Introspection

Someone close tells me I overreact to and over-analyse every situation in life. A B.Ed. batchmate and colleague tells me that I'm too straightforward to survive life.

Well, now. I'm totally confused !

Yawning

I've been pulled up by two different teachers in two different B. Ed. classes for appearing sleepy. And let me, tell you, it isn't nice being asked why you are drowsy in front of your classmates, most of whose names you aren't even acquainted with, it's so early in the session. I do admit that I've been having some difficulty waking up at my usual time in the mornings nowadays, but that doesn't mean my entire section should be forcefully involved in my lifestyle, especially since it hardly affects them in any way.

It all started with SKG's class. That was just a couple of days after we'd begun attending college. I was sitting in the second row (it's just a habit folks; no, I'm not hard of hearing and neither do I have vision problems) and I was actually just beginning to be conscious that my eyes were feeling heavy when it turned out that someone else had noticed that too. My drowsiness, that is.

"Ki holo, ghum pachhe ?" (What's the matter, feeling sleepy ?)

Naturally, I was wide awake now.

"Na Sir". (No, Sir.)

He left it at that. But by then the entire class was eyeing me, pleased with the impromptu break. I, of course, didn't like all the attention.

The next one to lose sleep (hey, that wasn't intentional !) over me was UKM. This time I was paying 100% attention despite stifling several would-be yawns. They just arrived by force of habit. Every holiday necessarily means an afternoon nap for the true-blue Bangali and I was no exception. So, I was still getting used to the attending-classes-during-my-rightful-naptime thing. Until...
"Ki holo, ghum pachhe ?"

Oh, nooooo. Not agaaaaain.

"Na, Sir." (No, Sir.)
"Khub raat jagchho? "(Staying awake till late into the night ?)
"Na, Sir."
"Prochur khatni jachhe ?" (Lots of work, then ?)
"Na, Sir."
"She ki, kichhui khatni nei?" (What, no work at all ?)

I interrupted him at that point. Things were getting personal and I felt it was high time I (very much married and assertive) made him aware of that.

"Na Sir, ashole college shuru howar age ei shomoy ghumotam, tai ghum pachhe." (No Sir, actually, before classes started at college, I used to sleep at this hour. That's why I feel a bit drowsy at this time.)
I'm glad he accepted that explanation without further ado.

The class considers me as the intelligent but sleepy girl, I am now led to believe.

I so hate being in the limelight, especially for the wrong reasons.

P.S : I have now made a decision. The next time I'm caught (yes, I'm an optimist by nature), I'll just say, "Sorry for yawning Sir, but I am paying attention too. You can question me if you want."

I hope that works. This time I'll be ready with the answers.

Hey !

Hey guys...sorry for the hiatus, but things have really been very hectic and stressful on the personal front and I was too passive and preoccupied, reacting to non-stop exigencies, to express myself. In short, things kept on piling up before I could acknowledge their existence at all.

Anyway, I'm back and I couldn't resist putting this up here...it's worth a read !

CLASSES FOR WOMEN....


Training courses are now available for women on the following subjects:

Topic 1. Silence, the Final Frontier: Where No Woman Has Gone Before
Topic 2. The Undiscovered Side of Banking: Making Deposits
Topic 3. Parties: Going Without New Outfits
Topic 4. Bathroom Etiquette: Men Need Space in the Bathroom Cabinet Too
Topic 5. Communication Skills : Tears - The Last Resort, not the First
Topic 6. Communication Skills II: Getting What you Want Without Nagging
Topic 7. Driving a Car Safely: A Skill You CAN Acquire
Topic 8. Telephone Skills: How to Hang Up
Topic 9. Classic Footwear: Wearing Shoes You Already Have
Topic 10. Oil and Petrol: Your Car Needs Both


NEW EVENING CLASSES FOR MEN!!! ALL ARE WELCOME !!!

Note: due to the complexity and level of difficulty of their contents, each course will accept a maximum of eight participants each.

Topic 1. How to fill ice-cube trays: Step by step with slide presentation.
Topic 2. Toilet paper rolls: do they grow on the holders?: Round-table discussion.
Topic 3. Differences between the laundry basket and the floor: Pictures and explanatory graphics.
Topic 4. Learning how to find things, starting with looking in the right place instead of turning the house upside down while screaming. Open forum.
Topic 5. Health watch: bringing her flowers is not harmful to your health: Graphics and audio tape.
Topic 6. Real men ask for directions when lost: Real-life testimonials.
Topic 7. Is it genetically impossible to sit quietly as she parallel parks?: Driving simulation.
Topic 8. Learning to live: basic differences between mother and wife : Online class and role playing.
Topic 9. How to be the ideal shopping companion: Relaxation exercises, meditation and breathing techniques.
Topic 10. How to fight cerebral atrophy: remembering birthdays, anniversaries, other important dates and calling when you're going to be late : Cerebral shock therapy sessions

Highs & Lows in the Life of a 15-Days' Old School Teacher

HIGHS :

The chocolates and toffees that accompany my students' b'days. Most of which I pass on to weight-oblivious family members.

