Look Out for the Erupting Volcano Before You Leap

My mobile phone bill was due on the 22nd. And I hadn’t paid it till today. You know why? Because they never sent me the goddamn bill. And until I saw my bill, I wasn’t going to make no damn payment.

I made the damn payment this morning. I hadn’t seen my bill yet. How could I have backed down from my ideals? How could I have let this happen, you ask? Well, simply put, Vodafone are a bunch of persuasive b@$tards. How’d they persuade me, the man with the iron will, you ask? Well, they had to try, that’s for sure. They called me like a gazillion times, but I steadfastly held my stance. And every last one of their telemarketers was stumped by one question I asked: Where’s my bill?

But today they tried a new line of arm-twisting. They deactivated outgoing on my phone. So I went into their office to dole out some ass-whuppin’. They gave me one of those token thingies and asked me to wait my turn. I did. Then some guy calls me forward to his desk. With the confident swagger of one about to stare down yet another tie-sporting, smug, “How may I help you, Mister Jhayu?” schmuck.

I sat down at the desk in front of him, leaning back, preparing myself for the pleasure of seeing another man fall before the salvo I was about to fire off. In that usual, aggravatingly deferential tone, paced for the average Bugatti, he began with, “GoodafternoonsirwelcometoVodafonehowmayIhelpyou?”

Ha ha! Nice try. I was waiting for it, so his attack was wasted. And, I must admit, with not just a little smugness, I replied, “Yeah, I haven’t paid my bill. ‘Cos I never got no damn bill. Two of your people assured me that they’d have a duplicate bill dispatched to me ‘within two days’. The last time that happened was four days ago. They even asked for my email id so they could mail me a soft copy. They haven’t even done that.”

The guy blinked. I waited for a more extreme reaction. It didn’t come. I couldn’t believe it. Nothing more? He simply drew a breath, and casually started off himself. “ThankyouMisterJhayuforsharingthisinformationwithmeI'dbehappytohelpyousortthisp
roblemcouldyoupleasesharewithmeyourmobilenumberandfullnameandmailingaddressa
nddateofbirth?”

It was my turn to blink. Several times. I hate to admit it, but I was kinda blown back by this. Not only did he simply blink away my powerful argument, he fired back with questions of his own! Somewhat meekly now, I answered. He smiled. I think he sensed that the jugular was exposed, because his grin got wider and his fangs stood out even more. With evil glinting sharply in his eyes, he began again. “ThankyouMisterJhayuforsharingthisinformationwithmeifyoucouldpleasewaitforamom
entI’llverifythestatusofthedeliveryofyourbill.”

Only a few mouse clicks later, he grinned and pulled out his ace in the hole: “MisterJhayuI’mafraidIhavetoinformyouthatwehaveconfirmationofthereceiptofyourbill
atthatmailingaddress.” And suddenly, just for this bit, he regained his powers of normal speech. “It was received at your mailing address on 9th March. The contact number provided on the courier slip is XXXXXXXX.” That grin returned to his face. You would probably have seen the blood on his teeth.

But I didn’t. I was too fazed. I had almost stopped listening to him in the middle, but at the mention of the number, my attention sprung back to, well, attention. Familiarity and realization dawned over me.The number he read out was my aunt’s phone number. My aunt who lives upstairs.

Shifting nervously in my seat, I asked him to wait a moment while I confirmed this. Called Dad. Asked him to ask. And sure enough, my aunt had not only received, but also kept my phone bill, without mentioning it to anyone.

Sheepishly, I asked the man where and how much I was to pay and left. But I wasn’t quick enough to avoid his last, ingratiating jibe. “ThankyouMisterJhayuforcomingdowntotheVodafoneofficetoclearupthismatterIhopeI
wasabletobeofassistancedocomeagainhaveaniceday.”

Weakly, I smiled at him and left.

Moral of the story:
Look left, look right, then look left again. Then ensure there isn’t a volcano erupting somewhere halfway around the globe. Then cross the street.

Facebook Needs To Get A Life

Yeah, ‘cos I’d be such a better friend if I sent a Top Gift. I mean, like, OMG!

Mes Apologies

Sorry about the disappearance. And for the delay in replying to your comments. Yes, that means I will be replying to all those comments I’ve missed so far.

And expect something by later tonight. = )

After that whole flurry of posts at the beginning of this month, I don’t feel like blogging now. I don’t feel much like anything, actually, right now.

Oh, and I’ve realized, that I don’t think I want anyone other than the ones who came up with the name to call me Jhayu in person. Online and all, it’s fine, it’s typed, so I’m hearing myself say it. But I don’t think anyone can say it like it was meant to be said, and how my buddies from the colony and school do.
Bummer, yeah.

In other news, I’ve realized that the reason I avoid coming home in time for dinner is because I simply cannot stand the sounds of my family at a meal. As for how I’m going to live the rest of my life, I don’t know.

