I’m Indi-an!

I remember starting to work with Paul in Brisbane, two and a half years ago – a nervous, reserved and awkward girl, who desperately needed a half-decent job to pay the bills. I was thrown in amid a flock of gloriously easy and confident Aussies. There were two more girls like me – both supremely confident, relaxed and comfortable in their surroundings. I felt like the ugly duckling, the stranger between them.

Every day at work, was just that little bit out of my comfort zone in terms of personal interaction. I do realise that there has been a lot of debate and discussion about racism in Australia, but my own experience is most contrary. The average Aussie is a very friendly and open-minded bloke – and this group of psychologists that I now worked with, brought with them a range of interpersonal skills, confidence and laughter. It was so different from the stiff, formal and somewhat distant work environment that I was used to in India.

Every day, people around me laughed, chatted and connected – with an almost gleeful ease, while I sat silent – shy and yet wanting to somehow be a part of these jokes and conversations. Discussions rallied around pets, weekend plans, college professors, diseases, drinks, boyfriends, politics, sport and even sex. They were never intellectualised or third person discussions; instead they were personal – strong opinions and experiences. I had seen nothing like it.

And then, there was the completely different sense of personal spaces. People routinely held my hand – between both of theirs, as they spoke to me. The boss, colleagues and even clients hugged me on birthdays, celebrations, commiserations and sometimes, just randomly. The Canadian director Brian would follow the French habit of planting plump kisses on each cheek EVERYTIME he met me.

And each of these gestures would feel like an invasion on my personal space, at first. Paul noticed my stiffness and was very supportive. In every voracious exchange, he made it a point to ask for my opinion, and listen patiently. Every Aussie nuance and story was explained to me, so I could get the context. When I met Brian for the first time, and dodged his kisses on both cheeks, everyone rolled with laughter. And when I felt safe enough to make a joke or wisecrack, it was celebrated and enjoyed. It was like a release.

Gradually, I felt less and less closed, less distant and more included. It was a safe work environment. We would have pranks, outings, jokes and debates. And yet, everyone was very respectful of my cultural and social boundaries. Every time there was a topic that I found awkward or too personal, I would respond plaintively, with mock severity and raised eyebrows,

“But Paul… I’m In-dian!”

It soon became a joke between us all. Every time someone hugged me or kissed me, Paul would mime,

“But Shroootee is In-dian!”

And as the days passed, pulling me into the future, the boundaries relaxed and the controls melted away. I was subjected to conversations and jokes that could only be deemed as scandalous by Indian corporate standards (Paul colourfully chose to refer to them as grotesque) and would participate without hesitation. And every time someone would laughingly chant…

“But Paul…. Shrootee is In-dian!”

We would laugh, keep track of each other’s personal roller coaster-like lives, empathise, support, celebrate, and share the outrage – all the time feeling safe. It was an extension of my friend circle, family almost. And it was a vibe that was picked up almost instantly by our clients, co-tenants, new employees and contractors. Strangely (or maybe not) everyone was drawn to it, wanting to be a part of this wonderful, caring family.

And all of them would learn the joke,

“Why Paul, Shrootee is In-dian!”

A lifetime later (2.5 years chronologically!) I relocated back to India. Two months after that, I forayed back into the corporate world. Much to the amusement of my new colleagues, I would greet people, ask them about their lives, try to remember details, have chatty conversations and generally keep doing, what had now become a part of me. I was often accused of being over bubbly and too friendly, for someone from the CFO’s office.

“You will get taken for a ride,” I was told by one concerned colleague.

And so, there was a gradual tempering down and modification of my behaviour once again, to suit the current work context. While Australia and Paul had ensured that I could never be a shy, reserved girl again, I did successfully tone down the congeniality.

Or so I thought.

Some two weeks ago, a Senior Vice President accosted me on the Executive Floor. He had been told that it was my mother’s birthday, and he called out to me, wishing me as he walked up, arm extended for a handshake. Hearing a birthday greeting apparently triggered my brain into autopilot… and I reached out and hugged him cheerfully, thanking him affectionately.

There was a curious mix of horror, amusement, awkwardness and paternal affection on his face as I stepped back (mentally kicking myself – the auto pilot switch had been rapidly flicked back to manual mode by then). People around were craning to watch this unexpected display of affection. Laughing it off, we continued on our respective trajectories… but I swear, I could almost here the gleeful voice of Paul floating out to me across the Pacific…

“But Shroooteee…. He is In-dian!”