The authority to order people about and inform them that you are the law.

Eating lunch on time, just like the students.

The permission to give free advice without being considered didactic.

The liberty to dress up in and consider looking good part of your daily responsibility :-)

Saying something as inane as " I presume you have only one father, then why on earth are you not writing 'dad' or 'father' with a capital letter at the beginning of the word in your letter-writing classwork ?" and getting away with it. (Although the students did look suitably scandalised. And for a minute, I myself was like " Shit, I'll be fired.")

Being praised profusely for your creativity in something as trivial as the cover of your lesson-plan file.

Getting to read all the poems and stories and plays you loved in college all over again. And interpreting them anew.

Students giving up their rickshaw for you, although they were before you in the queue.

Being able to quail a human being just by glaring at him/her long enough ;-)

LOWS :

Losing my voice every weekend. Hoping to regain it by two days of silence and the absence of the species called students anywhere within a 10 mile radius.

Losing sleep over the preparation of lesson plans of 3 classes for the whole year.

Having to scold the tiny creatures of classes IV over trifles such as
"Miss, he is beating."
"Miss, she is kicking."
"Miss, he is spitting."
"Miss, he is laughing (at me)."
"Miss, he is saying/writing bad things."
"Miss, they have changed their places (without your permission)."

Bringing home piles of unchecked exercise books (a la dirty laundry).

Losing sleep over the pathetic state of their grammar, syntax and bizarre spellings.

Being allotted a specific chair and position in the staffroom, which you are not at liberty to change.

Not being able to wear just what your mood dictates to work (in my case, usually jeans and a T-shirt).

Checking the tendencies of young teenagers to flirt with their preferred 'other', while in class.

Using my precious voice to answer the same silly questions everyday as in :
"Miss, may I drink water ?"
"Miss, may I go to (the) toilet ?"
"Miss, may I share the book (having forgotten to bring mine, as usual) ?"

Missing out on my daily quota of maachh-bhaat and afternoon nap because of the school timings.

NOTE : This is a fun post. Not meant to trivialise school teachers or the teaching profession in any way.

DOLLING UP

Everyone seems to be getting hitched of late. I wouldn't mind that, except that we get invited to celebrate all the occasions.Yeah right, I know you're saying. How can one rant about dressing up and indulging one's taste buds at all ? Well, if you were in my position, you'd know. I've been attending invitations from the 21st of Nov and there are several more queued up right till mid-Dec. Of late, I seem to be seeing too colourful versions of myself in the mirror each evening and ransacking my wardrobe for the most elegant saree to wear next day. Even K (who can't be too bothered about dressing up and is usually glad to leave all clothing options to my prudent self) got worked up enough to turn out and address the stock of ethnic clothes he possessed and even perturbed enough to accompany me to buy a new kurta from Prapti (which I'm sure, Abir and he have been enriching financially for the last couple of years). My stock of sarees, I'm happy to let you know, is still good and I do have alternatives enough to confound me most of the time from making a rapid choice. The miracle of course is due to my absence in India for over a year succeeding my marriage, which means that most of the sarees that were part of my wedding trousseau or gifts from generous well-wishers at our biye/reception are still new and compliment-worthy (well, that might be a hint, I suppose !).

Not so with my jewellery which K has been scandalised to find that I'm quite content with and not at all in any hurry of replenishing or adding to. I love pearls and got several sets of them as wedding gifts and a few invitees were decent, daring and darling enough to give me cosmetic jewellery, which are very tasteful and trendy. Oh well, at least in sync with my taste. K however insisted that I had nothing to match my zardosis and dragged me along to Chique in Metropolis Mall, Hiland Park, to buy me a beautiful set of silver pendant and earrings to compensate. I'm grateful he did but not overtly exuberant. Jewellery never did figure in my list of flauntable assets. What I am increasingly enthusiastic about is footwear and my last minute purchases for my wedding featured two expensive silver and gold slip-ons from Kamal & Kamal near Gariahat More. Otherwise though, I'm sorry to say that my taste in shoes is quite conservative and the most adventurous I've been in terms of colour is buying a pair of slip-ons in plum and a couple in cream. Sneakers in all colours keep on tempting me though and I somehow fear that I shall eventually succumb and buy a pair in green or blue or even purple. Sneakers shall be my doom, methinks ;-)

As for hair, I have finally returned to layers from the much-overdone steps and can safely say that I find this easier to manage, versatile enough to address or vary the look of and yet, simple enough to handle on an everyday basis without tooking too plain-Jane (or in my case, plain clueless). Formerly, if I went to a biyebari , I never know what to do with my hair. Usually, I hated long hair because when I kept it open, I looked good but sweated like a pig. If I tie it back, I feel good but look chubby cheeked and rotund in all the photos. Now, I just keep it tied in a top-knot or blow-dry the roots before I venture out and I'm done for the day (or to be more precise, the occasion).

