Rules! Rules! Rules!

Have you gone shopping at a super market recently? I’m sure you have. Most places let you roll the trolley to where you have left your bag or let you take it out to your car. Most places.

Here’s what happened to me the other day. I went shopping with my roomie at Big Bazaar in Kalyani Nagar, Pune.

I was asked to leave my rucksack, which I carry with me always, at a counter next to the entrance. “But I’ll use this to take my stuff,” I said.

“The rule says that you cannot carry your bag inside,” the security guard said.

I agreed and left my bag at the counter. After I had roamed around the big hall and picked up my stuff, I reached the billing counter.

“Sir, do you want a carry bag? You’ll have to pay for it,” said the girl at the billing counter.

“Why?” I asked, even though I knew why.

“Because the government rule is that plastic carry bags have to be charged,” she said.

“No,” I said. I was not going to pay for carry bags!

But that meant I had to step out through the ‘exit’, walk to where I had left my bag, claim it and reenter through the ‘entrance’. I then had to wend my way between shelves and people to reach the billing counter. Phew!

The billing was done and another lady promptly packed all the stuff into my rucksack. When I zipped it up, she wanted to seal it shut with a tag. I refused to let her do it.

“Why should you seal it?” I asked.

“That is the rule, sir,” she replied.

I called for the manager, who promptly appeared with a ‘plastic’ smile plastered on his face.

I told him since the ‘exit’ is right next to the billing counter, I wouldn't be able to flick anything and, hence, won't need a tag!

“The rule says that anything that goes out of the shop has to go sealed,” he said.

“So what if I step out and then remember I have to buy something else. I don’t carry scissors with me to cut open this seal,” I countered.

“The security will help you with that sir, once you have stepped out,” the manager replied.

I looked at the security guard and, as if on cue, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of scissors and waved it at me!

Wow!

“And what if I had only bought a pack of butter, which I could walk out holding in my hand? Is there any rule for that? Will you use a tape to strap it onto my wrist?” I asked.

The manager didn't have an answer, but he flashed me that 'plastic' smile!

Here's an 'important' note

Recently I bought a new mobile handset—Nokia C3. The mix of touchscreen and keypad caught my interest. The model was newly-launched, the shopkeeper told me, as he rattled on about the features.

I was happy with it till the day I woke up and found that the touchscreen was not working. Now, if the touchscreen doesn’t work, it means I cannot unlock the phone. And I can’t do anything except answer calls and disconnect them.

Work and the rains in Pune prevented me from heading to the Nokia Care Centre for a couple of days. Finally, yesterday, I went to a Care Centre. The lady there took her own sweet time to ‘kick start’ her system.

After a half-an-hour wait, she called me over. I handed the phone to her and told her the problem. She passed it on to a techie, who sat behind a screen.

Another 20-minute wait.

The lady then calls me again and said the touchpad has to be replaced and that it would take two weeks. Two weeks??? Just to replace the touchscreen??? Beats logic.

“You just have to replace this screen with a new one. Why on earth would it take two weeks? I asked.

The smile and the sweet tone of voice were replaced instantly with a frown and a grim voice. “That’s the time it will take. Or else you can take it elsewhere,” she said.

Customer is King? My foot!

I couldn’t leave the phone there for two weeks because I didn’t have a spare handset. The need was mine, so I tried to cajole the lady to give me a spare set, while they fixed my handset. ‘No, not possible,” she barked.

Customer is King? Don’t think so!

My friend, who had accompanied me to the Centre, suggested that I buy a basic model while they repaired mine. But then it kills the purpose of having a warranty, I countered.

So we headed out to another Care Centre. There was a huge crowd waiting at this Centre. I took a token with the number 49 and waited in the lounge. The Centre had 6 counters for customer care officers and only three were operating, though a huge crowd of about 60 to 70 people were waiting.

Usually, I carry a book with me, since a ‘wait’ is most likely to happen anywhere you go in India. This time I hadn’t. So I killed time by reading the posters stuck on the wall and the flip side of the form I had to fill out.

An hour and three cigarettes later, the magic number 49 appeared on the wall screen and I rushed to my designated counter. The same routine followed. And the lady said, “Two weeks, sir.”

“Why two weeks? Replacing a touchscreen shouldn’t take more than half an hour? I asked, my irritation coming through very clearly.

“That’s true, sir. The problem is, we don’t have a replacement screen. It will take about two weeks before another batch arrives,” she replied.

