I made my first rangoli today... i ve seen many and commented on the quality of even more... but this experience was totally humbling... Drawing a straight line with colored powder is not a cup of tea believe me... Our theme was "mission kashmir" to remind the people of the quake hit kashmir and to remind them to contribute to rebuild the home of the homeless... we were awarded a box of celebration chocolates for our efforts... |  |
Networking / temporary fix / Black / Jugaad
Well besides the bursting-at-the-seams population there are more things that are plaguing my country today; the attitude of people towards work. The “jugaad” factor, as I call it. Well just day before yesterday, my onsite manager tells me a fact that two technologically different things are in fact one. Just like saying North and South are in fact one. Well this is not the first time he has done so and shown his ignorance but that guy never ceases to amaze me with his ignorance. But I really wonder how in the world did he reach to the level where he is now.
Welcome to the world of “Jugaad”
Lying to the client, saving face by making excuses, and putting temporary fixes in place; well its like trying to repair a bursting dam with post-it. In the world where mangers are spending a fortune in the CRM software trying to make the customer come back to them for repeat business, here are the glorious Indian managers indulging in unethical conduct, buying time to pass of their wares.
Why and wherefores
Yes the companies are getting bigger and the responsibilities are getting specialized. The employee can, of course, shirk these responsibilities and appear too insignificant to make a change. When things go wrong, all that the employee is concerned about is saving his own skin.
3 Bomb blasts rock Delhi
The phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Friends and relatives from all over the country have called us up when they saw the news of the bomb blast in Sarojini Nagar. Luckily for us all of us were home. Mom had just left for South Extn. Market with brother’s family when I heard the news. I was calm cause I knew they would be far from the place bomb blast took place but they still had to come back home. Crowded places were not good.
As could be expected, the phone networks could not handle the load of the emergency. “The number you ve called is not reachable at the moment”. Somehow that soothing voice was all irritating. I managed to get across to them somehow and asked them to come back home.
Nothing is same anymore
We used to play together when we were kids. My brother used to go around the village with his brother and I used to follow him wherever he went. I remember the night when we walked together while coming back from the factory, it was a starlit night, no moon in sight and yet very bright. The stars there were more in number than in Delhi. Just like all the good things.
Tayaji and taijis home was my second home. Taiji never used to let me go out on an empty stomach. Tea and biscuits used to appear out of thin air. I used to sit in the Veda on a pidi and used to have my breakfast with my cousins. I used to watch color telly at their place rather than the black and white one at my chacha’s place.
The elder of the cousins, Babbu gelled really nice with my elder brother. They were doing all the fun around the place. Dhodha and me just used to follow them till we were tired and gave up. Dodha took me to his wood factory where I saw electrical fittings being made (I tried my hand at a few…); we made wonderful gulakks, and swords to have make-believe fights. I still have those treasures.
We were just a couple of kids; Life was great fun.
Few years later we got a call, Babbu s mother taiji had fallen sick and was very ill. Fearing for the worst papa rushed to our village. But alas womenfolk always hide their illness long enough to suffer and to make other suffer after they are gone. Taiji had suffered a heart attack and was gone.
On my next visit to our village things were a little different. We had a new taiji. Tayaji had to remarry under pressure from other relatives since his kids were young and needed a mother’s love. The new taiji was suave. She changed things around the house and now the house looked more ornate and decorated. But the bonhomie and the welcome were missing.
I heard from mom one day that babbu’s family was coming over to Delhi. I was overjoyed. I would meet dodha again. And babbu too. When I heard the reason for their coming, my heart skipped a beat. Babbu was diagnosed with a heart valve failure and had to be treated at the Delhi hospitals.
Talking was painful to him after operation and he used to gesticulate to tell us about his needs. After about two months he was slowly able to speak and talk to us and share with us his near death experience. Babbu came only once after that for his postoperative checkups. The local doctors had pronounced his operation as a success.
Babbu’s death was an equal surprise as his mother’s death. I was grown up to be taken to mourning so this time even I went along. The brief moments I could get with Dodha before the mourning ceremony, I held his hand, and I looked at him. I couldn’t utter a word. I wished I did. I wished I could. Dodha’s figure of calm and compose broke the moment he saw his brother’s picture. He cried and was inconsolable, I couldn’t cry as much as I tried, so I got up and left.
I am 22 now. I go to my village once in a while. In sorrows and happiness, as they say.
Their house is still there. I know Dodha still lives there. They still have that factory. They still have a color TV and I know I’ll be welcome when I go there. But I also know that nothing is same anymore.
I resent that fact that she stays here… going from room to room… I resent her shouting… I ask her to speak slowly…I miss her terribly when i am away from her...
