The Tale of the Orphaned Carrot

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there was a farm where were grown several vegetables. In one section of the farm were grown a multitude of root crops - beetroot, radishes, onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, leek and the like. These crops - neighbours, as it were - lived in peace, harmony and a spirit of friendship.

One night, however, tragedy struck. A blight struck the entire carrot crop, destroying all the carrots. All? Well, not quite. One tiny little baby carrot survived, the sole member of the carrot crop not to be obliterated.

All the neighbours came together to discuss the situation. It was clear the baby carrot could not survive on its own without parents, and would have to be adopted by one of the other crops.

Sadly, however, those who had been the carrots' friends till date turned their backs on the poor orphan. "I barely have enough eyes to keep on my own children," complained Mama Potato. "I haven't really been in the pink of health lately," said Aunty Beetroot. "We'll just make the poor kid cry," shrugged Daddy Onion.

Just when things were beginning to look ugly, in stepped the Garlic family. Castigating the others for not doing the right thing by the Carrots, they agreed to take in the poor child and rear him as one of their own.

Over time, he grew into a fine young carrot. He had been brought up with the finest of virtues and values, and dreamt of making his mark in the world. He hoped to find his way to a nice carrot juice at a gym, or a healthy salad at a fine restaurant. It was, therefore, with a great deal of excitement that he set off in the produce truck as it trundled its way to market, and onwards to its final destination.

As it came to a stop and the container in which he was being carried was pulled out, he peeked over the edge in anticipation. To his intense dismay, he found that his new home was Pizza Hut. He was depressed for a while but turning it over in his mind, he realised that, whatever his dreams and hopes, it was only appropriate that he ended up here.

After all, he was garlic bred.

The worm

I've bought a lot of books since I shifted to Gurgaon. At book fairs. At roadside pushcarts. At second hand shops. During sales periods at bookstores. During non-sales periods at bookstores.

And, until this weekend, I had no idea just how many I had. They were strewn all over the house. Within bags, under newspapers, behind sofas, inside drawers (not the clothing type). Several in their original packaging, unopened and (sacrilege, I know) unread.

But, with a little prodding from my flatmate, I spent several hours cleaning up my room... and the end result - bookwise - was supremely satisfying. My library, in all its diverse glory, was set. The books are a random selection of random genres. Some expensive, many ridiculously cheap. Some forbiddingly thick (big ones, small ones, some as big as your head (and bigger!)), most easily readable bites. And to be able to see my entire collection - meagre though it is in comparison to the one back home - in one place feels good :)

Life is, sometimes, about the little victories and the small joys.

Another day, another wedding

More people around me are getting married. Colleagues, fellow IIMA alumni (seniors, batchmates, juniors), friends from Chennai.

And we make the usual jokes, poking fun at those sacrificing their independence and single status at the altar of marital bliss.

Pointing out that they will no longer be available for movies, a drink or a game, much less 3-day road trips.

Making snide comments about their transformation from marauding masters to simpering slaves.

Laughingly churning out the usual cliches - "one more wicket down", "crossing over to the dark side", "another one bites the dust"


But then I leave work for home.

It's a long, lonely drive.

I come home to a forbiddingly dark, cold house.

I wonder what to do with my Friday evening, unable to muster the enthusiasm or energy to hit one of the many parties I could be at.

I make myself some Maggi, the instant noodles a choice born out of tiredness and laziness rather than of taste.

I sit on my bed, watching random movies and reading random books until I'm bored asleep.

I half-write blog posts, a million thoughts, emotions, anecdotes in my head but no one to share them with.


And I think: Maybe this whole marriage thing isn't so bad after all.

Given the recent election fever...

Sometimes, even laundry holds lessons for us

Splurging

Round trip tickets to New York: Rs 48,000

Figurine of badass medieval warrior wielding a battleax: $ 6.00



Figurine of his breathing-pure-evil horse: $ 6.00



Figurine of white knight sporting an awesome lance: $6.00



Figurine of his noble steed: $ 6.00




Adding a supercool duel between good and evil to my desk at work: Priceless





There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's the Metropolitan Museum of Art store at the Duty Free at JFK.

Random working layover haikus

High humidity
Quiet airport night
My spreadsheets flow thick and fast

Blissful loneliness
The world swims by in
Verdana, Font Size Fourteen

Don't know what to do
Bored, but I plod on
Shaping clients' strategy

Nothing like dancing and partying with a bunch of 20 year olds...

...to make one realise how old and uncool one is.

I'm still, of course, very young. And I normally laugh at those who constantly worry about their age and crib about losing their youth. I've also always been a firm believer in the tenet that age is a factor of the mind, and not the body.

Yet, in a space of a few hours, I was forced to revisit my views. I was jolted out of my comfort zone of calm self-assurance and forced into a situation where I didn't how how to react. I can't believe I'm saying this, but - relatively speaking - I felt my age.

3 a.m. is not the best time for these ruminations... I know I'll pooh-pooh all this in the morning, but it feels rather strange and unsettling nonetheless.

If

A few days ago, a minor milestone in my life passed by almost unnoticed. I have just completed one whole year here at Gurgaon, and my first complete year at a permanent job. Time seems to have flown - it seems like only yesterday that I was embarking on my career, wide eyed and eager to show the world who's boss.

It's been one hell of a learning experience... and several small things - managing expectations at work, shopping for groceries, hanging out with friends, managing household and personal financials - have taught me so much, have helped me grow as a person; have helped me become - I'll say it - a Man.

Here's a little ode to the last year.


(With due apologies to Rudyard Kipling)

If you can drive your car when all about you
Are crashing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself not to hit the bulls and cows,
But make allowance for their movement too;
If you can wait in traffic and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being faced with cops, bribe them selectively,
Or, being honked at without reason, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't act too aggressive, nor drive too rashly;

If you can dream for your clients - and not make them your master;
If you can think complex strategy - and convey it with simplicity;
If you can meet with both triumph and disaster
And treat great client feedback and lousy reviews with equanimity;
If you can bear to work long slavish hours on occasion
Up to fifteen or twenty hours a day,
Yet find time for the occasional brief vacation
And satisfaction in adding value and earning your pay;

If you can make head or tail of all your earnings
And understand HRA and 80C calculations,
And deal with the landlord’s infrequent rantings
And pardon the help’s frequent excuses and explanations;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To subscribe to responsible expenditure and thrift
And so sniff out “Buy X get Y free” deals anew
Yet splurge when the occasion demands it;

If you can talk with crowds and use less than two swear words a sentence,
Or walk with kings – and avoid a pickpocket’s touch;
If you can tolerate local FM, irritatingly vacuous and dense;
If paneer, vodka and Subway count with you, but none too much;
If, in this unforgiving life, you submit
Yourself to incessant 24x7 Punjabification
You’ll have conquered Gurgaon and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!


(Original poem: If, by Rudyard Kipling. One of the most incredible poems ever.)

Slow day at work PLUS Free stationery EQUALS...