My school that never was…

even remotely close to Malory Towers: the dream school, one of Enid Blyton’s best creations. And, how I’ve longed to be there!

I came across Malory Towers first when I was a 4th of 5th Std student, standing patiently by my cousin as she rummaged in her mom’s trunk at home, looking for “some Enid Blyton books you might like”. I saw a neat stack on books on one side, the topmost one titled “First term at Malory Towers”. Hardbound, with a most inviting cover picture. Yet, I took only the two books my cousin lent me—The Faraway Tree and The Enchanted Wood—and went my way. “Finish these and I’ll lend you the next set”, said she.

Well, in all probability, 2-3 days later, I went back for the next set. I was a fast, voracious reader (I still am). If I start on a book, I hate to stop in between. There was a time when my cousin used to take me to the lending library every 14 days during my summer holidays, because the minimum lending period without fine was 14 days. And, I would always take away 13 books every once in 14 days, much to the librarian’s initial wonder and later chagrin 😀 But, I digress.

So, yes, I must have been all of 10 when I got my hands on the Malory Towers series…and I was thoroughly lost in that world. The dormitories, the common room, the classrooms, the swimming pool, the games courts, the stable, the dining room. The pantomimes, the plays, the lessons, the tricks, the midnight feasts. The friends, the foes, the jealousies, the pity, the scorn, the sarcasm, the fun, the friendships, the evolving characters. Darrel, Alicia, Sally, Irene, Belinda, Gwen, Mavis, Betty, Daphane, Mary-Lou, Bill and Clarissa. And the other girls who came in one term and left later for various reasons. The headmistress, the mistresses, the support staff. The parents.

The book went through Darrel Rivers’ six years at boarding school, before she went off to University. So, at the end of the series, I counted back and realised that The First Term would be her Std 7 😀 And, in two years from then, I myself would be in Std 7 🙂 What joy if we could have half that fun!

Cut to my school.

My own school life was totally different. I was in a mixed school, a day-school, which had classes from Lower KG right up till Std 12. A most horrible man for Principal and a horde of teachers who believed that teaching was all about terrorising kids. Well, at Stds 5 and 6, we were considered too little for the teachers to take notice of us. I don’t remember bad times during then. So, these things didn’t quite affect us either. But when I look back now at Stds 8 and above, I have no good memories of that school. No good memories of amazing teachers. No good memories that ever made me want to go back there as an alumni.

Over 90% of our teachers, teaching in a co-ed school as they did, were completely loathe to seeing boys and girls interacting. And especially so for Stds 9 and above. There was to be no gender mixes in friendships, girls were not to be seen with boys and vice-versa, and had no hold over their (often in bad taste) runaway tongues. And, it did not help one bit that I was every bit a tomboy and had more male friends than females.

There was favouritism of the highest order. I was a good singer, but there were already other tenured singers who went their way up from Lower KG. I was a fresh face from Std 5. In a singing competition, they initially announced the 1st prize for me, saw one of the tenured singers burst into tears…and promptly shifted the award in her name. I was taken aside and told “You know you are a better singer, we all think so. But see, we can’t make her miserable because she’s always won it till now. As long as you know you are better, what does an award matter?” And the second, third and consolation prizes all went the usual ones who would receive them before I joined the school. I was a mere 10-year-old, who felt extremely hurt and insulted, and vowed to never sing in that school again 😀

Through Stds 6, 7, 8 and 9, I remember the extreme animosity between boys and girls in our classes…mainly because our teachers hated to see any unity and always made remarks to the likes of “Girls of this class are…” and “Boys of this class are…”, generalising every single incident, even if it only included one or two individuals. And, students were always at fault. Anyone who weren’t 1st, 2nd or 3rd rank holders in each class were too “useless and dumb” in their eyes. On hindsight, those days, I used to hate the boys in my class because their animosity (egged on by our teachers) were quite visible and continuous. And vice-versa. And, at the same time, most of my closest friends were my brother’s friends—boys who were 2 years elder to me—and other boys who were neighbours! Yet, not a single male friend did I have in my own class. Years of this had tuned us to hate classmates of the opposite gender.

It was while I was in Std 10 that we had a most lovely and able man for a Principal, one who looked at things from the students’ point of view as well. And, it was in that year that I, breaking out of my girls-only-cocoon, made friends with some boys in the class. And, instantly, became a sore spot in the eyes of my teachers. A series of horrible things happened, but we as a group went through them like they didn’t matter. But one day, all hell broke loose when our History teacher, who was known as the terror of the school, injustly accused my friend for something I did. She marched into class, and started abusing both of them, in front of 35 other startled boys and girls. I was seething, but my friend told me to let it go, that she was happy to take the blame. But when that horrible woman then started being downright vulgar in her “character assessment”, I flew into an absolute rage. In front of that same startled classroom, I put her violently in her place. I told her she was a disgrace to the entire teaching community, to the women community and to human community, the way her mind works. I no longer remember what exactly I told her, but my tirade was so loud and strong, she was speechless. When I was done, still trembling with rage, she said “I’ll report you to the principal and have you expelled”, to which I said “Not if I get to him before you do”. I marched into the Principal’s office, narrated the entire incident, and owned up to having yelled at a teacher. He heard me out patiently and as she barged in a while later with a group of her close allies (equally horrible disgraces to all those aforementioned communities), he made her apologise to me. Oh, how she hated me, for the entire school heard about this and she was no longer a terror. Earlier, boys and girls in conversation would flee in separate directions if someone so much as whispered that the History teacher was coming their way—because she could not stand the sight of a boy and a girl talking outside class. After this incident, the minute someone spotted her, they would grab the nearest person from the opposite gender and start a loud happy conversation. Well, I did not wish for any of this to happen, I only stood up for what I thought was right that day. But, she hated me for ruining her ‘aura’. She cursed me in front of my classmates before we went for our Std 10 board Exams, telling me I’d fail pathetically in my exams and be a disgrace to my family and myself, and that I’d never reach anywhere. She said “The curse of a teacher is the worst and will always come true. You just wait!” She also carved into one of the school walls the absolutely miserable marks I would score. It was with immense pleasure that I went to meet her when the results were announced, taking her to that very wall and showing her that her stupid predictions didn’t come true, for I’d passed with flying colours. The last thing I said to her was “You’ve to be a ‘genuine teacher’ for a ‘teacher’s curse’ to come true.” And, strangely, I felt no guilt, for that woman genuinely deserved no respect! That Principal didn’t last their long, of course. The post was taken over by one we could call a rubber-stamp, and the aforementioned teachers ruled the roost.

