Scramble for a highchair - Scene 2

It's afternoon & no sign of another chair. Cha! No one seems bothered. I call up again, and I'm reassured that 'someone' would be sent soon. I continue working, keeping my hopes alive. As the day fades away, so do my hopes. The next morning I walk in, hoping that the chair would have somehow been replaced overnite. Well, it was not. Thoroughly disgusted, I call up again & tell them it's the third time I'm calling for this. I'm told again that 'someone' would come. *sigh* A short while later, I'm in the next cubicle clearing V's doubt when my phone rings. I pick it up from her seat. 'Madam, xxxx?' 'Yes?' 'Neenga chair -' 'Yeah!' '- vendam nu call panneenga illaya?' 'WHAT?' 'Illa, chair seriya irukku, maatha vendam nu marubadiyum call -' 'NOOO!' Ada paavingala! Is this their idea of a joke??? 'Ennoda chair seri illai-nga...', I recite the story again. 'Oh, seri Madam'. I hang up & narrate this story to C & J and they burst out laughing. Instantly. Ellam en neram! A few minutes later, I'm in V's cubicle and someone arrives to take away my chair. I look at him suspiciously - irukara chair-ayum eduthuttu porare? As if on cue, C looks at me, grinning and shaking his head - 'Avlo dhan, pochu!'. 'C! Summa irunga!!!' After a few more mins, the office boy returns with another chair. I ditch V and her doubt and run to my cubicle - well, if you can call it a run. I do the slow-motion, old movies la hero, heroine types of run. (Trust me ppl, I really did this.) The office boy darts glances at me, unable to comprehend why on earth anyone would run like that. I ignore his reaction and thank him for the chair. It seems to work fine. Yipee!!! 'Boohhoooo.... sob...sob...', I try to express my happiness. The office boy stands there just long enough to look at me very weirdly before moving away. C grins and J chuckles. Sniffing, I turn to my monitor and msg D - 'Yeeee!!! I finally got a proper chair!!! sob... sob...' 'Hehe.... loosu ponne... velaya paaru!!' *sigh* She's right. I really need to get to work now - 76 hrs, you know.

Scramble for a highchair - Scene 1

After a refreshing weekend, I return to office dreading the 76 hours that I need to bill this week. As usual, my vinayagar idols are displaced, the miniature plane on top of my monitor is upside down, my keyboard is at an angle and the dustbin is under the chair - proof that someone's been 'cleaning' my desk. Rearranging everything, I pull up my chair and sit down. Sensing that my chair is at a level lower than what I'd find comfortable, I reach for the lever and try to raise the chair. Nothing happens. I try again - and again. Nothing happens, whatsoever. The chair's at its lowest possible position. Exactly what went wrong with a chair that had a perfectly functional lever two days back beats me. Or maybe the chair got mixed up with another. It does happen at times. *sigh* I turn to J and complain. He laughs. Apparently, he finds this very amusing. I ask him to try the chair and he does. No difference. *sigh*. 'Okay, J, vidunga'. We get to work - at least J does. I have to crane my neck and look up at the monitor - I could have as well been sitting in the front row of a cinema theatre. At least, the latter would not have been so boring. 'Karmam!', I mutter as C walks in to our cubicle. 'C! Ennoda chair-a parunga!!', I exclaim even before he can put his laptop down on the desk. 'Enna achu?' he asks, amused, as J chuckles. Ignoring J, I explain. C tries again and we give up. '2802-ku phone panni complain pannunga. Ask for another chair', he advises and turns to his laptop. I dial the number and reach one of the office boys. 'Hello, naan xxxx-lerndhu call panren. Inga - ' 'Hello? Hello?', pipes a voice. It's extremely noisy there. Why exactly, I cannot fathom. I raise my voice a little and repeat, ' Naan xxxx-lerndhu call panrenga. Ennoda chair -' 'Hello? Madam? Konja sathama pesunga, inga ore sathama irukku, edhuvum kekkala.' 'NAAN XXXX-LA IRUNDHU CALL PANRENGA. ENNODA CHAIR.....' blah... blah... blah... 'Oh, okay, Madam, yaarayavadhu anuparom.' 'THANKS!' No sooner had I hung up, relieved at the thought of getting a proper chair - 'Ipdi dhan oorukke kekkara madhiri phone la kathuviya?', asks D, from the next cubicle, raising her eyebrows at me. Shaking her head, she puts on her headphones and turns to her monitor before I can answer. Sighing, I get to work.

