My office desk was cluttered with some thirty odd post-it "sticky" notes. Each one bearing a quote, some wise crack or some thoughts that I may have churned out. It all began when once in a meeting I asked something silly and apologized for asking such a stupid question. To which my manager replied "There are not stupid questions". As I was about to find out, it was but a part of the whole quote which was "There are no stupid questions, only stupid people". I was so mighty impressed with it that I promptly wrote it down on a sticky note and put it on my cubicle wall at my desk.
I gradually cultivated this habit and kept adding wackier, funnier stickies onto my "sticky" wall-of-fame. People appreciated it, some found it amusing, some thought I was eccentric. But who cared. My collection was growing over time and I was running out of space. It was a museum of wit, humor, philosophy and I was its curator.
My aspirations of being its curator for longer were cut short by my decision to move out of the company. I saw an opportunity I could not miss and had learnt all that I could at current job to let go without any regrets. With just couple of days to go, I was glancing at these pearls of wisdom that I had either shamelessly copied or tried to put in words of my own. It was then that a really different idea came across my mind. I thought it would be cool to ask my friends and colleagues to pick the ones they liked and put them on their desks as a souvenir. So I sent out a mail to a close group asking them to come over and choose a sticky for themselves. Soon enough people were making their way to my desk and picking ones which they thought suited them best. It was interesting to observe who chose what because it said a lot about them.
One of the first ones to go was "Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm", good choice I thought and could only have been taken by a person with a never say die attitude. My junior grabbed this one, "If I am so afraid that I wont even try, how can I say that I am alive". I saluted his spirit and hoped he will never be afraid to try anything in his life. Then came the turn of the newest member of our team. She probably wasn't even aware of my departure until recently when the news broke out. She pondered her options and settled for "Like scars add great character to the soul, dents add great character to the car". She must really love her car was what I thought before recollecting my own story behind this quote which I had penned.
By now the stickies were disappearing very fast and I was finding it difficult to keep track of who chose what but made sure that they took only one, so that others also could get a chance. People picked stuff like "We are drowning in information, but starved for knowledge" and "Ships in harbor are safe, but then that is not what ships are built for", but what disappointed me was there were no takers for my very own stickies which had a hard hitting take on the management. I am a huge Dilbert fan and besides the comic strips if there were anything else which came even close were some of the stickies on my wall. I was waiting for people to pick "Proactiveness is when you send mail saying that you are about to sneeze. Initiative is when you tickle yourself with a feather first" or "You may think it is you initiative but the fact is you are a victim of your manager's delegation with credit taken in advance" or "The one who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on". I think people were steering clear of any controversial choice of sticky notes. Until someone hesitantly chose "Job satisfaction is just a temporary phase". Way to go man! And someone else picked up "Arm yourself because no one else here will save you". I smirked as I saw people shedding their inhibitions and making some bold choices.
Another of my juniors came to my desk and was almost immediately baffled by her options. She naively asked me which one would I choose if I were to give her one. I looked around the scattered notes and chose one for her. It was none other than the Vodafone jingle "Every morning I wish I could just play. Wish the mornings would just stay". Something befitting her naivety, which she gladly accepted.
With more and more stickies vanishing by the minute, I was left with only a handful. Late comers were in for a disappointment but hey doesn't the early bird get the worm?
When I sent out that mail to all, I had no idea it would turn out to be such a fabulous experience. Some were commenting on the wit these notes carried, some complimented me on my handwriting (read liars!!) while some were back for more as just one sticky was not enough for them. In some sense, I pondered, I was leaving a legacy behind, giving enough souvenirs to my friends to remember me by. May be I can start making a new stickies collection in my new workplace and hope someone back here will continue my trend. And I think I know just the person. If she is reading this, please take a cue. We all know how much you love your car.
It was almost seven in the evening and I had just few more minutes before I bade goodbye to this place. Maybe I will come back after a couple of years, but venturing out at this point is something that I must do. I took a final look at my wall with just one sticky note left. None other would have suited the situation more than this one. I was leaving my 'sticky' legacy behind and the last one of them read "Life is simple. You make choices and don't look back".
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 2, 2010
Appraisal at gunpoint
Those who have been following my blogs probably know that I do not hold the job appraisal process in high regard. Especially in IT where appraisals are probably more rigged than the world cup cricket matches. So post appraisal, one could either be burdened with grief and low self esteem or emerge triumphant with an i-don't-give-a-damn attitude, metamorphosed into a being of steel, undeterred by the ball talk that just took place in closed glass room praying that the glass rather be sound proof because if it weren't, chances are that few others also heard the ridiculous, stereotypical, inconsequential talk and felt good about themselves by living in the bubble that their manager is a tad better. I am not even getting started on the victims of the normalization curve, a fancy tool and an unparalleled excuse to pitch an unaware soul into the danger zone. A career changing punishment which affects salary and promotions. Having given enough background on the topic, this is how I want my appraisal to be and may I pray that I survive IT long enough to see this one day.
A mail pops up in my inbox. A meeting invite. Subject says '1:1 Discussion'. I smirk. I know the end. What will follow is the beginning towards that end. I leave home early. I have preparation to do. Few more days I do the same. My actions are completely justifiable should someone ask me. But my manager makes a note of this. One more appraisal point is what he thinks. I don't want to correct him. Let him relish this until the day we cross swords.
