking banks, frauds and inflation
Alas, fate had different plans
Tom threw out the beer cans
It was September; Dick Fuld had spoiled his party
Sans grades, would they still think him a smarty?
Dick did all the studying
Projects, contacts, string pulling
Luck seemed evasive, but he said he’ll defy providence
We’re used to winning, we’ll make some sense
And Harry, he had some clues now
For banks and advisors he had no respect
The Duke song told him to be a brander
Unilever, P&G, There were none any grander
Recessions are bad; firms don’t hire
People speak of joblessness; Placecom is on fire
Harry is a consultant; Dick’s back to a bank
Tom’s dreaming of getting killed driving an army tank
Dark circles no longer on a sheet
They’re on our faces, having been browbeat
Losses hard to digest, all the purses thinning
Hoping against hope we’ll be okay, ‘coz we’re used to winning.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Commandments...
...that twenty two years of protoplasmic existence and nineteen years of formal education would have sidestepped if it was a different place, or a different time...
...that is there is no substitute for good friendship. Real dosti is when you have filled in a bucket of water from the last running tap in the block, your friends choose that time to wake up, and you split it four ways between the shaver, the loo-goer, the face-washing attentive front bench sitter and yourself.
...that being kiddish is fun as long as it is endearing and people appreciate that. There are of course, places where you can’t afford to be thus; you can identify these places by lack of endearment.
...that there is joy in disorder. Be it in the two week long unshaven face, the room that hasn’t been cleaned for a month or the pile of clothes and shoes that are mingled with one another all over the room floor. Of course, there is joy in the rearrangement of things so that one can start messing up all over again.
...that fighting with a friend is a dream, but stepping in between two fighting friends is a nightmare. Because it reminds you how much you care about that person and you stop yourself from saying so many things that come to mind.
...that there is value in setting store by values. Even if you sound like your principal or headmaster from high school. It helps in avoiding identity crises.
...that there is merit in being a Jack of All Trades. Or trying to be one, at least. You must always play musical instruments, write poetry, convert poetry to song, study for 10 hours a day, take a break by playing badminton, teach math to juniors, play music again and end the day with studying for the end term on the next day.
...that Murphy was a genius and one who does not bow to him ends up at the wrong end of His laws. Then again, maybe every end is a wrong end.
...that when unfair play happens, it is always paid for. When the bad man pays for it is not under your control. But you can rest assured that he is always charged net present value.
...that because of the above, there will always be disappointments. It gets scary when you don’t screw up once in a while as there’s some huge impending disaster that is the sum total of all your experienced joys.
...that no matter what happens, there is hope for all of us at the end of it all.
Twenty Five Things
This is the result of a "I-am-jobless-so-I-should-do-something" disease that Facebook has been spreading round friends' circles. In a desperate bid to kickstart my blog, yours truly plagiarises his own writings from the past, and experiments with the different channels to reach the readership market. Here, as they say, goes.
3. When in Class 2, I was hauled up for indiscipline. My crime was that I tucked a wooden scale halfway down my schoolbag and ran up and down the corridor pretending to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. (I always liked playing Leonardo. Unfortunately Michelangelo, Raphael and Donatello did not get caught and they have no memory of the incident whatsoever.)
9. My mom tells me I used to amuse myself at the age of 2 by creating a ruckus and tapping everything around with a spoon . Including the gas cylinder, the floor, the tava, the window sill, the wall and also my own head. My grandmom likes to think it was hidden signs of my aptitude for music; how I wish she recruited at IIMB.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
It all started with a lollipop
The earliest memory I have of life is one of sucking a lollipop in the back of my dad's car and staring at a high rise tower on the roadside. I went to this school sixteen kilometers away from my house in a bus which made a funny noise when the doors opened that made all of us kids laugh. The school had tall buildings, but somehow I could never go higher than the second floor because after that there was a door that was blocked by mops, buckets and everything else that Ryaaju used to keep there. Now that made me very angry, because I wanted to go places, and I tried to make up for it by tucking a wooden scale halfway down my bag, so that I looked like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. None of my teachers ever understood this, and they sent me home with notes in my diary saying restless, naughty and a million other synonyms. We had parent-teacher meetings, where I would sit with my most guilty face ever, and yet many times my teachers didn't melt. Maybe the one thing I am very grateful to my mother for is that she never let me screw up in acads, because of which I always did well in exams. Anyway, school was a lot of fun, because I got to see people who were different from me, and who did different things that made me want to do all those things as well. I had a Tabla teacher who liked me so much that he gave me a chance to play on stage at the age of 13, somehow I never thought of it as being a celebrity back then. I still remember that it was in class 8 that I saw two of my friends, a guy and a girl sit next to each other eating the same Choki Chokiand it made me sick because it was like tasting someone else's saliva. It took me long enough to realize that they were more than just friends. Five years later that friend of mine died in an accident, and the girl moved on. That was when I started really praying. I always feel real prayer is when your prayers go up in the same language as you think in.