As for make up, I have finally learned to be on time and almost as swift as the boys by totally dispensing with the pathetic goo that is foundation. The amount of effort that went into applying and then later in the night, removing the mess, was enough to make me hot and bothered, which must, after all, have visibly impaired my cheerfulness at parties. Now I religiously follow the cleansing-toning-moisturising routine and devote a little more time to eye shadow. All that goes to highlight my face is compact and blush. The first evens out the skin tone (and I've heard, makes for better photos) while the latter contours the face, enhances my so-so cheekbones and gives my nose the merit it duly deserves ( I really can't be bothered to be modest about my nose, it's the best part of my physiognomy after all). So, spared of all the foundation and concealer nonsense, I'm on time, look presentable and feel festive. That keeps everyone happy. And saves my energy for channelising into more worthwile things like photography, observing human failings and dessert.

Turns out, I'm not too disgruntled after all. Whassay ? ;-)

CHILDREN !

Children, as Baba loves saying, are as good as the Cartoon Network. They do the most unexpected things, behave in the most unpredictable ways and often, say the most unlikely (and often rather embarrassing) things. However, one thing is for sure : you can always count on them for entertainment. They'll never disappoint you !


Here are the two most recent instances where I've derived much personal enjoyment from observing the children in my neighbourhood, who are currently going through that much loved and idealised time of American life : summer holidays. Which reminds me, I still cannot get over the irony of the fact that children here get summer vacations so that they can enjoy the season while we used to get summer vacations so that we could sit at home and basically escape the suffering that the season was. Of course, things weren't really as bad then as they seem to be now. We had quite a lot of homework, which we managed to wrap up within the first couple of days, so that we could have the rest of the month free. But these guys actually get almost 3 months (June to August). Now that seems rather unfair. Not grudging them their vacation of course. Just grieving about the fact that our childhood doesn't seem as important to the powers-that-be back home. I mean, childhood isn't something you can just wish back, right ? If it's gone, it's gone. And it sure sped past in my case, I think !


Anyway, back to the relevant incidents. The first is best illustrated by these photos :

Basically, the girl had captured some tiny frogs from the depths of the abundant foliage hereabouts and was busy giving the other little chap a hurriedly improvised lesson in zoology. The little one was evidently a visitor, and the girl had probably been instructed to keep him occupied while his parents took a welcome break, at least for a couple of hours, from constantly monitoring his every move. However, the funny part of the incident was that the little one, who wasn't more than 3 years old at the most, seemed to be wearing a huge cap that somehow frustrated, every time, his efforts to inspect closely the frogs that the girl carefully placed on the ground which made enough movement to arouse his interest. Consequently, after several efforts to concentrate on the potentially interesting creatures at hand, his attention wavered and he walked off. It somehow never seemed to occur to him that he could simply take off the silly cap !

The second one was a bit more complicated and took place yesterday afternoon.

I was just preparing the dough for some chappatis yesterday afternoon, when I heard the most awful shrieks somewhere near our living room window, followed by ear-shattering fits of crying. I rushed to the window, flour all over me, to find out what was happening. I found the following scene :

This boy, abut 6 years old, is named (very mistakenly) Angel. He's anything but that. Always mooning around without any occupation whatsoever and bursting his lungs out, either crying or screaming with rage, the moment he doesn't seem to be getting his own way in whatever it is that he wants. His father is the most sober, sombre gentleman I've ever seen. He never raises his voice, even though this little devil is enough to provoke anyone to a temper. Just a few days ago, K and I were out for a walk, when we chanced across the gentleman in question calmly walking down to the basement laundry room and carrying out, with equal composure, his shrieking and sobbing son. All we gathered was that he had been making himself a nuisance to the girls playing there and one of them had possibly complained to his parent. That's just to illustrate his usual habits.

Well, anyway, here he was, screaming his guts out. I was about to walk away, grumbling, when he started complaining in the highest pitch possible that he had been hit on the head and that consequently, he had fallen off his cycle and that the latter was new and that it had been damaged. His vociferous laments soon roused the attention of children of his age or slightly elder all around the locality and they crowded around him to find out what was wrong with him. The eldest girl soon left, disillusioned, but those of Angel's age satisfied his ego by gathering around and paying the utmost attention to his narration of the pereceding events.

Apparently, one of his female playmates named Rachel (see photo below), tired of his annoying attitude or something similar, had thumped him on the head, to ward him off her side. He had consequently lost his balance and almost fallen. His bicycle, a brand new one, had suffered serious damage as the seat had become irretrievably displaced. (It's surely a coincidence that we later found the contraption unharmed, the seat quite happily in its former position and the boy himself riding it quite unperturbed by the so-called damages). One of his friends (the yellow-red attired one) was convinced enough by his crying and story-telling to march upto the girl and demand an immediate apology within a count of 3. Otherwise he would hurl her cycle aside forcefully. The girl (who didn't look very innocent either, to be fair) protested that she had already apologised and that it had been nothing intentional, just in jest, and that there was nothing the matter with his bicycle at all. The staunch friend however proceeded to unflinchingly topple over her cycle, since she stuck to her resolve as to not apologise again. Luckily, the girl stepped aside just in time.