D-day, d-time. I am cool, confident and colossally caffeinated. He is furiously typing something, filling out some online portal, jotting some notes, basically making his arsenal replete for a premeditated onslaught. He signals me to the meeting room and dashes off to collect some printouts from the printer. His walk is emphatic, face beaming. 'I am going to nail him this time' must be the words going through his mind. I am least bothered coz I have a plan. Years of appraisals have driven me to bring an end to things and this is how.
I make my way to the meeting room which I chose for a reason. I want to have the battleground advantage for my ambush. He sits in the chair which I leave unoccupied making himself invisible to the rest of the floor. I have a deep laugh. The bait has been taken. Bring it on.
He starts as usual. Managerial jargon that does not make any sense to me. After weapons like "proactiveness" and "initiative" have lost their sharp edge, he tries to strike me with new fire power like "ownership" and "book of work". Book of work ... 'bow' for short.... bow-wow!! I am not amused. And ownership as I understand is like raising a foster child. Someone initiates a project, bakes it half way and passes it on to someone convincing him that it is his baby from now on. The child may be down right arrogant but its easy to blame bad parenting.
Back at the table, some more precious minutes go by and I realize that its time to put my plan in action. I speak for the first time in a deep heavy voice to make it clear that what I say is not to be taken lightly. I am doing a perfect imitation of Vito Corleone from the Godfather but the nut head sitting across the table thinks that I have a sore throat. And I begin.
"I work for you on unrealistic deadlines, sacrificing my weekends and tiny joys of having tea in canteen, forfeiting my dates because I am working on Friday nights. And you think you can take such opportunities to humiliate me further by saying all that I do isn't good enough. There must be an end to this and that end has a price. I leave it to you to decide if it is a price you want to pay."
He is not believing what he hears and before his smile turns to anger, I make my move, making him go from being angry to bewildered to outright frightened. I place my Colt Python with its holder on the table. 'I want to end this' are my last words he hears before blacking out for a brief moment.
"Do you know what this is? Colt Python, the finest revolver ever made with its .357 caliber that, needless to say, is very lethal in short range. Peer into its nickel finish barrel while you wait for that bullet to be fired. Now listen."
"Your project management skills have made me forget words like faith, hope and mentoring. Over time I have lost motivation. Do you hear me? You fail to motivate me. The only thing I am motivated to do is place my Colt on your temple and pull the trigger. I may also go trigger happy riddling your arms and legs before letting the last bullet find its way into your head."
Dead silence.
"What happened? Never seen such a deadline before." I chuckle at that pun before continuing, "You still probably have enough time to come up with an analysis document on how did this situation ever arise. At your experience level, this is expected...."
By now he has a parched throat and is gasping for air.
"Let me make it easy for you. I will take out one bullet from the gun, spin the wheel for while and lock it back in. That leaves you with one chance at life. Make no mistakes. Probably this will make you feel the way I did when I was pushing that code to live. How uncertain I was, for I was all but a foster parent for it." Somehow creative literature gets the best of me at this point. I am surprised at myself. But again the moment itself is so dramatic.
"As you pass bricks in your pants, I am willing to reverse the probability. Lets just keep one bullet in the wheel and each of us takes a chance at pulling the trigger. Equal chance right? Here I go" and like a pro I pull the trigger to click at an empty chamber. That clicking sound sends an odd chill down his spine. He sweats incessantly as I see beads dripping off his nose and chin. "Your chance". He is trembling with fear, unable to comprehend what had lead to this extremity. Its not the hundredth blow that knocks down the wall, but the ninety nine that go before it as well. Someone ought to have told him that.
I pick up the revolver and place it on his temple. "I am making you an offer you cannot refuse", I say again with my Corleone imitation at its best. "I want an increment which I decide, a long term onsite and a promotion. Don't even try to make everyone in the team happy by passing these goodies like toffees to children. Its either all for me or a bullet for you. And should I pull the trigger, let me tell you I have booked this room for the next four hours. That's long after the last office creature has gone home. Take a look around. No one on the floor can see you or your plight. I have my aides telling people that you went home early due to health complaint so I doubt anyone will come looking for you. I will walk out of this place without raising any suspicion and come back later to reclaim my kill. The boot of my car is big enough to dispose two of your kind."
He is tongue-tied, white with fear but agrees to everything I say. He survives the day, learns some humility, understands that projects cant work without resources who are humans and not machines, relaxes some deadlines and even sponsors a movie outing for the team. A little hostility brings out the better side of him. I ponder, he isn't that bad, but high time he learns some people management lessons the hard way.
As for me I get what I want. Move to onsite of my choice at better designation, working diligently and enjoying life for the next six months until one fine day, I resign. Resign to join another IT giant because....
...I was given an offer I could not refuse. ;-)
Hell, this would be a dream appraisal for me. How about you?
A mail pops up in my inbox. A meeting invite. Subject says '1:1 Discussion'. I smirk. I know the end. What will follow is the beginning towards that end. I leave home early. I have preparation to do. Few more days I do the same. My actions are completely justifiable should someone ask me. But my manager makes a note of this. One more appraisal point is what he thinks. I don't want to correct him. Let him relish this until the day we cross swords.
D-day, d-time. I am cool, confident and colossally caffeinated. He is furiously typing something, filling out some online portal, jotting some notes, basically making his arsenal replete for a premeditated onslaught. He signals me to the meeting room and dashes off to collect some printouts from the printer. His walk is emphatic, face beaming. 'I am going to nail him this time' must be the words going through his mind. I am least bothered coz I have a plan. Years of appraisals have driven me to bring an end to things and this is how.