Don’t really feel like I have much more to say; I’m having second thoughts about where this blog is headed and who’s writing it. There may be some downscaling of stuff that’s happened here recently.

Meh.

There is a feeling of immense satisfaction washing through me. I just sat and chatted with Dad over a mug of draught beer. Mommy and Bro were there too, but they were having soup.

I paid for dinner. Dad’s birthday. There are waves of satisfaction drowning me (have I said that already?) and I can’t get this stupid grin off my face.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, people.

My First FB Tag

This is the first remotely interesting tag I’ve come across on Facebook.

This is the cover of my first album, Love Is To Listen
with my band, Chares of Lindos.

Here’s how it goes:

1. Go to Wikipedia. Click “Random article” from the left navigation pane, or just follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
   The title of the first random article you get is the name of your band.
2. Go to Quotations Page and click "Random Quotes" from the left navigation pane, or just follow this link: http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
   The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.
3. Go to Flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”, or just follow this link: http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
   Find a pic that suits your fancy, and that will be your album cover.
4. Use Photoshop (or MS Paint if you’re not that cool :p) to put it all together.

Here’s what I got:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chares_of_Lindos
The first duty of love is to listen - Paul Tillich (1886 - 1965)
And for my album cover, I got this: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7823190@N03/3354586720/

I’m not going to turn into my own worst nightmare and tag anyone with this. If you think it seems like a fun thing to do, go on ahead. Be nice and tell me about it, too.

The Lazy Sunday Photoblog – Vol II

 
                Athos, Porthos & Aramis                                     Rest in peace, big guy


               Coffee and conversation                                                 Why me?

 
      Will Mom ever let me wear these again?                       Lightspeed Superhighway

 
                       Holi Whodunnit!                                           Disclaimer gone wrong

(Click on any of the pics to see the original resolution)

I Need To Take A Hint

Dad: Will you be joining us for dinner?
Me: Depends. What’s for dinner?
Dad: Oh, just some brinjal sabji your Mom has made.
Me: Oh, then I’m definitely not coming home for dinner. I’ll eat and come.
Dad: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah.

 

I didn’t go home for dinner. Ate some grub somewhere. Dad was already asleep when I did get home.

I just opened the fridge looking for something to munch on. Tonight’s main course was crab.

My Dabba Scares Me

Determined to not leave me in peace, one of my Tupperware dabbas (Fluorescent Green, in case you were wondering) has decided to give me the fright of my life.

I unfortunately left my dabba at work the day before Holi, with some food in it. Woe is me. I know. It’s going to smell like hell right now. You’re right. It does. But that’s not the scary bit.

Here I am, copying writing, as usual, minding my own business, working, like a good boy. And Pop! goes the dabba. I kid you not, the damn thing just popped open on its own!!!!!! JUST LIKE THAT! No catalyst, no change in air pressure, NOTHING!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! My dabbas hate me!

Exercising Personal Choice

Do you smoke?
No, I don’t.

Oh, why not?
It doesn’t really appeal to me.

Oh, but you should smoke! It’s fun!
For you, maybe. Enjoy!

No, no… You MUST smoke! Everyone else does!
That’s great for them, but I’d rather not.

But it feels brilliant! Come on, just try to smoke.
Thanks, but no thanks.

But look at those children there, smoking. Don’t they look happy?
Sure they do. And they’re entitled to that happiness; it’s just something I’d rather not share with them.

Oh, no. You’re smoking, and there are no two ways about it.
No, I’m not… Hey, let go! I don’t want to!

 

Lovely conversation isn’t it? Go back to the start and replace ‘smoke’ with ‘play holi’. Welcome to my life.

Monkey Found To Be Smarter Than Ex-President

A scientific study has been released suggesting that a chimpanzee named Santino is smarter than an ex-President of a certain superpower.

In fact, so intelligent is this primate, that he manages to chuck rocks at people, and make them love him for it. The former President of whom we speak has been quoted as being “amazed that one of ’em little people” could pull off such a task. It is believed his representatives are attempting to contact the zoo authorities where Santino currently lives in order to relocate the chimp to his Texas residence.

In response, the ex-President’s successor reportedly said, “I’m no one to stop long-lost brothers from being united.”

 

Okay, I promise. From now on, I’ll leave it to Over and Hades.

I am Santa.
I am Satan.
I am a genius.
I am a spectre.
I am all-powerful.
I am the world’s greatest guitar riff.
I am the best pot of black coffee you ever had.
I am a four-thirty am chat window.
I am a lion’s mane.
I am the line.
I am a word.
I am a dog.
I am a God.

The Neo-Marketer is here

A new kind of marketer has been born. He is ruthless. He sees nothing but his goal and his means to achieve it. Anything else is but a distraction and/or the wind from the rear end of one of them old geezers whose time has come and gone.