After displaying what he evidently considered as proof of his loyalty to his friend, the former lost all interest in the proceedings. Along with the others, he immediately walked off and they all returned to their former occaupations. Angel, contented that he had been placated enough, stood absent-mindedly in the midst of a path, picking his nose.

An hour later, K and I set off for a walk. And there they were, the whole lot, all four of them (not the big girl) calmly sitting in the middle of one of the foot-paths, drawing pictures on the gravel with some chalk. Totally oblivious to all the chaos that had taken place not so long ago.

Sometimes, there are lessons to be learned from children too.

RIP : MJ

Most people find exercise to be a big stress buster. That's true for me, too. But I don't believe you'll find many people who love exercising in a long, black full-length tiered skirt. The elastic at the waist has become loose with the passage of time, which actually helps to not hinder my movements when doing free-hand workouts at home. In fact, it even gives me a high when I feel the skirt whirl during the twists and turns that form my regime. I think my feeling of fun and frolic while wearing it during exercise stems from the fact that it's the closest approximation to dance I'll ever be able to make in this lifetime. I'm one of the unfortunate few born with two left feet. My ultimate nightmare is being pushed onto a stage before the scrutiny of a huge number of spectators and being coerced into dancing. I don't think I'd emerge from such a situation alive, so great is my self-consciousness when it comes to making even the minimal dance moves that even the dance-ignorant valiantly try out during the bhashaner naach that accompanies our protima bishorjon on bijoya dashami. I'm totally in awe of those who can dance and happen to watch every reality dance show with a veneration for dancers that rivals the devotee's reverence for the godly ; but at the end of the day, I've reconciled myself to the fact that this talent has somehow been denied to me by the powers-that-be. In short, I just can't dance.





And even as I sit here typing these words, 17,500 people are gathered at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, shrouded in silence, to pay their last respects to the man who moonwalked across their dark skies. To celebrate the life and legacy of he who displayed the triumph that the human body can be disciplined to become in engineering, art and beauty. Who united the black and the white, music and dance, entertainment and ethics. Whose every living step was dogged by controversy, but who survives, in the love and respect of all who knew him , directly or through his performances. Where a $25,000 worth, 14 carat plated regal gold casket contains the focus of the concentrated sorrow of all those who loved him for the difference his very existence made to their lives. Who confessed shyly during an awards speech that it felt good "to be thought of as a person, not a personality". Who makes me feel that maybe, just maybe, I too shall be able to dance some day. If not in reality, then at least in my dreams.

RIP, MJ.

Chick-Chihuahua

Awwwww. Now this is really sweet, don't you think ?

Gabbarrrrr.

Please click to enlarge :

Of all orkut related forwards, this one just has to be the hands-down winner !

Forward : Brain Train !

Try it...it's fun !



"1. What do you put in a toaster?

Answer: 'bread..' If you said 'toast,' give up now and do something else.
Try not to hurt yourself.
If you said, bread, go to Question 2.




2. Say ' silk' five times. Now spell 'silk.' What do cows drink?

Answer: Cows drink water. If you said 'milk,' don't attempt the next question.
Your brain is over-stressed and may even overheat.
Content yourself with reading a more appropriate literature such as Auto World.
However, if you said 'water', proceed to question 3.




3. If a red house is made from red bricks and a blue house is made from blue bricks and a pink house is made from pink bricks and a black house is made from black bricks, what is a green house made from?

Answer: Greenhouses are made from glass. If you said 'green bricks,' why are you still reading these ??? If you said 'glass,' go on to Question 4.




4. It's twenty years ago, and a plane is flying at 20,000 feet over Germany (If you will recall, Germany at the time was politically divided into West Germany and East Germany.)
Anyway, during the flight, two engines fail. The pilot, realizing that the last remaining engine is also failing, decides on a crash landing procedure.
Unfortunately the engine fails before he can do so and the plane fatally crashes smack in the middle of 'no man's land' between East Germany and West Germany.
Where would you bury the survivors? East Germany, West Germany, or no man's land'?

Answer: You don't bury survivors. If you said ANYTHING else, you're a dunce and you must stop.
If you said, 'You don't bury survivors', proceed to the next question.





5. Without using a calculator.
You are driving a bus from London to Milford Haven in Wales.
In London, 17 people get on the bus.
In Reading, six people get off the bus and nine people
get on.
In Swindon, two people get off and four g et on.
In Cardiff, 11 people get off and 16 people get on.
In Swansea, three people get off and five people get
on ..
In Carmarthen, six people get off and three get on. You
then arrive at Milford Haven.
What was the name of the bus driver?

Answer: Oh, for crying out loud!
Don't you remember your own name? It was YOU!!



Now pass this along to all your friends and pray they
do better than you.

PS: 95% of people fail most of the questions!!"

Freedom !