I make my way to the meeting room which I chose for a reason. I want to have the battleground advantage for my ambush. He sits in the chair which I leave unoccupied making himself invisible to the rest of the floor. I have a deep laugh. The bait has been taken. Bring it on.
He starts as usual. Managerial jargon that does not make any sense to me. After weapons like "proactiveness" and "initiative" have lost their sharp edge, he tries to strike me with new fire power like "ownership" and "book of work". Book of work ... 'bow' for short.... bow-wow!! I am not amused. And ownership as I understand is like raising a foster child. Someone initiates a project, bakes it half way and passes it on to someone convincing him that it is his baby from now on. The child may be down right arrogant but its easy to blame bad parenting.
Back at the table, some more precious minutes go by and I realize that its time to put my plan in action. I speak for the first time in a deep heavy voice to make it clear that what I say is not to be taken lightly. I am doing a perfect imitation of Vito Corleone from the Godfather but the nut head sitting across the table thinks that I have a sore throat. And I begin.
"I work for you on unrealistic deadlines, sacrificing my weekends and tiny joys of having tea in canteen, forfeiting my dates because I am working on Friday nights. And you think you can take such opportunities to humiliate me further by saying all that I do isn't good enough. There must be an end to this and that end has a price. I leave it to you to decide if it is a price you want to pay."
He is not believing what he hears and before his smile turns to anger, I make my move, making him go from being angry to bewildered to outright frightened. I place my Colt Python with its holder on the table. 'I want to end this' are my last words he hears before blacking out for a brief moment.
"Do you know what this is? Colt Python, the finest revolver ever made with its .357 caliber that, needless to say, is very lethal in short range. Peer into its nickel finish barrel while you wait for that bullet to be fired. Now listen."
"Your project management skills have made me forget words like faith, hope and mentoring. Over time I have lost motivation. Do you hear me? You fail to motivate me. The only thing I am motivated to do is place my Colt on your temple and pull the trigger. I may also go trigger happy riddling your arms and legs before letting the last bullet find its way into your head."
Dead silence.
"What happened? Never seen such a deadline before." I chuckle at that pun before continuing, "You still probably have enough time to come up with an analysis document on how did this situation ever arise. At your experience level, this is expected...."
By now he has a parched throat and is gasping for air.
"Let me make it easy for you. I will take out one bullet from the gun, spin the wheel for while and lock it back in. That leaves you with one chance at life. Make no mistakes. Probably this will make you feel the way I did when I was pushing that code to live. How uncertain I was, for I was all but a foster parent for it." Somehow creative literature gets the best of me at this point. I am surprised at myself. But again the moment itself is so dramatic.
"As you pass bricks in your pants, I am willing to reverse the probability. Lets just keep one bullet in the wheel and each of us takes a chance at pulling the trigger. Equal chance right? Here I go" and like a pro I pull the trigger to click at an empty chamber. That clicking sound sends an odd chill down his spine. He sweats incessantly as I see beads dripping off his nose and chin. "Your chance". He is trembling with fear, unable to comprehend what had lead to this extremity. Its not the hundredth blow that knocks down the wall, but the ninety nine that go before it as well. Someone ought to have told him that.
I pick up the revolver and place it on his temple. "I am making you an offer you cannot refuse", I say again with my Corleone imitation at its best. "I want an increment which I decide, a long term onsite and a promotion. Don't even try to make everyone in the team happy by passing these goodies like toffees to children. Its either all for me or a bullet for you. And should I pull the trigger, let me tell you I have booked this room for the next four hours. That's long after the last office creature has gone home. Take a look around. No one on the floor can see you or your plight. I have my aides telling people that you went home early due to health complaint so I doubt anyone will come looking for you. I will walk out of this place without raising any suspicion and come back later to reclaim my kill. The boot of my car is big enough to dispose two of your kind."
He is tongue-tied, white with fear but agrees to everything I say. He survives the day, learns some humility, understands that projects cant work without resources who are humans and not machines, relaxes some deadlines and even sponsors a movie outing for the team. A little hostility brings out the better side of him. I ponder, he isn't that bad, but high time he learns some people management lessons the hard way.
As for me I get what I want. Move to onsite of my choice at better designation, working diligently and enjoying life for the next six months until one fine day, I resign. Resign to join another IT giant because....
...I was given an offer I could not refuse. ;-)
Hell, this would be a dream appraisal for me. How about you?
Jun 2, 2010
All for a good cause
Corporate Social Responsibility. CSR. That's one beloved word of the corporates. Regardless of whether it was or not a correct implementation, right from the grass root level and up, they relish the process, flash the figures of expenditure in annual reports and grab as much the media coverage as possible. It earns them a goodwill, or so they think.
I am not much of a CSR person. I mean doing charity is a noble cause and I do do it in my small capacity. But the need for such pomp eludes me. Even as a group, I don't see the need for colorful fliers and expensive posters adorning the wall to announce that a csr is under way. You might as well add the miscellaneous expenses to the donation amount itself. Why the unnecessary expense? Beats me!