A long night

At ten thirty at night, I am still at work – seated in the cabin of the chief accountant of the company that I have been deputed to. The effort of chasing him the entire day, to attack long-standing issues, has left me irritable and cranky. It is late; I’m hungry, self-righteous and bone weary.

He is balding, tall and lean, with an unexpected potbelly – so characteristic of middle aged Indian men. Peering over the screen of his laptop he looks at me with a neutral expression on his face.

“Yes madam, why have you been hounding me all day?”

“I am hardly hounding you, Sir”, I protest feebly. “I am merely seeking your expertise and input in closing these issues.”

“What issues are you talking about?”

I name the first problem at hand. It was a bizarre situation that involved trying to renumerate an associate in a foreign land, who for complicated reasons, was without a bank account. The problem was being tossed from one desk to another with astonishing frequency, and the poor man in question had all but torn his hair out in frustration.

He tilts his head sideways and listens to me patiently, feigning ignorance. I finish my tirade and wait for his reaction.

“Really?” he asks, eyes rounded in astonishment. “When did this happen?”

Having elaborated on the details, I look across expectantly for him to take the lead. He catches my expression, and with a thoughtful look, fingers tapping his chin, seems to think things through.

“It is a very sad situation”, he comments – almost to himself. And then snapping into action he sits up and methodically lays out a possible courses of action.

“Are you happy with that?” he asks.

I nod silently.

“Excellent”, he says. “By when can you get this closed – the associate must be very upset.”

Stumped – I look at him incredulously. The buck was being passed rather surreptitiously over to me.

“I am facilitating here sir – I am delivering an urgent request to you”, I say diplomatically. “I hardly have your expertise and authority.”

His amused, gleaming eyes do not miss my inadvertent flinch of annoyance. Clicking his laptop shut, he looks around.

“I cannot say anything about you, but it’s nearly eleven at night, and I am really hungry. Don’t you have any biscuits?”

I could not have heard him right, I thought.

“No, I’m serious. Don’t you have anything to eat?”

Bemused, I shake my head. He gets up and walks out of the office, returning five minutes later with a few colleagues – laden with biscuits and cups of coffee. We spend the next ten minutes unwinding, chatting and learning a little bit about each other. It was time pleasantly spent; over much needed sustenance and relaxation.

The air in the cabin seemed noticeably less hostile – almost friendly even. Perhaps this is what management gurus mean, when they say that employees need informal bonding time. Hopefully now, after this midnight caffeine-and-cookie session, we would be able to cooperate with each other. He seemed to think the same as he looked over at me with a twinkle in his eye.

“Shall we get to the next item on your list, madam?” he enquired, smilingly.

“Sure,” I returned happily.

This time, I picked the most contentious outstanding issue on my list – one that people had been trying to get done by him for weeks – and started to detail the problem. Things ought to move faster now.

He squeezed his eyes shut and heard me out. Then with studied innocence he looks across at me blankly.

“That’s shocking”, he exclaimed. “How come no one informed me?”

In spite of myself, I sighed. Management gurus are yet to encounter such seasoned corporate tactics. Coffee and biscuits notwithstanding, it was going to be a long night…!

Prejudice

Somehow things ended up being a crazy scramble to get packed, grab some lunch and get out the door to the airport. I was flying to the beautiful city of Hyderabad for a six-month assignment. After three years of picking up and moving every six months, I have become an expert at packing and pushing baggage allowances to the very limit. And so, clutching onto two laptops, a sack of cabin luggage and a crumpled boarding pass, I boarded the flight and looked for 19F – my assigned window seat.

Frequent travel on all forms of public transport, has led me to develop and confirm a hypothesis of my own. Should there be even one wailing infant either already on or getting on to that bus, train or plane, it is definitely going to be seated within one seat’s distance from me. It’s almost like my own personal take on Murphy’s Law.

“Good afternoon Ma’am,” the air-hostess greeted me pleasantly. “May I help you find your seat?”

An infant bawled unstoppably in the distance.

“Thank you. I’m in 19F”.

I watched her wince involuntarily and eye me with sympathy.

“Let me guess,” I said in resignation. “It’s probably near all that adorable screaming.”

She looked at me tiredly. “It is Children’s Day today and as a promotion, all children fly free today.”

It was my turn to look sympathetic. Clearly, she had had her share of ear splitting babies for the day.

As I sat down in my seat (no surprises – it was right in front of the VERY energetic baby), I could not help but notice two gentlemen walk the aisle to occupy the seats in front of me. It looked like Mirza Ghalib and his companion had stepped off the time traveler’s machine to catch this flight. Complete with loose trousers, long flowing tunics, grey beards and skullcaps – they were the picture of devout Muslims.

