Compliments? Yes please, with salt!

I was wary of compliments, especially from friends. I would blush, mumble a thank you and quickly get far away from the person. Personally, I preferred long-distance compliments, because I found it a lot easier to let the voice break over the phone and pretend not to have heard it right.

Until I heard one of them last year...

After that, whenever I am given a compliment, I smile and note it down mentally.  I’ve learnt to take it with a sack full of salt. Now I just blow them away. If they still float around, I observe for sometime longer and invariably it has always gone back as chips on its owners' shoulders.

For instance, I have one friend who drools eloquent on what I serve her. Later she advices me on how easy it is go beyond the basic three-course meal.

There are a couple of them who cannot stop exclaiming about the décor of my home and how neatly I maintain my house. One of them later said, I need to cleanse it for proper chi. "I sense unwanted elements".

One of them said she 'envies' my slender frame. Later, she said I lack core strength. At this age, building core strength is more important than being thin...

Our thoughts are, indeed, powerful. I shouldn't have been wary of them to begin with, I guess.

Here's the first instance that shook my antennas last year...  http://bit.ly/Wu8phy

The search for my friend ends

Sarita Reddy was my best friend. We sat together on one bench all through high school.

While in Grade 9, she misread a question - carrying 8 marks - on 'Glorious Revolution' and instead wrote about 'Green Revolution'. After the exam, a weeping Sarita pleaded with our teacher, who considered her answer. She gave her 5 marks. When the progress cards were distributed at the month-end, she stood first in class, scoring just 4 marks more than me in total aggregate. I felt cheated and didn't speak to her...for a day. Neither of us could stay angry with each other beyond that. We were best buddies!

After Grade 10, we decided to take science and joined the same college. We again sat together, studied together and even bunked classes together. She hated sweets, but she would often bring me 'double ka meetha' [the traditional Hyderabadi dessert] because I loved it.

It was in Grade 11 that Sarita first asked me to write a poem for her. "You have a way with words," she said and pestered me into writing one. I wrote about her sisters. She took it home to show her family and forced me to write one every day, thereafter. She was the best bully, too. She stopped speaking to me if I didn't write. So I complied. She also had another rule: I could only enter the poem in my diary after she had read it.

Within a year, I discovered science was not for me because physics and chemistry blew over the top of my scalp, while I held zoology at arms' length. I scored a dismal 65%, while she passed with over 80% marks. The results ensured we were in different colleges for our graduation. But we were in touch. She came home often.

However, after my three-year graduation I opted for journalism and she went ahead for a Masters in Organic Chemistry. She had her new group of friends, so did I.

Yet, we were in touch. However, it was she who visited me often. I always had reasons for not being able to go to her place.

Well, time flew and one night in 1997 she came home to invite me for her wedding. "This time, I want to hear no excuse. You are coming. That's it," she threatened.

I was all prepared. But as luck would have it, I was down with high fever on her big day. I felt bad. Sad. Genuinely sad.

That was the last I saw her, at my doorstep, in the dark. That was the last I heard my friend speak!

She got busy in her married life in the other part of the twin city of Hyderabad and me in my new job in Secunderabad. We lost touch.

Two years later, after my wedding I left the country.

Years later, in 2012, when I wrote my first book, 'Anamica', I dedicated it to her, as I believe it was she who showed me my purpose in life. And my renewed search to touch base with her began. I took to Facebook voraciously, passing the word around. I yearned to hug her and give her a copy.

At last, early this year, a stranger contacted me on FB. She sent me a message, "Are you asking about Sarita Reddy from Kharkhana? Who studied at St Ann's Bolarum...? I'm her cousin. When can we speak?"

I read the message on my way back from work. I couldn't wait to reach home. I buzzed the girl... "Sarita passed away in 1998. She..." The rest of her message was a blur.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Workplace bullies

It was a typical weekday evening - the noise and commotion would rival a marketplace. Each one was bustling with pieces of news they claimed were worth breaking in the biggest of letters. Amid this paranoia was a girl staring at her computer screen and looking around from the corner of her eyes, shaking her head to the office boy's queries about the colour of her tea.