The company I work for is no different. CSR is so dear, that employees are encouraged to participate in all possible causes to raise enough money for the needy. And so we keep spending endlessly on cards, diyas, candles, paper bags, key rings, key holders, chocolates and what not. All at exorbitant prices. I mean I am not against donation, but then just ask for it. Don't sell me a paper bag for fifty bucks or a pack of assorted chocolates for hundred. I want to help but not end up feeling cheated. I hope you are getting the point and hence over time my interest in CSR activities has dwindled. The only one time I thoroughly enjoyed such a thing was taking some NGO kids to a field trip in a zoo. My sole purpose was that I hadn't been there myself, so what better occasion to pay a visit. Vested interests I suppose!
But I have the mother-of-all CSR stories to tell you. The one that I recently attended in office and I am in awe. So here goes...
As usual the CSR buzz was going around with email fliers flooding my mailbox. "Watch this space for more!" ... yea I am already excited about it. The last thing I want is some jazzy graphics in my mail box. I have other important mails to read. One of the activities planned as part of the CSR drive was tshirt painting competition and some nut-head had come up with the idea of an auction where people would bid for tshirts and the collected amount would go towards charity.WTF were the only words that came to my mind. Anyway the competition went well and the masterpieces painted by my office colleagues went up on display for others to see. I appreciate the effort but barring a few, most of them looked like a big mistake. I felt that we were seriously under-running some painting talent. Some were ridiculous to the extent that I even thought we had some retards on the payroll. Nonetheless the efforts were lauded and everyone heartily thanked for their participation.
Next up was the auction. People actually found time to leave their work behind and spend the next two hours in our auditorium bidding for these masterpieces as the michelangelos and the da vincis look upon their creations with great pride. And mind you, this was no ordinary auction. They also had a home-grown team of models to strut the tshirts around. OMG I had no words for the organizing committee. As the models, both guys and girls, walked the makeshift ramp to some peppy music, people cheered and clapped and hooted ( for the girls only ).
Our compère laid down the ground rules for the auction and some etiquettes that needed to be followed. Needless to say, people were aware that real money was involved. So you win, you buy! The minimum bid was to start at Rs.200 with next highest in steps of 50. So it would go 250, 300 .. and so on. Someone protested that 50 was too much and they should make it 25. Obviously this someone wasn't out of recession yet. But good call and everybody agreed. Rs. 200 was already over budget for me so I preferred to keep quite and enjoy the show. All madness was about to start when the first tee went under the hammer.
200 was the opening bid. Someone raised the stakes to 225, someone said 250. So people knew that things weren't going to be generous enough because rather than charity, the buyer seemed more interested in a value for money proposition. After some more bidding, the first tshirt for sold for Rs. 400 which I must say was the least of the bid wins for the day. The fever had just started. The next tshirt bought some 650 in the kitty and the next went for 1000. We thought 1000 would be it. Who would be insane to spend more than that? We were about to be proven wrong.
The heat of the moment was enough to fuel some aggressive bidding between the managers who took the stakes to 2000. Then someone called out 2250 and heads turned. Another call for 2500 and mouths stayed agape. The hammer went down at 2700. Things were insane enough and we were in disbelief. By now the "retard" masterpiece had gone for almost 1700. Again the words WTF crossed my mind. I chose to remain silent and observe the mania.
The models on the ramp were enjoying the prices being quoted. Someone had to remind the bidders that the price is for the tshirt only. No one is taking the model home. The way she blushed on hearing that comment was absolutely priceless. Guffaws in the crowd followed and when the uproar died out people got back to some serious bidding.
Rather than the quality of the painting, it had now become a prestige issue with people ridiculously bidding more and more aggressively. The insanity had now breached 7500 mark. Man, people have a lot of money here. That's the sentiment that started doing rounds and people whose salaries weren't appraised to their satisfaction let out sighs making their disappointment amply clear.
The baap of all bids was about to start and it was the last tshirt on the ramp. Now 200 opening bid was too low to ask. People started with 1000 and stepped up by 500. It was crazy and in no time the bid breached the 5000 mark with two bidders going for it. People had already seen 7500, so this bid seemed meagre if compared. So one of them boldly moved to 6500. The second bidder went silent for a while. People thought this would be it. The compère who kept track of the bids thought it was over. She called for 6500 going once... going twice... A finger was raised and the bidder silently said that he had a price in mind and since it was the last tshirt he would bid to his limit. Everyone was silent and eager to hear what amount this gentleman was willing to spend. He silently uttered his final bid. Rs 10000. Dead silence. Suddenly I realised I was a pauper in company of these elite people who had dug deep into their pockets. And I thought 200 was over budget. This bid of 10000 had shot through the roof. No more bids and the last tshirt went under the hammer for a colossal amount. Unthinkable for many. Ridiculous for few and uncomprehensible for the rest.
The total collections were announced and the team had managed to sell twenty five hand painted tshirt, barely worth twenty five hundred in all, for a massive figure few digits shy of 95000, averaging to almost four thousand per shirt. Basic cost price and profit calculations weren't making any sense. How do you manage collections of this order? Where did all the money come from? Who were these idiots who poured their wallets out?
Even if this was for a good cause this CSR event left me spellbound. It was a cocktail of creativity, charity, insanity, aggression and absolute lack of control over money spending. A lot of oohs and aahs in the audience accompanied every bid that scaled new heights. Some NGO will really be happy to see those funds donated to them. Hope they make some good use of it. As for me, I am done with this CSR stuff. Taken aback, left in awe and thinking is it really worth it. Next time a CSR NGO sale comes up I will be sane enough to buy a paper bag for fifty bucks. After all, it is for a noble cause.
