Murphy Part III

Bluestocking's Note: This blog is a continuation of the two earlier posts about Murphy. Please find their links here: Part 1:http://bluestockingzblog.blogspot.in/2011/07/murphy-part-i.html, Part 2: http://bluestockingzblog.blogspot.in/2011/09/murphy-part-ii.html, 

I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the 10 MB mail to finish downloading. It was 10.30 PM and I was still at office. Somewhere outside my cabin door, my team members were valiantly working to wrap up a “big” presentation.

I was tired, miserable and disgusted. The story of my life, as it had been most of last year.

When the knock on my door came, I assumed it to be one of my team members, hopefully, come to show me the piece of analysis that I had set her. So, without turning, I hmmmed and looked up to see the reflection of the entrant in the glass window.

It took me a little time to register his presence, as I frowned and tried to place him. And when he smiled, I knew.

Holy shit. This couldn’t be happening. But there was no denying it. He was here.

“Hello, Murphy.” My greeting could not have been colder and it had no effect on his good-natured smile.

“Hey. I see that this time there would no exhausting rounds of denials and indignation, followed by the inevitable admission”, he said as he strode further into my cabin and made himself at home. On my desk. The nerve of the guy.

“Is there any point to that? And have you come here to gloat? If so, can you please do it away from here? Preferably, in the hypothetical world where you actually belong. As you can see and you damned well know, that I am very, very busy here. And would continue to do so, if you continue being contrary.”

I got up and walked out of my cabin to check up on the status of work. The darned mail was still downloading. I left him sitting smugly at my desk and refusing to test whether he was my imagination or real by calling one of my juniors in, asking them if they could see him. Nope. I was not willing to find out if I had finally gone around the bend. Not just yet.

When I returned some fifteen minutes later, he waved his hand towards my laptop. “Your mail is downloaded. I could have told you the contents beforehand, if you so wished.”

“And give you another opportunity to show off your perverse nature? Thank you very much. Given my luck, it cannot be good news anyway, this late into the evening or night, whatever you choose to call it.”

I quickly opened the mail item and the attachment, keeping my fingers crossed and ignoring his short laugh at my gesture.

It was not as bad as I had expected. In fact, the contents of the mail were quite harmless.

“Thank ye gods!” I murmured with a sigh.

“I think you could thank me also.”

I just gave him “the look” and continued with my work.

“You know”, he mused, “it’s not fair. You blame me when things go wrong and I get absolutely no credit if they go remotely right. How do you know that I sometimes in my benevolent mood don’t set things right?”

I turned and gave him a once over. “I didn’t know that you suffered from God-complex along with that insufferable arrogance. You invented that stupid law which ruins my life in thousand little ways every day. You do that to millions of other people out there and you want gratitude? You got to be kidding me. Anyway, you just stated a law which was probably always there. Like gravity, you know. But by stating it, you just gave people like me, a favourite whipping boy. So, I don’t think that you have the powers or benevolence to do anything. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to get back to. And you – you should go and make some other person believe that she is having this conversation.”

I returned my gaze to my screen but before I could point my cursor to another spot, he offered, “What if I make you a deal?”

“You are no Lucifer. And I am not interested.” I started going through the WIP report.

“So you claim. But you should hear the offer before refusing. What if I promise that Murphy’s law will never again make your life miserable?”

“Still. Not. Interested. And there is going to be a catch somewhere. The fine print. There always is. All the legends, fables and stories show that. Now, go away.” I was getting pretty irritated now.

“Let’s do a test drive. For tomorrow.” He waited until I turned back to face him. “Tomorrow.”

And then he left, just as my team member entered. “Who was that? I thought we were the only ones working this late,” she commented.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Just a moment. “Nobody. Let’s work.”

With that I did not recall that conversation again. That night.

