Another directionless post ahead. Do I even need to mention that?
These days everyone seems to be worried about my future. “What next?”, every random person in my neighbourhood torment me with the same question. Sometimes I feel even my neighbour’s dog ‘Kaiser’ gives me that questioning look…What next? I wonder why is it that most of the people have only 2 names for their pet dogs in this part of the world… it’s either Kaiser or my pet name. By the way Mom’s low bp is back to normal and dad has got this eternal question-mark look on his face both attributed to their nalayaak daughter.
”What next’ wouldn’t have been a problem if yours truly hadn’t contracted jaundice and missed her 5th sem exams. So, I have a year off and to make up for it, the world decided that I have to be put into this institution which claims to coach the future administrators of our country. With high hopes I landed in this place. The first week was meant for orientation. Distinguished personnel, retired and still in service turned up, never on time and gave us long lectures. It was disheartening to see these eminent personalities crib, complain and whine about the ‘pay’. By the end of it I was totally disoriented and disgruntled.
The disorientation session went on for 2and half days. One of them correctly pointed out, “You tend to remember what you bother to remember”. Almost 3 weeks have passes since then and there is something I remember from each session
Disorientation 1 : get a punch bag for a life-partner if you wanna survive in your profession
Disorientation 2: Not really, I just got to know about the BSNL EVDO and actually recommended it to a friend. I’m waiting till her utility levels decrease and our amicable terms will soon depreciate.
Orientation 3 and 4: Well, that explains it. I really liked that session. It was an eye-opener for directionless people like me.
Mr.Kudumabsree made me realize 12 years of schooling and basic concepts =nil.
Disorientation 5 : 4 people were engaged in a propaganda to get the whole crowd into their respective fields viz, pol sci, geo, history and socio. By the end of it I was almost determined to call it quits.
Disorientation 5: The renowned diplomat confirmed my belief that all that glitters is not gold.
I had to face a mock interview. The panel consisted of a sad man, the good man and the mad-English man. The Sad man reinforced my belief that Sociology is not my cup of tea. The Mad English man who claims to be a Doctorate in English and one of the most reputed academicians in the Famous rather Notorious Mallu Uni ( Where did the OMR sheets go dude?) had me at my wits’ end.
This is how it went
Mad-man : Give me a self-introduction
Me: I’m JJ, completed my grad from….. the intro trailed off with the mad-man pouncing on me
Mad-man: Why do you say you completed your grad, say you did your degree, or finished college or… blah blah
For the almost 24 hours I had been interrogating, dissecting, researching and analyzing the usage of the term “completed my graduation” in all possible ways. Henceforth, I shall think twice before using the term “completed my ..aah, forget it
Mad-man: Tell me about your parents
Me: My dad is ….. and my mom is Blah blah
Mad-man: You have any siblings?
Mad-man: Oh! So lucky, moreover, the guy who is going to marry you is luckier because he is going to inherit all the property
Me: *Gave a weak smile suppressing the urge to smash his head, wring his neck and make a mincemeat out of the baldhead*
The blah-blahing continued and I made up my mind that I’m not going to step into that place again.
Such a cheap mentality in this 21st century. What the hell did that mad-man mean by this statement? In their 25 plus years of service to the Government my parents were minting money and that tomorrow some bloody loser is going to marry me only for that? Ok.. maybe I’m over-reacting but such a foolish and non-sensical statement from one of the most respected academicians freaked me out. Doctoral or Post-doctoral, educated or qualified.. the third-rate mindset will not change is it? Hypocrites big time!!! Just an hour ago he was going on and on about how the civil services is a noble profession and all that jazz. Though my parents are mere government employees I have seen them toil hard and go through many hardships to make both ends meet. I think our current situation, this explains it all.
During the course of a week’s disorientation I got to meet several typical ‘namoonas‘. This was the first time I was in a all Mallu-classroom ever since I left school. Uncles and Aunties, chechis and chettans and some people of my age made up the interesting crowd. Few people who made things too obvious deserve a mention here.
The first one on my hit-list was this Engineer from that neighbourhood college of mine called CET. This engineer saab came forward to propose a vote of thanks. It is quite natural that after a session which tests your patience and tolerance limits, with your stomach making noises and decibel levels increasing by the minute, when hunger can shut your eyes, ears and all senses ,the least you expect is an hour-long vote of thanks. Since, it was a spontaneous one I hoped it wouldn’t take more than 3 minutes. But, all hopes came crashing down with this “Mike-vizhungi’s” performance. Such specimen need to be taught a lesson or two on public speaking. Dude there is huge difference between ‘vote of thanks’ and ‘feedback’. Nobody in that forum was interested to listen to the sort of enlightenment you got during the session.
Next ‘namoona‘ was the complete opposite of the Fraud-fraud mallus I encountered in Bangalore. This namoona tried to put on a fake accent, almost chewing up and swallowing words and consonants. He sounded like he was speaking with a potato stuffed in his mouth. Why are we so insecure about our imperfections and make a bigger fool of ourselves while trying to hide them? Mother Tongue Influence is inevitable when you speak another language.
The very same day, dad and I had to go to the famous pioneering super-speciality hospital in Trivandrum. Our tryst with this hospital has never been a pleasing one since its inception. That day too we were not saved. You have to beg, request and plead to the red-lipstick smeared- plastic- smile- plastered receptionists so that your file-chart reaches the doctor before he goes for the’rounds‘. Eeks! After about 10 rounds, to and fro the doctor’s room and the receptionist’s desk and occasional diversions to the empty PR officer’s room business was done in 3 hours time. All we needed to do was show some reports to the doc and get his signature for a medical certificate. Organized chaos!
My next encounter was at a Milma booth. Its’ only when we are in dire straits that we buy Milma Curd. I asked the woman at the shop for a packet of curd. She gave me one. I checked packet for the date of packaging. It was almost 5 days old.
Me: Don’t you have a new packet?
She : No… and gives me a dirty look
Me: I don’t want his one
She: This came to the shop today. It’s a fresh one
Me: Yeah right! After five days? Where was it all this while? Anyways forget it, I’m not buying this one
She: OK… blah blah.For inexperienced mallus the shower of blessings could be preferably avoided.
What next! I’m depressed!
Only if I hadn’t eaten out, only if I hadn’t been careless about my food-habits, only if I had eaten my vegetables during childhoood, only if I had taken care of my health while staying away from home…… (Amma’s sermons and only if conditions on me are at a peak now)
This is what happens when you have a post in draft for almost a month and then decide to write about it. Writer’s break is worse than writer’s block!