One year and five months later, I am still lingering at the business school I joined. I am still restless and naughty and all those things. I still want to go places, and I love being amidst people and watching how they behave and think and how their minds work.I still burst crackers and love getting dressed up in a Sherwani on Dandiya and Diwali nights. But there are other things too. I fight with people a lot less, because in my head, people have become black boxes and you can predict what they will do when you tell them something. So I'm just careful with my words. I do a lot worse in exams than I used to in school, but I'm sure that's only because my mom's eyes aren't boring into the back of my head. I feel great when I can help someone...being here has given me my first chance to see underprivileged people and do something for them. It feels awesome when you yell irrationally at a bunch of seventy people and they actually listen to you; my tutorials have given me a chance to experience that. An investment bank heading for the abyss offered me a job, only to drop down the abyss faster.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Ten excuses not to brew potions
#10 - The iPod, the Airport Express and Homecoming
Recovering from credit risk since comrade IIMB-ian on the trading desk refunded Macau loan. Thinking about how to spend the inflow of Mandarin money in the light of country exit in the offing. Impulse buy of the Apple iTouch. Ripping the setup for iTunes out of the air on the way to airport while listening to Mandarin expletives from the taxi driver about Hong Kong traffic and expatriate travellers in general. The great download of Shrek 1,2,3 from the airport net, the conversion to MP4 and burning the iPod. Watching animated movies on flight and getting Mandarin expletives from the airhostess on refusing to respond to her calls for grub. Landing at Dubai airport and sending first emails from inside an aircraft. Laughing at my own kiddishness. Arriving home. Glad it's all over.
#9 - Thrifty or Spendthrift?
Waking up to the scary sound of the new alarm clock in my room. Looking around for people to go shopping for gifts with. Experiencing the all-time lowest of convincing skills. Breaking suitcase in frustration. Travelling to SOGO looking like the kid in Baby's Day Out. Nearly escaping death as the doors closed on the metro. Entering huge hypermarkets stacked one over the other with immense number of branded items all over the place. Hunting from top floor to base floor looking for a map of the place. Paying $1600 for a $2500 suitcase that sold for $4800 online. Perfume shopping with glamorous sales attendants and scenting coffee beans all over the place. Splurging the equivalent of 20,000 native currency on a single day. Feeling high about it. Dragging $5000 worth of items through a tram ride which cost $2 less than the usual $4 that it took for a cab.
#8 - The Review
The beginning of all the hype of the offers. The sole ride to Citibank tower from Island Pacific, where the only sound was the nasal Chinese voice on the radio. And Nattu chewing the proverbial apple. Tensions in creating presentation among numerous assignments from DC, DD and NP. Talk about how more work meant more interest and frustration should be an optimistic sign. Search for pseude presentation templates in the bowels of the computer hard drive. Loss of all templates found to other interns to be left stranded on the island of powerpoint with nothing but a laptop to give hope. Major fight in creating first ever template - with profuse help from God's own lands. Making the presentation with 4 hours of sleep the night before. Pat-on-the-back. Distress at seeing others getting more pats-on-the-back. Realization that it's all stupidity. Post-realization peace.