In Stds 11 and 12, school turned out to be a nightmare for most of us, especially for me, no thanks to my “history” with the History teacher. And anyone who dared to be my friend was treated with the same contempt 🙂 Which only brought out the worst in us. The Math teacher HATED us enough to screw up her face in disgust if she saw us: because some of us weren’t so good in Math. My best friend was a genius in Math – she couldn’t lose even a single mark, even if she tried. She was always, every single day, scorned for being friends with the rest of us ‘brainless idiots’. I mean, if teachers scorn the kids who are weak in their subject of expertise and keep focusing on kids who excel in it, what’s the use of being a “teacher”? I was the English teacher’s delight, but she had more allegiance to her colleagues (especially the Math and Biology teachers) and did her best to appear disinterested and disappointed in me for being no good in Math! Except for two of us, the majority of the gang were in the Biology teacher’s class…and owing to her allegiance to the Math and English teachers, she made life hell for those friends of ours.

Everyday, there was some punishment or the other. There was one insult or the other. There was one cutting remark (of mental prowess, lack of parental guidance, of all the kids in the world, why you) or the other. And, all of these made us more and more rebellious. We cared more about pissing these women off and ruining their days than about studying and scoring high marks in school. (On hindsight, I’m sooo not proud of this!) And thankfully, none of us ever failed in any exams. Subjects that we were weak in, we would still scrape by but never fail. Much to the chagrin of those teachers. And since we wouldn’t fail and they couldn’t demand that we bring in our parents, they finally came up with stories about how all of us were in relationships and those relationships were the sole reason we were turning up in school every day and how despicably wayward we were. We were 3 girls and 5 guys in the group. I’m surprised they didn’t say we were in multiple relationships! 😛 The Math teacher, my class teacher, called my parents to school once and blasted the living daylights out of them for bringing up a girl so badly, for being irresponsible parents and for letting their horrible daughter take their trust for granted. She told my parents I was in a relationship with my friend, who was an orphan and had no good means of living. This same woman who had hated my brother while he was in school, now praised him skyhigh and said “Why can’t your daughter be a bit like her brother at least? He was such a nice student, such a nice boy.” Hurt as they were, after a meltdown at home later that evening, my parents saw sense when I explained it all clearly. I even offered to call up the boy’s house and have my parents talk to his, for he was no orphan! And, the absolute surprise (followed by scorn and bellowing laughter) on my brother’s face at the praise he seemingly received seemed to explain more about the true colours of that teacher to my parents. And in stark contrast, my professors in the University absolutely loved me, and once called my parents to college during my final year. The previous time my teachers called my parents, it was a horrible day for them, so my Mom was sure she was in for another earful of abuse about her daughter. When the Head of my Department said “Your daughter is our true hope of a rank for our college”, my mother actually had a BP rise out of sheer surprise and sort of fainted! ROFL. 

In all this, within and outside of school I did have a lot of fun with my friends, but I’ll only remember those days for the fun I had with them and never for the school life that’s supposed to be some of the best times in a child’s life. It was fun we had DESPITE the school being so horrible. When I look back today, I’m not thoroughly pleased at how we rebelled, but at that point, that seemed the only sensible thing to do. I recently spoke to some of the more mellow, “good students” (esp in the eyes of these very horrible teachers), and none of them seem to look back at that school life fondly. I was only too glad to get out of there, never to go back. I’ve received a few Alumni meet invitations, but I turned down everyone of them. And, I will continue to do that. Sometimes, I do wish my parents had admitted me into some other school, but I guess I turned out the way I am because of all that the school threw at me. I may have scored higher marks in another school with less of this bullshit, but I may have been a completely different person today.

So, why did I go down memory lane with a long post about a school life I hated? Because the past week, as a 33-year-old, I went back to reading Malory Towers 😀 And nothing seems to have changed in the past 20+ years, for how I longed to be there! How I wished my school life had been simpler, more fun and more meaningful. How I wished I ha fabulous memories to share today. How I wished I had not been a student in my beastly school (and still see it as a place that did me no good and one I’d never return to) and had been to one that was at least half as fun as Malory Towers! How I wish my school-time memories were far more beautiful than they ever will be. And, how I wish the beastly women who taught in that school had taken up alternate careers that were faaaaaaar removed from teaching and schools and kids. Sigh.

Day 22: ‘For the apparel oft proclaims the man’

This phrase isn’t mine, of course. It was coined by the great Shakespeare. For his famous play, Hamlet, where Lord Polonius enlightens Laertes on a few rules of life; the phrase in question addressing the point of “being presentable.” Most of us commonly know this phrase as “Clothes/Dress maketh a man.”

Over 3 years ago, a week before joining Accenture, I received a call from my soon-to-be manager, for confirmation that I will be joining his team (well, a good two months had passed since the interview, so confirmation was justified, I suppose). That’s when I was “by the way” informed that there is a dress code that’s to be strictly adhered to in office. “Business formals — western or Indian,” he said. How I managed not to blurt out “What! Are you serious!?” beats me. Or ummm, maybe I did blurt that out. Subtlety is not (always) my closest companion.

Dismay. Anxiety. Panic. In that order. And a good amount of self angst! Why do I always say “Mmm…not right now, nothing.” at every job interview when they ask me if I have any questions? Why do I not ask these severely important, life-altering questions? Why! W.H.Y!?

