Lapses of lingy…

These days I seem to meet so many people who are preoccupied with making lots of money and then using it for the sole purpose of enhancing their lifestyle.

One such yuppy, a cut-throat sales guys, wants 5 crores in his bank account. Once the deal is sealed, he will quit working for a living (expected, of course). He will completely indulge by playing with the most cutting-edge gadgets, drive the fastest cars, live in a fancy mansion, et al. Sigh. Such a cliché.

The dream figure for another is 100 crores. If he were to hit the jackpot, he might get into philanthropy or even turn entrepreneur, he said with such a casual air that it brought to mind a high society type (and this is me stereotyping) who organises a big ticket charity event to help poor people, but for whom poverty is a concept. Now here’s a smart, intelligent, well-read, well-educated IIM graduate with no life goal (except for getting rich) and no burning passion, which isn’t driven by money or fame.

Some people take long while to zero in on what drives them, and to really feel the passion. But some people aren’t looking, period. I think it’s sad that people with potential and all the credentials, don’t feel the love. Maybe one gets cynical post experiencing the murky side of corporate life, but eventually, I think for those who are truly motivated by something other than money and fame, they get their creative mojo back. And when it hits you, boy, it does with a bang!

It’s this extra something, which makes us committed and have a personal stake in the bigger picture. In Mumbai, I met many people who are passionate about something, and it doesn’t stem from material aspirations. They give their all sans expectation, and unconditionally.

I miss meeting people like that; they are so much more inspiring and those who want only money and fame.

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The sofa has helped me start reading again; the morning paper, books, Huffingtonpost.com.

And I can actually invite people home, sans wondering where they are going to park. One fine morning my neighbour dropped in with her two month-old son in her arms. He was being difficult and refusing to sleep. As I held him cautiously in my arms to give the tired-looking mommy some succour, a gentle sleep-inducing breeze crept in from the balcony. A few seconds later, the little cherub was asleep.

The mom looked half-relieved, half-shocked at this minor feat and wouldn’t allow me to speak, lest he should wake up any minute. “You may have an alternative career; start a creche in the building,” she suggested.

I observed later that the windows and balcony doors in her home are perennially shut and the air is static; even a mere cherub can sense this constriction of energy.

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My maid is most enthused by the new old sofa set. She noticed that the wood was had plintered on one arm, and demanded in her usual overzealous manner to knowhow this came to be.

I really feel for her, this woman-child who has three kids at the age of 21, no education, and yet, is bright, enterprising and has a memorable personality.

So, this morning, whilst I was sipping chai and lounging on sofa, accepting new Facebook requests, she was mopping the floor and suggesting (rather vociferously) that I get two sets of covers for the cushions — so, she can wash one whilst the other sits snugly on the Sleepwell cushions.

Also, get a small centre table (wooden), she suggested, so, that she can serve breakfast and sip chai, here when friends pop over. She said all of this rather dramatically, like as if she was visualling a scene, and herself playing a major part in it.

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Going from living in a 1-BHK to a 3-BHK is akin to a journey of self-discovery.

Sure I had my own room in school. But eight years in Mumbai, where the rents are high and space is money, makes these spaces seem somewhat intimidating.

Suddenly my TV resembled a midget. And my living room looked so very bare. Filling up space on a budget can prove to be a challenge. Sure I could spend a pretty penny and get a bunch of nifty stuff from a swanky, air-conditioned furniture store. But where’s the fun in that?

I have ecclectic, vintage tastes, with a smattering of contemporary thrown in. And in the recession, the key is to buy good quality stuff for a great price. So, I got a fab second-hand 5-seater, which adds this warm, homely touch to such a stark, wide space.

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My office is relocating from Noida to a place called MG Road in Dilli, in the next two days. The metro is being constructed along the length of the road, and we can expect lots of dust, traffic and concrete, in all directions.

On the bright side, there’s a decent furniture hub in the vicinity. And the malls of Gurgaon are just a stone’s throw away, in case, we feel like some retail therapy.

Yes, this Dilli adventure is getting more interesting (conveniently ambiguous word that reveals absolutely nothing!).

The swimming is coming along great. I find it rather amusing to watch the ladies in the pool sport little frills attached to the swimsuit. Personally, I think it looks tackier than flabby thighs, which are meant to be seen in a pool. The men though are very satisfied to show off their f(l)ab abs, and in fact, freestyle along with a quiet air of contentment, flabby thighs or not.

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So, I finally have some new friends, who remind me of the gals in Mumbai. It’s like I suddenly don’t feel alone in this city, anymore.

They have similar interests — books, shopping, partying, animals, romance, et al — all the girly interests without silly chicklet trimmings. And it feels good to connect on a real, non-superficial level.

On the other hand, I attended this gathering of obviously interesting people, but they came across as somewhat clannish. Yet, I know that there must be a smattering of depth in their beings. Or else how would they make such soulful music?

These days I have a new indulgence — swimming. It’s the best part of my day, post office. Lounging in the pool. Doing laps. Waiting patiently for noisy swimmers to whisk past.

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THE other day I meet these two gals for lunch — well-travelled, sophisticated types (in a Sex And The City and not a South Bombay way) — in who’s presence I felt a wee bit self-conscious. In the first few minutes of the meeting, I was transported back to school; I was the fat, ugly one, and they were the ‘popular’ people. This feeling decreased in intensity, as the afternoon wore on. But it did not go away completely.

There was this one booboo moment, where their Italian guy friend stooped down to catch my name. Stupid me — I thought he was being all Portuguese about introductions, and giving me a peck on both cheeks. He smiled and asked, “Do you want a kiss?!”

The girls smirked (I don’t blame them) at my little faux pas, and maybe, two years back I would have shrivelled up and died. This time round, I smiled awkwardly for a few seconds and then the moment was over, overshadowed by a volley of clever repartees from two gals and the guy.

The afternoon proceeded fluidedly. Food, drinks, conversations, confidences and lots of launghs. They were very conversant, and had news, views and staunch opinions to share on all topics under the sun — from politics to high fashion, food and culture. But they are far from perfect. One had much to desire in her personal life. The other had much to desire in her professional life.

Yet, I have a feeling they will exude confidence in any setting, due to some inherent X-factor, which one can’t define. Or maybe it’s due to their Ivy League education, having lived in more than one international city, and being born to somewhat affluent (and by that I don’t mean necessarily rich) backgrounds.

These girls were funny and smart and nice. At first I thought I was in awe of them. But no, I don’t want to be any of them. But I do envy that level of confidence, of being able to hold your own anywhere.

Yes, I felt both envious and slightly in awe — of this quality in them.

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It’s a great thing that a TV channel like HBO offers sub-titles for all its films. Some people find it distracting. However, think about the hearing impaired who can decipher a film, completely because of these.

What I find amusing, is the choice of choice words filtered out of the script. Profanity, of course. Is the word lesbian, one of them? Yes!

Am I to understand that this is supposed to be a bad word? Should we be amused or pissed off?

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It’s funny how Varun Gandhi has now retracted his words about not having made any hateful speeches, and how the videos were fudged.

Now, his lawyer has agreed that he will not make any ‘more’, which means that he actually made them in the first place, and that all those denials were absolute hogwash. Sigh.

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