Yesterday, after a loooooooooong loooooong time, it was so hot within and without the apartment (max temp in the 40 degree F somethings and the centralised heating on at full throttle) that I roamed around the house wearing K's shorts and a skimpy top. I so felt like a hot beach babe (although nowhere near possessing the necessary hourglass for that) that I'm seriously toying with the idea of doing it more often !

Job H(a)unting

Seems a humongous task of late. It seems people here don't know how to read. I ran an ad in a couple of popular websites here, which was worded as follows :

"Re: Wanted Part/Full-time Educational/Proofreading-Editing/Writing Vacancy"

In response, I've been flooded with emails, offering me anything and everything that I do not want to do. That includes accounting, quality check in labs and private companies,sales and sales related managerial positions, insurance representation, telemarketing, translating from French to English (I don't know French at all !), wireless consultation (?), personal lines production (?), secretarial duties (manning phones, answering mails and operating fax machines), collecting money on behalf of companies located in places as diverse as Qatar, Egypt, South Africa and UK (and USA, of course) and handling them wisely for a considerable commission and similar considerations.

I re-produce a few samples of the latter :

SPECIMEN 1:

"United Textiles
2225 Grant Avenue
San Lorenzo, CA
94580smith19885@yahoo.com

EMPLOYMENT COMMITTEE, (Part-Time Offer)
UNITED TEXTILES

GOOD DAY,
The employment committee of UNITED TEXTILES does use this medium to implore your consent about the employment of new staffs in order to carryout/execute the post of a representative to our company.Being a representative to the company, you are to receive payments from the company customers who buy goods from our company and send the payments to our company branches where the goods are bought by the company customers.In addition, the board is willing to pay any representative a 20% of the payments made by the company customers and would also receive a monthly payment of USD $1,500 for the post of a representative of "United Textiles . Inc '' .More so,If you are interested, and willing to assume the post then email us back with the below information.

Information Required :
Age:
Full name:
Sex:
Phone number :
Occupation:
Address:

Thanks for your anticipation towards the growth of this company. I will be looking forward to hearing from you soonest with a positive reply.
Best Regards.
EMPLOYMENT COMMITTEE
UNITED TEXTILES
smith19885@yahoo.com
Copyright © 2004 United Textile, Inc. All rights reserved"


SPECIMEN 2 :

"Hello ,
How are you doing today?
I am DAVID WHALEY, a native of San Antonio,TX based in Saudi Arabia. I am crude oil merchant based here inSaudi Arabia for 32 years and i am also the CEO/MD of Alhamrani-FuchsPetroleum Ltd. I have a lot of business associates, clients andcustomers round the globe and this is what prompted me to contactyou. However, due to my large business empire i am finding itdifficult to handle most of the international transactions with mycustomers,clients and business associates and would like to employ yourservices as my Marketing & Sales Manager for investors and customers inthe states ..."Please take note that this position will not affect your present job".

DETAILS
Taking records of crude oil sale to my customers in the state.
Sending price increment or decrement notice to our customers in the states via phone,emails or fax.
Running the company's account in the states.(An account will be open on behalf of the company,which i will let you know when to do that and fund will be made available for that) Printing and packaging payments, mailing payments to suppliers inthe states.
Receiving payments from customers and clients in the states.
Deposit payments into the company's account or wait for further instructions from me.

2....PAY RATE.
$550 weekly is what i am willing to pay.If you are interested, get back to me with the below details so as toget started.

3....REQUIRED INFORMATIONS.
Name:
Address: (p.o box not accepted)
City:
state
Zip code >
phone :(Home and cell)
Age:(Must be 20 and above)
Sex:
Present occupation:

On my website, you will find a field where you could send your resume,do not use that because it's for applicants within Saudi-Arabia only, ihope you understand this very well.I await to hear from you as soon as possible if you are interested

Thank you and God bless.

DAVID WHALEY
CEO/MD
Alhamrani-Fuchs Petroleum Ltd
11 Kumaranyakae Road.
P.O. Box 7103
Jeddah 21462
Kingdom of Saudi-Arabia
Phone #966-2-663-5666
Fax #966-2-666-3702

Email DAVIDWHALEY101@YAHOO.COM
Website: www.fuchs.com.sa <http://www.fuchs.com.sa>"



SPECIMEN 3:

