Little bit more...

Yesterday, I was listening to the radio on the way to work and there was some news piece about the number of businesses owned by African-Americans in the Michigan region. The speaker was going rah-rah on the strength of the African-American community when he came up with this little nugget.

African-Americans own more than Seventeen thousand five hundred and thirty businesses in the Michigan state.

I mean, come on, if you got down to the thirty level in that huge count, why not tell me the exact number? Or why not say more than 17500 or maybe more than 17000. Why do you need to add "more than" when you are stating, what I believe, is a fairly accurate count? Does it make the number sound that much more big? What is it?

Reminds me of another commercial I heard on the radio...this was for a furniture warehouse...

We have more than six locations in Metro XXXXX!!!

Really? You serious? Don't leave me hanging, dude. The suspense is killing me. How many more? One? Two? Or, dare I suggest, even Three... taking the total to, wait, let me add them up, yes...nine??? Holy Moley! That is an incredible number of stores to have. I won't be able to sleep till I know of the exact number of stores. Tell me, Tell me....

I Dream for you

This is something I have felt really strongly about for quite a while now. Now that I am a daddy, it makes all the more sense to me to write about it now. This ruffles my feathers like few things do.

The issue here is parents playing a deciding role in a child's choice of career. Being a traditionally close-knit society, it is very obvious that parents would have a say in the direction that their kid's life takes. Often times parents will guide a kid through the career choices and help them decide what's right for them. Some parents have perfected it to an art form though.

Growing up, I had a few friends/acquaintances whose parents had decided what career path they will choose when they will grow up. Most of the times, this was not up for discussion or debate, it was a decision. If the mom/dad decides that you will be a doctor, then you have to be a doctor. no two ways about it. doesn't matter if you don't have the aptitude or will for it. It was drilled into their brains from such an early age that the kid will not be able to think of an alternate career. What this mostly resulted in was the kids wasting a lot of time to get into the profession that their parents chose for them or feeling dejected because they were not able to fulfill their parents' wishes. This led to some really drastic results in some cases.

My grandma wanted my dad to be a doctor. My dad went to a medical school to fulfill her wishes but his heart wasn't in it. He left after wasting a year and then went on to get a law degree (and never practiced!). When it was time for me to choose a career path, dad wanted me to be an architect. Unlike other parents though, he didn't tell me this till it was almost time to choose a career. (most cases parents start this as soon as their kid can understand words and in some cases even before the kid is born). I didn't want to be an architect and told so to my dad. Period. End of discussion. I became a telecom engineer. If I hadn't become one, I was willing to give Accountancy a try (and he was ok with that). Later on he asked if I wanted to do IAS. I refused again. And once again there was no showdown, no "how could you not fulfill my wishes" stuff. Just an "it's your life, do what feels right". Some "well-meaning" relatives tried to interfere but dad was adamant that I should get to choose what I do in life.

One of my classmates wasted two years trying to be a doctor. Some others went into professions that their parents wanted them to be in and spent quite a few miserable years trying to make their parents happy.

My analysis is that in most cases, either the parent couldn't become what they wanted to be due to some reason or the other and want their kid to fulfill their dream/ambition or they just decide that X career choice will result in a lot of name and fame so their kid should choose that, regardless of the kid's capability.

I decided long time ago that I will NEVER ever do that to my kid. But there was a nagging suspicion that maybe when I will become a father, I will think differently. But no, so far, I don't feel so. I will guide my kid(s) whenever they need my guidance but I will not decide things for them.

I wish the parents will stop dreaming through their kid's eyes and the kids will stop bearing the burden of their parents' failed ambitions.

Saala main to baap ban gaya

updates will follow...

Happy New Year

Start of a new year. Time to make some resolutions, do a progress check on last year's resolutions (if I can remember them, that is) and decide which of this year's resolutions do I want to really really keep. Sort of like - attempt any 3 out of the following 5 questions. Bonus marks for any attempt over 3.

So here is the list:

• Take more risks ( as generic resolutions go, this is the mother of 'em all)
• Watch the diet ( my own, not everybody's else's)
• Travel less ( the kind of work I do, this automatically means taking more risks)
• Work out ( as in exercise, run, lift weights, build muscles, intimidate people. Ok, not the last one)
• Blog more ( more frequently than the appearance of Hailey's comet)

Stay tuned for the progress on these and some more resolutions...If I can think of any more before end of the year.

Ice Ice baby

Some background: the place where I work, quite a few people sit in one big conference room. And it gets fairly noisy at times. Whenever somebody has to attend any personal calls, the person usually steps out of the room into the common corridors and takes the calls there. The corridors are adjoining the break room with coffee machine, refrigerator etc.

So...a few days ago, I was attending to a call in this common corridor. And I saw an ice cube lying on the ground. The urge to do something really foolish overtook any trace of sensibility that I might possess and I kicked the ice cube. Kicked it hard. As the ice cube marked it's hurried path across the corridor, I looked up to realize that something stood between the ice cube and the end wall. a GIRL!!! My luck being what it is, the ice cube hit her shoes. She looked up and stared at me. Puzzled.

I decided to turn on my charms full blast, covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered " I am sorry" and gave her my smile #36. It had got me out of troubles before, why not now. The distance separating us and corridor being not very well lit ( we are saving energy, you see), she failed to read my lips for the sign of a genuine folly. She gave me the stare that would have melted the polar ice caps and singlehandedly achieved what the whole mankind has been unable to do with all their CFC emissions for past several decades.