"Meet Ms Sazzy," announced the Editor-in-Chief, standing at one end of the long row of work stations, on November 30, 2013, after the edition went to print. "She's joined us as a sub-editor. I request all of you to welcome her onboard."

Thereafter, the staff went about calling it a day. Most of the men walked up to her shaking hands, introducing themselves and wishing her good luck. A few other women, rushed out smiling at her. Creepy, the team head, got up, bag on her shoulder, tilted her head and gave Sazzy a look, which warranted no further interaction.

The following day, the team leader assigned Sazzy work and barked, "Check your inbox. I need the copy in the next 20mins."

Thus Sazzy began work.

Smiley, a one-month old young trainee, who sat beside her, was the only one who made her feel at ease. She used the washroom, when Smiley walked out. She sipped her tea, when Smiley ordered one for herself. She took a break only if Smiley forced her to. In fact, she waited for Smiley at the reception and spent some time with her getting to know her colleagues before she began work. And on days when Smiley called in sick, Sazzy was a lost lamb.

Smiley, a naive and happy soul, was just testing her fins. A fresh graduate, this was her first job and she was on a 6-month probationary period. She was under the direct supervision of the team leader, who minced no words in reprimanding her. Yet, Smiley, was at all times smiling. For her, each moment at the workplace was an experience, was a lesson well learnt!

Four months later...

Sazzy still had only Smiley as a friend, all others were hi-and-bye colleagues. But, by now, the team head was highly impressed with the respect Sazzy gave her that she invited her for coffee one evening. By the end of the coffee-break, Creepy discovered that their parents hail from the same town, they were of the same caste, they were from the same college, and what more, they shared the same interests. Sazzy's workload decreased and now Creepy wanted her for company to while away her time. So she moved Sazzy closer to her desk.

The eight hours were not sufficient for the new friends...they spoke of their in-laws, their husbands, kids, previous jobs, maids, laundry guy...the newsroom seemed quiet only when one of them was not present.

Sazzy now started coaching Smiley, in order to help her team leader.

Picture Courtesy: MorgueFile

Two months later...

Smiley asked for confirmation and Creepy turned to Sazzy. "What do you think?"

"She's got a long way to go," replied Sazzy and so Smiley's probation was extended for another three months. Thus Sazzy became Smiley's authorised mentor.

Now, Sazzy and Creepy had another topic to discuss - Smiley's language, her dress, her walk, her attitude, her class, her creed...

On the slightest of errors, Sazzy reprimanded her in public, rebuked her and sent mails to the Editor-in-chief, with a copy to Creepy.

Yet Smiley wished her every day and attempted making conversations.

After the extended three months...

The Editor-in-Chief forwarded Smiley a mail - an excel sheet of her errors, including date and time - asking her to provide one good reason why she should be confirmed.

On August 30, 2014, Smiley resigned, without replying to the mail.

She went looking for Creepy and Sazzy, to say goodbye. Sitting pretty in the pantry, they were taken aback on seeing the ever-cheerful Smiley, extend her hand. "I'm leaving. Came to say, goodbye!"

"Why are you leaving!," exclaimed Sazzy.

"I've learnt more than what I came looking for. It's time to move on now," she replied.

"I wish I could help you," Creepy volunteered.

"Thank you. I love helping myself. All the best to you'll," Smiley said now retracting her extended hand.

As she turned to walk, Sazzy, called out, "Don't get me wrong. You are young. You are just embarking on a career. Workplace is different from your university life..."

"I know that," Smiley cut her short.

"This, this is your major problem. Attitude. Shove it off, I say. You have a humongous attitude. Learn to respect seniors!" Sazzy was visibly agitated.

"Bye", said a beaming Smiley and walked out.

PS: Do you know of workplace bullies? Where you a victim of office politics? Share your thoughts...

Dressing for work

Last evening I had to avail the service of my driver to attend a Toastmaster’s meeting. His first words upon me entering the car were, “Mashallah, make-up, aaa!”  As is my wont, I blurted, “So what the heck…” when I heard him ask, “Why don’t you go to work dressed like this?”