Window With A View

There is a pair of kites that are flying outside my tenth floor window. All these years, I had thought that there was just one bird which haunts our office windows. Because I had never seen two together. It may have been the same one or different. Regardless, I like to think that the pairing is new. Like spring in a new year. Maybe they just met this spring morn. Maybe right outside my window when I was not sitting at my desk. When I busy staring inanimate numbers down. When I was attending calls which should probably mean nothing to me as a person, when I was away doing all these inconsequential things, this pair of awe-inspring birds met and fell in love. And missed this miracle. A shame, I say.

Kites (Photo Courtesy: www.grantatkinson.com)

Windfall

I read a Facebook status message about how sometimes you can only be a moment away from a windfall. It got me thinking on how true it can be. It all depends on what you think windfall is.

Windfall is returning home early unexpectedly. Like today.

Windfall is call from an unknown number. An old friend on other side. Like a few weeks back.

Windfall is finding that book you have been craving for. Like so many times.

Windfall is iPod playing a song to match your mood even on random play setting. Almost everyday.

Windfall is finding that exact shade of orange and blue and purple and pink and green to match or contrast with that exact dress shade.

Windfall is dreaming that beautiful dream and spending an idle day reliving it.

Windfall is finding that stack of old photographs to rekindle memories that lay dormant.

Windfall is the fragrance of wet earth and a cup of hot tea on the balcony.

Windfall is all of these. And sometimes a pot of gold at the end of rainbow,

Here’s wishing for yours. Cheers.

Kid You Not

Book Cover of Percy Jackson & Lightning Thief 

Happy new year, folks! I begin 2012 with one of my favourite topics – Books!

I was reading Rick Riordan’s blog a couple of days ago. He is the author of very popular Percy Jackson series. And in this post he writes about how adults sometimes wonder if there are others like them who enjoy “Kids” books. For those who don’t know, Percy Jackson books are purportedly for middle school students.

I, for one, have never given a damn about who the books are meant for. So, this post is about those books which lot of people I personally know call “Children’s” books. I read all of these as an adult and enjoyed immensely.

• ·     Harry Potter, JK Rowling: This 7 book series is one of the best things I have read. It may have started out with a group of twelve year olds but by the time Deathly Hallows arrived, there was no way it could have been called “Children’s” fiction. There is much too darkness, even violence (remember Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix) for it to be read by kids. There is human psychology, at least thousand shades of grey in all characters, including our hero, Harry. If I had my way, I would perhaps not let kids below a certain age read the series at all.
•     Percy Jackson, Rick Riordan: I discovered this series through a colleague’s sons. They are great fans of the books and had the entire 5 book series. I had of course heard about the book through the movie but never been too keen on it. So, when my colleague lent me the books, I settled down for some light reading over the weekend. It was light, breezy and fresh. It was fantasy. It was mythological. Greek mythology to be precise and like any other Literature student, I had read and learnt a lot the Greek pantheon. These books are told from the point of view of Percy Jackson, half-immortal son of Poseidon – a demi-god like Hercules. Demi-gods are, to put it bluntly, bastards of Greek gods and goddesses who sire them randomly with any mortal who seems to catch their fantasy. The books are set in modern times and Olympus is at the top of Empire State Building, New York. And isn’t that delightful? I loved all the Greek references, re-learning some of them, recalling others and discovering new. The books are action-packed, fun and yet have character-development. I am so glad Riordan has started a spin-off series, featuring Jackson and some new demi-gods. If you haven’t read Percy Jackson, my recommendation would be to start now.
•        Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins: When I started this trilogy, I was a little unsure. This is what is called “Young Adult” fiction. It has a post-apocalypse sort of world with twelve districts, each with a special produce and it is a basis for a new class system. Districts rich in precious metal are higher up than Cotton District and right at the bottom is Coal District – District 12. And that is where our heroine, Katniss, resides. In the fine Roman tradition of Gladiators and champions, there are Hunger Games held every year in the Capitol, to remind the districts who the bosses are. These are fight to death games; no winner is declared unless out of twenty-four participants, twenty-three are dead. The contestants kill, maim, starve – do what they can in order to leave the arena alive. The games are televised and it is mandatory viewing.  Each district must send at least two contestants – a boy and a girl. The contestants decided through (un)lucky draw. The world is morose and terrifying but slowly I was drawn into the cunning game of survival. It is written entirely in present tense and in first person, Katniss being the narrator. Again, it is not a soft world of Enid Blyton where nothing worse than being mocked by your classmates generally happens. It is extremely violent, full of machinations and bloody politics.
•    Bartimaeus Trilogy, Jonathan Stroud: And here we have Arabian Nights meeting Egyptology. This is again a modern world but where you have magicians – masters and apprentices, charmed mythical amulets, golems, Ptolemy, afreets  and djinns. Bartimaeus is a djinn. He is clever, witty and almost entirely selfish. Summoned by a twelve year old magician’s apprentice, he does try his best to dupe the kid but over a period of time, the two develop an unlikely friendship. Mind you, neither of them has any selfless motive or philanthropic intentions but they are drawn against their will in being the good guys. The books are thrilling, fast paced and throw surprises almost at every turn. And the end, when it comes, is explosive.