Even though India is one of the most culturally diverse countries in the world, you do get accustomed to some homogeneity in urban dressing, especially for men. It was definitely an unusual sight and I could sense that, not just me, but all my fellow travelers followed their progress into their seats. Almost imperceptibly, the young business executives in the surrounding seats shrank away as our two co-travelers found their places, studied the overhead bins suspiciously before shoving their well-worn bags and settling in.

As I stood up to access my bag, I watched one of them keeping an eye on my movements from the corner of his eye. Immediately uncomfortable, I quickly picked up my music player and closed the overhead bin. They were unusually alert and kept scanning the area, keeping an eye on everything. It was making people nervous and a little jumpy. My neighbor mumbled under his breath and disappeared behind a colossal newspaper, while the baby behind us continued to test its lung power.

The plane taxied for take off, during the safety demonstration. Almost immediately the call button for the seats in front of me went off. An air-hostess made her way towards the two men, a look of wary irritation crossing her face.

“Can I get some water?” The younger of the two men requested, while the other mumbled into his cell phone.

“Certainly,” she said. “But first sir, may I request you to please turn off your phone?”

Everyone was on edge while the older man switched off his phone and glared at her. This was definitely not going to be a restful flight. The lady with the baby started to chant a prayer under her breath, not too discretely.

Fifteen minutes later we were airborne, in a near smooth take-off, notwithstanding a heated exchange on the value of seat belts and remaining seated, between the two men and the air-hostess. Presently, the meal service was announced. I watched with some trepidation, as the two men craned their necks, following the progress of the catering team down the aisle. The trolley rolled to a stop next to them and the air hostess looked at them enquiringly.

“Well, would you like Vegetarian or Non vegetarian sandwiches sir?”

“What is a sandveets?” The older one inquired gruffly.

“It’s a stuffing between two slices of bread sir,” she grimaced, after a long, incredulous pause.

He looked at her thoughtfully.

“Is it Halal?”

She shook her head regretfully.

“I am afraid I do not know, sir. Would you like the vegetarian ones, just to be safe?”

She handed out rectangular meal trays and rapidly pushed on with evident relief towards me. There was an explosion of noise from the two.

“What is this thing in the box?” One of them exclaimed, holding up a sachet of ketchup.

“That is sauce, sir”, she answered with admirable calm. “You eat it with the sandwiches.”

Someone next to me snickered. I wondered how a person who had never known a sandwich was now on a flight to Hyderabad. Too many stories of infiltration and terror were rather fresh in my mind. I could tell that I was not the only one thinking along these lines.

The two hours flying time seemed to go one forever, as we watched every movement of the two, much-too-aware of their surveillance of us. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pilot announced our approaching descent and requested us to keep our window shutters open. The younger of the two opened the window and nudged his companion. Both of them looked out, appearing preoccupied by the wing of the aircraft.

I do not know about the other travelers, but I can vouch for myself and say that I was holding my breath as the plane landed safely and taxied to a halt. Everything went as planned, without a wing blowing or an engine dropping off. Relieved, I reached up for my bags with clammy hands, shaking my head at my fatalistic imagination. A mobile phone rang in the row ahead and the old man picked it up.

“Salaam waley-kum Saleem miya,” he said in Urdu. “We have reached safely.”

The man listened carefully to his caller for a moment and responded slowly.

“Oh yes… we tried a ‘Sandweets’ and ‘soss’ and saw all the houses looking like little toys as we landed.”

Both men grinned at each other – their first smile in the entire journey.

Flooded with remorse and guilt, I took in their innocent exchange. Recalling my overwhelming anxiety and awe on my very first air journey, undertaken years ago, I realized that I had lost the objectivity that symbolizes being Indian. These are troubled, paranoid times and I was guilty of prejudice. I could tell that once again, I was not alone in feeling ashamed. With a sigh, I picked up my bags and smiled perfunctorily at the air-hostess.

The baby continued her verbal assault of my ears. Yet the silent screaming in my head drowned her out.

All knotted up!

Two months of relaxation translates into an insane amount of time spent chatting with friends on the internet. One of my mates from Brisbane – a metro sexual, Indian, Business Analyst has been carrying on a discussion with me on the topic of Holy Matrimony – a theme, that I am irrevocably convinced, is a national obsession in India. Our discussion over the last week is the high point of a culmination of similar anecdotes from many a friend and cousin in the same age bracket.

“My father is arriving in Brisbane for a conference”, he writes. “I am dreading his visit. It will be one of those awkward father-and-son talks, about how – at 32 – I am perilously near my expiry date in the nuptial market.”

