Poetry is the art of ranting subtly.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Railway Chronicles - The Coop
Anyone who has been to Mumbai knows about the Mumbai trains. And for those of you not familiar with this phenomenon, here is a quick tutorial - The trains connect the manpower in Mumbai to the machines. In short, Mumbai runs on the rail.
And like everything else in the city, the train service has some classic rules. As and when a particular one bothers me, you’ll get to read about it. For example, today's grouse is compartment allocation.
Broadly speaking, Mumbai trains are divided into basic service second-class compartments and slightly less basic service first-class compartments. Moreover, since Indian men are an overtly chivalrous lot, we further divide the train into the general (read men’s) compartment and the women’s compartment.
And like everything else in the city, the train service has some classic rules. As and when a particular one bothers me, you’ll get to read about it. For example, today's grouse is compartment allocation.
Broadly speaking, Mumbai trains are divided into basic service second-class compartments and slightly less basic service first-class compartments. Moreover, since Indian men are an overtly chivalrous lot, we further divide the train into the general (read men’s) compartment and the women’s compartment.
The bee in my bonnet right now, is the first class women’s compartment. The powers who are figured that women don’t have to travel too much, at least not as much as the hard working, bread winning men of the city. So why waste an entire first-class compartment on them? They were however kind enough to spare us a chicken coop styled little carriage.
Ooooh gracious sirs, how considerate and large hearted you are!
Every morning and evening, thousands of women crush themselves into these chicken coop compartments and travel on a prayer. Survivors are decorated with crunched toes and elbowed ribs. Casualties are smothered by fat while attempting to snatch whatever little oxygen might be available.
But of course these are just selfish complains. Nobody has the time for little things like this, not when the nation is plagued with so many 'real' problems. So nothing is going to change. We will continue traveling in a body crush. And for at least a hundred years or so, me and I’m sure a thousand others, will continue to endure on a rant.
A luxurious prelude to the day. A fitting tribute to the day gone by.
Every morning and evening, thousands of women crush themselves into these chicken coop compartments and travel on a prayer. Survivors are decorated with crunched toes and elbowed ribs. Casualties are smothered by fat while attempting to snatch whatever little oxygen might be available.
But of course these are just selfish complains. Nobody has the time for little things like this, not when the nation is plagued with so many 'real' problems. So nothing is going to change. We will continue traveling in a body crush. And for at least a hundred years or so, me and I’m sure a thousand others, will continue to endure on a rant.
A luxurious prelude to the day. A fitting tribute to the day gone by.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
A day at the office
11:00 step into office
11:20 start comp
11:30 comp comes to life, log on
12:30 prepare for lunch
13:00 have lunch
14:00 prepare to wrap up lunch
14:30 lunch over
15:00 report for new job briefing. servicing not sure of job
15:30 servicing still not sure of job
16:00 servicing still not sure, job on hold
16:30 regroup in the conference room, cricket match
17:00 game over, india wins, return to comp
17:30 kill more time
18:00 can officially leave, but hang around out of politeness
18:01 fuck being polite. just leave. tata.
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