Do let me know if there are any other so-called “kid” books that are your favourite.

Ciao.

An Obligatory Post

Me leaving footprints behind captured by Supernova

It’s the end of the year. Seriously, I don’t know where the year went. I say it every year like almost all of you but this year it is truly true. I swear. Most of it went into the gaping maws of absolutely murderous work schedule and in all my years of working, this is probably the worst. Not because of the work per se but the sheer quantum. I wished for ten more hands, three more brains and twelve more hours in a day.

I am not too much into New Year Resolutions. I never was actually. I can never decide what should I resolve that I could keep. Because it is a promise. And breaking a promise is a little like breaking a heart. Especially when the promise is to yourself.

But I did always expect that I would feel different on the stroke of midnight every 31^st December. As if I would be new. Or my life would be new. As a kid, I expected some kind of magic, a swishing of wand or fairy dust or simply waking up to a new dream. Even through my teenage years as I developed that oh-i-am-grown-up-and-therefore-world-weary air, I still secretly hoped for something new and bright to light up the rest of the year. And I think in some secret part of my weary soul, I still cherish that hope.

To return to the dying year on hand and to be fair to it, 2011 did have its moments:

•  Leaving my footprints in the sand at a Puri beach as I walked towards some unknown beacon
•  India winning World Cup. It was ours. Not my dad’s generation’s.
•  The big family reunion and the madness and fun at Agra
•  The sheer beauty of a misty dawn at Jim Corbett National Park, as we went on a tiger’s trail in an open jeep across a river and saw Bambi instead
• The rolling greens and the tall pine woods of a magical Ranikhet. Here I found the peace and the quiet joy I craved for
• Trip to Latin America. The sight of snow-covered Andes from a plane window. Meandering through the streets of Santiago. Sunday market at Bogota. And an underground wishing well.
• My first Diwali without amma. It felt a little unreal.
• My first trip to London. A lot of mad, mad work and then the exploration and walking and the cold. The history and the mall. And a hope for return.
• Lovely Christmas weekend. Walking through an enchanting Park Street. Santa Clauses beaming from all directions. A canopy of lights to walk under. The infectious joy on the roads. The fun lunch with old friends. The memories and the jokes. Priceless.

I hope that 2012 would also bring such moments for me. Some big. Some small. A forget-me-not a day would suit me just fine.

I hope that 2012 also brings you loads of moments that fill you with happiness and make you feel alive. All the new that you want and all the old that you need. Happy New Year.

Country Cousin in London: Part II

I stayed at Harrow-on-the-Hill. This place is almost like a mini-India, with Indians or those of Indian origin abounding in all hues, shapes and sizes. It is quite a bustling area during the day, with a busy mall, plenty of bakeries, cafes, restaurants dotting the place.