His email was almost despondent. I understood the feeling. At 29, I had been told by many an over-enthusiastic friend and relative that I was delaying the thought of marriage too much.

“Australia is such a small population”, he rued. “Such few Indian women to choose from. Besides, I have to first contend with the obstacles of over-enthusiastic screening parents who demand every last detail of my pay cheque and share nothing about the daughter, or descriptions and resumes that shame the best story tellers and even air-brushed and photo-shopped pictures of the girl!”

I laughed and typed back, “Oh yeah. I know exactly how you feel. My cousin was once offered an alliance where the prospective boy was like a sitting duck in a photo taken with a huge, weird feathery pillow on his lap! She forwarded it to me saying – Check the feathers on this beauty – I know I’m going to hell! We almost died laughing!”

My little tale seemed to cheer him up a little.

“You know, I even asked my parents to set me up with a good girl. Their choice had me horrified and running for cover!”

I had a little tale of my own to swap there.

“You know, the parents of my best friend called her and claimed that they had found the perfect boy for her – decent, intelligent, from the same profession as her – even from the same college as her. Suspiciously, she asked to see the boy’s particulars… It was the college druggie from our senior batch. After that her folks were officially banned from looking for a boy for her!”

He laughed out loud. “So don’t you have any horror stories of your own to share?”

“Nah. I have never let the groom hunt culminate into anything more than a vague possibility. Too busy chasing a career and a postgrad degree!”

His response was almost wistful.

“Lucky you, Shruti. I am thinking of co-authoring a book on all my experiences with the partner hunt, along with a girl I befriended on the matrimonial website.”

This tickled my funny bone.

“Ooh! How nice! There are all the elements of a great plot there – rib tickling comedy, tragedy, drama and hopefully a love story! Maybe you can sell the film rights after releasing the book! Can I write the introduction?”

His response was a wry, “You are running away with yourself! I’ll let you write a foreword for the book. But if I name the website, I’ll probably get sued for defamation. That will put a lid on all our grand plans. What should I do?”

“Well, give it an alias then”, I replied helpfully. “Maybe you can christen it shady.com.”

Laughing, I logged out of my email and gave my Macbook a sorely needed break from discussions on electronic dating and match making. Seriously though, the time frame for tying the knot may have changed, but it does remain a priority. Really not worth getting all ‘knotted up’ over!

Now if only someone could explain that to my match-making family!!

The friendly Neighbourhood Ghost

(I was recounting this story to dad and my sister, thought it would be a fun memory to blog about as well)

We had finally moved into the new home – and it was delightful. Located on a hilly street, in a leafy Brisbane suburb, close to the shops, train station, buses and yet, delightfully quiet, the house had a beautiful yard, quaint rooms and a lovely kitchen. As we settled in, we distributed home chores and responsibilities, and life progressed – tickety-boo. The one chore that we forgot to assign, was putting the bins out on the kerb every Tuesday, on Bin Day, when the council truck came along for collection.

So, the first Tuesday of our tenancy, I got out to get to work, and saw empty bins lining the pavement of the neighbourhood. Ours were conspicuous with their absence – being tucked away discreetly around the side of the house. I made a mental note to call Stephen (my new housemate), as soon as I got onto the bus. Twenty minutes later I had a bemused phone call from my housemate.

“Thank you for taking the bins out”, he said.

“You don’t need to be sarcastic!” I exclaimed. “I am sure that the bins will not overflow by next week.”

“Eh?” he returned, puzzled. “You did not take them out? But….but, the bins are empty.”

“Maybe someone else did it? Ask everyone at home”.

When I got home that evening, I had an army of confused housemates and friends waiting for my arrival. Nobody had put the bins out. Already there were a number of conspiracy theories brewing.

“Maybe you did not put anything in the bins this week.”

“Not true… I discarded heaps of packing boxes”, I retorted.

“Maybe a neighbour took it out?”

Someone snorted. “Oh yeah, the frail little eighty year old widow who lives alone next door?”

“Well, perhaps someone stole your rubbish?”

Laughing it off, we moved on to other things and soon forgot the mystery of the bins.

Next Tuesday, once again, the bins were forgotten. Yet again, they were empty. I glared at my two housemates with suspicion.

“Are you sure that you are not putting them out at night and just trying to freak me out?” I demanded.

They shook their heads in confusion. Our skeletal next-door neighbour tottered out at the very moment, and struggling visibly, wheeled her bins back into her house. We checked that option off our list of possibilities immediately. On the other side of our home was a set of partially constructed units. I could not imagine such exemplary behaviour from any of our neighbours, so as to wheel our bins in and out of the house.