No one knows better than the Neo-Marketer how to get a job done. And no one has skills to compare. His a$$licking skills are the stuff of legend.

What follows is the thought process of the Neo-Marketer:

Task Assigned: To sell bottles of blonde hair dye.

Once assigned such a task, the Neo-Marketer forgets all else and falls immediately to fulfilling it. When the inclination strikes.

He begins the process by saying, “I want to sell this blonde hair dye to black haired men.” Once this target is set in his mind, he sets off to find black-haired men. And one of the places he looks for them is a shady street corner where men look for cheap pleasure.

There, his keen eyes espy a black-haired man who's desperately looking for a quick f@#k, and screams at him, "Buy this blonde hair dye!"

Do not argue with the Neo-Marketer. He is right. You are wrong. The man on the street will buy his product.

The Lazy Sunday Photoblog

 

(Click on any of the pics to see the original resolution)

A Campaign To Remember – Tata Safari Dicor

So a couple of nights ago, we decided to en masse to step out of the office and meet Sir B for a drink. We did, except the drink wasn’t what I quite expected.

We met at the Wagh Bakri Tea Lounge in Vile Parle to sit and chat over a couple of cuppas, discussing, as usual, life and work (are they the same?) at P******m, advertising and books. We happened to notice the new Tata Safari Dicor ad on the TV set they had there, and we started talking about their older ads, which I’d loved from the start. Thought I should put them up here.

 

The Dicor campaign was characterized by its amazingly insightful and rather philosophical copy, artistic, abstract shots, brilliant, brilliant music score, simple voiceover, and a pleasant diversion from the usual My-Car-Is-So-Powerful-It-Will-Leave-Your-Car-Far-Behind-On-The-City-Streets approach.

This is the first ad that I remember seeing for Dicor. I’ve always been anti-corporate, so the opening line hooked me. And the music (soundtrack for the movie Requiem For A Dream) was is simply spectacular. The message embodied was something I believed in. And it had nothing to do with the car itself. I also like the last frame, where ‘Reclaim your life’ flashes and then disappears.

Sorry about the time delay, I couldn’t find a better clip.

 

This is the second ad – Lines. This was Maniak’s favourite. Again, brilliant music – subtle, yet in that subtlety, powerful - with simple narration in the background. Abstract shots, again. And again, a brilliant closing frame.

 

This is my favourite ad from the old campaign. The thing I liked most about is was the brilliance of the copy, again, something I associated with completely. And yet again, the music, punching in at the end. I can remember headbanging to those last few seconds sitting at home on the couch. And my dad looking at me like I’ve lost it.

 

As far as the new ad goes, I liked it, but not as much. They don’t have the punch these ones do, and I loved the narration in the earlier ones. 

I leave you with the print campaign. Again, abstract shots, powerful copy. Hope you liked this as much as I did.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m trying to ignore the typo in this one for the idea it embodies.

 

And my favourite...

The Dabba Dilemmas Continue…

I think I’ve ranted about my dabbas before. And again. But are my troubles to end? Of course not! That would just be totally uncharacteristic of my life (and my blog) wouldn’t it?

Only this time, my troubles don’t involve wannabe cat-burglars. My mother seems to have decided, Enough Is Enough. It is time to Stand Up For What We Believe To Be Good And Right In This World, like a man’s (read her son’s) right to take a dabba to work and be able to bring it back home at the end of the day.

And to ensure that this right is not snatched away from me, she has started giving me dabbas of the following colours:

Bright pink
Fluorescent green
Baby blue
Sunburst yellow

Now who in their right minds would want to filch something so pigmented, right? Exactly what my mother thought. Of course, what I would look like carrying something of this colouration is an altogether different and completely irrelevant matter.

Is woe me yet? I should think not! My mother noted with no little glee, that it was the Lock & Lock dabbas that most often disappeared. So to counter that, it was mutually decided by my mother and my mom to switch to Tupperware.

Mmmmmmmm, mmm. Tupperware. That sacred brand so trusted by Mothers around the world. Beautiful. I’ve had some bad experiences with Tupperware, mostly because of my ignorance of its properties. Like, for instance, carrying (and let’s just get this out of the way; yes, I did this through college) hot coffee in one of them Tupperware glasses (go ahead, guffaw. No, no, I insist. No need for politeness amongst us, now, is there?). Result? Jeans that needed washing often.

Anyhoo, that history notwithstanding, I consented to carrying the deathtraps in my bag (provided, of course, that the food be cooled before sealing). A wise move, perhaps.

Perhaps not. Two days ago, Baby Blue decided to spew out some aloo sabji that I was carrying back home. Great. My bag took on the aromatic semblance of a masala dosa. Woo the hoo! But of course, woe hasn’t become me yet!