However, it is difficult to identify it as the same place in the evenings, after dark. And I do mean that literally. On my first day, I returned from office at around 8.30 pm – early by my standards in India. Guess what I found. The place was almost shut down, with only a few eateries open and I was told that even those would close in a while. Seriously, you gotta be kidding me. And the roads were practically deserted. The short walk to my hotel felt like an eternity. I was kind of freaked out by how there was almost no one out and I constantly felt apprehensive, as if someone would leap out of the shadows and mug me. Call me paranoid if you will but in a new city if you are walking down an area at barely 8.30 in the evening and find it deserted, I think you are entitled to feel a little uncomfortable. I had initially thought that maybe it was a winter phenomenon but I was told later by a friend who was there in summer that it was not.

So, you would understand if I felt wary of returning to the area after dark by myself. So, even when I went out for sightseeing, I tried to be back by six-ish . Maybe if I make the next trip in summer, it wouldn’t be as bad.

Anyway, back to all my doings in the city.  Sunday was my last day in London. I was taking the 10 o’clock flight next morning to return home.

Going by my previous day’s experience I knew that I would have plenty of walking to do today also and it would be unrealistic to think that I could cover too many places. So, I had to plan. I could either do the Museum circuit or try the National Gallery and Trafalgar Square or do some shopping at Oxford Street. Well, I decided in favour of starting the day at National Gallery.

It was another blisteringly cold day but I thought I was well covered. There was only one small hitch. The gloves. Well, you see, I was wearing these woollen gloves, which were great for protection from cold but made my fingers thick, clumsy and unfamiliar. Result: I could either take photographs or I could keep my hands warm.

This was not so much of a problem at the National Gallery. You are not allowed to take snaps. Problem solved.

National Gallery, London

The entry to the Gallery is free, though visitors are encouraged to voluntary donate any amount they want to the museum. I thought it was a very nice system and wondered why we could not try something similar back home. The Da Vinci section, however, required tickets and only a pre-decided number of visitors were allowed in a single day. Unfortunately for me, the tickets were sold out for the day. Regardless, I was fascinated by all the art that I did see. The Biblical theme was predominant with Christ, Mary, the Apostles and Parables portrayed in so many different moods. Bold colours, vibrant strokes somehow made even the most austere of moments seem pagan.

And then there were some which were unabashed in their sensuality. Delilah betraying Samson or Venus seducing Mars. There were moments of quiet contemplation too. A perplexed gaze looking out of a window or visions in dreams. Stern, family portraits of royalty and nobility – the kings and princes, the ladies and their corpulent husbands, noble children trussed up and made to sit still for the paintings. They were all there. I wanted to sit and stare at some of them for hours but time was a luxury that I didn’t have.

Plus, my feet were killing me again. But there was no help, I had not even gone out to the Square yet.

So, I walked down first to the Gallery shop and bought postcards of beautiful paintings, sternly lectured myself against buying something totally beautiful and extravagant like a deck of playing cards with Van Gogh’s Sunflowers printed on their back. I still think about them.

Christmas Tree at Trafalgar Square

Countdown to the Olympics

I walked out to the Trafalgar Square and found that the sun which had peeked in the morning had gone AWOL again. Yet, that didn’t quite dim my excitement. Here I was. At Trafalgar Square. There was a huge Christmas tree, which was a gift from Norway to Britain. A clock showing the countdown to London Olympics. Families with squealing kids enjoying a Sunday outside. Tourists too. Like me. I wanted to sit here and soak in the atmosphere. This famous place. And here I was.

Trafalgar Square

You could also take the Jubilee walkway from this point. It was a pathway designed to commemorate the Queen’s silver jubilee in year 1977. I started to walk along it but I couldn’t keep up. The cold and the fatigue were catching up with me fast and I still wanted to visit Oxford Street.

