Finally, I have my own domain! Am posting my usual snippets at www.merrildiniz.com. However, I don't end up writing that often these days. Since, my office has relocated 500 miles away from my home, life proving to be one big blur when I am not in office!
The good news: you can leave a comment on my new blog by login in with facebook connect!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
THE ALAN HAS ARRIVED!
Tonight we plan to drown our sorrows in cheap but good quality alcohol, apparently in the midst of some heavily painted navy wives.
Three of us are Muscat-teers.
Update:
There were no painted ladies. But my Long Island iced tea was so loaded, none of us could finish it, for fear of not manouvering the very safe streets of Dilli and reaching home in one piece. The venue was a navy guesthouse located in a prime area in Dilli.
We landed there and my friend who looks white but is in fact Indian was stopped at the gate. The watchman inquired if he was a gora. Lucky for my friend, he happened to have his passport on him, which stated clearly that he is Indian, indeed.
This line of questioning continued a wee bit because by policy non-Indian are not allowed into the venue. My friend calls it 'reverse racism', something he has been experiencing all his life.
We entered the bar only to discover the existence of a dresscode; men can't wear denim.
So, Alan and the other Muscat-teer embarked upon an emergency shopping expedition to CP, in the quest of leather shoes and linen pants. "The drinks aren't looking all that cheap now," they chuckled.
By the time they got back, we were two drinks down and they shimmed and shone.
Three of us are Muscat-teers.
Update:
There were no painted ladies. But my Long Island iced tea was so loaded, none of us could finish it, for fear of not manouvering the very safe streets of Dilli and reaching home in one piece. The venue was a navy guesthouse located in a prime area in Dilli.
We landed there and my friend who looks white but is in fact Indian was stopped at the gate. The watchman inquired if he was a gora. Lucky for my friend, he happened to have his passport on him, which stated clearly that he is Indian, indeed.
This line of questioning continued a wee bit because by policy non-Indian are not allowed into the venue. My friend calls it 'reverse racism', something he has been experiencing all his life.
We entered the bar only to discover the existence of a dresscode; men can't wear denim.
So, Alan and the other Muscat-teer embarked upon an emergency shopping expedition to CP, in the quest of leather shoes and linen pants. "The drinks aren't looking all that cheap now," they chuckled.
By the time they got back, we were two drinks down and they shimmed and shone.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
HOT: RECYCLED OFFICES!
My company has finally relocated from Noida (in Uttar Pradesh) to MG Road (in Delhi), which is en route to Gurgaon (in Haryana).
The two office spaces couldn’t be more opposite in character. The erstwhile one was swanky, with an assembly-line production of white cubicles and cabins. We had a pantry, a crèche, a table-tennis space and a gym (which sadly, no one seemed to use).
The new haunt is a nightclub-turned-office, which was originally designed with somewhat rugged interiors. You have wood and stone on the floor, and whitewashed walls. The brushstrokes are still visible, on purpose, of course.
Next door you can purchase a beanbag in the most vibrant colours for 700 bucks (some say you can bargain for as little as 300!). And we eat lunch in the adjoining resto-bar, whilst lounging on plush red sofas.
Some don’t like the space, but I think it has potential and may turn out to be a real project – in a good way.
The two office spaces couldn’t be more opposite in character. The erstwhile one was swanky, with an assembly-line production of white cubicles and cabins. We had a pantry, a crèche, a table-tennis space and a gym (which sadly, no one seemed to use).
The new haunt is a nightclub-turned-office, which was originally designed with somewhat rugged interiors. You have wood and stone on the floor, and whitewashed walls. The brushstrokes are still visible, on purpose, of course.
Next door you can purchase a beanbag in the most vibrant colours for 700 bucks (some say you can bargain for as little as 300!). And we eat lunch in the adjoining resto-bar, whilst lounging on plush red sofas.
Some don’t like the space, but I think it has potential and may turn out to be a real project – in a good way.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
MOOLAH VERSUS MOJO
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.
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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
HARE KRISHNA
This weekend I bought my first piece of original art. I never intended to actually do it, and was going to settle for a poster or wall hanging, to add some character to the living room. But then, I bumped into this artist Meera who was selling her paintings in Dilli Haat.
I liked one with dancing dervishes, with a burst of primary colours. And I do so love primary colours. She was selling it for 9 k. I smiled squeamishly. "Out of your budget?" she asked, candidly.
"Yes, I said," feeling a little embarrassed. "So, what is your budget and what are you looking for?" she asked with complete sincerity.
"I have to think about it, I suppose," I said, not wanted to divulge the abysmal amount I was willing to pay for someone else's creativity.
"Say Rs 1,000?" she asked. "Yeah," I mumbled.
She asked me if I was looking for a mother and child theme. "No!", I said a little too vehemently.
She looked around a wee bit and then pulled out an abstract one with my favourite colours, green and blue. It had a woman's face, and her eyes were searching and she was calling out to someone. "Hare Krishna," was scribbled in Hindi, several times.
"This one is for love and relationships," the artist explained, convinced that this was the one for me. I paid her 2 grand and returned home, joyous.
The painting lit up the wall. And who knows, it just may be symbolic of wonderful things to come.
I liked one with dancing dervishes, with a burst of primary colours. And I do so love primary colours. She was selling it for 9 k. I smiled squeamishly. "Out of your budget?" she asked, candidly.
"Yes, I said," feeling a little embarrassed. "So, what is your budget and what are you looking for?" she asked with complete sincerity.
"I have to think about it, I suppose," I said, not wanted to divulge the abysmal amount I was willing to pay for someone else's creativity.
"Say Rs 1,000?" she asked. "Yeah," I mumbled.
She asked me if I was looking for a mother and child theme. "No!", I said a little too vehemently.
She looked around a wee bit and then pulled out an abstract one with my favourite colours, green and blue. It had a woman's face, and her eyes were searching and she was calling out to someone. "Hare Krishna," was scribbled in Hindi, several times.
"This one is for love and relationships," the artist explained, convinced that this was the one for me. I paid her 2 grand and returned home, joyous.
The painting lit up the wall. And who knows, it just may be symbolic of wonderful things to come.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
THE DARNDEST THING!
A close friend of mine said the darnest thing to me the other day; if the circumstances were different he would have pursued me and asked me to marry him. Apparently he thinks my personality is very appealing. I inquired about these circumstances, and he refused to comment.
And so, insightful, nosey me, I elaborated for him: religion, community and age.
He agreed.
We tend to have a love-hate relationship; every once in a while we have a fight over ideological differences, and then we agree to disagree. Yet, it takes us a while to reach a place where we truly agree to disagree.
And all the acerbic moments melt away, making way for the most delightful, affectionate, cheery exchanges.
And so, insightful, nosey me, I elaborated for him: religion, community and age.
He agreed.
We tend to have a love-hate relationship; every once in a while we have a fight over ideological differences, and then we agree to disagree. Yet, it takes us a while to reach a place where we truly agree to disagree.
And all the acerbic moments melt away, making way for the most delightful, affectionate, cheery exchanges.
Friday, May 8, 2009
BABY TRAIN
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.
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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