Yesterday, Bright Pink decided to stage a revolution, too. This time I was taking home aloo-and-some-unidentifiable-inedible-object in a tomato-ey gravy. Woo the hoo two! Now my bag smells not just like masala dosa, but also like the sambhar they had at college. Yippee.

Hang on. Hang on just a gosh-darned minute. Did I see a trend there?

Food I take home
Aloo

Great. Now I’ll have to find some way to convince people at work to finish my dabba for me every time I have anything that contains a shred of potato.

 

Meh.

Rules For Work

I found these while roaming randomly about on the internet like I always do (yes, I’m an internet bum, and so are most of you), and was pleasantly surprised to see how much it applied to my everyday life at work.

1. Never give me work in the morning. Always wait until 4:00 and then bring it to me. The challenge of a deadline is refreshing.
2. If it's really a rush job, run in and interrupt me every 10 minutes to inquire how it's going. That helps. Or even better, hover behind me, advising me at every keystroke.
3. Always leave without telling anyone where you're going. It gives me a chance to be creative when someone asks where you are.
4. If my arms are full of papers, boxes, books, or supplies, don't open the door for me. I need to learn how to function as a paraplegic and opening doors with no arms is good training in case I should ever be injured and lose all use of my limbs.
5. If you give me more than one job to do, don't tell me which is priority. I am psychic.
6. Do your best to keep me late. I adore this office and really have nowhere to go or anything to do. I have no life beyond work.
7. If a job I do pleases you, keep it a secret. If that gets out, it could mean a promotion.
8. If you don't like my work, tell everyone. I like my name to be popular in conversations. I was born to be whipped.
9. If you have special instructions for a job, don't write them down. In fact, save them until the job is almost done. No use confusing me with useful information.
10. Never introduce me to the people you're with. I have no right to know anything. In the corporate food chain, I am plankton. When you refer to them later, my shrewd deductions will identify them.
11. Be nice to me only when the job I'm doing for you could really change your life and send you straight to managers' hell.
12. Tell me all your little problems.  No one else has any and it's nice to know someone is less fortunate. I especially like the story about having to pay so much taxes on the bonus check you received for being such a good manager.
13. Wait until my yearly review and THEN tell me what my goals SHOULD have been. Give me a mediocre performance rating with a cost of living increase. I'm not here for the money anyway.

The depressing thing is, of these, 1, 2, 5, 6, 9, 11 and 13 are perfectly true for me. Thanks to Maniak for recommending that I put this up.

Genius Ad: Vol III

She loves me….
She loves me not…
She loves me…
She loves me not…

Can’t propose to your loved one?

We’ll do it for you!

 

Send us your crush’s name and mobile number, and we’ll propose to her!

SMS <CRUSH NAME> <MOBILE NUMBER> to <xxxxx>
and your loved one could win a date
with the stars of Kisse Pyaar Karoon!

(Saw this on the TVs they now play in BEST buses. Couldn't believe my eyes when I first saw it)

Random Observations For The Weekend

Mumbai-Pune Volvo buses, quite simply, rock. I mean, for 200 bucks (on average), you get to sit in a comfortable, air-conditioned bus that takes you to your destination, with such brilliant en-route entertainment as Khalnayak and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge.

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The state of ‘entertainment reality television’ in India disgusts me. Was forced to watch part of Indian Idol tonight. The contestants were dancing. They weren’t even bothering to pretend to sing! The whole time, I couldn’t help comparing it to this:

Adam Lambert sings 'Satisfaction' on American Idol 8

Show me one person on any of the many, many Indian singing shows that can match that vocal range and control, particularly that endnote. And man, where has that kind of voice been? Going to have to dig into K’s AOR collection at work on Monday.

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Mom’s chaat for dinner is all fine, it’s just not very good for my ears.

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Turns out Maniak was absolutely right. I look Mexican. Close scrutiny of my face in a mirror in an elevator in Pune has made this clear to me. And Maniak, I’ll save you the trouble: “Of course! I’m always right!” Happy?

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My best friends = my mom. They spent the time between 9.30 pm and 2.00 am (and later, I’m sure) fraternizing copiously and unabashedly with an aged abbot, eating, stargazing, chatting and more. They then spent the time between 8.30 am and 9.30 am saying to me, “Get up. Get up. Get UP! GET UP!!!!!!!” Sound familiar? Then, there ensued an impromptu singing class, followed by toast. If you saw the link two rants up, and the one in the previous line, this was essentially a combo-pack of the two.

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Some things are in a league of their own. Playing Taboo and royally pwn-ing the girls is good. Making dinner and eating it on a terrace is good. Large quantities of the monk is good. Impromptu air hockey played on the marble floor with sofa cushions, two empty water bottles and a yellow smiley stress-buster ball is good. But nothing beats that 20 minute one-on-one conversation on the terrace.