If the same point made by many, several times over, warranties your attention, then he deserved my dignified silence.

My mom was the first to say this more than a decade back… “Put on something nice.” My husband has wondered aloud [I’ve lost count]… “You shop like crazy, but when you go to work, it’s the same tattered ones. Why are you collecting all these for?”

A senior acquaintance once sat me down, when I complained that I was over-looked for an internal promotion. “Why do you wear these worn-out jeans to work? And you go in these flats!! Dress smart. When you walk in, people should turn their heads towards you.” I’m yet to figure out the connection between dress and promotion, though.

In my first job [as a CSR at a logistics firm], my colleague, who later became a good friend, had all heads turning towards her each time she walked out of the cubicle. There were rumours of warehouse operators  fined for misplacing and damaging cartons while they ogled at her from atop their cranes. She was always in chiffon, halter-neck & strapless, knee-length dresses accessoried with 5-inch-and-above stilettos and her basic two-piece inner.

Since I left her to join the media industry, I’ve been editing others’ words to keep the wolf off my door. A desk job that requires me to use only my upper compartment. The most I interact is when I ring up reporters - who go out into the world meeting, greeting, collecting stories – to check on facts. Else, I’m tapping away at my keyboard 7 hours a day, 5 days a week, editing and re-writing articles for people to read, ignore, appreciate or criticize, in no particular order.

I’m invisible. So how does it matter, if I’m in my birthday suit earning my living. Journalists are one casual breed!  Also, my workplace is a freezer. My first task every morning is to top myself up in multiple layers of winter clothing even before I log in.



My work station, with three pieces of winter clothing on the chair

Well, I believe in being presentable. But I’m a strict minimalist. Hence, I adorn comfort and decency with a touch of Issey Miyake. I can’t have cat paws on print-outs and stained coffee mugs on my desk. Clutter and dirt stain the brain – whose clarity is the PIN for my ATM.

I salute women who are productive sitting squeezed in hip-ripping skirts, breathing through bosom-gaping tops, balancing atop ladder-like shoes, managing to keep their tresses off their eyes while checking files. Not me!

“That’s dressing smart, mama,” exclaimed my pre-teen daughter.

“I’m not ubiquitous as the furniture, either, else the cleaner would have dusted me,” I said, to which she replied... “Mama, every morning, after you so-call dress-up [with her four fingers curling in air], why don’t you take a selfie and post on FB? When you get yucky comments may be you’ll change your mind.”

I remember my childhood days. Whenever mom made anything special, she would offer the first piece to Ganesh [The Hindu elephant-deity] and only then was the dish open to the family.

Today, Lord Ganesha has rivals in Facebook, Twitter, Instagram…

I wonder how obsessive can people get to post every activity of theirs… post the vegetable before they cut; the food before they eat; the pajama before they pull it up; the child’s first nappy…

Well, I’m happy the way I dress as long as my work speaks louder!

How do you dress for work? Do you ‘dress smart’ ; ‘dress-up’ or ‘dress casual’? I would love to hear from  you.

PS:
You may want to read: The search for my friend ends 

Embarrassing compliments

Okay, enough of brooding and sulking, I told myself yesterday, after more than a month in the dark hole attempting to get a grip of life skills.

I need to do everything convincingly, if not at least, symbolically. So I stood before the mirror and spoke to myself. After the self-pep talk, I immediately noticed the flaws in me, which is not because of a lack of self-motivation, rather because I am a WOMAN, wholesome at that! My nails felt like claws. I could grate carrot on my nose and the less said about my sole the better. 

BTW, I have this thing about my feet. My mom always says, "A woman’s feet speaks about her home. If a woman cannot keep her feet neat, how the hell can you expect her to keep her home clean?"

So, dinner could wait. Anyways, I need no reason in particular to keep away from the kitchen. The husband was happy as he saw me chirpy when he returned home and couldn’t care if he had to order food and our girl was the happiest that she could have her junk.