Of Thayir Saadhams and Geoffrey's - Scene 2

Later in the day, as we go down for lunch, we continue our tirade. 'Un kalyanathuku vandhuttu unakku gift tharama, avaruku mattum gift tharuvom', P tells B and then adds, 'Avar mattum use panra madhri edhavadhu tharuvom'. My eyes meet P's for a fraction of a second and we both burst out laughing. 'You're perverted. Kevalam di nee', P accuses me. 'Ada naaye! Nee dhan modhala siricha... Unna pathu dhan ennake thonichu!!'. 'Illa, nee dhan modhalla -'. 'Of course not, nee -'. 'SHOO!' exclaims a loud, disgusted voice from behind, the source being B, who stalks out of the elevator. P and I continue bickering until we reach foodcourt, where we unite to bicker over 'traitors'. It's evening and we're back in the pantry for a tea break. The conversation, of course, drifts to 'thayir saadhams'. And K points out, 'Dei P, unmaiyileye neeyum naanum dhan da thayir saadham!'. 'Naanum, naanum!' I pipe in. 'Hey..', it's D, 'actually, it's not exactly her fault, you know.' All heads jerk in her direction and we look at her, amazed. 'Illa pa,' she hastens to explain, 'ennaiku ava kovil ku poren nu sollitu Geoffrey's ponalo, annaike we should have known, iva thayir saadham illa nu,' finishes D. Aha! This does open a new line of thought. (I'm reminded of the day long, long ago when D was telling B that she had called B's home and was told that B had gone to the temple. When D mentioned this in office the next day, B explained that she had, in reality, been to Geoffrey's. 'Geoffrey's-a?' asked a surprised P, at the mention of his frequent hang-out. 'Geoffrey's-a?', the rest of us chorused. 'Yeah, I went there with my xxxx'. 'Anga poittu nee enna panna?', asked P unable to control his laughter at the very thought. (I don't quite remember what she had replied - soda maybe? or juice or some such thing.) 'Adi paavi! Amma kitta kovil nu poi sollitu poniya?' asked D. 'Hehe... ama'. 'Adhu yen kovil? At least, friend veedu-navadhu solli irukalame...', I question her. 'Hehe... summa dhan... Veetla therinja naan sethen!!'.) *sigh* You're right, D. Appove we guys should have realised that B was not to be classified as thayir saadham. Unmaiyana thayir saadham P, K and naan dhan. *sigh* ( Geoffrey's, by the way, is the name of a pub in Chennai.)