I am not much of a CSR person. I mean doing charity is a noble cause and I do do it in my small capacity. But the need for such pomp eludes me. Even as a group, I don't see the need for colorful fliers and expensive posters adorning the wall to announce that a csr is under way. You might as well add the miscellaneous expenses to the donation amount itself. Why the unnecessary expense? Beats me!
The company I work for is no different. CSR is so dear, that employees are encouraged to participate in all possible causes to raise enough money for the needy. And so we keep spending endlessly on cards, diyas, candles, paper bags, key rings, key holders, chocolates and what not. All at exorbitant prices. I mean I am not against donation, but then just ask for it. Don't sell me a paper bag for fifty bucks or a pack of assorted chocolates for hundred. I want to help but not end up feeling cheated. I hope you are getting the point and hence over time my interest in CSR activities has dwindled. The only one time I thoroughly enjoyed such a thing was taking some NGO kids to a field trip in a zoo. My sole purpose was that I hadn't been there myself, so what better occasion to pay a visit. Vested interests I suppose!
But I have the mother-of-all CSR stories to tell you. The one that I recently attended in office and I am in awe. So here goes...
As usual the CSR buzz was going around with email fliers flooding my mailbox. "Watch this space for more!" ... yea I am already excited about it. The last thing I want is some jazzy graphics in my mail box. I have other important mails to read. One of the activities planned as part of the CSR drive was tshirt painting competition and some nut-head had come up with the idea of an auction where people would bid for tshirts and the collected amount would go towards charity.WTF were the only words that came to my mind. Anyway the competition went well and the masterpieces painted by my office colleagues went up on display for others to see. I appreciate the effort but barring a few, most of them looked like a big mistake. I felt that we were seriously under-running some painting talent. Some were ridiculous to the extent that I even thought we had some retards on the payroll. Nonetheless the efforts were lauded and everyone heartily thanked for their participation.
Next up was the auction. People actually found time to leave their work behind and spend the next two hours in our auditorium bidding for these masterpieces as the michelangelos and the da vincis look upon their creations with great pride. And mind you, this was no ordinary auction. They also had a home-grown team of models to strut the tshirts around. OMG I had no words for the organizing committee. As the models, both guys and girls, walked the makeshift ramp to some peppy music, people cheered and clapped and hooted ( for the girls only ).
Our compère laid down the ground rules for the auction and some etiquettes that needed to be followed. Needless to say, people were aware that real money was involved. So you win, you buy! The minimum bid was to start at Rs.200 with next highest in steps of 50. So it would go 250, 300 .. and so on. Someone protested that 50 was too much and they should make it 25. Obviously this someone wasn't out of recession yet. But good call and everybody agreed. Rs. 200 was already over budget for me so I preferred to keep quite and enjoy the show. All madness was about to start when the first tee went under the hammer.
200 was the opening bid. Someone raised the stakes to 225, someone said 250. So people knew that things weren't going to be generous enough because rather than charity, the buyer seemed more interested in a value for money proposition. After some more bidding, the first tshirt for sold for Rs. 400 which I must say was the least of the bid wins for the day. The fever had just started. The next tshirt bought some 650 in the kitty and the next went for 1000. We thought 1000 would be it. Who would be insane to spend more than that? We were about to be proven wrong.
The heat of the moment was enough to fuel some aggressive bidding between the managers who took the stakes to 2000. Then someone called out 2250 and heads turned. Another call for 2500 and mouths stayed agape. The hammer went down at 2700. Things were insane enough and we were in disbelief. By now the "retard" masterpiece had gone for almost 1700. Again the words WTF crossed my mind. I chose to remain silent and observe the mania.
The models on the ramp were enjoying the prices being quoted. Someone had to remind the bidders that the price is for the tshirt only. No one is taking the model home. The way she blushed on hearing that comment was absolutely priceless. Guffaws in the crowd followed and when the uproar died out people got back to some serious bidding.
Rather than the quality of the painting, it had now become a prestige issue with people ridiculously bidding more and more aggressively. The insanity had now breached 7500 mark. Man, people have a lot of money here. That's the sentiment that started doing rounds and people whose salaries weren't appraised to their satisfaction let out sighs making their disappointment amply clear.
The baap of all bids was about to start and it was the last tshirt on the ramp. Now 200 opening bid was too low to ask. People started with 1000 and stepped up by 500. It was crazy and in no time the bid breached the 5000 mark with two bidders going for it. People had already seen 7500, so this bid seemed meagre if compared. So one of them boldly moved to 6500. The second bidder went silent for a while. People thought this would be it. The compère who kept track of the bids thought it was over. She called for 6500 going once... going twice... A finger was raised and the bidder silently said that he had a price in mind and since it was the last tshirt he would bid to his limit. Everyone was silent and eager to hear what amount this gentleman was willing to spend. He silently uttered his final bid. Rs 10000. Dead silence. Suddenly I realised I was a pauper in company of these elite people who had dug deep into their pockets. And I thought 200 was over budget. This bid of 10000 had shot through the roof. No more bids and the last tshirt went under the hammer for a colossal amount. Unthinkable for many. Ridiculous for few and uncomprehensible for the rest.
The total collections were announced and the team had managed to sell twenty five hand painted tshirt, barely worth twenty five hundred in all, for a massive figure few digits shy of 95000, averaging to almost four thousand per shirt. Basic cost price and profit calculations weren't making any sense. How do you manage collections of this order? Where did all the money come from? Who were these idiots who poured their wallets out?