For 23 years of my life, someone other than myself decided what I would wear. At kindergarten. At school. At college. And again, at college. Then one fine day, the great powers of the universe conspired in my favor. I got a job in an advertising agency. That was the beginning of a new era. Well, I wish I could say I was like a caged animal let free, and all that. Sadly, no. I suppose the conditioning over 23 years was pretty binding.

But.

I did discover the joys of “casual” dressing. Of wearing a comfortable pair of jeans every day (yes, different clean ones). And the comforts of shirts that don’t fit in the formal category (and at times, T-shirts). And every company I worked at allowed me to wear those. And not all of them were advertising agencies, let me tell you; there were other Fortune 50 giants in the list too. And in all those years, not only did I forget that “dress code” was still in practice, I also reached a stage where my wardrobe scored a grand zero in the formal wear department, Indian or otherwise!

To quote a very observant ex-colleague of mine, I’m apparently “more boyish than many boys” she knows. Must give her credit for this one because it is true. In my defense, I grew up in a house full of boys — what else can one expect? So yes, the comforts of a good pair of sports sneakers is something I have fallen addict to…and the only kind of outfits that goes with them are western casuals (not my fault!) 😀 Yes, my love for sportsy footwear is actually the only biggest reason for my choice of preferred attire!

Or maybe not. As a person too, I’m not too “formal.” While I am courteous and polite, I’m in that category that generally goes “Yaaaaaaaayy!” where others might opt to just say “Oh, that’s great news!”

So where were we? Ah – dismay, anxiety and panic. Dismay that I only had the weekend to go shopping (I left the previous company on a Friday and joined Accenture the following Monday). Anxiety of not knowing which shops to walk into, what kind to buy and if I’d ever feel comfortable in those. Panic of realizing that anything and everything I picked from the Indian business formals (read as Kurtis and other such) department were either too big or too small (leaving me feeling like Goldilocks who got into a house that had no baby bear living there)! But wardrobe rehaul was done, not too happily.

It was a struggle, those initial days: of not having a pocket to stuff my phone and wallet into…of having to go rickety-ricket on a pair of sandals (which I still do, without failing to go “twainnng!” and nearly toppling over at least once a day — God, I miss my sneakers!)…of not being able to pull on that favorite shirt and feel secure and warm in its apparent familiarity…and other such. (Frankly, after a full two and half years, I still never came to terms with it; oh, how I wait for the blessed Fridays.)

And just about when the rumour mills began buzzing with news of a soon-to-come casual-everyday dress code in Accenture, I got myself offered a job in Kuwait, which I grabbed. And, like lightning on a snake-bite victim, the HR said they have a “western formals only” dress code, since the company is mostly British. Bloody Nora! 🙄

For some strange reason, though I was always most at home in a pair of jeans, I’ve never worn formal trousers in my life, except try it on once inside a trial room before quickly discarding it (along with the thought of ever having to be in one). So, this was NOT good news for me.

Again.

Dismay. Anxiety. Panic. In that order. Dismay that I was finally having to suffer for the WIFE‘s constant curses of my boyish attire and my worst nightmare was coming true (OK, that’s taking this a bit too much – my worst nightmare is ever having to go to jail). Anxiety of not knowing which shops to walk into, what kind to buy and that I will never be able to carry off the “formal” look. Panic at the price tags that were mostly in the 4-digits category and me simply not being rich enough. But wardrobe rehaul was done, not at allllll happily.

Because  I had to go shopping for western formals, a category I knew NOTHING about, with none other than the Queen of Subtlety and (self-declared, but totally justified) Fashionista! Not once, but twice! 🙄 That’s a whole new post, my shopping experience with two people who were hell bent on making me a girl (finally! as they would add).

Now, going back to how “the apparel oft proclaims the man.” What’s really the idea behind being dressed a certain way four days of the week and differently on the fifth? I can discern no difference in how things  on Fridays (or Thursdays, in the Middle East) are, compared to the rest of the week: not in the responsibilities we shoulder, the tasks we handle, or the people we work with. In fact, at Accenture, Fridays never cut us any slack! There have been several instances of people pinging me on Skype (internal office chat) a little before 8.30 p.m. (we worked 11 a.m.- 8.30 p.m.), lamenting the fact that we were “still working at this hour on a Friday evening.” And, it’s the same story here on Thursday. We work straight from 8 through 5 on every single Thursday! 😛

I read somewhere that “people make assumptions about work ethic, intelligence and professionalism based on how others are dressed while at the office.” So then, do none of these (work ethic, intelligence and professionalism) matter on a Friday? 😀 So yeah, what makes the Friday more casual than the rest of the days, that we are allowed a bit more freedom in matters concerning our “apparel”? If there is a logic, it beats me. It will be muchly appreciated if any of you can give me some insights into this. Also, let me clarify right away that I am not proposing being allowed to wear torn jeans and ripped shirts and so on I’m only talking about permissible limits to being “casual” in a professional environment. I honestly believe we’re all at our best on every given day, including on Fridays/Thursdays – so, does it really hurt to allow through the week, what we currently are allowed to wear on a “dress-down day”? *tilts head in hope, waiting for the Al-mighty to say “Al-right…go ahead!”*

Sigh. I miss my jeans and sneakers! I do, I do, I still muchhhhhhhhhhhly do!

Day 19: Reflections…

…when ugly, are never the mirror’s fault. It is the fault of the “object” and the “light” that reflects off it at a bad angle. But you do need the mirror to show that to you. Unless you choose to never look in the mirror. Is that wise, though?

Looking back at the past and drawing lines to the present…is that a good thing to do? Does reflecting on the past and regretting not acting on a certain intuition then…make it sensible to consider that decision now?

Are intuitions any good, or is it just a fancy term for a comparison at different levels? Are they just bad feelings to brush off with Hope and Faith, or are they things needing serious thought?

How much, what kind and when is it OK to forgive? If you cannot forget, what’s the point in forgiving, when memory serves to rekindle the same feelings many times over? How genuine, then, is that forgiveness…and how fruitful?

How can you weigh the unknown repercussions of your decisions against your future happiness? What if your intuition fails you and you don’t take what could have been the best decision of your life?