So I head to the parlour, dip my feet in warm water and hand over my head to another and my hands to a third. 

The girls got talking. The one handling my arms, exclaimed, "Maddaam you have nice arms. You can wear sleeveless without worry." It was a compliment that came my way in a long long while. I immediately felt buoyant like riding on a steep bridge at high speed, that I sat basking on which dress to choose to flaunt my freshly-massaged arms. 

I returned to their conversation mid-way when one of them asked me, “Where do you stay, maddaam?"

Giving the details, I queried, "Why do you ask?"  

The three girls resumed talking in their tongue, before one translated for me. "There is no Filipino supermarket near there maddaam."

"I don't shop in any of them, anyways,” I replied.

"No maddaam. You get Tawas stone. Your underarms dark no maddaam. The skin colour become fair..." I slid off the bridge in the same gear. "I get for you."

Later, I hit the gym. I was on a positive overstock. One of the trainers, who initially taught me how to walk right [http://bit.ly/1nR3PB6], came talking, while I was on the treadmill. Seeing him, I increased the speed, lest he assess my gait again. I was mentally preparing to ward off his suggestions, when I heard him say, “You have a well-maintained body..." Those words got me so light-headed that I lost him in between, “…like a sportsperson." 

“Really!” I asked.

“You doubt?” he countered.

Now, I was trying hard to check my cheeks, lest he catches me blushing. I was so thrilled that I jumped off the treadmill and climbed on the cross-trainer. Compliments can instantly increase your stamina, I realised. 

"Good, you've improved a lot," he said, following me and I peddled harder.

"Take two sessions; we can improve your core strength..."

"What?” so he was canvassing after all.

“But didn't you just say I have a sportspersons body!" I asked releasing my hand, in a show of expertise to quell any doubt he may harbour.

He laughed loud and clarified, "You didn’t hear me right. I said, you can have a well-maintained body, if you work with me, in fact, we can make it a sportsperson's…"

I stepped down, stretched like a cat and gulped half-a-bottle of water in one go as if that would wash away my embarrassment for the day.

Thank you!

Why am I writing this, worse still posting it? It’s got to do with the cloud that weighed those hate-filled days - when I felt let down, worthless...hopeless – finally passing over. But equally because I want to share the fact that ‘letting go’ is the only solution.

When people you believed were your own turn to scathe you, you feel like jumping off the cliff, or at least pushing them over. But it isn’t until you feel miserable enough that you ponder if it is your expectation or their action that’s the cause of your condition.

When your sincerity and credibility are not valued, you lose faith in your convictions.

And when both these take turns, consecutively repeating over a period, you feel hopeless… So did I.

Until, like the proverbial last nail in the coffin, I watched the person I love the most suffer. And I couldn’t do anything about it. None of my other pain were worth even mentioning when compared to this. Helplessly, I withdrew.

Not many knew the turbulence within me, simply because I never posted my emotional and mental index on Facebook. Thanks to my dear friend, I found semblance. He minces no words. When he spelt out the reason for my suffering, which he repeated to me thrice over, urging me to accept it, I felt blessed, having him as my mentor and guide.   

And then the cloud began drifting off… and for the first time in more than a month, I decided to step out of home. [BTW, I did go to work. But none there observed me. I am a good actor – one positive that came off this one month]

This Friday we decided to go visiting one of our old friends, whom we had not met for the last at least six months. The husband rang up to check if they are at home [a Dubai practice, I guess]. 

My friend was her usual sweet self as she opened the door to us. She settled us, offered water and excused herself, "Sorry. 5 minutes. Ill join you'll." She hurried off.

I noticed something was not right. I looked around and saw the house neat, yet cluttered. Nothing like the spic-n-span conscious couple. The corridor leading to the living room was dark; their kitchen door was locked; the kids came greeting in their pyjamas. As promised my friend returned in less than 5 minutes with a wet towel on her shoulders, brushing her hair. She looked tired, despite smelling of body wash. "All well?" I asked.