Of Thayir Saadhams and Geoffrey's - Scene 1

After a 3-month sojourn abroad, D and I return to office. It was truly great to be back amongst my friends P, B, M and K. After the initial 'hi's and the distribution of the chocolates to my team, I take off for the pantry to discuss more stories over our cups of tea. D and B went in a few minutes before I did. No sooner did I enter the pantry and walk upto B & D, does B say smth to me. I didn't quite catch what she said. Apparently, B has smth important to tell me. 'B! Don't tell me you're getting married!', I exclaim. She grins (no blushing, of course - no one in my gang can blush very well.) 'Wow, B, eppo?'. D prompts me, 'Ask her who it is.' The implications of this statement strike me instantly. Someone I know? Someone in office? I gasp and turn to B. She laughs. 'Oh God! Who is it?', I just can't guess. B? Love?? Getting married to someone in office??? What's happening here? B finally tells me who it is and I reel from the shock. I thot B hardly knew the guy. Apparently, I was wrong. I realise I'm konjam over-reacting and downplay it. And then, smth else strikes me. She said marriage.... which means - 'Veetla othukittangala???!!!!'. She nods. 'WOW', I exclaim. 'Cool, girl!!', I add just as P joins us. Varum podhe, he closes his eyes with one hand and stretches out his other palm flat out - 'Where are my gifts? iPod enga? G-Shock enga??' he questions D and me. All of us laugh. 'Un gift seat la iruku, we'll give you, wait', D tells him. And then she adds, 'BTW, B wants to tell you smth.' All of us look at B as she tells P. He reacts a hundred times worse than I did. I then ask when things happened. She explains that he proposed to her on Feb 14th. 'WHAT? Adi paavi!! Naan kooda edho naanga oorla illadhapo neraya nadandhudhonu nenacha, ipdi solriye!', I exclaim as P asks, 'Ivlo naala sollama ippo yen B solra, with the wedding just a month away? Kalyanathuku apram medhuva solli irukalame... enna pa avasaram?'. K joins us. I look at K warily, not sure if he knows any of this. And then, B tells us that he indeed knows. And she tells K that her wedding date is fixed. Now, it's his turn to react surprised, 'Enna B, date fix panra avalvuku nadandhuducha?? Sollave illa?' he asks. And for the next 20 mins, P, K and I jointly denounce people who hide things from friends. 'Ippo theriyudhu P, namma value enna nu', I say as P and K agree. 'Indha kaalathula yaara nambaradhune theriyala, Madhu', says P sadly, 'Idha thayir saadham nu nenachitu irundhen... Iva training time la ennelam solli irukka theriyuma, Madhu? 'Enga veetla idhellam suthama pidikadhu. Naan ellam apdi pannave matten... appa amma ku kashtam kuduka matten' nu dialogue ellam vittiruka, Madhu'. He gives B a dirty look and she immediately begins 'Illa, P, actually -'. 'Close!!!', exclaims P and she falls silent. 'Ama P, indha madhri case dhan ellathayum pannum, idhula vettiya dialogue vera. At least, dialogue vidama irundhirukalam', I say and K nods vigorously. P continues, 'Seri, panradha pannita, ithana naal namba kitta sollama marachu vechirukka paar... B, unna mannikave mudiyadhu'. 'Acho, illa P -', B tries to speak again and is instantly shoo-ed by all three of us. D meanwhile, watches us all with a great deal of apprehension. (I know for sure that she has smth up her sleeve too. But then, at least, she was never in the category of a 'Thayir Saadham'.) 'Iva lam enna vendikuva Madhu? 'Enna mattum nalla vei' na?', asks P and I respond, 'Ama. 'Enna mattum nalla vei... And naan nalla irukaradhu yaarukum theriyavum koodadhu' nu'.... We go on....

A for Arya??? Naaah! A for Anil!!!!

'Arya? Who's Arya?' I ask V. 'Arya theriyadha? Arya theriyadha ungaluku?,' V sounds very surprised. D and I exchange looks. It's obvious to me D doesn't know Arya either. 'Illa, theriyadhu', D tells V. 'Arindhum Ariyamalum hero... super-a irupan...' V explains as a sheepish grin crosses her face. 'Epdi Arya theriyadhu ungaluku?' 'Yei... adhan THERIYADHU-ngrom la', I say.... Cha! Oru moonu maasam oor-la illana ennena miss panna vendi iruku... Innum ennelam miss panni irukomo, I think, as I ask V again... 'Yen, avan avlo nalla irupana?' 'Amam, Madhu, super-a irupan... Oh, I think I might have a photo... in some forward... irunga', she says and turns to her PC. Interested, D and I move closer to her monitor to get a better view. After a few moments, V locates the mail and opens it... Hmmmm.... I think... 'Okay va dhan irukan... ana...' D looks at the monitor thoughtfully, she's still judging him, I can see. 'Enna Madhu 'ana', nalla illaya?' V questions me, with a little indignation. She glances at his picture again and adds, 'super-a irukkan... neenga enna ipdi solliteenga...' 'Illa pa, he's okay, but you know...' I sigh. 'Therila, enakku avlo super-a irukara madhri theriyala... Maybe ellarayum Kumble-voda compare panradhu nala, enakku andha madhri thonudho ennavo... hmmm...' I trail off. D comes out from her reverie just in time to say 'Thoo! Karmam!!' I grin and escape from their cubicle. [Seri, all right, here's the truth - none of the above actually happened, though it very possibly could have. And I reserve my comments about Arya. For all I know, my mind might change at a later point of time!!! ;) ]