How trustworthy can promises be, when tomorrow is a whole new day?

Does anyone know how the scalded cat, that feared even cold water, finally got over its fear? Is fear a good reason to not believe?

In an attempt to stay positive, is it wise to brush the unknown, unexpected and unhappy under the carpet?

How late is too late?

The Queen of Subtlety

Subtlety, if you ask me, is not an art possessed and practiced by many. Some think they have it, but don’t. Some actually have it, but never put it into action at the right moment. And well, some others have it, and practice it quite well.

And then there’s Princess (you need to spend 5 continuous minutes with her to know why exactly she is Princess) who does not know that subtlety exists. Which makes her nothing less than The Queen of Subtlety.

Incident #1 why Princess got titled The Queen of Subtlety
Princess and her two friends (which includes me) were on a break; sipping tea at the pantry. There was no one else in the pantry. If the three of us weren’t talking, there would be no other sound there. We were discussing random life issues, friends, relatives and other such. For once, there was ABSOLUTELY no gossip about colleagues happening right then. After a few minutes, our manager’s ex-manager (who still likes to act the part of our manager’s manager) walked in to fill her tea cup. There was a moment of silence right then, as we had just finished a random conversation. For no reason in particular, on seeing the lady that walked in, Princess said “Shhh” at us (but alas, loudly enough for all of the pantry to hear). We were not talking about her, but I’m sure after the “Shhh”, she thought we were. Sigh! 🙄

Incident #2 why Princess got titled The Queen of Subtlety
Princess and I were at our workstations, quietly going about our lives work. And then, Princess rolled her chair towards me and we began discussing something — I’m not sure if it was work or something else. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our manager’s manager walk into our bay, and launch into a conversation with our manager. I whispered to Princess to check them both out, that they’re colour coded (they were both in red shirts). That’s ALL I said. Princess turned around, looked, and burst out laughing. And then she turned back to me, saw my horrified expression and went “Ooops” and eerily quiet. I dread to even think what he might have thought! Sigh! 🙄

Incident #3 why Princess got titled The Queen of Subtlety
Princess and I work on the 7th Floor of our office building. We have a friend on the Ground Floor. Once, after collecting a courier that Princess received (a reasonably sized box which looked suspicious even to me!), we decided to walk over to our friend and have a chat. As we walked in, I told Princess that we’ll tell our friend we’re here to have a serious meeting with her and her manager, and that Princess was to hide the courier from the friend’s view. We walked to her seat, and found her seat vacant; she was in a meeting room with her team. As we were contemplating whether to stay or leave, the meeting room door opened and the friend’s teammate walked out. Instead of being a normal human being and just staying calm, Princess did something very close to acrobatics and tried to hide the courier box from the girl’s sight (don’t ask me why!!). Of course, quite unsuccessfully at that. We got a look of weird displeasure from that girl. Sigh! 🙄

Incident #4 why Princess got titled The Queen of Subtlety
Princess and I were walking to the pantry, for a cup of tea. Just as we got out of the bay, we saw two foreigners standing by the door, having a serious discussion. I walked on in silence. But not the Princess, oh no! She took one look at the two (fairly older) gentlemen and said “Oooh! Nice.” With smoke coming out of my ears, I hastened my pace, looked at her horrified and asked her what the hell that was! And she explains, “But I meant one of their bags; not them!” Yes, very evident that was. Sigh! 🙄

As The Queen of Subtlety continues to rule, the rest of us are sure that we’ll have many more foot-in-mouth moments, handed over in a golden plate, even without having to say a word! Secretly, I think I need to make new friends.

Been a while since…

…I blogged last — not just posting on mine, but commenting on the million other posts I religiously read.

…I cooked a proper meal. Like, a complete lunch/dinner the way I used to.

…I really got down to gardening. I force myself to water them frequently to keep them alive.

…I spoke to my best buddies from school.

…I sang a full song, loud and clear.

…I’ve met some ex-colleagues I’ve been really wanting to meet (some things just do NOT happen).

…I’ve gone about taking random photographs. The camera is dying under a layer of dust (not literally).

…I’ve been fired by anyone for a really weird reason.

…I’ve done something mindless.

…I spent some real good time with family.

Been a while since I’ve been me. Sucks. Bah.

when life throws lemons at you…

I haven’t been blogging for quite a while now; life got on to a roller coaster (which has happened before) but got derailed this time (which has never happened before) 😀 No major casualties, but definitely left a few bruises will stay for quite a while.

Too many changes happened. Some were planned, some were expected (but hoped not to happen) and some just took me by utter surprise.

I don’t take too kindly to that kind of utter surprise. Sudden changes in decisions, plans, dreams, life, so on and so forth, do not really fall in my list of “I love”s. I am the kind that actually needs time to accept a change and adapt to it well. Even an unplanned movie plan can put me in turmoil. I’m not kidding, it really can. Ask Suraj, if you need evidence 😀 As someone who absolutely LOVES giving surprises, the poor thing has to think a million times before he can give me one (and finally, he always decides not to). 😀

I always need time to prepare myself to major changes: like job changes, relocations, letting people come into and go from my life…

So, when life suddenly throws lemons at me, my first instinct is to duck under the table, rather than make some lemonade out of them.

To start with, I had to quit a job I liked because of certain people and reasons. Then a relocation was briefly considered, which I finally decided will NOT happen. Then my parents relocated back to Trivandrum (and took Pumbaa with them for a while). And then we decided to move houses, which further depressed me, for I’m quite comfortable in the house we live in, and is totally in love with Koramangala (I now totally understand what she meant when she wrote this. And then a few other things happened, which I really do not want to talk about here. So basically, life’s not been too good so far. I don’t think I like 2012 too much 😀 2011 was fun and generally stress-free.