Even if this was for a good cause this CSR event left me spellbound. It was a cocktail of creativity, charity, insanity, aggression and absolute lack of control over money spending. A lot of oohs and aahs in the audience accompanied every bid that scaled new heights. Some NGO will really be happy to see those funds donated to them. Hope they make some good use of it. As for me, I am done with this CSR stuff. Taken aback, left in awe and thinking is it really worth it. Next time a CSR NGO sale comes up I will be sane enough to buy a paper bag for fifty bucks. After all, it is for a noble cause.
Apr 7, 2010
Mumbai Nostalgia
Living away from home is quite a challenge. Firstly you have to forgo all the comforts, love and caring of home and secondly you are left to yourself to figure out how to take care of yourself. And this is the fact no matter what your age is. The same question might haunt a school kid sent to boarding school, a college lad put up in a hostel or a young man just starting to earn a living.
But no matter how big the challenge poses itself to be, you always find ways to deal with it. Maybe that's how you learn, adapt and evolve. I can't think of any better example to prove this point, than my younger cousin, who is now in "stage 2" of this living-away-from-home situation.
His studies took him to Chennai and then his job took him to Mumbai. Quite a lucky fellow, I would say. Living in these metros must have earned him pearls of wisdom on life, its intricacies, friends, their face value and real importance, trust, loyalty and some more quintessential ingredients to make for an evolving personality.
Mumbai is where he will start earning some serious money. Which almost immediately means no pocket money. So he'd have to earn and strive on his own. That he could save enough to give back home, would be a wonderful achievement and something to be really proud of. And with what he saves for himself, he is free to splurge and indulge in what I would call living "life" in Mumbai. Its quite a happening place which doesn't waste time enticing you with its charms and once you are under the spell, "Amchi Mumbai" will never let the intoxication wear away.
And so I called up the other night to have a chat and ask hows the new city treating him. He was pretty upbeat for that hour of the night. First symptom that the city-which-never-sleeps was having its effect on him already. I asked about his workplace, the commute, the hang out places in and around the suburb. All in all he seemed quite content in that part of the world. The happening city had not disappointed him and of course it welcomed him with open arms, which did away with the many apprehensions he carried with him the day he landed there. Two weeks on, he is already comfortable with long and swift walks, bustling crowd with people hanging out of local train compartments much like popcorn trying to stay inside the carton. He already knows the locations of the Baristas and the CCDs and the PVRs and the InOrbits of the area. He has already been to an IPL match, cheered and waved in the crowd and lived an experience of a lifetime. What more could one ask for?
All this got me nostalgic. Six years ago my job took me to Mumbai and this is how I see history repeating itself. The only thing is this young fella is doing it in style! I mean an IPL match!! Come on dude!!! I almost bragged about how much I know the city. I mean I haven't stayed for long so I have limited know how, which is now outdated by about four years. A real Mumbaikar would bring me to shame in terms of really knowing the city, but my brother need not know of this. For him I could be the "subject matter expert" on Mumbai, telling fascinating experiences and anecdotes from my stay there. I immediately got into this elder brother talk mode and started dispensing some serious advice. Advice filled with my memories of the place, my mostly good experiences ( as I don't want to scare him right away ), how to deal with difficult room mates et al. The more the memories flood in, the more profound my advices become. And best of all, they are free. I don't charge for them! I find it very euphoric, in a way, since I am reliving my days in Mumbai. They were simply amazing. Nothing compares.
And as I incessantly keep spilling these nuggets of wisdom for my brother to gather as many as possible, he pretends to listen intently, never once giving away the fact that he is dead bored of my anecdotes and cant wait to get off the phone. After all, life in Mumbai is worth living every minute of it! Why takes advance lessons when you will have more fun learning this things by yourselves. I am sure if 3G and video calls were a commonplace, he would still prefer a voice call, so that he can sound interested and not actually reveal the ordeal.
Jokes apart, here's wishing him the best life has to offer in a happening place like Mumbai. I lived there for two years and came back loving every bit of it. He may take his time to fall in love with the city but once he does, there is no escape from it. As Saint Enrique has said in his gospel "You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my love". That's what Mumbai will call out to him and he better not try to escape. Just surrender to its charm. Life as he knows it, is about to change.
But no matter how big the challenge poses itself to be, you always find ways to deal with it. Maybe that's how you learn, adapt and evolve. I can't think of any better example to prove this point, than my younger cousin, who is now in "stage 2" of this living-away-from-home situation.
His studies took him to Chennai and then his job took him to Mumbai. Quite a lucky fellow, I would say. Living in these metros must have earned him pearls of wisdom on life, its intricacies, friends, their face value and real importance, trust, loyalty and some more quintessential ingredients to make for an evolving personality.
Mumbai is where he will start earning some serious money. Which almost immediately means no pocket money. So he'd have to earn and strive on his own. That he could save enough to give back home, would be a wonderful achievement and something to be really proud of. And with what he saves for himself, he is free to splurge and indulge in what I would call living "life" in Mumbai. Its quite a happening place which doesn't waste time enticing you with its charms and once you are under the spell, "Amchi Mumbai" will never let the intoxication wear away.