# 7 - The Great Gambler
Waking up to bad moods and the wrong side of the bed earlier than 9 am on a Saturday morning. The ubiquitous and condescending call from Subbu about how I was unwelcome at Macau and all that. Forced presence, nonetheless. Boat ride to Macau with Latheman, Topper and Subbu. Gaping at snaking bridges that go up and down and whose structures belie realism. Travelling by lift to the tenth highest tower on earth and trying to jump thence. Understanding how weather derivatives make money after plans were foiled. Hesitant entry to the casino at the Venetian. Gambling 20 cents with fellow RBS intern and converting it to $300. Splurging the three hundred and two hundred more on Sic Bo. Planning strategy with expected value greater than nought. Realization that trading on technicals makes no sense. Ferry ride back poorer and wiser. And crazier.
# 6 - Payday
Getting the only spam email that is welcome - the paycheck link. Jumping with joy with comrade strategist on discovering we got a hundred and ninety dollars more in relocation allowance. Putting never-before efforts into using Bloomberg to convert HKD to INR and revelling at the rise of oil price. Speaking back home for the longest international call ever made, even as fellow interns spiritedly aviated over Lan Kwai Fong.
# 5 - Of dogs and babes
Trip with Puri and the rest of the Kolkattans to this cute little island. 50 year old expats, 25 year old local wives, kids and dogs. That sums up Discovery bay. Trekking on the mountains there. Fellow strategist rediscovering his farmer blood, and planting trees in Hong Kong. Walking back and sitting on the artificial sand on the artificial beach with artificial sea creatures floating about in real sea water.
#4 - The bull, the China, no shop
Accepting mementos all with the seal of the Merrill bull from "mother". Getting escorted out from the cool shelters of human resources by the business manager to the Strategic Solutions Group. Perusal by the Managing Director, and subsequent summing up. Discovery of the pantry, the internet and of how to use the phone. Meeting up with Kolkattan intern and fellow strategic analyst MK. Birth of the cynical banker here.
#3 - Flight to the Orient
Crashing down head first into the spacious Cathay Pacific seats, and taking in the stench of Subbu's nicotine abuse before dozing off. Waking up to find thin-eyed airhostesses pulling Subbu's neck to make the seat upright. Realizing that I had missed dinner, and breakfast, and lost everything that I had paid Rs 37000 for. Calling the airhostess for a glass of orange juice five minutes before landing. Listening to Chinese rebukes outside a martial arts movie as a consequence for the first time. Not liking it.
#2 - Mumbai Mania
Entering the Mumbai office with Subbu, Maggie and Mamta looking like a scene from Kaante. Discovering that Jayanthi Bajpai was a top guy at the company. Sleeping through his monologue. I am Prabh, and you can call me God, he said. Bending steel rods and walking on glass. Tonga-riding with five smartly suited B-schoolers from Marine Drive to the Taj. Realization that that was the wrong place to be, and the tonga ride back to the Taj President. Bargaining from Rs 500 to Rs 300, for a journey that would've taken us Rs 30 by taxi.
#1 - The beginning
Arriving an hour and a half late at the Mumbai airport. Walking out to find amazing buildings looking nothing like the dirthole we expected. Catching the worst possible taxi in vicinity. Fitting in 2 huge suitcases into the dikki. Chal jaayega, bhaai saab. Travelling at 100 kilometres an hour, and reaching the Taj in 40 minutes flat. Getting out alive.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
To You, with love
Dear Man-or-woman-who-lives-above-the-clouds
Everytime I write to you the letter never reaches you because the post-office uncle thinks I'm mad. So this time I will write to you through the latest thing people have come up with - the internet. This time others will read it - and you will therefore HAVE to reply.
So how's it up there? Doesn't it get lonely and cold up there? Well, yeah, you built this place, so there's nothing to say you didn't make a jacket for yourself. But still, sitting up there and looking down at us? That would make me dizzy.And maybe bored...I don't know.
Guess you're managing all those pantheons of "big" gods and "little" gods we believe in as well. You should really write to me about those sometime - are they like delimited? Oh - I haven't told you - it's a software term. What I meant to ask was whether gods are restricted to airspace and they're not allowed to violate each other's property. It'll make a lot of sense to us if you tell us how that politics across space works - because many times we think of you and your support system up there when we're abroad and we're in some trouble.