"Dear Sir/Ma,
My name is Terry Robinson.I own the ROBINSON HOME OF TEXTILES AND FABRICS in Dublin(Ireland).Our company deals in the manufacturing and sales of textiles and fabrics. We have been receiving orders from NORTHERN AMERICA,and AUSTRALIA which we have not been able to process competently since we do not have a payment receiving personnel in these Areas.So we have decided to recruit payment officers online hence we will be needing a representative to process our payments in these areas - due todelays in processing payments from these areas in Ireland.
ROBINSON TEXTILE AND FABRICS needs a book-keeper in these areas, so we want to know if you will like to work online from home, getting paid weekly without leaving or it affecting your present job?. What we offer: two hours/day at your choice, daytime or evening time.
WORK AT HOME: checking e-mail and going to the bank Part time or full time.
OTHER HIGHLIGHTS: no selling involved, no kit to buy,we won't charge you anything. WEEKLY SALARY: minimum of $450 every two weeks to a total of $900 per month.
COMMISSION: 10% of every money order/check that is cashed instantly"cash in hand" or "cash on counter" is what you get from the total cashed amount.
EXAMPLE If you receive a check of $1,000.00 your net income is $100.00,You will process at least 2-3 orders per day and you will earn more than $200.00 cash in hand each day. WHAT WE ASK:Two free hours daily not including weekends, Internet access for sending and receiving e-mails,available means of cashing money orders/checks at your bank using your existing bank account.
IMPORTANT. You must be over 21 years of age,U.S,CANADIAN OR AUSTRALIAN, CITIZENSHIP.
If you meet these conditions Please add your.....Full Names:Contact Home AddressZip Code:State:Phone/Fax numbers:for quick delivery of payments.We will never ask you for anything more then that, No bank names, No bank account number, routing number, credit card, passwords, SSN# etc. Ifanyone asks for those on our behalf please do not give out this info.This is to ensure your security and non involvement incases of Identity theft.
Thanks....
T.Robinson C.E.O
...Thank you so much......................."

If you have had enough, let's move on to more colourful pastures.



SPECIMEN 4 :

A certain James Dunn was very laconic. The following is his email, verbatim.

"Have you recently lost your job or did you quit?
Talk to you soon!
jamesnidezu@gmail.com"



SPECIMEN 5 :

This one sounded like a recently ditched lover :

"Hey, I just reviewed your resume posted here on Craigslist.

A lot of people we contact on here don't even respond back so ifyou're still available and serious about making a change right nowthen email me back referencing your file ID# 2008-2915 and I'll get you some info.

Sincerely,
Shannon Hansen

P.S.If I don't hear back from you within 24 hours I'll just assumeyou are happy where you are and I'll make sure you never get emailed again."



SPECIMEN 6 :

And do check out this one (ooh la la, I'm so honoured !)...

"Dear Gargi,
After reviewing your resume, we'd like to invite you to apply for our sales management training program at Bankers Life and Casualty Company. We're recruiting both entry-level and experienced sales professionals with:·
Proven leadership capabilities·
Strong communication and interpersonal skills·
Interest in joining the fast-growing baby boomer/senior insurance market·
Drive for rapid advancement into an insurance sales management position·
Desire to earn a six-figure salary with the freedom of an entrepreneurial lifestyle·
Ambition, competitive mind-set and strong work ethic·
Commitment to making a difference in people's lives everyday

Established in 1879, Bankers is one of the only companies in the country devoted exclusively to the financial security needs of seniors. We offer a broad portfolio of health and life insurance and retirement savings products through our nationwide network of more than 160 branch offices. And with the Baby Boom generation approaching retirement, both our company and our industry are experiencing dramatic growth. If selected, you'll receive:·
Unlimited income potential (associate managers earn $60K to $100K; top managers earn upwards of $200K)·
Competitive commissions and compensation package·
Opportunity to earn quarterly bonuses and exciting sales incentive trips·
Formal training in our nationally-recognized Bankers Learning Network program·
Access to Bankers' lead generation and sales technology programs·
Freedom to be your own boss, but with the support of large corporation

To learn more or schedule an appointment with a recruiter, please reply to this email or click the self-register link below:

SELF REGISTER

We look forward to meeting you!
Rick Whippee
Bankers Life and Casualty,
Somerset Branch
Click here to learn more about an exciting career with Bankers !"


SPECIMEN 7 :

This one had me totally flummoxed. :

"Dear Sir/Ma,
I was wondering if you would like to work for us . We will give you the details of the job when we hear from you. Please let us know if you are interested.
Thanks
C.E.O Onosoga Bolaji"

How on earth am I supposed to know whether I want to work for you if I have no idea who you are or what you have in mind for me ?!
Bizarre, to say the least.

LAST WORDS :

Just wondering how people in this country manage to land any decent and what's more, any relevant job at all !!!

What's in a Name ?

A certain classmate of mine back in MHS used to claim the latest kid-on-the block as her relative. Be it a recently acclaimed singer or the reigning Miss Universe (at that point, Sushmita Sen), everyone with even the faintest trace of fame shadowing him or her seemed to form part of her immensely talented family tree, irrespective of how tortuous the path of ancestry appeared to us. Others used to laugh at this tendency of hers the moment her back was turned but were either too timid or too tender-hearted to tell her exactly what they had to say about this silly habit.

Strangely enough, she is not a rare instance. After several years of my pitifully plain and plebeian existence, I've come to be acquainted with numerous variations and specimens of this type. Several of them being educated adults with sufficient potential of their own and making a name for themselves in their respective fields of work. And therefore, you would think, not likely to have to glorify themselves by such a puerile habit. Unfortunately, such reasoning doesn't help when you encounter the complex species that is human. On countless occasions, I have had to bite my lips to prevent myself from vociferating against this inclination, in order to not strain my relationship with these people, often very decent, friendly and kind from every other viewpoint. Hence, the problem remains.