“Curiouser and curiouser” as Alice in Wonderland would say!

The following Tuesday, our friend U, who was staying over, came out charging in the morning….

“I heard the collection truck come by. And I heard someone wheeling our bins. He or she was whistling”.

“Did you look out of the window and see who it was?”

“There was no one. I looked all around. Just the truck driver, sitting in his truck”.

I had goose-bumps as he finished recounting his experience. With unspoken agreement, we rushed out. The bins were indeed empty. We looked at each other – wide eyed.

“Maybe it is a ghost”, someone offered tentatively.

I shivered. I was not alone in my reaction.

“Aww. Come on. That kind of stuff does not happen.”

“Then how do you explain this?” I demanded, pointing to the empty bins.

Quietly we disbanded to face the day. By evening however, the spooky element was played down. The spectral presence was not harming us. He was quiet. He was helping us. Like a friendly neighbourhood ghost.

And so we christened him Melvyn.

Life continued peacefully after that. The house was delightful. Every Tuesday, Melvyn collected the bins and emptied them, unfailing. We stopped our investigations – no sane person looks a gift horse in the mouth, after all. We even contemplated leaving him a ‘Thank you’ note. But what if ghosts cannot read? Status quo continued for another three months.

On an idle Tuesday morning, into the fourth month of our tenancy, we were all sitting in the living room enjoying a cuppa. We had hosted a get-together for our friends the previous night, many of whom had stayed over. One of them Rahul, started to narrate how he was awakened in the morning by the clanging of the of the garbage truck.

“Did you know, that the truck driver wheels up your bins for you?” he asked, conversationally.

“WHAT?” we all started.

He looked at our shocked expressions.

“Did you not know that? Apparently the council records state that there is an old couple living here, and so he assists by wheeling out the bins.”

“Oh”

“I told him it was a mix up. He was delighted to know that he will not need to do that anymore.”

We looked at each others stumped expressions and burst out laughing. And so, just like that, the Legend of the Bins was explained rationally. The ghost story was forgotten, and I had a new chore every Monday night – putting the bins out.

And yet, I sort of like the Mervyn explanation better, though! It suddenly felt like we had one less member in the house!

Goodbye Brisbane!

In my two years in Brisbane, I made some of my closest friends – My boss, mentor and guide – Paul, (P – to many of you who have followed my blog), Brian, Shreema, Carrol, Hastak and Stephen.

They followed me through my ups and downs and helped me in my journey of self-discovery. With each person, I shared a unique equation, almost like all my friends knew a different ‘Shruti’. And yet, perhaps Paul and Stephen knew me most comprehensively.

This post is about Stephen – my best friend. I usually refrain from journaling deeply personal experiences in this blog, but I make an exception today. Partly because, I feel like it was worth sharing, and partly because Stephen (unlike all my other friends) never reads my blog.

Usually, I would give you some background and introduction, but as the intention of this piece is not, to make good reading, I will not include any detail on how we met, or became friends, or even our ups and downs. I will not draw much attention to his introversion, introspection, Indian-fascination, Italian origin, chocolate obsession, under confidence, patience, complexity, intelligence, sensitivity, moodiness, reclusion or humour. He was just my housemate Stephen, who gradually grew into being my buddy.

Leaving Brisbane was a hard time. I was stepping out of my comfort zone and perhaps I should have spent more time preparing myself. Instead, I tried to ignore it for as long as I could. Then I became ambivalent about my life ahead. But not for long. Reality and an almost tangible sense of homesickness hit when I landed in Delhi. And so – I started to do what every home-sick person does – call home. Or rather, call Stephen.

He was amused, gruff, supportive, sardonic and reclusive. Almost preparing himself to be forgotten by me, as I got involved in my new life, he chose to distance himself bit by bit. The more he distanced, the more I was wounded. I thought I needed his help, support and encouragement. It was like a dance of wounded souls.

Finally the inevitable happened. I issued an angry ultimatum and he admitted that for him, absence made the heart grow fonder, constant communication cheapened it. Our ideas on staying in touch were irreconcilable. Agreeing to disagree, we decided not to stay in touch anymore. It has been ever since, and will stay so.

It was amazing how quickly a friendship so deep, unravelled. Was it all because I left ‘on a jet plane’ one fine day? Or was it for deeper, more underlying issues? Are we so frightened of being abandoned by our friends, that it is easier to sabotage the friendship ourselves, first? And is it so difficult to process the grief of closing a chapter in your life, that you need the continuous encouragement and contact of a friend or loved one to get through it? I cannot say.