I don't know you. No, I don't mean that I have not seen you or whatever, but I don't understand how you work. That is, assuming, you're the same person who I think of when I'm stuck in a traffic jam and I'll get fired if I don't make it to the office on time. Assuming you're the same person all of us think of when we're living on the edge, and wishing we could just jump off. And assuming that you're the same person who responds time and again.
Let me ask you something. They say you know everything. They say you're the one who decides our fate. Then I don't get what joy you find in making little dolls with flesh and blood, making them suffer and then killing them to recycle and send back as people who don't suffer and therefore commit sins. Haven't you had enough seeing this for 200 decades at least?
OK. Granted that one year of yours is like a zillion years of ours. Still, do you get a kick out of making people suffer? There are so many people with broken bones, broken heads, broken legs and broken hearts. So many people who talk of successful lives - personal and professional. And so many other people who see these people and rue their unsatisfied lot. Why, God, Why? Why this insufferable passion to see us suffer and crave for mercy? Why this somnambulist existence where we can't even see you and our minds are in handcuffs?
It's just not fair. Definitely not when the things we think are beautiful, marvelous, spectacular - are just glances of your time. Just miniature events that everyone forgets. You don't even get to take souvenirs or photos like in a tourist trip. Hell, we don't even know when or where we're going next. Why this uncertainty? Does that also have a purpose like the rest of the things you do?
But whatever - I'm here because put me down - and I'm gonna do things that make me happy. Because I like to be happy. Why? Since it makes everyone around me happy too - and you like to see people similar to you. In fact is that why you made us in the first place? Do you have other Gods at your level, all of who make universes like this? And do their universes have people too, to worship them? Are all you Gods in some competition to have the best universe around or something? If yes, is there a Super-God who gives you that prize? Just some food for thought.
Awaiting your reply,
Yours religiously
Kid-who-lives-on-the-land
Everytime I write to you the letter never reaches you because the post-office uncle thinks I'm mad. So this time I will write to you through the latest thing people have come up with - the internet. This time others will read it - and you will therefore HAVE to reply.
So how's it up there? Doesn't it get lonely and cold up there? Well, yeah, you built this place, so there's nothing to say you didn't make a jacket for yourself. But still, sitting up there and looking down at us? That would make me dizzy.And maybe bored...I don't know.
Guess you're managing all those pantheons of "big" gods and "little" gods we believe in as well. You should really write to me about those sometime - are they like delimited? Oh - I haven't told you - it's a software term. What I meant to ask was whether gods are restricted to airspace and they're not allowed to violate each other's property. It'll make a lot of sense to us if you tell us how that politics across space works - because many times we think of you and your support system up there when we're abroad and we're in some trouble.
I don't know you. No, I don't mean that I have not seen you or whatever, but I don't understand how you work. That is, assuming, you're the same person who I think of when I'm stuck in a traffic jam and I'll get fired if I don't make it to the office on time. Assuming you're the same person all of us think of when we're living on the edge, and wishing we could just jump off. And assuming that you're the same person who responds time and again.
Let me ask you something. They say you know everything. They say you're the one who decides our fate. Then I don't get what joy you find in making little dolls with flesh and blood, making them suffer and then killing them to recycle and send back as people who don't suffer and therefore commit sins. Haven't you had enough seeing this for 200 decades at least?
OK. Granted that one year of yours is like a zillion years of ours. Still, do you get a kick out of making people suffer? There are so many people with broken bones, broken heads, broken legs and broken hearts. So many people who talk of successful lives - personal and professional. And so many other people who see these people and rue their unsatisfied lot. Why, God, Why? Why this insufferable passion to see us suffer and crave for mercy? Why this somnambulist existence where we can't even see you and our minds are in handcuffs?
It's just not fair. Definitely not when the things we think are beautiful, marvelous, spectacular - are just glances of your time. Just miniature events that everyone forgets. You don't even get to take souvenirs or photos like in a tourist trip. Hell, we don't even know when or where we're going next. Why this uncertainty? Does that also have a purpose like the rest of the things you do?
