"Home sweet home"
I've figured out the sweet part, just need to take care of the edges. Of all the things that I'm good at or thought I was, house search stands out by far as the odd treacherous milestone that manages to foil all my attempts at conquering it.
For the past couple of weeks, even the most sensuous and amazing creatures of the opposite sex being available would pose no competition to a mention of an available flat. My dictionary for acronyms has undergone a coup with all the PGs and BHKs of the world swapping all possible short forms out.
Never before have I met with so many rejections, not even at the hands of all the beauties in my life. And for very different reasons, the foremost being a concern about my bachelorhood. Not that I'm too proud of it, but the (land)lords gave no heed to my single tag on Orkut either.
Second that I'm in city for not that long and would be out before a blink of the eye. Now, most PYTs would need no more persuasions beyond this point, but the lords are a spoiled lot.
Not that I hadn't been held at fault for other things, that I'm being looked at as being an understudy to Osama. That my B.E from a reputed (remember, I'm trying to built an arguement) college is just a farce ( was amazed at their ability to read my mind) and that all the time spent on earth even without a police warning was not enough. Leave aside the more easily corrupted concepts of identification like Election ID or driving license or the passport, which I personally would have in no comparison to my DTC bus pass and ID, for it involved more scrutinies by the able staff of the public transport infrastructure in Delhi that would break down even the most seasoned criminals.
To add to my woes, now I'm supposed to follow rules which are stricter than that for a teenage girl . Not that there is much to tell, but there isn't much pride left when every second guy in Mumbai knows that I'm not allowed to be out after 10 at night or that I can't bring "friends" to my room. And all these questions are posed without fail and with no subjectivity to the potential tenant. ( Imagine a call center guy being given a 10 PM curfew or a straight guy being asked not to have male friends over)
All this while I'm emptying my pockets ( both of them mind you) for places smaller than my store room back home.
I just hope that after having seeing so many places ( some shown to me twice or more, by different agents of course), that I can find a place for myself in this million people strong city
The only upside to this all is that now all other problems in life seem simpler and none, for the time being at least, evokes my attention with the similar magnitude (not even my overwhelming revenue targets).
Or perhaps there is a sliver lining after all, this provides me with an escape route of an alternative career, after I get fired for not achieving my targets of course, of the real estate Pundit arranging marriages between the man and his house.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Soul of a city
In the short course of my professional existence, I have had a chance to visit and perhaps experience ( latter is still debatable) a few till now unexplored cities. Huge masses of man and land, of machine and sweat, of the poor and the filthy rich. Some of extravagance and some of extraneously limited means. Places with innumerable stories and experiences, all held together by the common acknowledgment of the stage but not of the co-actors. That is to say the city is the common thread running across these stories, which although individual and independent in their own, but attached to each other like a pack of domino sticks. Each stand alone, but failure or success of one is not complete without a similar or an opposite effect on the other.
This is what inspires the characteristic mannerisms to the popula of a city. A common/ shared impression that is not just present in their appearances or tongue but in the very outlook and thought, with which they measure life. That which tells of this, is the soul or at times the ghost of a city.
The uninspiring, dull, but unique air of Kolkata;the restless run that befalls the city of Mumbai, a place of profession and not of personal, a city with immense humane potential and tender care but a non-existent need for the same, a city of smells ( a new and different combination of the materials on every step), of the glamourous faces lacking any sense of beauty ( at least the way I define it) for plastic it is, without a genuine personal care for the other, of missing emotions that got lost someway in the sprint for perception, of a bindass city with a grievous under belly of immense hard work and sacrifices, of locals and that of "thamba" with a couple of "kasakai"s thrown in, a city which seems indifferent but presents itself for a rescue act everytime one's required.
The un disturbed city of Ahmedabad, of " Sadi sajjad ki Jaali" and the Thakkurdas haveli, of the Green House and the amazingly scrumptuous traditional delicacies, of the Sabarmati and the fresh breeze blowing on the Nehru bridge at night, the large-than-life experience of IIM, of the reminiscence of the places visited with friends, of the beautiful girl, witty intelligent and personal yet distant as she is now. Of mostly uninspiring and partly interesting city with tumultuos record of past experiences which at first seem totally unlikely to have happened in a city with no scope of a soul.
The amazing personal life of Delhi, the city where I was born and came to be, of a city with myriad display of life and all that surrounds it, of a precious place where I can no longer bear to be at, of my family and friends, of all the firsts of my life. The brilliant and eventful city that Delhi is, it still is too personal to write a true account of.