It has been two weeks since the day we said our final, super melodramatic goodbyes. I wept enough to justify a death, not a mere fight. Probably because I knew, that there was no going back. It was like a chapter closing in my life. The ties were cut. It was finally, my good bye to Brisbane. I was finally processing the grief and pain of leaving.

I just wish I had not sacrificed a friend in the process.

Happier times - Cheerfully Drunk at Easter

Quirky….in Pictures

I love Brisbane. And I can never explain how much. But here are some really quirky snaps that I shot on my humble cell phone camera…seriously! Have you ever had one of those moments where something so memorable came upon you, that you just HAD to click, but had no camera?! Well, here is a list of a few such moments – there were many more, but then I did not even have a cell phone handy!

Just two girls giving a free cuddle to anyone who felt low, at the top end of the Mall!

This was one Satruday morning – my friend Chinky and I were taking a day off from our harassed schedules in the mall- and wondering, what on earth could make us feel happier. And then we met these two – their enthusiasm was infectious!

Notice on the office of a Math Prof at uni

This was a notice I saw on the door of some Professor’s office in the Math Block. My Risk Management class was held in an auditorium in the Math Department.

Not long after...!!

The slightly pompous professor was rapidly pulled down a peg or two, by some devious mathematician brain by the time I walked out of my class!

The Butcher's best!

Stephen and I once drove down to a tiny little island called Russel Island – off the coast of Brisbane in Moreton Bay. It was really just a tiny little village of retirees, with one bank of shops – comprising a post office, a supermarket (IGA, not even Coles or Woolworths), a bakery, a beautician and a butcher.

I was most amused by the tall claim made by the butcher in this poster though, and HAD to whip out my phone camera!

Wax one leg... get the other leg free!!

Ok, so This photograph did not come out so well – a bit amateurish! But look beyond my obvious lack of photography skills and you will see the best kind of buy-one-get-one free… Wax one leg, and get the other one free!!

I laughed aloud so hard at this one, Stephen was afraid that the islanders would come and hit us!

Signage in the Parking Lot at the Powerhouse Theatre

The Old Brisbane Powerhouse, actually is the old renovated Powerhouse of Brisbane. Not only does it house some very beautiful riverside dining options, but is also a landmark on the art circuit, boasting of an eclectic mix of cinemas, art galleries, exhibitions, comedy clubs, jazz concerts and markets. After spending a lovely day poking around the complex, we walked out to see this quaint little sign in the car park!

Little Plastic men at the Bus Stop at Kelvin Grove

It was a balmy morning and I was hopelessly late for class. I descended, pre-occupied with my tardiness, from Chinky’s trendy urban Village apartment, to check for the next bus to University.

And there stood these three little plastic men on the bus schedule – perfectly balanced and blissfully unaware of life bustling around them. Others came and checked out the bus timings – everyone left with a smile… not one disturbed their little gathering!

Baby Yati and her "Doy" (doll) at Woolies

So, have you ever tried taking a restless two year old toddler into a super market? Its toddler heaven and parent hell all at the same time. Megha and I were in Woolies, to grab some provisions for dinner. Baby Yati brought along her Doy (Yati lingo for Doll) and decided to go for a ride!!

Suddenly, it was mutual heaven for Yati, Megha, me and the doy!

er... canine inspired coffee anyone??

Mount Coo-tha is the highest point in Brisbane – a delightful little hill top that offers a 360 degree view of the city. It also has this trendy little cafe and restaurant that serves delicious (albeit) expensive coffees and ice creams. I am not sure though, that many have paid attention to its name!!

Er.. Fake Gillete anyone?

The Chinese Mach 3

And then there was this one time that Stephen and I wandered into the dollar shop – looking to buy a cheap pack of cards. It was such a wonderfully funny place, that we were lost there for well over an hour. I was most thrilled to find Fake Gillete shaving gear… now if only someone could get the Chinese to spell right! lol! I wonder who would risk his neck though!

A Day in the Park

(It’s a sad time for me – the last few days that I have left in Brisbane. I have been packing and wrapping up affairs with a heavy heart. Days are poignant with silent goodbyes – and also wondering – with some trepidation about what the future holds)

There was a new message in my inbox. It was from one of my dearest friends – Stephen. It may sound odd that I routinely correspond with my closest friends in the same city over the internet, but I have come to find it a more efficient way of staying in touch (not to mention, heaps cheaper!)

“Hi Shruti,
I don’t think I will come out with you guys today – I had an awful night last night and I think I will just buy a slab of chocolate, and eat it up by myself today.
Be good.
- S”

Perplexed, I looked at the email for a minute or two.

