Candid, not Candied

Wednesday, 20 May 2009

My Space

Though I come off as an extroverted person through my blog, Orkut, Fb, G-chats etc.; I've a space around me that I fiercely want to defend; physically or otherwise too. I've my pet peeves which may seem preposterous to some, but nonetheless, the territory around me, I keep safeguarded. I'm a privacy-lover.
  • I cannot share-read a book/ magazine/ newspaper. Either I read it or you do. But we both can't at the same time. Not even if you want to just read one line. I prefer and always do, hand it out to you and read it later than read it with you. It is always me and my reading material and no one in between.
  • I detest people who stand too close while speaking to me. Personally I maintain a one-hand-distance between myself and the person I'm talking to, unless we are walking side by side. I tend to move a step backwards if anyone treads that space. And usually, that conversation ends up motional if seen in fast forward.
  • Similarly, I cannot tolerate if someone touches me frequently while talking. Like backslapping, pushing, poking...My cousins, specially brothers, know how well my reflex actions land on their upper arms. Generally, I stand with my hands cross-folded, which is seen as an aggressive or rather a defensive posture. I sub-consiously follow this. Neither am I too touchy-feely. Hugs repel me big time. Even though some friends believe in religious hugs when met after a hiatus, I try to finish it off within 2 seconds. I'd rather let my gift of gab take over to comminicate the 'I-missed-you' process.
  • I need some time during the day to brood. It's my 'don't talk to me unless I talk to you' time. They may not be fruitful or sensible contemplations. Nevertheless I appreciate the time I get to reflect on my past-present-future, regardless of the depth of my thoughts. If I don't get that time, I catch it up while I go to sleep. I will not fall asleep unless and until I make peace with myself.
  • While blogging too, I see to it that I have complete privacy. I will adamantly not write when someone's around. I close the door when I'm blogging. And if someone does enter, I minimize the page. Dunno why! After all, once the post is published, it is open for the whole world to read, isn't it? Silly!
  • I feel jittery when my cell is not with me and is with someone else. My sent/ received messages are as yawn-able as HI's and Hello's. Still it makes me uncomfortable if the cell is anywhere except my hand or pocket. Also, I always, ALWAYS, keep it on silent no matter where I am. Attributing this trait to two things here : my utter hatred towards my cell emitting sounds (sweeter of the sweetest ringtones are a noise for me) and the fact that I don't like the world to know I've had a call or a message unless I want to make it known. My parents have rebuked me so many times for this, yet I take no notice. Stubborn-ness!
  • If I have to answer a call, I go to another room and then speak. I am unable to concentrate with people staring my face searching for hints/ expressions. Be it anyone. In unavoidable situations where I have to talk in front of full audience, I resort to monosyllables and get back to them as soon as I'm alone.
  • You HAVE TO ask for MY permission to use MY things. Specially, my footwear! I fly into silent rage if that doesn't happen. I don't care if our shoe sizes match or it looks better on you than on me. I go super mad if people think what I own is what they can rightfully call their own. Exceptions in some cases, but majority rests. It isn't that I don't know/ want to share my stuff, but personal stuff or the things that I'm sentimentally attached to, stay with me, even if it means carrying a tag of selfishness. My funda : If you can be shameless, I can be shamless + selfish + rude.
  • If something bugs me, you know something is bugging me, but you'll never know what. I hold my issues close to me. They are for me to sort and no one. Insecurity rules me when it comes to my problems.
  • My acceptances are verbal and my rejections are silent. So if you ask me anything and I don't reply it is not to be taken as I accepted it w/o a battle. It means quite the opposite. The choice to remain silent is because I don't want to unnecessarily be rude or mean. I reserve my comments only when they are negative.

Does that make me difficult?

Thursday, 7 May 2009

A Million years in a bank

Banking and Finance has never been my favorite subject during college times. No wonder why it explains my passing chits during those lectures instead of taking down notes. And this unfavoritism has continued even after college. I hate going to banks for any job.

I'd to unwillingly go to SBI near my place to submit an application for a duplicate PPF Pass book. I was directed towards a lady who was supposed to tell me what I was to do with the letter hanging in my hand and a blank expression on my face. Anyways, as soon as I calmly narrated her the purpose of my heart-rendering visit to her; she looked at me as if I've just told her my plans of eloping with her 10 yr old son. She blinked - twice exactly - and said "How did you misplace the passbook?" I couldn't draw a blanker face. If I knew I was going to misplace it, I wouldn't have misplaced it, no?

