Some beach, somewhere.

Have you ever driven three hours (one way) to get to a meeting in the boonies that lasted for three hours, although your involvement was all of TEN minutes? That too the first ten minutes? (Variants not readily accepted). Well, I know I’m asking for too much. You don’t have my job…and neither will I for long, 'cos I was ten minutes late this morning! Well, no big deal. It’s just a matter of flipping back a few pages for a solid, earth-shattering, life-altering “no comments” from me. Yup, that’s my job!

Anyway, the drive back from such meetings is always interesting. The usual course of events, a play by play, is as follows– Fiddle with the iPod and FM transmitter. Static. Fiddle some more. Static. Give up. Music plays. Ah! Nice. But not for long. Damn! Charge the iPod? Shoot! Look for charger. Blind dip the whole of back seat. Fudge, where is it? Ah, in the trunk! Why? Stupid. OK! Switch to radio…and then the fun starts.

Down in the boonies you don’t get dem too many ‘outside’ radio stations. All dem good ole boys listen to some good ole country music. Der any oder kinda music? Heck no! So I pretend I’m a…you know, a good ole boy drivin’ his beat-up truh-uck. It’s interesting. A different way of life. They sing about mundane things but usually add a twist to the song they’re singing that changes my whole perception of country music...and I look past the uncanny similarity in their voices and the music. Say this Blake Shelton song I was listening to - clever, very.


Driving down the interstate

Running thirty minutes late

Singing Margaritaville and minding my own

Some foreign car driver dude with the road rage attitude

Pulled up beside me talking on his cell phone

He started yelling at me like I did something wrong

He flipped me the bird an' then he was gone.


Some beach, Somewhere

There's a big umbrella casting shade over a empty chair

Palm trees are growing and a warm breezes a blowing

I picture myself right there

On Some beach, somewhere.


LOL! I didn’t get it right away either. But it helped that I listened to the actual song.

Anyway, there’s more to this than the song or station. I sometimes do make fun of stereotypes, and I laugh when "my type" is made fun of too. But, I can tell good-natured humor from humor laced with hatred. Why this jarring transition from radio stations to stereotypes, hatred etc.? Just the other day I was listening to my favorite radio station. They had a comedian who came on the show and picked on the call center folks in India (Yes, I know! Can we ever move on?). The usual lame attempt at an Indian...almost Middle Eastern accent, generous references to goats, camels and other livestock were his props so to speak. He went on to say that all of "them call center fellows" in India need to be fired and the jobs given back to hardworking Americans. Well, clearly he was one of those high school dropouts who couldn't spot Iraq on a map, hated the president but supported the troops, hated foreigners but bought a Japanese car...you get the idea. Try selling capitalism, globalization to Mr. Comedian. I bet you he'd buy it if it came in a 4x4 version with monster tyres (yeah, I'm tired of spelling it tires). As long as we recognize the existence of other cultures, the possibility of a whole other way of life, and a history that has paved its course, we can make tolerance look like a bad word. As for the comedian - some beach, somewhere!

Utterly Butterly

Crossed the Atlantic twice in less than a fortnight. My yearly pilgrimage to "Pub City" (more like BPO city now) was a lot shorter than usual, than desired. Much has been said and written about the changing culture and landscape of Bangalore. So, I shall not get on that soapbox. Although I might get my little toe on it and say how ridiculously expensive it would be if you choose to place your soapbox in some parts of the town…correction, ANY part of the town. 'Real' estate? Un'freakin'real! I was checking my pulse at the mention of real estate prices in parts of the city I didn't even know existed! Who's buying all that land? Who are these people? Where are they coming from? What do they want from my city? …and more importantly, why did they name the circle close to my property after Deve Gowda's wife? This Gowda dude grabs most of Bangalore, while his sons grab the rest back from Bangarappa. Ouch!! My toe hurts! I'ma get off the box for now, but will revisit this soon. You better watch out Gowda. I don't like Deve you or your sons behave ra, poriki rascal.

Hmmm…about my trip? I was forced to fly a certain airline although I'd sworn 5 years ago that I'd never do it again. No regrets whatsoevva, miles or not! Why? Here you go –

The stewardess (who BTW is not fit to be cast in a B-grade movie as an extra) is busy handing out lunch…maybe dinner? Who knows, who cares? In a world of pressurized cabins and shared armrests, just bring down the blinds and bring out the bite-sized feast. I get mine. Aight babe, let's get this going now. Here's a dinner roll. Prior experience tells me that if I can find that butter and place it on the hot food I can get it to melt - golden! After a few moments of playing lift, look, poke, read, smell, I give up.

Me: "Excuse me, can I get some butter?"
Flight Fairy: "Sure sir."
Time elapsed: 1 minute
FF:" Sir, we don't serve butter."
Me: "Why not?"
FF: "The meal trays are set sir, we just don't serve butter with this meal."
Me (discreetly pointing toward a neighbor's tray): "How come he has it?"
FF: "Oh! I'll be right back sir."
Time elapsed: 2 minutes
FF: "Sir, that's a vegetarian meal. We serve butter only with vegetarian meals."
Me: "What?" (Wow lady, you made that up during your catwalk, didn't ya? You should ask for a division switch, policy perhaps?)
Awkward silence
Me (this time pointing to a carnivore neighbor's tray): "How about him? He has chicken as well as butter!"
FF: "Let me check sir."
Time elapsed: 5 minutes
FF: "Here you go sir. Sorry about that."
Me: "Thank you!"

Boy, I had to fight for every damn delicious calorie. It was a cause worth fighting for… for me, and for my people in the economy class. I don't feel inferior anymore. They can pull their curtains close - those snooty, champagne drinking 'first-class' morons in their recline-all-you-want seats, and their plush-and-only-for-me armrests. I am a winner, and nobody can make me feel otherwise! On that note, I shall hit pause for now, and hopefully write more often this year. Ciao!