The good things: I’m still in the same house; I’ve got myself a new job (which also gave me a laptop, though I still miss my T410…but well, it serves the purpose well enough); I’m still in my ‘initial days’ at work, making me generally jobless and helping me get back to my blog; I participated in a Blogstar competition at work, and both my posts got featured in the top 15 of a total of 56 posts (yay!!) :D; I’m back to my travel-by-volvo days, and enjoying it much; I am back in charge of the kitchen, since the senior chef ran off to Trivandrum forever…and I’ve held on for a month and half now, without eating out most days like we used to before the parents came to B’lore (makes me pretty proud of myself 😉 ); I’m back to gardening and talking to my plants and making sure they’re happy—which is actually because of Pumbaa’s absence (he used to make sure he got all my time and attention).

So yes, there are a few good things that make me happy; but the bad ones are quite phenomenal, and damn depressing. I try to push them to the bottom of the pile, but well, they keep coming up for air every now and then. Basically, am not very good company now 😀 So, be happy none of you are we-talk-daily friends with me 😀

I’ve been reading all your posts, ‘liked’ some of them and just quietly left without making my presence known on some others. While it makes me happy to know happiness is happening to many of you out there, I’m also quite frustrated that I’m not in the frame of mind/life to be able to be blissfully happy that way.

While we are at it, I’d like to thank my brother, Hobbes, and Vimmuuu (without knowing at all that I’m in no mood to tolerate his nonsense), for making me laugh like mad in some of my down-in-the-dumps moments and making me momentarily forget that I’m dodging lemons. 😀

Life, I tell you! Sigh.

dogs go to the market…twice in three days

For the uninitiated, “patti chanthakku poyapole” is a popular saying in the Malayalam language (which literally translates to “like the dog went to the market”). It means that you go all the way to someplace with great expectations, only to return empty-handed or not having met your goal.

Like how my brother and I went to Nandi Hills two days back, and how we went to the Jawaharlal Nehru Planetarium today. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

dogs go to the market…take 1

Going to Nandi Hills has been an almost-5-year-plan for me. After many many plans and postponed plans and I-think-it’ll-never-happen moments, my brother and I finally set off to Nandi Hills. Gross miscalculation of time, I must say 😀

We left home by about 3 (it’ll only take an hour-and-half to reach there, we thought) and cruised along on the Pulsar. Come 4.30, no sign of Nandi Hills 😀 Come 5, we see it all covered in fog at a great distance away. And slowly, it kept coming nearer and nearer. Finally, at 5.50pm, we reached the ticket counter. And the guy there, rather pissed off with us, said, “Hathu nimisha, ashtte. Bega banni.”

What the %$#@!!! I thought they closed at 6.30. Baaaaaaah. My brother did not understand a thing, and while I translated it, he was furious that the guy almost ‘barked’ at us 😀 We quickly walked in, quickly walked out, had a hot cup of chai and reached back home at 8.20pm.

So much for going to Nandi Hills!

Well, if it’s any solace (for my brother, that is), this is my brother’s 3rd trip…and he’s making good progress. The first time, by the time he reached the foot of Nandi Hills, it was so dark, he didn’t bother going any further. The second time, he did not even get t see the guy at the ticket counter (who had left for the day), and this last time, he managed to get in. Hopefully, the next time, we’ll go muchhhhh earlier. It’s 6 o clock a bit toooo soon these days! 🙄

dogs go to the market…take 2

So, like most of the plans the brother and I make, going to the planetarium was another long-pending one. We set off early this time, by about 11.20am to reach there in time for the 12.30pm show. Roughly 8kms, ample time! So I suggest a route, my brother suggests another one…and we go along the one he suggested. Halfway there, he turns around to ask me “Why did I come this way?” Baaaah! 😀 And we go round and round, miss most of the correct roads and finally do reach the planetarium (after having travelled over 12-14 kms 😀 ) — in good time, still. We reach there by about 12.10!! Awesome. Or so, we thought.

We parked the bike and rushed to the entrance. The guard there said the tickets had to be bought from the counter near the gate. So we rushed back to the gate…and the guard there said “No tickets. All full. Next show at 4.30. Half hour munche banni. Ticket sigathe.”

We walked a bit more around in circles, scrutinised the surroundings and realised that the Priyadarshini (everything’s in a name, you see 😉 😉 😉 ) Planetarium at Thiruvananthapuram is way, way, WAY better 😀 And no, this is not the case of the kittaatha munthiri pulikkum*, I swear. You have to go to both these places to know the difference. Allellum oru postil randu malayalam pazhamchollukal paadilla** 😉

So there! Dogs go to the market…twice in three days 😀 I have a feeling we saw a smirk on Pumbaa’s face both times we came back from the market 😉

Many more markets to go to…Skandagiri, Mekedattu, Shivanasamudra and Majuli (where we plan to go do the ‘ho ho ho’ tribal dance and learn mask-making 😀 ).

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*The Malayalam version of the sour grapes saying.
**Even otherwise, in the same post, two Malayalam sayings won’t sing can’t be used.

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Oh, by the way… Merry Christmas, folks 😉

icici: customer scare

I know I’ve bored you all with too much icici tales — but ALAS. I’ve closed the darned account. I can never crib about them again. Yay! Freedom, and peace of mind! So just this once more 🙂

Gee! I’m on a roll! 🙂  ICICI seems to be bent up on giving me fodder to rant on. After this and this, here’s some more 🙂 Wow, ICICI sure knows how to make fools out of themselves!

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FODDER 1:

After all that drama, since we were in need to take out at least some of my money from my account (I have no cheque leave, and no ATM card, and they have no withdrawal slip, and I refuse to pay them even a single penny for their precious “instant” cheque leaves/cards), Suraj calls up ICICI Customer Care. He explains the situation and asks if its possible to transfer money from my account to his. He also says neither of us have Internet banking. “Of course Sir, it’s possible. You have to go to your home branch, and she also has to come there and give a written statement to the  Manager, saying fund has to be transferred.” Suraj is overjoyed, but clarifies “My home branch or hers? And is there a limit, or can any amount be transferred?” “YOUR home branch, Sir. And you can transfer any amount, Sir. No limits.”