Fortunately, after she lectured me how important the passbook was, and how thankfully they had relented and let me get off without having to lodge a police complaint (which was otherwise the procedure), did she find it the right time to tell me that I was to give the PAN Card xerox too which would put an end to my miseries.

The xerox did not speeden up things. I was made to run from pillar to post first to "get The Madam's signature" on the application, then to show it to the PPF section handling lady who gave me a challan which said I was to pay Rs. 110 as the charges, then again get the challan signed by "The Madam" and finally deposit the money at one of their counters where the queue was never-ending. And there I was waiting, waiting, waiting...... waiting, waiting,.... and some more waiting, waiting in a long queue that was moving at a snail's pace... all this amidst the stench of all kinds of oils - *not aromatic essential oils - sarson, badam, coconut, palm, sunflower* - you name it and it was stinking from those black, slicky hairs of those uncountable heads. *And to think of it my mom usually asks me why I have to bathe in my deo!!* Each of them armed with a zhatak cell phone having nails-on-blackboard-ish aggressive ringtones that were ringing from every corner. To please my eyes, I pulled out my W580i; which at the moment had one little red network bar and screamed "Emrgcy calls only"... WTH!!!! Just when I needed to call back home to say I'd have to stay here a little(?) longer.

I was roasting in the line wearing a sweat-shirt, holding the extra xerox copies in one hand, the challan and the money in another and also trying to call home with my spare fingers, shouldering a nasty purse, trying to breath despite the oil-slick air pollution, cursing the slow-pokes under my breathe and swearing that I'll definitely blog this.

It did not get any easier after I'd paid though. When I asked the ancient uncle the estimated time period in which I can come and disturb their peace by making an appearance to collect the duplicate passbook, he said I'll have to ask the PPF lady. I was back to where I'd started; the PPF lady, who at the moment was busy crooning over to another lady. She did not glance up, but she acknowledged my presence by muttering a "ek minute haan". She wasn't bothered that I'd almost died of asphyxiation waiting at the line neither was she excited that I'd to almost nudge my way from the ancient uncle to her with or without "excuse me"s, she wanted to seem important and that's what she did. As it is, I was at their mercy.

"Come and check in 2-3 days" she sang; after what seemed like a million years and just when my sensory organ of smell was getting accustomed to that oily stench.

Tuesday, 5 May 2009


I've had a long day today. My eyes are dangerously threatening shut, yet I want to write about this. Because today I'm really relieved.

Without getting into the intimate details - During the recent Mumbai trip my dad had some uneasiness to deal with and so our family doctor suggested we get all the scary sounding tests done. He said it was gastric trouble but also hinted that it could be a cardiac problem. And my dad being my dad procrastinated under the excuse of "too much work". Anyways, past week we got the ECG, blood test, cholesterol done and today was the day to get the Stress test done which would determine whether the doctor's predictions were true.

Came to know that "THE REPORTS ARE ALL NORMAL"

Almost for a fortnight I've been living in this nightmare that something was wrong with my dad. Heart disease...that's like real scary. I've seen it happen to others...but my dad?! I couldn't believe it and neither did I want to accept it. Sure, I did not make a show and made a brave attempt to hide my fears. But nights haunted me and I partly did not want my dad to get the tests done for the fear that they may confirm what the doc had just warned us about.

I just realised throughout this whole course, that I still need my parents. I can fight with them, disagree to a great extent, complain that they don't understand what I want to say, feel they are a tad too strict, but I still need them... I don't ever want to take care of them, because I want them to take care of me forever! I don't want to be a grown-up who looks after her parents... I want to be the kid that still craves for parental attention and care even when I was 5, or 15 and even when I'll be 50.

They have been pillars of support for me. They haven't necessarily petted me every time I was low. They've scolded me for being docile,coming home late, being intolerant, or just being careless. Even with all that I have seen them stay staunchly by my side, give me the courage to do what I thought I was incapable of doing. They've been my concrete and my cushion. So, I cannot see them crumbling - health wise, emotionally....

Where on one hand my mom worships tolerance, my dad cannot stand injustice... Dad will always speak his mind and won't care what the other thinks; mom will keep to herself rather than hurt anyone. Such a blend of qualities I get to see in this one home...and so many things to learn from my parents.... I think I haven't even learnt 10 % of what they have got to teach. I need them till I get to that 100. I really do.


Thus, today when the doc announced that everything was normal and no treatment/ medicines were required; I felt a huge wave of relief sweep over me...and life, suddenly came back to normal.


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