But whatever - I'm here because put me down - and I'm gonna do things that make me happy. Because I like to be happy. Why? Since it makes everyone around me happy too - and you like to see people similar to you. In fact is that why you made us in the first place? Do you have other Gods at your level, all of who make universes like this? And do their universes have people too, to worship them? Are all you Gods in some competition to have the best universe around or something? If yes, is there a Super-God who gives you that prize? Just some food for thought.
Awaiting your reply,
Yours religiously
Kid-who-lives-on-the-land
Friday, April 18, 2008
Of Crouching Tigers and Hidden Dragons
Perhaps the most interesting thing about my 30-day experience on Mandarin lands is the language barrier. Having been an insufferable-crib-about-it-all co-intern, the Midget Rogue isn't really wearing all tinted glasses. Of course, notwithstanding the tinted glasses on my room - which incidentally guise the typhoon signal 3 outside, I realize the invariable reality - I cannot go out today, and hence I must blog.
Not before I give my clothes to the laundry, I decide. I force myself out of bed and pull out the laundry cover from the hotel cupboard. The pile of clothes that has been growing over the week, is quickly stuffed into the miserable excuse for a bag. I pull out the hotel key card (which of course is more importantly my sole source of a Chinese address) and walk out of the room.
The door knob has hardly turned when I realize the housekeeping staff is here.
"May uh?" She asks.
"What?" I ask back.
"May Uhhhh?" The nasal tone is irritating.
It's 5 minutes before she shows me a card that says Make Up Room.
"After lunch". I say. This is the only problem with weekends - you're there when they clean up the room. As I go down from the 16th floor, I wonder how I should really be staying at the 61st floor, given the fact that buildings seem to compete for height around here. Man, what is a Midget Rogue doing round here?
I look around for some sheltered footpath that would take me to Curry Kings. There it is. Long thin way next to the toy shop. Happily I cross the roads and scuttle along the walkway, till I begin to see the toys moving on their own. Oops...I must try to distinguish toys from meat. Amazing reptilian delicacies. And with no clue what's gonna happen to them. I stand by to see what'll happen.
Old Chinese Woman: [incomprehensible Mandarin]
Butcher : [incomprehensible Mandarin]
The butcher raises his knife. I move away to avoid the shock. It is at this point that I realize that this is so profound an experience that it deserves to be recorded in more spontaneous moments and photoblogs.
With a call to the reception, I yell.
"Can.....you......tell.....me....when ....the ........next......shuttle.......to............Tsim Sha Tsui .........is? And......whether.......it.......will........run........in........this weather?"
No, he doesn't understand. I go out and punch the elevator button.
Not before I give my clothes to the laundry, I decide. I force myself out of bed and pull out the laundry cover from the hotel cupboard. The pile of clothes that has been growing over the week, is quickly stuffed into the miserable excuse for a bag. I pull out the hotel key card (which of course is more importantly my sole source of a Chinese address) and walk out of the room.
The door knob has hardly turned when I realize the housekeeping staff is here.
"May uh?" She asks.
"What?" I ask back.
"May Uhhhh?" The nasal tone is irritating.
It's 5 minutes before she shows me a card that says Make Up Room.
"After lunch". I say. This is the only problem with weekends - you're there when they clean up the room. As I go down from the 16th floor, I wonder how I should really be staying at the 61st floor, given the fact that buildings seem to compete for height around here. Man, what is a Midget Rogue doing round here?
I look around for some sheltered footpath that would take me to Curry Kings. There it is. Long thin way next to the toy shop. Happily I cross the roads and scuttle along the walkway, till I begin to see the toys moving on their own. Oops...I must try to distinguish toys from meat. Amazing reptilian delicacies. And with no clue what's gonna happen to them. I stand by to see what'll happen.
Old Chinese Woman: [incomprehensible Mandarin]
Butcher : [incomprehensible Mandarin]
The butcher raises his knife. I move away to avoid the shock. It is at this point that I realize that this is so profound an experience that it deserves to be recorded in more spontaneous moments and photoblogs.
With a call to the reception, I yell.
"Can.....you......tell.....me....when ....the ........next......shuttle.......to............Tsim Sha Tsui .........is? And......whether.......it.......will........run........in........this weather?"
No, he doesn't understand. I go out and punch the elevator button.
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