Two years in Brisbane have given me an unusual assortment of friends and experiences. They have also taught me, that being friends with someone also entails knowing, understanding and accepting all the peculiarities of that someone. Stephen is often a tad bit temperamental, pig headed and shy. But being moronic in the final ten days of my Brisbane stint, hardly seemed likely.

This required some Shruti intervention. Sighing, I picked up the phone and called my other friend Megha.

“Hi, Megha! I’m going to have to cancel our plans for the day. I have yet to recover from my wisdom tooth extraction and I think I should take it easy today.”

(In a burst of bravado, I recently sat myself in the dentist’s chair and had all my wisdom teeth extracted… but that makes for another tale!)

As I expected, Megha was concerned and sympathetic. Giving me plenty of advice to rest, we re-scheduled for the weekend. It was now time to call Steve.

He picked up with a gruff “Hello?”

“My tooth hurts”, I announced plaintively. “Please come and distract me”.

“Oh ok”, he said and paused to think. “Have you taken a pain killer?”

“That and more. Please help me get my mind off it?”

“Oh very well. Ill be there in ten minutes”.

And so, some twenty minutes later, we were sprawled in the grass of New Farm Park, on the banks of the Brisbane River, enjoying the winter sunshine and waving at boats and people as they crossed. It was a beautiful day. I bought us some scorched almonds (chocolate coated almonds – otherwise christened ‘Little Drops of Heaven’) and we munched them away as we explored the old Brisbane Powerhouse by the riverside.

Some candy never goes amiss

Having explored the park and powerhouse to our hearts content, we then popped into the local village Deli for a hearty meal of spaghetti and cappuccino. Stephen is of Italian-Australian origin and so shares with me a passion for Mediterranean food, wine and culture. We walked through the aisles of the deli, wondering at huge wheels of parmiggiano, piles of garlic stuffed, wine marinated kalamata olives and freshly baked foccaccia.

It was the two dollar shop next, where we bought a pack of cards and headed back to the park to play a heated game of cards. Soon however, all that food clogged up our brains and seriously impaired our ability to think. Abandoning the game, we lay on our backs and lazily studied cloud patterns.

Lounging in the grass

“You know”, started Stephen, “This day turned out so different from what I had imagined it would be.”

I had been waiting for him to initiate this conversation all day.

“What did you think it would be like?” I queried tentatively.

“Oh you know, I thought that I would spend the whole day in a corner in the library, trying to do some compulsory reading for class, alone. I had a really bad night”.

“What happened?”

“You know, how some people have nightmares all night? Not me. I have nightmares for an instant, then they are gone and a new one starts”.

“Nightmares? What kind?”

“Oh you know – there were multiple themes. Silly really”.

“Tell me.”

“Well for starters – that all my friends are leaving me, one at a time. You being the fourth of my closest friends to go”.

“Fair enough. What else?”

“Oh, that I am doing nothing, I have done nothing. That I don’t know what I will do with my life, I’m going nowhere, what will I do with Political Science study, that my car is so old, I don’t like the place I live in, and… and… you know?”

He looked across at me helplessly.

“Well, yes. I do know actually. You are one of my closest friends. And leaving Brisbane, feels like I’m leaving my home. I feel so sad that I am going – and that it will be so long before I see you again”.

He smiled.

“It is genuinely sad, Stephen”, I continued. “But we will be in touch. And you will make more friends – as hard as it may seem right now”.

“It seems like a lot of effort right now”.

“You will be fine. You’re feelings are justified. But, feeling sad about it does not justify ridiculing everything in your life. You are doing well. Stop criticizing everything in your life. Just because you are feeling sad, is not a good reason for your brain to pull out every skeleton in your closet and endorse your supposed failures”.

He looked at me wonderingly.

“You are so… right! I am my own worst enemy.”

We both laughed and looked away easily. His eyes started to follow a pigeon, as it edged hopefully towards our scorched almonds.

“And one more thing…”

He looked back at me questioningly.

“The next time you feel upset – locking yourself into a miserable corner of the library is the worst thing you could do. It is like pushing a drowning man deep under.”

Stephen started to laugh at the image I had conjured up.

“Yes it is a bit like that, is it not?”

“It is”, I agreed, smiling. “Instead, step out, find a friend to hang out with. Or do something fun. Remind yourself that life is beautiful – definitely not as bad as you make it out to be.”

“Why thank you Shruti. You are……aaaargh!”