Anyway, things seem to get back to normal after that. Just a couple of days ago I saw her again in the corridor and she gave me a look that I failed to decipher. I think it means one of two things:
1) She misunderstood me and is really angry.
2) She REALLY misunderstood me and is very "not angry"

Both the situations put me in a predicament. My action was unintentional, or it was intentional with unintentional consequences. She is not exactly the kind of girl I would have thrown ice at normally (if you get my drift).

Notes to self:

• Avoid corridors.
  
• Look around corners before turning.
  
• Walk with the eyes lowered.
• DO NOT smile.
• WHY ME???
  

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Why is it that as men get older, they lose hair from all the places they want and grow them in all the places they don't. We lose hair from our head and the facial growth get slower. Instead, we sprout hair on our ears, the nose hair gets longer, the back hair gets thicker.

If God intended to maintain the net balance of hair on a male body, why make him lose it from the top and let it fall on ears and the back???

Misunderstood...

...often

Lend me your ears and I will sing you a song...

Today is one of those damn days when I have a damn tune stuck in my damn head. Damn! Damn! Damn! Why is it that every time there is a song or a tune stuck in your head, it is always a crappy one. Why can't I be going over a nice song over and over in my head?

Often times I have tried, without much success though, to change the stuck tune to something more pleasing. But this is one track that is so difficult to change. Why do all the crappy songs have catchy tunes? This morning I woke up with one of those catchy tunes in my head. It is gone now but it did trouble me for a long time.

I know this is nothing short of sadism, but when i have some idiotic tune stuck in my head and I am near someone who I know is aware of the tune, I love to hum a few bars and get it stuck in their head as well. Tee Hee Hee. Why should I be the only one who is suffering.

Reminds me of an incident from my undergrad days. A friend of mine was humming a nice tune from a song that had just come out. I heard him singing (that's really stretching the definition though), and immediately starting humming some crappy tune. The poor guy got so befuddled that he started humming the new song with this old tune and got really really messed up. Try as he might, he couldn't remember the original tune. As is obvious, he was not very happy with me for the rest of the day.

When it rains...

Yesterday it rained for the first time here. Or after a long time anyway. As I got out of my car to head to the hotel room, I could feel the gentle breeze blowing across my face. Playing truant with whatever hair I have left. With the Fall season just around the corner, some trees were a little ahead of the game and had already started shedding their leaves. The breeze carried one leaf and pasted it out on my windshield. It took another and blew it against my shoes, where it was stuck for a while before it found a way to go around me. The first raindrops quenched the thirst of the parched ground and gave that particular first rain smell.

For reasons that I cannot comprehend, the first rain always brings a smile across my face. A somewhat happy, somewhat sad moment. The first raindrops, the smell of the earth, the gentle breeze, carry me in their arms and transport me back in time to my childhood and across the seven seas to our home. To our backyard. To those happy times. To the smell of the fresh cut grass. To the happy place free of all the worries, far away from the rat race. Away from the daily grind, the stress of making the ends meet...and then some.

It is like I am looking into the crystal ball, the one that looks back into the present of my childhood. I can see the little kid coming back home after a long day at school. Shoulders sagging under the weight of the school bag. Coming home and mom waiting at the gate, worried that the weather is taking the turn for the worse and I am still at school. The yard is full of wet and yellow leaves that the tree doesn't want anymore. People on the street with just a hint of spring in their steps. Trying to get back home before the skies open up. People hunting for small umbrellas or their raincoats in their bag. People walking but always aware of the nearest shelter. All the street vendors scrambling to find a cover for their wares. Everybody in a rush but everybody a little cheerful. It is the first rain afterall.

These days, I hardly have time to look around and appreciate the nature. To stop and smell the proverbial roses. Just a hint of sadness at the things I have lost. The simple joys, the thrill of seeing the squirrel nibbling at something and then racing across the yard at the first hint of movement. The bugs and the earthworms are still a nuisance. The rain is almost becoming one. One of them days, I will start filling the debit and credit columns of my growing up account. I have a nagging feeling I will end with a negative balance...

Women and Clock

What is it with women and their inability to be on time. Don't want to start a gender debate here so I will put a disclaimer upfront. Whatever I say in this post is purely based on personal experiences.

Of ALL the females I have known in my life, I can't recall a single one who would be on time anywhere. Now, not being on time is one of my pet peeves. I like to be on time anywhere I go. Not to say I haven't ever been late. I have. But it is more of an exception than a rule and even then in some cases it is due to circumstances beyond my control (traffic, for example). It really pisses me off when people promise to be someplace on time and then are conveniently late.

I have known menfolk who have had no respect for time as well. But somehow, the women always outnumber the men. And they ALWAYS have an excuse when confronted with it. Oh, I woke up late, no, my make-up took time, the shower took 3 minutes to boot up, the bathroom was a 5 minute walk from the bedroom, blah, blah, blah....My point is, after so many years, how could you not know how long it takes for you to get ready. Why don't you start getting ready 15 minutes earlier or get out of bed 15 minutes earlier for God's sake!!

Most of them are actually blissfully unaware that they are late. They consider it a birthright of sorts to not be on time.

Anyway, to cut a long story short. I am pissed. Women don't care. Life goes on...