So, that was the issue.

So there was nothing to do, but to wait it out. As I stood up to leave the counter, I told the lady to flip over the form I had filled out. She looked at me in surprise.

“Turn it over, and read the headline,” I insisted. She did, and turned beetroot red with embarrassment.

Here’s what she saw:

Stuck with a name!

The other day, my friend Joji and I were having a drink. The weather being awesome in Pune these days, we sat in the little balcony adjoining his bedroom. As usual our conversation moved across several topics - politics, corruption, consumerism, etc.

Wonder why we had come to discuss names - people's names, to be exact. I guess it was triggered off with Joji mentioning how some people have strange names.

Oh! Yes! I know. I have come across quite a few of them.

We Malayalis are renowned for our strange names. Some of them are unisex, too! You will find a Binu, a Biji, a Viji... they could be a man or a woman. We also love our 'combo names'. Confused? Here's an example: imagine the mom is called Lizzy and the dad Joy, so the son naturally becomes Lijo!

The list is endless, I assure you.

I have often wondered why parents choose odd, strange, even ridiculous names for their kids. Don't they realise the child will be stuck with it all his/her life. Unless, of course, they take things into their own hands and change it.

Closer to home, there's my aunt. Myna. Yes, that's her name. And yes, Myna is a bird.

The story goes that my grandparents had named her Jayalakshmi. However, when she was in primary school, she thought her name was old fashioned and wanted to change it. She zeroed in on Myna... it sounded nice. Fashionable. Cool!

She apparently badgered my grandparents until they agreed to change her name. Unfortunately, as she grew up, she regretted her decision. But she didn't want to change it a second time. Her husband and some of my relatives try to help her out by calling her Meenakshi. Perhaps that helps.

One of my grandma's favourite stories was about one of her friends. After the friend's wedding, when the time came for naming their three children, her husband chose 'One', 'Two' and Three!

Imagine being stuck with a name like 'Two'! Of course, the kids did change their names once they could. But until then they had to put up with the jeers of their peers.

A few years ago, I met a lawyer friend of mine. I make it a point to call on him whenever I am in town. On this particular day, he had to drop by a client's house to drop off some papers. I tagged along.

At the house we were asked to wait, since the gentleman we had come to meet was in the shower.

As we waited, we heard the lady of the house calling out, "Cuckoos". I assumed someone in the house was called Cuckoo. (Yes, a bird yet again. Do we have a bird fixation?)

My friend was purple in the face trying to control his laughter. When I asked him why, he said, "Thank God it's Cuckoos, not Kakoos [the Malayalam word for toilet]!"

Years ago, when I was doing my pre-degree, I had a classmate who left a lasting impression. I don't remember how she looked, or, for that matter, anything else about her. What I do remember is her name. 'Lousy'!

I can't fathom why anybody would name their kid 'Lousy'! Several jobless hours were filled with me trying to figure out what prompted the parents to choose this word from the huge ocean that is the English language.

The only reason I could come up with: perhaps they didn't know the English language too well. One of them must have heard the word somewhere, thought it had a nice ring to it, and blessed their child with it.

I hope she had the sense to change it!

Disconnected!

He is all of 10 years old. But watch him use his father's computer, and believe me, it will leave you baffled. In fact, he can teach you a thing or two about computers.

Of course, kids today are a tech-savvy lot. Not surprising, considering that right from the time they are toddlers they come into contact with tons of gizmos.

I am talking about my nephew here. Abhiram. We call him Ramu.

Ramu adores me, it borders on hero-worship. When I am in Kochi, visiting my family, he never leaves my side. And he is full of questions. I have no answers for some of the queries he shoots at me. And many a time I have had to throw up my hands and admit that I have no clue.

At times when he talks about computer games, mobile phones and such other things, I have had to tell him I really didn't have a clue.

I hear surprise in his voice, and a little disappointment, as he says, "Oh, you didn't know that?!!" I am his uncle, his hero, who should know everything. At least, his young mind thinks so.

During one of our conversations recently, I tell him that in my childhood we had no TV at home. "Why? Didn't grandpa buy you a TV?" he asks.

"It’s not because grandpa didn't buy a TV," I tell him. "There was no such thing like a TV back then. There were no TV channels, too. At least, it had not arrived in India."