And so I called up the other night to have a chat and ask hows the new city treating him. He was pretty upbeat for that hour of the night. First symptom that the city-which-never-sleeps was having its effect on him already. I asked about his workplace, the commute, the hang out places in and around the suburb. All in all he seemed quite content in that part of the world. The happening city had not disappointed him and of course it welcomed him with open arms, which did away with the many apprehensions he carried with him the day he landed there. Two weeks on, he is already comfortable with long and swift walks, bustling crowd with people hanging out of local train compartments much like popcorn trying to stay inside the carton. He already knows the locations of the Baristas and the CCDs and the PVRs and the InOrbits of the area. He has already been to an IPL match, cheered and waved in the crowd and lived an experience of a lifetime. What more could one ask for?
All this got me nostalgic. Six years ago my job took me to Mumbai and this is how I see history repeating itself. The only thing is this young fella is doing it in style! I mean an IPL match!! Come on dude!!! I almost bragged about how much I know the city. I mean I haven't stayed for long so I have limited know how, which is now outdated by about four years. A real Mumbaikar would bring me to shame in terms of really knowing the city, but my brother need not know of this. For him I could be the "subject matter expert" on Mumbai, telling fascinating experiences and anecdotes from my stay there. I immediately got into this elder brother talk mode and started dispensing some serious advice. Advice filled with my memories of the place, my mostly good experiences ( as I don't want to scare him right away ), how to deal with difficult room mates et al. The more the memories flood in, the more profound my advices become. And best of all, they are free. I don't charge for them! I find it very euphoric, in a way, since I am reliving my days in Mumbai. They were simply amazing. Nothing compares.
And as I incessantly keep spilling these nuggets of wisdom for my brother to gather as many as possible, he pretends to listen intently, never once giving away the fact that he is dead bored of my anecdotes and cant wait to get off the phone. After all, life in Mumbai is worth living every minute of it! Why takes advance lessons when you will have more fun learning this things by yourselves. I am sure if 3G and video calls were a commonplace, he would still prefer a voice call, so that he can sound interested and not actually reveal the ordeal.
Jokes apart, here's wishing him the best life has to offer in a happening place like Mumbai. I lived there for two years and came back loving every bit of it. He may take his time to fall in love with the city but once he does, there is no escape from it. As Saint Enrique has said in his gospel "You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my love". That's what Mumbai will call out to him and he better not try to escape. Just surrender to its charm. Life as he knows it, is about to change.
Apr 4, 2010
The wedding photographer
She was everything you could ask in a girl. Smart, witty, caring, outgoing but rooted at the same time. A pretty face adorned with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. It would light up my day. I knew I was falling for her since the day I met her. She had come to my shop to get some photographs developed. I was no commercial success by any measure, but the humble shop was all I owned and worked at to earn my living. She on the other hand came from a well to do family in town. A family which had friends in the rich circle of the society, where bank balances were the only entry pass. Though all the moolah had not spoilt her. She didn't believe in measuring people with the depth of their pockets. One quality of hers which made me feel that I could stand up to her and pour my heart out and not expect to be flicked away as a man with no equal status. But how would I expect her to even acknowledge my existence. A quick look at where I stood in the scheme of things made me feel like a pauper dreaming forever to get together with this princess.
If only I had enough money... was all that I was thinking that day, when I was approached by someone who seemed interested in getting wedding photography done. I wasn't inclined as I felt it was mundane and less rewarding. But when I came to know the amount they were willing to pay, I realised that this was no ordinary wedding. Some big shot was throwing a wedding party of the decade. And I knew this would be my chance to earn some serious money.I thought maybe it wont be enough to match the status of my princess, but I would definitely be in a better position to approach her.
Lady luck smiled on me few days later. I was about to close my shop, when she came out of no where to drop of some pictures to be developed. Normally I would have asked the customer to come back the next day, but how could I refuse her. It was pretty late in the evening anyway, so after I was done, I offered to walk her to her place if she didn't mind. She hesitated but agreed. We were silent for most of the walk. I was trying hard to find some words to say, while she was busy checking some messages on her phone. Finally our paths separated. All she said was "Thanks" and all I did was curse myself for having wasted such an opportunity. Who knows when would I be given such a chance again.
She didn't come to collect those pictures for almost two weeks. By then I was getting busy with my schedule and also make preparations for the big shot wedding that I was going to shoot. Ours was a small town, but on that big wedding day, people were swarming all over the place. Clearly the hosts had a lot of money to splurge. I made it on time and starting looking around the place. That's the problem with these big people. They never deal with you directly, some manager or deputy does the work for them. So my first task was to hunt down the man who had come to my shop and discussed things with me. I had to let him know that I was on the job and tell me who all should make it in family album. I learnt the extravagant wedding was of the son of a leading business consultant who was based in Delhi. 'Mittal Consultancies' was a rising star in that business space. I didn't bother myself with other details that were being told and quickly got to my job...greeting guests with a friendly smile and asking them to pose for photographs.
Rich people are so fond of themselves. Every photo I took had people pampered by lots and lots of money. After spending about an hour or so I was no longer interested in clicking these people. I thought I should move on to click snaps of the bride and the groom. I was eagerly waiting for them to make their appearance. I had to wait for some more time, until somebody announced that the bride was walking down the stairs. I quickly moved ahead and prepared my camera to zoom in on her. As I focused on her face, I could not believe who I was seeing in that bridal outfit all set to be married away. That pretty face adorned by a beautiful smile. I heard a loud shattering sound. It could have been wine glasses or a glass decoration but that shattering sound was in fact my poor heart. I was in disbelief. I had flashbacks of her and our walk that evening and how I failed to say something and how she was busy messaging on her phone. Had I dared to fly on wings of love only to crash this way?