The rest of his sentence was lost on the world, as I playfully punched him in the solar plexus. We wrestled each other like two puppies – both feeling a lot lighter and happier. Both of us had needed to be reminded of the silver lining on our grey clouds.

Happy friendship week!

Life is Beautiful!

Two Weeks

It has been an insane week. I just finished up my degree and needed to file for the Australian residency. It was the end of the financial year and that time of the year when I dream returns, activity statements and payment summaries in my sleep. As the pile of things-to-accomplish steadily grew larger and larger, I started to get irritable and frustrated. I needed a target or outlet to point all my furies at really quickly.

As it turned out, it really was not a long wait to find that target.

Filing for an Australian residency needs a lot of paperwork and two key documents needed, were my Academic credits and a Letter of Course Completion. The lawyer had impressed upon me, the paucity of time and the significance of filing early, so I awaited the declaration of my results with geat anxiety. No sooner was I intimated by email of the release of marks, implying my successful graduation, than I decided to try and get the two said documents released to me over the counter at university.

Since I was working full-time, I requested my friend Hastak to drop in at the Student Centre at University and fill up the paperwork for me. Later in the day, I received a call from him.

“Hi Shruti”, said Hastak, in a curiously flat voice. “I’m at the student centre now and have asked the lady about paying for an instant issue of your paperwork”.

“Oh yes”, I responded.

“She says that it is possible for you to fill a form and pay a fee – $30 for the Academic credits and $10 for a Letter of Completion, to have it issued to you earlier.”

“Oh excellent. So should I come down and pay it now….?”

“She also says that if you let it be, you should receive the documents in your mail in two weeks, by the standard procedure,” he interrupted me.

“Oh no, no,” I replied. “Its hardly a lot of money, I’d much rather pay for the documents and have some peace of mind. How soon can I get the documents by the paid procedure?”

“In two weeks”, replied Hastak in a resigned tone.

It may not sound very civilized, but grinding your teeth while growling under your breath is a great way to relieve stress. I can personally vouch for its effectiveness in most situations.

Sometimes though, you just cannot win. And there is merit in recognising that! ☺

Are you being served?

I am Indian. I have grown up in an environment teeming with people and life. And so, I am quite accustomed to the impatience that is characteristic of us Indians, as also our gross inability to queue up patiently for anything. Being from the educated middle class though, my sister and I were trained to wait our turn patiently, make way for the elderly and the disabled and facilitate their needs. Since mum is a teacher, I have unknowingly imbibed her righteous, strict, school teacher-ly way of telling people off.

Often, I found myself in an uncomfortable situation, turning back to glare at a jostling crowd, while I patiently allowed a person to go before me at a queue in a cinema, or at the bank or provident fund office. My self-righteous glares were met with looks of insolence, frustration and impatience.

At the hotel where I worked, we did up complex statistical studies on queuing theory, to ensure that wait times in any queue did not cross the miniscule threshold of patience possessed by the Indian customer. Therefore we had multiple service counters at peak hours, better technology and improved layouts to ensure the best ergo dynamics. Strangely though, it never seemed to help. It was almost as if people’s capacity to wait shrunk to match our improved processing times. How long a minute truly is, depends on which side of the counter you stand.

Interestingly though, I saw a simple resolution to this problem very recently.

A few days back, on a grey, bitterly cold and wet afternoon, I queued up for a bus home. I think all the passengers were unanimously awaiting the warm dry interior of the bus. The bus came along and we stepped forward expectantly. There was a little old lady at the top of the queue. She was hard of hearing, slow and finding it rather difficult to manage her things, find some change and buy a ticket. All around me people were irritable and shifty. I cringed as I heard the gentleman ahead of me mumble to himself in annoyance. I felt the same annoyance and righteousness well up in my blood.

The bus driver was a petite, smiling, blonde-haired lady. As she patiently dealt with her aged passenger, she looked up and beyond at us, assessing the scene in a flash. Finally she dispensed a ticket, and got the lady seated on a seat close to her. Smiling, she beckoned the rest of the queue to step in.

“Thank you so much for your patience and for allowing me to assist my first passenger for longer – that was most understanding”, she announced cheerily, looking pleasantly at the gentleman ahead of me in the eye.

Her words brought on an almost instantaneous transformation in everyone – me included. We boarded the bus – taller and happier – for once, part of the solution and not the problem. It was a wonderful feeling. Mr. Grumbler clambered in ahead of me, tilting his head sideways as he crossed the little old lady. Not surprisingly, he rushed to her aid, to assist her disembark from the bus at her destination.

Righteousness has no place in such situations. We all want to be part of a positive change – we just need to be reminded of it sometimes!