"Oh! You mean no Cartoon Network? No Pogo? Then what did you do in your free time?" he asks, his face filled with an expression that screamed, 'C'mon you can't be serious'.

"Well, we played a lot out in the open, climbed trees, went swimming or fishing in the river," I say.

“Wow! Really? You went swimming and fishing in the river?” he asks, all the adulation returning to his little round face. And as I keep talking about my childhood adventures, I realise that Ramu, at 10, has never climbed a tree!

It is my turn to feel surprised. For the next few days, his questions revolve around swimming and fishing.

“Do you swim?” I ask him. “No,” came the reply. I see that he is feeling a little bad or embarrassed about it. “I gotta learn,” he says. I tell him to ask his father to take him for swimming classes. And he is determined to do so.

Then the conversation turns to fishing. After a barrage of questions, he asks me, “Will you take me fishing?” The excitement on his face when I say ‘yes’ is simply wonderful to watch. Over the next few days we dig out my old fishing rod and go out to get the paraphernalia to go fishing.

Ten minutes walk from my house is the river. Ramu and I walk down and sit down in a shady place on the bank. I show him how to string the hook and use the bait.

After swinging the bait in, we wait. In a few minutes Ramu is impatient. “Why aren't we catching any fish,” he asks.

“We will. Just wait till the fish bites the bait,” I tell him. Ramu waits.

Before long he looks at me and says, “You really don’t know fishing that well, do you?”

I look at him. What else can I expect from a 10-year-old who grew up on Cartoon Network, watching Tom and Jerry go fishing and catching dozens of fish within minutes?

A few months later, we go to Palakkad for a cousin’s wedding. We stay at a friend’s home, which is beautiful. He has a small bungalow with a veranda round it.

My three-year-old niece Mrinalini and I are walking on the veranda. She is holding my hand. That’s when a thought comes into my mind. Mili, as we call her, has never stepped on sand!

She lives on the second floor of an apartment building in Kochi. The ground around the apartment building is paved with cement. So even when she goes out to play she never steps on sand.

So I slowly lead Mili to the steps. She climbs down and on to the sand. Suddenly, as if something is burning her feet, she starts a hoppity-hop dance. I burst out laughing.

I call my brother-in-law and tell him how his daughter reacted to her feet touching sand.

How disconnected with nature are children these days. Never climbed a tree, plucked a fruit and ate it. Never played in the sand or swam in a river.

Here we are bringing up a generation in a concrete jungle, away from Mother Nature. Sad, isn't it?

Scream out to the world…‘I’m the best’

I turn 39 in a couple of months. All these years I've never been able to figure out one thing - why are people the way they are?

Weird question, huh?

Here’s a better way to put it. Why do they form judgments without bothering to find out facts and realities?

Here's what I think about it: if you don’t behave or do certain things in the exact way someone expects you to, then you are wrong in his or her eyes! The difficult part: there are so many people in your life - some of them close, some not - and you can’t please them all.

They, however, all have one thing in common. They are quicker than light to come to judgments.

A few months back, I’d taken a break from work. I reached home with the intention of getting some rest and some good home-made food.

If you know how things work in Kerala among the Malayalis, you would be familiar with what I’m going to say.

In no time neighbours know that you’ve arrived. Then it’s friends and relatives. The first few days pass with the regular “How’s life/work?” and “How long are you here?” They expect a very precise answer to the second question, like “Until Monday” or “I’ll leave tomorrow”.

The moment you say something like “in a few days” or “I haven’t decided yet”, you’ve triggered off a juggernaut of speculations that will spread faster than a jungle fire.

Before you know it, people are asking your mom or sister whether you are havig trouble at work or if your marriage is running into rough weather. These are just two, believe me. They can come up with more number of deductions than there are moves on a chessboard.

A confession to make here. My holiday wasn’t just a holiday. I needed a real break from work. I was also thinking of quitting or even changing my stream of work (which would have been a Herculean task since I am a journalist).

Anyway, the first few days I stayed home, enjoyed mom’s cooking and watched a few Malayalam movies which released while I was away. The question of my career was very much on my mind.

Without much hue and cry I started my search - just to see how good my options are were before I had ‘talk’ with my boss. My chances were good. The next move was to send across my CV to prospective employers, friends, etc.

The problem if you have 16 years of experience is that openings are not that easy to come by and, moreover, you need to make the right move. A novice or a person with a couple of years of experience will find it much easier to find an opening. But for me it wasn’t so.