However, the issue is a disturbing one, to me at least. Gone are the days when one needed to provide proof of allegiance to a certain monarch or party or to be of illustrious lineage to claim right to a job or jewel, a possession or position. Nowadays, merit is supposed to be all that counts. I remember the case of Sanjeeb Basak, a boy whose mother worked as seamstress to sponsor his education and their family needs. Our parents were overwhelmed by his dedication and determination and did their best to convey the same to us. We deciphered that it was important to be lauded for earning one's own laurels rather than falling back on the feats of others to gain appreciation in any form. Another case I recall was that of a batchmate of ours in SPHS (let's call her A), who was extremely dark-complexioned, short and painfully thin. A used to avail of the schoolbus in which I travelled and provoked immediate attention by the skimpy and faded navy blue skirt that formed part of her school uniform. In short, she looked poor and plain. But I was touched by the great awe with which a very wealthy male classmate of ours (and who, btw, I was madly in adolescent love with) used to accord to her whenever he referred to her. This was because of her record in academics, which was scintillating. I myself have been at the receiving end of such bizarre difference in treatment when I shifted from MHS to SPHS. At my previous school, most (not all) classmates were from stinking rich families who distributed pencil torches with their ward's name carved on it on her birthday and viewed with disdain commoners like me who received a mere Rs 10 as pocket-money for a school fete or who, along with her sibling, carried a torn and tattered bag to school for several months at a stretch simply because their father lacked the time (not money) to go get them new ones. I felt I had come home when I moved onto SPHS. Everyone respected me only in terms of my academic performance, which was by a great stroke of luck, good. I therefore still consider the latter my true alma mater.

I diverge. The point is that when someone name-drops, it immediately gives you an impression of the way they perceive people. Not as friends or relatives or good or gifted or graceful. But as of being either potentially useful or useless to themselves in their climb up the socio-economic ladder. These are a different category of snobs. Parasitic and piteous. They thrive on their connections and networks for giving value to their own selves. They measure you in terms of set standards of the branded clothes you buy or the people you disco with or the car you whizz by or the profile of the company you work in and the salary you receive. Neither do they evaluate your intrinsic merit nor do they treasure your integrity as a person. They are too busy dropping names (in all possible ways) of the inside scoop on important things and persons (thanks to their contacts) to bother about such things as possess sterling worth.

I'm not being vitriolic. I really feel sorry for them. I was watching 'Luck By Chance' yesterday and it suddenly struck me that the Greek concept of 'Anagnorisis' still holds water. Only, some people are too busy and un-blessed to attain it. In time.

Daylight saving causes confusion !

Daylight saving was supposed to end on Nov 2,2008. I forgot as usual and woke up, extremely perplexed yesterday morning to find my alarm ringing at 8.30 am when I could have sworn I had set it for 9.30 am. Any sharp sound in the morning wakes me up promptly, so it was no use trying to get back to sleep. The damage had been done, I thought. So I grumpily left a very loudly and peacefully snoring K hidden in the depths of the comforter and went to complete my daily bathroom rituals. Preparations for tea and breakfast complete, I was bugged to find that K showed no signs of stirring. Not intending to do double duty for breakfast on a Sunday morning, I tried to make myself (well, 'my muscles' would be a more precise choice of words perhaps) useful by doing some pranayam and freehand exercises. Meanwhile, the grumblings and growlings in my stomach seemed to be getting louder and more insistent although I tried my best to ignore them. I finally decided I had had enough of a patient wait and would at least make tea for myself so that I could have a couple of biscuits at least in order to survive. Playing somewhere at the back of my mind, I secretly have often thought, may also be the fear of reactivating my gastric ulcer symptoms, which landed me in a horrible predicament during my H.S. exams, way back in 2000, but scared me sufficiently to make me never venture out of my home post-that-mishap without at least a small pack of biscuits in my handbag.

Anyways, I had just let the milk boil and was a bit preoccupied with putting sandwich buns to toast in the oven when the sound of blinds being raised made me realise that K had finally had the mercy to wake up and I could now eat. May he snore in peace forever. I took a quick glance at the battery operated alarm clock we had brought from India and noted that it was 11.30 am. Hello, I thought startled, hadn't I seen the wristwatch showing me 10.30 am? I checked and found that my eyes were functioning properly after all. Flummoxed, I pondered. And then realised that it was 2nd Nov today !

Tanima and I have displayed extreme dullness of comprehension by not being able to master the concept of daylight savings, Rony and K assure us. However, I've luckily managed to locate a site or two that is more enlightening in its explanation of the event compared to their obscure outlines of this unnatural state of affairs. Here they are :

http://aa.usno.navy.mil/faq/docs/daylight_time.php

http://geography.about.com/cs/daylightsavings/a/dst.htm

However, if you are more concerned and curious about how the process of setting clocks ahead of the usual time in summer and putting them back in winter affects the difference in time throughout the rest of the world, I refer you to the following link, which is comprehensive in its data line-up :

http://www.worldtimezone.com/daylight.html

And if my understanding wasn't poor enough already, I had a tough time elaborately enlightening my much-more-obtuse-family-members regarding this whole abstract (to me, for sure !) concept. It all runs in the genes, I suppose. To think that I was supposed to be 'intelligent' when I was young. Sigh !!!