I alighted at Oxford Circus and stepped out into an almost enchanted place. There were lovely Christmas decorations all over the place. The streets were bustling with revelry and shoppers. I got hailed by a random someone who claimed to work in a fashion house and complimented my coat. Well, thank you very much. That is all I could say even as it all felt quite surreal.

I roamed around the streets, walked into a few shops. Looked at some very quirky and colourful merchandise. Animal shaped clothes pegs and dish holders. Collapsible dresses and rings the size of two fingers.

There were lights stringed across the roads. Santa and sleigh cut-outs smiling merrily at you. All it needed was white snowflakes drifting slowly to the ground to turn the enchanting into magical.

When I boarded my flight next day, I felt happy to be returning but I also left a wish behind. To come back again. Do all that I could not do this time. And somehow I had this feeling that I would be back. Amen.

Country Cousin in London: Part I

Last evening in London on my first trip to the city. It’s freezing outside, though my room is quite toasty. I am exhausted and looking forward to returning home. And also hoping that I return here again with some more leisure on my hand.

And you do need leisure to explore London. I am here for a business trip. The whole week was extremely busy with nary a moment to spare. Thankfully, the work went more smoothly than we expected and therefore, the weekend was mine.

I had first thought, quite naively as it turned out, that in two days, I would be able to cover all the London staples like Buckingham’s, Tower of London, Madame Tussaud’s, Natural History Museum, Westminster etc. But boy, was I wrong!

The primary reason for this is that in London you have to walk quite a lot. Apart from the fact that I am not used to walking quite so much, the unfamiliar boots and the heavy coat that I had to wear to keep the cold away made it all the more difficult to walk around. It took me six hours to cover the entire Tower yesterday and four hours to go through National Gallery, Trafalgar Square and parts of Oxford Circus. And at the end of these hours, even though I have a little more time to kill, I don’t have the stamina to do it.

Anyway, let me start at the start. We landed on Tuesday morning and within an hour of reaching the hotel, we were off for a meeting. The rest of the week went in really late night and early morning working, peppered with presentations to clients and meetings. Though in between this all, my boss – a London veteran – and some of my other colleagues took the time and trouble to explain to me how to move about in the city and how should I plan my exploration.

London is large and well connected through tube and buses. There are cabs but these are quite expensive. My colleagues generally book them in advance when needed. Even the tube is quite costly if you buy a ticket everytime you take it. So, you buy Oyster cards. My boss showed me the ropes the first day and I felt so much like the gawky, awkward country cousin. it was the same when we visited the client’s office, which was this really beautiful, sophisticated, grand and awesome building in the Temple area. This client has its own security and protocol system and it can be quite overwhelming if you are visiting them for the first time. Country cousin, that was me!

Friday night after the final presentation was over, we went out for dinner and a late night movie. Sherlock Holmes and the Game of Shadows it was. A highly stylized Holmes, essayed by Robert Downey Jr. and Watson by Jude Law, this Guy Ritchie movie was interesting but I found it a little surreal. In my head, Holmes has always been more cerebral rather than this really well trained action hero.

Saturday morning, I set out on my own. It was drizzling and the wind felt like some vengeful witch with a broom wanting to eat me alive. I went down to Tower Hill and spent the day gawking at the beautiful sight of the Tower Bridge stretching across Thames, listening to Yeoman’s tour of the Tower and gawking at all the echoes of all those centuries of History. It is a painful place, where traitors – either real or imagined – were imprisoned, executed or murdered. The Tower is also home to the Crown jewels – they are majestic but I could not help but recall how a lot of their glory is at the expense of nations like ours.

Yet, my favourite part of the day was at sunset, when with really aching feet, I walked down to the pier, where you can take a boat trip. The royal blue and stone grandeur of the bridge silhouetted against a sky turning a pale crimson that bled out into the blue, as Thames undulated underneath, as if smilingly saying, “So much water under the bridge. Yet here you are!”

Tower Bridge at Sunset