Work(out) blues

For those who’ve not been keeping tabs on my brilliant career moves, here’s the latest update: I am now an analyst and a part of the social media team at Webchutney. I joined about two weeks back, so it’s still early days, but not too early for me to talk about this peculiar problem we face in the Mumbai offices of Webchutney. I’ve been in the system long enough (or short enough) to realize that 9.30am tends to be one of those quiet hours at the office – when people saunter in and set themselves up for another day at work (or, if you are like me, start the countdown to the weekend). Not so at our neighbors unfortunately – we share space with a fitness centre and every morning, I walk in to be greeted by ‘4-3-2-ha’, ‘4-3-2-ha’, ‘4-3-2-ha’ (the instructor isn’t very creative, is he?).

The fitness thing is a horror in itself: people like me, who’ve built up oodles of fat over the years through much effort and discipline, don’t like to walk into office elevators to see posters proclaiming ‘Burn the fat’ (and the accompanying image on those posters is even more scary, not to mention insensitive –a fat woman, in strange fluorescent green work-out clothes, hides behind a wall as a bunch of kids with Olympic-type torches in their hand, try and hunt her down – Burn the fat, get it?). But imagine being subjected to loud thumping music unfailingly every morning – and ‘music’ in this case would be extremely atrocious remixes of ‘Om Shanti Om’ (the original Rishi Kapoor version) and ‘Touch me, touch me, kiss me, kiss me’. If the DJ is really in the groove, we get to hear even more experimental stuff – ‘Kya kiya’ to the beats of ‘Are you ready?’, anyone?

My colleagues assure me that I will grow immune to the music over a period of time. And, truth be told, I think I’m even beginning to enjoy this stuff a little bit. Just the other day, my colleague accused me of the ultimate treachery – I was actually jiggling my shoulders in tune to the music. Well, yea, so I was. But, like I remarked rather smugly, ‘When you can’t beat ‘em, just join ‘em.’

PS: Totally forgot to mention about my favourite other observation: the elevators that lead up to our offices have this strange music everytime they are opened or shut. In fact, it's not 'music' as much as it is 'noise' - a stupid, whiny 'cree-cree-cree-cree'. Now that always reminds me of that famous shower scene from 'Pshyco' (Hitchcock's original version), when the woman gets murdered - there was a 'cree-cree-cree' background 'noise' that accompanies that scene, remember? That's my elevator music. I wouldn't be very surprised if one of these days I walk into the elevators to find a corpse. With the hideous DJ music and the sinister elevator noise to goad a person on , one can almost be forgiven for the violence.

People grow old

Am with my cuppa chai and the Sunday newspapers. Occasionally indulging in small talk with my Grandma, who's seated opposite, listening intently to Jim Morrison and the 'Roadhouse Blues' blasting away on my laptop. Her feet are tapping rhythmically on the floor, in response to the beats of the song, but other than that, there is very little to indicate she's aware of her surroundings, of me. Her eyes carry that far-away expression which I usually associate with her trips down memory lane, where childhood memories come to claim her with increasing frequency these days. Only, this time around, I know that the far-away look is not simply due to nostalgia. For some time now, everyone in my family has been noting with concern my grandma's failing vision. Most times, her eyes refuse to focus. They'd wander all around the room, unable to focus on one thing or person. She'd be talking to me, but looking elsewhere.

Grandma is old, very old. And old age has taken its toll. She can't walk too well now: a result of weak bones, and a fall that resulted in knee surgery. And now there's the eye problem. She looks frail. And lost.

Mom and Dad are also growing old. Mom's skin sags now, and there are fine lines around her eyes. She gets tired easily. Dad is struggling with retirement after a life of hectic activity. He confesses his memory isn't as sharp as it used to be. He declines tasks that require too much effort out of him. Mom and Dad had always been hyper-active; old age is slowing them down.

There has also been a role-reversal of sorts. Mom and Dad have both retired. Mom looks after the domestic chores, Dad looks after the small errands, and the laundry. My brother and I are the earning members now. And suddenly, I feel like the adult in the house. Mom, Dad and Grandma have become the kids who require constant supervision, and I, the harried adult who's juggling work and family. Its a strange feeling. And it scares me. But people grow old, I suppose.

But this is depressing. So I start playing Grandma's and my favourite 'together' song (the song that we most like listening to when we are together): 'No More I love You's' by Annie Lennox. Somehow, it comforts us both. Strange. But hey, its comforting.

Am back, again !

Ok, so now that I am a social media analyst, I think it is only fair that I start being active on social media again. Hence the return to blog-land, and my activity on twitter, plus Orkut. A lot of work there for me (somehow, I feel a little less Anonymous now.. ) but ironically, this stuff has become work. So here goes.

And I love the way I have so neatly tied up everything. My Orkut profile leads to this blog, and the blog leads to Twitter. There's simply no escaping me :-) Its like that Enrique Iglesias song (the only one I can listen without making pukey-type faces) 'You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my thoughts (a bit of editing just happened there).'