On Making Rotis/Rutis...

I have just about picked up the process of making chappatis.Or rotis.Or rutis.Well, whatever.What’s in a name? True enough, but only if they are edible and shapely enough to make you feel that effervescent. Which is not how it makes me, yes, ME, the unholy creator of the same food article, feel. I have felt so much about my roti-making skills (or the lack of them ) in the last two days that I think I might be the next volcano to erupt and spill lava (er, do I mean flour?! ) over all of you.

Let’s get down to the facts first. Well, I thought I was overloaded with the theoretical knowledge of making a roti and all I needed was monopoly over the kitchen to get my creative flour (er, juices ) flowing. Turns out no knowledge can ever be enough, as Newton rightly and a bit too humbly, I always privately contemplated, asserted. Mamoni (my mother-in-law, for the uninitiated, blasphemously ignorant sundry) always told me that making rotis was one of the toughest things to get the hang of, but I, a versatile Gemini, always thought that I knew better. Turns out that one’s mom-in-law is always, somehow, infuriatingly correct. For starters, I knew that I needed to mix flour and water and initially, a little bit of oil, to make the rotis smooth and soft. But that was until I actually began to knead the dough. I realized that you really need to get your hands on the thing (no pun or metaphor intended) to comprehend all the possibilities of the theoretical process not materializing quite in the proper envisaged form, even in its simplest application (and thank heavens, I’d not even begun dreaming of parathas and luchis/puris). The dough either turned out too lumpy and dry (when I went overboard with the flour) or too sticky and viscous (when I went wild with my water-adding flourishes). The only thing that seemed to strike a healthy balance and make the entire thing (sorry, I am too disgusted to endow the so-called product with a proper Christian name) worthy enough to take further trouble with was the few teaspoonfuls of oil Namita was good enough to advise me to add. After that, I at least had the courage (if not confidence) to move onto step 2 of the terrifying process, i.e. ‘ruti byala’.

This was even worse than the first step. For starters, the way the raw rotis would turn out seemed to depend primarily on the quality of the dough, which means I was doomed from the start to a dismal failure. Add to that the wonderful and happy discovery that (1) the slicing/cutting board for vegetables was not an even surface to churn out rotis on and (2) I had been brilliant enough to bring the byalna/belan from home and leave the chaki behind….and yes, now you know what a nightmare I was in for. My rotis were anything but even approximately circular. They were not even remotely close to any of the shapes I had been taught to recognise since childhood. If anything, they were - not to mince words - shapeless.After several sweaty attempts to make a circle out of a rectangle/ oblong/ oval/ shapeless flat sheet of dough, I was good enough to put all my attempts at running circles around the bizarre shapes (pun definitely intended ) to rest. Squares with rounded edges was the closest I arrived at on the second day of my futile endeavours at the same Mephistophelean metamorphosis that has been endearingly nicknamed roti-making. K tried to fashion some humour out of the situation by telling me that I would probably make better parathas than rotis (he was referring to the shapes, you obtuse people out there) but I think my vicious manual gestures might have been fluent enough to make him retreat into a sombre sobriety.

Oh, and to think I had not even started enumerating the strange problems I seemed to be having with getting the so-called roti off the byalna/belan, once it had been somewhat composed (er, I mean, begun to assume diameter). It was exceedingly attached to the byalna/belan and started making a huge fuss about parting ways with it. In short, it stuck to the goddamn implement and my cautious and time-consuming efforts at removing it resulted in several pieces of roti. Which implies that I naturally had to start making the raw roti all over again. And again. And…..

The easiest (Einstein knew his relativity alright) step seemed to be the ‘shnyaka’ of the roti. That is the enterprising task of dumping it into the frying pan (a not-too bad substitute for a tawa/chatu) and warming it evenly on both sides. Followed by K gingerly inserting the naam-ke-waste rotis into the same pan one-by-one, holding them firmly at their midmost point (a locus actually, when you consider the bizarre shapes of each roti) and turning them over individually so that they were (he kept on hoping) ready to eat (high hopes).

We (I insist on identifying an accomplice) consequently produced twelve of the worst samples of roti ever envisioned (and better, if not reiterated) by human beings who are even remotely aware of what a roti should be like.

I refuse to entertain you further by elaborating our experience of actually assimilating those ‘rotis’ into our delicate metabolic systems. Let tragicomedy suffice for the present. I only conclude with a tiny but rather relevant anecdote. When I announced to K that I could not undertake the torture of participating in this tortuous process all seven days of the week, he observed with an injured and lofty air, that it had only been 2 days into the Inquisition (I am not quoting him verbatim btw for obvious reasons). I grimly proclaimed that when it came to maths and the kitchen decisions, I insisted on having my way. He promptly shut up. Good for him.