I walked up to her wanting to say something. Maybe stop her from going away and tell her how I felt about her. She gave me confused look and said "Excuse me, do I know you?". I heaved and closed my eyes. She had never noticed me. Not from behind the counter of my shop or even after that walk which meant so much to me and made me cling onto some hope."Weh.. Wedding photographer .. madam, how about a close up for the album?" was all that I blurted. I captured a picture perfect face in that frame and a last glimpse of her in my heart. How I carried myself for the rest of the function isn't something that I know for sure. But it hurt. Pangs pierced deep within. The heaviness I carried inside of me was too much to handle. I crashed on the ground gasping for breath.
No! This can't be!! I jolted from my sleep. Beads of sweat resting on my forehead. What a freakish nightmare! Losing the love of your life and that too in such circumstances was enough to give me a mild panic attack. And in that state of panic I turned to my wife, who slept peacefully unaware of what had just happened. The serene look on her face calmed me down. It was only a dream. I turned to the other side to check the time. 2:45 in the morning. And then I glanced at the photo frame by the clock which had my wife's picture in it. A beautiful close-up taken on our wedding. I noticed the frame carefully. In the corner it read, "Mittal Studios - Proprietor Arun Mittal".
Weird, I thought. Was I just dreaming what could have been this man's story in real life? After a long pause, I dismissed that thought and dozed off to sleep, praying no more nightmares for the rest of it.
If only I had enough money... was all that I was thinking that day, when I was approached by someone who seemed interested in getting wedding photography done. I wasn't inclined as I felt it was mundane and less rewarding. But when I came to know the amount they were willing to pay, I realised that this was no ordinary wedding. Some big shot was throwing a wedding party of the decade. And I knew this would be my chance to earn some serious money.I thought maybe it wont be enough to match the status of my princess, but I would definitely be in a better position to approach her.
Lady luck smiled on me few days later. I was about to close my shop, when she came out of no where to drop of some pictures to be developed. Normally I would have asked the customer to come back the next day, but how could I refuse her. It was pretty late in the evening anyway, so after I was done, I offered to walk her to her place if she didn't mind. She hesitated but agreed. We were silent for most of the walk. I was trying hard to find some words to say, while she was busy checking some messages on her phone. Finally our paths separated. All she said was "Thanks" and all I did was curse myself for having wasted such an opportunity. Who knows when would I be given such a chance again.
She didn't come to collect those pictures for almost two weeks. By then I was getting busy with my schedule and also make preparations for the big shot wedding that I was going to shoot. Ours was a small town, but on that big wedding day, people were swarming all over the place. Clearly the hosts had a lot of money to splurge. I made it on time and starting looking around the place. That's the problem with these big people. They never deal with you directly, some manager or deputy does the work for them. So my first task was to hunt down the man who had come to my shop and discussed things with me. I had to let him know that I was on the job and tell me who all should make it in family album. I learnt the extravagant wedding was of the son of a leading business consultant who was based in Delhi. 'Mittal Consultancies' was a rising star in that business space. I didn't bother myself with other details that were being told and quickly got to my job...greeting guests with a friendly smile and asking them to pose for photographs.
Rich people are so fond of themselves. Every photo I took had people pampered by lots and lots of money. After spending about an hour or so I was no longer interested in clicking these people. I thought I should move on to click snaps of the bride and the groom. I was eagerly waiting for them to make their appearance. I had to wait for some more time, until somebody announced that the bride was walking down the stairs. I quickly moved ahead and prepared my camera to zoom in on her. As I focused on her face, I could not believe who I was seeing in that bridal outfit all set to be married away. That pretty face adorned by a beautiful smile. I heard a loud shattering sound. It could have been wine glasses or a glass decoration but that shattering sound was in fact my poor heart. I was in disbelief. I had flashbacks of her and our walk that evening and how I failed to say something and how she was busy messaging on her phone. Had I dared to fly on wings of love only to crash this way?
I walked up to her wanting to say something. Maybe stop her from going away and tell her how I felt about her. She gave me confused look and said "Excuse me, do I know you?". I heaved and closed my eyes. She had never noticed me. Not from behind the counter of my shop or even after that walk which meant so much to me and made me cling onto some hope."Weh.. Wedding photographer .. madam, how about a close up for the album?" was all that I blurted. I captured a picture perfect face in that frame and a last glimpse of her in my heart. How I carried myself for the rest of the function isn't something that I know for sure. But it hurt. Pangs pierced deep within. The heaviness I carried inside of me was too much to handle. I crashed on the ground gasping for breath.
No! This can't be!! I jolted from my sleep. Beads of sweat resting on my forehead. What a freakish nightmare! Losing the love of your life and that too in such circumstances was enough to give me a mild panic attack. And in that state of panic I turned to my wife, who slept peacefully unaware of what had just happened. The serene look on her face calmed me down. It was only a dream. I turned to the other side to check the time. 2:45 in the morning. And then I glanced at the photo frame by the clock which had my wife's picture in it. A beautiful close-up taken on our wedding. I noticed the frame carefully. In the corner it read, "Mittal Studios - Proprietor Arun Mittal".
Weird, I thought. Was I just dreaming what could have been this man's story in real life? After a long pause, I dismissed that thought and dozed off to sleep, praying no more nightmares for the rest of it.
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