The shortest and (happiest) love story

This is one of the best forwards I have ever received. He asked "Will you marry me?" She replied "No". They lived happily ever after. When you come to think of it, there's a lot of sense to these three short sentences. Wouldn't life have been much simpler and happier if women had stayed on Venus and men on Mars?

Reaching God

This is from Paulo Coelho's note in his book 'By the River Piedra I sat down and wept' : "..we must never forget that spiritual experience is above all a practical experience of love. And with love there are no rules. Some may try to control their emotions and develop strategies for their behavior; others may turn to reading books of advice from "experts" on relationships - but this is all folly. The heart decides, and what it decides is all that matters. All of us have had this experience. At some point, we have each said through our tears, "I'm suffering for a love that's not worth it." We suffer because we feel we are giving more than we receive. We suffer because our love is going unrecognized. We suffer because we are unable to impose our own rules. But ultimately there is no good reason for our suffering, for in every love lies the seed of growth. The more we love, the closer we come to spiritual experience. Those who are truly enlightened, those whose souls are illuminated by love, have been able to overcome all of the inhibitions and preconceptions of their era. They have been able to sing, to laugh, and to pray out loud; they have danced and shared what Saint Paul called "the madness of saintliness." They have been joyful - because those who love conquer the world and have no fear of loss. True love is an act of total surrender. ...Thomas Merton once said that the spiritual life is essentially to love. One doesn't love in order to do what is good or to help or to protect someone. If we act that way, we are perceiving the other as a simple object, and we are seeing ourselves as wise and generous persons. This has nothing to do with love. To love is to be in communion with the other and to discover in that other the spark of God." I don't think there is anything more I can add.

All in a day's work...

'M, what would you like in your guy?' a chat window pops up, when I'm working hard to decipher the code in my black-n-green screen. It's A. 'Huh?' is my response. 'No, I wanna know if you would like your guy to wear clothes of one particular colour', A tries to explain. To me, it sounds like A's recently been hit on the head with a brick. I'm truly mystified. 'A, what's up? What exactly is it that you want to know?' I try once more. He then sends me a forward in an attempt to explain - it's a forward I have received several times before. (It's the questionnaire from a guy to a girl asking 'Why do you stop talking and look at me everytime I enter the classroom?', 'Why did you stop singing the other day, when I looked at you?' and other such foolish questions with equally foolish options. The forward also has the reply from the girl rebuffing the guy, with obvious answers to every one of his questions. Apparently, at some point, some guy decided that the rebuff was too much to endure, and modified the genders, making it appear as if it was originally from a girl to a guy.) One of the questions in the original forward was 'I mentioned casually that I like the colour blue. The next day you wore a blue salwar. Why? Options (a) You wore it because it's my favourite colour. (b) You wore it to please me... and other such lousy 'options'. This had been altered to the girl mentioning that she liked blue and the guy wearing a blue shirt the next day, in the forward that A received. *sigh* Poor A, the fool that he is, found this a little bewildering and wanted to know if girls indeed prefer guys wearing shirts of specific colours. (Trust me A, as long as a guy is fully clothed, I wouldn't mind anything, I want to answer.) 'No, A, we really don't have any such preferences. Now that you mention it, we don't even notice the clothes that guys wear', I venture to explain. A is startled. 'You mean girls don't care at all about all that?'. 'Of course we don't, A. We have better things on the planet to discuss about'. 'Oh....', A trails off. After a few seconds' silence, he ventures again. 'Appo pasanga dhan loosu madhri ponnunga pinnadi alayarangala?' he asks. Sadly, A, yes, I say. With another 'Oh....', he relapses into what I assume is a thoughtful silence. I leave him to ponder over what was apparently a relevation to him and resume my war with the black-n-green screen.