They had just landed from a three-week holiday, on board an over-night flight! My guilt new no bounds. "We thought you'll were back last week. You should have told us that you'll..." The couple just stopped short of reprimanding me for voicing my concern.  This is the gist of the long 10-minute advice they gave me..."What's friendship, if we were to see our schedules and commitments and physical state to catch up?" 

And so we got talking...four hours later, when we took leave, I felt blessed having them as my friends.

This, in an age when people refuse to pick up calls when they are busy or reply in ums and ahs as a hint to get lost...

Last week, when I was alone, [with the husband travelling], a young friend was on phone with me every single day, when he should have been blasting it off with his group. He's a product of the ‘me-and-my-needs’ only generation, who's on a high after landing his first job last month. Does he really enjoy keeping me company? I wondered. 

While on the 'me-and-my-needs-only’ generation, yet another friend, who at 33 is avoiding girls like a plague because he wants to fulfill his dream first, seemed unlike himself. A guy who eats and breathes his passion, seemed too distracted and hassled on Thursday night. On asking the reason, he replied: "My parents are okay, but not fine. What to do? They are getting old." He was on his way to catch an early morning flight after a day's hectic assignment, to spend the weekend with them, while calling to check on me.

These guys changed my perception of youngsters not having time for others. I feel blessed they are my friends.

Two weeks back when I got a WhattsApp message from a friend, with a link to an article on "the secret of writing even when disturbed", tears pinched my eyes. What made her forward such a write-up, I wondered. I felt blessed at how the divine works!

And last but not the least, the two beautiful souls in my life who tolerate my silence and mood swings...I am, indeed, blessed!

Thank You!

So why did I write? To tell you, three points: 1] There are genuine people in this world. 2] Let it go. 3] Count your blessings

There’s only that much you can do in any relationship, even to those who without batting an eyelid will give up their lives for you. Do your best; wish them best and pray for them. Don’t cling on. It hurts. It hurts bad!

I’m still a novice at it. But it already feels good!

To all frustrated dream chasers

The other day I was speaking to one of my mentors. As we sat talking about success, dreams and ambitions, and why mine has not materialised yet, she said, "It's because I'm not passionate about it." I looked at her with the stillness of a boiling kettle as she gave time for the words to sink inside me. While it had the required effect, the fumes from within me did condense over her. She stuttered before settling into a confident clarification, " I mean, not passionate ENOUGH. As in your desire is not STRONG enough, for the universe to conspire..."

I know some people who are 'passionate enough' with 'strong desire' focussing on their dream, challenging the universe to conspire in their favour. A few of them have managed to get the undivided attention of the universe, as well.

I envied them. Felt jealous of them. I wasted days and nights thinking how they managed to achieve that. Then a period of frustration, bitterness, anger and disorientation followed. I felt miserable, unworthy and useless. My emotions even spilled over into the kitchen, living room and even the bedroom before I collected all self-help books from the shelf and devoured every word and set about cleansing myself - a cold turkey process, pleading with the endorphins that punished me for abusing it. Ultimately, when it replenished me, I would see reason,  feel better and be happy. But the sunshine lasted only until I saw or heard another success story.

I was tired of myself. I hated myself. And, yes, I began doubting my beliefs, too.

That pattern has stopped. It wasn't a step-on-the-break-and-halt action, because the pattern was the sediment accumulated over the years within me. Like the rocks on the shore that watch in awe the play of majestic waves and helplessly receive the thrashings at their whim, only to continue their silent life, so did I live my life for many long years.

As a 12-year-old when my first cousin caught me by the arm and showed the piled up gifts on the table in her bedroom, the night before her wedding, I was thrilled. I thought I was taken to help her unwrap them. I jumped up the bed, when I heard, “What did you get for me? Look, this is how you come for weddings. Go, tell your parents.”

That's me and my kiddie brother [left] with a cousin at the wedding

That was the first blow of life’s reality I had! I did not reply. I remember smiling, before running out to play. I never asked my parents why they didn’t give her a gift. I found the answer myself.

