This one is bitchy!

Alternate title: Blowing my own trumpet

When I meet someone, I never feel the need to give them a re-run of my educational and professional qualifications. I prefer checking out what they are wearing, what unexciting stuff is happening in their lives and maybe how much they pay their maids (yeah, a sign of domesticity fully setting in).

I understand when people have nothing more to say once the weather and pollution stock has been exhausted, they ask you which city you are from and what you do. Since I am not a MBA(which a lot of people in Hong Kong are)and few from outside the cow belt and even within it show a flicker of understanding when I tell them where I studied and what I studied, I just let it go.

But it is not just my own laurels that are inquired about. I have met women who (without saying so) want to know which MBA institute my husband went to, and have even proceeded to tell me or him with some degree of incredulity they did not know he was from IIM A. Consider the following nuggets:

Women A & B: Within the first minutes of our conversations they let me know their better and trophy halves are from an IIM and an IIT respectively.

Woman C: Once the niceties are over, she asks me if my husband is from any of the IITs or IIMs.

Woman D: Looks at my husband and tells him with a smile, she did not know he was from IIM A. She has a trophy husband too.

Woman E: Tells me she did not know that P was from the IIM of A.

Yeah, P happens to be from IIM A and of course I am proud of myself for having snapped a sone ka murga. But that is between him and me. His qualification is not an achievement that either he or I, and especially me, carry like a plaque around our necks. I am not sure about the tone of my rant if he was not from an IIM, but women and the kind of criteria they choose to judge could be painful. I do not claim to be above the many failings of my gender, but I do not approve of such parameters of either conversation or comparison.

But men are not far behind when it comes to such vanity. We meet random people who unfailingly, casually drop the IIM or IIT word.

Probably this whole rant is pointless and there is nothing wrong with this type of behaviour. But frankly, it does not interest me and it is rankling. When I meet someone, it is their honesty, their nature, how they talk and how easy they make me feel is what is important. There is no doubt that qualifications and what you studied make a big difference to what you do, but please do not make it the yardstick for who you or the others are. And remember, there will always be someone who is one step ahead of you.

Happy 31!

They say men never grow. You are proof they do. I have seen you grow from a stubborn, headstrong 26-year old into a caring, thoughtful man. But those boyish giggles and the child-like delight at Jackie Chan’s ridiculous antics make me wonder at times if the soberness is just a mask. Let me not mention the mourning and sulking that happens every time Arsenal loses. So you see, despite all the sensitivity you can still be a pain in the ass. But what the hell! I still love you and will have it no other way.

Indian Ocean and I

I clearly remember my first Indian Ocean concert. One because it was the first concert I attended. And when it is a guy like Asheem singing the lead vocals, you feel your heart come in your mouth, ready to jump out and take off. Ok I am not much of a music buff or writer to describe what Indian Ocean can do to you but they are special to me. As I sat sprawled on the grass at Qutub lawns I think, I got a call from my mother. I was supposed to be at home in a few weeks because the wedding circus had finally started. I would be meeting the first of the guys I met before P happened. My feelings were mixed as Kya Maloom reached a tempo. The crowd was getting on its feet, but I was lost in my thoughts pulsating to the thaaps of the tabla, bracing for the days ahead.

Rant all the way

Once upon a time, I thought I am on my way to becoming a hotshot academician. I no longer harbour those illusions. Probably it is the fickleness of my Gemini nature that nothing interests me for long. But fickle or not, regret never leaves me. The grass is of course greener on the other side as few of my earlier batchmates never forget to remind me. But you see when you decide to bury the prime of your life in books, pouring over antiquated and still relevant theories and thinkers, you know you would never be making big bucks, never jet set on holidays every few months and will have to work hard to put together a really luxurious life. But forget that all. Like a treasure hunter on quest, an academician, especially one for whom the career is not a third or fourth choice, knows it all and gives up all of it for the pure joy of knowledge and its quest. I remember being the happiest during a simulation exercise our professor had asked us to do. I was a US diplomat and I never felt so happy imagining what diplomatic tactics I needed to exercise.

But why I am harking back to what has been put away in the trunk forever? Because P thinks I still have that scholar left in me and I should go back to doing a PhD. Believe me nothing gives me a high as the idea of the Doctor’s title. But I am not sure and yet I am so tempted. The biggest impediment I think is my own uncertainty and lack of belief in my abilities. If possible, I would like to be a China scholar though nothing I have done except living in Hong Kong (which too is courtesy of P) smacks even a tinge of any such latent love. My problem is I do not know if I have it in me anymore. Blame it on hormones but I am really getting worked up thinking for the last few days what I have done with my life. I want to start writing more serious stuff. Probably to see if I still have what it takes to be a good academician. Ok I was never good at studies to start with. I managed. I was more into dreaming, wanting to be an actor and have fun. But I did get into academics and I have never regretted it except for the two years I spent doing M.Phil, which I feel was the most unfruitful part of my university life. Enough of cribbing for a day I suppose.

You were ok, I would be ok too

Imitation, getting inspired and learning from others is good but it is nice if you acknowledge it at times. So S, thanks for getting me hooked on kajal; A thanks for inspiring me to rebel; A thanks for goading me and criticising everything I wrote; P thanks for setting an example that it is ok to make mistakes and move on.

Every one who has helped me to grow was never insecure in letting me imbibe the best of them. I hope I can inspire someone too. It would be nice to see a bit of me in others. I might get insecure but it is ok I suppose.