Suraj’s joy knew no bounds. He took an hour’s off from work, so did I. I knew some screw up would happen, but I kept quiet. At the Jayanagar 9th block branch (his home branch), of course, the first polite, all-smiles response to the query, in typical ICICI-style is “No, Sir…that’s not possible.” We had to tell her about 5 times that the Customer Care employee had confirmed it was possible.

“Ma’am, you can use your cheque leaf no?” I had sworn to myself I would be polite, so I said “I don’t have it; if I did, we wouldn’t be asking for this, right? (sweet smile)”

“How about your ATM card?” Before I lose my cool, Suraj says “I already told you she lost it, and we’ve blocked it.”

She: “Ma’am, in that case, you can buy loose cheque leaves from us.”
Suraj: “But that’ll be charged, right?”
She: “Yes, Sir. It’s Rs 28 a leaf, but we’ll give you 5 leaves together.”
Me: “Hmmm…so Rs 140 for 5 cheque leaves. It’s a lot cheaper here, Suraj. It was Rs 220 at Koramangala, remember?” (sweeter smile)

She gives us both a weird look before continuing, “Or if you go to the Jayanagar 3rd Block branch, you’ll get an instant card. Instantly, they’ll give it.”
Suraj: “But that’ll be charged, right?”
She: “Yes, Sir. It’s 221 a card.”
Me: “Wow. That’s so uncool. Koramangala was cheaper for this one…they had said Rs 150.” (much more sweeter smile)

The lady now is so bewildered, Suraj politely asks her to talk to the Manager. She’s gone a while and returns to tell us “You can transfer a maximum of Rs 5000. For more, you’ll have to go to her home branch.””I clarified and the Customer Care person said I’ve to come to MY home branch, and there was NO LIMIT.” “No Sir, sorry. We can’t do anything. We don’t have the authority. Go to her home branch. Or you can even request her home branch to be transferred to this branch, so it’ll be easier for you both.”

Before indescribable expletives come out of my mouth, Suraj ushers me out, looks at me, sighs and says, “Yes, pannnna stupid horrible ICICI.”

But in this case, I must admit, the lady was DAMN POLITE, and was quite apologetic when she said she can’t do anything to help. And I held on to my temper, since she had no clue what I’d gone through a couple of days back. But well, there’s NO COORDINATION BETWEEN WHAT THE EMPLOYEES AND THE CUSTOMER CARE SAYS!

Where ICICI is concerned, the customer is forever on a merry-go-round, which isn’t quite all that merry!

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FODDER 2:

For a change, this happened to Suraj, and not me! So, I think his “good spell” is waning too. I’m  — not secretly at all — THRILLED!

He, after hearing all my stories and rants, decided that Internet banking HAS to be activated. So he goes to the bank and enquires how he must go about it. The officer there said that though they do have a form he can fill up there, it’ll be a quicker process if he can go about it via Customer Care. (When I tried for this once through Customer Care, they’d explicitly told me I HAVE to go to the bank and fill the form up, there was no other go 🙂 🙂 🙂 Different people get different options. Nice!) He also said that the mobile number needs to be registered first in their server.

So Suraj registers the mobile number, and also gives a request to update his address to our current one. The officer said it’ll take a day for the mobile number to be registered, and that Suraj’d get a letter via post confirming the new address.

As promised, the next day dawns with an SMS from the bank stating that his mobile number has been registered. Suraj waits further, and on Day 4, a letter comes via post, stating the address has been changed to the current one, and registered in their server as well.

Suraj then calls Customer Care and requests to activate Internet Banking. So they say they’ll send him a new id and password through post. Recalling how, in my case, without even confirming the address they SENT an id and password to an old address, Suraj says he had changed his address two days back, and asks the Customer Care person to confirm it. But voila! After 6 days — and even AFTER getting a letter by post to the new address — the “server” still hangs on to the old address. “How’s that!? I changed it, and I even got a letter confirming it. If it’s still showing the old one, how did the letter reach me?” “I don’t know, Sir. It’s still showing the old one. We can send the password and id to that address only, unless you change it. If you change it, it’ll take 4 days, and you’ll get a letter. You can then call again and activate Internet banking.”

Dende kedakkunnu! There! So, singing “here we go round the mulberry bush”, Suraj starts all over again, requesting an address change. The guy says Suraj’d get a letter via post confirming the new address. On Day 4, the exact same letter arrives all over again, stating in the exact same words the exact same “new” address” has been  registered in their server as well.

EDITED TO ADD (after the latest address change letter):
     Letter 1 said:    Old address: ABC…     New address: DEF…  (which is exactly what Suraj wanted)
     Letter 2 says:   Old address: DEF…     New address: XYZ…   (ROFL is all i can do!!)
The funniest part is, Suraj DID NOT give XYZ as his address at all! So, I wonder where they go it from. I wouldn’t be surpised if tomorrow they change his dad’s name, or even his very own name — and then shift all his funds to another account saying “That’s your real account number, SIR”! 😀

From the looks of it, the next time he calls, a third Customer Care employee will again say it’s still the old address they have, Suraj will again give the new address, they’ll again send the letter. I wonder how many Customer Care employees they have — just so I know how many calls Suraj will make 😀  And I wonder if there’ll be enough trees left in the world — considering how many letters they send via post for the same ****ing thing.

So much for getting his Internet baking activated “much more quickly” 🙂

I think they need a new server that’s willing to accept new addresses and make sense of existing names and stuff. Especially after reading this experience of another customer unfortunate enough to have an ICICI account, I don’t just think, I’m SURE they need one.

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What I just can’t accept is the fact that they’re never inclide to “help”. No matter what the situation is, on whose side the fault lies and how simple it may be solve it, they JUST DONT SEEM INCLINED TO HELP. The first response I always get is a “No”, before they give options, that too, ONLY if we ask! THAT is what pisses me out. I seriously hope they fall out of business. Soooooon!

Customer ser-VICE: the ICICI way

LONG-POST-AHEAD alert!

Ok…I’m honestly ashamed at myself for even letting the nasty “ICICI” be allowed any space in my blog, but well…I have to! For their own UNwell-being!