Numerous occasions in childhood years that followed, I remember just smiling at veiled comments made by my affluent cousins which made me feel like an appendage. Like the time I was reprimanded for shutting the door of my cousin’s new Maruthi. “This is not Ambassador, Nisha. Don’t you know how to close the door to a car?” I remember smiling, before talking to my teen mind...'had my parents owned a car, would they have dared that tone!’

Annual visits to my hometown served as a crash course on life’s inequalities. Those were the months I matured into an adult even before I could step into adolescence.

A couple of years later, when my kiddie brother’s shoe had come apart at a family function, my uncle [older to my dad by at least 15 years] said in front of the gathered guests, “Ask you father to spend some money, boy. And then he turned to me and continued with a shameful scorn, “Go get him a pair of slippers, at least.” I remember smiling before quickly glancing over my shoulders to check if my parents were within hearing distance. By then, I was obsessed about protecting my mom and dad from the shame other's inflicted on me.

However, it was only to get worse. When my brother and I finished school and opted for BCom and BSc respectively, even our friends whom we thought were our best buddies ridiculed my parents. What will a boy do studying BCom! At get-togethers my parents were pariahs attempting to hold their own amid exaggerated professional talk.

This is a kiddie me with my macho bro... now

My 'desire' to succeed began then. My 'passion' to succeed began then. But so also, did comparison take root then. Impatience spread its tentacles sowing the seeds of hatred all within me...

It took me all these years to understand what 'success' is. The journey was fuelled by real-life experiences I was privy to. Such as, seeing some cousins whom I thought were extremely well-off, not satisfied and yearning to compete with their neighbours. It came after seeing a few relatives who are on the top rung of society and in their upper tier of life span cribbing. It came after seeing one of my aunts who is on the verge of penury who always adorns an infectious smile and never misses to prepare a five-course meal for me. It came after seeing two social butterflies of my family throwing a party for selected relatives. It came after seeing friends visit me only when they needed some help and not attend my calls. It came when my senior called me an intense and private person but a reliable professional - all in one breath. It came when friends went on monologues for hours, advising me on life and purpose judging my silence, I guess, for ignorance. It came when I was spoken to by friends on what is best for my child because I'm not seemingly ambitious a mom. It came when I was hurt by dear ones who kept me waiting when I called on them. It came as I am forced to listen to a friend's breathless talk of her business every time we meet when I have no clue or inclination for anything retail. It came when I saw friends who haven't read my book nor showed any interest in knowing what it is about being curious about how much the project cost…

I don't want to be sitting with my laptop when I have visitors. I don't want to be on the phone and wave goodbye when friends take leave of me. I don't want to ask my child to shut up and leave me alone when she comes to speak to me. I don't want to ask my husband to switch on the TV for company when he returns after a tiring day at work. I don't want to keep my old parents waiting and choose to work on holidays. I don't want to ban my daughter's friends from coming over because it would eat into my private time. I don't want to send hugs on Whatsapp and not visit people in person so as to make up for my lack of time for them...

When my mentor explained, "To be successful, you need to live your passion every waking minute to materialise it. Think about it every fraction of a second to see it come true. Talk about it as often as possible to as many people as possible to attract help. Intent the first thing in the morning and the last thing at night for the universe to look your way...", I walked away with the word 'SELFISHNESS' echoing in my ears.

Dear friends… this post comes out to all you dream chasers out there, who are frustrated at not being ‘successful’. I'm not against life coaches. They are the best people to turn to, to get a pick of wisdom and methods to speed-track towards your achievement without having to spent your years in trials and errors. But one size does not fit all. It's when you try to squeeze into it that you hurt yourself. So customise their tips to meet your needs. Also, ignore the plethora of success stories they dish out of people who live and died their dreams.

My frustrated years have taught me: Your aims and dreams are independent of your success. You are successful when you live a happy life. And the secret to being happy is to RESPECT relationships and ENJOY your DAILY moments.

Also, remember your success cannot be defined and measured by any others' 'success' for the simple reason, what gives them happiness need not satisfy you.

Do strive to achieve your dreams [with ‘enough’ passion and ‘strong’ desire and the universal tools prescribed] but not at the cost of your daily life and your relations, please!