After I did my part I had to wait... that’s the way of things.

Before long my mother started getting ‘feedbacks’ from friends and relatives. Some of them were really concerned. Most of them went along the lines of “he doesn’t seem to be doing enough.” Or “why is he taking it so easy?”

None of them knew how things work in my field. And some haven’t had the bad fortune of ever having to hunt for a job! How then do they know whether I’m trying hard or not.

Then it dawned on me: the key is not what you are doing, the key is how much of it is shown out there.

I learned this long back. But never put it into practice.

One of my former colleagues once told me: “You work your ass off. Still the boss doesn’t think you work much. The thing is, Sooraj, it’s not the amount of work that is done, you got to make a ‘show’ out of it. Look busy, act busy. ‘Scream out’ Sooraj, ‘Scream out’ to the world that you are the best and you’ve done tons of work.”

Turning 39, I’ve realised one thing. It’s late but I really need to start doing what my friend told me long back.

Farmville - more than just a farm

I'm sure most of you have heard of it. And some of you have played it, too. It's called Farmville. On Facebook.

I play. And I enjoy it. What's wrong in it?

I've seen how different people react to it in different ways - from something bordering on contempt to curiosity to plain obsessive.

One of my colleagues, Shanti, recently said, "I've never played Farmville. It's nonsense. That and all those other games you have in there." I looked at her and decided that her comment did not deserve a reply. Instead, I gave her my signature 'blank' look.

I don't know if it conveyed what I had in mind, but she quickly added: "Well there may be people who enjoy it, but I don't see any fun in it."

Alright, that's a better way of putting it I thought, and moved on. Still without replying to her.

Another colleague, Swati, asked me, "Is it really that interesting, Sooraj? That you spend a lot of time on it?"

"It's simple, Swati," I said. "People find pleasure in different things. Just like music helps someone relax and unwind, this farm or ranch or cafe or any of those games helps someone else," I said. "To me, personally, I've always wanted to have a farmhouse... away from the noise and the crowds of the city... However, I really don't see myself having a farmhouse in this life."

"So you are living a kind of dream?" asked Swati. "Yes," I said.

It is really a dream. One which I've told my mom and my close friends... how I'd like to live on a ranch... with trees, animals, plants and what not. I've dreamt of harvesting stuff, collecting eggs and milk, and driving off in my pick-up to sell it at the nearby market.

I've dreamt of my children running around in the vast open ground, breathing the fresh air, playing with the dogs, feeding the cattle, swimming in the clear river or lake and eating farm fresh fruits and vegetables.

It's still a dream. I have no clue if it will stay one till the end of my life.

The other day I got a call at 2 a.m. at night. I had finished work and reached home by about 1 a.m. I was about to hit the sack when Devil, my colleague, called. (Btw, I don't call her Devil because she is evil... she is a sweet kid.)

She wanted me to send her gifts on Farmville!! RIGHT AWAY!!! Because she wanted to finish her maison before she went to bed. She needed one more nail!

"I need it now... I won't be able to sleep if I don't finish it today... Kunal has reached level blah blah...," she rattled off.

Good Lord!! Was she nuts? Anyway, I sent it to her.

From the very next day, she started badgering me. For gifts. "Send me a glass pane, Sooraj." "Send me a brick, Sooraj." And, quite often, I was bombarded with questions about why I didn't do something or why I did something!

Grrr!!!

"See, I play Farmville and Countrylife to relax, and, yes, I enjoy it," I tried to reason with her. I thought I had made it clear that this was just my hobby... not my profession. But her badgering didn't lessen, not one bit.

In fact, it got to such an extent that, finally, I gave her my password and said, "Go... send yourself gifts and stop pestering me."

Peace at last? No! Less than 24 hours later, my girlfriend stands in front of me, hands on her hips, with a look on her face that I don't like too much. "Who's playing on your farm?"

"Devil," I said.

"Why?"

"She wanted gifts and you know... I don't play everyday... so I just gave her my password," I muttered.

The look on her face spelt trouble. I knew it. It was right there... written in 78 point bold lettering!

I tried to reason. "Honey, you know it's just a game. And since she is so into it, I thought... you know, I'd let her 'borrow my game' from time to time," I said with a sheepish smile.

"I play on your farm," she said. "Didn't know that you would let someone else play it, too."

Oops! I didn't know my girlfriend could get possessive about Farmville!