Their initial tagline was “hum hai na“, translating to “We’re there (for you)“. Probably they realized they’re never there, or maybe they thought just “being there” wasn’t enough. So they changed it to “khayaal aapka“. Well, they have zero knowledge of Hindi. They’ve absolutely no clue what “hum hi na” and “khayaal aapka” means. I think they actually mean “kya haal appka (tch tch)“.

Yes, that HAS to be it. They’re actually mocking, sneering and smirking at their customers, saying “kya haal aapa…poor you!” and then rolling around laughing teir *&%^*& asses out!

For the stupid ICICI Bank, Customer Service just means giving customers a tough time — especially when they’re really in need! I may be prejudiced here, but I must say: I’ve banked with State Bank of Travancore, Axis Bank (which was UTI Bank), Standard Chartered Bank and the horrible ICICI. I’ve never been hesitant to walk into any of the other banks ever — but with ICICI, every single — e.v.e.r.y. s.i.n.g.l.e — time there has been traumatic for me. I’m sure if someone checked my blood pressure before I decide to go to ICICI, and after it, there would be a huge difference, the latter bordering on dangerous!!

Here’s one such incident I wrote about. This is ICICI Customer SerVICE.

Of course, that incident happened over 2 years ago, and I forgot about their “policies”.

Recently, about 6 months back, I needed some money very urgently. I, in fact, had to borrow 30k from a friend. I took her ATM card (in the hopes of withdrawing in 2 days if the limit was 15k) and went to the ICICI Koramangala Branch to withdraw the maximum I could with the card. They have 5 ATM machines in that office — but none worked! So, along with a few other annoyed customers who were there, I walked into the branch, and asked the “very eager to HELP” officer that I needed money, and that their machines were out-of-order. We began on a polite conversation.

“Do you have a cheque leaf ma’am?”  “No, I don’t.”  “Then I’m sorry. You can’t withdraw cash.”  “What? Give me a withdrawal slip, please. This is an emergency.”  “We don’t have withdrawal slips, ma’am. It’s not per our policies.”  “Then what do I do?  “You can go home and get your cheque leaf, ma’am.”  “I told you, I don’t HAVE a cheque leaf. And I need cash immediately. I need about 30k. There’s no other way I can get it?”  “No, ma’am. You can place an order for fresh cheque leaves, and you’ll get it in a week’s time.”  “Do you know what an “emergency” is?”

And I walk out of the bank in a huff, all patience lost, back to my friend’s home. She writes me a cheque for 30k, stating pay “Cash”. Duly signed, filled in well. Ensuring there’ll be no further problems. I go all the way back to the bank and present the cheque. I begin on a polite conversation with the teller lady.

“I need Rs 30,000 in cash. Here’s a cheque.”  “Ma’am, we can’t process this cheque.” (no further explanations, just a blank look. Of course, per their policy, the customer needs to entertain them with the questions!)  “And, why, may I please ask?” I’m beginning to lose it.  “It’s written “Cash”. You’ve to write pay “Self…”  “Listen, lady. This is NOT my cheque. It’s a friend’s.”  “Whatever ma’am. We can’t accept cheque written “Cash”.  “So, my friend must write pay “Self”…and I must bring it to you?”  “Yes, ma’am.”  “So, then you can say “This is someone else’s cheque and it’s written “self”, so that person will have to come”, right?”  No response. That’s when I lose it. I scream at the top of my voice, ensuring all customers hear me: “This is a medical emergency. Your fucking bank has already delayed me by 30 minutes. Because of you, someone could lose his life. If that happens, have no doubt that I’ll sue you as a person, and as a company. I need the money right now. Do something about it.” The lady is irritated now, and tells me:  “Then go upstairs and get an emergency cheque if you want.”  “I’ll sit right here and give YOU 5 minutes to go get a cheque by yourself, and get me 30k in cash. Else, I’ll definitely make sure all you people get in trouble.” And I sit down, fuming, shaking with anger.  There’s a flurry of movement. People running up and down — and I have the cash in hand in 5 minutes.

This is ICICI Customer SerVICE.

Fed up of going to the bank for any more such “services”, I decided to enable internet banking. Once again, after a month or so, I go to the same darned ICICI Koramangala Branch, to enable internet banking. They direct me to the 1st floor, to get it done. I take a token ticket, fill up a form for enabling internet banking and wait for over half an hour, for my token number to be called. Finally, a girl comes around asking people “What’s your query?” I tell her, and she says “Wait, you’ll be called.” After another 15 minutes, she comes, takes the form from me and tells me, “You can leave ma’am. All the employees are busy. We’ll send you your username and password to your mobile in 4 working days.”   I’m surprised. “To my mobile? Is that a safe thing to do?”   “Yes, of course. that’s how we do it.”  “Are you very sure?” “With extreme confidence, she says “Of course, ma’am.”

Eight working days later, I’ve still not heard from them. So, I call Customer Care. “See, I’d requested for my internet banking to be enabled, and I was told I’d get the username and password to my mobile in 4 working…” I barely finish when he interrupts me with a smirk “To your mobile? We don’t do it. We send it to your communication address via post. And from your account details, I can see that it has been sent already.”  “Do you know my communication address?   “It’s…” and he reads out an address I stayed at 3 years ago. I’ve shifted house twice after that.  “But that’s not my address anymore.”   “Then I can’t help you ma’am. You need to block the password immediately.”   I was seething, and I told him “It was a person at the bank who told me it’d come to my mobile — and if she wasnt sure, she should at least have asked me to confirm my address — even the form didn’t have a section asking for the current address!”  “I’m sorry ma’am. Maybe she was new. I’ve blocked your password. You can re-apply at the bank.”

This is ICICI Customer SerVICE.

I swore never to go to ICICI for any damn thing — and I was adamant I wanted to close the bloody account. But Suraj said we’d already given that account number for the housing loan purpose, to show bank balance and statements — and he didn’t want anything delaying the loan.  So I didn’t close it.