The three cities expose their souls, waiting to be found and understood. while the account waits for more cities and many more further accounts to be added to it.
And that is what I look forward to, to be able to experience and witness the cities, to relate to the souls of life, that they are.
This is what inspires the characteristic mannerisms to the popula of a city. A common/ shared impression that is not just present in their appearances or tongue but in the very outlook and thought, with which they measure life. That which tells of this, is the soul or at times the ghost of a city.
The uninspiring, dull, but unique air of Kolkata;the restless run that befalls the city of Mumbai, a place of profession and not of personal, a city with immense humane potential and tender care but a non-existent need for the same, a city of smells ( a new and different combination of the materials on every step), of the glamourous faces lacking any sense of beauty ( at least the way I define it) for plastic it is, without a genuine personal care for the other, of missing emotions that got lost someway in the sprint for perception, of a bindass city with a grievous under belly of immense hard work and sacrifices, of locals and that of "thamba" with a couple of "kasakai"s thrown in, a city which seems indifferent but presents itself for a rescue act everytime one's required.
The un disturbed city of Ahmedabad, of " Sadi sajjad ki Jaali" and the Thakkurdas haveli, of the Green House and the amazingly scrumptuous traditional delicacies, of the Sabarmati and the fresh breeze blowing on the Nehru bridge at night, the large-than-life experience of IIM, of the reminiscence of the places visited with friends, of the beautiful girl, witty intelligent and personal yet distant as she is now. Of mostly uninspiring and partly interesting city with tumultuos record of past experiences which at first seem totally unlikely to have happened in a city with no scope of a soul.
The amazing personal life of Delhi, the city where I was born and came to be, of a city with myriad display of life and all that surrounds it, of a precious place where I can no longer bear to be at, of my family and friends, of all the firsts of my life. The brilliant and eventful city that Delhi is, it still is too personal to write a true account of.
The three cities expose their souls, waiting to be found and understood. while the account waits for more cities and many more further accounts to be added to it.
And that is what I look forward to, to be able to experience and witness the cities, to relate to the souls of life, that they are.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
C'est moi
For the lack of a better beginning, I shall have to do with an introduction of self.
I'm in between studies or jobs or wherever-life-takes-me. A consultant, at least that's what my card says, rather that is how my card defines me. A young engineer with decent academic record, someone who is supposed to have gained expertise in the field of environmental application with a 4yr long course.
Its so inhumane that what defines me are the externalities to the real me things that are peripheral to the real I. Degrees, profession, qualifications are nothing but just that - qualifications for the real me to be recognized or rather slotted among the societal frames/ perceptions of a person.
What or who I'm is largely defined by not what I do but why I choose to do . "Why" is easily the more important part of the equation than "what", for what is only fact but why introduces logic, it brings out the facets or characteristics of the reacting elements and the reason for the pattern of their amalgamation.
I shall not be known by what I do but by my choices and reasons. By the ever eternal map of the effects and the factors, both internal and external, that led me to my choices.
So I'm but a force backed by the reason of "recognition", of "confession" or rather by no specific apparant reason, for now that is. For I know that the true reason behind every action gets revealed in form or the other, at least to the carriers of that action one day.
So with this conviction and for this reason alone, I shall write.
I'm in between studies or jobs or wherever-life-takes-me. A consultant, at least that's what my card says, rather that is how my card defines me. A young engineer with decent academic record, someone who is supposed to have gained expertise in the field of environmental application with a 4yr long course.
Its so inhumane that what defines me are the externalities to the real me things that are peripheral to the real I. Degrees, profession, qualifications are nothing but just that - qualifications for the real me to be recognized or rather slotted among the societal frames/ perceptions of a person.
What or who I'm is largely defined by not what I do but why I choose to do . "Why" is easily the more important part of the equation than "what", for what is only fact but why introduces logic, it brings out the facets or characteristics of the reacting elements and the reason for the pattern of their amalgamation.
I shall not be known by what I do but by my choices and reasons. By the ever eternal map of the effects and the factors, both internal and external, that led me to my choices.
So I'm but a force backed by the reason of "recognition", of "confession" or rather by no specific apparant reason, for now that is. For I know that the true reason behind every action gets revealed in form or the other, at least to the carriers of that action one day.
So with this conviction and for this reason alone, I shall write.
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