A few days back, I lost my ATM card, and I’d to block it. Well, it wasn’t really lost: it was hidden in my bro’s jeans, and after hunting for it over 3 hours, we presumed it was gone, and blocked it. So, now, no ATM card, no cheque leaves. I knew my money was stuck in the bank — of course, they have no withdrawal slip!

I went to the ICICI Koramangala Branch and asked yet another “eager to HELP” official what my options for a withdrawal were. “You can pay Rs 220 and get a cheque book right now, or you can pay Rs 150 and get an instant ATM card.”   I was adamant I wouldn’t part with even 5 paise for this ****ing bank. So, I tell him “So, to withdraw MY money from MY account, I need to PAY your bank. Interesting. Ok. I have another question. I’d like to close my account. How much do I pay for that?” He gives me a weird look and directs me to 1st floor. Oh no, not the first floor again. Aaaarghhh! I tread up the stairs.

I go up to see about 10 people already waiting to be “taken care of”. I take a token ticket, and sit down at exactly 1.05 pm. As soon as a guy comes around asking “What’s your query?”, I tell him my need and ask him how long it will take.   “I can’t tell you ma’am. They’ll call your token number.”  Flabbergasted, I ask “Listen, can;t you just ask them how long an account closing will take?”   “No, ma’am. Sorry.” And he moves on to the next person sitting.  Time slowly ticks away. It’s 1.35 pm and not one person has been called. All the counters have employees, but they’re all “training” new recruits learn the work. How nice. Finally, one of those guys come around asking again “What’s your query ma’am?” I say, very patiently still, that I need to close my account, and when asked why, I say “This is why. I’ve been here multiple times, and your bank and your people have ALWAYS given me a tough time.”  “Ummm…shush ma’am. They’ll all hear you. Ummm…you’ll be called soon.” At 1.50 pm, the guy looks at me, and quickly turns away. So I get up, and call him loudly, asking if someone even plans to call the token numbers. He says “Ma’am, there are people waiting who came before you.”   “Really? So, is that a good thing? I’ve been here for 45 minutes!” “They’ll call you. Please wait.”   “Listen, do you need an account closing form to be filled, or a letter written? Then let me know, so I can do that now instead of wasting time for that later. And how long will this whole thing take?”  “No madam, I can;t tell you till they verify your account.”

At 2.10, I’m called. After repeating for the 4th time WHY EXACTLY I need to close the darned account, she tells me “This is your salary account. We can’t close it without getting a letter from your employer. Otherwise where will your salary go next month?”  Rather pissed, I tell her “There are other banks, in case you don’t know. And, to close MY account, you need MY permission, not my employers. I’ll deal with my company. You just deal with your company policies.” And then she comes up with “We need 10 days to close your account, since from your account number it is evident that your home branch is Chennai”.  I’m quite loud by now. And, I have to tell her it’s not Chennai, but “Kumara Park, BANGALORE”.  “Oh, whatever. It’s not this branch, so we need 10 days.”  “You made me wait for over an hour to tell me this!? Have you NO REGARD for a person’s time!?”  “Well, you never asked.”  “WHAT!? Ask your over-eager-to-help people how many times I asked!”  “Well, they’re all new. They don’t know these things.”  “If they don’t know, they should’ve asked someone who knows, and then told me, right?”   “Whatever. That’s not my fault.’

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is ICICI Customer SerVICE.”

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I really, truly, honestly wish I could ask all you readers, with ICICI accounts to go close them, saying “A friend had too many bad experiences with your bank. So, to support her, I’m closing my account.” or something. I wish I could start a movement like this. Such closures — stating this as a reason — around the country will probably make them re-consider the meaning of “customer service”. But well, I know there might be those of you who’ve had no issues with this bank, and love it. Why say more: my own husband refuses to close his ***ing ICICI account since he’s had no issues so far. So much for “support” 😦  When he said he wouldn’t, I was near tears: but I know it’s not fair to pressurise him into doing that. I’m NOT kidding when I tell you that the very sight of an ICICI ATM / board / ad gets me seething. I’ve had too many bad experiences with them.

I’m closing the ICICI one on Monday. I feel on top of the world now! I usually stay away from profanities, but….

ICICI — FUCK YOU! I’ll make sure however and whenever possible, I’ll do ALL I CAN, to ensure I can stop someone from being a bloody ICICI scapegoat. I swear.

I opened a new SBI account yesterday (THEY HAVE WITHDRAWAL SLIPS!), and I explicitly told them I want to shift my salary account from there to here because they’re the MOST HORRIBLE BANK I’VE EVER BANKED WITH.

Alappey dream drown in the backwaters! :(

After much ado, too many mails and many trying-to-convince pleads, the trip to Alappey stands cancelled! 😦 😥

Yea! I’m sad. Was looking forward to some beach-time. 😦 And a travellogue after that! 😀

The couple from Dubai cancelled on us. There was some unexpected leave problem, and the baby’s visa is delayed as well.

The couple from Kuwait was, as it is, not very sure they’d make it. And finally, the best they could get tickets was for 13 May, and land on 14 May! Well, land home after a year and go with baby directly to meet friends? No brownie points from the in-laws, apparently. 😦

But well, there’s the Kuwait baby’s baptism a week after the proposed-and-now-cancelled trip, and the Dubai couple’s brother’s wedding a week after the date. So, looks like they’ll all meet up somewhere or the other. The husband has no leave that time, so rather doubtful if we’ll make it!

Guess, like our original plan, the next meet up would definitely be at Malaysia (well, need to be optimistic, eh?).

Yea, so the dream of a vacation at Alappey drown in the backwaters!The only consolation is that we are sparedthe agony of leaving Pumbaa behind and setting of to have fun without him. I know I sound crazy — but he is such an important part of our lives, it’s tough to leave him behind overnight! So, though I’m mostly sad this got cancelled, I’m secretly a tad happy too. Just a tad 😉

The weather’s still fabulous here in Bangalore — the hot summer suddenly seem to have vanished and made way for the winter that apparently didn’t want to leave so soon 😉 So, nothing’s bothering me much right now. Guess when the sun brings the summer back, I’ll mourn the cancelled trip much more.